rude_not_ginger | AU RP for ambitious

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AU RP for ambitious_woman

Illness

A Time Lord shouldn't be separated from his TARDIS. He knew this, it was a fairly simple, fairly straightforward rule that every Time Tot was taught back in the nursery. Time Lord and TARDIS were connected, part of a whole, part of a sum and all that. There were horror stories that Ushas used to tell over nightcom about Time Lords who had been without their ship for long periods of time and went insane, or worse. The "worse" was, of course, described in accurate, gruesome details, much to the 'ooooh'ing and 'aaaahhh'ing of those listening in.

The Doctor just never believed he'd be on the end of that sort of experience.

His ship was a lifetime away. More than that, lifetimes away, and he could feel it. He could feel the lack of a ship in his mind and it ached. More than ached, it was as if a large part of him was missing and he'd only just lost the anesthetics keeping the sensation of missing away.

He had meant to do a good deal today, most of which involved bothering the cook into frying chips and rewriting Reinette's library. These were his main plans, and they were good ones.

As it was, he was curled up on the floor of his bedroom, the shakes and stomachache from the night before having finally decided that his lack of response on the matter was unacceptable. He cried out sharply, a noise that only vaguely sounded human, and may have been a name.

"Reinette!"

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Her own hand lifted to catch the Doctor's cheek and cradle it in her palm. She used to wrist free of his bruise intentionally. For while we was willing to step away from them moment in some ways, she could not bring herself to shatter it.

His skin was warm, but it lo longer burned. Or if it did, Reinette just allowed herself to imagine it was a different sort of heat. She was rather fond of her imaginings.

"No Doctor," she agreed. "You are everything that is alive."

Reinette had been ill prepared what it would be like to have him sleeping in the next room night, after night, after night. When Louis left her, it had always been to return to her chambers, a full wing away.

It seemed that it was less frustrating when all of the sky stood between them, instead of a few walls.

He leaned his face into her palm. Oh, but he was attached. Attached to her emotionally, mentally, physically...

He traced down her face with the back of his palm, sliding his skin across hers. Down her jaw, tracing her throat and collarbone.

How wrong was it, to want her after taking so much already? It had to have been the connection, the need to feel.

"I get that trait from you," he said, "I borrowed it when I needed it most."

That, Reinette was sure? Was most decidedly not fair.

The mere fact that the Doctor sought to extend her touch was already enough to threaten her resolve. For eight months now she had kept much of her nature at bay. The young girl that had trapped him against a fireplace, and the woman that had sought a king with dedicated purpose. Both those set aside in favor of friend, and companion -- what Reinette was sure he needed far more. She would not be the cause of more confusion. Not when she knew the Doctor already viewed her world as muddled, and oddly shaped.

And yet knew also knew that all it might take would be a single word, or touch. Some indication that yes he might want her as well.

Though no, that was not it at all.

Reinette was accustomed to men wanting her. They dressed themselves in their desire for her to openly read, and she knew on some levels the Doctor was attracted to her. What she was waiting for, she decided then?

Was to know for sure that he wanted his own desire.

But now his hand was tracing over her skin, traveling across already-sensative flesh. Was it gratitude the Doctor was reaching to touch, or was it her?

Reinette met his eyes, and tried to decide.

"You may have anything from me you might wish," she assured him, truthfully. "You only have to ask."

This whole concept of courting and attraction was far too complicated, especially with his mind in pieces as it was that evening. He desired her, was nearly completely certain that he loved her, and yet he lacked any way to express his emotions for her, and even less certainty that he should.

She was more than just a courtesan, after all. Especially to him. Would expressing or taking what he did wish reduce her to that? Could she be a woman and not a mistress, to him? How could he tell her she was?

"My grip is off," he said, swallowing, "Weak arms, I'm rather terrified I'll drop what I want and ruin it."

Terrible metaphor, his mind scolded him. He could've done so much better.

...what I want.

His words made enough sense to Reinette, and a brief smile flared at their sound. He might have struggled with the words, but they spoke to her all the same.

She might have pointed out that she already was ruined. Rather helplessly so. But Reinette knew that Doctor well enough to expect his argument there.

"That suggests I need to be carried," Reinette said plainly, for it was what she knew. She cut through his metaphor. "I do not need to be carried, and nor do you. We both walked away from this morning, remember?"

