(no subject)
Lights in a Storm, Ten/Rose, adult
This has become what Rose thinks of as a There’s Nothing We Can Do trip, 847 words
The first raindrops are just beginning to fall when the Doctor throws open the door of the house and steps outside.
Rose clings to the door frame, shaking her head, unwilling to accept what he’s already confirmed with that gesture.
The Doctor says nothing, just holds out his hand, eyes as deep and dark as the night surrounding him. The rain is falling faster now, drops streaking down his cheeks like tears.
Rose can’t ever resist him when he’s looking at her like that, and she steps out into the street, taking care to shut the door gently behind her. The Doctor grabs her hand and they begin to run, puddles splashing frigid water up their calves like icy hands reaching out from graves.
This has become what Rose thinks of as a There’s Nothing We Can Do trip, where looming disaster is discovered only to be legitimised by the word history. The Doctor then follows this with lots of other equally horrible-sounding words- in this case, floods, climate change, and economic restructuring- before turning his back on multitudes of suffering and death, always making sure Rose is in front of him whether she wants to be or not.
The rain becomes a positive downpour as they run back to the TARDIS, through streets Rose has been told will be underwater in a few short hours. In three days, it will be the entire country.
The Doctor is shouting as they run, but Rose can’t make out the words over the pounding of the rain. It could be encouragement, curses, an apology, or some mixture of all three. Rose concentrates solely on his hand around hers, pulling her past streetlights already beginning to flicker and die out.
When he stops she only has a vague awareness that they’re not at the TARDIS before his lips come crashing down over hers. The rain continues to pour but it’s not romantic like in the movies, because she’s soaked to the skin and bloody freezing. Still the kiss is a moment of warmth, a sudden spark that reminds Rose she is alive amid the waters of a dying world.
They chase the spark back to the TARDIS, barely closing the doors behind them before their lips smash together once more. Some of the rain managed to follow them in and it makes a cold puddle at their feet as they kiss with open mouths and eyes shut tight.
The spark is encouraged towards a flame as they remove each other’s sodden clothing with silent ferocity. Rose finds her back pressed to the inside door of the TARDIS, the wood rough against her bare skin. Though the Doctor is a champion of foreplay he only takes a moment then to swirl his tongue across her skin before grabbing her legs and lifting her into his arms.
Rose is the one babbling incoherently now, remembering the little boy who gave them directions, the mother of four proudly setting the table for a meal, the two men in love planning their lives together. Her hands scrabble for a hold on the Doctor’s slick shoulders, in his wet hair, as he kisses silent answers down her neck and chest.
Her words choke off on a gasp when he enters her with one liquid stroke, the flame they’re harbouring bursting into an inferno. Rose can feel waves surging against the door behind her back as the Doctor surges into her from the front. She meets his eyes and finds the world they’ve just left trapped in their brown depths, slowly being consumed by the blaze she’s helping him create.
A new wetness slips down Rose’s face, burning like candle wax. The Doctor thrusts with his whole body, mouth rising to cover hers. He breathes air into her lungs as she arches against him, away from the door and into the heat of his arms.
She crashes back a moment later as the Doctor swells inside her, but she can no longer hear the waves over the rushing of her own release and the sound of the Doctor’s breath, hot and sharp, in her ear.
It isn’t until they sink to the floor, a smouldering tangle of limbs, that awareness returns to Rose. Their legs have landed in the pool of water formed from the rain and the wetness that ran off their bodies and hair. Strangely, it no longer feels cold.
The Doctor shifts, pulling Rose into his lap and winding his fingers through hers. She settles against him, feeling warm and drained, and places their hands in the pool, watching as the ripples from their touch make the reflection on the surface shimmer like starlight.
The world outside may drown and parish, Rose thinks, but the flame she shares with the Doctor is not so easily extinguished. They will continue sailing through time and space, through rain and death and the end of worlds, two lights in a storm.
This has become what Rose thinks of as a There’s Nothing We Can Do trip, 847 words
The first raindrops are just beginning to fall when the Doctor throws open the door of the house and steps outside.
Rose clings to the door frame, shaking her head, unwilling to accept what he’s already confirmed with that gesture.
The Doctor says nothing, just holds out his hand, eyes as deep and dark as the night surrounding him. The rain is falling faster now, drops streaking down his cheeks like tears.
Rose can’t ever resist him when he’s looking at her like that, and she steps out into the street, taking care to shut the door gently behind her. The Doctor grabs her hand and they begin to run, puddles splashing frigid water up their calves like icy hands reaching out from graves.
This has become what Rose thinks of as a There’s Nothing We Can Do trip, where looming disaster is discovered only to be legitimised by the word history. The Doctor then follows this with lots of other equally horrible-sounding words- in this case, floods, climate change, and economic restructuring- before turning his back on multitudes of suffering and death, always making sure Rose is in front of him whether she wants to be or not.
The rain becomes a positive downpour as they run back to the TARDIS, through streets Rose has been told will be underwater in a few short hours. In three days, it will be the entire country.
The Doctor is shouting as they run, but Rose can’t make out the words over the pounding of the rain. It could be encouragement, curses, an apology, or some mixture of all three. Rose concentrates solely on his hand around hers, pulling her past streetlights already beginning to flicker and die out.
When he stops she only has a vague awareness that they’re not at the TARDIS before his lips come crashing down over hers. The rain continues to pour but it’s not romantic like in the movies, because she’s soaked to the skin and bloody freezing. Still the kiss is a moment of warmth, a sudden spark that reminds Rose she is alive amid the waters of a dying world.
They chase the spark back to the TARDIS, barely closing the doors behind them before their lips smash together once more. Some of the rain managed to follow them in and it makes a cold puddle at their feet as they kiss with open mouths and eyes shut tight.
The spark is encouraged towards a flame as they remove each other’s sodden clothing with silent ferocity. Rose finds her back pressed to the inside door of the TARDIS, the wood rough against her bare skin. Though the Doctor is a champion of foreplay he only takes a moment then to swirl his tongue across her skin before grabbing her legs and lifting her into his arms.
Rose is the one babbling incoherently now, remembering the little boy who gave them directions, the mother of four proudly setting the table for a meal, the two men in love planning their lives together. Her hands scrabble for a hold on the Doctor’s slick shoulders, in his wet hair, as he kisses silent answers down her neck and chest.
Her words choke off on a gasp when he enters her with one liquid stroke, the flame they’re harbouring bursting into an inferno. Rose can feel waves surging against the door behind her back as the Doctor surges into her from the front. She meets his eyes and finds the world they’ve just left trapped in their brown depths, slowly being consumed by the blaze she’s helping him create.
A new wetness slips down Rose’s face, burning like candle wax. The Doctor thrusts with his whole body, mouth rising to cover hers. He breathes air into her lungs as she arches against him, away from the door and into the heat of his arms.
She crashes back a moment later as the Doctor swells inside her, but she can no longer hear the waves over the rushing of her own release and the sound of the Doctor’s breath, hot and sharp, in her ear.
It isn’t until they sink to the floor, a smouldering tangle of limbs, that awareness returns to Rose. Their legs have landed in the pool of water formed from the rain and the wetness that ran off their bodies and hair. Strangely, it no longer feels cold.
The Doctor shifts, pulling Rose into his lap and winding his fingers through hers. She settles against him, feeling warm and drained, and places their hands in the pool, watching as the ripples from their touch make the reflection on the surface shimmer like starlight.
The world outside may drown and parish, Rose thinks, but the flame she shares with the Doctor is not so easily extinguished. They will continue sailing through time and space, through rain and death and the end of worlds, two lights in a storm.