New fic: Five and a half hours later
Title: Five and a half hours later
Pairing: Nine/Rose
Rating: Adult
Content: Adventure; Romance; Graphic Sex; Angst; Ten
Disclaimer: BBC owned as usual
Chapters: 6/9
Summary: A second chance. A new beginning. A different ending?
Chapter 6: Her fear
Alone in the fog, and not so very far away, the Doctor was battling his demons. The demons were winning. He’d done the thing he promised himself he wouldn’t do and he’d told Rose he loved her. Sort of. He’d just blundered into it too, like the words were inevitable and he’d seen by the look on her face that she’d understood exactly what he meant. That look of shock, of disbelief maybe, of fear. It had made him tremble. The only thing he could do now, the single, one and only option, was to try to laugh it off, to pretend he was joking. He was sure he could convince her that a single throwaway line meant nothing. His secret was bound to be safe, and then she would still be safe, ignorant and happy. It wasn’t like he’d actually said the words anyway, just dropped a bit of a hint - more of a hintette. The days for dropping hints were long gone, because Consequences were stalking him through the mist.
He turned, ready with his best fake grin because he’d only gone a few steps away, and he realised that she wasn’t there. She wasn’t standing behind him waiting to hear what he had to say. She wasn’t there to be amazed at the things he could show her, to laugh at his jokes, to fill up the emptiness, to make him smile. She wasn’t there to be desired, to be loved when she wasn’t looking, to have little pieces of that precious happiness snatched and pocketed in case they never came again. There was only the fog. He was on his own, and he’d lost her. A spasm of fear writhed in his stomach. And then he saw it. These were fiendishly intelligent demons, after all.
He didn’t do fear. Full stop. Or terror, or panic or all out screaming - the most he might admit to was a slight concern from time to time. He could itemise the things he was slightly concerned about at the moment. The fear that he was responsible for ripping great holes in the space/time continuum and that he wouldn’t be able to escape the consequences. Well, after today he was absolutely certain that there was an absolutely huge problem, and he was definitely being followed by something that wouldn’t let him get away.
He was afraid of Rose finding out that he loved her, and that he’d loved her since the day he met her, because it wasn’t fair to ask her to love him and lose him again. He’d managed to go dropping hints about having children with her, which went somewhere beyond ‘I love you’ in the commitment stakes.
He was afraid of losing her too, and lo and behold, here he was, standing on his own.
He was afraid of not keeping his promises, and of letting her down, but he’d left her behind, despite swearing blind that he’d look after her.
All the things he was afraid of - make that slightly concerned about - were coming true. And if that were the case, all the things that she was afraid of must be happening too.
At last he had the number of the beast.
Which meant that all he needed to do to find the TARDIS, and a big door marked Exit was to stop Rose from being afraid. Starting with not leaving her behind. He fled back through the fog, seeing by his watch that he’d been gone only five - no nearly six minutes, although it probably seemed a lot longer to her.
Rose was standing under the lamppost where he’d left her but he didn’t have time to start analysing the look that twisted her face. He gazed at her, into her hooded, petrified eyes, and he thought just once, just quickly, about not being afraid himself, and about telling her exactly what he felt for a change. He even started the sentence.
‘Rose, I need to tell you that…’ He paused. ‘To tell you… tell…’
Then he remembered the consequences. Something was coming, something bad, something that might sweep him away again, separate them beyond any hope of return. There wasn’t going to be enough time. He didn’t deserve this second chance because he’d made so many mistakes and it was going to be snatched back all too soon. She didn’t need to know that. She didn’t need to know the truth, not really. He couldn’t trust her with it. She’d worry herself sick just thinking about what might be coming. He couldn’t do that to her, not again.
He continued after a while, ‘To tell you not to be afraid.’
She frowned at him, but she didn’t speak. He thought she must be questioning his mental state. He was doing the same thing.
‘When we landed, you were scared we’d get lost and have to stay here - right?’
