I'm saaammie (Cicci Green at Teaspoon), your reccer for these two (!) weeks. It's my second time reccing here at Calufrax and I enjoyed it a lot last time. It feels good to properly reflect on the stories I read, and why I want others to read them.
I'm a Swedish college student (or recent grad, actually), and I've been a Who-fan for about a year now. My favorite companion is Donna and my favorite genre is definitely hurt/comfort. I do enjoy torturing the poor characters.
Why is that, do you think? That hurt/comfort is such a popular genre?
Anyway. On to the first rec:
Story: Belle de Jour
Warnings: Explicit sex
Word Count: 10551
Author's Summary: After the Madame de Pompadour interlude, Rose realizes that loving the Doctor is a far trickier affair than she thought. What kind of girl must she be, to accept the man he is now? Answering that question will stretch her loyalty--and her sanity--to the breaking point.
Characters/Pairings: Rose/Ten, TARDIS
Recced because: This fic shocked me when I first read it. And I actually didn't like it very much, because it presents such a non-romantisized picture of the Doctor's and Rose's relationship. Partly why we all read fanfiction is to escape reality and dream, I think, and this fic's reality is a slap in the face, a bucket of ice-water.
Which is what makes it so good, of course.
Rose is very very human and young and the Doctor is terrifyingly alien and it can't ever really work out. But they make do. It's a fic about choices and consequences and expectations and fitting together despite it.
Plus it's seriously hot. Bring a fan.
There were fireworks the first time, shining spinning colors in the sky, in his eyes. His hands clutched her just as they do now, gentle but greedy as a boy’s. A lovely boy, this new Doctor, one who likes pop songs and cocktails and sweets. Who kissed her on a rooftop as the New Year chimed, then took her by the hand to lead her, laughing, to bed. After that the fireworks never stopped. Not till twelve hours ago.
She shivers as his mouth takes her neck, nibbling and licking, hot and hungry. “Fruits and flowers and soft young things,” he whispers. “You taste like Eden.” He spins her round and pulls her to her feet. His hands tug at cheap satin, find wet trembling flesh beneath. “So very soft,” he murmurs against her lips.
The first time he kissed her–a real kiss, not a hero’s suicide–was two days before New Year’s. That awful night at the Ten Bells. Jimmy Stone drunk and grabby, the Doctor calm as glass till all at once he wasn’t. Jackie hissing at them to go, just go, pushing them into the wet dark. He pressed her to the brick wall outside the flats, his touch was sure but his eyes were so lost, he tasted like banana daiquiris and he smelled like rain and rage and the roar of blood in her ears drowned the echo of Jimmy’s screams.