one of the first things david learned about billie is that she was always cold. 

he noticed it the night they first met, after dinner when they sat on the over-stuffed sofa in julie’s front room. david was feeling warm – from too much wine and the crackling fire and billie’s smile – but he saw a shiver run through her and then she was pulling a tartan throw around her shoulders. 

it hit him, then, that he was falling in love as easily as the wool fell around her. (merlot always made him a touch poetic.)

later, it was a down-filled parka that she wrapped around herself on a windswept hill. he held her close – like he’d wanted to weeks earlier – and his stomach bottomed out when she nuzzled against his chest. 

she murmured something and he felt it more than heard it, the words vibrating hot and damp along his skin. he hated this feeling – the spiraling free-fall that was so disorienting he wondered if he even hated it at all. 

then there was the night she got lockjaw – the night she couldn’t warm up – because they had her in a tiny sodding dress and stockings in the middle of the frigid welsh winter. she was almost in tears as he rocked her, shaking in his arms as her teeth chattered so loudly she probably couldn’t hear the words he whispered in her ear. 

(she warmed up, eventually, but he ripped her stockings in the process, and they never did find his bow tie.)

the feeling went away, after that, or maybe he just acclimated to it – the sensation of hurtling toward solid ground. he had always been prone to masochism, but hers was the most beautiful twinge of pain. 

he’ll never forget the way she looked at that award show, when they walked the red carpet and she charmed everyone in sight. it was absolutely frigid and he rubbed her arms as she held her wind-swept hair away from her face while talking to reporters. 

once they got inside she pressed into him, snaking her hands under his suit jacket and ducking her head beneath his chin. even then he knew it was one of the last times they’d be together, like this – with everything familiar and easy. he could already feel her slipping away, now that she wasn’t on the show, breaking and mending his heart every day. 

she slept over, that night, for the first time. he woke up before dawn to find the sheets on the floor, and when he pressed his lips to her shoulder her skin was scorching. 

(when he closes his eyes, he can still feel the burn.)

david x billie: smolder

he doesn’t think about her, most days. it’s self preservation. it’s for the best.

but sometimes, he slips up. sometimes, he’ll walk past her favorite coffee shop or hear her voice, tinny and young on the radio, and that’s it, he’s done for, he can’t get her out of his mind.

sometimes, it’s her birthday.

they spent it together, once. he’s thought about that autumn afternoon every year since – the way she smiled at him and pushed her hair behind her ears before stooping to blow out the candles, the way her fingers lingered when she handed him a piece of cake. 

he could still taste the frosting on her tongue hours later, when he pressed her up against the wall just inside his flat and kissed his way down her body like it was his day instead. 

(and it was, really, every day with her felt like that – like a package delivered to the wrong address that he tore the wrapping off of anyway, knowing all along he’d never get to keep her.)

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with a woeful ballad

Some days he lays the picture frames face down. Some days he wants to ignore Doctor Who questions from enthusiastic fans, questions about what the other Doctor and Rose are up to in that parallel world and who his favourite companion is. Some days he doesn’t want to imagine her body snuggling up to a man who isn’t him, even if they’re only players on a stage; some days it stings to say a name that, by birthright, can’t be spoken any other tone but in affectionate diminutive. 

Some days the metaphor of it all aches, it physically aches, and he has to duck out of his perfect house and perfect family and run until his muscles are screaming louder than all the regretful regrets. 

Because he’d fought to get her to trust a new face after she’d lost a friend, a new occupant in the old trailer next door with a new bounce in his step.

Because at first they’d been so happy and giddy (joyous) and nothing in heaven and earth could have been sweeter.

Because she was always going to leave him and he’d have to go on, alone.

Because he’d been distracted by another blonde.

Because air for those three monosyllables drumming on his tongue couldn’t escape his too-tight throat.

Because their separation at the end of it all was Greek theatre in its most inevitable variant.

