This Perfume Lies Heavy On Her Skin
Title: This Perfume Lies Heavy On Her Skin
Author: ladychi
Beta: The flashy fantastic plaid_slytherin
Rating: Older Teen
Spoilers: New Earth
Summary: Written for the doctor_rose_fic's Time In Flux challenge. I was assigned New Earth. This is... less plotty and more inside of Rose's head. It's definitely different than most everything I've seen thus far; I hope you enjoy it, faithful viewer.
This Perfume Lies Heavy On Her Skin
She can't stop watching him -- sometimes she remembers to do it out of the corner of her eye, but most of the time, with her jaw hanging loose and a smile on her face. She feels so incredibly alive around him, like his presence lights up all of the cells on her skin. She's not sure if she's drunk on his life or just having survived the Daleks, the Sycorax and her mum, or the way his freckles look in direct sunlight. He reminds her of a boy down the street, all grown up, most of the time. He flits and shouts and laughs and is a little bit manic, but she can still see the weariness, the pain, underneath everything he does. He's impossibly old and identifiably young, and she recognizes him.
He really is the same man. Just in a different package. A package that does things to her that would be really embarrassing, if she thought to voice the thoughts running around in her head. Like how she'd like to curl her tongue around his ear and bite that wonderfully deformed earlobe. How she wonders if his freckles really cover every single inch of his body. How big his hands are -- seriously huge, and just how much of her could they cover?
He moves well. Covers ground in long, fantastic strides that leave her panting in his wake, sometimes, but he also tugs on her hand and grins down at her and his eyes say Aren't we grand? Isn't life wonderful? And she can't help but smile back, tug his hand and love him with all of her heart.
The smell of apple grass as they land goes straight to her head. It's like champagne -- a rush of bright light around her eyes and a glow that seems impervious, like nothing could ruin the moment. It feels like New Year's and Christmas. They lay together on the ground and she can't stop smiling as he talks, counts the number of News in New New York. She thinks idly of throwing her leg over his spread out body, lowering herself down and kissing him (would he taste like apples?), running her hands through his hair and making love in the bright light of day.
Just as quickly as it came, the moment is gone, and they're running off to the hospital. But they're running. And it's just as wonderful as she imagined it.
**
He lets go of her hand just before they get to the hospital, and she wonders if he's got some sort of extra-sense, if he can tell the direction her thoughts are going, or if he knows the real reason she's lingering just a step or two behind. If the TARDIS tailored those pants, Rose is going to write her a thank-you note and send her flowers -- even through the flap of his coat she can see the outline of his bum. What sort of flower do you buy a time-traveling, semi-sentient ship anyway?
The Doctor's talking, rambling just a little as they step through painfully clean glass doors. "I don't like hospitals. Hate them, as a matter of fact."
She can't help it, she scoffs. "Bit rich, coming from you."
"I can't help it. I don't like hospitals. They give me the creeps."
She smirks a little at that, but looks around, a little overwhelmed. "Very smart. Not exactly NHS."
"No shop. I'd have a little shop!"
Rose feels a little sinking in her stomach, the way it does when she realizes that the future doesn't quite live up to her expectations -- it often surprises her, but sometimes it's just as disappointing. "I thought this far in the future they'd have killed everything."
"The human race moves on, but so do the viruses." The Doctor sighs. "It's an ongoing war."
She mulls that over -- thinks about all the money raised to cure breast cancer, AIDS, all the things people do to stop the march of illness and time, until she sees something that nearly stops her in her tracks. She's been around the block a few times, but she's never seen a feline in a religious habit. "They're cats!"
"Now, don't stare. Imagine how you look to them, all pink and yellow..." He points vaguely in another direction. "That's where I'd put the shop!"
**
Kissing him as Cassandra is like -- kissing him through plastic. It's Cassandra's desire but it's also her own, and she can catalog the things about it she likes without having the immediate physical reaction she's used to. Cassandra rocks her hips and thrusts her tongue inside the Doctor's mouth, things Rose never would have imagined, but then, the look on his face when the kiss ends makes her think she ought to thrust her tongue down his throat more often.
