[ she shouldn't be using that arm, especially for him, but he's too entranced by her movements to call her out on it, not when she's reeling in closer, like she's reaching for everywhere they could touch, like a fire runs through every point of contact. it's a tether that keeps him locked in on her, on her gaze that peers beyond his eyes, listening to her every word.
he should really stop her from looking in to him so closely, but he knows it's too late. she'd seen a peek at his demons in those dreams at the castle, knows so much of the weight that he carries, and even despite everything he still has yet to tell her — quell, especially — it's almost like she doesn't even need to know. because her words prick at him beneath his skin, saying all the things she shouldn't say but that he's almost been so longing to hear. ]
How do you see me? [ he asks quietly, although the question remains rhetorical, almost like he's just asking out loud from uncertainty, like he isn't sure how it is that she's been able to see him so closely, or more importantly — why would she want to?
despite the ask, he won't give her a chance to answer, because his own fingers are rising now, brushing light against her lips, like this time he's the one focused on looking her over. with his fingers sliding to her chin, he gently coaxes her closer, enough for him to lean up with his lips close to hers.
without kissing her immediately, he lets their noses brush, exhaling deeply, his breath meant to mingle with hers, steady and warm. how could clara oswald be dead? how could she be anything but alive when he feels her like this, when he's the one who's been dead nearly two hundred and fifty years and yet she's making his heart beat again.
he takes his time before he finally presses his mouth firmly to hers, slow in the initial contact before he brings an arm around her back to tuck her closer to his body, kissing her with fervor of the unspoken words he can't bring himself to say. ]
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he should really stop her from looking in to him so closely, but he knows it's too late. she'd seen a peek at his demons in those dreams at the castle, knows so much of the weight that he carries, and even despite everything he still has yet to tell her — quell, especially — it's almost like she doesn't even need to know. because her words prick at him beneath his skin, saying all the things she shouldn't say but that he's almost been so longing to hear. ]
How do you see me? [ he asks quietly, although the question remains rhetorical, almost like he's just asking out loud from uncertainty, like he isn't sure how it is that she's been able to see him so closely, or more importantly — why would she want to?
despite the ask, he won't give her a chance to answer, because his own fingers are rising now, brushing light against her lips, like this time he's the one focused on looking her over. with his fingers sliding to her chin, he gently coaxes her closer, enough for him to lean up with his lips close to hers.
without kissing her immediately, he lets their noses brush, exhaling deeply, his breath meant to mingle with hers, steady and warm. how could clara oswald be dead? how could she be anything but alive when he feels her like this, when he's the one who's been dead nearly two hundred and fifty years and yet she's making his heart beat again.
he takes his time before he finally presses his mouth firmly to hers, slow in the initial contact before he brings an arm around her back to tuck her closer to his body, kissing her with fervor of the unspoken words he can't bring himself to say. ]