Fic: Not Ready for Goodbye (2/2)
Title: Not Ready for Goodbye
Author: Gillian Taylor
Character/Pairing: Ten/Rose
Rating: R (for smut ;))
Summary: "We're talking. Question is - are you listening?"
Disclaimer: Don't own them. I just like playing with them...a lot.
Author's Notes: Thanks, as always, to my lovely beta wendymr. Spoilers for Girl in the Fireplace (but only briefly).
Chapter 1: Leaving
Chapter 2: No More Goodbyes
My head…is killing me…
Golden light fills her, is her, and she isn't afraid. How can she be when there's all of this?
"Rose? Rose, can you hear me?"
There's someone next to her - no, several someones, she corrects herself. She looks at them, meeting their varied gazes, and shivers in response. They're all wearing different clothes, looking at her with different coloured eyes, but she knows it's the same man. She'd know him no matter what he looked like.
"Doctor?" she asks, barely able to form the syllables.
They smile as one and reach out to touch her. "I'm dreadfully sorry, my dear. I'm afraid that I'm a bit rusty at this," one of them, the oldest looking, says.
She blinks at him, trying to focus. From a darkness that she hadn't seen before, a ninth figure steps forward and stretches out a hand.
I am the Bad Wolf…
"Rose? Rose, please answer me."
Her first Doctor smiles at her and she echoes that grin, stretching out her hand. Their fingers touch and she gasps as golden light sears through her once more.
The next thing she sees is the Doctor's brown eyes looking intently into her own. Somehow, she's ended up on the floor, his arms bracing her torso and head in a loose hug. He seems to sag with relief and his arms pull her to him, almost crushing her in his embrace. "I thought I'd… Rassilon, Rose, don't do that to me."
"What happened?" she asks, surprised by the softness of her voice.
"I almost killed you," he says, the horror in his voice causing her to tighten her arms around him.
"You didn't. I'm still here, yeah? 'S okay."
"No," he corrects her, almost snapping the word. "It isn't. Been years, centuries, since I've done that as a prelude to sex. I almost killed you, Rose. You shouldn't. This…" He loosens his grip on her, pulling her to a sitting position and moving to pull away.
"Doctor, what're you doing?" she asks, though she already knows.
"We can't do this, Rose," he says grimly. Every word is seeped in resignation and it angers her. He can't do this. Not now. Not like this.
Sure it was dangerous. Okay, she might've almost died. But that doesn't matter. This is what matters. The two of them. They've come further in this single day than they have in the past two years and he is not allowed to give up on this - them - now.
"Like hell we can't do this," she growls, reaching up to turn his face towards her. "Doctor, it was jus' too much, yeah? Too forceful. Can't you just, I dunno, ease into it?"
He frowns. "I almost killed you," he repeats his earlier words. "How can you want-?"
She cuts him off with a kiss. "'S worth it, yeah? The things that matter, they're worth it. You're worth it. Try again."
When he doesn't move, she picks up his hand and presses it against her cheek. "Try again," she tells him, not caring if it sounds like she's begging. "Please."
He sighs softly, but he doesn't remove his hand. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't," she tells him, though she knows that she can't promise that. Not really.
"I will," he says, as though it's inevitable.
Some things are worth getting your heart broken for.
When the thought forms in her mind, he inhales sharply in reaction. "Rose," he murmurs as his other hand slides into her hair.
Something tickles at the edges of her mind. It's a bit maddening, this sensation. It's an itch she just can't scratch and it's getting stronger, more insistent.
"That's just me," the Doctor murmurs, but he doesn't have to tell her. She knows.
What was once a torrent of thoughts and emotions is now only a trickle, sensations that her mind somehow interprets as vivid colours and textures. His worry, his fear that this will hurt her, is bright and somehow prickly, all but masking what lies beneath those emotions. She tries to wordlessly reassure him, lifting her hand - her real hand? Or is this all in her mind? - to touch his cheek, rubbing her thumb against his lips. The pressure of his lips against her finger seems real, but somehow more, as if she's both the one kissing and the one being kissed.
"Doctor…" she murmurs, unknowing and uncaring of any other concern but this. His touch, the feel of his skin on hers, his whisper-soft kisses and his warm smile.
There's a flare of something intense and his lips close over hers. Each brush of his lips leaves fire in its wake. Each sigh he makes only adds to that fire and she feels as though she's burning from the inside out. Their intermingled emotions heighten every movement, every touch. She feels her own lips, hears her sighs and moans as his hands trace incomprehensible patterns against her skin.