Cassandra also sways her hips when she walks, strides confidently -- Rose still doesn't like her but she begins to think that this must be what it feels like to be in control, to really know what it means to be a woman. Cassandra's got the same materials she did, but somehow in her hands they seem lethal, like her femininity is a weapon. Rose isn't sure she likes that, but she can't deny the effectiveness.
All the switching of consciousness makes her a bit dizzy, a bit out-of-focus, but when she's done flying down lift shafts and watching him prance around like a girl and saving the world (Everyone lives, Rose! Just this once, everyone lives!) once again, when she finally comes back to herself for good, she's in his arms.
"Hello," she breathes, and the look on his face is worth every minute she tried to fight to come back to him.
"Hello."
**
The doors close on the TARDIS, and she wipes a tear, circumspectly. It's a bit silly, to be mourning someone like Cassandra -- who, through everything, was so horrible to her. Still, there were feelings inside that mind, thoughts she couldn't escape letting Rose see, and for all the confidence she projected, there was a desperation in Cassandra to be something greater than herself.
"Do you think, Doctor, that when she said that was the last time someone told her she was beautiful, she meant that literally?"
The Doctor turns a knob and looks up at her. "I suppose so. Why?"
"I dunno. I just thought maybe that was the last time she ever believed them, you know? There's Chip, dying in her arms, and none of her friends would lift a finger to help. It's a bit sad, is all."
"Yeah," the Doctor agrees, looking down at the grating. Suddenly he bounces on his heels. "So, where now? Barcelona?"
"Don't think so," Rose says, tracing the letters of her name in the dust of the console. "I'm going to do something. Just don't... freak out, yeah?"
"Rose?" His voice runs just a little higher than usual, and Rose smiles, trying to remember what it felt like to walk like Cassandra. She pulls down on his tie and touches her lips to his. Warm, soft -- much softer than she anticipated, and a warm pool of liquid starts in her center and spreads out through her whole body.
It's like lying in the apple grass all over again, the way the feelings wash over her. "You dance, right? In this body, I mean," Rose murmurs, not moving her mouth far from his.
"Are you saying you'd like to dance with me?" the Doctor asks, his voice impossibly low, like every note of it is passing through her body. She's hyper-aware of every breath he takes and every word he lingers on.
"I can feel you," she breathes. "With my own skin and my own hands and my own brain, and I don't want to not feel you anymore." She loosens his tie and unbuttons the top button of his shirt, and they both stand completely, horrifyingly still for a few seconds.
His hands hover over her for what seems like an eternity before they settle at her waist and he draws her in again, kissing her over and over and over again till her breath is ragged and she feels lightheaded. He unhooks one button, and then another, and then another, his large hands just millimeters from her skin but contact seems just out of reach. She dare not move closer to him, careful to break the spell that they both seem to be under.
"Humans have five senses," the Doctor says softly, and she has to strain to understand him, "just the five, and such basic senses they are, too. When, for example, I do this --" he lifts her wrist and flicks his tongue against the pulse point, "-- it's all about the feel for you, the quick sensation, the rush of air over skin. But it's ever so much more for me."
"Doctor?"
"I can feel you," he muttered, "with more than my skin, with more than my hands. You're like... a constant hum in the back of my brain. A little like -- when the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine -- that's amore... and Dean Martin, actually. But it's a fair point. I don't think I..."
"Doctor?"
"Yeah?"
"Shut up."
He grins. "Point taken."
And they dance. And it's just like laying in apple grass, just like running, just like jumping in a dark hole with no end in sight. It's like a heady bottle of perfume, like she smell herself on him and him on her and they're them. It's like -- nothing in the world.
It's a little bit desperate, and a little bit sweaty, and a little bit silly, and she's sure they'll get better at it. But for now? It's fantastic.