Because he got another chance. Because he saw her at the end of a dark street and because he ran to her (oh, he ran to her flat out) and because they still don’t end up together. Because she went home with another man, her three months gone his, her forever forever his (not his). It was, is, will always be tattooed across the finger he used to stroke during the bitter night shoots, gazing at the reticent stars above but never bothering to wish.

Tragedies don’t work like that. 

david x billie: the in-between

they could never quite get the timing right, could they? 

(maybe there’s still hope)

billie sighs as she sinks into him on the sofa, leaning back against his chest. david doesn’t have to look at her face to know her eyes are closed, that her lips are curved upwards in a smile.

“i’m so full,” she whines, and he chuckles as he catches a glimpse of her pout. “we should’ve used plates.”

“eh, what’s the fun in that?” 

in the back of his mind david registers that he should probably put the half-eaten birthday cake away – her kids might want some tomorrow, when they get back from their dad’s – but, honestly, he can’t be arsed. 

because she’s warm and soft and here, and he hasn’t felt this content in a very, very long time.

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RPF: In it together

Pairing: David x Billie

Rating: Teen

Word count: 2400

I don’t even know what this is, but it’s inspired by this post and this post and so many other, and also by David saying how Billie helped him adjust to the fame of Doctor Who.

This is a belated birthday gift for the wonderful thebadddestwolf :D Hope you like it.

David and Billie trudged through the halls of the Pennsylvania Convention Center in silence. Their feet were sore from standing up for so long and their faces hurt from putting on smiles for the photo op. The day was finally over and they had very little time left before Billie had to be at the airport. Less than an hour to recover from the wave of nostalgia brought on by the day’s events. He wished it were like old times, when she didn’t have another man to get back to and they could just relax together with a couple of lagers. 

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david x billie: undertow

david x billie; 3,300 words; adult vaguely set last weekend shh

They couldn’t help but fall back into it.

It’s the lie David tells himself later, after they fly home and tuck their Doctor Who memories back into the safe recesses of their minds.

It’s not the truth, though. Because how can you fall back into something you never fell out of?

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david x billie: the in-between

they could never quite get the timing right, could they? 

(maybe there’s still hope)

billie sighs as she sinks into him on the sofa, leaning back against his chest. david doesn’t have to look at her face to know her eyes are closed, that her lips are curved upwards in a smile.

“i’m so full,” she whines, and he chuckles as he catches a glimpse of her pout. “we should’ve used plates.”

“eh, what’s the fun in that?” 

in the back of his mind david registers that he should probably put the half-eaten birthday cake away – her kids might want some tomorrow, when they get back from their dad’s – but, honestly, he can’t be arsed. 

because she’s warm and soft and here, and he hasn’t felt this content in a very, very long time.

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65% Of His Heart

Just a short little fic based on the above prompt.  Unbeta’d.  RFP.

____

Hot.  It was bloody hot in Dubai. There was no escaping it.  Also there was a lot of sand.  And why do they call them sand shoes when converse are the absolute WORST shoes to walk in sand with.  Every step he took he could feel a new torrent of scalding sand flooding his shoes through the two tiny grommeted holes on the side of his trainers.  At this rate he was going to be scrubbing his nooks and crannies for days.  Not to mention… bloody hell he was going to find whoever’s idea it was in costuming to make a wool coat and go full blown prima donna on their arse

No damn it.  That wouldn’t be nice.  He really ought to be kinder to the crew.  When was the last time he baked them cupcakes?  eight days?  Certainly it was more than a week.

Feeling guilty for his errant thoughts David flopped back into his director’s chair and briefly considered whether it was too late in the season to get the casting director to hire another one of his mates.  He was always less cranky when Catherine or Fenella was around.  Maybe he could get his Dad another bit part?

So lost in his reverie was he that he almost missed her when she arrived.  She was curvy, cool, and gorgeous.  The faint sheen of perspiration on her flawless plastic exterior was the only hint that she too was effected by the oppressive heat.  

It was as if she’d arrived on a silver platter just for him.