Reality and fiction intermingle in her mind. Is he truly kissing her? Touching her? Or is this nothing more than a figment of their combined imaginations? Whatever it is, it's beyond anything she's ever felt before. He does something with his lips and their emotions flare once more and she's soaring.
When she comes back to herself, she's dazed, barely able to understand what just happened. She blinks owlishly at him, trying to clear her vision. To her surprise, they haven't moved and they're both fully clothed. And yet, despite everything, that was the most intense bout of sexual activity that she's had in her life.
"Wow," she manages, feeling unsteady.
There's nothing but pure male pride in his gaze as he grins at her. "All right?" he asks.
"Mmm," she responds, not quite able to string together a sentence.
His laughter washes over her, bringing with it fresh tingles of sensation. "I'll take that as a yes."
Now it's her turn to laugh and she all but falls into him as their commingled laughter echoes through the Cloisters. When their laughter fades to the periodic chuckle, she finally realises how uncomfortable the floor is. Its chill is leaching away some of her heat and she shivers in reaction.
Seeming to realise that it's time to move, he shifts and drops his hands from her face. "Come on," he says, "there's something else I want to show you."
She offers him a cheeky smile as he helps her to her feet. "Hope it's a bed."
The Doctor's grin is brilliant. "Oh, could be. Could be the biggest bed in the TARDIS. Or the smallest. Though, really, what would you do with a small bed? Your legs'd hang off, your arms'd be dangling, and you really wouldn't be able to share. Though I suppose if one's on top of the other it could do. Nah. Definitely not the smallest bed. A medium-sized one might work. Or I believe there's a room that's nothing but a bed. Plenty of space to roll around in, but no bedclothes. Bit hard to keep the sheets on the bed when there are no edges to keep them in place."
Feeling suddenly bold, she asks, "How 'bout your bed?"
His look is smouldering. "Don't you mean our bed?"
She thinks she makes a sound, but she's not certain. No, he's managed, with just a few words, to make her lose any bit of concentration or control that she had.
That's definitely pride in his expression. She should probably try to erase that look, but right now she's desperate for the feel of skin - real skin - against hers. "Show me," she says in a desire-roughened voice that she barely recognises as her own.
He doesn't respond with words. Instead, he entwines his fingers with hers and leads her out of the Cloisters.
It's a bed.
She stares at it like it holds all the secrets of the universe, barely hearing the Doctor's explanations of what knick-knack is what and where he found it. Maybe sometime later she'll pay attention. She'll look around and explore this one room that she's never visited before. No, right now all of her attention is riveted on the main attraction of this room.
It's a gorgeous bed, she decides.
There's something that'd make it even more gorgeous. She knows what'd make it an absolutely brilliant bed. She turns and cuts him off mid-ramble with an open-mouthed kiss, tugging gently at his tie.
"Straight to business, then," he murmurs against her lips. She wonders if that's relief in his voice but decides that she doesn't care when his tongue slips into her mouth to gently entangle with her own.
Someone's moaning. She's not sure if it's her, him, or them but it doesn't matter. No. Right now what she wants - no, needs - is him.
Hands slide into her hair, holding her in place as he thoroughly snogs her.
Then have me, she thinks she hears him whisper into her mind and she plans to do just that.
There are too many sensations to mention, to even consider, as they gradually undress each other. She finds that she loves the purring sound he makes when she pulls his tie free from his neck. He seems to love her moans when he pulls her blouse free from her jeans, letting his fingers brush against her skin as he tugs it upwards.
In between each loss of fabric, as more skin is revealed, they steal kisses and touches. Every path he traces with his fingers leaves a trail of fire behind it. Every kiss is more intense than the last.
When they stand, naked, before each other they pause. She traces his lean figure with her gaze, lingering over each freckle, each line. She commits this to her memory, swearing to herself that this time, this instant, this second will never be forgotten. "Gorgeous," she murmurs, lifting her hand to place it against his chest, feeling the rapid double-beat of his hearts.
There's a faint flush on his features as he looks at her and she realises that as much as she's been staring at him, he's been staring at her. Memorising her as she has him. He closes the distance between them, dipping his head to kiss her again. There's hunger in his touch, though he moves slowly, tracing patterns on her skin.
Their tongues entangle once more as she lets her fingers ghost over his back, lingering over those places where he gasps and thrusts towards her. There's a spot just above his hip that seems to make him lose control even more and he growls into their kiss.
