Ficlet: Bittersweet, Like Chocolate - Rose/Ten - Pg13
Title: Bittersweet, Like Chocolate
Author: Jinni (jinni.fanfic@gmail.com)
Rated: Pg13
Disclaimer: All things Doctor Who belong to the BBC, et al.
Prompt: 23 Candy
At: 30_kisses
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: Rose/Ten
Summary: She asks him one day if he dreams…
Wordcount: 922
x x x
She asks him one day if he dreams. If during those few hours’ time that he lays his head upon a pillow and shuts his eyes, lets his body come to an all but stand-still as he just relaxes, if he dreams. Or do Time Lords not dream, Rose wants to know. Is he different than her? Does his race have that respite from worries, a peaceful sleep that knows nothing of the dreams and nightmares that plague humans?
He tells her that of course he dreams. Can’t escape that. Few races could and his was definitely not one of them.
Then, with a cocky grin and a playful lift of his eyebrows, he teases that he’s not telling her what he dreams about; wondering even as he says it if he would if she asked. If he would break down that taboo that he had built between them, discussing something so personal, so private.
No.
She laughs and goes on about her business. It was just a random question, then. Not a truth seeking expedition, straight from the mouth of Rose Tyler. Nor an inquisition of any kind. Just her innocent curiosity and how he loves her for that. The completely off the wall questions that she will ask him at any given time - about him and the things they see together. Questions that sometimes catch him off-guard but rarely fail to amuse him.
He’s just happy that, right now, she doesn’t actually ask him what he dreams; because he’s not sure if he would tell her or not and he doesn’t want to be faced with that choice. Not yet and maybe not ever, either.
Rose has nightmares about what happened at the Game Station. He’s woken her from them, soothed her quietly, and let her fall asleep in his arms more than a handful of times. She doesn’t really remember what they’re about, but that is for the best. Nightmares of golden light and burning power in her veins - she doesn’t need that; definitely doesn’t need to remember the pain when it all became too much. Nor does she need to remember causing destruction on such a large scale. Yes, they had been Daleks, but would that absolve her of all those feelings of guilt her race was so good at burdening themselves with?
In that they are alike, however. It is the Game Station that haunts his dreams, as well. Lying in his purely functional if not only mildly comfortable bed, caught in sleep’s net, he dreams of the Vortex and how Rose had looked. So beautiful. So unearthly beautiful, caught up in its web of power. She had glowed, shimmered. Golden light and all that infinite power…
… he dreams… not nightmares… dreams of those final moments they’d had…
… he dreams of her lips under his… different lips, those… not like these…
… he wonders, even as he dreams, what it would be like to kiss her now, with these new lips and this new body… taller, still…not as wide….
She tastes of power in those dreams. Of the Time Vortex and power that no one - not even he - should have. Its sugary sweet, touched at the edge with bitterness. Like good chocolate from fifty-second century Anagramia. He presses his lips to hers and knows it is both the first and last kiss they’ll share; tastes the rush of energy as it flows from her mouth to his.
So much more intimate this brushing of lips than any other kiss in the universe. It is the sharing of power, the searing of souls. Not metaphorically, because the power is burning him as he takes it from her, just as it was burning her while she held it. In those seconds, he knows all there is about everything and so does she. Nothing is beyond them and, if they could stay locked together like this, the power flowing back and forth between them, maybe all would be right again with time…with space.
It is the sharing of life… of death… of time and space and everything in between that she had no right to ever hold in her hand and that he’ll give away just as quickly, back to where it belongs. Because he shouldn’t have it either. As much as he wants to hold onto it, to recreate all that is wrong in his mind and time, he cannot.
He will not.
But in his dreams he can savor the kiss, draw it out to infinity. Imagine that it went on and on for minutes instead of seconds, that he pressed against her, held her face in his hands, keeping her steady as he slowly tasted of her mouth and lips. Swirled his tongue inside her mouth, experiencing Rose for the first time.
…the last time…
Inevitably it’s him and not his previous self, standing there with her, kissing her. Looking into eyes that are still flecked with golden time, kissing it away with every moment that their lips are together. Even in the dream he’s rationalizing, telling himself that he does this only to save her. To save one of the few people he’s ever -
It’s gone, of course, when he wakes. The kiss, Rose, and the Vortex swirling away between them. It’s all just…gone.
Just a dream.
But he imagines, each time he sees her just after - with her blissfully unaware of how much he still craves her even now - that he can still taste it on his lips.
