Smut!Fic: The Echo and the Fulcrum (1/5)
Title: The Echo and the Fulcrum (1/5)
Author: doona_rose
Rating: M, lots of M.
Pairing: 10.5/Rose
Summary: A very epic, very, very smutty look at the relationship between Rose and the human version of the Doctor she was left with. Rose feels obligated to try for a relationship because that’s what the Doctor would have wanted. The Doctor she’s left with falls back in love with her overnight. This all builds to a flashpoint when Rose decides to attempt a date but makes it all too clear she’s doing it for the wrong reasons. Angst, sex, dialogue follows.
Spoilers: Set after the finale of Season Four.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, quite obviously.
A/N: Well, some of you might remember me from a couple of years ago as a prolific Ten and Ten/Rose smut/romance writer. I’ve had a bit of a break though this 20,000 word epic has been slowly coming together on my harddrive and now I’ll present it to you in five parts over the next week. It is very smutty and at times a bit dark but it’s my take on the somewhat difficult relationship between Rose and her human Doctor and how it might have worked out. Much thanks to chicklet73 who has been looking at bits and pieces of this for almost two years. Please let me know what you think, adjustments are still being made to the ending and I do value any feedback, happy, not so happy, critical or not. Other than that, I can only ask that you enjoy it.
It was a difficult relationship. She never really trusted him properly and he never really understood her grief. But they got over it, slowly; he learnt to tell her what he was thinking and she learnt that he was still her Doctor, that somewhere in there was the man she loved, or rather, somewhere in their future, he was waiting. Two weeks after their new life started, she saw the first glimmer, a moment of amusement at something on the tele and she’d seen it before, an age ago and on another man’s face in Dickens’s England. But it was there. That’s when she started to suspect the true meaning of the Doctor’s words, started to suspect that she could fall in love with this man if only she could help the process along.
So she tried, every day she made an effort to help him, to keep him sane and beside her and she knew he was trying as well and over the days, the weeks, the months they became close, became friends, then best friends, got an apartment, had adventures because she knew nothing would ever be able to keep him from that, and with every victory, every failure, every outcome in between, she saw a little more of what she wanted. He wasn’t the same, he was always an echo, but there were days - and she’d never admit this to anyone - when the echo seemed louder than the original sound.
Today has been such a day. They’ve spent hours hidden in a maze of dark alleyways, chasing, being chased and eventually winning out, sending someone to prison, someone else home and then collapsing on a park bench as the sun sets behind them. And they feel very much content. Him in his grey worn jeans and dark green shirt, her in tights and a flowing cotton skirt, her top a couple of shades lighter than his; they look every bit the average couple.
The happy couple even, she finally thinks that perhaps she is happy. She glances sideways at him, wondering at the man there, neither the Doctor nor the ghost of him that she’d been left with on that beach. Someone new and seemingly hers. Is this her moment to move the relationship further in the intended direction? What she feels can’t be identified as love, she’s still not sure that she will ever feel love again, but she likes this man, likes being around him and he seems to feel the same for her. Surely her Doctor had meant for them to fall in love and grow old together; she feels indebted to at least try for that.
“Wanna go and grab dinner?” she asks, a faint waiver to her voice that should forewarn of what’s to come.
He looks at her, notes the streak of mud on her neck and, deciding it suits her, doesn’t bother to mention it. Shrugging he moves to stand, “Sure, why not.”
Her hand wraps around his and she pulls him back down to sit beside her. “Not just take out for back at the apartment, a proper meal,” she stresses.
His brow creases as he realizes that there’s a subtext here he doesn’t know about. “Sure,” he answers carefully, slowly, no longer attempting to stand and get moving.
“Like a date,” she announces.
She’s refusing to meet his eyes so she doesn’t see it, but his face lights up like a thousand watt globe and he scrambles to find the words. He settles on: “Absolutely!” and a slightly more tempered grin as he links his arm through hers and pulls her up, heading for the nearest street. “I thought you’d never ask.”
That throws her and she misses a step, ending up walking alongside him at an awkward, mismatched pace. He laughs again, not noticing the look on her face, or at the very least ignoring it.
They make it another hundred meters before she has to speak up. “It’s not like this is a promise,” she points out, a little too much strength in her voice. “We’re just trying it because obviously that’s what we should do.”
His expression turns to unsure thought, she sees it and continues, wanting desperately for him to understand. “I mean we live together and eat together and basically spend all our time together and get along so we should try dating.” The uncertainty, the thought leave his face and his eyes darken with nothing. She should stop. Stop and possibly walk away because his arm has dropped from hers and his pace had sped up until she’s jogging to keep up with him. She doesn’t stop or flee, doesn’t even fight, she struggles to even identify that something is wrong. She keeps talking. “When my Doctor left me with you, this is what he meant to happen, he wanted us to have the life he couldn’t, to grow old and -”
His hands grab at her suddenly, vicious and making her jump, manipulating and rough he shoves her back until she’s against the cold brick wall of a building, his hand slamming down mere millimeters from her face as now she considers running, her mind quickly changing as she realizes she’s stuck there, shaking. The word curls out of his mouth, dark and dangerous, “What?” She’d forgotten he could be this dark.
