Keep Your Head Down - 2/2
Keep Your Head Down - 2/2
Twelve, Clara, Twelve/Clara, 1670 Words, Angst, Smut, NC-17, Chapters 2/2
Because she knows this is why he would come to look for her and it breaks her a little.
See the lies first, look for the truth next.
He finds her on a Thursday, after. He won’t admit that he did it on purpose, that he learned over time to hate Wednesdays. It’s frustrating that he spends more time begging her to travel with him than he does actually traveling with her. He wants to tell her so much; that he misses her when she’s not there, that he hates this other life she leads even though he knows that she wants the two boxes of her life separate, needs that control. He doesn’t tell her that he’s spent the better part of the past few weeks ignoring her; ignoring the emptiness. He doesn’t tell her that he had hoped that she would miss him enough to leave with him, even on a Thursday. He’s mildly surprised when she does.
He doesn’t let her know any of this.
Instead, he asks her to come with him and waits for her answer. He sighs quietly when she does.
Next, see if there is truth in the lies.
She’s quiet as she studies him, the wary way he watches her and sees the cold note in his eyes. There’s a sliver of ice in his heart. Emma’s warning never seemed so true. This bothers her, a little, changes her perception of him enough that she clenches her hands tight. She doesn’t doubt that he would notice the gesture. He has.
“I see you’ve haven’t got a date tonight.” His mouth curls into a smirk.
“I see you haven’t learned any manners.” Instantly, she brushes down the urge to make another retort (why bother), and hates that in the span of two minutes he can make her feel so defensive.
So she waits, eyebrows arched. It doesn’t take long.
“There’s a thing.”
“There’s always a thing. When did a thing become a thing? Is this what we are now?” Her heart, pieces already chipped at, threatens to shatter entirely.
Because she knows this is why he would come to look for her and it breaks her a little.
Because inside his lie, there’s a truth.
She’s on a planet, time all but forgotten and the Doctor is watching her, weighing his options carefully. Another man’s hands are resting lightly on her arm and she’s leaning in, flirting with her eyes and body. The dress is too tight but it’s all part of the game (plus she knows it looks good on her).
He moves his hand to the nape of her neck and she won’t claim that she’s not affected (she misses the Doctor’s touch so is her body saying any man will do?). It’s the game; they made the mistake of being at the wrong place at the wrong time (time to get out, out, get out). She had wryly asked the Doctor how far she should let the game go and he had leveled his gaze on her, eyes burning tension. We have to do what the Game Maker tells us to do. She had flushed, with anger and embarrassment (and not without resentment).
Now, she’s tempted (oh so tempted), when she catches him out of the corner of her eyes, watching them. His hand is clenched tightly around the glass in front of him, eyes burning into hers. The corners of his mouth are turned down, and she looks away quickly. There’s a game to be played and she shouldn’t forget.
(but she might let the Game Maker kiss her once or twice, just to remind herself)
Finally, the lie is truth.
He leans over, his lips quickly claiming hers, his eyes close and she presses closer to him taking the lead, allowing their breaths to mingle. She leans closer to him, kissing him with an urgency that shakes her. Clutching at his shirt, he gently pries her fingers off, as if to say, ‘don’t wrinkle the shirt.' She thinks, ‘the hell with this,’ but then his tongue delves deeper, exploding with urgency, his mouth restless, moving over hers and drawing her closer, demanding more.
She licks his bottom lip and he groans, parting his mouth and holding her face more firmly. She touches his tongue with the tip of hers and then withdraws a fraction, teasing, getting him to lean forward, and searching for more. His tongue chases hers, playing and exploring. His kiss is not gentle; instead it’s hungry and possessive. She tastes both frustration and desire, held back with a fierce restraint. Their tongues tangled together in a heated dance so sensual her body ignited and burned.
For only a kiss it was unbelievably erotic.
