(no subject)
laughter after sunset, ten/rose, pg. (photo prompt #19)
But before he can say a thing her lips have crashed down on his, her hands are around his neck, in his hair, and he can taste her - salt and alcohol and something distinctly Rose, 1,209 words
They are loud as they run, hand in hand across the jutting cliff top, laughing and whooping. The crisp wind blows across their faces and Rose’s eyes start to water; either from the cold night air or possibly the fact she’s laughing so much. There’s a light ahead, a beacon shining brighter than the stars, and as they run closer they recognises the tall building the light’s sitting on.
They don’t hesitate; it’s cold and they’re too high on one another to care who might be inside. They come to a quick halt at the door, and Rose shivers onto the Doctor’s shoulder, teeth chattering through her smiles and laughter when he looks at her before entering, grinning like an idiot.
Inside, it’s empty. The room they enter is warmer, and round. A desk and a small sofa are to their right. The staircase is spiralling to their left, going so high, Rose couldn’t see the top if she wanted to.
They stand in the middle of the room, close enough to touch. “Oh, this is wonderful,” the Doctor says, and he’s grinning, his eyes alight as they wonder over the room, “The lighthouse, Rose, is a brilliant invention! Been around for centuries! And they can be found all over the universe. Brilliant!” He looks towards the spiral staircase. “Wonder if anyone’s home. They have Lighthouse Keepers here, just as they should do anywhere else. Not for homes though - merely work. We’re probably being impolite, not saying hello, but then again… when aren’t we impolite?”
“Doctor.” She giggles and it echoes musically around the empty room. “Shh,” she whispers, pressing a finger to his lips. He finds himself smiling wider and stops for a moment to stare at her; there is a dot of mascara near her right eyebrow, her tongue runs over her teeth and peeks through her mouth, and a strand of hair falls across her cheek. He can feel her breath whisper across his neck and it smells faintly of alcohol. The toes of their shoes are touching; her finger is pushed against his mouth and he can feel it taking over every sense in his body. He swallows.
“Rose,” he says, and the look she gives him makes him laugh. Laugh, not giggle, because Time Lords most certainly do not giggle. She laughs back at him and falls back on the sofa.
“I can’t believe you got us chucked out of a palace,” she says, shaking her head. He can only grin back at her, falling into place beside her.
They are on the Last Planet of Far, and have been to a royal festival, with thanks to the Doctor’s brilliant gift of gab, as he put it. Or as Rose put it, with thanks to his psychic paper and a bit of bluffing. It was all going perfect; there had been alcohol and food, and they’d been treated better than royalty. That is, until the Doctor let slip of how he thought the management could be improved in the kingdom. Suffice to say, the King and Queen ware not happy. The Doctor and Rose had just managed to escape, and it involved a lot of running on there part.
The Doctor pulls a face. “If they can’t take a bit constructive criticism on how to rule their kingdom they’re not really worth our time.”
Rose sighs, head falling across his shoulder. “Still,” she says quietly into his neck. “It was a good party.”
“It was,” he agrees. “There were nibbles. And cake. And alcohol. You got managed to get very drunk-”
He is interrupted by a slap to his arm. “I was not, and I am not, drunk,” she tells him firmly, something between annoyance and a lazy smile playing across her lips.
“Much,” he finishes for her. “Maybe. But you were tipsy enough to fall over twice.” (“It was these shoes!” he faintly hears her insist.) He looks away then, suddenly finding a spot on the desk next to them extremely interesting. “And you managed to make eyes with the busboy,” he adds with a note of false nonchalance.
Rose frowns at him. “I did not!”
“He was very smitten with you,” the Doctor announces, eyes still on the woodwork in front of him. “Can’t really blame him, I suppose. You and alcohol make a very big flirt when put together.”
Rose snorts. “Why Doctor,” she says, leaning in to his ear, “you couldn’t possibly be jealous, could you? Of the busboy?”
He finally turns back to look at her. The light of mischief dances in her eyes. “Jealous, Rose?” he says as carefully and calm as he can. “Why on earth would I be jealous?”
Rose gives him an odd sort of look. The smile has faded and she’s frowning at him, as if he’s a puzzle she just can’t figure out. “No idea,” she whispers finally, and turns away.