Then they're moving, neither able to let go of the other for the few seconds it'd take to walk to the bed. He does something with his tongue that almost causes her knees to buckle beneath her, but somehow she manages to keep her feet beneath her until the edge of the bed hits the back of her knees.
There's a gentle push and suddenly she's lying on the bed with him standing over her. His brown eyes are almost black as he looks at her, tracing her curves with his gaze, and she feels it like a physical touch. "Doctor," she says in a voice heavy with desire. She lifts her hand towards him, beckoning for him to join her.
Then he covers her body with his, fitting himself just-so between her legs. He hasn't entered her, not yet, and their gazes lock as he rises above her, braced on his elbows. One hand touches her cheek, his fingers resting against her temple, and he pauses.
There's a flicker of doubt in his eyes, and she suspects he's going to ask her if she's certain that this is what she wants. A few hours earlier, all she wanted was to be away from him, from this. Now she can't imagine anywhere else she'd rather be. Lifting her hand, she presses it against his face, letting her thumb trace his lips gently.
"Yes," she says simply and the doubt fades away in an instant, replaced by the barely restrained desire.
His fingers press gently against her temple and suddenly he's there again. Inside her. Around her. All his emotions flood her mind and she welcomes it all. She thinks she feels someone else brush her cheek with their lips moments before he does and she catches the faintest scent of leather.
Smiling, she presses a kiss against his forehead, his cheek, his neck as he lifts himself above her. Keeping one hand on her cheek, the other traces mindless patterns against her breast, tweaking and fondling it, causing her to gasp in reaction. There's a bright burst of something in her mind as he bends, taking her other breast into his mouth, tracing, sucking and licking.
The sensations are magnified with every move he makes. The feel of his body on hers, over her, is a sweet agony. She wants so much more.
And you'll have it, he whispers into her mind.
She knows that he's enjoying this as much, if not more, than she is. With each gentle brush of skin against skin, every lick, every kiss, he's driving her mad with want. And when she thinks she can't take any more, she realises that he's above her again, smiling as he ducks his head towards her.
The instant their lips touch, he's inside her and they both groan in reaction. Somehow she's him and he's her. She's the one thrusting into her warm body. He's the one watching him rise and fall above her.
It's so much more than before. Where only their minds were active participants, now it's all of them. Body and mind. She can't see how anyone could settle for less.
She brushes her lips against his, wishing she could tell him how she feels. That's the instant that she realises that he knows. This is so much bigger now than just her, just him. It's them. Together. And as his emotions wash over her, she knows how he feels. It's better than words, she decides.
This is everything.
Their moans fill the room as he hits the perfect pace, the perfect spot. Somehow he knows her body. Knows how to drive her to the brink before pulling her back. She's close, so close, and in the moment she thinks she'll fall, he touches a sensitive spot - or she does - and stars explode before her eyes.
He told her once that he could feel the spin of the Earth. She feels it now. Even though they're centuries and light years away, she feels it. Spinning, falling, whirling, twirling. The universe expands and collapses in a heart beat. Time stops and starts again, faster and faster. Harder and harder.
Then there's nothing but a brilliant white and the sound of his voice, anchoring her as she continues to spin.
Someone is writing on her skin, slow, smooth movements that are as much a massage as a caress. She smiles and snuggles closer to the body next to her, unable to remember the last time she felt so content.
When he speaks, she presses her head against his chest, listening to the rumble of his voice as it echoes through him. "Rose, this… I don't normally do this," he confesses.
She remains silent, somehow sensing that this is something he needs to finish.
"Oh, you heard me say it before. Bit rude of me to put it like that, but I seem to be rather rude this time around. Right. Not getting to the point. Thing is, I realised something. The second you left, it hit me. Not quite the knock on the head I probably deserved, but enough of a blow to make me realise what I was missing." The Doctor blows out a breath, stirring her hair.
"I can't keep doing this. Oh, not this. I'll gladly keep doing this as long as you like. No. I mean I can't keep living like tomorrow it's all going to end."
She lifts her head up at this, turning so she can look him in the eyes. "Doctor?" she asks.
He smiles and the hand that was tracing pictures against her skin stills. "I'm not ready for goodbye."
"Then how 'bout hello?" she asks, shifting so her lips are almost touching his.
"Hello," he whispers, his warm breath an almost-kiss against her skin.
"Hello," she replies and seals it with a kiss.