Mouth opening and closing, her eyes flicker everywhere, determined to cry out if she sees a stranger walking by. He sees her intention and quickly drags her, still unrelenting, around a corner into a shadowed alleyway. Now a hand either side of her face, his weight resting there and his lithe frame so much bigger in the shadows. “What?” he repeats in a snarl.
She can’t form words, every small movement from him resulting in her eyes closing and her body flinching like she half expects him to hit her. Her fear should be enough to quell his anger but he isn’t near done. “You want to date me because he told you to? You plan on going to dinner and flirting, drinking wine, because you think that’s what he would want?”
She’s nodding, her head just tilting in the slightest, unable to help herself from adhering to a truth so strong, her only truth left, her only sure thing: compliance with her Doctor’s wishes.
Her actions make his words stumble, his face creasing back into a mosaic of pain, uncertainty, pure anger. “Is that why you’re still with me, because of him, because he told you to?”
She doesn’t nod this time but he decides for himself and his rage renews. “So what if we did go for dinner? Wine and Italian, messy and laughing and having fun with each other. More wine and desert, you sitting there twirling your hair and smiling up from under your lashes and making me watch as you licked your spoon clean, tongue and lips and what, more wine? Then what?” His voice is low now, his lips hardly moving as he speaks, face level with hers. “Home, we live together, more wine there? How much wine would it take before you let me fuck your brains out? Before that twisted little mind of yours has its excuse, can say you’re doing it for him and only him and that this is all sacrifice. Spread you legs and let me spend hour after hour making you come like an animal, let me waste time perfecting what I think makes you happy, perfecting my knowledge of your body, of where and when to use my fingers, my tongue, my cock, what makes you scream, what makes you shiver, waste forever trying to learn your every atom while you try to forget what we’re doing and remember him?” Stopping suddenly, drawing a ragged breath and closing his eyes to stop the tears he misses the sound of a sob wrenched from her lips unwillingly, the roar of blood in his ears too much.
When he opens his eyes again he’s regained full control and his face is a carefully assembled mask of ice and steel. She glares at him, her tears held at bay by sheer will alone and the urge to beat him, with fists and knees, anything she can cause harm with, kept in check only by his body looming over hers. “I’m just trying to do what I’m meant to,” she bites out, anger overriding the sorrow in her voice so effectively he doesn’t hear it.
Voice level, dangerous, “Since when do you take orders?”
“He gave this to me like it was a gift, like it was what I always wanted and I was so screwed up by that point that I didn’t know what to do. So I did what he said, what other option was there?”
He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like it’s been written in the stars since the beginning of time and she’s blind to have missed it: “Fall in love with me.”
She huffs, shock rendering everything else peripheral. “It’s that easy? Just transfer my feelings onto a completely different man? We are strangers and I am trying to build something from scratch, that’s why we were going to dinner, not because I’m in love with you or because I know I should be, because I’m meant to build something with you from scratch, from nothing, we have nothing.”
Another wall gets put up around his emotions, she watches it carefully built just behind his eyes and feels a pang deep inside her. “You never asked, “ he says in a whisper, the hands on either side of her face no longer a threat but now the only thing keeping him upright. “You never understood. When I was...made, I got all of his memories, his way of thinking, I didn’t get his emotions, I’m not built like that, but I got to remember every single thing we ever did together and I got to think about them, know the way he felt through them. I fell in love with you over night, who wouldn’t?”
It wasn’t expected that she smile at him, it wasn’t expected that she understand but he saw only anger and distrust washing over her face and he couldn’t believe that this was his Rose Tyler, the woman he’d thought, not ten minutes ago, was finally warming to him, was finally going to let him inch his way in.
A thumb tangled in her hair, catching it between brick and skin and touching, just barely. “I’m going to leave you because this is going to tear me apart. And that will tear you apart and I can’t watch that. That’s remained constant through all of time, I could never stand to see you hurt.”
Pushing away from her he turns to leave, his shoulders hunched, dejected and angry at existence itself, his and hers and the universe’s. The cold night air he’d been shielding her from hits her like a wall of ice and he barely makes it two steps before she finds her voice, stronger than at any point previous. “Wait.”
He doesn’t want to stop, to hope but he can’t help himself. He doesn’t turn.
“I do like you. I like this life and yeah, I keep pushing it because he made sure I understood this was what he thought was best but if I disagreed with him I’d stop. I see him in you all the time now and I want to keep trying.”
