Fandom: Doctor Who (2006)
Pairing: The Doctor/Reinette
Rating: R, I guess?
Word Count: 1674
Summary: I’ve become terribly fascinated with the notion of Reinette playing the consort. This is what came from it.
He wishes he could force himself to send her away. Wishes he were able to tell her she should not be in the room, that she should return to her own bedroom and that he doesn't need the constant company.
But it would be a lie and she would know it.
He hates himself for it, even as she smiles in the manner that is now so familiar. She should be more than she is permitting herself to be. If she were Rose, she would not be permitting herself to be treated in such a manner. He would not be treating her in the manner that she believes she should be treated.
She should be more than what history has declared she should be. More than the consort, the mistress, an easy distraction when things have become too intense even for him.
It’s easy to lose himself in her kisses, forgetting for the moment whatever horrors have been plaguing them during the day; Easy to forget the nightmares when she is so welcoming, so pliant and acquiescent. The thrill he gets from eliciting a moan or a sigh from her is something almost ethereal. The way she can tell what he wants before he does himself and alters her behavior accordingly; It never occurs to him to ask her what she wants, but he likes to fool himself that he knows her well enough to be able to discern it for himself. The truth is he is more than a little selfish when it comes to such things. He doesn’t want to think that she’s simply a convenient warm body. It’s not true. But she is the distraction he requires sometimes. He doesn’t have to think when he’s inside her.
And he knows that these are not legitimate reasons for keeping her – what an awful phrase – for returning to her time and time again. But he finds himself using them for the reason because he is trying to build up the courage to give her the distance he thinks she needs.
When he does finally suggest that she sleep in her own room, she smiles that self-assured smile. “I was never given a room of my own, Doctor. Where else am I to go?”
So he lets her stay, because it would take too much effort to find somewhere else for her to go and Rose and Mickey are already asleep. They would only disturb them with their wanderings.
He tells himself it’s what she wants; it has nothing to do with his own loneliness, his own desires. And she does seem to want it. But she gauges her reaction based on his. Her conversation changes, her opinions change depending on his mood. He wants to ask her precisely what she thinks about certain things, but he knows usually. He’s been inside her mind as much as she was in his.
It takes all of his strength to finally take her to a room, convincing her that it’s only fair that she have her own space. She should be able to storm away when she gets angry. She needs a door she can slam in his face.
She should be able to shut him out when she wants.
Though confused, she simply smiles and thanks him in that manner she has that is aggravatingly agreeable. The manner that says “you’re crazy right now, so I’m not going to make any sudden movements”. He knows the look, Rose has it sometimes too.
He feels better as he walks away from her, leaving her to arrange her living space as she would like it to be. He is certain his guilt will not feel quite as strong as it usually does. Certain they will both sleep better for the space he is trying to put between them.
Not that he sleeps. But it had become too much of a habit to have her sleeping in the bed nearby, even when they have landed on planets and on Earth with Jackie. He will migrate to whatever room she happens to be occupying, simply to be there as she sleeps.
She told him once she slept better knowing he was there. Her guardian angel, as it were.
He has never considered how much he’d become used to having her there. The sound of her breathing has become a relaxing reassurance. He would sit and count her breathes some nights. Measuring the number of breathes per minute, making certain her illness wasn’t getting the better of her.
And other nights, she would cling to him. Wrapping herself around him and snuggling down so he could not move. If they were attacked by anything during those moments, they would be in trouble. He was certain he could not disentangle himself quickly enough and he didn’t want to.
Without her, he finds himself wandering somewhat aimlessly through the TARDIS, stopping to fiddle with things and realizing he was really just looking for something to keep his hands busy.
She would have some glib response to that statement, an offer or request for exactly what he could use them for.
It makes him laugh a bit and he’s startled when he turns corner and finds himself slamming into her.
She steps backwards quickly. She is dressed in the black pants she was wearing earlier in the day and switched over to an old t-shirt Rose had given her. She is barefoot and her hair is falling wildly down over her shoulders in something that reminds of him of an angel’s mane.
He wants to ask her exactly what it is she’s doing wandering blindly through the TARDIS, but she speaks first.
“Is there something wrong?”
He realizes he’s staring at her in a manner he thinks he hasn’t done in a very long time. He shakes his head. “No. No, I was just. . .”
“What are you doing?”
She gestures to the door of the kitchen. “I was hungry.”
He reaches out gently to push the hair from her face. He only intends to make it so he can see her face. He does not mean to pull her in to kiss her. He doesn’t mean to let his fingers tighten on her arm. And he doesn’t mean to sink against her, pushing her up against the wall of the TARDIS.
Nor does he expect her to reach up to hold onto him with her fingers in his hair. Doesn’t expect her to pull herself up to where she can wrap a leg around his waist, bracing herself with her other foot. Her breath hitching as she opens her mouth to mutter something he can’t hear.
Her taste is familiar in a way he couldn’t describe to anyone. Not that he would ever try to do so. And again he thinks this shouldn’t be so easy. He shouldn’t be so willing to let her guide his hands down her sides and beneath the folds of her shirt, even as she’s managing to push her way beneath his own.
And it again occurs to him that he should wonder exactly what she wants. But he thinks, as he manages to slide his fingers beneath the waist band of her pants, that if she didn’t want him, she would say so.
He thinks she wouldn’t be guiding him down to the floor if she didn’t want this.
And then he tries to stop thinking, because her mouth is warm and demanding and her hands are suddenly everywhere in a way he’s not certain he will ever be used to. He’s relieved when she pulls away to permit him to yank Rose’s shirt over her head and he laughs softly when she shivers from the contact of the cold metal of the floor against her skin.
She’s going to have bruises later. Marks she will have to find a way to explain away.
And again he thinks he shouldn’t be thinking as she lets her mouth trail slowly down his throat, fingers drifting down to the button on his trousers and he’s somewhat relieved she can’t see his face at that moment, because he’s certain she’d tease him later.
It is as it always is, easy to fall into this routine of touch and taste and mouth and skin. The gasp that comes from her at moments makes him laugh a bit more. The only consolation is that he’s just as loud about it. She whispers softly that if they disturb the others, he is going to explain what is happening.
He suspects Rose and Mickey already know what is they’re doing, but he accepts her reprimand as what it is and smiles at her, kissing her forehead because it’s the part of her that’s closest at the moment.
She is clinging to him as her legs slowly come up to wrap around his waist, pulling him closer to her, driving him deeper into her as her hips meet his in a rhythm that is now a well-known movement.
He buries his face against her shoulder, biting and licking a the skin beneath her collarbone and gasping as her nails drag slowly down the skin of his back.
The shudder that comes over her is enough to drive him over the edge himself and he cries out, kissing her throat as he does. Nothing but a soft moan comes from her as her as she throws her head back and her back arches into him.
He wants nothing more than to collapse exactly where they are and he does find himself falling somewhat bonelessly against her.
She laughs softly; her fingers coming up to run through his hair again as he pulls himself up to look at her.
He wants to apologize. He’s sure he owes her one. But she smiles somewhat languidly, raising herself up on her elbow to look directly at him.
“I would not be here, my love, if I were not completely content with the situation.”
She smiles a more genuine smile.
“And so should you be.”