THE END
xposted everywhere: dark_aegis & time_and_chips
Author: Gillian Taylor
Character/Pairing: Ten/Rose
Rating: R (for smut ;))
Summary: "We're talking. Question is - are you listening?"
Disclaimer: Don't own them. I just like playing with them...a lot.
Author's Notes: Thanks, as always, to my lovely beta wendymr. Spoilers for Girl in the Fireplace (but only briefly).
Chapter 1: Leaving
Chapter 2: No More Goodbyes
My head…is killing me…
Golden light fills her, is her, and she isn't afraid. How can she be when there's all of this?
"Rose? Rose, can you hear me?"
There's someone next to her - no, several someones, she corrects herself. She looks at them, meeting their varied gazes, and shivers in response. They're all wearing different clothes, looking at her with different coloured eyes, but she knows it's the same man. She'd know him no matter what he looked like.
"Doctor?" she asks, barely able to form the syllables.
They smile as one and reach out to touch her. "I'm dreadfully sorry, my dear. I'm afraid that I'm a bit rusty at this," one of them, the oldest looking, says.
She blinks at him, trying to focus. From a darkness that she hadn't seen before, a ninth figure steps forward and stretches out a hand.
I am the Bad Wolf…
"Rose? Rose, please answer me."
Her first Doctor smiles at her and she echoes that grin, stretching out her hand. Their fingers touch and she gasps as golden light sears through her once more.
The next thing she sees is the Doctor's brown eyes looking intently into her own. Somehow, she's ended up on the floor, his arms bracing her torso and head in a loose hug. He seems to sag with relief and his arms pull her to him, almost crushing her in his embrace. "I thought I'd… Rassilon, Rose, don't do that to me."
"What happened?" she asks, surprised by the softness of her voice.
"I almost killed you," he says, the horror in his voice causing her to tighten her arms around him.
"You didn't. I'm still here, yeah? 'S okay."
"No," he corrects her, almost snapping the word. "It isn't. Been years, centuries, since I've done that as a prelude to sex. I almost killed you, Rose. You shouldn't. This…" He loosens his grip on her, pulling her to a sitting position and moving to pull away.
"Doctor, what're you doing?" she asks, though she already knows.
"We can't do this, Rose," he says grimly. Every word is seeped in resignation and it angers her. He can't do this. Not now. Not like this.
Sure it was dangerous. Okay, she might've almost died. But that doesn't matter. This is what matters. The two of them. They've come further in this single day than they have in the past two years and he is not allowed to give up on this - them - now.
"Like hell we can't do this," she growls, reaching up to turn his face towards her. "Doctor, it was jus' too much, yeah? Too forceful. Can't you just, I dunno, ease into it?"
He frowns. "I almost killed you," he repeats his earlier words. "How can you want-?"
She cuts him off with a kiss. "'S worth it, yeah? The things that matter, they're worth it. You're worth it. Try again."
When he doesn't move, she picks up his hand and presses it against her cheek. "Try again," she tells him, not caring if it sounds like she's begging. "Please."
He sighs softly, but he doesn't remove his hand. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't," she tells him, though she knows that she can't promise that. Not really.
"I will," he says, as though it's inevitable.
Some things are worth getting your heart broken for.
When the thought forms in her mind, he inhales sharply in reaction. "Rose," he murmurs as his other hand slides into her hair.
Something tickles at the edges of her mind. It's a bit maddening, this sensation. It's an itch she just can't scratch and it's getting stronger, more insistent.
"That's just me," the Doctor murmurs, but he doesn't have to tell her. She knows.
What was once a torrent of thoughts and emotions is now only a trickle, sensations that her mind somehow interprets as vivid colours and textures. His worry, his fear that this will hurt her, is bright and somehow prickly, all but masking what lies beneath those emotions. She tries to wordlessly reassure him, lifting her hand - her real hand? Or is this all in her mind? - to touch his cheek, rubbing her thumb against his lips. The pressure of his lips against her finger seems real, but somehow more, as if she's both the one kissing and the one being kissed.
"Doctor…" she murmurs, unknowing and uncaring of any other concern but this. His touch, the feel of his skin on hers, his whisper-soft kisses and his warm smile.
There's a flare of something intense and his lips close over hers. Each brush of his lips leaves fire in its wake. Each sigh he makes only adds to that fire and she feels as though she's burning from the inside out. Their intermingled emotions heighten every movement, every touch. She feels her own lips, hears her sighs and moans as his hands trace incomprehensible patterns against her skin.