Still not turning, his back straightens and he whispers. “I don’t want you to see him in me. I’m not him, I don’t think I’ll ever be exactly him, you’re not meant to be able to confuse us. I want you to fall in love with me.”
That angers her for some reason, that he wants her to feel a certain way, it angers her enough to take a few steps towards him and raise her voice enough to make him flinch when she speaks. “But I can’t, if I love you, I love you for everything you are, what’s him and what’s you. And this whole,” her hands wave around in the air though he didn’t see it and then they dropped to her sides as she realized the word she was looking for and spat it out like something dirty. “This jealousy, is ridiculous.”
Whirling around, he didn’t expect her so close and the yell was unjustified. “You don’t think I know that? I’m jealous of myself, on some absurd level, that’s what it boils down to. But admit it, you love him and you don’t love me. You’d go to bed with him in a second but never with me, not willingly, not happily. Not without thinking of him.”
“No,” she cut across him, her own voice now raised. “No, these things take time and I still don’t know you well enough to be sure.”
“You know everything about me, you’ve listened to me rant and rave on every topic imaginable and if you can’t even consider letting yourself try, we’re a lost fucking cause.”
The argument lapses for the second time that evening as they stare, mere inches from each other but squinting because they still can’t quite see. Her mind is ticking over though, throttling towards an answer she isn’t ready for but that is looming undeniable. “You really mean everything you’ve said here tonight?” she asks, voice like a knife.
Unable to comprehend why or what she’s asking, he answers quickly, honestly, “No.”
Her face falls, he’s lied, he doesn’t love her, doesn’t need her, all of it was the heat of argument and that hurts her more than she expected it to. He doesn’t understand her expression but he continues his explanation regardless. “I couldn’t walk away from you, even if it meant the end of me. Not ever.”
Hands alighting on his stomach his intake of air is audible and visible, almost like pain and she wonders. “What about all that stuff about taking me to bed?” In any other situation just thinking about his words would have made her blush but now it was too important.
Utterly lost in how the conversation has ended up here and mortified as he recalls what he said to her, anger at his own confusion builds again to flash point. He responds without thinking, “Rose I would make you happy however I could and I know the tug between us, you and him, all that tension, all that time and god it would be good. I would do things to you that would make you blind with the feel of it and I’d do it forever.” She’s staring at him now and his mortification seems to only be getting worse. Her head is tilted in the way that means she’s thinking, her eyes are a little glazed but she’s not saying anything and now he’s feeling utterly stupid. “But I wouldn’t do it because he told me to, and I wouldn’t let you either.”
He might be mistaken but the hands against his abdomen seem to be pressing closer, almost thrumming against him and it is becoming a distraction. Then she speaks and the distraction is replaced, “Kiss me.”
“What?”
“Kiss me.” Not a question, not quite a demand, a request that doesn’t fit the context but his eyes are already on her lips, the idea planted in a mind flooded with silly human hormones. But he won’t take advantage of her, he just finished saying that, he won’t let himself or her feel that disgusting afterwards.
“Why?”
“Because I want you to.” No reaction, his body had stopped, she can’t feel the thrum of blood beneath her hands, the rise and fall of his chest. Nothing. His eyes are closed, his face downturned. Nothing. All she wants is a touch, a taste, a test, but she can’t bring herself to kiss him, needs him to initiate, to show her he isn’t just saying it. She tries again: “Because -” and gets no further.
His mouth and body pelt down against hers, colliding into her a hundred times more forcefully than it had been when he pushed her against the wall. She stumbles but he catches her, large hands no longer careful not to touch in the wrong place, both finding her waist, her hips, her ass and at the same time, his mouth grabbing for hers, knocking, once, twice, at the wrong angle, teeth bumping, his nose pressing painfully into hers and then he gets it right and his lips are pressed to hers, hot and wet and nothing like that one other time on the beach. Too hot, too quick he has her mouth open under his and his tongue’s slipping inside, exploring like this was his last chance to try, pulling back and nipping, licking and kissing at her lips, her chin her nose, a brief interlude as he drags his own nose up her cheek, nuzzling, his eyelashes, she could swear, brushing over her skin, and then gentleness was gone and his tongue was back in her mouth, persuading hers to dance and finding the task less than difficult.
Unrelenting, his hands find her arse, grasp as best they can around the material of her skirt and pull her up and closer to him, leaving her teetering on her toes and with both arms looped beneath his in a effort to fight vertigo. She can feel him already hard against her leg, hard and ever so hot and human, burning with lust and if she believes him, with love and as his lips are torn from hers, his head throw back she half expects him to howl but it’s a growl instead, emerging from low in his throat as he grinds against her.
