Smut Fic: Gentle
Title: Gentle
Author: aibhinn
Pairing: Nine/Rose
Rating: M
Word count: 1100
Summary: Not a child, Rose Tyler, the Doctor thought, and she saw herself suddenly through his eyes: brilliant, beautiful, and oh so brave. Written for 50_smutlets. Prompt: Gentle
Spoilers: Father's Day.
Author's notes: This one decided to write itself. I'm not entirely sure where it came from, but I'm rather proud of it. :) My first attempt at writing 3rd-person omniscient POV in a long time. Comments are love.
The Doctor could be gentle.
Gentle hands brushing her tears from her face, the night Pete Tyler had died hours later than he should have. Gentle arms pulling her against his chest, holding her securely. Gentle hands cradling her head as she sobbed out her pain and horror. Gentle lips pressing against her forehead. Gentle thoughts brushing hers: understanding, compassion, forgiveness, love.
Love.
She let her mind open to him as she'd never done before, let him see her own love, her need for comfort, closeness. She needed to be touched. She needed to feel. Her head tilted back, her body lifted onto its tiptoes, her lips pressed against his, silently asking. She felt his hesitation, his guilt. I shouldn't…
I don't care, she thought, and pressed her body against him.
His resolutions melted away with a groan, and gentle became solid, firm flesh against hers. His mouth opened, and she felt his thrill and her own as their tongues met and caressed. His hands slid down under her bum, pulled her legs around his waist, and lifted her against him as easily as a human man might lift his child. The thought brought the tears prickling again.
Not a child, Rose Tyler, the Doctor thought, and she saw herself suddenly through his eyes: brilliant, beautiful, and oh so brave. She broke the kiss and laid her head on his shoulder, resting in the comfort of him as he took her to his bedroom.
He lay her on his bed, sitting beside her and brushing her hair from her face again. His eyes were filled with the love for her that he'd never permitted himself to show. "Are you sure?" he asked aloud, and she could tell he was deliberately pulling the level of intimacy back, giving her the chance to stop, to distance herself, to return to the life they'd had.
In answer, she took hold of his hand and pressed it to her cheek, his fingertips to her temples, deepening the psychic bond. She, who had always been so protective of her thoughts. She didn't know what had come over her; all she knew was that this man, this alien, this Time Lord, needed her as much as she needed him. Needed not to be alone.
He stared at her, blue eyes boring into her brown ones, then slowly drew his hand down her face, over her throat, resting for a moment over the pulse between her collarbones. Then he shifted to the foot of the bed. Her eyes followed him as he shucked his leather jacket, toed off his shoes, then knelt on the bed between her feet. Slowly, with infinite gentleness and without breaking the mental link, he began to remove her shoes and socks. He set them down on the floor, then caressed her feet, running his hands up the insides of her trouser legs as far as they could go. After a moment, he moved farther up the bed, pushing her top up to expose her flat belly. He bent to kiss the exposed skin, covering her belly with soft, feather-light kisses that slowly crept upward toward her breasts.
Her breath was coming more shallowly now, every sensation doubly strong as the pleasure and desire slid back and forth between them, merging, blending, until she couldn't tell which was hers and which was his. Her top came off; her bra was gone; his cool, wet mouth was on her breasts; her hands scrabbled, caressed over bare shoulders.
And then, and then, oh, he slid inside her, inside her body, inside her mind, and she wrapped all of herself around him and comforted him as he comforted her. The loss of a people, the loss of a father, the guilt of both, all were assuaged (though never dissipated, never removed) in the sure knowledge that they were not, were never, alone. There were hands everywhere, his and hers and theirs and God, it was good. She ran her tongue down his throat, tasting sweat and desire and something that was uniquely Doctor, and whimper-gasped when his teeth lightly closed on the cord of muscle that connected her neck and shoulder as his fingers trailed downward, found the place where they were joined, pressed against the swollen nub there.
Her back arched, and he shifted slightly, thrust again, touched a spot deep inside her that she hadn't known existed. Pleasure ripped through her, and she threw back her head and cried out, every muscle in her body tightening and quivering. Groaning helplessly, he slammed into her one last time and his pleasure washed over her as well, glorious white-hot release that shimmered through her entire body and felt as though she were glowing with the intensity of it. He shuddered in her arms, teeth gritted, as the waves of sensation battered him, and she watched avidly, aware that the last of his barriers had broken, melted away, and left them with nothing but need and love and trust and a vulnerability that terrified.
Finally he allowed himself to be coaxed silently to rest atop her. Their breathing rasped in the comfortable silence of the room; three heartbeats thumped rapidly, but slowing. He nestled his face into the crook of her neck and she stroked his spine with gentle fingertips.
After a few long moments, he sighed and pushed himself up, disengaging from her and rolling to the side, pulling her with him. She snuggled against his side, still unwilling to break the spell with speech. Some part of him was afraid that if she said anything, he would pull away and dress and leave, and everything would go back to the way it was. So she rested her cheek against his chest, and listened to the beating of his hearts, and tried hard not to think of the past or the future.
A hundred heartbeats later, he turned his head and kissed her forehead, and she felt regret through the remnants of the psychic link between them. Her heart tightened with a hurt she tried hard not to feel, until he said, "I'm sorry I couldn't save him for you."
Startled, she raised her head, looking down at him. His eyes were soft, kind, filled with remembered pain. Unable to stop herself, she reached a hand to touch his cheek. "'S not your fault," she told him quietly. "I'm sorry I tried to."
He gazed into her eyes. "Stay here," he asked softly. "Stay with me."
"All night?"
He grinned, and she felt her heart lift at the familiar sight. "To start with."
