(no subject)
These Songs are True, Ten/Rose, Adult
He’d forgotten the way that grin could hold his entire body at its mercy, making his chest expand and his toes tingle and his arms itch to wrap around her. 2085 words
Inspired by and written around this quote:
Instead, they touched fingertips and thumb wrestled, laughed to tears at the silly or embarrassing stories of each other's lives, and commiserated with the sad ones. Grace, their husky gum-chewing waitress, called Matt "Slugger" and Nikki "Dearie." After the third time she found they weren't ready to order because they hadn't looked at the menu, she brought them heart-shaped lollypops and a bill for two dollars for mooning at each other in public.
-Michael Palmer
***
He’s standing on a Chiswick street corner waiting for the light to change and there’s no rush, not really. Nowhere he needs to be. He’s only just dropped Donna at her mum’s place, doesn’t need to fetch her until much later.
But as the cars stream by and stream by some more, he’s getting more and more impatient, and is it really too much to ask that he be able to move when he wants to move and surely something’s gone wrong with these lights because it really shouldn’t take this long and he’s not even trying to hold still any more, practically vibrating with the need to cross the bloody street, shifting from foot to foot, hands jiggling impatiently in his coat pockets.
This is the trouble with companions, everything gets so domestic, and that’s the crux of his argument with domesticity, not the domesticness of it, but the stillness, leaving him standing here when all he wants to do is go.
A quick glance left and right tells him no one’s paying him any mind, and he pulls out his trusty sonic, eyes still on the unchanging traffic light, resolutely red. He finds the proper setting by touch and aims the little tool.
“Nice screwdriver. Is it sonic?”
The shock of that voice at his shoulder knocks the motion of his impatient mind and body to a grinding halt. Everything stops but the movement of his mouth falling open and the sonic dropping from his numb fingers. The light changes, and people around them step off the curb, but he’s not going anywhere now.
Because she’s just… there. Just standing there, within hugging distance, with that grin on her face and her tongue caught between her teeth. And he was positive he’d remembered that grin, but obviously he hadn’t, because he’d completely forgotten it could shine like that, sparkle with warmth and mirth. He’d forgotten the way that grin could hold his entire body at its mercy, making his chest expand and his toes tingle and his arms itch to wrap around her and… even his hair feels alive.
And he really should say something, shouldn’t he, rather than just standing here gaping at her? Closing his mouth, he immediately opens it again, the words spilling out.
“I love you.”
As if it’s been two seconds instead of nearly two years since their last conversation. As if they’d never been interrupted. Because he swore to himself, afterwards, that he wouldn’t waste time if he ever got the chance again.
She laughs, which isn’t quite the response he’d hoped for, but then she hugs him, too, and he finds that more than makes up for it as her warm face presses against his neck and his arms wrap around her like a favourite forgotten reflex. And then he’s laughing too as her feet leave the pavement and he swings her back and forth, back and forth.
He feels a bit fuzzy, his brain and body and mouth having a hard time keeping up with one another. And really, she always did have this effect on him. It’s just harder to manage when she’s been sprung on him unexpectedly like this.
Setting her down but not letting go, he becomes aware of the words he’s mumbling into her hair after a moment. Missed you I missed you I missed you and they only stop when she pulls back to press her lips to his. Oh.
He forgets how to respond for a moment, forgets that he should respond but then he does, rather enthusiastically. Suddenly everything’s clear and sharp again, his mind working in beautiful concert with his body, his lips and tongue moving perfectly with hers. Unfortunately, with this sudden clarity he realizes they are, in fact, standing on a street corner in Chiswick, and he reluctantly pulls back. Vaguely gratified to see that she looks just as dazed as he feels.
They gaze at each other for a long moment before it’s obvious they they need to move, bumped and jostled as they are by passers-by. He takes her hand, pulling her out of the foot traffic.
“Do you… are you hungry? We could get-” he glances up at the diner they’ve managed to back up against.
She laughs “Chips?”
“Yeah.”
"'Kay. Oh - hold on."