He pulls back, “Clara,” he whispers, and covers her mouth again. She participates fully in the kiss, opening her mouth under his, raising her hands to rest them on his shoulders. When his tongue met hers again, she digs her nails into his shoulders and hears the soft hiss he makes. She breathes in deeply, her nose next to his cheek and absorbs herself in a heady odor of soap and him. With each beat of her heart, with each stroke of his tongue, she slides further down the bed. Because she couldn’t stay upright, his body is pressing her down, down, down…
He groans and dimly, she realizes he is affected as she is (layers to this man, she’s always known that). She should draw away, walk away while she still can, but his mouth is too delicious, stroking heat into her, his taste too heady. She drifts dreamily, drugged with sexual heat as he explores her mouth.
He withdraws the barest breath away and she sighs in disappointment, but he immediately places his lips on her jawbone and nips lightly. His voice startles her, so out of place in this context, “I think you flirted on purpose. Is this what you wanted?”
She wants to push him away, hates how easily he sees her. ‘As if everything,’ she wants to say, 'isn’t already a game of control with you.' But she doesn’t, this feels too good and she’s wanted this too long. Instead, she leans back and her breathing speeds up as his mouth moves to her ear, where he traces delicate whorls with his tongue.
(tomorrow is another reason to stay)
He lifts his head and she shivers at the heat in his eyes. Arousal had turned his face stark, his face flushed. His eyes are dark and his hand is slowly stroking her breast, his thumb slowly circling her nipple.
Lies uncovered by truth, are they still lies?
How many times has he wanted to touch her, caress her, stroke her, feeling her skin warm under his touch? He layers everything he feels for her beneath his cold indifference, beneath his faint praise. He should have known that she would be the one to see through it.
“Doctor,” she murmurs as she exhales softly, her head falling to one side.
“You’re lovely.” His voice comes out low and rough.
He still can’t get the image of another man’s hands touching her, kissing her; out of his head. It drives him crazy and his hands turn rough as he pulls her closer to him. With a low, maddened growl, he pulls her panties off and pulls her up to him. He turns away from the bed with her held in one arm and with the other he moves over to a small desk in the corner, sweeping it clear; books and papers fly to the floor as he lays her down on the surface.
He stops a moment, staring down at her figure laid out like a sacrifice. He is hard as a rock, his penis straining to be inside her. “I need you, Clara.” He mutters against her neck, not really sure what he is saying.
“Yes.”
His eyes close and his hands shake as they travel up her legs. His thumbs open her and he drops to his knees. He watches his fingers coax her arousal from her. Her back arches and she moans as he slides first one finger, then a second finger into her.
He brings his mouth to her and hears her sharp intake of breath. He kisses her deeply, exactly as if he were kissing her mouth. His tongue circles her then slides lower to plunge back into her. His thumbs opened her wider as his tongue imitates his cock. Clara’s thighs shake and she suddenly cries out and pulses against his mouth. He can feel, taste her climax. Rising swiftly, he opens his pants, pulls her towards him and thrusts into her hard. He grits his teeth to keep still as she continues to climax around him. She throws her arms up over her head and lays stretched out before him, pale and slender, impaled on his cock.
As the contractions faded away, she opens her eyes. “God,” she whispers, sounding dazed.
“Doctor,” he says harshly, staring at her face. Flexing his back muscles, he pushes with the force of his hips deeper into her. He clenches his jaw and pushes farther, opening her up even more to his possession.
“Mine,” his voice guttural.
They stare at each other, joined in every way possible, and he breaks under her gaze. He grips her hips hard enough to bruise and he begins thrusting with all the strength of his body. Hard and fast, creating a rhythm which he knew would have hurt her if she hadn’t already climaxed. He can hear her faint cries beneath him and when he feels the clench of her around him it was as if a bus had barreled into him and he pushes in her a final time. His orgasm seems to last for hours as he shakes and groans, spilling into her.
He will never be able to get enough of Clara, never be able to let her go. His breath still catches at the thought that she could have walked away from him and that he would have let her.
