Weekly Drabble Challenge Response: Fall From Heaven
Title: Fall From Heaven
Author: Tess/mihane_echo
Rating: Rated M for the having of the sex. Nothing graphic, but they're having of it. ;B
Word Count: 611
Spoilers: None
Summary: The Doctor contemplates the effect Donna's wardrobe has on him.
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it belongs to the Beeb and I'm borrowing it to play with. I promise I will return them (marginally) unharmed. ;3
Author's Note: Written for Weekly Drabble Challenge #13 at doctor_donna. Prompt was white.
He loves her in white.
Of course, Donna is exquisite in every color. She's so beautiful, too much so, that she can even look stunning in pink, which the Doctor is sure is a fashion no-no with her ginger hair. She's rather fashion savvy; even if he didn't know her, he could guess by her extensive wardrobe. It spans the length of the TARDIS, the entire breadth of the color spectrum and everything goes together with something.
He's seen her in so many different ensembles that it's easy to favor some over others. For instance, her cool colors, the blues and greens. She looks most herself in those deep hues, organic and earthy and natural, as though she is the physical embodiment of a Monet in the flesh, an ethereal vision come to life. That is his Donna, his friend, his mate, his lover, in her purest form.
In blues, in greens, he has but to look at her to feel something, because she is laid bare, everything that is her and that he loves, there for him to explore with his eyes, his hands, his mouth. He knows all her little spots, the ones that make her quake in his arms. He loves the noises that she makes; they pool in him, harden and swell the more he tastes of her and he's so greedy. He wants to hear more, have more; it's never enough.
He's fond of yellow. Oh, in yellow, she is laughing, shining and glowing and teeming with life and light; he feels like a giddy schoolboy, mischievous and sneaky and playful. In yellow, she teases him in public, her breath on his throat, her tongue flicking over his earlobe, a casual pinch on his bottom that elicits a yelp of surprise because for heaven's sake, he's nine-hundred and she's grabbing his arse as though staking a claim.
When he strips the yellow off her pale, warm body later as they fall into bed, it's fun, spontaneous and mirthful, laughing and squealing as they dance under the duvet. They grin lazily at each other after, like fat contented kittens, his fingers combing aimlessly through her auburn curls, her hand trailing gently over his bare chest, occasionally plucking at the soft hair there.
But when she wears white, he can only stand in awe.
In white, she is otherworldly, resplendent. The most perfect creamy skin swathed in gauzy whiteness, and red tumbling down her shoulders, a signature, the only sign of the fire that blazes inside, the passion and vigor of a deity.
In white, she is a munificent goddess, deigning to share her body with him and let him taste divinity for that short while. He trembles as she slowly rocks over him, her palms on his wrists with nothing but the softness of their bed beneath him, and her lips laying searing oaths on his skin, promises of salvation and sanctuary.
His body is under her rule, and he doesn't move, can't move, in the face of her power. He just whispers prayers of devotion and gratitude, gasping and tightening and calling her name. It always feels so close, that if he stretches out his hand just a bit further, the tips of his fingers might rake through Heaven, but then greed consumes him; his hand gropes blindly above him, holding against the wall for leverage and the pressure soars.
In a heartbeat, Heaven slips away from his greedy sinner's hand but he doesn't care. His Heaven, his goddess, is here.
He throws his head back when she brings him to his fall, his breath leaving him in a satisfied sigh, and his mind goes white.
end
Author: Tess/mihane_echo
Rating: Rated M for the having of the sex. Nothing graphic, but they're having of it. ;B
Word Count: 611
Spoilers: None
Summary: The Doctor contemplates the effect Donna's wardrobe has on him.
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it belongs to the Beeb and I'm borrowing it to play with. I promise I will return them (marginally) unharmed. ;3
Author's Note: Written for Weekly Drabble Challenge #13 at doctor_donna. Prompt was white.
He loves her in white.
Of course, Donna is exquisite in every color. She's so beautiful, too much so, that she can even look stunning in pink, which the Doctor is sure is a fashion no-no with her ginger hair. She's rather fashion savvy; even if he didn't know her, he could guess by her extensive wardrobe. It spans the length of the TARDIS, the entire breadth of the color spectrum and everything goes together with something.
He's seen her in so many different ensembles that it's easy to favor some over others. For instance, her cool colors, the blues and greens. She looks most herself in those deep hues, organic and earthy and natural, as though she is the physical embodiment of a Monet in the flesh, an ethereal vision come to life. That is his Donna, his friend, his mate, his lover, in her purest form.
In blues, in greens, he has but to look at her to feel something, because she is laid bare, everything that is her and that he loves, there for him to explore with his eyes, his hands, his mouth. He knows all her little spots, the ones that make her quake in his arms. He loves the noises that she makes; they pool in him, harden and swell the more he tastes of her and he's so greedy. He wants to hear more, have more; it's never enough.
He's fond of yellow. Oh, in yellow, she is laughing, shining and glowing and teeming with life and light; he feels like a giddy schoolboy, mischievous and sneaky and playful. In yellow, she teases him in public, her breath on his throat, her tongue flicking over his earlobe, a casual pinch on his bottom that elicits a yelp of surprise because for heaven's sake, he's nine-hundred and she's grabbing his arse as though staking a claim.
When he strips the yellow off her pale, warm body later as they fall into bed, it's fun, spontaneous and mirthful, laughing and squealing as they dance under the duvet. They grin lazily at each other after, like fat contented kittens, his fingers combing aimlessly through her auburn curls, her hand trailing gently over his bare chest, occasionally plucking at the soft hair there.
But when she wears white, he can only stand in awe.
In white, she is otherworldly, resplendent. The most perfect creamy skin swathed in gauzy whiteness, and red tumbling down her shoulders, a signature, the only sign of the fire that blazes inside, the passion and vigor of a deity.
In white, she is a munificent goddess, deigning to share her body with him and let him taste divinity for that short while. He trembles as she slowly rocks over him, her palms on his wrists with nothing but the softness of their bed beneath him, and her lips laying searing oaths on his skin, promises of salvation and sanctuary.
His body is under her rule, and he doesn't move, can't move, in the face of her power. He just whispers prayers of devotion and gratitude, gasping and tightening and calling her name. It always feels so close, that if he stretches out his hand just a bit further, the tips of his fingers might rake through Heaven, but then greed consumes him; his hand gropes blindly above him, holding against the wall for leverage and the pressure soars.
In a heartbeat, Heaven slips away from his greedy sinner's hand but he doesn't care. His Heaven, his goddess, is here.
He throws his head back when she brings him to his fall, his breath leaving him in a satisfied sigh, and his mind goes white.
end