Fic: never let go
Title: never let go
Author: Mary (stillxmyxheart)
Beta: Lindsay (nylana)
Rating: R
Genre: Angst, Smut
Word Count: 1,241
Characters: Rose/Ten
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize? Ain't mine.
Summary: There's a feeling of fear somewhere deep inside of her. It's not a fear of him or of what's happening, but of what she doesn't know, the things he won't tell her, the reasoning for his fear.
A/N: Second fic for Challenge 38 at then_theres_us :D
A storm's approaching.
Three little words spoken while staring up at a sky full of fireworks, her hand safely in his; three little words are all it takes to send a shiver down her spine and twist her heart inside her chest.
He's been quiet since that night, almost sullen, and she's wanted to ask him what he meant but she's been almost afraid to. His eyes are more distant than usual, his expression dark and unreadable.
They're floating in space, a safe distance from the dying star in front of them. It'll explode soon, 'soon' being one of those relative terms like 'in a little while' that could mean in the next five minutes or the next five millennia.
He's standing in front of the open TARDIS doors, staring at the burning star. She leans against the wall, her eyes on his face, watching the colors play across his features and wishing she could look inside his head.
The grating is rough and cold under her bare feet as she moves to stand beside him, reaching for his hand; he glances down at their interwoven fingers before looking up at her face. His expression is still dark but his eyes are suddenly clear and he turns towards her, his lips crashing against hers as they stumble back against the open door.
Her fingers tangle in his hair as his hands grip her hips, pressing against her urgently. His tongue slides into her mouth and underneath his desire she can sense his desperation, can almost taste it.
Even though she wants this, always wants him, there's something so different about him this time. His hands wander under her shirt and his fingers jab into her skin; she'll find bruises later and think back to how out of control he was in this moment, how frantic he seemed. There's a feeling of fear somewhere deep inside of her. It's not a fear of him or of what's happening, but of what she doesn't know, the things he won't tell her, the reasoning for his fear.
She knows he'd stop if she asked him to, and part of her wonders if she should. A bigger part of her knows that he needs this release and if this is how it's going to happen, she's willing to let it.
She pulls her jacket off, tossing it to land in some dark corner, and his fingers clutch the bottom of her shirt as he pulls it off over her head, almost tearing the fabric in his haste. He lowers his mouth to her breasts, kissing the exposed skin before pushing the fabric of her bra aside, catching one nipple in his teeth and making her gasp.
His fingers fumble on the fastenings of her jeans and he shoves them down along with her knickers. She reaches for his trousers and he grips her wrists, pinning her arms to the door as he captures her lips, his kiss hungry as he presses himself against her again.
He releases her wrists and pops the button on his trousers, letting them drop to his ankles as he picks her up, pressing her against the door. Her legs circle his waist and she barely has time to brace herself before he pushes roughly into her. She bites her lip to keep from crying out and her arm goes around his neck, her hand gripping his shoulder.
His breath is hot and quick on her chest and she realizes he hasn't met her gaze since he first kissed her. Her head falls back against the worn wooden door and she glances over at the brilliant fiery star, imagines she can see it pulsing as it sloughs off layer after layer of energy and matter. She tells herself that he is doing the same with everything he's been bottling up inside these past few days, and she presses her lips to the top of his head as her free hand slips down between them, her fingers pressing against her clit.
His hands are tight on her thighs, his fingers digging into her skin as the movement of his hips speeds up, thrusting harder and pushing deeper, and her fingers speed up too, furiously stroking her sensitive nub. She finds her release just as he comes and she clenches around him as he lays his forehead on her chest.
They stay like that for a moment, his hands on her thighs and her arm around his neck, and she sighs softly as she lays her cheek on top of his head. They're both trembling and when he finally sets her down, she has to steady herself against the door before she can put her jeans on. She adjusts her bra, wondering vaguely where her shirt got off to, and has a thought that it could be in space right now, floating closer and closer to the burning sphere they're parked in front of. She doesn't care enough to check.
He doesn't look at her as he fixes his trousers and she barely hears him when he whispers, "I'm sorry."
She looks at him for a minute and when he starts to walk away from her she moves forward, gripping his arm lightly and turning him to face her.
He still won't look at her and she places her hand on his cheek, stroking his skin gently with her thumb.
"Look at me," she says softly.
He tries to move away from her and she raises her other hand to his face. "Doctor, look at me."
His gaze finally meets hers and his expression is pained. "I'm sorry," he says again, his hands rising to her arms, grasping them as though he wants to push her away.
She stands on her toes and touches her lips to his. He seems surprised when she pulls away, his hands relaxing on her arms, and she smiles softly.
"It's okay," she murmurs and stops him when he starts to shake his head. "It's okay."
He looks at her a minute before closing his eyes and pulling her into a tight hug, burying his face in her hair.
It's much later, long after Canary Wharf, when the memory pulls her awake. She sits up slowly, glancing at the clock on her bedside table, and frowns slightly. The memory seems to burn in the forefront of her mind and the details loop over and over, tumbling around inside of her head.
She remembers his desperation during, and his anguish after, remembers how she kissed him and told him it was okay. She remembers how tightly he hugged her, clinging to her as though afraid he would lose her right then and there, and she realizes that he knew what was coming for them.
She suddenly misses him so much it hurts and she gasps sharply, running trembling hands through her hair as she closes her eyes against the tears that sting and threaten to spill over. She wishes he were here now, wishes that he could be the one to kiss her this time and tell her it was okay.
After a minute she takes a breath, pulling her legs to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. Her tears slow as she remembers holding him in place, refusing to let him walk away, and she takes another breath.
She wasn't going to let him go then, and she's not going to let him go now.