Lips to her ear, her body now limp with a new kind of fear. “I do love you, Rose,” he whispers, his hips still grinding into her leg, searching for some sort of release. “And I think you can love me. But if for even one second you’re thinking about doing this for him and not for us, you need to stop me now because I am going to love making love to you, even if it has to be in some dark dingy alley, and I won’t be able to stop.”
She makes to kiss him again but he stops her with a look. “I don’t mean now, I mean forever. If you make love to me, you own me, forever.” In that moment, in that admission, he looks lost and lonely and completely unsure and she realizes that all she’s put him through, all the excuses, all the talk of the other man, means that now he half expects her to run. But something’s changed and the echo’s so loud she can’t even remember what it was that caused it and she doesn’t give a damn how or when or why, she knows she wants the man currently wrapped around her and she knows she will fall in love with him, in some strange way, in a way that will only get stronger and it all translates, dragging the anger and pain of months along with it into pure need. She buries her face in his neck, tongue and teeth finding skin and pulse point; her hands finding his arse to drag him closer, harder and then pushes his length down her thigh, catching a leg between hers and making sure the friction catches her where she needs it as well.
The noise they make is primal, a collection of guttural groans and grunts and whimpers and in that one motion, hormone-crazed and desperate, they decide the future.
He grins at her manically, wildly, with a glint in his eye that scares her and makes her giggle at the same time and then he stalks her, across the alley, walking her back through the shadows with his eyes until she hits a wall and stands there as he watches, predator surveying prey.
Lunging, his lips find her throat, light kisses up and down as his hands alight on her shirt, fiddling with buttons too small for his long fingers. Her own hands getting in the way as she attacks his buttons until she sees reason and moves down to his jeans, finding it far easier to flick the single button loose and drag the zipper down, letting gravity do the rest until there’s a denim pool at his feet. He growls and lets his tongue find the spot behind her ear, makes her breath catch and her back arch, presenting the buttons a little better but they’re still so difficult. He growls and she giggles again, slightly self-conscious, he can tell and without even considering he catches her earlobe in his lips, tugs, gets her attention and starts muttering, telling her she’s beautiful, telling her she’s his, that he’s hers even if she doesn’t know it yet, he promises that one day, soon, so, so soon, she’ll feel it sweeping through her, but for now he’s going to do his best to make her feel something else sweep through her, make her feel like she’s got the power of a goddess and then the muttering is punctuated by a shout of victory as the last button isn’t so much taken care of as ripped out of the way.
About to giggle, the sound dies on her lips as he ignores the flimsy material of her bra and sucks a nipple through it, teeth and tongue, unrelenting, untesting, just nipping, lapping, hands coming up to help and suddenly she’s squirming, feeling the heat of a scorching summer pouring through her and pooling at the bottom of her stomach and she shudders as he blows air over the material, shudders again as she feels his lips quirk into a smile as he kisses down the valley between.
Stepping back, just for a moment, he pulls his own shirt over his head and drops it onto the messy ground below; turning to look at her like the devil himself, his face is cast in shadows, the light from the street now purely artificial: the sun’s fully set. He’s ready to pounce again when the sound of voices, of footsteps makes her squeak in shock and in an instant he’s pressed up against her, into the wall, a hand over her mouth as he wills no intrusion. Together they watch the group of passers-by walk past the alley opening, not fifteen meters from where they stand, half naked and blatantly aroused.
It might have broken the mood if Rose hadn’t snaked a hand down between them and wrapped it around his cotton clad hard-on, stroking down once, twice before he manages to grab her wrist and pull her away
Her tongue catches between her teeth and she pulls a face, challenging him, “No?”
He kisses her then, hard and long and tasting more of them than ever. His lips move to the ear he ignored last time and he whispers in half-caught breaths. “I wanna come inside you,” a hand manages to make it past hers and dart under the skirt, cupping her through tights and knickers and she gasps. “And before all of that, I wanna make you come.” He strokes rough and uncalculated but with the reward of her eyes falling shut and her breath catching. “Hard.” She shudders at his words. “And I want to see it.”
And this time she moans, long and low and the tongue dragged down her neck doesn’t help. She’s hazy and unsure of anything much but that suddenly her chest is cold, the only material left covering her is her bra which, she’s shocked to realize, is quite soaked with his saliva and her sweat. She looks down and sees his mussed up hair, now level with her belly button.
He can’t actually plan on doing what it looks like and it’s this rationalization and only this that keeps her from losing it entirely. Her skirt is lifted, the soft material carefully manipulated and he tucks it all into the elastic, the material bunched at her waist and the rest of her left bare except for the opaque tights. She moves to help him roll them down but a hand on each thigh, impossibly large hands that cover so much skin and radiate so much heat, stop her movements.
Voila…ending of Part One and quite the run on scene. I’ll warn you, it all gets more run-on and more talky and more smutty from here. Reviews will be rewarded with squee!