Author: aibhinn
Pairing: Nine/Rose
Rating: M
Word count: 1100
Summary: Not a child, Rose Tyler, the Doctor thought, and she saw herself suddenly through his eyes: brilliant, beautiful, and oh so brave. Written for 50_smutlets. Prompt: Gentle
Spoilers: Father's Day.
Author's notes: This one decided to write itself. I'm not entirely sure where it came from, but I'm rather proud of it. :) My first attempt at writing 3rd-person omniscient POV in a long time. Comments are love.
The Doctor could be gentle.
Gentle hands brushing her tears from her face, the night Pete Tyler had died hours later than he should have. Gentle arms pulling her against his chest, holding her securely. Gentle hands cradling her head as she sobbed out her pain and horror. Gentle lips pressing against her forehead. Gentle thoughts brushing hers: understanding, compassion, forgiveness, love.
Love.
She let her mind open to him as she'd never done before, let him see her own love, her need for comfort, closeness. She needed to be touched. She needed to feel. Her head tilted back, her body lifted onto its tiptoes, her lips pressed against his, silently asking. She felt his hesitation, his guilt. I shouldn't…
I don't care, she thought, and pressed her body against him.
His resolutions melted away with a groan, and gentle became solid, firm flesh against hers. His mouth opened, and she felt his thrill and her own as their tongues met and caressed. His hands slid down under her bum, pulled her legs around his waist, and lifted her against him as easily as a human man might lift his child. The thought brought the tears prickling again.
Not a child, Rose Tyler, the Doctor thought, and she saw herself suddenly through his eyes: brilliant, beautiful, and oh so brave. She broke the kiss and laid her head on his shoulder, resting in the comfort of him as he took her to his bedroom.
He lay her on his bed, sitting beside her and brushing her hair from her face again. His eyes were filled with the love for her that he'd never permitted himself to show. "Are you sure?" he asked aloud, and she could tell he was deliberately pulling the level of intimacy back, giving her the chance to stop, to distance herself, to return to the life they'd had.
In answer, she took hold of his hand and pressed it to her cheek, his fingertips to her temples, deepening the psychic bond. She, who had always been so protective of her thoughts. She didn't know what had come over her; all she knew was that this man, this alien, this Time Lord, needed her as much as she needed him. Needed not to be alone.
He stared at her, blue eyes boring into her brown ones, then slowly drew his hand down her face, over her throat, resting for a moment over the pulse between her collarbones. Then he shifted to the foot of the bed. Her eyes followed him as he shucked his leather jacket, toed off his shoes, then knelt on the bed between her feet. Slowly, with infinite gentleness and without breaking the mental link, he began to remove her shoes and socks. He set them down on the floor, then caressed her feet, running his hands up the insides of her trouser legs as far as they could go. After a moment, he moved farther up the bed, pushing her top up to expose her flat belly. He bent to kiss the exposed skin, covering her belly with soft, feather-light kisses that slowly crept upward toward her breasts.
Her breath was coming more shallowly now, every sensation doubly strong as the pleasure and desire slid back and forth between them, merging, blending, until she couldn't tell which was hers and which was his. Her top came off; her bra was gone; his cool, wet mouth was on her breasts; her hands scrabbled, caressed over bare shoulders.
And then, and then, oh, he slid inside her, inside her body, inside her mind, and she wrapped all of herself around him and comforted him as he comforted her. The loss of a people, the loss of a father, the guilt of both, all were assuaged (though never dissipated, never removed) in the sure knowledge that they were not, were never, alone. There were hands everywhere, his and hers and theirs and God, it was good. She ran her tongue down his throat, tasting sweat and desire and something that was uniquely Doctor, and whimper-gasped when his teeth lightly closed on the cord of muscle that connected her neck and shoulder as his fingers trailed downward, found the place where they were joined, pressed against the swollen nub there.
Her back arched, and he shifted slightly, thrust again, touched a spot deep inside her that she hadn't known existed. Pleasure ripped through her, and she threw back her head and cried out, every muscle in her body tightening and quivering. Groaning helplessly, he slammed into her one last time and his pleasure washed over her as well, glorious white-hot release that shimmered through her entire body and felt as though she were glowing with the intensity of it. He shuddered in her arms, teeth gritted, as the waves of sensation battered him, and she watched avidly, aware that the last of his barriers had broken, melted away, and left them with nothing but need and love and trust and a vulnerability that terrified.
Finally he allowed himself to be coaxed silently to rest atop her. Their breathing rasped in the comfortable silence of the room; three heartbeats thumped rapidly, but slowing. He nestled his face into the crook of her neck and she stroked his spine with gentle fingertips.
After a few long moments, he sighed and pushed himself up, disengaging from her and rolling to the side, pulling her with him. She snuggled against his side, still unwilling to break the spell with speech. Some part of him was afraid that if she said anything, he would pull away and dress and leave, and everything would go back to the way it was. So she rested her cheek against his chest, and listened to the beating of his hearts, and tried hard not to think of the past or the future.
A hundred heartbeats later, he turned his head and kissed her forehead, and she felt regret through the remnants of the psychic link between them. Her heart tightened with a hurt she tried hard not to feel, until he said, "I'm sorry I couldn't save him for you."
Startled, she raised her head, looking down at him. His eyes were soft, kind, filled with remembered pain. Unable to stop herself, she reached a hand to touch his cheek. "'S not your fault," she told him quietly. "I'm sorry I tried to."
He gazed into her eyes. "Stay here," he asked softly. "Stay with me."
"All night?"
He grinned, and she felt her heart lift at the familiar sight. "To start with."