Work Text:
The heat from the tea in his hand travels through the mug and threatens to burn his palm. He doesn't feel it, because the sliding glass doors are open and the cool, morning breeze makes her hair dance across her face. She's open and free, unaware and asleep, bare legs silk and slipping between the crisp white of the bedsheets she's laying on. It aches, to look at her. And it's only then he registers the heat in his hand.
This is the Doctor, then. Completely, hopelessly, stupidly adoring Rose Tyler.
It's early yet, just past dawn in Spain, on this remote beach he decided to fly her away to. Didn't ask, just pressed a few buttons and let his ship toss and lurch them through the vortex. He'd watched her wipe off the pressure of her father's forehead from her lips and let her go to her bedroom to change in silence. His bare feet on the hotel carpet make no noise, but the clink of the teacup on her nightstand makes her stir, makes her stretch long and lean like a feline awakening from a nap. He aches again, all over and in his stomach, and he smiles away the knot.
It's still fairly dark, just enough light in the room to give her a silhouette as she sits up in bed and reaches her arms up toward their usual home sweet home in the sky. Her mouth turns into the shape of a small o as she yawns, squeaking a bit as her hands reach for the tea from the table before her eyes open again. He stands watching as she drinks, slowly, admires the way she's coming to life for the day before his eyes.
Her throat makes a low hum of satisfaction before she sets the tea down again. Eyes blinking up at him, blinking away the dreams and maybe nightmares of the night, tongue traveling it's familiar route across her bottom lip, and she grins. “Morning.” The low, gentle cantor of her voice, still heavy with waking hits him between his ribs and makes it hard to speak, to greet her back.
“Was just bringing you tea, didn't mean to wake you. It's a bit early.” He nods out to the dark beach just steps away from her room, lets the foaming crash of the waves beyond distract him from the sight of Rose Tyler just woken up.
But she's watching him now, and she lets her legs bend and slid over each other as she enjoys the cool air that finds it's way from the ocean to the caves of her bed linens. “S'ok.”
His stomach jumps with surprise at the touch of her fingertips tickling his wrist. The feel of her skin always surprises him, makes him remember he's still alive, that's there's still a hand to hold. His eyes find hers and the deep, inviting brownness between still sleepy lids takes his breath away.
“Sit down.” She says. And he does, of course. Does anything she asks, these days. Ever since she died, ever since he killed her under so much dirty, deep ground and hard concrete. Ever since she came back to him like a slap across the face. Wouldn't have missed it for the world.. And that's when he started doing stupid things. Like letting idiot pretty boys onto his ship, or taking her to see her dead father. Ever since he'd slipped and fallen, right at Rose's feet.
Since realizing it all could be brand new and beautiful again, when seen through her eyes.
She made him stupid and he didn't mind one bit.
“You could sleep some more. I was gonna go back to my room and read for a bit. There's a party tonight, you might want to go. Or we could go swimming later, when the sun comes out. Or we could just rest, watch some telly, I don't know how great the shows are here but we could --” She's pulling on his arm, pulling him into her bed, into the warm spot where she lay sleeping just moments ago and his lungs are burning like he's swallowed all the water in the sea.
He's awkward, spread out on her mattress with his back to the headboard. She sits backwards, sheets tangling even more with her limbs beneath the large cotton t-shirt she's worn to sleep in. Her messed, slept on hair falls down around her face, bits caught on the same wind that picks up the curtains and makes them hit the lounge chair across the room, over and over. It's still dark in the room but when she looks up at him a bit of light catches the faint line of tear stains on her cheeks. Remnants of that day on Jordan Road, memories swept down her cheeks and dried on her pillow.
Her voice is small, quiet but strong. "I know how it feels, now. Almost, anyhow." They both know what she means. It had been like watching his planet burn all over again, in her eyes that day on the street corner. She presses a palm to his chest, feeling the twin beats inside. Looks down at where she's touching him like he carries the secrets of the universe beyond his ribs. "Are they both broken, then?"
Her touch makes him stupid again, fingertips branding through his jumper, so that you could probably make out the print of her hand on his chest. Just a mark of her claim to him, pointless because it's always written all over his face.
He shakes his head. "I have one to spare."
There's a sliver of sun peeking over the horizon, he can tell, because it's suddenly brighter in the room. Brighter across her grinning face when she asks him for something she's had for a while. "Can I have it?"
He grins back, one side of his mouth turning up, his already poor poker face cracking. "You want my heart?” The air comes quickly in and out of his lungs, moving her hand up and down with each breath. “Time and space, old moments that are dead and gone. What else do you want from me, Rose Tyler?"
She crawls over him, those legs, snaking their way over his lap until they're resting on either side of his waist. He can't help it, he's hard within mere breaths. And he has to press his nails deep into his palms to keep from reaching out and pulling her towards him like he wants, needs, dreams to.
She looks down at him and he feels powerless. It's new, this pain, this hurt in his stomach that's constantly stabbing him like a overzealous torturer. It's not like after the Time War, it's not like losing his whole world. Being with her is like finding everything and hugging it to his body, terrified that it could fly away at anytime.
Her eyes don't leave him as her hands seek out to find his own, fingers pushing between his and making him relax, allowing her to lace their digits together.
She whispers, almost inaudibly against the loud hit of each wave to the shore. “Nothing. Everything.”
The Doctor and Rose, in bed. Rose on his lap, naked beneath the thin fabric of her nightshirt and it's not even six am. His hands curl into fists without thinking, flex over her knuckles turning them white. He leans forward, breathes the air she inhales next. “I can try. Everything.” That's the Doctor, acting stupid again.
And it's Rose, pulling her hands away to lift the hem of her shirt over her head. It's the first of the morning light in rays across her breasts, bare to his eye. Her stomach, soft and begging for his kiss. It's pale skin and freckled shoulders and warm thighs and the way she's biting into her lower lip like that. It's Rose Tyler, naked and beautiful and scared and brave on top of him and it's everything.
And he can't breath, because the sun has risen to a full, burning orb now and the room is filling quickly with sunshine heat. Because she's touching him before he can find the courage to touch her, little hands exploring beneath his shirt, taunting the gooseflesh to come out. One hand lifts, shaking, and the rough brush of his fingertips on the small of her back, sliding across the bit of sweat there, makes her jump and smile.
"I love the way you look at me. Especially when you think I'm not paying attention."
This is the Doctor, then. Smashing his lips against hers and inhaling the sweet and salty mixture of morning Rose and ocean air. Enveloping her tight in his arms, holding her close, only letting go long enough so she can pull his jumper over his head. Tasting tea and milk on her tongue and swallowing each desperate moan that fills his mouth. Tracing the dried tears on her cheeks with his thumb down to the corner of her mouth and finding a spot on her neck to kiss that makes her gasp. It's the Doctor, with everything beneath him and on top of him and wet and tight around him, flesh and bone beneath his hands and he's as frightened and as happy as he's ever been. Completely, hopelessly, stupidly adoring Rose Tyler, and short of one heart, now.