amberfocus (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
amberfocus) wrote2013-02-09 09:22 pm
amberfocus) wrote2013-02-09 09:22 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Nomenclature
Title: Nomenclature
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
amberfocus
Charaters/Pairings: Ten/Rose
Genre: Romance, Smut
Rating: Adult
Betas:amyo67, thetesh
Summary: Want is too tame a word for what she desires.
Author's Notes: Written for the 2013 Doctor/Rose Romance-a-thon (which is now open) over at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sistersofguh. The prompt was: Rose asks the Doctor his name. He tells her.
Nomenclature
“I can’t tell you,” the Doctor says. “I can only show you. And it’s time. I want you to see it.”
Rose feels his breath on the back of her neck. Not kissing her, not quite kissing her, just there, barely, not even touching and it is enough to send shivers racing down her spine. She senses more than sees his hand tracing the outline of her form, his fingers bare millimeters from her skin. She breathes out impatiently, more than ready for that contact, but she knows better than to say a word. Instead she tries to steady herself as she takes the air into her lungs. She’s never been so aware of the rise and fall of her chest.
Rose can feel the warmth of his naked body radiating towards her and bites down on her lip. He moves around her in the darkness, facing her, coming so close. She feels a small bead of sweat break out on her forehead and slowly work its way down her face to drip onto her breast. It follows the contour of it until it comes to rest on the top of her right nipple. She thinks about wiping it away, but doesn’t move. She can’t.
The hairs on his thigh brush against hers and she can’t hold back a small whimper as it weakens her knees. Heat rushes to her sex, longing bringing with it a surge of readiness. The Doctor gives a low chuckle, devious, sensual, wicked. His breath puffs against her cheek. Want is too tame a word for what she desires. She closes blind eyes and tries to calm her heart, pounding so fast in her chest it might take wing and fly. She remains still. She’s asked for this, to finally know.
The stillness hangs heavy between them, the air thick and redolent of something she defines only as them, part of who they are when they are together like this, alone like this, a tension that weaves itself around them, pulled taut and only let go in moments of extreme bliss. She has never put a name to it, never even tried. It’s so far beyond that, so far beyond anything she has ever tried to comprehend in those moments outside the madness, outside the reality they place themselves within for other people. This is only for themselves, never for others. It is guarded tightly, fiercely, and openly. Others know not to infringe.
Rose sees it then behind her eyelids, a sky on fire, brilliant embers burning under double suns. She feels the heat of a blast furnace and the air is so oppressive, it nearly chokes the breath from her body. The wind ripples and her hair rises, blowing back from her face. It strengthens and pounds against her. The sound of an ocean at war with the shoreline fills her ears and the scent, something unearthly yet strangely familiar to her, overwhelms her with its sweetness. Silk seems to glide across her breasts before slipping away.
She tastes iron and copper, and the exotic scent turns to ashes, the world burning down at her feet. Arcs of blue lightning streak across her mind and it almost hurts. She feels rage and sorrow as it moves fleetingly through her. The warmth is gone and she almost reaches for it, but he said not to follow anything she sees, to just take it in, to let it happen. Slowly, gradually, the bitterness leaves her mouth and the ozone leaves her nostrils. She is shaking at the all-consuming power of it, the danger inherent in it.
Her nerves jangle all at once and her body begins a long slow blush that radiates from a place at the base of her throat until it covers every inch of her. She hears the sound of crystals breaking and falling to the floor. It is musical, gentle, almost a caress to her skin. It turns slowly into deep chords that resonate throughout her being. Rose gasps in a breath, then another, as quicksilver moves in her veins. She is burning from the inside out.
It ends as suddenly as it began and she is left panting and aching and further away from him than she can stand to be.
“Do you know now, what I mean?” he asks her, his mouth next to her ear. He’s circled around behind her again. She swallows hard and nods, though she knows he can’t see her. She understands it in a way she couldn’t before. Words have power, and his power is in his name, and his name is not a word or many words, but a concept. It is a living thing, a beautiful thing, a frightening and a deadly thing that cannot be harnessed by simple letters and sounds. It is his as she is his, and it is hers as he is hers.
He touches her then, his fingers moving the hair from the nape of her neck. “You know what I am now. You’ve seen what I am. And knowing this, do you still want me?”
“Yes.” There is no hesitation. She yearns for him with every fiber of her existence.
His lips find her shoulder and her entire body jerks at the contact. She turns into him, her aching fingers touching him at last. He is hard and ready, has been since before she asked her question. He kisses her and for just a moment she tastes flames, before they curl into something else, a delicate glow that wraps itself about her tongue.
She’s strung so high it only takes a simple touch between her thighs to send the violent wave of orgasm crashing through her. He keeps her steady, rides through it with her and when she is done he lays her down upon the bed and enters her body with a sigh. It’s always as if he is coming home. She is his home now, the only one he has.
