Disclaimer: Sometimes I like to pretend they belong to me.
Rating: M, for dancing.
A/N: I wrote this a while ago for my roommate, (check out her stuff, VerbalKlepto) and as I explained to her, the content distracted the grammar. I tried to go back and fix most of the more obvious tense changes, but we'll see. I'm also not a huge fan of the title, so any suggestions would be great! For all those still waiting on Shamelessly I promise you'll get it! Otherwise, Happy Holidays to all! Enjoy the Christmas Special tomorrow night!
Their most important dance was the least spectacular at a glance. It was neither the first dance she would share with him nor the first dance he would share with her. It wasn't her last dance in his arms and it certainly wasn't his last dance holding her close. But that was why it was perfect. They didn't sync in time, not the way normal, non-fantastical people did. They synced best when it was all wrong, right in the very middle. They knew each other at a point they would never again know. In a sense, that night they had their dance, their middle dance, was the happiest night of their lives. It was also the saddest.
Their meeting was one of the most casual ones. No distress calls asked for a midnight space taxi, no timelines burned the universe from the inside out, no lives teetered on the edge of all that was and wasn't. No, they met on a rooftop in a galaxy, not too far from earth, under the skies of a dark indigo shade and lamplight that mimicked the stars.
"Sweetie," her back had been turned, she was facing the edge of the world, but she had sensed him. She could always sense him.
"Lover," he responded. It would be one of the few times he would be able to say that and the thought both elated and scared her.
"Shall we do diaries?" She asked, but he caught her off guard when he slid behind her body, letting the pieces of his own fit right into place.
"I know where we are," he told her, hands resting on hips. "Do you?" She nodded into his shoulder, the lantern light like fireworks to the lids of her half-closed eyes.
"You know me now?" She asked, though the answer hung in the sky and the rooftop was open to the universe.
"And you know me," the usual jovial tone with which the Doctor normally spoke was hidden away. Tonight wasn't for that. Tonight he wasn't the child she knew him as, but the husband she hadn't yet married.
As if to answer his reply the sky had erupted in a brilliant display of green and yellow lights.
"Like the northern lights of earth," he whispered in her ear. " Are the singing lights of Calais." She smiled.
"They sing?" She asked him. River was no more a child now than the Doctor himself, but there were still wonders of the world she had not yet known.
"Listen," he replied. And then it began, the ballad to match the movement. Hues and shades of the rainbow's finest depths matched the brilliant sway of song, sweet notes, literally falling from the sky.
"Shall we?" He asked her. River took his hand, the beautiful man's hand against the beautiful man's world, and, as he wrapped his other arm around her waist, she tried to memorize the feelings of his touch. There will be days, she knows, when that memory is all she has, but for the moment she just wanted it to be.
Their feet barely touched the rooftop as they danced. The music of a thousand lights sparkled to their own magical dimensions. His hand never left her hip and their bodies moved as one creature, so strong and so bright, together with the universe.
Her eyes are closed when she leans in to kiss him. Like the display before their rooftop it was so much their kiss. Explosive and brilliant in the subtlest of ways, their lips left no need for conversation, each quiver and tremble said the words for them.
His hands reached for her dress and her for his bow tie, they've each done this part before, though stranger times for both, with her too old and he too young. But now it's perfect, right now, the one night in the millions they live together where they know one another at the same point in time, the one sky, in the millions that follow, which danced along to the brilliant tempo of a love that killed time, only to bring it back to life.
Her dress fell to the ground, like water. Her fingers made work of his suspenders, but they're in no rush. Tonight they both want to feel it, tonight they want to remember for the days they know will come.
She made unbearable work of his buttons, each one like a sweet present, which tempts her to untie, slow and teasingly. Memorizing, she's always memorizing. The outside layers are off and he stood in his trousers and her in slip. Green illuminated them, blue and then red.
There's a tent, covered with translucent silks, next to the pool on the rooftop. These were things River didn't noticed when she first found herself here. These are things she doesn't notice now. What she does notice is the way his hands guide her body to the bed inside the tent, the brilliance of the sky before them is still visible through the mesh curtain. She closed her eyes.
She teased his out of his trousers now, let them unceremoniously drop to the ground before she pulled him into the bed with her. They danced beside the lights, in hulls and heavy sways of grandiose and subtly. It felt as though it was only them and the lights in all of the universe.
His hands slid up her slip, it's not the warmth in the air that caused her nipples to pebble as calloused hands, artist's hands, she thought, slid the length of her knee to his thigh. They shaped her hips and explored forward, all the while his tongue is danced with her's, forcing sweet moans of surrender from her lips.
His mouth found her collarbone and she arched back against his touch. There were so many senses in her body, all of them felt more intensely, more beautifully, than they've ever felt before. All of her nerves burned in the most pleasurable fires.
His fingers found the heat between her legs and pressed lightly through the fabric. She trembled, and he let out a hoarse laugh. Her body was at his mercy, and, in so many ways, his was hers.
He slid the garment off, tossing it to the floor to join the others. There was something so erotic about the idea that she wasn't fully naked. Her skin was glowing in the lights and yet, he touched her below the silk. The idea of their bashfulness excited her even more.
Against his fingers she found herself moving, and his other hand pressed low on her hips. His slid one finger inside of her, slowly, tantalizingly slow, until she was sure she'd explode from the teasing. He let in another, and she gasped against the world, one more and she felt the oncoming pleasure, he flicked at her clit and she shuddered, holding back nothing as her release over came her, shaking and whining against his fingers. He could only smirk.
"You," she managed, "I want you." He wanted her too, and he let her pull the last bit of fabric from him. She took a moment to admire his body in the moon and star light from the sky. He's like the Adam of earth, the contours of muscle that fit to v-shape at his hips. She followed the ride with her eyes. The muscles made way to a beautiful base of dark curls, jutting from which is the hardened manhood she so desperately craved. It is carnal desire with which she moved, but also a desperate slowness.
He found the straps to her slips and pulled it from her skin. It is just them now, no fabric, no lights, almost skin – almost skin, the last of the Time Lords.
He found her with his body, slowly, too slowly for her, he pushed his way inside, where hard meets soft in such a delicate balance that they could never be doing anything other than dancing.
But, as all things with the two of them, it cannot last. It's been too long since they've touched, too long since they've felt each other's souls bared naked to the world. Moments passed and she can feel it. The last two Time Lords read each other's minds, neared the edge together, a sweet wave of the world as it arched higher and higher, and she felt it happening. The wave crested, the lights outside of the tent danced with a wild fervor, she felt a pleasure rush through her body unlike anything she has ever know and he felt it course through his blood. Their bodies pulsed. Their skin was on fire. Their hearts, all of their hearts, beat in tandem, wild and free and so strong.
It wasn't their first dance, on the linear timeline, nor was it their last. Because of who they were it was both. Alone on a rooftop with the singing lights of Calais, the Lover and the Sweetie danced.