Grinning, she ducks down to scoop up his sonic from where it's fallen on the pavement and, ignoring his outstretched hand, pockets it herself. It makes his hearts swell.
***
They slide into a cozy vinyl booth together, and they mean to get chips, really that is the plan. But he’s never been good at plans, and she’s never minded, not at all.
Instead, they touch fingertips and thumb wrestle, laugh to tears at the silly or embarrassing stories of each other's lives, and commiserate with the sad ones. Grace, their husky gum-chewing waitress, calls The Doctor "Slugger" and Rose "Dearie." After the third time she finds they’re not ready to order because they haven’t looked at the menu, she brings them heart-shaped lollypops and a bill for two dollars for mooning at each other in public.
When the diner finally begins to fill with dinner patrons, it occurs to him that they may have overstayed their welcome. He gazes at their fingers, tangled together on the table between them, and then into those big brown eyes, wonders how to tell her that yes, they need to leave, but no, he’s not ready to share her with anyone else just yet. Not the people rushing by on Chiswick High Road, not Donna, not even his ship. Just not yet.
He takes her by the hand again as they squeeze through the crowd of diners, make their way back out onto the street, come to a stop just outside as he searches for the right words.
“There’s a hotel around the corner,” he gestures with his free hand and her eyes go wide.
He shakes his head. He’s not explaining this properly. “No, I don’t mean - I just - we could order room service and - I bet they have those tiny little shampoos, and maybe chocolates on the pillows - I didn’t mean - we don’t have to-”
But then she’s kissing him again, her mouth on his as if she needs him like air to breathe, and it's a very, very good argument.
“Or - or we could do that,” he gasps when they part, and she giggles, grabbing his hand again to lead him in the direction he’d indicated.
***
“Third floor, last room at the end of the hall,” the bored-looking girl at the front desk tells them, and Rose is already pulling him towards the elevator. When the elevator settles at their floor, he thinks the low tickle in his belly is from more than just the ascending movement of the little car.
“End of the hall, right?” she asks, giving him that grin again. And this time his body responds with an enthusiasm that startles him.
“Yes -”
Her grin flashes even wider for a second before she’s gone. “Race you!”
He laughs loud in surprise and then he’s gone, too, tearing after her, shooting an almost-apologetic look at the scandalized elderly couple waiting in front of the elevator.
She’s still fast, but his stride is still longer and he catches up with her just a few doors from theirs, catches her around the waist and spins her in his arms. She takes the defeat well, laughing and letting him kiss her again as he walks her slowly backwards, bumping her gently against the door to their room and then pressing her harder against it, catching both her hands in one of his and holding them over her head pressed against the faux wood grain.
Her mouth is hot and eager under his and she presses back against him and moans around his tongue and it all feels a bit too dizzy and quick as he fumbles for the key, but he doesn’t think either of them could slow the momentum now if they tried.
There’s barely enough air to breath as they tumble inside, kissing hungrily, clutching at each other, anything to be nearer. He fumbles for the light switch but quickly gives it up as a bad job when he feels her fingers fumbling at the fastenings of his trousers, brushing over his erection and sending shivers of pleasure down into his toes.
The next thing he knows, his trousers are down around his ankles and she’s dropped to her knees. His head makes a dull thunk as it falls back against the door when she takes him first in her hand, then in her mouth, hot and quick and slippery.
“Can we… Oh Rose, that’s… wait,” he breathes, but she doesn’t, and he can’t really fault her, the little word at complete odds with the motion of his hips, his hand firm at the back of her head.
“Rose.” Shakily, he pulls her up, stifling a whimper as his cock slips from her mouth. He brings both her hands to his lips, kissing the palm of first one, then the other as he attempts to gather his jumbled thoughts. “Can we... I just… I want to be inside you,” he whispers in a rush. “Just this time. Can I - ”
He hadn’t realized how much he wanted it until the words fell from his lips, but suddenly it seems vitally, urgently important.