Her features softened, as both of Reinette's hands moved to trace down the Doctor's shoulders, and rest on his arms.

"And if anything needs mending after? Well, you have seen my knots. I make quite a neat stitch as well."

"Well, I do have a pair of trousers that I tore in the garden a few days back..." For the first time that day, a cheeky grin appeared on his face. The pain from before settled into a dull ache, and he could feel most of who he was come back, seeping through.

Most, of course.

The hand that traced her collarbone slid down further, grazing the boning of her corset before his hand finally rested against her hipbone. It was a bit like a dance. She placed her hands on his shoulders, he slid his hand along her skin, and they repeat, move forward, step apart.

He wished he knew all the steps beforehand. Then again, that would've made the dance less thrilling, knowing every step in it.

That smile did much for Reinette, who still privately wondered at the wisdom of her actions before. If there had been more time, she might have been able to think of something else. But of course there was not.

And she knew that both of them looked far from their best, battered and bruised. Clothing stained and torn. And the Doctor, of course, shoeless. And yet Reinette could think of no other tome when she had found him more attractive, than in this moment. Not even the night of the Yew Tree ball.

He looked? Like a survivor. And that was something she understood, and appreciated. Reinette took a step closer. She did not belittle herself by pretending that she needed reassurance he was all right. Or that she was exhausted from their encounter and needed his support.

She moved closer because she wanted to.

It was not lost on her that the bed was close as well.

"And what fared worse," she teased lightly. "My garden, or your clothing?"

One never knew what the Doctor was up to.

"Oh, I think my clothing," the Doctor replied, "Your garden's got quite the vicious streak to it. You know my clothing, though, always tries to fight back."

This was so intimate. So comfortable, and yet so charged. They had slept in the same bed before, they had even been lovers before, but that was so very long ago for them. And so much had changed since then.

Forget about the dance.

He, too, moved closer, his hands sliding from her hips to circle around her back.

"If you are suggesting that I should be afraid of your clothing," Reinette announced, barely masking the hitch in her breath at the feel of the Doctor's hands on her back. "I must inform you that I am not."

She could feel his breath through her hair, feel the way it moved and reacted to him, even as she tried to control such things within herself.

To prove her point Reinette's hands deftly moved to undo the top button of his finely crafted shift, and slipped her fingers just beneath so that they touched skin.

"Not even a tremble."

Though, perhaps there was. Just not one born of fear. No it was -- a shiver. Slight, but there.

She could not not kiss him then, Reinette decided.

Had she once initiated a kiss since the Doctor's arrival in her home? She did not think so. Perhaps that was were the urgency of this one was born.

She shivered and he trembled. Again, she succeeded in controlling him with only the slightest of touches.

And for all that his mind couldn't figure out when to move or stay, he did know that now was the time that she should be kissed. She moved towards him, and he caught her kiss easily. Deeply. Unlike their every kiss before, to him at least, this was the first that was borne out of a long period of waiting. Out of longing. Reinette lived her life with it, he only just learned.

He held her close as they kissed, memorized the feel of her, even with the bruises and the sweat and the pain between them, she was still so wonderful. So warm and perfect and loving and Reinette and he didn't want anything else.

The intensity of their connection must have lingered, because at this distance -- or lack of it -- Reinette could sense a great deal of the Doctor's thoughts. Not perfectly formed, perhaps, or clearly read. But the general sense was there.

She smiled beneath his kiss, even as she was reminded that the Doctor kissed as he spoke. Quickly, with a command of both the language, and herself, he was utterly unique.

And she was far from the wonderful his thoughts proclaimed.

Gently, her teeth caught his lower lip to remind him as much.

Reinette knew she was being selfish allowing things to progress so. Even this far. He was exhausted -- bruised. But she could not bring herself to point as much out.

His breath caught at the feel of her teeth. Real. She was real, and he could feel it. He couldn't feel many things, especially now, but he could feel this. He could sense her beyond the physical. She was there, and she still wanted him.

He pulled back, enough to look down at her, too see her as he felt her. Completely and as real as he could see her. She was still so beautiful, despite the small lines of age that took up residence beneath her eyes. Clear hair with a few lines of grey just starting to show, but still so young.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to the crease beside her right eye, then the small tuft of grey hair beside her left ear. He allowed his kisses to linger. She was human in every way, even the things they despised in themselves, but that, that was what made her fit him so well. She could age when he did not, she could understand life when he felt as though he missed out. If that was not something to celebrate, then he did not know what was.

