Edge
Title: Edge
Author: Daisee Chain
Pairing: Ten/Rose
Rating: R
Warnings: BDSM, Bloodplay (implied rather than graphic).
She doesn't know why he needs this - well, she has her suspicions, but she can't bring herself to ask, and so far, he hasn't volunteered. The blanket slips, and she wonders if they've gone too far this time. The heat he leeches from her skin, shoulder resting against hers, feels like it's branding her, as though there should be frostbite.
So, so intense, and oh, she'd been worried for him, but he'd insisted, kept pushing, and despite her intention to make him stop, she'd let him continue, because she couldn't bring herself to say 'no'. She muses sometimes, in the aftermath, and she still couldn't think of it as afterglow, because there isn't any for her, whether this means she can't be a good mother, this inability to refuse the ones she loves.
He stirs restlessly, and she shifts slightly, uncomfortable against the Tardis console. It's always here, in the heart of things, at the centre of power, never in a bed, warm and comfortable, where they could rest easy, because of course, he never rests easy, not even for a moment. He runs to danger, not away from it. More than one lifetimes experience, and he's finally running out of distractions. He's given up trying to outrun the pain, and has begun to embrace it. She just wishes he could have found something less extreme, but then, he doesn't do anything by halves.
They sit a little way from the vials, resting on the floor. Ten of them, one for each life. He claims the contents can be used to start again. A whole new race of Time lords, and for all she knows he's right. His progeny, his new progeny, at any rate. She still hasn't forgiven him for throwing in that unexpected gem from his past, although she understands why he can't talk about it. It was one thing to have lost his entire people, another to lose his children. She doesn't know how many there are. Were. She sees the pain flit over his face when she tries to ask. He doesn't want to think about it. There's a word for that, she saw it on TV once. Disassociation. Or maybe, denial. Something beginning with d, anyway.
Ten little vials, filled with dark red fluid. Each one a little life, and a little death. She checks his arm. His temperature is coming back up, and the scars are already fading. And she believes that's the real reason for his growing obsession with his own blood - he doesn't scar on the outside, not like normal people. He wants physical evidence of his pain, the pain he's caused his people. A scar so deep it cuts him in two. The half that wants to live, and the half that wants to die.
For the moment, the half that wants to live, is still in control. And she'll help to keep it that way, whatever it takes, even if it means being in control.
Author: Daisee Chain
Pairing: Ten/Rose
Rating: R
Warnings: BDSM, Bloodplay (implied rather than graphic).
She doesn't know why he needs this - well, she has her suspicions, but she can't bring herself to ask, and so far, he hasn't volunteered. The blanket slips, and she wonders if they've gone too far this time. The heat he leeches from her skin, shoulder resting against hers, feels like it's branding her, as though there should be frostbite.
So, so intense, and oh, she'd been worried for him, but he'd insisted, kept pushing, and despite her intention to make him stop, she'd let him continue, because she couldn't bring herself to say 'no'. She muses sometimes, in the aftermath, and she still couldn't think of it as afterglow, because there isn't any for her, whether this means she can't be a good mother, this inability to refuse the ones she loves.
He stirs restlessly, and she shifts slightly, uncomfortable against the Tardis console. It's always here, in the heart of things, at the centre of power, never in a bed, warm and comfortable, where they could rest easy, because of course, he never rests easy, not even for a moment. He runs to danger, not away from it. More than one lifetimes experience, and he's finally running out of distractions. He's given up trying to outrun the pain, and has begun to embrace it. She just wishes he could have found something less extreme, but then, he doesn't do anything by halves.
They sit a little way from the vials, resting on the floor. Ten of them, one for each life. He claims the contents can be used to start again. A whole new race of Time lords, and for all she knows he's right. His progeny, his new progeny, at any rate. She still hasn't forgiven him for throwing in that unexpected gem from his past, although she understands why he can't talk about it. It was one thing to have lost his entire people, another to lose his children. She doesn't know how many there are. Were. She sees the pain flit over his face when she tries to ask. He doesn't want to think about it. There's a word for that, she saw it on TV once. Disassociation. Or maybe, denial. Something beginning with d, anyway.
Ten little vials, filled with dark red fluid. Each one a little life, and a little death. She checks his arm. His temperature is coming back up, and the scars are already fading. And she believes that's the real reason for his growing obsession with his own blood - he doesn't scar on the outside, not like normal people. He wants physical evidence of his pain, the pain he's caused his people. A scar so deep it cuts him in two. The half that wants to live, and the half that wants to die.
For the moment, the half that wants to live, is still in control. And she'll help to keep it that way, whatever it takes, even if it means being in control.