She says something that might be yes, but it’s hard to concentrate because she’s taken a step away from him (bad) and she’s shedding her jacket and pulling her shirt over her head before her fingers go to the button of her jeans (good, very, very good). And then she’s grinning at him and he realizes it’s likely because he hasn’t moved yet.
His body jerks into motion as he hurriedly steps out of his trainers and untangles himself from his trousers. Everything gets a bit more complicated as she goes to work on his coat and blazer, because she’s close enough to kiss and touch again, but oh, he really needs to get out of these clothes and he has to admit it’s the most pleasant conundrum he’s ever experienced.
They manage it, all of it, and as they stumble towards the bed, already tangled together, he aches with the need to be closer still.
She pulls him down on top of her and yes that’s his name on her lips as she helps him inside, wraps herself around him every way she can.
He would’ve thought there couldn’t possibly be anything more brilliant than just her being here, but this is impossibly, infinitely better, slick and sweaty and close and she feels so good, so tight around him, the little noises they make squeezed out of gasps and moans pushing him closer and closer.
She’s a vision when she comes, brow furrowed and eyes squeezed shut as she squeezes around him, and he comes hard a moment later, shaking over her and inside, his lips pressing her name against her hair.
Her sigh is a sound of beautiful contentment and he slides his arms underneath her and rolls them so she’s a warm weight on top of him. It’s slow and gentle now, but he still can’t stop touching her, fingers and palms tracing across bare damp skin, his lips trailing lazily over her neck, under her chin, pressing soft kisses to her lips when she turns her head back towards him.
She shifts after a moment, frowning, and he raises his eyebrows, automatically lifts his shoulder as she wiggles her fingers under him. Her face breaks into a grin a second later as she holds up her prize. The pillow chocolate, somehow still miraculously intact.
She sits up to unwrap it, breaking the little candy in two and offering him half. He takes it into his mouth along with her finger and thumb, sparing a thought for the days of his life, the way they rarely turn out the way he’d expected. As she settles herself back on top of him, kisses him with a mouth tasting of chocolate and Rose, he knows he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He’d forgotten the way that grin could hold his entire body at its mercy, making his chest expand and his toes tingle and his arms itch to wrap around her. 2085 words
Inspired by and written around this quote:
Instead, they touched fingertips and thumb wrestled, laughed to tears at the silly or embarrassing stories of each other's lives, and commiserated with the sad ones. Grace, their husky gum-chewing waitress, called Matt "Slugger" and Nikki "Dearie." After the third time she found they weren't ready to order because they hadn't looked at the menu, she brought them heart-shaped lollypops and a bill for two dollars for mooning at each other in public.
-Michael Palmer
***
He’s standing on a Chiswick street corner waiting for the light to change and there’s no rush, not really. Nowhere he needs to be. He’s only just dropped Donna at her mum’s place, doesn’t need to fetch her until much later.
But as the cars stream by and stream by some more, he’s getting more and more impatient, and is it really too much to ask that he be able to move when he wants to move and surely something’s gone wrong with these lights because it really shouldn’t take this long and he’s not even trying to hold still any more, practically vibrating with the need to cross the bloody street, shifting from foot to foot, hands jiggling impatiently in his coat pockets.
This is the trouble with companions, everything gets so domestic, and that’s the crux of his argument with domesticity, not the domesticness of it, but the stillness, leaving him standing here when all he wants to do is go.
A quick glance left and right tells him no one’s paying him any mind, and he pulls out his trusty sonic, eyes still on the unchanging traffic light, resolutely red. He finds the proper setting by touch and aims the little tool.
“Nice screwdriver. Is it sonic?”
The shock of that voice at his shoulder knocks the motion of his impatient mind and body to a grinding halt. Everything stops but the movement of his mouth falling open and the sonic dropping from his numb fingers. The light changes, and people around them step off the curb, but he’s not going anywhere now.