She nodded dumbly. There was only one thing for it. He picked up her right hand, because her left was jammed firmly in the pocket of his coat and after a bit of resistance, encouraged her to follow him off into the fog, lying as he went. ‘I mean really, it’s a joke. Me? Stay here with you? Can you honestly see me living in an actual house with carpets and curtains and a mortgage and not dying of boredom? It’d be hell on whatever planet this is. Can’t think of anything worse. Give me a couple of weeks, I’ll build us another TARDIS and we’ll be out of here.’
He trailed off at the sight of the entirely unreconstructable square blue escape route that had magically appeared in the alleyway in front of him. Unlocking the door, watching Rose hand his jacket back and head off to her room he was impossibly glad that she didn’t know he loved her, that he loved her more than the vast reaches of time and space, and that he had risked them all for the sake of that love.
Rose Tyler sat on her bed. She’d been doing a lot of sitting on her bed over the last couple of weeks, lots and lots of sitting, and thinking. This time, she was thinking about the fact that she had a Time Lord for an ex-boyfriend. She thought that probably qualified her as an endangered species, much like the ex-boyfriend. He was definitely supposed to be an ex-Time Lord, and she didn’t really understand quite why he was walking around undead. Her memories were confused. Not a sort of ‘oh dear I came into the kitchen to fetch something and I’ve forgotten what it was’ confused. More a someone had put the contents of her head into a cocktail shaker and tried to mix four different drinks at once type confusion.
She sat on the edge of her bed and looked at the ring she still hadn’t taken off her finger. She remembered three different stories, all distinct, but all in many ways the same. She remembered the Doctor exploding with the energy of the time vortex and becoming someone else. She remembered the someone else - who was clearly the fantasy man of her daydreams staying with her for a while, and then leaving through a fireplace. She remembered typing ‘emergency programme’ into the TARDIS and hitting the return key and the next thing she knew she’d stopped the Doctor from becoming the someone else and ended up sleeping with him. Frequently. She closed her mind to that particular set of memories for a while. Suffice it to say all her daydreams had been replaying actual events, just with the wrong leading man. She remembered the Doctor she had loved leaving, for good, and then things got in a bit of a mess.
She also remembered - or thought she remembered - living through the entire chain of events leading up to the fireplace all over again, but with the man she’d been kissing - frequently - and not with the someone else. It didn’t make any sense. She’d been so busy trying to work it out that she’d forgotten to be scared, forgotten to listen to a word the Doctor was saying, forgotten to answer him back. The only half decent explanation she could find was that mucking around with history forced your mind to compensate for things it didn’t understand by making up stories of its own. How many thousand of alien encounters had been brushed aside as weather balloons, after all?
That didn’t really matter. What mattered now was the fact that her - lying - ex-Time Lord ex-boyfriend was not as dead as a doornail (if doors anywhere still had nails) but full of the joys of springs. And cogs, wheels and other bits of machinery he might keep stashed in his pockets along with sort of wedding rings. He had definitely said - lied - that there was nothing he could do to make the timeline stay changed, and he’d flown off in his usual nobler-than-thou manner to commit suicide. She’d cried for him. Except that he’d lied about having to be six feet under because he was still six feet and over of walking around. He’d actually lied all along about not knowing that he was supposed to be regenerated and fed her some cock and bull story about hope. Then he’d come back and he’d lied and lied and lied and lied and lied, because he hadn’t told her that he used to love her. Frequently. And she’d loved him right back too.
She still loved him now. She’d never stopped loving him, never quite stopped hoping that one day he’d return the feeling and actually speak the words. He had - once upon a time he’d told her he loved her over and over again, like he was afraid that every time might be the last. Then he’d come back, and he had failed to tell her anything. How could she love a man who hadn’t mentioned something so important? She twisted the ring around her finger. She’d never wanted anything so badly in her life than for it to be him coming back for her through that fireplace. It should have made no difference which Doctor returned, as long as one of them did, except that she had rather abandoned the second one after only five and a half hours, pinched his TARDIS and then sort of aborted him, and he might not have been too pleased about that. She would have sworn that he - the liar - had wanted to come back too. He had come back. He’d kissed her, realised that she didn’t remember and promptly shut up. If this was going to turn out to be another of his misguided attempts to do the right thing he’d have some serious shouting at coming his way.
