Voyages of Discovery (Chapter Twenty)
Apr. 15th, 2007 06:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kalleahI'm back after my brief hiatus from posting. Miss me?
As I said in my comments before the last chapter, I'm prouder of this chapter than I am perhaps of anything else I've written. Please tell me what you think.
Warning: some adult content in this chapter.
Previous Chapters
As I said in my comments before the last chapter, I'm prouder of this chapter than I am perhaps of anything else I've written. Please tell me what you think.
Warning: some adult content in this chapter.
Previous Chapters
"In the fabric of space and in the nature of matter, as in a great work of art, there is, written small, the artist's signature." - Carl Sagan
When Rose drifted out of sleep the following morning, the Doctor was curled around her, the sheet covering them both. She tentatively wiggled her toes, waking her body in small steps, and shifted her head against the pillow. In the night, she had turned her back to the Doctor. His body fit against hers snugly, knees behind knees, her bottom against his thighs. He had an arm around her, and she was clutching his hand tightly in both of hers.
"Good morning," he whispered. She made a sleepy sound in return and he nuzzled her neck through her hair. She uncurled the fingers of her hands from his and let him shift his hand to cup her belly. The coolness of his hand radiated through the thin nightshirt she wore. She pressed a hand on top of his, her thumb tracing the lines of his fingers.
She was content to drowse like that for a while, letting him stroke her belly and breathe into her hair. As consciousness returned, she remembered the events of the night before and felt pain, not as sharp as before, but still poignant and present.
The Doctor must have sensed something, either through the sudden tension in her muscles or her quick intake of breath. "Sleep helps," he said. "Your mind processes your short term memory, files everything away, and then everything is accessible but not nearly as immediate. Are you all right?"
"I think so," she said unsteadily.
"I'm so sorry, Rose," he breathed, his voice full of regret and, she thought, shame.
"It's okay," she told him. His hand rubbed up and down on her belly, barely a touch. "It was worth it, really it was." She didn't want to argue with him, and she was glad, despite the pain of it, that she had seen her mother again, even if it had been a one-sided meeting. "Did you get any sleep?"
"No."
"Do you need to? If it helps, I mean."
"I will, maybe tonight. I don't need to sleep as often as you do, remember? Honestly, I'm fine. I'm just worried about you." She heard him lick his lips and clear his throat.
She shifted and he lifted his arm up obligingly so she could roll over to face him. His face was long, mouth compressed and eyes darkened. She reached up and ran a finger along his sideburns, feeling the rough hair, and then the softer skin. He watched her, unblinking, and she traced his lips. "Stop feeling guilty," she said. "I'm fine." She smiled and offered a joke. "I'll set Jacob on you if you don't behave."
His eyes widened and he made a small "o" with his mouth. "Can I get dressed first, please?"
"That depends." He didn't exactly laugh at that, but there was a soft whoosh of breath through his nose and his eyes crinkled up. "That's better," she praised, and kissed him chastely on the lips. "I like you smiling."
"I like me smiling too," he agreed. He reached for her and the kiss that followed was not chaste. His lips explored hers, gentle but thorough, teeth scraping her lower lip. She extended her tongue and he gave her entry, letting her explore and stroking with his tongue in response.
She shifted in the bed, discarding her nightshirt and knickers, and rolled her leg over his hip. His hand slid to cup her buttock and pull her toward him. His closeness was comfort, and intimacy, and a welcome distraction from her worries. He explored her curves, hip and breasts and belly, dipping lower to run his fingers along her inner thigh. With her leg thrown over his hip, she was completely open to his touch, and he took his time teasing and stroking and sliding two fingers deep inside her until she mewed with pleasure and felt her climax shuddering through her.
He didn't move immediately, and she caught her breath, opening her eyes and finding him watching her, as he often did when they made love. "Doctor?" she asked, not sure what his response meant, then realizing he was waiting for her, letting her take what she needed from him and not asking for anything in return. "Please," she said, and he moved to press her back into the mattress and rise on his elbows above her.
His kiss was intense but not demanding, so she urged him on with mouth and hips and spreading legs, wanting him inside her. When he entered her, it was slow, deliberate, controlled. She lifted and dipped her hips as he moved, and felt the quickening of his hearts, the sharpened intake of his breath against her lips. He moved faster, back and forth inside her, the friction almost too much after her orgasm.
