Red, Red Rose, Ten/Rose, G
Title: Red, Red Rose
Author: christn7
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Ten/Rose
Author's notes: For wendymr. Just a bit of crack inspired by number five of the January Pic Prompts. I'm afraid I went the blindingly obvious route. ;)
Summary: It’s proving to be more difficult than he expected, though, this business of keeping of things from her. For one, he can’t keep pushing her into a closet every time he needs to sneeze - the TARDIS doesn’t have that many - and, more importantly, he thinks she’s starting to realise that he’s staring at her lips.
--
Red, Red Rose
--
Everything is swimming when he cracks open his eyes and he doesn’t quite understand why until he sneezes hard enough to rattle his teeth and the world snaps back into focus.
He fell asleep in the console room again and he probably has those little pock-marks on his cheeks, and that’s never a good sign, but that’s not the problem.
Oh, no, not even close.
One of the top thirty-two reasons why the Doctor doesn’t like Venus in the 57th Century, this is. The very toppest of the top. At least, oh, thirty first-ish.
Rose shuffles into the room, half asleep, and he closes his eyes.
He hopes against it all, but when he opens them the inside of his TARDIS is still very much black and white.
--
He doesn’t want her to know.
Absolutely not.
She warned him about that couple - at least, he thinks she might have, somewhere in between squealing over chocolate flavoured fairy floss and dragging him away from the rollercoaster - and she won’t let go that he caught the Venusian Flu.
It’s proving to be more difficult than he expected, though, this business of keeping of things from her. For one, he can’t keep pushing her into a closet every time he needs to sneeze - the TARDIS doesn’t have that many - and, more importantly, he thinks she’s starting to realise that he’s staring at her lips.
Can’t help himself, really. It’s not that he wants to, you know, stare at her lips all day - as if he wants to press his against hers like some sex-crazed hundred-or-so year old; utterly, completely and entirely ridiculous, that thought is - it’s just that the colour red is the only one he can distinguish, thanks to its beautiful, resourceful little photoreceptors and their not-affected-by-germs-from-Venus-ness.
Rose waves her hand under his nose - how she got so close without him realising is a wonder - and he jumps backwards. “Are you all right, Doctor?” she asks, and he snaps his gaze up to her grey, questioning eyes.
Oh, crap.
“Fine,” he says, trying for a smile. “More than fine. Much more.”
“You seem...” she trails off as she searches for the right word.
“Brilliant?” he offers, and she raises her eyebrow.
“Weirder than usual. What’s on your mind?”
“On my mind? Literally? Uh, pia matter. Off the top of my head? Dura matter.” He throws her a wink, grinning at his own joke. “Tough stuff, that. Great little protector, though, wonderful bit of evolution - so great even the lower species - like yours - have it.”
Her eyebrow climbs higher. “What are you thinking about?”
“Kissing you,” he blurts, and it’s not exactly a lie, since it’s the very almost thing he’d been thinking about. The second thing, at least. Though it’d been more of a curiosity actually, and he hadn’t really been wishing exactly-
“Seriously, Doctor,” she says, waving her hand in an attempt to sound dismissive, but he catches the waver in her voice and his eyes are drawn to the bloom of colour in her cheeks. He grins. At least she’s not suspicious any longer.
He’s about to say something - and it’d have been brilliant, had he the chance to say it, but she runs her little pink -red!- tongue over her lips and then they’re glistening and that’s not at all fair, really, turning the tables like that so he actually is thinking about her lips for more than their colour.
He blinks as he realises that he might kind of like the idea and that she might too, since she’s stepping closer and her hand is warm and soft on his chest. His breath quickens, just a fraction, and he thinks he might more than like the idea.
He starts to lean in and she’s leaning too and he thinks that maybe it’s not so bad, Venus in the 57th Century... until, of course, he bloody well ruins it all by sneezing on her.
Author: christn7
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Ten/Rose
Author's notes: For wendymr. Just a bit of crack inspired by number five of the January Pic Prompts. I'm afraid I went the blindingly obvious route. ;)
Summary: It’s proving to be more difficult than he expected, though, this business of keeping of things from her. For one, he can’t keep pushing her into a closet every time he needs to sneeze - the TARDIS doesn’t have that many - and, more importantly, he thinks she’s starting to realise that he’s staring at her lips.
--
Red, Red Rose
--
Everything is swimming when he cracks open his eyes and he doesn’t quite understand why until he sneezes hard enough to rattle his teeth and the world snaps back into focus.
He fell asleep in the console room again and he probably has those little pock-marks on his cheeks, and that’s never a good sign, but that’s not the problem.
Oh, no, not even close.
One of the top thirty-two reasons why the Doctor doesn’t like Venus in the 57th Century, this is. The very toppest of the top. At least, oh, thirty first-ish.
Rose shuffles into the room, half asleep, and he closes his eyes.
He hopes against it all, but when he opens them the inside of his TARDIS is still very much black and white.
--
He doesn’t want her to know.
Absolutely not.
She warned him about that couple - at least, he thinks she might have, somewhere in between squealing over chocolate flavoured fairy floss and dragging him away from the rollercoaster - and she won’t let go that he caught the Venusian Flu.
It’s proving to be more difficult than he expected, though, this business of keeping of things from her. For one, he can’t keep pushing her into a closet every time he needs to sneeze - the TARDIS doesn’t have that many - and, more importantly, he thinks she’s starting to realise that he’s staring at her lips.
Can’t help himself, really. It’s not that he wants to, you know, stare at her lips all day - as if he wants to press his against hers like some sex-crazed hundred-or-so year old; utterly, completely and entirely ridiculous, that thought is - it’s just that the colour red is the only one he can distinguish, thanks to its beautiful, resourceful little photoreceptors and their not-affected-by-germs-from-Venus-ness.
Rose waves her hand under his nose - how she got so close without him realising is a wonder - and he jumps backwards. “Are you all right, Doctor?” she asks, and he snaps his gaze up to her grey, questioning eyes.
Oh, crap.
“Fine,” he says, trying for a smile. “More than fine. Much more.”
“You seem...” she trails off as she searches for the right word.
“Brilliant?” he offers, and she raises her eyebrow.
“Weirder than usual. What’s on your mind?”
“On my mind? Literally? Uh, pia matter. Off the top of my head? Dura matter.” He throws her a wink, grinning at his own joke. “Tough stuff, that. Great little protector, though, wonderful bit of evolution - so great even the lower species - like yours - have it.”
Her eyebrow climbs higher. “What are you thinking about?”
“Kissing you,” he blurts, and it’s not exactly a lie, since it’s the very almost thing he’d been thinking about. The second thing, at least. Though it’d been more of a curiosity actually, and he hadn’t really been wishing exactly-
“Seriously, Doctor,” she says, waving her hand in an attempt to sound dismissive, but he catches the waver in her voice and his eyes are drawn to the bloom of colour in her cheeks. He grins. At least she’s not suspicious any longer.
He’s about to say something - and it’d have been brilliant, had he the chance to say it, but she runs her little pink -red!- tongue over her lips and then they’re glistening and that’s not at all fair, really, turning the tables like that so he actually is thinking about her lips for more than their colour.
He blinks as he realises that he might kind of like the idea and that she might too, since she’s stepping closer and her hand is warm and soft on his chest. His breath quickens, just a fraction, and he thinks he might more than like the idea.
He starts to lean in and she’s leaning too and he thinks that maybe it’s not so bad, Venus in the 57th Century... until, of course, he bloody well ruins it all by sneezing on her.