Lies he tells himself.
Twelve, Clara, Twelve/Clara, 1670 Words, Angst, Smut, NC-17, Chapters 2/2
Because she knows this is why he would come to look for her and it breaks her a little.
See the lies first, look for the truth next.
He finds her on a Thursday, after. He won’t admit that he did it on purpose, that he learned over time to hate Wednesdays. It’s frustrating that he spends more time begging her to travel with him than he does actually traveling with her. He wants to tell her so much; that he misses her when she’s not there, that he hates this other life she leads even though he knows that she wants the two boxes of her life separate, needs that control. He doesn’t tell her that he’s spent the better part of the past few weeks ignoring her; ignoring the emptiness. He doesn’t tell her that he had hoped that she would miss him enough to leave with him, even on a Thursday. He’s mildly surprised when she does.
He doesn’t let her know any of this.
Instead, he asks her to come with him and waits for her answer. He sighs quietly when she does.
Next, see if there is truth in the lies.
She’s quiet as she studies him, the wary way he watches her and sees the cold note in his eyes. There’s a sliver of ice in his heart. Emma’s warning never seemed so true. This bothers her, a little, changes her perception of him enough that she clenches her hands tight. She doesn’t doubt that he would notice the gesture. He has.
“I see you’ve haven’t got a date tonight.” His mouth curls into a smirk.
“I see you haven’t learned any manners.” Instantly, she brushes down the urge to make another retort (why bother), and hates that in the span of two minutes he can make her feel so defensive.
So she waits, eyebrows arched. It doesn’t take long.
“There’s a thing.”
“There’s always a thing. When did a thing become a thing? Is this what we are now?” Her heart, pieces already chipped at, threatens to shatter entirely.
Because she knows this is why he would come to look for her and it breaks her a little.
Because inside his lie, there’s a truth.
She’s on a planet, time all but forgotten and the Doctor is watching her, weighing his options carefully. Another man’s hands are resting lightly on her arm and she’s leaning in, flirting with her eyes and body. The dress is too tight but it’s all part of the game (plus she knows it looks good on her).
He moves his hand to the nape of her neck and she won’t claim that she’s not affected (she misses the Doctor’s touch so is her body saying any man will do?). It’s the game; they made the mistake of being at the wrong place at the wrong time (time to get out, out, get out). She had wryly asked the Doctor how far she should let the game go and he had leveled his gaze on her, eyes burning tension. We have to do what the Game Maker tells us to do. She had flushed, with anger and embarrassment (and not without resentment).
Now, she’s tempted (oh so tempted), when she catches him out of the corner of her eyes, watching them. His hand is clenched tightly around the glass in front of him, eyes burning into hers. The corners of his mouth are turned down, and she looks away quickly. There’s a game to be played and she shouldn’t forget.
(but she might let the Game Maker kiss her once or twice, just to remind herself)
Finally, the lie is truth.
He leans over, his lips quickly claiming hers, his eyes close and she presses closer to him taking the lead, allowing their breaths to mingle. She leans closer to him, kissing him with an urgency that shakes her. Clutching at his shirt, he gently pries her fingers off, as if to say, ‘don’t wrinkle the shirt.' She thinks, ‘the hell with this,’ but then his tongue delves deeper, exploding with urgency, his mouth restless, moving over hers and drawing her closer, demanding more.
She licks his bottom lip and he groans, parting his mouth and holding her face more firmly. She touches his tongue with the tip of hers and then withdraws a fraction, teasing, getting him to lean forward, and searching for more. His tongue chases hers, playing and exploring. His kiss is not gentle; instead it’s hungry and possessive. She tastes both frustration and desire, held back with a fierce restraint. Their tongues tangled together in a heated dance so sensual her body ignited and burned.
For only a kiss it was unbelievably erotic.