…Well literally it was as if she’d arrived on a silver platter for him.  The pockmarked intern who brought him his refreshments had the good sense to not tarry around and become a third wheel.

(Tarry?  Perhaps, he’d been reading too much Shakespeare lately.)

(Naaaaahhhh.  No such thing as too much Shakespeare.)

He had to have her.

Her mouth was wide, moist, and slightly agape as he gazed at her and imagined himself plundering her riches.  She wanted it.  He knew she did.  He could tell she was wet, already so wet for him.  

They’d only just met and yet… already it was if she was inside him… as if a significant portion… say 65%… of himself was already her.  She coursed through his veins.  His heart clenched and thrust around her delivering her to his most vital of organs.  

Tenderly grasping her lowered his lips to hers.  He longed to taste her, knew this was a thirst he would never quench.

“Mr. Tennant?  Uhhhh… Mr. Tennant?  They want to do the running scene again before we loose the light.”

DAMN James and his pockmarked minions.  

David never knew as he plodded through the sand that would be the last time he saw her.  

-

She watched the figure of the tall handsome actor disappear like a mirage in the desert.  Though their time together had been short, he would likely never grasp how much he’d meant to her.

She didn’t kid herself, she knew there had been other’s before her, and would be so many others in his future.  It was dangerous for an ephemeral creature such as her to love.  His destiny was the glory of the stage, and the light and life of stardom.  Hers… she knew, admitted to herself in her darkest moments… was to be used, taken, and to end up drained and discarded in a waste bin.

Her life would be so short.  But, in her final moments, she would console herself with this.  She had known love.  Even now as she felt the sands of time pressing her down it throbbed around her.  Love.  Even now, as she felt herself dissipating into the oppressive desert air. 

Billie started asking when they first got the script.

“Are you gonna say it?” she smirked, beaming at him over the stack of crisp white pages.

“Hm, I dunno,” he replied, eyes returning to his lines.

She asked again a few days later, over pints at the pub.

“Has Russell said if he wants you to say it?” she smiled, apples of her cheeks rosy from the booze.

“He says it’s up to me,” David muttered, taking a long pull of his beer.

Billie tried again the next morning, legs tangled in his sheets.

“But you must have an idea of if you want to say it,” she bit her lip, sunlight glistening off her tousled hair. 

“I’m going to see what feels right in the moment,” David yawned, rolling her onto her back. 

She made a last-ditch attempt that afternoon, while the makeup artist dabbed at her face.

“Just tell me, I don’t want to be surprised on camera,” she peered at his reflection in the mirror.

“Well the sound guy said the mic wouldn’t even pick it up, what with the wind, so there’s no point really,” he said, finishing the dregs of his coffee.

The next question she asked him was from Rose.

“And you, Doctor? What was the end of that sentence?”

Her hair lashed at his face as he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“I love you.”

When she kissed him, it wasn’t as Rose. 

65% Of His Heart

Just a short little fic based on the above prompt.  Unbeta’d.  RFP.

____

Hot.  It was bloody hot in Dubai. There was no escaping it.  Also there was a lot of sand.  And why do they call them sand shoes when converse are the absolute WORST shoes to walk in sand with.  Every step he took he could feel a new torrent of scalding sand flooding his shoes through the two tiny grommeted holes on the side of his trainers.  At this rate he was going to be scrubbing his nooks and crannies for days.  Not to mention… bloody hell he was going to find whoever’s idea it was in costuming to make a wool coat and go full blown prima donna on their arse

No damn it.  That wouldn’t be nice.  He really ought to be kinder to the crew.  When was the last time he baked them cupcakes?  eight days?  Certainly it was more than a week.

Feeling guilty for his errant thoughts David flopped back into his director’s chair and briefly considered whether it was too late in the season to get the casting director to hire another one of his mates.  He was always less cranky when Catherine or Fenella was around.  Maybe he could get his Dad another bit part?