They moved together for a long time, exchanging kisses and soft words. Rose wound her legs around his hips and urged him to move faster, deeper, closer. She felt herself coming undone, the spiraling bands tightening again inside her. The Doctor hitched a breath and sighed into her mouth. As she came, she threw her head back and felt him bite lightly at her neck. He jerked a few last times and moaned her name, then relaxed on top of her.
After a few moments, he withdrew and lifted off her, and she shivered as the air made contact with her bare, heated skin. He rolled onto his back and she snuggled into his side, bending her knee and resting her leg over his. Their breathing slowed, and Rose let her eyes drift closed. The Doctor put an arm around her, moving his hand up and down her arm.
"Sleepy?" he asked.
"Just a little drowsy," she replied, and stretched against him. His hand rubbed steadily against her bare skin. "Nice way to wake up."
He made a soft sound of assent. "I'd like to show you something," he said, "if you're up for it."
"Do I have to get out of bed?" She managed to keep the whinge out of her voice.
He squeezed her arm. "No, you can stay right where you are." He shifted onto his side to face her. "You trusted me enough to let me in your mind, and I know – how hard it was to relive everything last night. I'd like you let you see something of me, if that's all right." A faint smile and wide eyes belied the barely perceptible shake in his voice.
Rose's heartbeat, which had slowed, thumped abruptly forward again, and she caught her breath. "I can do that?" she asked.
"Yes. I either have to be caught off guard or allow it, but yes, you can."
She remembered how his mind had felt in hers last night, the gentle, fluttering pressure, affectionate and concerned, and wondered how hers felt to him. "What do we do?"
"Same thing," he answered. He reached for her and settled his hands on her temples again. "Just relax, and focus on me." Instead of closing his eyes as he had last night, he stared intently into hers. Rose had a sudden moment of vertigo, and his eyes seemed to widen and draw her in. She made herself relax, letting her muscles go slack, barely holding her eyelids open.
His mind, so alien to her, opened before her, and she crossed into it without knowing exactly what she did. Her first sensation, wondering, was that there was so much movement – thoughts flying around her, incomprehensible images whirling and flashing and she almost flinched against the onslaught.
"Wait," said the Doctor, and she felt the echo of the word inside her head. The frenetic activity receded and she could focus. "Is that better?"
"No wonder you can't keep still, with all that going on in your head," she observed wryly.
"Now, now," he chided, and tapped one finger against her temple. "No need to be rude. What do you see?"
She looked around, inside her head (or his?) and found a familiar presence, the same that she had felt during the contact last night. It stretched out endlessly before her, a tangled yet carefully woven strand of bright light and woolly texture. She extended toward it and felt it wrap all around her, warm and comforting.
"That's you?" she said, her voice full of wonder.
"That's me," he agreed. "Foxy?"
"Yeah, definitely foxy," she chuckled, and the strand circled in front of her and separated, showing her so many faces: two familiar, eight unknown, but with the same bright presence all through them. "Ten of you, right?"
"Yep."
She studied the big eared, short haired face that she had known first and felt two separate presences smiling at her: the manic, wounded grin of the first face she had known and the reckless, boyish grin of his current aspect. "I loved you then, too," she told him.
"I know," he said. She smelled the leather of his old jacket and wanted to hug him, so in her mind, she did. The fingers playing along her temples seemed less real somehow than the incorporeal arms around her, made up of so many men who were, after all, the same man. Her Doctor.
She tried to articulate what she felt and saw. "It's very – abstract," she said. "Nothing solid at all, not like last night."
"That was your mind, your memories," he answered. "You already know how everything works. My mind is quite different, and you don't quite know how to process what I'm showing you. Wait, here's what I wanted you to see." The world lurched around her and she saw a prism of colors, shimmering and inexplicably beautiful, all surrounded by that bright, woolly texture that she now knew to be the mind of her Doctor.
The image cleared and she saw herself walking out of the woods, confused and wobbly on her own legs. She felt the shock of pain and fresh loss as he had at that moment, and the deep, defensive denial and anger at the trick he thought was being played. "You aren't real," his voice grated out, resonating through their shared mind.
"Forward a bit," said the Doctor, outside the memory, and there was a sudden, disconcerting blur as the images streaked past. She felt the sharp sting of a pinch on her arm and the reflexive indignation he had felt. Then, the flow of wonder and love and joy and utter astonishment overwhelmed her, and she half cried out at the force of it all. From outside, his hands pressed into her temples, grounding her. The sensations flooding through her took her breath away.