Because she’s just… there. Just standing there, within hugging distance, with that grin on her face and her tongue caught between her teeth. And he was positive he’d remembered that grin, but obviously he hadn’t, because he’d completely forgotten it could shine like that, sparkle with warmth and mirth. He’d forgotten the way that grin could hold his entire body at its mercy, making his chest expand and his toes tingle and his arms itch to wrap around her and… even his hair feels alive.
And he really should say something, shouldn’t he, rather than just standing here gaping at her? Closing his mouth, he immediately opens it again, the words spilling out.
“I love you.”
As if it’s been two seconds instead of nearly two years since their last conversation. As if they’d never been interrupted. Because he swore to himself, afterwards, that he wouldn’t waste time if he ever got the chance again.
She laughs, which isn’t quite the response he’d hoped for, but then she hugs him, too, and he finds that more than makes up for it as her warm face presses against his neck and his arms wrap around her like a favourite forgotten reflex. And then he’s laughing too as her feet leave the pavement and he swings her back and forth, back and forth.
He feels a bit fuzzy, his brain and body and mouth having a hard time keeping up with one another. And really, she always did have this effect on him. It’s just harder to manage when she’s been sprung on him unexpectedly like this.
Setting her down but not letting go, he becomes aware of the words he’s mumbling into her hair after a moment. Missed you I missed you I missed you and they only stop when she pulls back to press her lips to his. Oh.
He forgets how to respond for a moment, forgets that he should respond but then he does, rather enthusiastically. Suddenly everything’s clear and sharp again, his mind working in beautiful concert with his body, his lips and tongue moving perfectly with hers. Unfortunately, with this sudden clarity he realizes they are, in fact, standing on a street corner in Chiswick, and he reluctantly pulls back. Vaguely gratified to see that she looks just as dazed as he feels.
They gaze at each other for a long moment before it’s obvious they they need to move, bumped and jostled as they are by passers-by. He takes her hand, pulling her out of the foot traffic.
“Do you… are you hungry? We could get-” he glances up at the diner they’ve managed to back up against.
She laughs “Chips?”
“Yeah.”
"'Kay. Oh - hold on."
Grinning, she ducks down to scoop up his sonic from where it's fallen on the pavement and, ignoring his outstretched hand, pockets it herself. It makes his hearts swell.
***
They slide into a cozy vinyl booth together, and they mean to get chips, really that is the plan. But he’s never been good at plans, and she’s never minded, not at all.
Instead, they touch fingertips and thumb wrestle, laugh to tears at the silly or embarrassing stories of each other's lives, and commiserate with the sad ones. Grace, their husky gum-chewing waitress, calls The Doctor "Slugger" and Rose "Dearie." After the third time she finds they’re not ready to order because they haven’t looked at the menu, she brings them heart-shaped lollypops and a bill for two dollars for mooning at each other in public.
When the diner finally begins to fill with dinner patrons, it occurs to him that they may have overstayed their welcome. He gazes at their fingers, tangled together on the table between them, and then into those big brown eyes, wonders how to tell her that yes, they need to leave, but no, he’s not ready to share her with anyone else just yet. Not the people rushing by on Chiswick High Road, not Donna, not even his ship. Just not yet.
He takes her by the hand again as they squeeze through the crowd of diners, make their way back out onto the street, come to a stop just outside as he searches for the right words.
“There’s a hotel around the corner,” he gestures with his free hand and her eyes go wide.
He shakes his head. He’s not explaining this properly. “No, I don’t mean - I just - we could order room service and - I bet they have those tiny little shampoos, and maybe chocolates on the pillows - I didn’t mean - we don’t have to-”
But then she’s kissing him again, her mouth on his as if she needs him like air to breathe, and it's a very, very good argument.
“Or - or we could do that,” he gasps when they part, and she giggles, grabbing his hand again to lead him in the direction he’d indicated.
***
“Third floor, last room at the end of the hall,” the bored-looking girl at the front desk tells them, and Rose is already pulling him towards the elevator. When the elevator settles at their floor, he thinks the low tickle in his belly is from more than just the ascending movement of the little car.
“End of the hall, right?” she asks, giving him that grin again. And this time his body responds with an enthusiasm that startles him.
