It wasn't him, not really.
He looked the same, he sounded the same. Well, nearly the same. This him was cheekier. Sexier. More overt.
When he'd found her at UNIT she'd thought it was him, the 'original' him, at first glance. But then she'd noticed the slight differences in the stance, the walk... He'd then greeted her with a huge hug as normal, but had let his hand linger a little too long on her hip. She was convinced she was dealing with a sort of shape shifter until he'd explained he'd come back through some crack in time somewhere, that it had gone sour over there and he'd come back to the only other place he'd known before he'd been, in his words, 'dumped'.
She'd done some physical checks just to make sure and then, because she couldn't think of what else to do, she'd taken him home.
And somehow, they'd ended up here.
He was so free, everything wild and new and fascinating to him, the same and yet nothing like him. He'd held her hand during dinner, brushed her cheek, tucked her hair behind her ear during dessert and kissed her over coffee. She'd told herself it wasn't him; it was a carbon copy, not the original. A carbon copy with blurred edges, not quite the same, some rough and incomplete spots here and there, not the same... But then, then he'd traced down her neck with his mouth, all small kisses, flickering tongue and nipping teeth, his fingers joining in. Popping buttons open on her blouse, reaching in, stroking and teasing lace covered flesh and she didn't care, just didn't care. Because. Because she didn't. She wanted to have him, because he was so very good at this. Because she could.
He slid into her slowly, the weight of his body pinning her to the sofa and she arched upwards to meet him, wondering if this is what it would have been like with him. Would the rhythm have been the same, the feel of him inside her. Would he have felt like that, buried deeply in her? Would he have teased her nipples with his mouth, that never still, rarely silent mouth? And would his fingers have slid down and touched her like that as he'd picked up the pace, pushing faster, harder? She scraped her nails down his back as she climaxed and just as she came back to herself, she wondered if he would groan when he came like that, if he ever had come like that, sticky and hot inside of her.
She felt his breath against her neck as he shifted off her and she was sure she could feel the edges of him blur a little more, the copy degrading slightly. She moved away from him and reached for her clothes.
'I'm not him, you know. I have his memories, but I'm not him. I'm me.' He reached and stroked her back. 'I'm different.' He kissed her between the shoulder blades.
'I'm different. I'll be different. I'll make it different.'