Power.
Sweetness.
Rose.
END
Author: Jinni (jinni.fanfic@gmail.com)
Rated: Pg13
Disclaimer: All things Doctor Who belong to the BBC, et al.
Prompt: 23 Candy
At: 30_kisses
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: Rose/Ten
Summary: She asks him one day if he dreams…
Wordcount: 922
x x x
She asks him one day if he dreams. If during those few hours’ time that he lays his head upon a pillow and shuts his eyes, lets his body come to an all but stand-still as he just relaxes, if he dreams. Or do Time Lords not dream, Rose wants to know. Is he different than her? Does his race have that respite from worries, a peaceful sleep that knows nothing of the dreams and nightmares that plague humans?
He tells her that of course he dreams. Can’t escape that. Few races could and his was definitely not one of them.
Then, with a cocky grin and a playful lift of his eyebrows, he teases that he’s not telling her what he dreams about; wondering even as he says it if he would if she asked. If he would break down that taboo that he had built between them, discussing something so personal, so private.
No.
She laughs and goes on about her business. It was just a random question, then. Not a truth seeking expedition, straight from the mouth of Rose Tyler. Nor an inquisition of any kind. Just her innocent curiosity and how he loves her for that. The completely off the wall questions that she will ask him at any given time - about him and the things they see together. Questions that sometimes catch him off-guard but rarely fail to amuse him.
He’s just happy that, right now, she doesn’t actually ask him what he dreams; because he’s not sure if he would tell her or not and he doesn’t want to be faced with that choice. Not yet and maybe not ever, either.
Rose has nightmares about what happened at the Game Station. He’s woken her from them, soothed her quietly, and let her fall asleep in his arms more than a handful of times. She doesn’t really remember what they’re about, but that is for the best. Nightmares of golden light and burning power in her veins - she doesn’t need that; definitely doesn’t need to remember the pain when it all became too much. Nor does she need to remember causing destruction on such a large scale. Yes, they had been Daleks, but would that absolve her of all those feelings of guilt her race was so good at burdening themselves with?
In that they are alike, however. It is the Game Station that haunts his dreams, as well. Lying in his purely functional if not only mildly comfortable bed, caught in sleep’s net, he dreams of the Vortex and how Rose had looked. So beautiful. So unearthly beautiful, caught up in its web of power. She had glowed, shimmered. Golden light and all that infinite power…
… he dreams… not nightmares… dreams of those final moments they’d had…
… he dreams of her lips under his… different lips, those… not like these…
… he wonders, even as he dreams, what it would be like to kiss her now, with these new lips and this new body… taller, still…not as wide….
She tastes of power in those dreams. Of the Time Vortex and power that no one - not even he - should have. Its sugary sweet, touched at the edge with bitterness. Like good chocolate from fifty-second century Anagramia. He presses his lips to hers and knows it is both the first and last kiss they’ll share; tastes the rush of energy as it flows from her mouth to his.
So much more intimate this brushing of lips than any other kiss in the universe. It is the sharing of power, the searing of souls. Not metaphorically, because the power is burning him as he takes it from her, just as it was burning her while she held it. In those seconds, he knows all there is about everything and so does she. Nothing is beyond them and, if they could stay locked together like this, the power flowing back and forth between them, maybe all would be right again with time…with space.
It is the sharing of life… of death… of time and space and everything in between that she had no right to ever hold in her hand and that he’ll give away just as quickly, back to where it belongs. Because he shouldn’t have it either. As much as he wants to hold onto it, to recreate all that is wrong in his mind and time, he cannot.
He will not.
But in his dreams he can savor the kiss, draw it out to infinity. Imagine that it went on and on for minutes instead of seconds, that he pressed against her, held her face in his hands, keeping her steady as he slowly tasted of her mouth and lips. Swirled his tongue inside her mouth, experiencing Rose for the first time.
…the last time…
Inevitably it’s him and not his previous self, standing there with her, kissing her. Looking into eyes that are still flecked with golden time, kissing it away with every moment that their lips are together. Even in the dream he’s rationalizing, telling himself that he does this only to save her. To save one of the few people he’s ever -
It’s gone, of course, when he wakes. The kiss, Rose, and the Vortex swirling away between them. It’s all just…gone.
Just a dream.
But he imagines, each time he sees her just after - with her blissfully unaware of how much he still craves her even now - that he can still taste it on his lips.
Power.
Sweetness.
Rose.
END