Author: ladychi
Beta: The flashy fantastic plaid_slytherin
Rating: Older Teen
Spoilers: New Earth
Summary: Written for the doctor_rose_fic's Time In Flux challenge. I was assigned New Earth. This is... less plotty and more inside of Rose's head. It's definitely different than most everything I've seen thus far; I hope you enjoy it, faithful viewer.
This Perfume Lies Heavy On Her Skin
She can't stop watching him -- sometimes she remembers to do it out of the corner of her eye, but most of the time, with her jaw hanging loose and a smile on her face. She feels so incredibly alive around him, like his presence lights up all of the cells on her skin. She's not sure if she's drunk on his life or just having survived the Daleks, the Sycorax and her mum, or the way his freckles look in direct sunlight. He reminds her of a boy down the street, all grown up, most of the time. He flits and shouts and laughs and is a little bit manic, but she can still see the weariness, the pain, underneath everything he does. He's impossibly old and identifiably young, and she recognizes him.
He really is the same man. Just in a different package. A package that does things to her that would be really embarrassing, if she thought to voice the thoughts running around in her head. Like how she'd like to curl her tongue around his ear and bite that wonderfully deformed earlobe. How she wonders if his freckles really cover every single inch of his body. How big his hands are -- seriously huge, and just how much of her could they cover?
He moves well. Covers ground in long, fantastic strides that leave her panting in his wake, sometimes, but he also tugs on her hand and grins down at her and his eyes say Aren't we grand? Isn't life wonderful? And she can't help but smile back, tug his hand and love him with all of her heart.
The smell of apple grass as they land goes straight to her head. It's like champagne -- a rush of bright light around her eyes and a glow that seems impervious, like nothing could ruin the moment. It feels like New Year's and Christmas. They lay together on the ground and she can't stop smiling as he talks, counts the number of News in New New York. She thinks idly of throwing her leg over his spread out body, lowering herself down and kissing him (would he taste like apples?), running her hands through his hair and making love in the bright light of day.
Just as quickly as it came, the moment is gone, and they're running off to the hospital. But they're running. And it's just as wonderful as she imagined it.
**
He lets go of her hand just before they get to the hospital, and she wonders if he's got some sort of extra-sense, if he can tell the direction her thoughts are going, or if he knows the real reason she's lingering just a step or two behind. If the TARDIS tailored those pants, Rose is going to write her a thank-you note and send her flowers -- even through the flap of his coat she can see the outline of his bum. What sort of flower do you buy a time-traveling, semi-sentient ship anyway?
The Doctor's talking, rambling just a little as they step through painfully clean glass doors. "I don't like hospitals. Hate them, as a matter of fact."
She can't help it, she scoffs. "Bit rich, coming from you."
"I can't help it. I don't like hospitals. They give me the creeps."
She smirks a little at that, but looks around, a little overwhelmed. "Very smart. Not exactly NHS."
"No shop. I'd have a little shop!"
Rose feels a little sinking in her stomach, the way it does when she realizes that the future doesn't quite live up to her expectations -- it often surprises her, but sometimes it's just as disappointing. "I thought this far in the future they'd have killed everything."
"The human race moves on, but so do the viruses." The Doctor sighs. "It's an ongoing war."
She mulls that over -- thinks about all the money raised to cure breast cancer, AIDS, all the things people do to stop the march of illness and time, until she sees something that nearly stops her in her tracks. She's been around the block a few times, but she's never seen a feline in a religious habit. "They're cats!"
"Now, don't stare. Imagine how you look to them, all pink and yellow..." He points vaguely in another direction. "That's where I'd put the shop!"
**
Kissing him as Cassandra is like -- kissing him through plastic. It's Cassandra's desire but it's also her own, and she can catalog the things about it she likes without having the immediate physical reaction she's used to. Cassandra rocks her hips and thrusts her tongue inside the Doctor's mouth, things Rose never would have imagined, but then, the look on his face when the kiss ends makes her think she ought to thrust her tongue down his throat more often.