He pulls back, “Clara,” he whispers, and covers her mouth again. She participates fully in the kiss, opening her mouth under his, raising her hands to rest them on his shoulders. When his tongue met hers again, she digs her nails into his shoulders and hears the soft hiss he makes. She breathes in deeply, her nose next to his cheek and absorbs herself in a heady odor of soap and him. With each beat of her heart, with each stroke of his tongue, she slides further down the bed. Because she couldn’t stay upright, his body is pressing her down, down, down…
He groans and dimly, she realizes he is affected as she is (layers to this man, she’s always known that). She should draw away, walk away while she still can, but his mouth is too delicious, stroking heat into her, his taste too heady. She drifts dreamily, drugged with sexual heat as he explores her mouth.
He withdraws the barest breath away and she sighs in disappointment, but he immediately places his lips on her jawbone and nips lightly. His voice startles her, so out of place in this context, “I think you flirted on purpose. Is this what you wanted?”
She wants to push him away, hates how easily he sees her. ‘As if everything,’ she wants to say, 'isn’t already a game of control with you.' But she doesn’t, this feels too good and she’s wanted this too long. Instead, she leans back and her breathing speeds up as his mouth moves to her ear, where he traces delicate whorls with his tongue.
(tomorrow is another reason to stay)
He lifts his head and she shivers at the heat in his eyes. Arousal had turned his face stark, his face flushed. His eyes are dark and his hand is slowly stroking her breast, his thumb slowly circling her nipple.
Lies uncovered by truth, are they still lies?
How many times has he wanted to touch her, caress her, stroke her, feeling her skin warm under his touch? He layers everything he feels for her beneath his cold indifference, beneath his faint praise. He should have known that she would be the one to see through it.
“Doctor,” she murmurs as she exhales softly, her head falling to one side.
“You’re lovely.” His voice comes out low and rough.
He still can’t get the image of another man’s hands touching her, kissing her; out of his head. It drives him crazy and his hands turn rough as he pulls her closer to him. With a low, maddened growl, he pulls her panties off and pulls her up to him. He turns away from the bed with her held in one arm and with the other he moves over to a small desk in the corner, sweeping it clear; books and papers fly to the floor as he lays her down on the surface.
He stops a moment, staring down at her figure laid out like a sacrifice. He is hard as a rock, his penis straining to be inside her. “I need you, Clara.” He mutters against her neck, not really sure what he is saying.
“Yes.”
His eyes close and his hands shake as they travel up her legs. His thumbs open her and he drops to his knees. He watches his fingers coax her arousal from her. Her back arches and she moans as he slides first one finger, then a second finger into her.
He brings his mouth to her and hears her sharp intake of breath. He kisses her deeply, exactly as if he were kissing her mouth. His tongue circles her then slides lower to plunge back into her. His thumbs opened her wider as his tongue imitates his cock. Clara’s thighs shake and she suddenly cries out and pulses against his mouth. He can feel, taste her climax. Rising swiftly, he opens his pants, pulls her towards him and thrusts into her hard. He grits his teeth to keep still as she continues to climax around him. She throws her arms up over her head and lays stretched out before him, pale and slender, impaled on his cock.
As the contractions faded away, she opens her eyes. “God,” she whispers, sounding dazed.
“Doctor,” he says harshly, staring at her face. Flexing his back muscles, he pushes with the force of his hips deeper into her. He clenches his jaw and pushes farther, opening her up even more to his possession.
“Mine,” his voice guttural.
They stare at each other, joined in every way possible, and he breaks under her gaze. He grips her hips hard enough to bruise and he begins thrusting with all the strength of his body. Hard and fast, creating a rhythm which he knew would have hurt her if she hadn’t already climaxed. He can hear her faint cries beneath him and when he feels the clench of her around him it was as if a bus had barreled into him and he pushes in her a final time. His orgasm seems to last for hours as he shakes and groans, spilling into her.
He will never be able to get enough of Clara, never be able to let her go. His breath still catches at the thought that she could have walked away from him and that he would have let her.
Lies he tells himself.