I'll post it here. I feel like I'm spamming my journal.
***
It might be her. It could be. Her back was very Rose-like. Although he wasn't an expert in backs.
He struggled with himself to remember her hair colour. Bleached a little less blonde the last time they had been together-the memory conjured up a a flash of nostalgia and sadness, which he quickly flung aside. Today, there was no sad. There was only him and her.
If she was Rose. She was probably a stuffy snobby aristocrat's daughter, having a lovely garden party with her stuffy snobby friends, gossiping about stuffy snobby things. And he'dknow, if she turned around.
Cursing his awkward view point, he tried to slip around a butler, and acquainted his knee with the tea table rather violently.
Turn around.
An overdressed lady fluttered her fan at him. Eugh. No. He spoke fan, and that's simply-, it's just-eugh.
Turn around.
Finally making his way to the mostly empty archway, he stood directly behind her, eyes fixed on the pale blue fabric of her dress. Her hair-golden, was twined up in coils of braids. He was far too close, but he couldn't help it, and oh, he's been searching and searching since he felt it, that shift in the universe's fabric.
Turn around.
A girl in a white dress nodded to him, and said something to the possible-Rose. He made a sort of choked little gasp, because she was turning, right now, and he was suddenly overcome by a strong desire to run back to the TARDIS because if this wasn't her, than the rest of the day will be full of moping, and he didn't like moping. The TARDIS locked away his biscuits when he moped.
He stared.
A deep shuddering breath coursed its way through him. He was locked on her, drinking in everything, the way her fringe curled lightly over her forehead, her small smile, the way her skin was so smooth and unblemished, and oh-Rassilon she was beautiful.
"Hello." she said. He thought it might be the most wonderful word in the English language. He's also very fond of 'reunion', 'embrace' and 'snog'.
Was it quite normal for his legs to feel weak?
Rose looked back at him. "Are you quite alright?" she asked, her voice too plummy, without that sharp, sweet accent.
"Jammy Dodgers," he blurted. "Amy didn't like them, and I told her she was being stupid, and she didn't like that either. You like Jammy Dodgers. And chips. And I...like chips too."
She dropped her cup of tea. "Pardon?"
"I don't like this suit. Or the tie. I wear bow-ties now. They're cool. But that dress is wrong for this time period." He paused, taking another deep breath, looking directly at her, trying to communicate what he was feeling. "I thought I'd never see you again."
"Oh my god. Oh my god, it's you." Rose whispered, lips tugging up into a soft disbelieving smile.
He was silent as she studied him, pausing on seemingly inconsequential areas. The crook of his elbow got a good look, as did his hair and jawline, followed by his hands. He hoped she was looking at his hands, at least.
Counter strike, he thought, and lingered on her throat, dipping his gaze to the expanse of skin uncovered by fabric.
"You're starin'," she said, and he jolted, blushing. He hadn't blushed for fifty years.
"You, you haven't...he's not-I mean...hello."
Ducking her head, a grin flashed across her face, and she was laughing, shaking her head a bit. He had the strongest urge to kiss her.
Later, he liked to think, while a sleepy Rose was wrapped safely in his arms where she belonged, that he made quite the impression.
If you count snogging a lost love fiercely, consumed by relief and joy, tripping over the stupid terrier, crashing into another tea table and shocking the whole of the guests into complete silence, while tea dripped down your head, said love dissolved into hysterics and refused to help you, because you 'really should know better by now.'
Rose snorted at him rudely all the way back to the TARDIS, and when she finally quieted in amazement, he cupped her face in his hands, touched his forehead to hers, and told her what had been burning into him for centuries, before kissing her the way he'd wanted to since he'd met her, gentle and tender.
"You're getting tea on me," was her reply. "And I love you too."
I'll post it here. I feel like I'm spamming my journal.
***
It might be her. It could be. Her back was very Rose-like. Although he wasn't an expert in backs.
He struggled with himself to remember her hair colour. Bleached a little less blonde the last time they had been together-the memory conjured up a a flash of nostalgia and sadness, which he quickly flung aside. Today, there was no sad. There was only him and her.
