Fic: Touching Hands (1/1)
Title: Touching Hands
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ten/Ten2
Word Count: 295
Summary: Of all the things he’s never tried, knowing himself is the one that’s scared him the most. For nschick, who requested “Ten/alt!Ten” at my Winter Gift-Fic Extravaganza. Spoilers through Doctor Who 4.13 - Journey’s End.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: For nschick: Lovely, I just want you to know - I love your prompts. And I miss writing Who!fic terribly. Harass me until I do it more often, pretty please?
Touching Hands
Of all the things he’s never tried, knowing himself is the one that’s scared him the most.
Turns out, he was right to be terrified.
Because this man, this single heart - it holds more than his two, somehow; brims and overflows with everything he’s hidden from himself for so long, everything he is that he’d always preferred to ignore: too young, too innocent to know how to hide. And he feels things, of course he does; but he feels them like a newborn, for the very first time: everything in neons - brights and bolds - everything like fire and ice, burning alive and freeing to death. His eyes are new, his tongue still pure - while the memories still sear, real as anything, there is no blood on those hands.
It’s like a sequence completed, an imperative fulfilled, to know his body, where it stretches and dips; to know his mind, all the crevices he couldn’t explore of his own, laid bare before him here, in him; to know the sound of his voice, when it isn’t his voice; to know the rhythm of his pulse condensed into a single thrum.
‘I don’t want to go,’ he says, he moans; that voice; ‘Let me stay here.’
‘With you’ is never stated, but it’s heavily implied, the way the universe, the rights and wrongs slip past, ripple in is irises - this man who knows all of his sins, like a benevolent god, loving him, trusting in him anyway.
And the Doctor, ever-failing the ones he holds closest, cherishes most; he doesn’t have the heart to tell him no.
So he tells him nothing.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ten/Ten2
Word Count: 295
Summary: Of all the things he’s never tried, knowing himself is the one that’s scared him the most. For nschick, who requested “Ten/alt!Ten” at my Winter Gift-Fic Extravaganza. Spoilers through Doctor Who 4.13 - Journey’s End.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: For nschick: Lovely, I just want you to know - I love your prompts. And I miss writing Who!fic terribly. Harass me until I do it more often, pretty please?
Touching Hands
Of all the things he’s never tried, knowing himself is the one that’s scared him the most.
Turns out, he was right to be terrified.
Because this man, this single heart - it holds more than his two, somehow; brims and overflows with everything he’s hidden from himself for so long, everything he is that he’d always preferred to ignore: too young, too innocent to know how to hide. And he feels things, of course he does; but he feels them like a newborn, for the very first time: everything in neons - brights and bolds - everything like fire and ice, burning alive and freeing to death. His eyes are new, his tongue still pure - while the memories still sear, real as anything, there is no blood on those hands.
It’s like a sequence completed, an imperative fulfilled, to know his body, where it stretches and dips; to know his mind, all the crevices he couldn’t explore of his own, laid bare before him here, in him; to know the sound of his voice, when it isn’t his voice; to know the rhythm of his pulse condensed into a single thrum.
‘I don’t want to go,’ he says, he moans; that voice; ‘Let me stay here.’
‘With you’ is never stated, but it’s heavily implied, the way the universe, the rights and wrongs slip past, ripple in is irises - this man who knows all of his sins, like a benevolent god, loving him, trusting in him anyway.
And the Doctor, ever-failing the ones he holds closest, cherishes most; he doesn’t have the heart to tell him no.
So he tells him nothing.