Yowzah Oneshot Collection (1)

59(M)

like an instrument of many strings

She quite likes the outfit.

It is all ivory silk and gold netting and if it just so happens to do rather wondrous things for her décolletage, who is she to argue? She smoothes a hand down over the wig and frowns at her reflection in the decidedly unauthentic floor length mirror she’s pulled out of her small knapsack. She’s still not sure about the wig, but she likes to embrace the role, and she thinks the dress more than makes up for it.

“Hmmm.” She turns to the side, glancing down at the headdress and elaborate neckpiece on the table beside her. Given that she knows this will be an awfully young Doctor – he’d been so young last time, all nervous flirting and twitching limbs as he preened before her – she thought the neckpiece might be rather helpful. After all, she knows how he can blush. She smiles at her reflection and sighs.

Waiting is always the hardest part. She loves the thrill of an unexpected message, a phone call, a passage in a novel that’s changed since the last time she read it. He once managed to work an entire cryptogram of coordinates into Shakespeare’s Macbeth – her favourite, which he knew.  She loved the thrill of discovery, the adventure of tracking down ways and means to get to where he wanted her. She smiles, her mouth twisting sadly as she thinks of it fondly. Not that this adventure hasn’t been as fun, but her reward is going to be markedly less, she knows.

His first kiss. She dreams at night of the look on his face as he stared at her, illuminated by lightening.  His eyes had been wide, startled, but his pupils had been dark and she’d felt a simultaneous rush of desire and disquiet. She frowns at the carpeted floor beneath her bare feet, focussing on the thick luxurious weave as she tries to push those thoughts away.

“Ah, my Queen.” She freezes at the sound of his voice, her stomach rolling and a shiver sliding down her spine at the mere sound of it. Some things she can still enjoy, no matter what his age. She pastes a teasing grin across her face as she turns toward the door. He’s just inside the tent flap, his arms crossed across his chest with a smug grin on his face. His green coat is familiar and her breath catches as she meets his gaze because this – this is no young Doctor before her. He’s not as old as she’s ever seen him – not even close, but there is an age and wisdom lining his face that she is familiar with.

“Doctor,” she breathes his name out and he steps into the tent further, peering around with avid interest.

“Never got much of a look around last time you know. What with all the – ah, spoilers, I suppose.” He takes great delight in teasing her, she can tell, and she smiles in response, her hearts beating rapidly. He turns his attention toward her and his eyes take her in slowly, his gaze dropping down over her body with intense interest. She feels warmth ignite in the pit of her stomach, and it stretches throughout her body, like slow, warm honey. Oh now there’s an idea. “Blimey I was blind young. How did I miss that dress?”

“Well chances are I’ll be wearing the neckpiece so as not to give you a heart attack.” She points out with an arch of her brow and he grins in response.

“Hello, dear.”

“Hello, sweetie. Though I quite liked the my Queen bit – I could have fun with that one.” She moves closer to him as she smiles, and he giggles giddily. It is a high pitched and joyous sound, and honestly, she knows that many a woman would pass him by without a second glance. She is so so happy she has never been one of those women. Instead his laugh spreads joy throughout her body, until she is laughing in response, the sound of it making her bones hum pleasantly.

“I bet you could, my bad girl.” His eyes crinkle as he smiles down at her. She reaches between them, stroking a hand against the side of his face in wonder. It’s something she’d thought she’d never do again, so she relishes it – the feel of his skin under her fingers, the scrape of slight stubble as her thumb grazes across his chin. He is so very dear to her now, but even when she’d first met him, she’d taken one look at his face and decided that it was the sort of face that she would never tire of. Rather ironic, at the time, given all that came after their first meeting. Given that they wore different faces like new outfits.