Now
Title: Now
Characters/Pairings: 11/Rose
Rating: Teen, I really don't think this warrants M
Genre: Romance/teeny bit of angst
Word Count: 681
Summary: Careless lips and flying hair, and little things I may not tell/ And he's back, a shadow in her doorway.
A/N: Slightly terrified over here. But I saw this, and I just had to write something. And I love Rupert Brooke. First time posting here, hope you enjoy :)
Sometimes even now I may
Steal a prisoner's holiday,
Slip, when all is worst, the bands,
Hurry back, and duck beneath
Time's old tyrannous groping hands,
Speed away with laughing breath
Back to all I'll never know,
Back to you, a year ago.
Truant there from Time and Pain,
What I had, I find again:
Sunlight in the boughs above,
Sunlight in your hair and dress,
The hands too proud for all but Love,
The Lips of utter kindliness,
The Heart of bravery swift and clean
Where the best was safe, I knew,
And laughter in the gold and green,
And song, and friends, and ever you
With smiling and familiar eyes,
You-but friendly: you-but true.
And Innocence accounted wise,
And Faith the fool, the pitiable.
Love so rare, one would swear
All of earth for ever well-
Careless lips and flying hair,
And little things I may not tell.
It does but double the heart-ache
When I wake, when I wake.
Sometimes Even Now- Rupert Brooke
XxX
He's back, a shadow in her doorway.
Awake, her sleep heavy eyes stare at him.
Sorry, he wants to tell her. Sorry I'm late. He has roses in his hand, a joke between them, and the thorns are pricking into him.
But she doesn't care.
There a flurry of gold and pink. A whirl of lips and teeth and flesh.
The flowers are scattered on the wood floor, bright and cheerful. He smiles into her mouth, caresses her cheek.
Kissing her is like falling. It's flying and thrill and stars and every other beautiful thing the universe can offer.
She's beautiful too. Hair falling over shoulders, strands sticking to lipgloss. A sleepy angel, only she's not so sleepy now, heat and fire shining in her eyes.
And he loves it.
A heartbeat, and she's hooked around him, legs and arms twined as close as possible. Closer.
Everything is against everything else. Chests and waists and every inch all matching. She's tailored for him, Rose.
She moves her hips, and he catches his breath, not missing the smug look that decorates her face.
Then he growls something into her ear, all primal lust and possessive. She shudders, and he kisses her again, tasting rain and flowers.
Sun illuminates the room, dust glows in the air. It's too big, too large for one person.
Her husband is in the sea and in the surf. In Australia, cataloging ocean life. He's missing her, and lonely, apparently.
But she's not.
He slips her nightgown off, baring skin and shoulders and delicate things.
He knows her off by heart now, every dip and curve and line and plane.
He knows what she looks like when she's undone at the seams, or how her nose crinkles up when she's amused, or how the low purr in her voice sounds when she's being seductive.
His shirt peels off, followed by trousers and briefs and it's like he's never been so safe and secure.
She pushes him down on the bed.
They mold.
Moans and laughs and sighs, nails dig into flesh, trails of hands and touches and want.
It's all swallowed up, only witnesses the sky and the furniture.
Then she arches, and he presses, and she's moving, and time and heaven is all in a silver stuttering mess, lines and threads and he can almost taste the stars.
She is his religion, he decides.
She's drifting back down to the ground now.
He pulls her close, breathing into her neck. She sighs, soft and content.
Love you, he wants to say.
But she knows, he can tell. It's in the way he says her name, the constant barrage of red roses that wind up on her door.
She loves him.
In the way she cries out, in the lies that spill out of her mouth to John.
He has a girlfriend, but she's not been around for weeks. He has a feeling River knows.
He doesn't care.
In the slow mesmerizing moments that follow, they plan and scheme their world.
She tells him there's not anyone else. That she'll leave John, run away with him.
He describes a beach in Barcelona where they can get married. Children's names.
She likes Jack, and he likes Donna.
Two, she says.
He wants more.
She flips over, whispers about a house with a garden, and a fence. About wedding dresses, and grandkids, and fireplaces, and old gnarled hands.
Her eyes shut, as he confesses he wants it all.
She's lost in hazy dreams of half formed realities. Perfect lives, and daughters and sons.
He holds her, and falls asleep, to the beat of her one heart against his, and soft song of the birds.
XxX
"You know that could never be." A voice taunts.
Gasping for air, he jerks awake.
The Dreamlord gazes at him, a sneer twisting his lip.
The cold burns into his bones, and he knows it's not all from the temperature.
He has a life threatening emergency to get on with, saving lives, and realities.
