The Ten Spot 070 - Ten Kisses
Jan. 18th, 2008 01:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thecricketer1. It is a goodbye kiss, given amidst stale air and dull walls, hushing his protests and sealing their time together.
He needs you too.
He would like to pull her into his arms and refuse to let her go, but that is selfish, and childish, so he does not. Instead, he squeezes her hand, and calls her brave.
She'll die here.
She knows precisely what she's doing, as she so often does, and he cannot treat her like the child she was on Traken.
Like you, I'm indestructible.
He must believe in her, because the alternative doesn't bear thinking of.
2. She tastes like winter.
She is a being very few could understand. She has killed out of necessity. She has loved and lost for centuries, sacrificing everything for those who need her.
Kindred spirits, caught in a maelstrom of violence and dread, of fighting to the death and running until you fall.
When the sun rises, he must leave her behind. She is bound to the Earth in a way he could never understand, and he to the stars.
They share a kiss before he leaves, the renegade lord and the mother wolf, and they will never forget each other.
3. Sometimes, in the Doctor's dreams, he saves him. He embraces mercy once more, and takes the hand that reaches out for him.
Always, the Master smiles, that smug, infuriating smile that makes his eyes glint and his teeth flash. His grip on the Doctor's hand becomes painful, and the Doctor asks if he should have let him burn.
Sometimes it ends there. This time, the Master wrenches him forward, and the Doctor stumbles against him as their lips brush.
"Consider this my thanks, my dear Doctor."
He awakes trembling with hatred and fear and desire, and guilt eats him alive.
4. They stand on a dying planet, bound by damp hands and soft words.
I don't want to leave you, Doctor. I've learned so much from you.
Turlough knows again what it is to care for people, friends and strangers alike; he remember how to risk, how to try.
I shall miss you.
The Doctor misses everyone, but this time there shall be no useless conjecture, no lasting regret.
His hand tightens on his companion's, and he pulls him close, into a tender embrace and a gentle kiss.
At least, he wishes he had. Perhaps then, Turlough wouldn't have left him.
5. She's no less stubborn than when he knew her last. He knows, as he argues, that he is going to lose, but still he tries.
But really, Doctor. No more aliens.
She tells him that she doesn't regret meeting him, that she is happy, that he changed her for the better. They laugh together, and remember.
I'm not in love with you. Not now, not then, not ever.
Still, she kisses his cheek, and the warmth will linger on his skin long after she wishes him farewell.
Remember what you always told me. Brave heart. You'll survive.
He always does.
6. It begins with a hand on his shoulder, silent, tentative comfort. The Doctor knows loneliness intimately, and his affection, admiration, concern was never a lie.
You don't need to hide from me, Byron.
The mask falls, and the Doctor cannot stop himself from pulling this man, this brilliant, aching poet into an embrace, desperate to give him something to lean on, to trust in.
Their kiss begins as a gentle brush of lips; soon enough it deepens, and he is lost in it.
You're still extraordinary.
The Doctor never meant to fall for him, but he's quite content to stay.
7. She tastes like spring.
She is a being very few could understand. She has killed out of necessity. She has loved and lost for centuries, sacrificing everything for those who need her.
Kindred spirits, caught in a tempest of passion and confusion, guilt and desire. They yield to it, and are stronger when the dawn comes.
She is bound to the Earth in a way he begins to understand.
He will show her the stars.
They share a kiss, the weary doctor and the dark muse, and it is the first of many.
They walk in eternity, hand in hand.
8. I'm afraid there aren't anymore. You see I began with this life, and I really haven't kissed very many people. I suppose I could speak of my last incarnation; that merest hint of something more on a shining Paris day. Of course, instead we saved the world, which was altogether much easier and less complicated. I'd no idea what to do with that sort of thing, and she had even less I'd imagine…still, it was a lovely moment. Something to cherish, even wistfully. I never did tell her, I rarely do. She left, and I died, and that was that.
9. That does seem to be a habit, you know; even when I was younger still, though I didn't look it. She was a much younger woman, bright and earnest and charming, compassionate and brave; in some ways she was just like me, in others she was just what I needed. So many times, I almost pulled her into my arms; it would have been tender, elegant, debonair. I never did, and she left me for a younger model. I still don't know if it would have made a difference; I do know I'll never forget her, and love her still.
10. You didn't come here for the wistful ramblings of an old man, though, did you? That tends to bore or depress in turns – do trust me, I was once surrounded with them – and I do hate to be dull. Perhaps I should speak of Academy. Oh, the chaos we embroiled ourselves in. Masters of passion and apathy, rebellion and isolation. There were certainly kisses then – maddening, binding, esoteric, fuelled with all the folly of youth – hidden beneath ancient eyes and silver leaves. But that was a very different time, and I'm a very different man. Kisses will do that, sometimes.
He needs you too.
He would like to pull her into his arms and refuse to let her go, but that is selfish, and childish, so he does not. Instead, he squeezes her hand, and calls her brave.
She'll die here.
She knows precisely what she's doing, as she so often does, and he cannot treat her like the child she was on Traken.
Like you, I'm indestructible.
He must believe in her, because the alternative doesn't bear thinking of.
2. She tastes like winter.
She is a being very few could understand. She has killed out of necessity. She has loved and lost for centuries, sacrificing everything for those who need her.
