many see natural beauty folded within petals of a rose; a doctor/rose drabble
many see natural beauty folded within petals of a rose; a doctor/rose drabble. 1,166 words, PG-13 (sexuality).
All I know is that you're so nice,
You're the nicest thing I've seen.
I wish that we could give it a go,
See if we could be something.
I wish you had a favourite beauty spot that you loved secretly,
'Cause it was on a hidden bit that nobody else could see.
Basically, I wish that you loved me,
I wish that you needed me…
The hem of her shirt was in his hands.
How did they find themselves here? Everything prior was something of a blur - he’d defused the bomb, she’d pulled Aaron up from the ledge, the boy’s parents had thanked them, and they’d run back to the TARDIS before the authorities could arrive and start asking awkward questions.
But some time after setting the coordinates for China, 1578, something had changed. She could remember walking around the console and pulling her hair back into a bun, wincing when her fingers met the nasty bump the Major had given her forehead. He had seen the wince, was at her side and examining the bruise, and then-
The air felt heavier, charged, full of frightening potential. She had focused her eyes on his neck, unsure that she could meet his eyes steadily. All breath had fled her body, and as his Adam’s apple bobbed with a quick, shaky inhalation, she knew the breath had left him, too.
She pulled her eyes up to his, the flush of excitement dark on her cheeks. He was staring at her with such intensity, such focus, that she felt a real shiver of fear: the undivided and powerful attention of a Time Lord is a hard thing for a human girl from London to handle. But then his eyes softened, lost something of their diamond hardness, and the emotion in his eyes was far easier to understand.
He swallowed, and his hands tightened on the fabric. He seemed to be struggling for words, or the ability to give them voice, but couldn’t. It was a singular moment - the Doctor, rendered speechless and uncertain.
Her skin tingled, the air in the space between their bodies hot and sharp with electricity. They stood on the edge of a choice, a line they could either step over or run away from. She knew how delicate the balance was - a move from her would decide, for it was clear he was waiting for her to make it for the both of them.
She lifted her arms, slowly, afraid to startle him. But he had anticipated the gesture, and as her arms rose he pulled the fabric of her shirt up and over her head. The cotton camisole underneath was a vivid white against her tan - acquired last week at the Willamette Beach on the planet Tessane.
A few seconds passed; a slice of eternity.
And then Rose’s hands were at his jacket lapels, pulling him in, and if the kiss Cassandra/Rose had given him on New Earth was ardent, it had held nothing of this fire, this hunger. With this one, breath-stealing kiss, the Doctor realized the extent of what had been held back. And when he responded, an arm wrapping about her waist with a fierce strength, fingers in her untidy hair, she knew what he had hidden behind his careless smiles.
The reality of him was intoxicating. How many times had she wished he’d hold her like this, the feel of his hands at her waist, against the skin of her back? How often had she wanted to put her hands in his hair, press her lips to his?
And he, hadn’t he thought about the softness of her skin and the taste of her lipgloss, the pressure of her nails against his arms? They stood by the console (if stood was the right word) leaning and pulling at one another, disheveling clothes and hair in their thirsting embrace. In the tempest of emotions starved for too long, in this place outside of time, they could almost believe it would last forever.
His shirt lost a button, then another; he heard them fall through the grating, didn’t care. She was pulling off his jacket, fumbling with his tie, and the fullness of her was filling his senses to the brim, threatening to overload his awareness, blotting out everything sensible, practical.
He had always been so logical, so safe in his science and history, enjoying the beautiful and sensual in the dry ways of the aesthetic. But this, this was liberating in a way he had not expected, liberating in a way that terrified him.
Her skin was against his, and he was sure he was losing his mind. His hearts had lost all semblance of a reasonable rhythm, and he wondered if this body could handle the chaos they’d unleashed.
But then, before there was an answer to his thought, before either could be satisfied, the entire room shook, throwing them apart. He fell heavily, so surprised he made no effort to catch himself, and the impact of his back and elbows against the metal grating echoed painfully. Rose fared better. The console, only inches behind her, steadied her before her feet could slip from underneath her.
“What?” was all she could manage, so breathless and off-balance, the straps of her camisole loose and her hair around her face. One of the alarms was shrieking. The mauve light on the console was blinking frantically.
He scrambled to his feet, wincing as he bent and straightened his arms. He would have some ugly bruises tomorrow. “Something in flux is being threatened. Planet… Syndrone. The Church of the Tin Vagabond.” He was pressing buttons and flicking levers before he reached the end of the sentence. “Year 3004. The TARDIS was already making a U-turn; I’ll just make sure we don’t crash-land in a swamp.”
His tie was nearly undone; his shirt hung loose, missing buttons and untucked from his pants, and his hair stood out in half-formed peaks and spikes. The sight of him so disheveled made her smile, but he didn’t seem to notice, so focused on his wonderful machine.
Then he looked up at her from across the console, took in the flushed cheeks, the reddened lips, the way her camisole had ridden up to expose her bellybutton, and smiled. Not the goofy, boyish grin she was so used to. This smile had a devilish quality to it. It was a smile of temptation and fierce heat.
She straightened her clothes, pulled on the shirt that had fallen to the floor, and brushed through her hair with fingers still unsteady and tingling. She returned his smile with one of her own, enjoying the way his eyes took her in.
“So we go to Church, save the day,” she said matter-of-factly. “And then…”
He stepped around the console to flip another switch, brushing his hand against her bare arm as he passed her, and said:
“…And then we’ll go from there.”