"This is how I feel about you," he breathed softly.
Rose had never felt so precious as she did in that moment, wrapped in his mind, safe in their bed, with the world so far away.
When Rose drifted out of sleep the following morning, the Doctor was curled around her, the sheet covering them both. She tentatively wiggled her toes, waking her body in small steps, and shifted her head against the pillow. In the night, she had turned her back to the Doctor. His body fit against hers snugly, knees behind knees, her bottom against his thighs. He had an arm around her, and she was clutching his hand tightly in both of hers.
"Good morning," he whispered. She made a sleepy sound in return and he nuzzled her neck through her hair. She uncurled the fingers of her hands from his and let him shift his hand to cup her belly. The coolness of his hand radiated through the thin nightshirt she wore. She pressed a hand on top of his, her thumb tracing the lines of his fingers.
She was content to drowse like that for a while, letting him stroke her belly and breathe into her hair. As consciousness returned, she remembered the events of the night before and felt pain, not as sharp as before, but still poignant and present.
The Doctor must have sensed something, either through the sudden tension in her muscles or her quick intake of breath. "Sleep helps," he said. "Your mind processes your short term memory, files everything away, and then everything is accessible but not nearly as immediate. Are you all right?"
"I think so," she said unsteadily.
"I'm so sorry, Rose," he breathed, his voice full of regret and, she thought, shame.
"It's okay," she told him. His hand rubbed up and down on her belly, barely a touch. "It was worth it, really it was." She didn't want to argue with him, and she was glad, despite the pain of it, that she had seen her mother again, even if it had been a one-sided meeting. "Did you get any sleep?"
"No."
"Do you need to? If it helps, I mean."
"I will, maybe tonight. I don't need to sleep as often as you do, remember? Honestly, I'm fine. I'm just worried about you." She heard him lick his lips and clear his throat.
She shifted and he lifted his arm up obligingly so she could roll over to face him. His face was long, mouth compressed and eyes darkened. She reached up and ran a finger along his sideburns, feeling the rough hair, and then the softer skin. He watched her, unblinking, and she traced his lips. "Stop feeling guilty," she said. "I'm fine." She smiled and offered a joke. "I'll set Jacob on you if you don't behave."
His eyes widened and he made a small "o" with his mouth. "Can I get dressed first, please?"
"That depends." He didn't exactly laugh at that, but there was a soft whoosh of breath through his nose and his eyes crinkled up. "That's better," she praised, and kissed him chastely on the lips. "I like you smiling."
"I like me smiling too," he agreed. He reached for her and the kiss that followed was not chaste. His lips explored hers, gentle but thorough, teeth scraping her lower lip. She extended her tongue and he gave her entry, letting her explore and stroking with his tongue in response.
She shifted in the bed, discarding her nightshirt and knickers, and rolled her leg over his hip. His hand slid to cup her buttock and pull her toward him. His closeness was comfort, and intimacy, and a welcome distraction from her worries. He explored her curves, hip and breasts and belly, dipping lower to run his fingers along her inner thigh. With her leg thrown over his hip, she was completely open to his touch, and he took his time teasing and stroking and sliding two fingers deep inside her until she mewed with pleasure and felt her climax shuddering through her.
He didn't move immediately, and she caught her breath, opening her eyes and finding him watching her, as he often did when they made love. "Doctor?" she asked, not sure what his response meant, then realizing he was waiting for her, letting her take what she needed from him and not asking for anything in return. "Please," she said, and he moved to press her back into the mattress and rise on his elbows above her.
His kiss was intense but not demanding, so she urged him on with mouth and hips and spreading legs, wanting him inside her. When he entered her, it was slow, deliberate, controlled. She lifted and dipped her hips as he moved, and felt the quickening of his hearts, the sharpened intake of his breath against her lips. He moved faster, back and forth inside her, the friction almost too much after her orgasm.
They moved together for a long time, exchanging kisses and soft words. Rose wound her legs around his hips and urged him to move faster, deeper, closer. She felt herself coming undone, the spiraling bands tightening again inside her. The Doctor hitched a breath and sighed into her mouth. As she came, she threw her head back and felt him bite lightly at her neck. He jerked a few last times and moaned her name, then relaxed on top of her.