He opens his mouth. “Rose-?”
“How far away is the TARDIS?” she interrupts.
“Oh, um, about two miles, I suppose.” He frowns. “And a half. Maybe three.” He scratches the back of his neck and feels Rose roll her eyes beside him. “Perhaps four?” Rose looks up to the ceiling, biting on her bottom lip. “The Keeper’s probably not in,” the Doctor adds before she can say anything.
“You sure?”
“It’s fairly likely. Why? Do you want to get back to the TARDIS?” He can’t really explain it, but he finds himself a little disappointed; he wants to stay here with Rose a bit longer.
She looks at him then, gaze capturing his. “No,” she says, “I don’t want to leave.” She smiles slightly, and leans comfortably against his shoulder.
He can feel her against him; it’s as if his every sense becomes abruptly attuned each time Rose touches him. He shifts his arm and it touches her thigh; he breathes. “I lied,” he announces suddenly.
“What?” Rose frowns at him. “The TARDIS forty miles away now?”
“No,” he says, “What I mean is I- I might have been, maybe, a little - a very little - bit… jealous this evening.”
She smirks.
He sighs. “Rose, I’m not trying to-”
But before he can say a thing her lips have crashed down on his, her hands are around his neck, in his hair, and he can taste her - salt and alcohol and something distinctly Rose. He enfolds her tight and everything is suddenly electric. Her breasts are against his chest; her fingernails are digging into his scalp; he can feel her heart pulse against him.
The interruption is a loud creak from the staircase above.
They still suddenly, in each other’s arms. “Hey! Who’s there?” a male voice booms from up above. “Is someone down there? You can’t be in here. This is private property!”
Their lips make a smacking noise as they part. “Ah.” The Doctor seems about to say something else, but a sound from above (something that sounds suspiciously like the click of a gun) stops him in his tracks. His eyes widen as he locks his gaze with Rose.
She swallows. “Run?”
The Doctor shrugs. “If you insist.”
Into the night air ten minutes later, and far from the lighthouse, their laughter is swallowed in the wind.
But before he can say a thing her lips have crashed down on his, her hands are around his neck, in his hair, and he can taste her - salt and alcohol and something distinctly Rose, 1,209 words
They are loud as they run, hand in hand across the jutting cliff top, laughing and whooping. The crisp wind blows across their faces and Rose’s eyes start to water; either from the cold night air or possibly the fact she’s laughing so much. There’s a light ahead, a beacon shining brighter than the stars, and as they run closer they recognises the tall building the light’s sitting on.
They don’t hesitate; it’s cold and they’re too high on one another to care who might be inside. They come to a quick halt at the door, and Rose shivers onto the Doctor’s shoulder, teeth chattering through her smiles and laughter when he looks at her before entering, grinning like an idiot.
Inside, it’s empty. The room they enter is warmer, and round. A desk and a small sofa are to their right. The staircase is spiralling to their left, going so high, Rose couldn’t see the top if she wanted to.
They stand in the middle of the room, close enough to touch. “Oh, this is wonderful,” the Doctor says, and he’s grinning, his eyes alight as they wonder over the room, “The lighthouse, Rose, is a brilliant invention! Been around for centuries! And they can be found all over the universe. Brilliant!” He looks towards the spiral staircase. “Wonder if anyone’s home. They have Lighthouse Keepers here, just as they should do anywhere else. Not for homes though - merely work. We’re probably being impolite, not saying hello, but then again… when aren’t we impolite?”
“Doctor.” She giggles and it echoes musically around the empty room. “Shh,” she whispers, pressing a finger to his lips. He finds himself smiling wider and stops for a moment to stare at her; there is a dot of mascara near her right eyebrow, her tongue runs over her teeth and peeks through her mouth, and a strand of hair falls across her cheek. He can feel her breath whisper across his neck and it smells faintly of alcohol. The toes of their shoes are touching; her finger is pushed against his mouth and he can feel it taking over every sense in his body. He swallows.
“Rose,” he says, and the look she gives him makes him laugh. Laugh, not giggle, because Time Lords most certainly do not giggle. She laughs back at him and falls back on the sofa.