So lost in his reverie was he that he almost missed her when she arrived.  She was curvy, cool, and gorgeous.  The faint sheen of perspiration on her flawless plastic exterior was the only hint that she too was effected by the oppressive heat.  

It was as if she’d arrived on a silver platter just for him.

…Well literally it was as if she’d arrived on a silver platter for him.  The pockmarked intern who brought him his refreshments had the good sense to not tarry around and become a third wheel.

(Tarry?  Perhaps, he’d been reading too much Shakespeare lately.)

(Naaaaahhhh.  No such thing as too much Shakespeare.)

He had to have her.

Her mouth was wide, moist, and slightly agape as he gazed at her and imagined himself plundering her riches.  She wanted it.  He knew she did.  He could tell she was wet, already so wet for him.  

They’d only just met and yet… already it was if she was inside him… as if a significant portion… say 65%… of himself was already her.  She coursed through his veins.  His heart clenched and thrust around her delivering her to his most vital of organs.  

Tenderly grasping her lowered his lips to hers.  He longed to taste her, knew this was a thirst he would never quench.

“Mr. Tennant?  Uhhhh… Mr. Tennant?  They want to do the running scene again before we loose the light.”

DAMN James and his pockmarked minions.  

David never knew as he plodded through the sand that would be the last time he saw her.  

-

She watched the figure of the tall handsome actor disappear like a mirage in the desert.  Though their time together had been short, he would likely never grasp how much he’d meant to her.

She didn’t kid herself, she knew there had been other’s before her, and would be so many others in his future.  It was dangerous for an ephemeral creature such as her to love.  His destiny was the glory of the stage, and the light and life of stardom.  Hers… she knew, admitted to herself in her darkest moments… was to be used, taken, and to end up drained and discarded in a waste bin.

Her life would be so short.  But, in her final moments, she would console herself with this.  She had known love.  Even now as she felt the sands of time pressing her down it throbbed around her.  Love.  Even now, as she felt herself dissipating into the oppressive desert air. 

David/Billie RPF

Organised by event/theme for your pleasure :DD

p.s. I don’t include Winston-is-really-David’s-baby fics in these but otherwise this should be as complete of a list of RPF as I could manage. Let me know if there are others to add!

Doctor Who -related 

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can you imagine if she really looked back at him, so excited and overjoyed and full of love, and he was just standing there, his eyes red and his brow furrowed, and his hand gripped the program so hard that it wrinkled, and she met his eyes, this gorgeous wide smile across her face, and she started to mouth something to him until she stopped seeing him and started seeing him, and his heart in his throat, and her smile slipped, and she knew, and he just nodded once and looked down at his shoes, and when he looked up again, she had hot tears in her eyes and turning away from him with a false smile to her new husband, a man who had the courage to do what he did not, who had the timing he did not, who was not him and never would be.

To say David has one thing on his mind would be an understatement. (Supplementary to taut.)

Billie started asking when they first got the script.

“Are you gonna say it?” she smirked, beaming at him over the stack of crisp white pages.

“Hm, I dunno,” he replied, eyes returning to his lines.

She asked again a few days later, over pints at the pub.

“Has Russell said if he wants you to say it?” she smiled, apples of her cheeks rosy from the booze.

“He says it’s up to me,” David muttered, taking a long pull of his beer.

Billie tried again the next morning, legs tangled in his sheets.

“But you must have an idea of if you want to say it,” she bit her lip, sunlight glistening off her tousled hair. 

“I’m going to see what feels right in the moment,” David yawned, rolling her onto her back. 

She made a last-ditch attempt that afternoon, while the makeup artist dabbed at her face.

“Just tell me, I don’t want to be surprised on camera,” she peered at his reflection in the mirror.

“Well the sound guy said the mic wouldn’t even pick it up, what with the wind, so there’s no point really,” he said, finishing the dregs of his coffee.

The next question she asked him was from Rose.

“And you, Doctor? What was the end of that sentence?”

Her hair lashed at his face as he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“I love you.”

When she kissed him, it wasn’t as Rose.