Kindred spirits, caught in a maelstrom of violence and dread, of fighting to the death and running until you fall.
When the sun rises, he must leave her behind. She is bound to the Earth in a way he could never understand, and he to the stars.
They share a kiss before he leaves, the renegade lord and the mother wolf, and they will never forget each other.
3. Sometimes, in the Doctor's dreams, he saves him. He embraces mercy once more, and takes the hand that reaches out for him.
Always, the Master smiles, that smug, infuriating smile that makes his eyes glint and his teeth flash. His grip on the Doctor's hand becomes painful, and the Doctor asks if he should have let him burn.
Sometimes it ends there. This time, the Master wrenches him forward, and the Doctor stumbles against him as their lips brush.
"Consider this my thanks, my dear Doctor."
He awakes trembling with hatred and fear and desire, and guilt eats him alive.
4. They stand on a dying planet, bound by damp hands and soft words.
I don't want to leave you, Doctor. I've learned so much from you.
Turlough knows again what it is to care for people, friends and strangers alike; he remember how to risk, how to try.
I shall miss you.
The Doctor misses everyone, but this time there shall be no useless conjecture, no lasting regret.
His hand tightens on his companion's, and he pulls him close, into a tender embrace and a gentle kiss.
At least, he wishes he had. Perhaps then, Turlough wouldn't have left him.
5. She's no less stubborn than when he knew her last. He knows, as he argues, that he is going to lose, but still he tries.
But really, Doctor. No more aliens.
She tells him that she doesn't regret meeting him, that she is happy, that he changed her for the better. They laugh together, and remember.
I'm not in love with you. Not now, not then, not ever.
Still, she kisses his cheek, and the warmth will linger on his skin long after she wishes him farewell.
Remember what you always told me. Brave heart. You'll survive.
He always does.
6. It begins with a hand on his shoulder, silent, tentative comfort. The Doctor knows loneliness intimately, and his affection, admiration, concern was never a lie.
You don't need to hide from me, Byron.
The mask falls, and the Doctor cannot stop himself from pulling this man, this brilliant, aching poet into an embrace, desperate to give him something to lean on, to trust in.
Their kiss begins as a gentle brush of lips; soon enough it deepens, and he is lost in it.
You're still extraordinary.
The Doctor never meant to fall for him, but he's quite content to stay.
7. She tastes like spring.
She is a being very few could understand. She has killed out of necessity. She has loved and lost for centuries, sacrificing everything for those who need her.
Kindred spirits, caught in a tempest of passion and confusion, guilt and desire. They yield to it, and are stronger when the dawn comes.
She is bound to the Earth in a way he begins to understand.
He will show her the stars.
They share a kiss, the weary doctor and the dark muse, and it is the first of many.
They walk in eternity, hand in hand.
8. I'm afraid there aren't anymore. You see I began with this life, and I really haven't kissed very many people. I suppose I could speak of my last incarnation; that merest hint of something more on a shining Paris day. Of course, instead we saved the world, which was altogether much easier and less complicated. I'd no idea what to do with that sort of thing, and she had even less I'd imagine…still, it was a lovely moment. Something to cherish, even wistfully. I never did tell her, I rarely do. She left, and I died, and that was that.
9. That does seem to be a habit, you know; even when I was younger still, though I didn't look it. She was a much younger woman, bright and earnest and charming, compassionate and brave; in some ways she was just like me, in others she was just what I needed. So many times, I almost pulled her into my arms; it would have been tender, elegant, debonair. I never did, and she left me for a younger model. I still don't know if it would have made a difference; I do know I'll never forget her, and love her still.
10. You didn't come here for the wistful ramblings of an old man, though, did you? That tends to bore or depress in turns – do trust me, I was once surrounded with them – and I do hate to be dull. Perhaps I should speak of Academy. Oh, the chaos we embroiled ourselves in. Masters of passion and apathy, rebellion and isolation. There were certainly kisses then – maddening, binding, esoteric, fuelled with all the folly of youth – hidden beneath ancient eyes and silver leaves. But that was a very different time, and I'm a very different man. Kisses will do that, sometimes.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-01-18 04:34 pm (UTC)Though Eleven wants to know why she is not in this, and points out that if you were to add one onto it, that would make 11 and that would be clever and things.
no subject
Date: 2008-01-18 09:35 pm (UTC)XD Eleven, you can be in "ten people I shouldn't fancy but do".
no subject
Date: 2008-01-18 09:38 pm (UTC)This is happening soon, right?
P.S. THere is Tammys red carpet and Five and Simon should be there, just sayin'. Cause Eleven is there INNA DRESS and River has been wandering around chatting to people's modes of transportation and confusing people.
no subject
Date: 2008-01-18 09:42 pm (UTC)XD Quite possibly.
Oooh. Will do.
no subject
Date: 2008-01-18 09:43 pm (UTC):D
:D
...That's it, really.
no subject
Date: 2008-01-18 09:47 pm (UTC):D
ooc
Date: 2008-08-04 06:58 pm (UTC)Obviously this comment is extreeeeeeeeeeemely late compared to when this was posted. But still. ... I'm wibbling.
Re: ooc
Date: 2008-08-04 07:44 pm (UTC)Still very appreciated! *hugs*