Author: Mary (stillxmyxheart)
Beta: Lindsay (nylana)
Rating: R
Genre: Angst, Smut
Word Count: 1,241
Characters: Rose/Ten
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize? Ain't mine.
Summary: There's a feeling of fear somewhere deep inside of her. It's not a fear of him or of what's happening, but of what she doesn't know, the things he won't tell her, the reasoning for his fear.
A/N: Second fic for Challenge 38 at then_theres_us :D
A storm's approaching.
Three little words spoken while staring up at a sky full of fireworks, her hand safely in his; three little words are all it takes to send a shiver down her spine and twist her heart inside her chest.
He's been quiet since that night, almost sullen, and she's wanted to ask him what he meant but she's been almost afraid to. His eyes are more distant than usual, his expression dark and unreadable.
They're floating in space, a safe distance from the dying star in front of them. It'll explode soon, 'soon' being one of those relative terms like 'in a little while' that could mean in the next five minutes or the next five millennia.
He's standing in front of the open TARDIS doors, staring at the burning star. She leans against the wall, her eyes on his face, watching the colors play across his features and wishing she could look inside his head.
The grating is rough and cold under her bare feet as she moves to stand beside him, reaching for his hand; he glances down at their interwoven fingers before looking up at her face. His expression is still dark but his eyes are suddenly clear and he turns towards her, his lips crashing against hers as they stumble back against the open door.
Her fingers tangle in his hair as his hands grip her hips, pressing against her urgently. His tongue slides into her mouth and underneath his desire she can sense his desperation, can almost taste it.
Even though she wants this, always wants him, there's something so different about him this time. His hands wander under her shirt and his fingers jab into her skin; she'll find bruises later and think back to how out of control he was in this moment, how frantic he seemed. There's a feeling of fear somewhere deep inside of her. It's not a fear of him or of what's happening, but of what she doesn't know, the things he won't tell her, the reasoning for his fear.
She knows he'd stop if she asked him to, and part of her wonders if she should. A bigger part of her knows that he needs this release and if this is how it's going to happen, she's willing to let it.
She pulls her jacket off, tossing it to land in some dark corner, and his fingers clutch the bottom of her shirt as he pulls it off over her head, almost tearing the fabric in his haste. He lowers his mouth to her breasts, kissing the exposed skin before pushing the fabric of her bra aside, catching one nipple in his teeth and making her gasp.
His fingers fumble on the fastenings of her jeans and he shoves them down along with her knickers. She reaches for his trousers and he grips her wrists, pinning her arms to the door as he captures her lips, his kiss hungry as he presses himself against her again.
He releases her wrists and pops the button on his trousers, letting them drop to his ankles as he picks her up, pressing her against the door. Her legs circle his waist and she barely has time to brace herself before he pushes roughly into her. She bites her lip to keep from crying out and her arm goes around his neck, her hand gripping his shoulder.
His breath is hot and quick on her chest and she realizes he hasn't met her gaze since he first kissed her. Her head falls back against the worn wooden door and she glances over at the brilliant fiery star, imagines she can see it pulsing as it sloughs off layer after layer of energy and matter. She tells herself that he is doing the same with everything he's been bottling up inside these past few days, and she presses her lips to the top of his head as her free hand slips down between them, her fingers pressing against her clit.
His hands are tight on her thighs, his fingers digging into her skin as the movement of his hips speeds up, thrusting harder and pushing deeper, and her fingers speed up too, furiously stroking her sensitive nub. She finds her release just as he comes and she clenches around him as he lays his forehead on her chest.
They stay like that for a moment, his hands on her thighs and her arm around his neck, and she sighs softly as she lays her cheek on top of his head. They're both trembling and when he finally sets her down, she has to steady herself against the door before she can put her jeans on. She adjusts her bra, wondering vaguely where her shirt got off to, and has a thought that it could be in space right now, floating closer and closer to the burning sphere they're parked in front of. She doesn't care enough to check.
He doesn't look at her as he fixes his trousers and she barely hears him when he whispers, "I'm sorry."
She looks at him for a minute and when he starts to walk away from her she moves forward, gripping his arm lightly and turning him to face her.
He still won't look at her and she places her hand on his cheek, stroking his skin gently with her thumb.
"Look at me," she says softly.
He tries to move away from her and she raises her other hand to his face. "Doctor, look at me."
His gaze finally meets hers and his expression is pained. "I'm sorry," he says again, his hands rising to her arms, grasping them as though he wants to push her away.
She stands on her toes and touches her lips to his. He seems surprised when she pulls away, his hands relaxing on her arms, and she smiles softly.
"It's okay," she murmurs and stops him when he starts to shake his head. "It's okay."
He looks at her a minute before closing his eyes and pulling her into a tight hug, burying his face in her hair.
It's much later, long after Canary Wharf, when the memory pulls her awake. She sits up slowly, glancing at the clock on her bedside table, and frowns slightly. The memory seems to burn in the forefront of her mind and the details loop over and over, tumbling around inside of her head.
She remembers his desperation during, and his anguish after, remembers how she kissed him and told him it was okay. She remembers how tightly he hugged her, clinging to her as though afraid he would lose her right then and there, and she realizes that he knew what was coming for them.
She suddenly misses him so much it hurts and she gasps sharply, running trembling hands through her hair as she closes her eyes against the tears that sting and threaten to spill over. She wishes he were here now, wishes that he could be the one to kiss her this time and tell her it was okay.
After a minute she takes a breath, pulling her legs to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. Her tears slow as she remembers holding him in place, refusing to let him walk away, and she takes another breath.
She wasn't going to let him go then, and she's not going to let him go now.