Cassandra also sways her hips when she walks, strides confidently -- Rose still doesn't like her but she begins to think that this must be what it feels like to be in control, to really know what it means to be a woman. Cassandra's got the same materials she did, but somehow in her hands they seem lethal, like her femininity is a weapon. Rose isn't sure she likes that, but she can't deny the effectiveness.
All the switching of consciousness makes her a bit dizzy, a bit out-of-focus, but when she's done flying down lift shafts and watching him prance around like a girl and saving the world (Everyone lives, Rose! Just this once, everyone lives!) once again, when she finally comes back to herself for good, she's in his arms.
"Hello," she breathes, and the look on his face is worth every minute she tried to fight to come back to him.
"Hello."
**
The doors close on the TARDIS, and she wipes a tear, circumspectly. It's a bit silly, to be mourning someone like Cassandra -- who, through everything, was so horrible to her. Still, there were feelings inside that mind, thoughts she couldn't escape letting Rose see, and for all the confidence she projected, there was a desperation in Cassandra to be something greater than herself.
"Do you think, Doctor, that when she said that was the last time someone told her she was beautiful, she meant that literally?"
The Doctor turns a knob and looks up at her. "I suppose so. Why?"
"I dunno. I just thought maybe that was the last time she ever believed them, you know? There's Chip, dying in her arms, and none of her friends would lift a finger to help. It's a bit sad, is all."
"Yeah," the Doctor agrees, looking down at the grating. Suddenly he bounces on his heels. "So, where now? Barcelona?"
"Don't think so," Rose says, tracing the letters of her name in the dust of the console. "I'm going to do something. Just don't... freak out, yeah?"
"Rose?" His voice runs just a little higher than usual, and Rose smiles, trying to remember what it felt like to walk like Cassandra. She pulls down on his tie and touches her lips to his. Warm, soft -- much softer than she anticipated, and a warm pool of liquid starts in her center and spreads out through her whole body.
It's like lying in the apple grass all over again, the way the feelings wash over her. "You dance, right? In this body, I mean," Rose murmurs, not moving her mouth far from his.
"Are you saying you'd like to dance with me?" the Doctor asks, his voice impossibly low, like every note of it is passing through her body. She's hyper-aware of every breath he takes and every word he lingers on.
"I can feel you," she breathes. "With my own skin and my own hands and my own brain, and I don't want to not feel you anymore." She loosens his tie and unbuttons the top button of his shirt, and they both stand completely, horrifyingly still for a few seconds.
His hands hover over her for what seems like an eternity before they settle at her waist and he draws her in again, kissing her over and over and over again till her breath is ragged and she feels lightheaded. He unhooks one button, and then another, and then another, his large hands just millimeters from her skin but contact seems just out of reach. She dare not move closer to him, careful to break the spell that they both seem to be under.
"Humans have five senses," the Doctor says softly, and she has to strain to understand him, "just the five, and such basic senses they are, too. When, for example, I do this --" he lifts her wrist and flicks his tongue against the pulse point, "-- it's all about the feel for you, the quick sensation, the rush of air over skin. But it's ever so much more for me."
"Doctor?"
"I can feel you," he muttered, "with more than my skin, with more than my hands. You're like... a constant hum in the back of my brain. A little like -- when the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine -- that's amore... and Dean Martin, actually. But it's a fair point. I don't think I..."
"Doctor?"
"Yeah?"
"Shut up."
He grins. "Point taken."
And they dance. And it's just like laying in apple grass, just like running, just like jumping in a dark hole with no end in sight. It's like a heady bottle of perfume, like she smell herself on him and him on her and they're them. It's like -- nothing in the world.
It's a little bit desperate, and a little bit sweaty, and a little bit silly, and she's sure they'll get better at it. But for now? It's fantastic.