A song to accompany the drabble: Kate Nash -- "Nicest Thing".
All I know is that you're so nice,
You're the nicest thing I've seen.
I wish that we could give it a go,
See if we could be something.
I wish you had a favourite beauty spot that you loved secretly,
'Cause it was on a hidden bit that nobody else could see.
Basically, I wish that you loved me,
I wish that you needed me…
The hem of her shirt was in his hands.
How did they find themselves here? Everything prior was something of a blur - he’d defused the bomb, she’d pulled Aaron up from the ledge, the boy’s parents had thanked them, and they’d run back to the TARDIS before the authorities could arrive and start asking awkward questions.
But some time after setting the coordinates for China, 1578, something had changed. She could remember walking around the console and pulling her hair back into a bun, wincing when her fingers met the nasty bump the Major had given her forehead. He had seen the wince, was at her side and examining the bruise, and then-
The air felt heavier, charged, full of frightening potential. She had focused her eyes on his neck, unsure that she could meet his eyes steadily. All breath had fled her body, and as his Adam’s apple bobbed with a quick, shaky inhalation, she knew the breath had left him, too.
She pulled her eyes up to his, the flush of excitement dark on her cheeks. He was staring at her with such intensity, such focus, that she felt a real shiver of fear: the undivided and powerful attention of a Time Lord is a hard thing for a human girl from London to handle. But then his eyes softened, lost something of their diamond hardness, and the emotion in his eyes was far easier to understand.
He swallowed, and his hands tightened on the fabric. He seemed to be struggling for words, or the ability to give them voice, but couldn’t. It was a singular moment - the Doctor, rendered speechless and uncertain.
Her skin tingled, the air in the space between their bodies hot and sharp with electricity. They stood on the edge of a choice, a line they could either step over or run away from. She knew how delicate the balance was - a move from her would decide, for it was clear he was waiting for her to make it for the both of them.
She lifted her arms, slowly, afraid to startle him. But he had anticipated the gesture, and as her arms rose he pulled the fabric of her shirt up and over her head. The cotton camisole underneath was a vivid white against her tan - acquired last week at the Willamette Beach on the planet Tessane.
A few seconds passed; a slice of eternity.
And then Rose’s hands were at his jacket lapels, pulling him in, and if the kiss Cassandra/Rose had given him on New Earth was ardent, it had held nothing of this fire, this hunger. With this one, breath-stealing kiss, the Doctor realized the extent of what had been held back. And when he responded, an arm wrapping about her waist with a fierce strength, fingers in her untidy hair, she knew what he had hidden behind his careless smiles.
The reality of him was intoxicating. How many times had she wished he’d hold her like this, the feel of his hands at her waist, against the skin of her back? How often had she wanted to put her hands in his hair, press her lips to his?
And he, hadn’t he thought about the softness of her skin and the taste of her lipgloss, the pressure of her nails against his arms? They stood by the console (if stood was the right word) leaning and pulling at one another, disheveling clothes and hair in their thirsting embrace. In the tempest of emotions starved for too long, in this place outside of time, they could almost believe it would last forever.
His shirt lost a button, then another; he heard them fall through the grating, didn’t care. She was pulling off his jacket, fumbling with his tie, and the fullness of her was filling his senses to the brim, threatening to overload his awareness, blotting out everything sensible, practical.
He had always been so logical, so safe in his science and history, enjoying the beautiful and sensual in the dry ways of the aesthetic. But this, this was liberating in a way he had not expected, liberating in a way that terrified him.
Her skin was against his, and he was sure he was losing his mind. His hearts had lost all semblance of a reasonable rhythm, and he wondered if this body could handle the chaos they’d unleashed.
But then, before there was an answer to his thought, before either could be satisfied, the entire room shook, throwing them apart. He fell heavily, so surprised he made no effort to catch himself, and the impact of his back and elbows against the metal grating echoed painfully. Rose fared better. The console, only inches behind her, steadied her before her feet could slip from underneath her.
“What?” was all she could manage, so breathless and off-balance, the straps of her camisole loose and her hair around her face. One of the alarms was shrieking. The mauve light on the console was blinking frantically.
He scrambled to his feet, wincing as he bent and straightened his arms. He would have some ugly bruises tomorrow. “Something in flux is being threatened. Planet… Syndrone. The Church of the Tin Vagabond.” He was pressing buttons and flicking levers before he reached the end of the sentence. “Year 3004. The TARDIS was already making a U-turn; I’ll just make sure we don’t crash-land in a swamp.”
His tie was nearly undone; his shirt hung loose, missing buttons and untucked from his pants, and his hair stood out in half-formed peaks and spikes. The sight of him so disheveled made her smile, but he didn’t seem to notice, so focused on his wonderful machine.
Then he looked up at her from across the console, took in the flushed cheeks, the reddened lips, the way her camisole had ridden up to expose her bellybutton, and smiled. Not the goofy, boyish grin she was so used to. This smile had a devilish quality to it. It was a smile of temptation and fierce heat.
She straightened her clothes, pulled on the shirt that had fallen to the floor, and brushed through her hair with fingers still unsteady and tingling. She returned his smile with one of her own, enjoying the way his eyes took her in.
“So we go to Church, save the day,” she said matter-of-factly. “And then…”
He stepped around the console to flip another switch, brushing his hand against her bare arm as he passed her, and said:
“…And then we’ll go from there.”
A song to accompany the drabble: Kate Nash -- "Nicest Thing".