Author: doona_rose
Rating: M, lots of M.
Pairing: 10.5/Rose
Summary: A very epic, very, very smutty look at the relationship between Rose and the human version of the Doctor she was left with. Rose feels obligated to try for a relationship because that’s what the Doctor would have wanted. The Doctor she’s left with falls back in love with her overnight. This all builds to a flashpoint when Rose decides to attempt a date but makes it all too clear she’s doing it for the wrong reasons. Angst, sex, dialogue follows.
Spoilers: Set after the finale of Season Four.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, quite obviously.
A/N: Well, some of you might remember me from a couple of years ago as a prolific Ten and Ten/Rose smut/romance writer. I’ve had a bit of a break though this 20,000 word epic has been slowly coming together on my harddrive and now I’ll present it to you in five parts over the next week. It is very smutty and at times a bit dark but it’s my take on the somewhat difficult relationship between Rose and her human Doctor and how it might have worked out. Much thanks to chicklet73 who has been looking at bits and pieces of this for almost two years. Please let me know what you think, adjustments are still being made to the ending and I do value any feedback, happy, not so happy, critical or not. Other than that, I can only ask that you enjoy it.
It was a difficult relationship. She never really trusted him properly and he never really understood her grief. But they got over it, slowly; he learnt to tell her what he was thinking and she learnt that he was still her Doctor, that somewhere in there was the man she loved, or rather, somewhere in their future, he was waiting. Two weeks after their new life started, she saw the first glimmer, a moment of amusement at something on the tele and she’d seen it before, an age ago and on another man’s face in Dickens’s England. But it was there. That’s when she started to suspect the true meaning of the Doctor’s words, started to suspect that she could fall in love with this man if only she could help the process along.
So she tried, every day she made an effort to help him, to keep him sane and beside her and she knew he was trying as well and over the days, the weeks, the months they became close, became friends, then best friends, got an apartment, had adventures because she knew nothing would ever be able to keep him from that, and with every victory, every failure, every outcome in between, she saw a little more of what she wanted. He wasn’t the same, he was always an echo, but there were days - and she’d never admit this to anyone - when the echo seemed louder than the original sound.
Today has been such a day. They’ve spent hours hidden in a maze of dark alleyways, chasing, being chased and eventually winning out, sending someone to prison, someone else home and then collapsing on a park bench as the sun sets behind them. And they feel very much content. Him in his grey worn jeans and dark green shirt, her in tights and a flowing cotton skirt, her top a couple of shades lighter than his; they look every bit the average couple.
The happy couple even, she finally thinks that perhaps she is happy. She glances sideways at him, wondering at the man there, neither the Doctor nor the ghost of him that she’d been left with on that beach. Someone new and seemingly hers. Is this her moment to move the relationship further in the intended direction? What she feels can’t be identified as love, she’s still not sure that she will ever feel love again, but she likes this man, likes being around him and he seems to feel the same for her. Surely her Doctor had meant for them to fall in love and grow old together; she feels indebted to at least try for that.
“Wanna go and grab dinner?” she asks, a faint waiver to her voice that should forewarn of what’s to come.
He looks at her, notes the streak of mud on her neck and, deciding it suits her, doesn’t bother to mention it. Shrugging he moves to stand, “Sure, why not.”
Her hand wraps around his and she pulls him back down to sit beside her. “Not just take out for back at the apartment, a proper meal,” she stresses.
His brow creases as he realizes that there’s a subtext here he doesn’t know about. “Sure,” he answers carefully, slowly, no longer attempting to stand and get moving.
“Like a date,” she announces.
She’s refusing to meet his eyes so she doesn’t see it, but his face lights up like a thousand watt globe and he scrambles to find the words. He settles on: “Absolutely!” and a slightly more tempered grin as he links his arm through hers and pulls her up, heading for the nearest street. “I thought you’d never ask.”
That throws her and she misses a step, ending up walking alongside him at an awkward, mismatched pace. He laughs again, not noticing the look on her face, or at the very least ignoring it.
They make it another hundred meters before she has to speak up. “It’s not like this is a promise,” she points out, a little too much strength in her voice. “We’re just trying it because obviously that’s what we should do.”
His expression turns to unsure thought, she sees it and continues, wanting desperately for him to understand. “I mean we live together and eat together and basically spend all our time together and get along so we should try dating.” The uncertainty, the thought leave his face and his eyes darken with nothing. She should stop. Stop and possibly walk away because his arm has dropped from hers and his pace had sped up until she’s jogging to keep up with him. She doesn’t stop or flee, doesn’t even fight, she struggles to even identify that something is wrong. She keeps talking. “When my Doctor left me with you, this is what he meant to happen, he wanted us to have the life he couldn’t, to grow old and -”
His hands grab at her suddenly, vicious and making her jump, manipulating and rough he shoves her back until she’s against the cold brick wall of a building, his hand slamming down mere millimeters from her face as now she considers running, her mind quickly changing as she realizes she’s stuck there, shaking. The word curls out of his mouth, dark and dangerous, “What?” She’d forgotten he could be this dark.
