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He remembers falling again, after he fell. Inevitably; completely; entirely. The sound of the snaps of the neon orange spacesuit still ring in his ears. His mind holds on to the precise angles of her jacket slung over the console, acute and obtuse and pink and black.
He remembers her sprawled on his chair, her blonde hair sticking to sweat-damp skin. He remembers the taste of her, remembers tracing her inner thigh with his tongue and watching her arch and twist in an attempt to bring him closer. He remembers keeping her on the knife-edge, a breath away from orgasm; he remembers keeping her breathless.
‘Please, you have to,’ she moaned, slumping in the chair and looking at him, accusation flashing in her warm, brown eyes.
‘Have to what, Rose?’ He remembers asking, peering up at her. He drew an agonisingly slow circle across sensitive flesh. ‘We’re in the Time Vortex. I’m a Time Lord. I can keep you like this for years.’
She’d given a half-laugh, one that turned into a groan when he slipped a finger inside her, curling upwards cleverly. He remembers that she only had the patience for a few more minutes before she’d attacked him, clawing at his clothes and ripping the buttons off his fly in her haste. He remembers, in exquisite detail, the tension in her face as he sunk into her, the feel of her all around him, the way her mouth fell open when he found the right angle. He lasted through her first orgasm – the one from fucking her, fast and hard, encouraged by her nails on his back and her filthy, working-class words in his ears. He lasted through her surprised cry and her muscles clutching him, and began the slow building of her second orgasm, the one he would always, forever, feel the need to give her in thank you (in the place of farewell). Her second climax, brought with his gentle, languid strokes, made him tumble as well, falling into pleasure so intense he saw supernovas; saw the unfurling of galaxies exploding into being; saw Rose’s entire life - beautiful, shining, gold - right there, in front of him, if only he dared to look.
He remembers Rose wiping away tears that had leaked out from her screwed-shut eyes. He remembers kissing them away, murmuring: “Shhh”, and “Hey, what’s the matter”. He wonders, now, if she knew all along that this was all he could give her: sensation and action and adventure and danger, but never words, never anything concrete, never a life to enjoy.