Fic: Close Enough
Title: Close Enough
Summary: Always trying, never quite there.
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 921
Rating/Contents: NC-17, orgasm denial, general spoilers through 6x03
Pairing: River/11
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: Hurrah, my first
kink_bingo square!
The first time is on the floor, right in front of the TARDIS's consoles and whizzgigs. Amy and Rory have gone to bed, and River is still hanging around, like she's been doing more and more these days. He turns to ask her something, something about whether or not he's damaging the brakes by not disengaging them as he lands, because he really rather likes the noise it makes, but there's something written on her face he's only seen once before.
She launches into him like she can't wait one second more, like everything is riding on it. He staggers back, but he catches her, his arms full of this fireball who's recently made his life so interesting. She kisses him desperately, just like the first time, and he wonders if there's more of this, if her kisses always taste so sad or if it's just their situation.
It doesn't take long before she's tugging down his braces and divesting him of his clothes; it's been a long time, but not so long that he's forgotten how all this works. He's about to suggest that they retire to one of the many bedrooms, when she pulls him down to the floor. She's graceless in her haste to get on top of him, and there's something beautiful about it, the way she's so hungry for it.
She's hot and wet around him, and he thrusts up into her almost involuntarily, needing more. She throws her head back, gasping, rocking into him hard and greedy. There's frustration in the way she does it, tension that's been building ever since he laid eyes on her, but there's something else, something underneath that.
He's just about to, he's so close, and she suddenly stops dead. He works his hips up, trying for more, but she puts her hands on his chest to stop him. She looks stricken, utterly disappointed. "This isn't the way it happens."
"This is just fine, actually," he protests.
"Sorry, sweetie," she says, wincing as she pulls away, dismounting like she's getting off a horse. "I'm sure you don't mind me sleeping here," she tells him as she walks away, and her voice sounds like it does when she's trying to sound happy.
He stares up into the blinking lights, and he wonders what he's done wrong.
The second time and the third time and the times after that, they're far less dramatic. She likes to come into his room when he's not quite asleep, slipping in beside him; his arms come around to hold her automatically, drawing her close and keeping her there. Sometimes it's wild and raucous, celebratory and carefree; sometimes they've barely made it back to each other, seen worlds die. Sometimes she's gone, and he misses her beside him; he picks out another room for when she's away, one with a tiny little bed, but it does no good.
But the one thing, the thing that unites them, all the stolen times they have, is that she never lets it finish. She's always one step ahead, always ready to deny herself and him; she can't have him and she can't stop, so she takes what she must, gives what she can. And somehow, that's how it continues between them, and that becomes them in his eyes. He doesn't even finish after she's gone, because it's over, it's enough.
One night, they're lying in bed, half-sated, and he laces his fingers into hers. "I wish you'd tell me," he says, even though he knows it's futile, though he knows he'll only hear, "Spoilers," again.
She turns toward him, laying her head on his shoulder. "Here's how it happens," she says quietly. "You take me to Aranthos, where the seas are purple and grey." She smiles at the memory. "It takes you three tries to get there, and we almost die in the attempt, but suddenly we're standing there, all alone. We make love on the shoreline as the moons are setting, and you say to me that it's the happiest moment of your long life."
He doesn't know what to say at all; he takes her hand and presses it to his lips.
She wakes up hours later, in what passes for morning around the TARDIS; she pads out in her bare feet, looking for signs of life. Rory and Amy are nowhere to be found, but the Doctor is standing next to his consoles, looking a little nervous and flustered, more so than usual.
"I've dropped the Ponds off in Rio for Carnival," he tells her. "I sort of owed it to them, long story." He reaches down, holding up a basket. "I've packed us some breakfast. Or dinner. Or possibly lunch. Anyway, we've got some food." He holds out an elbow, and she takes it, curious and already knowing where this will lead.
He opens the doors of the TARDIS, walking her through, and there it is, just as it should be, the crashing grey waterfalls and the amethyst seas.
"I'm afraid I found it on the first try, no bloodshed required," he says.
She shakes her head, unable to speak for a moment around the tears that are forming. "Close enough."
