this-puppy-flies: His gaze shot to her mouth for a split second, then returned to meet her eyes. Tak

this-puppy-flies: His gaze shot to her mouth for a split second, then returned to meet her eyes. Taking another step forward, he reached out and grasped her hand in his, his fingers curling down around her wrist lightly. If she hadn’t felt fixed to the spot by his presence, the contact between them certainly did it. ‘Rose Tyler,’ the Doctor murmured, ‘are you accusing me of not liking your mother?’She realised, then, that what they were saying was absolutely meaningless; it was just backdrop, white noise. Something to carry them forward as he drew further in, and he had, the distance separating them no more than a few centimetres. All that mattered was the feel of her hand in his, skin touching skin. The closeness of his body, and the way he was looking at her: openly, his eyes searching her face for agreement, she thought, and for reciprocation.His thumb traced a slow circle around the sensitive skin of her inner wrist and she shivered, releasing a shaky breath as she felt the caress all the way up her shoulder and down her spine. There was so little space (and it was taken up by things like shirts and jumpers and ties) that all the Doctor could really do was tip his upper body forward slightly, holding her hand against his chest. Underneath her palm she felt his hearts, a slow and steady pulse that echoed, fainter, on the other side. That’s an improvement, she thought: the last time she’d listened to it he’d been comatose, and she’d been worried and scared and furious. - excerpt from Cusp by Valueturtle -- source link

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