After a few moments, he withdrew and lifted off her, and she shivered as the air made contact with her bare, heated skin. He rolled onto his back and she snuggled into his side, bending her knee and resting her leg over his. Their breathing slowed, and Rose let her eyes drift closed. The Doctor put an arm around her, moving his hand up and down her arm.
"Sleepy?" he asked.
"Just a little drowsy," she replied, and stretched against him. His hand rubbed steadily against her bare skin. "Nice way to wake up."
He made a soft sound of assent. "I'd like to show you something," he said, "if you're up for it."
"Do I have to get out of bed?" She managed to keep the whinge out of her voice.
He squeezed her arm. "No, you can stay right where you are." He shifted onto his side to face her. "You trusted me enough to let me in your mind, and I know – how hard it was to relive everything last night. I'd like you let you see something of me, if that's all right." A faint smile and wide eyes belied the barely perceptible shake in his voice.
Rose's heartbeat, which had slowed, thumped abruptly forward again, and she caught her breath. "I can do that?" she asked.
"Yes. I either have to be caught off guard or allow it, but yes, you can."
She remembered how his mind had felt in hers last night, the gentle, fluttering pressure, affectionate and concerned, and wondered how hers felt to him. "What do we do?"
"Same thing," he answered. He reached for her and settled his hands on her temples again. "Just relax, and focus on me." Instead of closing his eyes as he had last night, he stared intently into hers. Rose had a sudden moment of vertigo, and his eyes seemed to widen and draw her in. She made herself relax, letting her muscles go slack, barely holding her eyelids open.
His mind, so alien to her, opened before her, and she crossed into it without knowing exactly what she did. Her first sensation, wondering, was that there was so much movement – thoughts flying around her, incomprehensible images whirling and flashing and she almost flinched against the onslaught.
"Wait," said the Doctor, and she felt the echo of the word inside her head. The frenetic activity receded and she could focus. "Is that better?"
"No wonder you can't keep still, with all that going on in your head," she observed wryly.
"Now, now," he chided, and tapped one finger against her temple. "No need to be rude. What do you see?"
She looked around, inside her head (or his?) and found a familiar presence, the same that she had felt during the contact last night. It stretched out endlessly before her, a tangled yet carefully woven strand of bright light and woolly texture. She extended toward it and felt it wrap all around her, warm and comforting.
"That's you?" she said, her voice full of wonder.
"That's me," he agreed. "Foxy?"
"Yeah, definitely foxy," she chuckled, and the strand circled in front of her and separated, showing her so many faces: two familiar, eight unknown, but with the same bright presence all through them. "Ten of you, right?"
"Yep."
She studied the big eared, short haired face that she had known first and felt two separate presences smiling at her: the manic, wounded grin of the first face she had known and the reckless, boyish grin of his current aspect. "I loved you then, too," she told him.
"I know," he said. She smelled the leather of his old jacket and wanted to hug him, so in her mind, she did. The fingers playing along her temples seemed less real somehow than the incorporeal arms around her, made up of so many men who were, after all, the same man. Her Doctor.
She tried to articulate what she felt and saw. "It's very – abstract," she said. "Nothing solid at all, not like last night."
"That was your mind, your memories," he answered. "You already know how everything works. My mind is quite different, and you don't quite know how to process what I'm showing you. Wait, here's what I wanted you to see." The world lurched around her and she saw a prism of colors, shimmering and inexplicably beautiful, all surrounded by that bright, woolly texture that she now knew to be the mind of her Doctor.
The image cleared and she saw herself walking out of the woods, confused and wobbly on her own legs. She felt the shock of pain and fresh loss as he had at that moment, and the deep, defensive denial and anger at the trick he thought was being played. "You aren't real," his voice grated out, resonating through their shared mind.
"Forward a bit," said the Doctor, outside the memory, and there was a sudden, disconcerting blur as the images streaked past. She felt the sharp sting of a pinch on her arm and the reflexive indignation he had felt. Then, the flow of wonder and love and joy and utter astonishment overwhelmed her, and she half cried out at the force of it all. From outside, his hands pressed into her temples, grounding her. The sensations flooding through her took her breath away.
"This is how I feel about you," he breathed softly.
Rose had never felt so precious as she did in that moment, wrapped in his mind, safe in their bed, with the world so far away.