There had to be a reason. It was quite apparent that something was going on. Empty helmets, Mickey’s zombie Gran, octopus everywhere and being chased by a thing that knew your fears were clues aplenty that the world needed saving. But he was obviously not going to bother to trust her with the truth.
Forcefully, she yanked the ring off her finger and replaced it on the bedside table. She didn’t want to wear it, but she couldn’t exactly bring herself to give it back either. She was prepared, for the sake of the ring, to give him a second chance to explain, and maybe a second chance at other things as well. Everyone deserved a second chance. Even lying ex-Time Lord ex-boyfriends who couldn’t be trusted.
But at least she knew, categorically, unequivocally, undeniably how he felt. And that was the same as how she felt. Tomorrow, she’d try to make him tell her so, because he deserved at least one more chance.
Something was sure to be coming. They probably didn’t have much time. But she wasn’t afraid. Not yet.
The ring was the last thing she saw before she put out the light.
Walking into the console room the next morning, ready to face a whole day of making the Doctor talk (not usually much of a problem) she was walloped by an almost overwhelming desire to run and hug him instead. She felt like she hadn’t seen him properly in weeks. She could read in his stance that he was worried, or hurting somehow and her first instinct was to go and kiss him better. Frequently. It was like she could suddenly see all the things he was feeling, simply because she’d known him well enough once to get past all his barriers. She had to remind herself that she’d last kissed him in this room, before he’d gone off on the world’s first return one way trip.
Instead, she started with the simple, easy to answer: ‘Morning. What’s going on?’
He stopped whatever it was he was doing and gave her a tired smile that melted her heart. ‘Nothing,’ he replied.
Liar, she thought, putting her heart back in the freezer and remembering the plan. ‘You sure? No saving the world to do? No death or death missions to go running off on?’ He gave her his usual I don’t know what you’re talking about and I can’t be bothered to ask either frown. ‘And what was all that fog about yesterday? Evil alien something?’
He shrugged. ‘Don’t believe in evil.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I remember. What do you believe in?’ Expecting the answer to be ‘truth’, or ‘fair play’ or ‘honesty is the best policy’ or something else she could use as part of a lengthy speech on the importance of trust.
He gave her an assessing stare, and just as clearly decided to dodge the question. ‘I believe in you,’ he said, winningly.
She narrowed her eyes, trying for ‘withering’ as hard as she was able, but in the effort to maintain an innocent smile she ended up with ‘whittering’ instead. ‘I’m not optional. You can’t ‘believe’ in a person like you believe in gods or fairies.’
He gave her an answering grin, and there was a flash of something in his eyes that she recognised, this time around. She just had to get it out of his eyes and onto his lips. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I worship the ground you walk on, and you do like pink. Now do you want to go to this art gallery or not?’
He was changing the subject. She was supposed to be all curious and naïve about where they were going next, but she was actually remembering the noises he made when she licked that place he liked with her tongue. Her smile widened, predatory, and she found herself looking at his lips for just slightly longer than it took for him to notice.
He frowned. She smiled. This was going to be fun.
‘Not,’ she replied taking one careful step after another in a straight line that took her directly to where he was standing and stopping much too close, almost but not quite rubbing his jumper with her chest. She gave him a lingering stare. She gave his lips a lingering stare anyway, because she was busy imagining exactly where they’d been in that dream she had, the one where she’d been flat on her back on the console with her legs spread. The dream that had actually happened. ‘Why do you want to go to a gallery?’
He didn’t seem to be listening. He seemed to be attempting to suck out her thoughts through her eyes, so intently was he gazing into them. ‘Because I think you’ll enjoy it?’ he muttered, although she doubted that was the real reason.
