Incentive ficlet: Well Met By Moonlight
Story: Well Met By Moonight
Author: wmr / wendymr
Characters: Ninth Doctor, Rose Tyler
Rated: PG
Prompt: Nine/Rose, moonbeams
Summary: He's beautiful by moonlight.
Written for amberfocus for very kindly bidding $150 on me, even if she was very quickly outbid by the voracious, and very generous, wiggiemomsi. Hope a 500-word ficlet makes up for it!
Well Met By Moonlight
He’s beautiful by moonlight.
Coming through the garden door in search of him, she stops dead, heart skipping as she sees him. He’s standing, head tilted upwards, throat exposed despite the white cravat, hands loosely in the pockets of the evening jacket that looks amazing on him, even if he did moan about having to wear it.
He really is the most beautiful man she’s ever seen.
As if he’s felt her staring - who knows? Maybe he has. He is telepathic, after all, and probably psychic too - he turns and smiles at her, the shadows and planes of his face illuminated in the full moon.
She can’t help herself. “You look amazing.”
His head dips slightly, but then his smile widens. “Course I do. Don’t I always?”
She smiles back. He does, of course he does but, even though he’s her best mate and they’ve long ago lost all sense of personal space around each other, telling him just feels like an admission too far.
Slowly, he walks towards her, the sensuousness of his loping stride catching her breath in her throat. “You look gorgeous,” he tells her, stopping in front of her, close enough that she can feel his breath on her cheek as he speaks.
Tonight, she feels gorgeous. They’re at a ball on a planet millions of miles from Earth, and everyone’s dressed up like someone out of a Jane Austen novel. She’s wearing a low-cut gown of rich satin and silk that hugs her body all the way to her hips, and then flares to the ground. Every time she breathes, her breasts expand - and, inside, she was conscious of practically every man’s eyes on that part of her anatomy.
Everyone except him. The Doctor.
He’s looking at her now. His gaze is definitely not on her face.
He catches her catching him, and his grin’s sheepish. “Sorry.”
But she doesn’t want him to be sorry. Not here, not tonight, not with moonbeams dancing over the lawn and beautiful, sensual music drifting out from the ballroom.
She holds out her hand to him, wrist raised, palm down. “You haven’t danced with me yet.”
His gaze sends heat flooding through her. “No, I haven’t, have I? ‘Bout time we did something about that.”
Before she can even blink, he’s swept her into his arms, far closer than Jane Austen would have approved of, and into a waltz. Not that she’s complaining. This is perfect.
He asked her for a special destination, a birthday present. She wanted to go dancing, and he chose this place. And it’s been lovely, really it has - but not perfect. Not until right this moment.
“Havin’ a good time?” he asks as he twirls her around the garden. “Getting all the dancin’ you wanted?”
“Am now.” Her head tilted back, she looks up at him. He raises an eyebrow, gorgeously saturnine in the pale moonlight. “Wanted to dance with you.”
“Good.” His head dips; her breath catches. “Was waiting to dance with you.”
- end
Author: wmr / wendymr
Characters: Ninth Doctor, Rose Tyler
Rated: PG
Prompt: Nine/Rose, moonbeams
Summary: He's beautiful by moonlight.
Written for amberfocus for very kindly bidding $150 on me, even if she was very quickly outbid by the voracious, and very generous, wiggiemomsi. Hope a 500-word ficlet makes up for it!
Well Met By Moonlight
He’s beautiful by moonlight.
Coming through the garden door in search of him, she stops dead, heart skipping as she sees him. He’s standing, head tilted upwards, throat exposed despite the white cravat, hands loosely in the pockets of the evening jacket that looks amazing on him, even if he did moan about having to wear it.
He really is the most beautiful man she’s ever seen.
As if he’s felt her staring - who knows? Maybe he has. He is telepathic, after all, and probably psychic too - he turns and smiles at her, the shadows and planes of his face illuminated in the full moon.
She can’t help herself. “You look amazing.”
His head dips slightly, but then his smile widens. “Course I do. Don’t I always?”
She smiles back. He does, of course he does but, even though he’s her best mate and they’ve long ago lost all sense of personal space around each other, telling him just feels like an admission too far.
Slowly, he walks towards her, the sensuousness of his loping stride catching her breath in her throat. “You look gorgeous,” he tells her, stopping in front of her, close enough that she can feel his breath on her cheek as he speaks.
Tonight, she feels gorgeous. They’re at a ball on a planet millions of miles from Earth, and everyone’s dressed up like someone out of a Jane Austen novel. She’s wearing a low-cut gown of rich satin and silk that hugs her body all the way to her hips, and then flares to the ground. Every time she breathes, her breasts expand - and, inside, she was conscious of practically every man’s eyes on that part of her anatomy.
Everyone except him. The Doctor.
He’s looking at her now. His gaze is definitely not on her face.
He catches her catching him, and his grin’s sheepish. “Sorry.”
But she doesn’t want him to be sorry. Not here, not tonight, not with moonbeams dancing over the lawn and beautiful, sensual music drifting out from the ballroom.
She holds out her hand to him, wrist raised, palm down. “You haven’t danced with me yet.”
His gaze sends heat flooding through her. “No, I haven’t, have I? ‘Bout time we did something about that.”
Before she can even blink, he’s swept her into his arms, far closer than Jane Austen would have approved of, and into a waltz. Not that she’s complaining. This is perfect.
He asked her for a special destination, a birthday present. She wanted to go dancing, and he chose this place. And it’s been lovely, really it has - but not perfect. Not until right this moment.
“Havin’ a good time?” he asks as he twirls her around the garden. “Getting all the dancin’ you wanted?”
“Am now.” Her head tilted back, she looks up at him. He raises an eyebrow, gorgeously saturnine in the pale moonlight. “Wanted to dance with you.”
“Good.” His head dips; her breath catches. “Was waiting to dance with you.”
- end