Mouth opening and closing, her eyes flicker everywhere, determined to cry out if she sees a stranger walking by. He sees her intention and quickly drags her, still unrelenting, around a corner into a shadowed alleyway. Now a hand either side of her face, his weight resting there and his lithe frame so much bigger in the shadows. “What?” he repeats in a snarl.
She can’t form words, every small movement from him resulting in her eyes closing and her body flinching like she half expects him to hit her. Her fear should be enough to quell his anger but he isn’t near done. “You want to date me because he told you to? You plan on going to dinner and flirting, drinking wine, because you think that’s what he would want?”
She’s nodding, her head just tilting in the slightest, unable to help herself from adhering to a truth so strong, her only truth left, her only sure thing: compliance with her Doctor’s wishes.
Her actions make his words stumble, his face creasing back into a mosaic of pain, uncertainty, pure anger. “Is that why you’re still with me, because of him, because he told you to?”
She doesn’t nod this time but he decides for himself and his rage renews. “So what if we did go for dinner? Wine and Italian, messy and laughing and having fun with each other. More wine and desert, you sitting there twirling your hair and smiling up from under your lashes and making me watch as you licked your spoon clean, tongue and lips and what, more wine? Then what?” His voice is low now, his lips hardly moving as he speaks, face level with hers. “Home, we live together, more wine there? How much wine would it take before you let me fuck your brains out? Before that twisted little mind of yours has its excuse, can say you’re doing it for him and only him and that this is all sacrifice. Spread you legs and let me spend hour after hour making you come like an animal, let me waste time perfecting what I think makes you happy, perfecting my knowledge of your body, of where and when to use my fingers, my tongue, my cock, what makes you scream, what makes you shiver, waste forever trying to learn your every atom while you try to forget what we’re doing and remember him?” Stopping suddenly, drawing a ragged breath and closing his eyes to stop the tears he misses the sound of a sob wrenched from her lips unwillingly, the roar of blood in his ears too much.
When he opens his eyes again he’s regained full control and his face is a carefully assembled mask of ice and steel. She glares at him, her tears held at bay by sheer will alone and the urge to beat him, with fists and knees, anything she can cause harm with, kept in check only by his body looming over hers. “I’m just trying to do what I’m meant to,” she bites out, anger overriding the sorrow in her voice so effectively he doesn’t hear it.
Voice level, dangerous, “Since when do you take orders?”
“He gave this to me like it was a gift, like it was what I always wanted and I was so screwed up by that point that I didn’t know what to do. So I did what he said, what other option was there?”
He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like it’s been written in the stars since the beginning of time and she’s blind to have missed it: “Fall in love with me.”
She huffs, shock rendering everything else peripheral. “It’s that easy? Just transfer my feelings onto a completely different man? We are strangers and I am trying to build something from scratch, that’s why we were going to dinner, not because I’m in love with you or because I know I should be, because I’m meant to build something with you from scratch, from nothing, we have nothing.”
Another wall gets put up around his emotions, she watches it carefully built just behind his eyes and feels a pang deep inside her. “You never asked, “ he says in a whisper, the hands on either side of her face no longer a threat but now the only thing keeping him upright. “You never understood. When I was...made, I got all of his memories, his way of thinking, I didn’t get his emotions, I’m not built like that, but I got to remember every single thing we ever did together and I got to think about them, know the way he felt through them. I fell in love with you over night, who wouldn’t?”
It wasn’t expected that she smile at him, it wasn’t expected that she understand but he saw only anger and distrust washing over her face and he couldn’t believe that this was his Rose Tyler, the woman he’d thought, not ten minutes ago, was finally warming to him, was finally going to let him inch his way in.
A thumb tangled in her hair, catching it between brick and skin and touching, just barely. “I’m going to leave you because this is going to tear me apart. And that will tear you apart and I can’t watch that. That’s remained constant through all of time, I could never stand to see you hurt.”
Pushing away from her he turns to leave, his shoulders hunched, dejected and angry at existence itself, his and hers and the universe’s. The cold night air he’d been shielding her from hits her like a wall of ice and he barely makes it two steps before she finds her voice, stronger than at any point previous. “Wait.”
He doesn’t want to stop, to hope but he can’t help himself. He doesn’t turn.
“I do like you. I like this life and yeah, I keep pushing it because he made sure I understood this was what he thought was best but if I disagreed with him I’d stop. I see him in you all the time now and I want to keep trying.”