He needed some more encouragement to tell the truth. She was full of encouragement. She was nothing but encouraging today. She encouraged him by pressing her breasts firmly into his chest, knowing that he’d feel how hard her nipples were, knowing that he’d understand what her body meant. Concentrating hard on the word ‘seductive’ she slotted one of her legs into the gap between his, gracefully rubbed her hips up the front of his trousers as she stretched up to lace her arms around his neck, giving his jumper another firm brush of her chest. He didn’t move, neither to hold her, or to push her away but his attention was rapt, focused into the brown shine dancing under her lashes. She kept her thoughts intent on those skilful, demanding lips, the lips that knew her inside and out, the mouth that could give such delight, but was currently closed. Deliberately, drawing closer and closer so he’d know what she was going to do and had every opportunity to stop her, she inched her face towards his. She breathed gently on his lips before delicately, lightly, touching them with her own.
She kept her eyes open to watch his reaction. He didn’t react. She came in again, up on tiptoe now, and dropped tiny kisses from one corner of his mouth to the other, teasing, gentle, but he could have been a statue for all the movement he made. Instead, she crushed her face against him, all open lips and probing invitation, flicking the tip of her tongue against his mouth, silently begging him to let her in. He didn’t. So she decided to give up on seduction and just thought hard about how much she loved him instead, shutting her eyes and kissing him as naturally as she always had, back when she was scared she was going to lose him and every kiss was a stored up memory.
At last, at long last, she felt him move, and when he moved, she could feel he wasn’t holding back. His mouth opened and his tongue drove quickly inside her with the easy assurance, the same confidence and enthusiasm he always brought to sex. His hand tangled in her hair, tipping her head back and his other hand sloped down possessively to her lower back. His breath rasped against her cheek and she could feel the sudden leap of his hearts. She let him kiss her for just a second and then, roughly, she pushed him away.
‘Go on then,’ she said, losing any trace of humour. ‘Tell me that was only a kiss.’
Chapter 5: Impossible planets:http://sap1066.livejournal.com/15848.html
Chapter 4: New York:http://sap1066.livejournal.com/15364.html
Chapter 3: The Idiot:http://sap1066.livejournal.com/15356.html
Chapter 2: The Rise of Steel: http://sap1066.livejournal.com/15097.html
Chapter 1: Consequences: http://sap1066.livejournal.com/14430.html
Five and a half hours Chapters 1-10: http://sap1066.livejournal.com/11963.html
Pairing: Nine/Rose
Rating: Adult
Content: Adventure; Romance; Graphic Sex; Angst; Ten
Disclaimer: BBC owned as usual
Chapters: 6/9
Summary: A second chance. A new beginning. A different ending?
Chapter 6: Her fear
Alone in the fog, and not so very far away, the Doctor was battling his demons. The demons were winning. He’d done the thing he promised himself he wouldn’t do and he’d told Rose he loved her. Sort of. He’d just blundered into it too, like the words were inevitable and he’d seen by the look on her face that she’d understood exactly what he meant. That look of shock, of disbelief maybe, of fear. It had made him tremble. The only thing he could do now, the single, one and only option, was to try to laugh it off, to pretend he was joking. He was sure he could convince her that a single throwaway line meant nothing. His secret was bound to be safe, and then she would still be safe, ignorant and happy. It wasn’t like he’d actually said the words anyway, just dropped a bit of a hint - more of a hintette. The days for dropping hints were long gone, because Consequences were stalking him through the mist.
He turned, ready with his best fake grin because he’d only gone a few steps away, and he realised that she wasn’t there. She wasn’t standing behind him waiting to hear what he had to say. She wasn’t there to be amazed at the things he could show her, to laugh at his jokes, to fill up the emptiness, to make him smile. She wasn’t there to be desired, to be loved when she wasn’t looking, to have little pieces of that precious happiness snatched and pocketed in case they never came again. There was only the fog. He was on his own, and he’d lost her. A spasm of fear writhed in his stomach. And then he saw it. These were fiendishly intelligent demons, after all.
He didn’t do fear. Full stop. Or terror, or panic or all out screaming - the most he might admit to was a slight concern from time to time. He could itemise the things he was slightly concerned about at the moment. The fear that he was responsible for ripping great holes in the space/time continuum and that he wouldn’t be able to escape the consequences. Well, after today he was absolutely certain that there was an absolutely huge problem, and he was definitely being followed by something that wouldn’t let him get away.