Reinette might have bristled momentarily at how quickly the Doctor discerned the location of the flaws she knew so well, that she watched with critcal eye. She knew she was a vain woman. It was part of her upbringing, and only reinforced with the life she lead. There was little room for error when standing next to king.

But it also meant, Reinette decided, that the Doctor knew. Knew her in a way only -- no, perhaps no other had. Knew her flaws and her weaknesses, and yet also did not use them against her. His was no an attack on her being, instead it was an assault on her senses.

She softened slightly in his arms, yielding to that idea.

Dipping her head slightly Reinette moved to place a kiss precisely between his two hearts, not minding the shirt in between.

It was a romantic notion, that one's hearts belonged to someone. They were organs, pumping blood and vital nutrients to various parts of the body. They were muscles, built of cells, not emotions, and, besides, he regenerated them every time he died, so how could they possibly belong to someone?

All the same, when she kissed between them, he wanted to tell her they were hers. Romantic notion, borne out of imprisonment on Earth, he decided. He was becoming far too like them for his own good. If he learned to be human, he would know the pains that they knew, too.

He dipped his head again and kissed her, more firmly, more confidently.

Reinette was slightly lost to the embrace that was distraction as much as skill. She was a woman accustomed to always knowing exactly where she stood, so any lost direction was always to be marked.

Yet with the Doctor came this sense of -- almost. She had almost brushed up against something else besides skin. He had almost returned home. He had almost ---

Well, he might have died today, she knew.

It was exhilerating and terrifying, yet also amazingly beautiful.

For all his complexities, it occured to her then that the Doctor was the art she encouraged it others. Not the artist, the work of art itself. Every adventure and person met, all his travels writted in his eyes, and in the taste of his mouth.

Her own mouth explored deeper, with new understanding.

The Doctor held her close, letting the kisses last longer than he should and giving up completely on caring. This was more than simple lust or even just desire. She was more than just a human to him. A guardian. A protector, a guide. A lover even when there was nothing physical between them, not even the kisses they shared then.

He took another step closer, which brought them that much closer to the bed. He felt an odd sense of anticipation run through his veins. For all the time in the universe he knew he had, he felt oddly...rushed, nervous.

Something had just ended for him moments earlier. Now, something was beginning.

Through the length of her gown, Reinette felt her leg graze the edge of her bed, and it was enough to cause her to lift her mouth slightly from the Doctor's own. It caused the strangest sensations within her, and that gave her pause as well. There was more air now. Breathing should be easier. And yet somehow? It was not.

She was a woman accustomed to control, to command, and to decision. She worked devotedly to gain the power she had over her own life, and there was little that might cause her to release it. She knew her world must seem rather small to to the man whose touch was causing disruptions against her skin. But to her? It was a challenge met.

Yet is was often the challenge met. Her marriage was arranged, but a step Reinette understood. Louis? Yet again, Reinette initiated their involvement. Even the lovers that counted the days after her relationship with Louis concluded, and the Doctor arrived? Agaian, at Reinette's decision.

In the Doctor's arms, Reinette felt the singular sensation of being chosen herself. He came once on accident, yes. But she told herself, he did not have to come back.

And yet, he did.

Her gaze lifted from his mouth to the whole of his features, assuring herself this is what he wanted.

He was slightly startled when he felt her pause against the bed. Not for her pause, but for the realization that they'd moved there so quickly. Was it not moments ago they were only just crossing the threshold of her bedroom?

"Courting for Time Lords takes centuries," he said, his voice low, "And I'm very, very inexperienced in it, in general. Expressing...anything, really."

He didn't pull away, instead, leaned forward, pressing a small kiss to her eyebrow.

"We have so much time---well, I have so much time, it's hard to simply do what I want, or ask or say something. It's easier to think there'll be another day."

Her gaze slanted downward, a pleasured reaction to the feel of his lips traveling across her skin. Eyes caught the gleaming handle of the shears again, and Reinette considered handing them to the Doctor, even then.

For all of the softer, more tender moment they had made, in many ways Reinette knew they were battered, bruised, and ruined for a great many tasks that day. Why it seemed they were not ruined for this she did not know, just that it neemed natural. If not right.

