He knows Rose by sight: yellow hair and pink cheeks and a wide smile, bright eyes and soft curves (that he hasn’t spent several seconds too long staring at; admiring, possibly, but not drooling over…)
He knows her by ear: the shrill force behind her tone when she’s angry, the firework melody of her laugh, the dropped “r” in his name (and he doesn’t miss it one bit).
He knows her by touch: her shoulder against his side as they’re tossed about in a rough landing, her body warm and solid and delicate in his arms as she hugs him, her fingers laced with his (and he’ll never admit he lives for those moments, when she clasps his hand in hers and grins).
He knows her by smell: strawberry shampoo and honey melon lip gloss, hot musk of adrenaline and sweat, and sometimes a hint of wild, savory, her arousal (but it’s not for him; it couldn’t be for him, no matter how much he might wish it were).
All these he has catalogued, carefully, collecting memories of this precious girl any chance he can, for the time when her time is up (when her time is up and his isn’t, and he already hates that day with every fiber of his being).
Only by taste does he not know her, yet, desperately wants to. He wants to slide his lips against hers (as he pulls her to him, wrapping his arms around her). He wants to feel her pulse under his tongue, on her wrist, on her neck (as she lets out a gasp, a whimper of pleasure). He wants to take her tendons between his teeth, leave crescents of red marks on her skin to shout “Mine!” (marks he hopes she’d trace later, a smile on her face, wanting to be his as much as he wants to be hers).
And as much as he tries to push it away, as much as he tells himself to be content with what he has (so much of her already, far more than he deserves), the more desire rises up, strong, ravenous, and the more she seems to lick her lips when she looks at him. The TARDIS whispers that it’s really only a matter of time before he has new sense memories to cherish (to torture himself with, in a few decades), and he almost believes her.
I have been blessed with fic! This is so fantastic thank you thankyouthankyou <3 <3 <3 I read this as Ten but it would work so well for Nine too and oh, be still my shipper heart. Smut! Angst! It has it all! This bit was especially heartbreaking tho: “collecting memories of this precious girl any chance he can, for the time when her time is up (when her time is up and his isn’t, and he already hates that day with every fiber of his being).” Just throw me into the sun.