He was afraid of Rose finding out that he loved her, and that he’d loved her since the day he met her, because it wasn’t fair to ask her to love him and lose him again. He’d managed to go dropping hints about having children with her, which went somewhere beyond ‘I love you’ in the commitment stakes.
He was afraid of losing her too, and lo and behold, here he was, standing on his own.
He was afraid of not keeping his promises, and of letting her down, but he’d left her behind, despite swearing blind that he’d look after her.
All the things he was afraid of - make that slightly concerned about - were coming true. And if that were the case, all the things that she was afraid of must be happening too.
At last he had the number of the beast.
Which meant that all he needed to do to find the TARDIS, and a big door marked Exit was to stop Rose from being afraid. Starting with not leaving her behind. He fled back through the fog, seeing by his watch that he’d been gone only five - no nearly six minutes, although it probably seemed a lot longer to her.
Rose was standing under the lamppost where he’d left her but he didn’t have time to start analysing the look that twisted her face. He gazed at her, into her hooded, petrified eyes, and he thought just once, just quickly, about not being afraid himself, and about telling her exactly what he felt for a change. He even started the sentence.
‘Rose, I need to tell you that…’ He paused. ‘To tell you… tell…’
Then he remembered the consequences. Something was coming, something bad, something that might sweep him away again, separate them beyond any hope of return. There wasn’t going to be enough time. He didn’t deserve this second chance because he’d made so many mistakes and it was going to be snatched back all too soon. She didn’t need to know that. She didn’t need to know the truth, not really. He couldn’t trust her with it. She’d worry herself sick just thinking about what might be coming. He couldn’t do that to her, not again.
He continued after a while, ‘To tell you not to be afraid.’
She frowned at him, but she didn’t speak. He thought she must be questioning his mental state. He was doing the same thing.
‘When we landed, you were scared we’d get lost and have to stay here - right?’
She nodded dumbly. There was only one thing for it. He picked up her right hand, because her left was jammed firmly in the pocket of his coat and after a bit of resistance, encouraged her to follow him off into the fog, lying as he went. ‘I mean really, it’s a joke. Me? Stay here with you? Can you honestly see me living in an actual house with carpets and curtains and a mortgage and not dying of boredom? It’d be hell on whatever planet this is. Can’t think of anything worse. Give me a couple of weeks, I’ll build us another TARDIS and we’ll be out of here.’
He trailed off at the sight of the entirely unreconstructable square blue escape route that had magically appeared in the alleyway in front of him. Unlocking the door, watching Rose hand his jacket back and head off to her room he was impossibly glad that she didn’t know he loved her, that he loved her more than the vast reaches of time and space, and that he had risked them all for the sake of that love.
Rose Tyler sat on her bed. She’d been doing a lot of sitting on her bed over the last couple of weeks, lots and lots of sitting, and thinking. This time, she was thinking about the fact that she had a Time Lord for an ex-boyfriend. She thought that probably qualified her as an endangered species, much like the ex-boyfriend. He was definitely supposed to be an ex-Time Lord, and she didn’t really understand quite why he was walking around undead. Her memories were confused. Not a sort of ‘oh dear I came into the kitchen to fetch something and I’ve forgotten what it was’ confused. More a someone had put the contents of her head into a cocktail shaker and tried to mix four different drinks at once type confusion.
She sat on the edge of her bed and looked at the ring she still hadn’t taken off her finger. She remembered three different stories, all distinct, but all in many ways the same. She remembered the Doctor exploding with the energy of the time vortex and becoming someone else. She remembered the someone else - who was clearly the fantasy man of her daydreams staying with her for a while, and then leaving through a fireplace. She remembered typing ‘emergency programme’ into the TARDIS and hitting the return key and the next thing she knew she’d stopped the Doctor from becoming the someone else and ended up sleeping with him. Frequently. She closed her mind to that particular set of memories for a while. Suffice it to say all her daydreams had been replaying actual events, just with the wrong leading man. She remembered the Doctor she had loved leaving, for good, and then things got in a bit of a mess.