Still not turning, his back straightens and he whispers. “I don’t want you to see him in me. I’m not him, I don’t think I’ll ever be exactly him, you’re not meant to be able to confuse us. I want you to fall in love with me.”
That angers her for some reason, that he wants her to feel a certain way, it angers her enough to take a few steps towards him and raise her voice enough to make him flinch when she speaks. “But I can’t, if I love you, I love you for everything you are, what’s him and what’s you. And this whole,” her hands wave around in the air though he didn’t see it and then they dropped to her sides as she realized the word she was looking for and spat it out like something dirty. “This jealousy, is ridiculous.”
Whirling around, he didn’t expect her so close and the yell was unjustified. “You don’t think I know that? I’m jealous of myself, on some absurd level, that’s what it boils down to. But admit it, you love him and you don’t love me. You’d go to bed with him in a second but never with me, not willingly, not happily. Not without thinking of him.”
“No,” she cut across him, her own voice now raised. “No, these things take time and I still don’t know you well enough to be sure.”
“You know everything about me, you’ve listened to me rant and rave on every topic imaginable and if you can’t even consider letting yourself try, we’re a lost fucking cause.”
The argument lapses for the second time that evening as they stare, mere inches from each other but squinting because they still can’t quite see. Her mind is ticking over though, throttling towards an answer she isn’t ready for but that is looming undeniable. “You really mean everything you’ve said here tonight?” she asks, voice like a knife.
Unable to comprehend why or what she’s asking, he answers quickly, honestly, “No.”
Her face falls, he’s lied, he doesn’t love her, doesn’t need her, all of it was the heat of argument and that hurts her more than she expected it to. He doesn’t understand her expression but he continues his explanation regardless. “I couldn’t walk away from you, even if it meant the end of me. Not ever.”
Hands alighting on his stomach his intake of air is audible and visible, almost like pain and she wonders. “What about all that stuff about taking me to bed?” In any other situation just thinking about his words would have made her blush but now it was too important.
Utterly lost in how the conversation has ended up here and mortified as he recalls what he said to her, anger at his own confusion builds again to flash point. He responds without thinking, “Rose I would make you happy however I could and I know the tug between us, you and him, all that tension, all that time and god it would be good. I would do things to you that would make you blind with the feel of it and I’d do it forever.” She’s staring at him now and his mortification seems to only be getting worse. Her head is tilted in the way that means she’s thinking, her eyes are a little glazed but she’s not saying anything and now he’s feeling utterly stupid. “But I wouldn’t do it because he told me to, and I wouldn’t let you either.”
He might be mistaken but the hands against his abdomen seem to be pressing closer, almost thrumming against him and it is becoming a distraction. Then she speaks and the distraction is replaced, “Kiss me.”
“What?”
“Kiss me.” Not a question, not quite a demand, a request that doesn’t fit the context but his eyes are already on her lips, the idea planted in a mind flooded with silly human hormones. But he won’t take advantage of her, he just finished saying that, he won’t let himself or her feel that disgusting afterwards.
“Why?”
“Because I want you to.” No reaction, his body had stopped, she can’t feel the thrum of blood beneath her hands, the rise and fall of his chest. Nothing. His eyes are closed, his face downturned. Nothing. All she wants is a touch, a taste, a test, but she can’t bring herself to kiss him, needs him to initiate, to show her he isn’t just saying it. She tries again: “Because -” and gets no further.
His mouth and body pelt down against hers, colliding into her a hundred times more forcefully than it had been when he pushed her against the wall. She stumbles but he catches her, large hands no longer careful not to touch in the wrong place, both finding her waist, her hips, her ass and at the same time, his mouth grabbing for hers, knocking, once, twice, at the wrong angle, teeth bumping, his nose pressing painfully into hers and then he gets it right and his lips are pressed to hers, hot and wet and nothing like that one other time on the beach. Too hot, too quick he has her mouth open under his and his tongue’s slipping inside, exploring like this was his last chance to try, pulling back and nipping, licking and kissing at her lips, her chin her nose, a brief interlude as he drags his own nose up her cheek, nuzzling, his eyelashes, she could swear, brushing over her skin, and then gentleness was gone and his tongue was back in her mouth, persuading hers to dance and finding the task less than difficult.
Unrelenting, his hands find her arse, grasp as best they can around the material of her skirt and pull her up and closer to him, leaving her teetering on her toes and with both arms looped beneath his in a effort to fight vertigo. She can feel him already hard against her leg, hard and ever so hot and human, burning with lust and if she believes him, with love and as his lips are torn from hers, his head throw back she half expects him to howl but it’s a growl instead, emerging from low in his throat as he grinds against her.