Reality and fiction intermingle in her mind. Is he truly kissing her? Touching her? Or is this nothing more than a figment of their combined imaginations? Whatever it is, it's beyond anything she's ever felt before. He does something with his lips and their emotions flare once more and she's soaring.
When she comes back to herself, she's dazed, barely able to understand what just happened. She blinks owlishly at him, trying to clear her vision. To her surprise, they haven't moved and they're both fully clothed. And yet, despite everything, that was the most intense bout of sexual activity that she's had in her life.
"Wow," she manages, feeling unsteady.
There's nothing but pure male pride in his gaze as he grins at her. "All right?" he asks.
"Mmm," she responds, not quite able to string together a sentence.
His laughter washes over her, bringing with it fresh tingles of sensation. "I'll take that as a yes."
Now it's her turn to laugh and she all but falls into him as their commingled laughter echoes through the Cloisters. When their laughter fades to the periodic chuckle, she finally realises how uncomfortable the floor is. Its chill is leaching away some of her heat and she shivers in reaction.
Seeming to realise that it's time to move, he shifts and drops his hands from her face. "Come on," he says, "there's something else I want to show you."
She offers him a cheeky smile as he helps her to her feet. "Hope it's a bed."
The Doctor's grin is brilliant. "Oh, could be. Could be the biggest bed in the TARDIS. Or the smallest. Though, really, what would you do with a small bed? Your legs'd hang off, your arms'd be dangling, and you really wouldn't be able to share. Though I suppose if one's on top of the other it could do. Nah. Definitely not the smallest bed. A medium-sized one might work. Or I believe there's a room that's nothing but a bed. Plenty of space to roll around in, but no bedclothes. Bit hard to keep the sheets on the bed when there are no edges to keep them in place."
Feeling suddenly bold, she asks, "How 'bout your bed?"
His look is smouldering. "Don't you mean our bed?"
She thinks she makes a sound, but she's not certain. No, he's managed, with just a few words, to make her lose any bit of concentration or control that she had.
That's definitely pride in his expression. She should probably try to erase that look, but right now she's desperate for the feel of skin - real skin - against hers. "Show me," she says in a desire-roughened voice that she barely recognises as her own.
He doesn't respond with words. Instead, he entwines his fingers with hers and leads her out of the Cloisters.
It's a bed.
She stares at it like it holds all the secrets of the universe, barely hearing the Doctor's explanations of what knick-knack is what and where he found it. Maybe sometime later she'll pay attention. She'll look around and explore this one room that she's never visited before. No, right now all of her attention is riveted on the main attraction of this room.
It's a gorgeous bed, she decides.
There's something that'd make it even more gorgeous. She knows what'd make it an absolutely brilliant bed. She turns and cuts him off mid-ramble with an open-mouthed kiss, tugging gently at his tie.
"Straight to business, then," he murmurs against her lips. She wonders if that's relief in his voice but decides that she doesn't care when his tongue slips into her mouth to gently entangle with her own.
Someone's moaning. She's not sure if it's her, him, or them but it doesn't matter. No. Right now what she wants - no, needs - is him.
Hands slide into her hair, holding her in place as he thoroughly snogs her.
Then have me, she thinks she hears him whisper into her mind and she plans to do just that.
There are too many sensations to mention, to even consider, as they gradually undress each other. She finds that she loves the purring sound he makes when she pulls his tie free from his neck. He seems to love her moans when he pulls her blouse free from her jeans, letting his fingers brush against her skin as he tugs it upwards.
In between each loss of fabric, as more skin is revealed, they steal kisses and touches. Every path he traces with his fingers leaves a trail of fire behind it. Every kiss is more intense than the last.
When they stand, naked, before each other they pause. She traces his lean figure with her gaze, lingering over each freckle, each line. She commits this to her memory, swearing to herself that this time, this instant, this second will never be forgotten. "Gorgeous," she murmurs, lifting her hand to place it against his chest, feeling the rapid double-beat of his hearts.
There's a faint flush on his features as he looks at her and she realises that as much as she's been staring at him, he's been staring at her. Memorising her as she has him. He closes the distance between them, dipping his head to kiss her again. There's hunger in his touch, though he moves slowly, tracing patterns on her skin.
Their tongues entangle once more as she lets her fingers ghost over his back, lingering over those places where he gasps and thrusts towards her. There's a spot just above his hip that seems to make him lose control even more and he growls into their kiss.