She also remembered - or thought she remembered - living through the entire chain of events leading up to the fireplace all over again, but with the man she’d been kissing - frequently - and not with the someone else. It didn’t make any sense. She’d been so busy trying to work it out that she’d forgotten to be scared, forgotten to listen to a word the Doctor was saying, forgotten to answer him back. The only half decent explanation she could find was that mucking around with history forced your mind to compensate for things it didn’t understand by making up stories of its own. How many thousand of alien encounters had been brushed aside as weather balloons, after all?
That didn’t really matter. What mattered now was the fact that her - lying - ex-Time Lord ex-boyfriend was not as dead as a doornail (if doors anywhere still had nails) but full of the joys of springs. And cogs, wheels and other bits of machinery he might keep stashed in his pockets along with sort of wedding rings. He had definitely said - lied - that there was nothing he could do to make the timeline stay changed, and he’d flown off in his usual nobler-than-thou manner to commit suicide. She’d cried for him. Except that he’d lied about having to be six feet under because he was still six feet and over of walking around. He’d actually lied all along about not knowing that he was supposed to be regenerated and fed her some cock and bull story about hope. Then he’d come back and he’d lied and lied and lied and lied and lied, because he hadn’t told her that he used to love her. Frequently. And she’d loved him right back too.
She still loved him now. She’d never stopped loving him, never quite stopped hoping that one day he’d return the feeling and actually speak the words. He had - once upon a time he’d told her he loved her over and over again, like he was afraid that every time might be the last. Then he’d come back, and he had failed to tell her anything. How could she love a man who hadn’t mentioned something so important? She twisted the ring around her finger. She’d never wanted anything so badly in her life than for it to be him coming back for her through that fireplace. It should have made no difference which Doctor returned, as long as one of them did, except that she had rather abandoned the second one after only five and a half hours, pinched his TARDIS and then sort of aborted him, and he might not have been too pleased about that. She would have sworn that he - the liar - had wanted to come back too. He had come back. He’d kissed her, realised that she didn’t remember and promptly shut up. If this was going to turn out to be another of his misguided attempts to do the right thing he’d have some serious shouting at coming his way.
There had to be a reason. It was quite apparent that something was going on. Empty helmets, Mickey’s zombie Gran, octopus everywhere and being chased by a thing that knew your fears were clues aplenty that the world needed saving. But he was obviously not going to bother to trust her with the truth.
Forcefully, she yanked the ring off her finger and replaced it on the bedside table. She didn’t want to wear it, but she couldn’t exactly bring herself to give it back either. She was prepared, for the sake of the ring, to give him a second chance to explain, and maybe a second chance at other things as well. Everyone deserved a second chance. Even lying ex-Time Lord ex-boyfriends who couldn’t be trusted.
But at least she knew, categorically, unequivocally, undeniably how he felt. And that was the same as how she felt. Tomorrow, she’d try to make him tell her so, because he deserved at least one more chance.
Something was sure to be coming. They probably didn’t have much time. But she wasn’t afraid. Not yet.
The ring was the last thing she saw before she put out the light.
Walking into the console room the next morning, ready to face a whole day of making the Doctor talk (not usually much of a problem) she was walloped by an almost overwhelming desire to run and hug him instead. She felt like she hadn’t seen him properly in weeks. She could read in his stance that he was worried, or hurting somehow and her first instinct was to go and kiss him better. Frequently. It was like she could suddenly see all the things he was feeling, simply because she’d known him well enough once to get past all his barriers. She had to remind herself that she’d last kissed him in this room, before he’d gone off on the world’s first return one way trip.
Instead, she started with the simple, easy to answer: ‘Morning. What’s going on?’
He stopped whatever it was he was doing and gave her a tired smile that melted her heart. ‘Nothing,’ he replied.
Liar, she thought, putting her heart back in the freezer and remembering the plan. ‘You sure? No saving the world to do? No death or death missions to go running off on?’ He gave her his usual I don’t know what you’re talking about and I can’t be bothered to ask either frown. ‘And what was all that fog about yesterday? Evil alien something?’