Lips to her ear, her body now limp with a new kind of fear. “I do love you, Rose,” he whispers, his hips still grinding into her leg, searching for some sort of release. “And I think you can love me. But if for even one second you’re thinking about doing this for him and not for us, you need to stop me now because I am going to love making love to you, even if it has to be in some dark dingy alley, and I won’t be able to stop.”
She makes to kiss him again but he stops her with a look. “I don’t mean now, I mean forever. If you make love to me, you own me, forever.” In that moment, in that admission, he looks lost and lonely and completely unsure and she realizes that all she’s put him through, all the excuses, all the talk of the other man, means that now he half expects her to run. But something’s changed and the echo’s so loud she can’t even remember what it was that caused it and she doesn’t give a damn how or when or why, she knows she wants the man currently wrapped around her and she knows she will fall in love with him, in some strange way, in a way that will only get stronger and it all translates, dragging the anger and pain of months along with it into pure need. She buries her face in his neck, tongue and teeth finding skin and pulse point; her hands finding his arse to drag him closer, harder and then pushes his length down her thigh, catching a leg between hers and making sure the friction catches her where she needs it as well.
The noise they make is primal, a collection of guttural groans and grunts and whimpers and in that one motion, hormone-crazed and desperate, they decide the future.
He grins at her manically, wildly, with a glint in his eye that scares her and makes her giggle at the same time and then he stalks her, across the alley, walking her back through the shadows with his eyes until she hits a wall and stands there as he watches, predator surveying prey.
Lunging, his lips find her throat, light kisses up and down as his hands alight on her shirt, fiddling with buttons too small for his long fingers. Her own hands getting in the way as she attacks his buttons until she sees reason and moves down to his jeans, finding it far easier to flick the single button loose and drag the zipper down, letting gravity do the rest until there’s a denim pool at his feet. He growls and lets his tongue find the spot behind her ear, makes her breath catch and her back arch, presenting the buttons a little better but they’re still so difficult. He growls and she giggles again, slightly self-conscious, he can tell and without even considering he catches her earlobe in his lips, tugs, gets her attention and starts muttering, telling her she’s beautiful, telling her she’s his, that he’s hers even if she doesn’t know it yet, he promises that one day, soon, so, so soon, she’ll feel it sweeping through her, but for now he’s going to do his best to make her feel something else sweep through her, make her feel like she’s got the power of a goddess and then the muttering is punctuated by a shout of victory as the last button isn’t so much taken care of as ripped out of the way.
About to giggle, the sound dies on her lips as he ignores the flimsy material of her bra and sucks a nipple through it, teeth and tongue, unrelenting, untesting, just nipping, lapping, hands coming up to help and suddenly she’s squirming, feeling the heat of a scorching summer pouring through her and pooling at the bottom of her stomach and she shudders as he blows air over the material, shudders again as she feels his lips quirk into a smile as he kisses down the valley between.
Stepping back, just for a moment, he pulls his own shirt over his head and drops it onto the messy ground below; turning to look at her like the devil himself, his face is cast in shadows, the light from the street now purely artificial: the sun’s fully set. He’s ready to pounce again when the sound of voices, of footsteps makes her squeak in shock and in an instant he’s pressed up against her, into the wall, a hand over her mouth as he wills no intrusion. Together they watch the group of passers-by walk past the alley opening, not fifteen meters from where they stand, half naked and blatantly aroused.
It might have broken the mood if Rose hadn’t snaked a hand down between them and wrapped it around his cotton clad hard-on, stroking down once, twice before he manages to grab her wrist and pull her away
Her tongue catches between her teeth and she pulls a face, challenging him, “No?”
He kisses her then, hard and long and tasting more of them than ever. His lips move to the ear he ignored last time and he whispers in half-caught breaths. “I wanna come inside you,” a hand manages to make it past hers and dart under the skirt, cupping her through tights and knickers and she gasps. “And before all of that, I wanna make you come.” He strokes rough and uncalculated but with the reward of her eyes falling shut and her breath catching. “Hard.” She shudders at his words. “And I want to see it.”
And this time she moans, long and low and the tongue dragged down her neck doesn’t help. She’s hazy and unsure of anything much but that suddenly her chest is cold, the only material left covering her is her bra which, she’s shocked to realize, is quite soaked with his saliva and her sweat. She looks down and sees his mussed up hair, now level with her belly button.
He can’t actually plan on doing what it looks like and it’s this rationalization and only this that keeps her from losing it entirely. Her skirt is lifted, the soft material carefully manipulated and he tucks it all into the elastic, the material bunched at her waist and the rest of her left bare except for the opaque tights. She moves to help him roll them down but a hand on each thigh, impossibly large hands that cover so much skin and radiate so much heat, stop her movements.
Voila…ending of Part One and quite the run on scene. I’ll warn you, it all gets more run-on and more talky and more smutty from here. Reviews will be rewarded with squee!