“I can’t believe you got us chucked out of a palace,” she says, shaking her head. He can only grin back at her, falling into place beside her.
They are on the Last Planet of Far, and have been to a royal festival, with thanks to the Doctor’s brilliant gift of gab, as he put it. Or as Rose put it, with thanks to his psychic paper and a bit of bluffing. It was all going perfect; there had been alcohol and food, and they’d been treated better than royalty. That is, until the Doctor let slip of how he thought the management could be improved in the kingdom. Suffice to say, the King and Queen ware not happy. The Doctor and Rose had just managed to escape, and it involved a lot of running on there part.
The Doctor pulls a face. “If they can’t take a bit constructive criticism on how to rule their kingdom they’re not really worth our time.”
Rose sighs, head falling across his shoulder. “Still,” she says quietly into his neck. “It was a good party.”
“It was,” he agrees. “There were nibbles. And cake. And alcohol. You got managed to get very drunk-”
He is interrupted by a slap to his arm. “I was not, and I am not, drunk,” she tells him firmly, something between annoyance and a lazy smile playing across her lips.
“Much,” he finishes for her. “Maybe. But you were tipsy enough to fall over twice.” (“It was these shoes!” he faintly hears her insist.) He looks away then, suddenly finding a spot on the desk next to them extremely interesting. “And you managed to make eyes with the busboy,” he adds with a note of false nonchalance.
Rose frowns at him. “I did not!”
“He was very smitten with you,” the Doctor announces, eyes still on the woodwork in front of him. “Can’t really blame him, I suppose. You and alcohol make a very big flirt when put together.”
Rose snorts. “Why Doctor,” she says, leaning in to his ear, “you couldn’t possibly be jealous, could you? Of the busboy?”
He finally turns back to look at her. The light of mischief dances in her eyes. “Jealous, Rose?” he says as carefully and calm as he can. “Why on earth would I be jealous?”
Rose gives him an odd sort of look. The smile has faded and she’s frowning at him, as if he’s a puzzle she just can’t figure out. “No idea,” she whispers finally, and turns away.
He opens his mouth. “Rose-?”
“How far away is the TARDIS?” she interrupts.
“Oh, um, about two miles, I suppose.” He frowns. “And a half. Maybe three.” He scratches the back of his neck and feels Rose roll her eyes beside him. “Perhaps four?” Rose looks up to the ceiling, biting on her bottom lip. “The Keeper’s probably not in,” the Doctor adds before she can say anything.
“You sure?”
“It’s fairly likely. Why? Do you want to get back to the TARDIS?” He can’t really explain it, but he finds himself a little disappointed; he wants to stay here with Rose a bit longer.
She looks at him then, gaze capturing his. “No,” she says, “I don’t want to leave.” She smiles slightly, and leans comfortably against his shoulder.
He can feel her against him; it’s as if his every sense becomes abruptly attuned each time Rose touches him. He shifts his arm and it touches her thigh; he breathes. “I lied,” he announces suddenly.
“What?” Rose frowns at him. “The TARDIS forty miles away now?”
“No,” he says, “What I mean is I- I might have been, maybe, a little - a very little - bit… jealous this evening.”
She smirks.
He sighs. “Rose, I’m not trying to-”
But before he can say a thing her lips have crashed down on his, her hands are around his neck, in his hair, and he can taste her - salt and alcohol and something distinctly Rose. He enfolds her tight and everything is suddenly electric. Her breasts are against his chest; her fingernails are digging into his scalp; he can feel her heart pulse against him.
The interruption is a loud creak from the staircase above.
They still suddenly, in each other’s arms. “Hey! Who’s there?” a male voice booms from up above. “Is someone down there? You can’t be in here. This is private property!”
Their lips make a smacking noise as they part. “Ah.” The Doctor seems about to say something else, but a sound from above (something that sounds suspiciously like the click of a gun) stops him in his tracks. His eyes widen as he locks his gaze with Rose.
She swallows. “Run?”
The Doctor shrugs. “If you insist.”
Into the night air ten minutes later, and far from the lighthouse, their laughter is swallowed in the wind.