If she was Rose. She was probably a stuffy snobby aristocrat's daughter, having a lovely garden party with her stuffy snobby friends, gossiping about stuffy snobby things. And he'dknow, if she turned around.
Cursing his awkward view point, he tried to slip around a butler, and acquainted his knee with the tea table rather violently.
Turn around.
An overdressed lady fluttered her fan at him. Eugh. No. He spoke fan, and that's simply-, it's just-eugh.
Turn around.
Finally making his way to the mostly empty archway, he stood directly behind her, eyes fixed on the pale blue fabric of her dress. Her hair-golden, was twined up in coils of braids. He was far too close, but he couldn't help it, and oh, he's been searching and searching since he felt it, that shift in the universe's fabric.
Turn around.
A girl in a white dress nodded to him, and said something to the possible-Rose. He made a sort of choked little gasp, because she was turning, right now, and he was suddenly overcome by a strong desire to run back to the TARDIS because if this wasn't her, than the rest of the day will be full of moping, and he didn't like moping. The TARDIS locked away his biscuits when he moped.
He stared.
A deep shuddering breath coursed its way through him. He was locked on her, drinking in everything, the way her fringe curled lightly over her forehead, her small smile, the way her skin was so smooth and unblemished, and oh-Rassilon she was beautiful.
"Hello." she said. He thought it might be the most wonderful word in the English language. He's also very fond of 'reunion', 'embrace' and 'snog'.
Was it quite normal for his legs to feel weak?
Rose looked back at him. "Are you quite alright?" she asked, her voice too plummy, without that sharp, sweet accent.
"Jammy Dodgers," he blurted. "Amy didn't like them, and I told her she was being stupid, and she didn't like that either. You like Jammy Dodgers. And chips. And I...like chips too."
She dropped her cup of tea. "Pardon?"
"I don't like this suit. Or the tie. I wear bow-ties now. They're cool. But that dress is wrong for this time period." He paused, taking another deep breath, looking directly at her, trying to communicate what he was feeling. "I thought I'd never see you again."
"Oh my god. Oh my god, it's you." Rose whispered, lips tugging up into a soft disbelieving smile.
He was silent as she studied him, pausing on seemingly inconsequential areas. The crook of his elbow got a good look, as did his hair and jawline, followed by his hands. He hoped she was looking at his hands, at least.
Counter strike, he thought, and lingered on her throat, dipping his gaze to the expanse of skin uncovered by fabric.
"You're starin'," she said, and he jolted, blushing. He hadn't blushed for fifty years.
"You, you haven't...he's not-I mean...hello."
Ducking her head, a grin flashed across her face, and she was laughing, shaking her head a bit. He had the strongest urge to kiss her.
Later, he liked to think, while a sleepy Rose was wrapped safely in his arms where she belonged, that he made quite the impression.
If you count snogging a lost love fiercely, consumed by relief and joy, tripping over the stupid terrier, crashing into another tea table and shocking the whole of the guests into complete silence, while tea dripped down your head, said love dissolved into hysterics and refused to help you, because you 'really should know better by now.'
Rose snorted at him rudely all the way back to the TARDIS, and when she finally quieted in amazement, he cupped her face in his hands, touched his forehead to hers, and told her what had been burning into him for centuries, before kissing her the way he'd wanted to since he'd met her, gentle and tender.
"You're getting tea on me," was her reply. "And I love you too."
Reply
OMG Soaring.
*flails*
This. This. This. THIS!!!
ILU. This is SO Eleven. All awkward and klutzy and then!!! EEK!!!
I love it!!! Thanks so much for filling my prompt and dosing me with more 11/Rose! :D
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ILU TOO. ELEVEN/ROSE BUDDIES.
*flails*
Oh, and I'm writing a 10/Rose fluff piece for you, becuase the next chapter of 'Splinter' just might break your heart. Maybe. A bit....
A lot.
OMG I HAVE THREE MORE PROMPTS TO FILL AND MUST FINISH OTHER FICS.
I love this :D
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Reply
I looove your icon, by the way :D
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But so dman sweet :)
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I truly do believe they'd be teeth-rottingly sweet together.
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