He is still for several long seconds, composing himself, restraining his mind. She knows what he is doing and gives him this. The first time they made love he had stripped her nearly raw. He is always careful now to not let his mind’s need of possession during mating overcome the physical joining of their bodies. Each time he lets go a little more and she is learning how to keep up with it, how to find herself in the storm that he conjures.
He moves within her body while allowing tendrils of his mind to creep inside of hers. She welcomes his presence and raises her hips to meet his. It amazes her every single time that she can love him more than the time before, that love-making does nothing to quench her desire for him, but only inflames it.
He supports himself with one hand, his other stroking her body, her breasts, her face. He leans down to kiss her, and rekindles fire in her mouth. Nerves shake wherever their skin touches and she feels him do just enough to keep her on edge. He holds back, works on his own pleasure which takes far more time than hers. She doesn’t care. It’s why he always makes her orgasm first, so that she can survive this brutal, brilliant, measured torture.
He uses the entire length of his penis in each stroke, coming out of her mere millimeters before pushing gently and devastatingly slowly back inside until not even the base remains unburied. She uses every ounce of strength within her to only meet his thrusts, to never try to hasten his movements. This is what he needs to come and she learned to survive it long ago, though it leaves her ravaged and ravished and unable to comprehend even the simplest words for an hour or two afterwards, not just the process of him sharing in her body, but also her mind. She wouldn’t trade it for anything.
He allows his forehead to rest on hers and she knows what is coming. The rush of warmth into her thoughts, the rush of heat between her thighs. The last movement is a thrust at sharp odds with all of the others, fast, hard, almost painful but not. It triggers wave after wave of clenching and contractions and her body barely has time to recognize what has hit it, before she feels tendrils dig into her slick walls, a natural anesthetic preventing pain on this final stage of penetration. His shaft literally holds on to her as he empties his seed inside her and collapses on top of her.
They stay like that for several minutes until he is physically able to withdraw from her. His mind keeps the connection strong and they reassure each other of their love without any words being spoken. Both fall asleep, staying together within their thoughts until both have recovered enough to go again.
Author:
amberfocusCharaters/Pairings: Ten/Rose
Genre: Romance, Smut
Rating: Adult
Betas:
amyo67, theteshSummary: Want is too tame a word for what she desires.
Author's Notes: Written for the 2013 Doctor/Rose Romance-a-thon (which is now open) over at
sistersofguh. The prompt was: Rose asks the Doctor his name. He tells her.“I can’t tell you,” the Doctor says. “I can only show you. And it’s time. I want you to see it.”
Rose feels his breath on the back of her neck. Not kissing her, not quite kissing her, just there, barely, not even touching and it is enough to send shivers racing down her spine. She senses more than sees his hand tracing the outline of her form, his fingers bare millimeters from her skin. She breathes out impatiently, more than ready for that contact, but she knows better than to say a word. Instead she tries to steady herself as she takes the air into her lungs. She’s never been so aware of the rise and fall of her chest.
Rose can feel the warmth of his naked body radiating towards her and bites down on her lip. He moves around her in the darkness, facing her, coming so close. She feels a small bead of sweat break out on her forehead and slowly work its way down her face to drip onto her breast. It follows the contour of it until it comes to rest on the top of her right nipple. She thinks about wiping it away, but doesn’t move. She can’t.
The hairs on his thigh brush against hers and she can’t hold back a small whimper as it weakens her knees. Heat rushes to her sex, longing bringing with it a surge of readiness. The Doctor gives a low chuckle, devious, sensual, wicked. His breath puffs against her cheek. Want is too tame a word for what she desires. She closes blind eyes and tries to calm her heart, pounding so fast in her chest it might take wing and fly. She remains still. She’s asked for this, to finally know.
The stillness hangs heavy between them, the air thick and redolent of something she defines only as them, part of who they are when they are together like this, alone like this, a tension that weaves itself around them, pulled taut and only let go in moments of extreme bliss. She has never put a name to it, never even tried. It’s so far beyond that, so far beyond anything she has ever tried to comprehend in those moments outside the madness, outside the reality they place themselves within for other people. This is only for themselves, never for others. It is guarded tightly, fiercely, and openly. Others know not to infringe.
Rose sees it then behind her eyelids, a sky on fire, brilliant embers burning under double suns. She feels the heat of a blast furnace and the air is so oppressive, it nearly chokes the breath from her body. The wind ripples and her hair rises, blowing back from her face. It strengthens and pounds against her. The sound of an ocean at war with the shoreline fills her ears and the scent, something unearthly yet strangely familiar to her, overwhelms her with its sweetness. Silk seems to glide across her breasts before slipping away.
