Fic: Spoken in Silence
Title: Spoken in Silence
Author: aibhinn
Rating: Mature
Warning: Graphic sex
Summary: He clings to her, desperate to stay afloat, terrified of what will happen if he lets go.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not making any money. Please not to sue me.
Author's note: Written for round 1.6 of doctor_rose_las. Prompt: They had nothing to say to each other.
Callused hands travel over yielding flesh. Soft sighs ghost through the air. Lips trail invisible lines of pleasure as clothing falls away, leaving skin bare in the warm light.
Too young, too young, she's far too young for you . . . .
Warm brown eyes smile at him, pulling him in, dragging him under until he's drowning in her. He clings to her, desperate to stay afloat, terrified of what will happen if he lets go.
Dangerous, you're too dangerous. People die around you. The people you care about always die . . .
Her skin is so soft he can't bear not to touch her. She urges him on with soft sounds of contentment, her own hands running over him, soothing, gentling. He lets her, though he knows he doesn't deserve it, because he craves it so desperately.
Not fair, it's not fair, not fair to her . . . .
She cups his face, pulling him up to look at her. He stares helplessly at her, knowing she can see everything inside him, everything he's tried so hard to hide: the fear, the pain, the guilt, the bleak, empty landscape of his echoingly-silent mind.
"Come here," she murmurs.
He comes to her, sliding into the welcome warmth of her body. She wraps her arms around him and arches, urging him on. "Doctor," she says softly.
His control is slipping. He wants, oh, wants to lose himself in her, to bury himself in the clinging velvet of her and wash away the memory of fire and screaming. "Rose," he groans, warning and plea in one.
"It's all right," she says, smoothing her fingers over his forehead, his cheeks, his lips. "It's all right, Doctor. Let go."
He groans and presses his forehead to the pillow beside her ear, inhaling the scent of sweat and musk and her. "I . . . " he begins, not really sure what he means to say. "Rose, I . . . . "
"I know," she whispers into his ear, and drops a soft kiss there. "Let go."
His control snaps and he thrusts hard, burying himself completely. She whimpers, a sound filled with need, and he growls approvingly as he pounds into her. One of his hands slides under her hips, cupping the round globe of her bottom and angling her up into him. She clutches at his shoulders; vaguely he can feel the sting of her nails biting into the muscles of his back as she keens. Her body tightens around him and she quivers beneath him, her pulse fluttering; he sucks at her throat avidly, as though he can absorb all the life that thunders below the surface. Her hands come up to stroke over his hair.
"My Doctor," she murmurs.
As though that's the catalyst, he tenses and cries out as pleasure surges through him. It throbs throughout his body, racing through vein and artery, nerve and muscle, washing away the near-physical ache of loneliness he's lived with since that horrific moment when he awakened in the TARDIS and discovered that he'd survived the war. He gasps with the relief of it, short-lived though it might be.
Not alone, just for a moment, not entirely alone . . . .
It fades at last, taking with it the strength of his arms, and he collapses over her, panting. She wraps her legs around him as well, cradling him against her heart, and he curls into her willingly, content to hold and be held in this moment.
They have nothing to say to each other. Everything necessary is spoken in silence.
Author: aibhinn
Rating: Mature
Warning: Graphic sex
Summary: He clings to her, desperate to stay afloat, terrified of what will happen if he lets go.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not making any money. Please not to sue me.
Author's note: Written for round 1.6 of doctor_rose_las. Prompt: They had nothing to say to each other.
Callused hands travel over yielding flesh. Soft sighs ghost through the air. Lips trail invisible lines of pleasure as clothing falls away, leaving skin bare in the warm light.
Too young, too young, she's far too young for you . . . .
Warm brown eyes smile at him, pulling him in, dragging him under until he's drowning in her. He clings to her, desperate to stay afloat, terrified of what will happen if he lets go.
Dangerous, you're too dangerous. People die around you. The people you care about always die . . .
Her skin is so soft he can't bear not to touch her. She urges him on with soft sounds of contentment, her own hands running over him, soothing, gentling. He lets her, though he knows he doesn't deserve it, because he craves it so desperately.
Not fair, it's not fair, not fair to her . . . .
She cups his face, pulling him up to look at her. He stares helplessly at her, knowing she can see everything inside him, everything he's tried so hard to hide: the fear, the pain, the guilt, the bleak, empty landscape of his echoingly-silent mind.
"Come here," she murmurs.
He comes to her, sliding into the welcome warmth of her body. She wraps her arms around him and arches, urging him on. "Doctor," she says softly.
His control is slipping. He wants, oh, wants to lose himself in her, to bury himself in the clinging velvet of her and wash away the memory of fire and screaming. "Rose," he groans, warning and plea in one.
"It's all right," she says, smoothing her fingers over his forehead, his cheeks, his lips. "It's all right, Doctor. Let go."
He groans and presses his forehead to the pillow beside her ear, inhaling the scent of sweat and musk and her. "I . . . " he begins, not really sure what he means to say. "Rose, I . . . . "
"I know," she whispers into his ear, and drops a soft kiss there. "Let go."
His control snaps and he thrusts hard, burying himself completely. She whimpers, a sound filled with need, and he growls approvingly as he pounds into her. One of his hands slides under her hips, cupping the round globe of her bottom and angling her up into him. She clutches at his shoulders; vaguely he can feel the sting of her nails biting into the muscles of his back as she keens. Her body tightens around him and she quivers beneath him, her pulse fluttering; he sucks at her throat avidly, as though he can absorb all the life that thunders below the surface. Her hands come up to stroke over his hair.
"My Doctor," she murmurs.
As though that's the catalyst, he tenses and cries out as pleasure surges through him. It throbs throughout his body, racing through vein and artery, nerve and muscle, washing away the near-physical ache of loneliness he's lived with since that horrific moment when he awakened in the TARDIS and discovered that he'd survived the war. He gasps with the relief of it, short-lived though it might be.
Not alone, just for a moment, not entirely alone . . . .
It fades at last, taking with it the strength of his arms, and he collapses over her, panting. She wraps her legs around him as well, cradling him against her heart, and he curls into her willingly, content to hold and be held in this moment.
They have nothing to say to each other. Everything necessary is spoken in silence.