That judgment would be passed later.

But thei clothing was good for nothing else, and for Reinette the sheers represented effectiveness, directness. The could cut away at clothing no longer suitable for the life they lead. And the Doctor could cut away at restrictions she knew he still resented, corsetry they still argued over.

And on the other side?

Well, that was where the bed would be. Still there, just against her leg. It her head it was the most pleasant of adventures. She placed a firm kiss to the underside of his jaw.

"My life at court was expected to be measured in months, if not days. Everyone watching, and waiting for my fall from favor, and grace. But I was better than they anticipated. I was as good as I knew. I was very, very experienced."

Her mouth found his collarbone, ascot gone.

"I lived a lifestyle meant to be measured in days, and I forced every bit of life imgainable into it. I never stopped, I never rested. There was never time. I still am not accustomed to the idea."

It was a collision of ideas, as much as bodies, Reinette decided.

"But if we are to meet in the middle," her eyes drifted to the bed. "Then that certainly is an education place to do so."

There, the invitation she had not repeated since the gazebo, laid bare.

He wasn't a human, and expressing or even feeling emotions was much, much different for him than for her or any other creature he met on the planet he was trapped in. But, for all their differences, Reinette seemed to understand him, and that...it was something more seductive than any other woman could ever offer him.

His eyes closed at the feel of her lips against his jaw, his collarbone. His hypersensitive nerves could feel the smoothness of her lips, how they were warm and slightly swollen from kissing his before. He wished to savor the feeling, memorize it. Actions were so brief and moments so fleeting, but he could remember them all, and he would. Long, long after France was dust.

He nodded, very slowly. "I would meet you whereever you desired," he said, simply.

Her mouth returned briefly to his own, to perform a different sort of dance. Beyond his unique taste there were additions. Sweat, and renewed sorry. Blood, possibly from when his jaw had struck the floor. But Reinette was no more capable of turning away from those, than she was of turning away from him. The kiss deepened.

She was not seeking to pusnish him. Nor did she wish for utter dominance. Rather, it was assurance she seemed to be probing for. There was nothing more calculated than that in her wish for him to speak his mind on this matter. For all that their courtship may had been achingly slow to Reinette? She could only begin to fathom how reckless it seemed to him.

She turned to sit on the bed, eyes never breaking with the Doctor's own.

"And I will only allow you to meet me, if it is what you desire as well."

His eyes stayed locked with hers, and he moved to sit next to her. He wanted more time. More time to practice saying things, to know he wouldn't say something stupid or foolish or improper, to learn about courting and romance.

But there was no time. He nearly died that evening, if not for Reinette, and that would've been the end of his time, having never known if they could've...if they would've...

"I believe," he said, gently brushing his fingers along her cheek, "That I have wanted y--wanted...for a long time, now."

She had spent the sum of nearly twenty years wanting him. Indeed, loving him. And Reinette had assumed that it was past the point of saying. The surely, they Doctor must know. But perhaps he needed to hear it as well.

Perhaps? That was something that was universal.

She tilted her head so that the fingers that caressed her cheek were now in turn brushed gently against her mouth. She kissed each and every finger in turn, gently loving the bruises that were there.

"I want you," she surmized simply.

I case he had not known.

He knew. Of course he knew. All the time together, all the connections, all of the searching for his own desires in her, well, it was hard not to know.

Hearing it, however, changed something. He couldn't tell what, but it made the idea more powerful. More real and solid and there. No future tense to her words, only the present and the now."

He took a breath. "And I w-want you."

It had been so long, so very, very long since he'd uttered those words to anyone, he was almost unsure of his own ability to say them. To express affection (love?). He leaned forward, then, pressing his mouth to hers, as a demonstration of his renewed abilities.

The bed welcomed them, enveloping them deeply into the piled sheets and coverings, the Doctor's kiss perhaps slightly more insistent than Reinette had anticipated.

But she was a woman whose expectations were rarely exceeded. The man in front of her one a rarity in his abilities to do so.

There was another declaration of course. One made of precisely the same amount of letters, but carrying even more implications. That, Reinette chose to leave unsaid. Understood, if he chose to seek it.

Her fingers found the buttons of the Doctor's shirt instead, undoing them slowly even as the kiss became something less controlled. Something less understood.

AU RP for ambitious_woman

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