La Couleur de L'envie, Ten/Rose, r
Nineteenth century France, a painter finds a muse in one Rose Tyler. The Doctor angsts.
He takes a book to bed, reading the same sentence over and over while her laughter taunts him through the walls. She waltzes in after a few hours, red faced and grinning a grin that he's lost claim to sometime during the night
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When he climbed in the bath with her, I literally squealed.
The room feels impossibly small, even smaller when he closes his eyes and sees Rose, the lines and curves of her naked for someone else to see, to try and capture on a fragile slice of paper.
UGH. YOU ARE AMAZING. AND THAT IS ALL.
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PFFFT WHATEVER YOU ARE AMAZING SQUARED. ♥
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The sensory details are really rich and lovely; Rose's skin, the fabric and the soap and everything, it all blends together so well. Possessive sexy Doctor yay. And Rose, as always, level-headed and together and such a tease. Adore her, and you write confident Rose so very well.
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You don't see a lot of "this" Rose in fics and it was a pleasure reading this.
This is very lovely! ♥
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