“Yes -”
Her grin flashes even wider for a second before she’s gone. “Race you!”
He laughs loud in surprise and then he’s gone, too, tearing after her, shooting an almost-apologetic look at the scandalized elderly couple waiting in front of the elevator.
She’s still fast, but his stride is still longer and he catches up with her just a few doors from theirs, catches her around the waist and spins her in his arms. She takes the defeat well, laughing and letting him kiss her again as he walks her slowly backwards, bumping her gently against the door to their room and then pressing her harder against it, catching both her hands in one of his and holding them over her head pressed against the faux wood grain.
Her mouth is hot and eager under his and she presses back against him and moans around his tongue and it all feels a bit too dizzy and quick as he fumbles for the key, but he doesn’t think either of them could slow the momentum now if they tried.
There’s barely enough air to breath as they tumble inside, kissing hungrily, clutching at each other, anything to be nearer. He fumbles for the light switch but quickly gives it up as a bad job when he feels her fingers fumbling at the fastenings of his trousers, brushing over his erection and sending shivers of pleasure down into his toes.
The next thing he knows, his trousers are down around his ankles and she’s dropped to her knees. His head makes a dull thunk as it falls back against the door when she takes him first in her hand, then in her mouth, hot and quick and slippery.
“Can we… Oh Rose, that’s… wait,” he breathes, but she doesn’t, and he can’t really fault her, the little word at complete odds with the motion of his hips, his hand firm at the back of her head.
“Rose.” Shakily, he pulls her up, stifling a whimper as his cock slips from her mouth. He brings both her hands to his lips, kissing the palm of first one, then the other as he attempts to gather his jumbled thoughts. “Can we... I just… I want to be inside you,” he whispers in a rush. “Just this time. Can I - ”
He hadn’t realized how much he wanted it until the words fell from his lips, but suddenly it seems vitally, urgently important.
She says something that might be yes, but it’s hard to concentrate because she’s taken a step away from him (bad) and she’s shedding her jacket and pulling her shirt over her head before her fingers go to the button of her jeans (good, very, very good). And then she’s grinning at him and he realizes it’s likely because he hasn’t moved yet.
His body jerks into motion as he hurriedly steps out of his trainers and untangles himself from his trousers. Everything gets a bit more complicated as she goes to work on his coat and blazer, because she’s close enough to kiss and touch again, but oh, he really needs to get out of these clothes and he has to admit it’s the most pleasant conundrum he’s ever experienced.
They manage it, all of it, and as they stumble towards the bed, already tangled together, he aches with the need to be closer still.
She pulls him down on top of her and yes that’s his name on her lips as she helps him inside, wraps herself around him every way she can.
He would’ve thought there couldn’t possibly be anything more brilliant than just her being here, but this is impossibly, infinitely better, slick and sweaty and close and she feels so good, so tight around him, the little noises they make squeezed out of gasps and moans pushing him closer and closer.
She’s a vision when she comes, brow furrowed and eyes squeezed shut as she squeezes around him, and he comes hard a moment later, shaking over her and inside, his lips pressing her name against her hair.
Her sigh is a sound of beautiful contentment and he slides his arms underneath her and rolls them so she’s a warm weight on top of him. It’s slow and gentle now, but he still can’t stop touching her, fingers and palms tracing across bare damp skin, his lips trailing lazily over her neck, under her chin, pressing soft kisses to her lips when she turns her head back towards him.
She shifts after a moment, frowning, and he raises his eyebrows, automatically lifts his shoulder as she wiggles her fingers under him. Her face breaks into a grin a second later as she holds up her prize. The pillow chocolate, somehow still miraculously intact.
She sits up to unwrap it, breaking the little candy in two and offering him half. He takes it into his mouth along with her finger and thumb, sparing a thought for the days of his life, the way they rarely turn out the way he’d expected. As she settles herself back on top of him, kisses him with a mouth tasting of chocolate and Rose, he knows he wouldn’t have it any other way.