And all he can think of is her.
Characters/Pairings: 11/Rose
Rating: Teen, I really don't think this warrants M
Genre: Romance/teeny bit of angst
Word Count: 681
Summary: Careless lips and flying hair, and little things I may not tell/ And he's back, a shadow in her doorway.
A/N: Slightly terrified over here. But I saw this, and I just had to write something. And I love Rupert Brooke. First time posting here, hope you enjoy :)
Sometimes even now I may
Steal a prisoner's holiday,
Slip, when all is worst, the bands,
Hurry back, and duck beneath
Time's old tyrannous groping hands,
Speed away with laughing breath
Back to all I'll never know,
Back to you, a year ago.
Truant there from Time and Pain,
What I had, I find again:
Sunlight in the boughs above,
Sunlight in your hair and dress,
The hands too proud for all but Love,
The Lips of utter kindliness,
The Heart of bravery swift and clean
Where the best was safe, I knew,
And laughter in the gold and green,
And song, and friends, and ever you
With smiling and familiar eyes,
You-but friendly: you-but true.
And Innocence accounted wise,
And Faith the fool, the pitiable.
Love so rare, one would swear
All of earth for ever well-
Careless lips and flying hair,
And little things I may not tell.
It does but double the heart-ache
When I wake, when I wake.
Sometimes Even Now- Rupert Brooke
XxX
He's back, a shadow in her doorway.
Awake, her sleep heavy eyes stare at him.
Sorry, he wants to tell her. Sorry I'm late. He has roses in his hand, a joke between them, and the thorns are pricking into him.
But she doesn't care.
There a flurry of gold and pink. A whirl of lips and teeth and flesh.
The flowers are scattered on the wood floor, bright and cheerful. He smiles into her mouth, caresses her cheek.
Kissing her is like falling. It's flying and thrill and stars and every other beautiful thing the universe can offer.
She's beautiful too. Hair falling over shoulders, strands sticking to lipgloss. A sleepy angel, only she's not so sleepy now, heat and fire shining in her eyes.
And he loves it.
A heartbeat, and she's hooked around him, legs and arms twined as close as possible. Closer.
Everything is against everything else. Chests and waists and every inch all matching. She's tailored for him, Rose.
She moves her hips, and he catches his breath, not missing the smug look that decorates her face.
Then he growls something into her ear, all primal lust and possessive. She shudders, and he kisses her again, tasting rain and flowers.
Sun illuminates the room, dust glows in the air. It's too big, too large for one person.
Her husband is in the sea and in the surf. In Australia, cataloging ocean life. He's missing her, and lonely, apparently.
But she's not.
He slips her nightgown off, baring skin and shoulders and delicate things.
He knows her off by heart now, every dip and curve and line and plane.
He knows what she looks like when she's undone at the seams, or how her nose crinkles up when she's amused, or how the low purr in her voice sounds when she's being seductive.
His shirt peels off, followed by trousers and briefs and it's like he's never been so safe and secure.
She pushes him down on the bed.
They mold.
Moans and laughs and sighs, nails dig into flesh, trails of hands and touches and want.
It's all swallowed up, only witnesses the sky and the furniture.
Then she arches, and he presses, and she's moving, and time and heaven is all in a silver stuttering mess, lines and threads and he can almost taste the stars.
She is his religion, he decides.
She's drifting back down to the ground now.
He pulls her close, breathing into her neck. She sighs, soft and content.
Love you, he wants to say.
But she knows, he can tell. It's in the way he says her name, the constant barrage of red roses that wind up on her door.
She loves him.
In the way she cries out, in the lies that spill out of her mouth to John.
He has a girlfriend, but she's not been around for weeks. He has a feeling River knows.
He doesn't care.
In the slow mesmerizing moments that follow, they plan and scheme their world.
She tells him there's not anyone else. That she'll leave John, run away with him.
He describes a beach in Barcelona where they can get married. Children's names.
She likes Jack, and he likes Donna.
Two, she says.
He wants more.
She flips over, whispers about a house with a garden, and a fence. About wedding dresses, and grandkids, and fireplaces, and old gnarled hands.
Her eyes shut, as he confesses he wants it all.
She's lost in hazy dreams of half formed realities. Perfect lives, and daughters and sons.
He holds her, and falls asleep, to the beat of her one heart against his, and soft song of the birds.
XxX
"You know that could never be." A voice taunts.
Gasping for air, he jerks awake.
The Dreamlord gazes at him, a sneer twisting his lip.
The cold burns into his bones, and he knows it's not all from the temperature.
He has a life threatening emergency to get on with, saving lives, and realities.
And all he can think of is her.