Then they're moving, neither able to let go of the other for the few seconds it'd take to walk to the bed. He does something with his tongue that almost causes her knees to buckle beneath her, but somehow she manages to keep her feet beneath her until the edge of the bed hits the back of her knees.
There's a gentle push and suddenly she's lying on the bed with him standing over her. His brown eyes are almost black as he looks at her, tracing her curves with his gaze, and she feels it like a physical touch. "Doctor," she says in a voice heavy with desire. She lifts her hand towards him, beckoning for him to join her.
Then he covers her body with his, fitting himself just-so between her legs. He hasn't entered her, not yet, and their gazes lock as he rises above her, braced on his elbows. One hand touches her cheek, his fingers resting against her temple, and he pauses.
There's a flicker of doubt in his eyes, and she suspects he's going to ask her if she's certain that this is what she wants. A few hours earlier, all she wanted was to be away from him, from this. Now she can't imagine anywhere else she'd rather be. Lifting her hand, she presses it against his face, letting her thumb trace his lips gently.
"Yes," she says simply and the doubt fades away in an instant, replaced by the barely restrained desire.
His fingers press gently against her temple and suddenly he's there again. Inside her. Around her. All his emotions flood her mind and she welcomes it all. She thinks she feels someone else brush her cheek with their lips moments before he does and she catches the faintest scent of leather.
Smiling, she presses a kiss against his forehead, his cheek, his neck as he lifts himself above her. Keeping one hand on her cheek, the other traces mindless patterns against her breast, tweaking and fondling it, causing her to gasp in reaction. There's a bright burst of something in her mind as he bends, taking her other breast into his mouth, tracing, sucking and licking.
The sensations are magnified with every move he makes. The feel of his body on hers, over her, is a sweet agony. She wants so much more.
And you'll have it, he whispers into her mind.
She knows that he's enjoying this as much, if not more, than she is. With each gentle brush of skin against skin, every lick, every kiss, he's driving her mad with want. And when she thinks she can't take any more, she realises that he's above her again, smiling as he ducks his head towards her.
The instant their lips touch, he's inside her and they both groan in reaction. Somehow she's him and he's her. She's the one thrusting into her warm body. He's the one watching him rise and fall above her.
It's so much more than before. Where only their minds were active participants, now it's all of them. Body and mind. She can't see how anyone could settle for less.
She brushes her lips against his, wishing she could tell him how she feels. That's the instant that she realises that he knows. This is so much bigger now than just her, just him. It's them. Together. And as his emotions wash over her, she knows how he feels. It's better than words, she decides.
This is everything.
Their moans fill the room as he hits the perfect pace, the perfect spot. Somehow he knows her body. Knows how to drive her to the brink before pulling her back. She's close, so close, and in the moment she thinks she'll fall, he touches a sensitive spot - or she does - and stars explode before her eyes.
He told her once that he could feel the spin of the Earth. She feels it now. Even though they're centuries and light years away, she feels it. Spinning, falling, whirling, twirling. The universe expands and collapses in a heart beat. Time stops and starts again, faster and faster. Harder and harder.
Then there's nothing but a brilliant white and the sound of his voice, anchoring her as she continues to spin.
Someone is writing on her skin, slow, smooth movements that are as much a massage as a caress. She smiles and snuggles closer to the body next to her, unable to remember the last time she felt so content.
When he speaks, she presses her head against his chest, listening to the rumble of his voice as it echoes through him. "Rose, this… I don't normally do this," he confesses.
She remains silent, somehow sensing that this is something he needs to finish.
"Oh, you heard me say it before. Bit rude of me to put it like that, but I seem to be rather rude this time around. Right. Not getting to the point. Thing is, I realised something. The second you left, it hit me. Not quite the knock on the head I probably deserved, but enough of a blow to make me realise what I was missing." The Doctor blows out a breath, stirring her hair.
"I can't keep doing this. Oh, not this. I'll gladly keep doing this as long as you like. No. I mean I can't keep living like tomorrow it's all going to end."
She lifts her head up at this, turning so she can look him in the eyes. "Doctor?" she asks.
He smiles and the hand that was tracing pictures against her skin stills. "I'm not ready for goodbye."
"Then how 'bout hello?" she asks, shifting so her lips are almost touching his.
"Hello," he whispers, his warm breath an almost-kiss against her skin.
"Hello," she replies and seals it with a kiss.
THE END
xposted everywhere: dark_aegis & time_and_chips