He shrugged. ‘Don’t believe in evil.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I remember. What do you believe in?’ Expecting the answer to be ‘truth’, or ‘fair play’ or ‘honesty is the best policy’ or something else she could use as part of a lengthy speech on the importance of trust.
He gave her an assessing stare, and just as clearly decided to dodge the question. ‘I believe in you,’ he said, winningly.
She narrowed her eyes, trying for ‘withering’ as hard as she was able, but in the effort to maintain an innocent smile she ended up with ‘whittering’ instead. ‘I’m not optional. You can’t ‘believe’ in a person like you believe in gods or fairies.’
He gave her an answering grin, and there was a flash of something in his eyes that she recognised, this time around. She just had to get it out of his eyes and onto his lips. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I worship the ground you walk on, and you do like pink. Now do you want to go to this art gallery or not?’
He was changing the subject. She was supposed to be all curious and naïve about where they were going next, but she was actually remembering the noises he made when she licked that place he liked with her tongue. Her smile widened, predatory, and she found herself looking at his lips for just slightly longer than it took for him to notice.
He frowned. She smiled. This was going to be fun.
‘Not,’ she replied taking one careful step after another in a straight line that took her directly to where he was standing and stopping much too close, almost but not quite rubbing his jumper with her chest. She gave him a lingering stare. She gave his lips a lingering stare anyway, because she was busy imagining exactly where they’d been in that dream she had, the one where she’d been flat on her back on the console with her legs spread. The dream that had actually happened. ‘Why do you want to go to a gallery?’
He didn’t seem to be listening. He seemed to be attempting to suck out her thoughts through her eyes, so intently was he gazing into them. ‘Because I think you’ll enjoy it?’ he muttered, although she doubted that was the real reason.
He needed some more encouragement to tell the truth. She was full of encouragement. She was nothing but encouraging today. She encouraged him by pressing her breasts firmly into his chest, knowing that he’d feel how hard her nipples were, knowing that he’d understand what her body meant. Concentrating hard on the word ‘seductive’ she slotted one of her legs into the gap between his, gracefully rubbed her hips up the front of his trousers as she stretched up to lace her arms around his neck, giving his jumper another firm brush of her chest. He didn’t move, neither to hold her, or to push her away but his attention was rapt, focused into the brown shine dancing under her lashes. She kept her thoughts intent on those skilful, demanding lips, the lips that knew her inside and out, the mouth that could give such delight, but was currently closed. Deliberately, drawing closer and closer so he’d know what she was going to do and had every opportunity to stop her, she inched her face towards his. She breathed gently on his lips before delicately, lightly, touching them with her own.
She kept her eyes open to watch his reaction. He didn’t react. She came in again, up on tiptoe now, and dropped tiny kisses from one corner of his mouth to the other, teasing, gentle, but he could have been a statue for all the movement he made. Instead, she crushed her face against him, all open lips and probing invitation, flicking the tip of her tongue against his mouth, silently begging him to let her in. He didn’t. So she decided to give up on seduction and just thought hard about how much she loved him instead, shutting her eyes and kissing him as naturally as she always had, back when she was scared she was going to lose him and every kiss was a stored up memory.
At last, at long last, she felt him move, and when he moved, she could feel he wasn’t holding back. His mouth opened and his tongue drove quickly inside her with the easy assurance, the same confidence and enthusiasm he always brought to sex. His hand tangled in her hair, tipping her head back and his other hand sloped down possessively to her lower back. His breath rasped against her cheek and she could feel the sudden leap of his hearts. She let him kiss her for just a second and then, roughly, she pushed him away.
‘Go on then,’ she said, losing any trace of humour. ‘Tell me that was only a kiss.’
Chapter 5: Impossible planets:http://sap1066.livejournal.com/15848.html
Chapter 4: New York:http://sap1066.livejournal.com/15364.html
Chapter 3: The Idiot:http://sap1066.livejournal.com/15356.html
Chapter 2: The Rise of Steel: http://sap1066.livejournal.com/15097.html
Chapter 1: Consequences: http://sap1066.livejournal.com/14430.html
Five and a half hours Chapters 1-10: http://sap1066.livejournal.com/11963.html