Pairing: 10.5/Rose )
Rating: Adult (but not too graphic)
Spoilers: Journey's End
Synopsis: What can a man who owns nothing give to the woman he loves?
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, If I did you'd be watching this story on TV
He cries out her name as he empties himself inside her. Every muscle in this new, and yet mostly familiar, body tenses for a few glorious moments of intense pleasure. He collapses on top of her, burying his face in the crook of her neck and trembling all over. He feels like a babe just pulled from the womb, naked in both body and soul and over stimulated to the point of exhaustion. She cuddles him to her, murmuring nonsense words as she gently runs her fingers up and down the length of his back. It feels…well, he’s not quite sure what it feels like, because he’s never been so confused.
He’s spent centuries running from this kind of domestic bliss, not content unless on the way to somewhere new. Yet now all he wants is stay in this exact place, in Rose’s arms, forever. He’s not sure what to do with this kind of emotion. He’s never felt so good it hurts before.
Maybe it’s because he’s half human now, a candle that burns brightest and all that. Maybe it’s because those adventures, those memories of traveling the stars and seeing so many new worlds, really happened to someone else, his genetic donor, and this is just him discovering who he really is.
No, he emphatically pushes the thought away. He is himself, the Doctor. He can't think of it any other way, or it’ll drive him mad. Those memories are his. That life, in all its pain and loss and violence, was led by him. He needed Rose from the word “run,” and he’s never stopped loving her. The fact that there’s two of them now, that one of them could stay and one of them had to go, doesn’t change that, cannot change it. The Doctor suspects, in his darkest moments, that this is why Rose accepted him so quickly, because the alternative was just too overwhelmingly wrong.
Pulling back, finally rolling on his side to let her breathe, he seeks out Rose’s face. The lamp in the corner has been set on its dimmest setting, but he can still clearly make out the curve of her cheek, the shine in her eyes. Yes, he loves her. He’s still slightly shaking from the intensity of showing her how much just a few moments ago. She notices and reaches out a hand to run through his hair and over his temple. The Doctor’s still Time Lord enough that the accompanying telepathic spark makes him shiver.
“Cold?” He nods, preferring to keep the tiny bit of stolen emotion a secret for now, but his Rose, ever the nurturer, takes him at his word and pulls the duvet up over their shoulders before moving closer to share her body heat
The gesture nearly brings tears to his eyes. She’s given him so much and just continues to give. She has become his whole universe again, and yet he doesn’t have one to give back to her. He can no longer show her those far away stars and new worlds. His single heart aches at the thought and swells so much it feels larger than the two he used to have ever did. He will never deserve her, and yet, himself is all he has to give.
The tears he’s been fighting rush to the surface when he realizes what that means. If he has nothing to give her but himself, then she deserves all of him, everything he has. It shocks him to discover how much he wants her to have it.
“Rose,” the Doctor calls her name, the sound not much more than a croaked whisper. It’s not until she opens her eyes that he realizes she was very nearly asleep. “Rose, I…I need to tell you something.”
She smiles, the corners of her mouth turning up in encouragement, so he leans over and whispers in her ear. The syllables feel strange from disuse, but he manages to pronounce them clearly, to say the word without choking on it.
When she repeats it back to him, haltingly but definitely recognizable, the Doctor has to close his eyes against the wave of longing it creates.
“It’s beautiful,” she tells him, her fingertips feathering over his closed eyelids. “What does it mean?”
“Me,” he manages to say before the tears spill over. “It’s my…” He can’t continue, can’t breathe his throat is so tight, but her fingers have moved to his lips, calming him. When he opens his eyes again, she has matching tear tracks on her own face. Rose says the word again.
She repeats it as she wipes his tears away with her thumbs and again as she moves into his arms. She whispers it against his neck, his temples, his closed eyelids, before finally reaching up to murmur it against his lips.
Breathing is no longer a problem, and suddenly, he’s not only ready and willing, but desperate to have her again. He blesses the Time Lord half of his biology as he rolls her beneath him. Rose is all moans and whimpers, hot lips and soft, damp skin. He enters her almost immediately, and she wraps herself so tightly around him it’s as if she’ll never let him go. He needs this, needs her, like air, like water, more than time vortices and crystal matrices. He needs it to be quick and powerful, and just as overwhelming as it was the first time.
And it is, just as gloriously incredible as it was earlier; except this time, when she arches her back and he grits his teeth, as muscles tense involuntarily and their limbs cling to one another, it’s Rose who cries out his name.