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/319024.html.
comments over there.
Summary: Always trying, never quite there.
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 921
Rating/Contents: NC-17, orgasm denial, general spoilers through 6x03
Pairing: River/11
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: Hurrah, my first
kink_bingo square!
The first time is on the floor, right in front of the TARDIS's consoles and whizzgigs. Amy and Rory have gone to bed, and River is still hanging around, like she's been doing more and more these days. He turns to ask her something, something about whether or not he's damaging the brakes by not disengaging them as he lands, because he really rather likes the noise it makes, but there's something written on her face he's only seen once before.
She launches into him like she can't wait one second more, like everything is riding on it. He staggers back, but he catches her, his arms full of this fireball who's recently made his life so interesting. She kisses him desperately, just like the first time, and he wonders if there's more of this, if her kisses always taste so sad or if it's just their situation.
It doesn't take long before she's tugging down his braces and divesting him of his clothes; it's been a long time, but not so long that he's forgotten how all this works. He's about to suggest that they retire to one of the many bedrooms, when she pulls him down to the floor. She's graceless in her haste to get on top of him, and there's something beautiful about it, the way she's so hungry for it.
She's hot and wet around him, and he thrusts up into her almost involuntarily, needing more. She throws her head back, gasping, rocking into him hard and greedy. There's frustration in the way she does it, tension that's been building ever since he laid eyes on her, but there's something else, something underneath that.
He's just about to, he's so close, and she suddenly stops dead. He works his hips up, trying for more, but she puts her hands on his chest to stop him. She looks stricken, utterly disappointed. "This isn't the way it happens."
"This is just fine, actually," he protests.
"Sorry, sweetie," she says, wincing as she pulls away, dismounting like she's getting off a horse. "I'm sure you don't mind me sleeping here," she tells him as she walks away, and her voice sounds like it does when she's trying to sound happy.
He stares up into the blinking lights, and he wonders what he's done wrong.
The second time and the third time and the times after that, they're far less dramatic. She likes to come into his room when he's not quite asleep, slipping in beside him; his arms come around to hold her automatically, drawing her close and keeping her there. Sometimes it's wild and raucous, celebratory and carefree; sometimes they've barely made it back to each other, seen worlds die. Sometimes she's gone, and he misses her beside him; he picks out another room for when she's away, one with a tiny little bed, but it does no good.
But the one thing, the thing that unites them, all the stolen times they have, is that she never lets it finish. She's always one step ahead, always ready to deny herself and him; she can't have him and she can't stop, so she takes what she must, gives what she can. And somehow, that's how it continues between them, and that becomes them in his eyes. He doesn't even finish after she's gone, because it's over, it's enough.
One night, they're lying in bed, half-sated, and he laces his fingers into hers. "I wish you'd tell me," he says, even though he knows it's futile, though he knows he'll only hear, "Spoilers," again.
She turns toward him, laying her head on his shoulder. "Here's how it happens," she says quietly. "You take me to Aranthos, where the seas are purple and grey." She smiles at the memory. "It takes you three tries to get there, and we almost die in the attempt, but suddenly we're standing there, all alone. We make love on the shoreline as the moons are setting, and you say to me that it's the happiest moment of your long life."
He doesn't know what to say at all; he takes her hand and presses it to his lips.
She wakes up hours later, in what passes for morning around the TARDIS; she pads out in her bare feet, looking for signs of life. Rory and Amy are nowhere to be found, but the Doctor is standing next to his consoles, looking a little nervous and flustered, more so than usual.
"I've dropped the Ponds off in Rio for Carnival," he tells her. "I sort of owed it to them, long story." He reaches down, holding up a basket. "I've packed us some breakfast. Or dinner. Or possibly lunch. Anyway, we've got some food." He holds out an elbow, and she takes it, curious and already knowing where this will lead.
He opens the doors of the TARDIS, walking her through, and there it is, just as it should be, the crashing grey waterfalls and the amethyst seas.
"I'm afraid I found it on the first try, no bloodshed required," he says.
She shakes her head, unable to speak for a moment around the tears that are forming. "Close enough."
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/319024.html.
comments over there.