Title: To Clear Away
Author: sinecure
Character/Pairing: Ten/Rose
Rating: Adult
Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort
Summary: Rose seeks comfort from the Doctor.
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who.
Author's Notes: To JennyLD for beta-ing and for saying there was no such thing as... well, I don't want to give it away, because what she said led directly to this fic.

Rose arched her back, straining for more of his fingers inside her, trying to force them deeper. The Doctor, hovering over her, slid them nearly all the way out before thrusting them back in again, harder and harder each time. His gaze, focused so intently on what he was doing, missed the pain that flashed across her face, and simmered in her eyes.

The physical pain was only a mirror of the hurt that was slicing her up inside.

She clawed her nails down his back, scrabbling to bring him closer to her, though her need for him left a bitter taste in her mouth. Not just him, but what he was doing to her.

The way he made her come.

The way she needed to cling to him, to feel his heavy weight sinking into her. To feel his warm, sweat-slicked body moving over hers.

Staring up at the ceiling rather than close her eyes and see the image of the moon blowing up again, she flattened her feet on the floor on either side of his body, bucking her hips up, desperately seeking the pleasure, the release that would silence the screaming voices in her mind. The Doctor lowered his mouth to her nipple, tugging it into his mouth, playing his tongue over it before releasing it to bite the inside of her breast.

Gasping, muscles clenching, she dragged her nails down to his arse, urging him to enter her.

His eyes shot to hers and she could see the deep darkness that resided there after a trip went bad. She was his cure and he was hers.

Gaze locked with his, she slid her foot up to his thigh, pressing him closer.

He slid his fingers free of her wet center and grabbed her waist, dragging her up, propping her against the foot of the bed until she was in a partial sitting position. Reaching down, she grasped his cock, stroking him as he scooted closer and settled her legs over his. He grabbed her hand and they stroked him together for a moment before they both grew impatient.

Bracing her feet on the floor, she shifted into a better position for him while he bent forward, poised at her entrance. She settled her head back on the bed as he thrust forward, burying himself in her, but it wasn't enough.

She wanted more.

And she knew he did too.

Without a word, she raised her knees higher, digging her heels into the backs of his thighs as he rolled his hips forward. He shifted his position on his knees and wrapped an arm around her back, lifting her toward him with each forceful thrust.

The rich sensation of having the Doctor in her, filling her up, helped to quell the voices, to blur the faces of the dead a little. It made her nauseous. She was alive while they were dead, and it was her fault.

He'd chosen her again.

Pushing herself away from the bed, she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close, feeling his warm weight pressing into her, loving the feel of him guiding her on his cock. He leaned down and kissed her clumsily as he fucked the darkness from his soul.

He was using her to deaden himself, while she used him to feel alive.

When he came, she held him and stroked his back, pretending not to feel him shaking. His fingers rubbed at her clit, fumbling in his eagerness to make her come. When she did, she screamed in pleasure, feeling it wash over her, trying to clear away the bitterness and pain. His arms held her close, lips whispering in her ear, telling her he loved her. Would always love her.

And that was the problem. He would always choose her over everyone else.

And she would always let him.