And Confess Your Love As Well As Your Folly
Title: And Confess Your Love As Well As Your Folly
Pairings: 10.5/Rose
Rating: R, not overly explicit but just to be safe
Genre: Angsty romance but still mostly happy
Author's Note: I know I promised an update to YAMH but I saw leeson's prompt at the doctor_rose_fix Spring Fling Ficathon and simply could not resist as I adore the song White Blank Page by Mumford and Sons.
He wakes occasionally in the middle of the night, his single heart pounding frantically in his chest and his breath coming in short gasps. He dreams of that day on the beach, dreams that she doesn’t choose him. His whispered confession of love wasn’t enough to keep her there when his Time Lord self could offer her all of time and space. He wasn’t enough. He was too human, too broken, too rash… the list goes on. Born in blood and battle but she’s already saved him once from that and doesn’t want to have to do so again when the one she fixed is still alive.
It is just a dream though. She chose him (not that his Time Lord self gave her much of a choice on that but she has every day since then and that is what should really matter). She wakes as soon as he reaches for her and draws him into her arms wordlessly as he chokes out a rushed confession of his love. Rose’s “I love you too,” is softer and slower but no less insistent as she shakes off the vestiges of sleep. She does. He knows that she does; it was always him and not just the adventures or all of time and space (even if that was a nice bonus).
He cannot shake the memory of the dream though even as she repeats her assurances while he peppers her skin with desperate kisses, pausing only to leave a mark at the juncture of her neck. Her words become more fevered as they’re both scrambling to get rid of the barrier of their clothes because he needs her now. Her hands twist into his hair, forcing him to meet her gaze as their bodies join. “I love you,” she gasps out, wide awake now and flushed though the light of the moon filtering in through the curtains isn’t enough to see her properly. Not that it matters a moment later when she’s pulling him down for a kiss.
Logically he knows there is no need for his desperation but he can’t tamp down on his urgency as he continues to thrust into her. He’s practically smothering her but she’s clinging to him so tightly he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to (he doesn’t). Without his respiratory bypass he’s getting light headed from their kiss but refuses to break it until absolutely necessary. He forces in a ragged breath and expels it as a low groan, pressing his face into the crook of her neck and focusing his oral fixation there again to add to the already blossoming bruise.
He knows she is close when she moans his name, twists her fingers tighter into his hair and calls him her Doctor (the name on the forged Torchwood documents doesn’t matter, he is the Doctor, her Doctor). It is only once he spends himself in her that the manic energy begins to fade. She refuses to let him out of her embrace, cradling his head against her chest and slowly running her hand through his hair. It is in these moments that he confesses his dream, talking too quickly for her to interrupt and assuage the fears that have already passed. He tells her about his past or about things that happened when they were separated by the parallel universes, not everything, but far more than he would have before he became part human.
He does not ask her about all the time that she spent dimension hopping even if his own tales remind him of something he doesn’t know about her travels because this is about him sharing with her. By now he is beginning to know many of those stories anyways. He is not the only one who has changed after all, not the only one who has seen so much suffering and lost everything. There have been just as many nights when she has woken with a startled cry, thinking that she was still alone or reliving something she saw while dimension hopping, great atrocities that he wasn’t around to prevent because he did not exist in that universe or he died without her there with him, or worst fearing that he had abandoned her, himself, his Time Lord self, or even both. On those nights she is the frantic one and after they make love he is the one to hold her as she whispers to him about all the death and destruction that she has seen or her old insecurities about his feelings for her even as she fidgets with the wedding band on her finger.
They never talk about nights like these during the day. They don’t need to. That’s never been who they are. During the day it is all adventures and travelling (on Earth by normal human means) and because it is them saving the world and getting into trouble and running and laughing. The nights like these become less frequent as they put themselves back together slowly. It isn’t easy but it is so very them and therefore perfect.
Pairings: 10.5/Rose
Rating: R, not overly explicit but just to be safe
Genre: Angsty romance but still mostly happy
Author's Note: I know I promised an update to YAMH but I saw leeson's prompt at the doctor_rose_fix Spring Fling Ficathon and simply could not resist as I adore the song White Blank Page by Mumford and Sons.
He wakes occasionally in the middle of the night, his single heart pounding frantically in his chest and his breath coming in short gasps. He dreams of that day on the beach, dreams that she doesn’t choose him. His whispered confession of love wasn’t enough to keep her there when his Time Lord self could offer her all of time and space. He wasn’t enough. He was too human, too broken, too rash… the list goes on. Born in blood and battle but she’s already saved him once from that and doesn’t want to have to do so again when the one she fixed is still alive.
It is just a dream though. She chose him (not that his Time Lord self gave her much of a choice on that but she has every day since then and that is what should really matter). She wakes as soon as he reaches for her and draws him into her arms wordlessly as he chokes out a rushed confession of his love. Rose’s “I love you too,” is softer and slower but no less insistent as she shakes off the vestiges of sleep. She does. He knows that she does; it was always him and not just the adventures or all of time and space (even if that was a nice bonus).
He cannot shake the memory of the dream though even as she repeats her assurances while he peppers her skin with desperate kisses, pausing only to leave a mark at the juncture of her neck. Her words become more fevered as they’re both scrambling to get rid of the barrier of their clothes because he needs her now. Her hands twist into his hair, forcing him to meet her gaze as their bodies join. “I love you,” she gasps out, wide awake now and flushed though the light of the moon filtering in through the curtains isn’t enough to see her properly. Not that it matters a moment later when she’s pulling him down for a kiss.
Logically he knows there is no need for his desperation but he can’t tamp down on his urgency as he continues to thrust into her. He’s practically smothering her but she’s clinging to him so tightly he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to (he doesn’t). Without his respiratory bypass he’s getting light headed from their kiss but refuses to break it until absolutely necessary. He forces in a ragged breath and expels it as a low groan, pressing his face into the crook of her neck and focusing his oral fixation there again to add to the already blossoming bruise.
He knows she is close when she moans his name, twists her fingers tighter into his hair and calls him her Doctor (the name on the forged Torchwood documents doesn’t matter, he is the Doctor, her Doctor). It is only once he spends himself in her that the manic energy begins to fade. She refuses to let him out of her embrace, cradling his head against her chest and slowly running her hand through his hair. It is in these moments that he confesses his dream, talking too quickly for her to interrupt and assuage the fears that have already passed. He tells her about his past or about things that happened when they were separated by the parallel universes, not everything, but far more than he would have before he became part human.
He does not ask her about all the time that she spent dimension hopping even if his own tales remind him of something he doesn’t know about her travels because this is about him sharing with her. By now he is beginning to know many of those stories anyways. He is not the only one who has changed after all, not the only one who has seen so much suffering and lost everything. There have been just as many nights when she has woken with a startled cry, thinking that she was still alone or reliving something she saw while dimension hopping, great atrocities that he wasn’t around to prevent because he did not exist in that universe or he died without her there with him, or worst fearing that he had abandoned her, himself, his Time Lord self, or even both. On those nights she is the frantic one and after they make love he is the one to hold her as she whispers to him about all the death and destruction that she has seen or her old insecurities about his feelings for her even as she fidgets with the wedding band on her finger.
They never talk about nights like these during the day. They don’t need to. That’s never been who they are. During the day it is all adventures and travelling (on Earth by normal human means) and because it is them saving the world and getting into trouble and running and laughing. The nights like these become less frequent as they put themselves back together slowly. It isn’t easy but it is so very them and therefore perfect.