Ten Thousand Worlds
Rating: PG
Prompt: #049 - History
Claim: The Time War
Table: Here
Spoilers: None
Pairing: Theta/Koschei, Jacobi!Master/Eight
Summary: Koschei has a question. Theta has a very simple answer.
Note: I wrote something even slightly resembling fluff. And it still turned out angsty...
"How do you think," you ask, whisper, turning to your side to gaze at him, “How do you think history will see us, one day?”
He’s sprawled out on the sheets, all pale, long limbs and gleaming eyes. The moon is watching you through the windows, seems to caress his naked body with its light and for once you do not mind to share. There is a thoughtful frown on his features as he contemplates your question.
“Why do you think history will even take notice of our existence?” His voice is curious but from the way his mouth twitches ever so slightly you can tell he’s teasing you - he knows of your ambitions.
In return you poke a finger into his side and, ticklish as he is, he shrieks and tries to scramble away from you. There is a brief struggle, then you are sitting on top of him, naked skin on naked skin. His hands are trapped in yours and he’s laughing.
“History will notice us,” you explain, “because we are going to shape it. We will reach out to the stars and we will fight evil and they will praise our names on ten thousand worlds.”
“Our names?” he makes sure. He knows the answer, of course, but he likes to hear it again and again.
“I didn’t know you intended to stay here.” Now it’s you doing the teasing. Sitting on his stomach you can feel every breath he takes. His fair hair is spilled over the pillows, shimmering in the moonlight, and you let go of one of his hands to play with it.
“Of course not,” he replies like you knew he would. “We’ll both leave as soon as possible and see ten thousand worlds and bring light to a dark cosmos wherever we go.” His free hand reaches up to touch your own hair, brushes it from your face. “Together.”
“So, what do you think the history books will tell about us, the great saviours of worlds?” you ask again, and suddenly he’s pushing you, flipping you over, and then he’s lying on top of you, and you draw him even closer, until your lips are almost touching.
“I don’t care,” he says.
-
“How do you think,” he begins, his voice quiet and even, “history will see us, one day?”
You look up, surprised, but he’s not facing you, staring at the ceiling. The room is lit by the dim, brownish light falling through the window over the door, not by Gallifrey’s moon, and his hair is brown and you’re both so much older. You weren’t sure until now he’s even recognized you when you approached him and lead him to your room, a soldier in a war who wanted a few hours of comfort before going back to battle. But he’s followed willingly and returned your kisses and you thought that maybe he was the one in need of comfort after watching the fall of ten thousand worlds.
Then he returns your gaze, and his eyes are darker than their colour.
“How do you think history is seeing us, now, after everything?” There is no bitterness in his voice but there could be.
You’ve been about to leave but now you reach out once again, pull away the sheet coving him, wriggle your legs between his and you aren’t thinking of burning worlds and Daleks, not of Autons and radio towers and being left to die. Your kiss is passionate - you kiss him the way you did once, when both of you were young and in love. And maybe he’s not thinking of Daleks either, not of Skaro and the day he for once did as he was told, for he’s paring his lips for you, and he wraps his legs around you the way he did so long ago, and he lets his head fall back and bars his throat for you to kiss and lick and bite.
And you’re in the middle of the most important war there ever was and ever will be, and you’re losing.
And you know you’ll never see him again, and you try to learn and relearn every centimetre of his body while your hands wander up his thighs and your lips pause, just for a second, to tell him:
“This is history.”
By way of answering he closes his eyes and pulls you down for another kiss that is sweet and lingers and tastes of the past. He already knows.
December 9, 2007
Prompt: #049 - History
Claim: The Time War
Table: Here
Spoilers: None
Pairing: Theta/Koschei, Jacobi!Master/Eight
Summary: Koschei has a question. Theta has a very simple answer.
Note: I wrote something even slightly resembling fluff. And it still turned out angsty...
"How do you think," you ask, whisper, turning to your side to gaze at him, “How do you think history will see us, one day?”
He’s sprawled out on the sheets, all pale, long limbs and gleaming eyes. The moon is watching you through the windows, seems to caress his naked body with its light and for once you do not mind to share. There is a thoughtful frown on his features as he contemplates your question.
“Why do you think history will even take notice of our existence?” His voice is curious but from the way his mouth twitches ever so slightly you can tell he’s teasing you - he knows of your ambitions.
In return you poke a finger into his side and, ticklish as he is, he shrieks and tries to scramble away from you. There is a brief struggle, then you are sitting on top of him, naked skin on naked skin. His hands are trapped in yours and he’s laughing.
“History will notice us,” you explain, “because we are going to shape it. We will reach out to the stars and we will fight evil and they will praise our names on ten thousand worlds.”
“Our names?” he makes sure. He knows the answer, of course, but he likes to hear it again and again.
“I didn’t know you intended to stay here.” Now it’s you doing the teasing. Sitting on his stomach you can feel every breath he takes. His fair hair is spilled over the pillows, shimmering in the moonlight, and you let go of one of his hands to play with it.
“Of course not,” he replies like you knew he would. “We’ll both leave as soon as possible and see ten thousand worlds and bring light to a dark cosmos wherever we go.” His free hand reaches up to touch your own hair, brushes it from your face. “Together.”
“So, what do you think the history books will tell about us, the great saviours of worlds?” you ask again, and suddenly he’s pushing you, flipping you over, and then he’s lying on top of you, and you draw him even closer, until your lips are almost touching.
“I don’t care,” he says.
-
“How do you think,” he begins, his voice quiet and even, “history will see us, one day?”
You look up, surprised, but he’s not facing you, staring at the ceiling. The room is lit by the dim, brownish light falling through the window over the door, not by Gallifrey’s moon, and his hair is brown and you’re both so much older. You weren’t sure until now he’s even recognized you when you approached him and lead him to your room, a soldier in a war who wanted a few hours of comfort before going back to battle. But he’s followed willingly and returned your kisses and you thought that maybe he was the one in need of comfort after watching the fall of ten thousand worlds.
Then he returns your gaze, and his eyes are darker than their colour.
“How do you think history is seeing us, now, after everything?” There is no bitterness in his voice but there could be.
You’ve been about to leave but now you reach out once again, pull away the sheet coving him, wriggle your legs between his and you aren’t thinking of burning worlds and Daleks, not of Autons and radio towers and being left to die. Your kiss is passionate - you kiss him the way you did once, when both of you were young and in love. And maybe he’s not thinking of Daleks either, not of Skaro and the day he for once did as he was told, for he’s paring his lips for you, and he wraps his legs around you the way he did so long ago, and he lets his head fall back and bars his throat for you to kiss and lick and bite.
And you’re in the middle of the most important war there ever was and ever will be, and you’re losing.
And you know you’ll never see him again, and you try to learn and relearn every centimetre of his body while your hands wander up his thighs and your lips pause, just for a second, to tell him:
“This is history.”
By way of answering he closes his eyes and pulls you down for another kiss that is sweet and lingers and tastes of the past. He already knows.
December 9, 2007