She tastes iron and copper, and the exotic scent turns to ashes, the world burning down at her feet. Arcs of blue lightning streak across her mind and it almost hurts. She feels rage and sorrow as it moves fleetingly through her. The warmth is gone and she almost reaches for it, but he said not to follow anything she sees, to just take it in, to let it happen. Slowly, gradually, the bitterness leaves her mouth and the ozone leaves her nostrils. She is shaking at the all-consuming power of it, the danger inherent in it.
Her nerves jangle all at once and her body begins a long slow blush that radiates from a place at the base of her throat until it covers every inch of her. She hears the sound of crystals breaking and falling to the floor. It is musical, gentle, almost a caress to her skin. It turns slowly into deep chords that resonate throughout her being. Rose gasps in a breath, then another, as quicksilver moves in her veins. She is burning from the inside out.
It ends as suddenly as it began and she is left panting and aching and further away from him than she can stand to be.
“Do you know now, what I mean?” he asks her, his mouth next to her ear. He’s circled around behind her again. She swallows hard and nods, though she knows he can’t see her. She understands it in a way she couldn’t before. Words have power, and his power is in his name, and his name is not a word or many words, but a concept. It is a living thing, a beautiful thing, a frightening and a deadly thing that cannot be harnessed by simple letters and sounds. It is his as she is his, and it is hers as he is hers.
He touches her then, his fingers moving the hair from the nape of her neck. “You know what I am now. You’ve seen what I am. And knowing this, do you still want me?”
“Yes.” There is no hesitation. She yearns for him with every fiber of her existence.
His lips find her shoulder and her entire body jerks at the contact. She turns into him, her aching fingers touching him at last. He is hard and ready, has been since before she asked her question. He kisses her and for just a moment she tastes flames, before they curl into something else, a delicate glow that wraps itself about her tongue.
She’s strung so high it only takes a simple touch between her thighs to send the violent wave of orgasm crashing through her. He keeps her steady, rides through it with her and when she is done he lays her down upon the bed and enters her body with a sigh. It’s always as if he is coming home. She is his home now, the only one he has.
He is still for several long seconds, composing himself, restraining his mind. She knows what he is doing and gives him this. The first time they made love he had stripped her nearly raw. He is always careful now to not let his mind’s need of possession during mating overcome the physical joining of their bodies. Each time he lets go a little more and she is learning how to keep up with it, how to find herself in the storm that he conjures.
He moves within her body while allowing tendrils of his mind to creep inside of hers. She welcomes his presence and raises her hips to meet his. It amazes her every single time that she can love him more than the time before, that love-making does nothing to quench her desire for him, but only inflames it.
He supports himself with one hand, his other stroking her body, her breasts, her face. He leans down to kiss her, and rekindles fire in her mouth. Nerves shake wherever their skin touches and she feels him do just enough to keep her on edge. He holds back, works on his own pleasure which takes far more time than hers. She doesn’t care. It’s why he always makes her orgasm first, so that she can survive this brutal, brilliant, measured torture.
He uses the entire length of his penis in each stroke, coming out of her mere millimeters before pushing gently and devastatingly slowly back inside until not even the base remains unburied. She uses every ounce of strength within her to only meet his thrusts, to never try to hasten his movements. This is what he needs to come and she learned to survive it long ago, though it leaves her ravaged and ravished and unable to comprehend even the simplest words for an hour or two afterwards, not just the process of him sharing in her body, but also her mind. She wouldn’t trade it for anything.
He allows his forehead to rest on hers and she knows what is coming. The rush of warmth into her thoughts, the rush of heat between her thighs. The last movement is a thrust at sharp odds with all of the others, fast, hard, almost painful but not. It triggers wave after wave of clenching and contractions and her body barely has time to recognize what has hit it, before she feels tendrils dig into her slick walls, a natural anesthetic preventing pain on this final stage of penetration. His shaft literally holds on to her as he empties his seed inside her and collapses on top of her.
They stay like that for several minutes until he is physically able to withdraw from her. His mind keeps the connection strong and they reassure each other of their love without any words being spoken. Both fall asleep, staying together within their thoughts until both have recovered enough to go again.
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The molten intensity of their lovemaking...
Yea, if I was Rose I'd be a bit taut and high strung too.
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Their love making makes all other sex seem pretty lacking by comparison. I think I'm jealous of fictional characters now even if they are my otp. Hubby will never measure up ;)
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You are the master of romantic hotness! You have always been an inspiration to me. The way you weave your words leaves me breathless.
Thank you and happy early birthday.
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that's amazing amber, hot and sweet, and a brilliant description of how he shares his name with her too.
just awesome :)
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The imagery of the Doctor sharing his name with Rose was intense and amazing.
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nomenctalure
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