you are my electric girl
(standing there with nothing on/she gonna teach me how to swim)
"Are you coming in or not?" he thinks he hears her say. He can't really tell, because right now his eyes are fixed on the glorious curve of her back, her t-shirt abandoned long ago. This is the place he loves most at the moment, more than the Powell Estate and the console room and the TARDIS pool- he loves this one sun-drenched little cove in Greece, where the houses are whitewashed and the roofs are so blue they scorch your eyes. He is so glad he brought her here.
It doesn't matter when exactly they are, because she's spent so long with him now that time doesn't exist, clocks exist, and sleeping (or not sleeping) happens at odd hours drifting past a glimmering purple star exploding into a thousand tiny sparks (not that they even really notice the star, apart from the way it lights up their flushed faces). They are together and they are now, and nothing else could possibly matter.
He tries to remember how to form words before he replies to her. She is no longer Rose Tyler, nineteen years old and beautiful, with curves and a playful seductiveness she hadn't quite mastered yet. She has it down pat now; knows just what strings to pull for a lower price, a prettier trinket, the praise of bella, linda, beautiful ringing in her ears, the jealousy that clouds the Doctor's face as men (and women, Rose isn't shy) throughout space and time try her name out on their tongues.
She watches, crossing her arms and trying her best to play it cool as he kicks off his trainers and leaves his brown pinstripes in a pile on the achingly hot sugar sand. The sun is doing its best to dip below the horizon, the sky streaking with orange and pink like a watercolor painting and casting its light over everything, including the giggles of one Rose Tyler as she is heaved into the still-warm water.
When she pulls her head up from the water, her hair pouring waterfalls over her shoulders, she is facing off against her Doctor, lazily splashing droplets that shine like precious jewels in the low-burning light towards him, and laughing. God, does he love her laugh; the way her tongue peeks though her teeth, the way her eyes burn almost orange in the sunset. He wades toward her, waist-deep, and catches her before she can duck back into the looking glass-still water again.
Her breath hitches in her throat and her fingers trace patterns on his chest, her body weighing nothing in his arms. She is a goddess, an eternal being. He can feel the energy from her fingertips, the energy that would've killed her running lightly up the side of his face, and that is very distracting and what, exactly, was the plan from here? Oh, right, it certainly wasn't her lips on his lips and his neck and his lips again and suddenly he can't remember much of anything, much less why one English girl has such an effect on him, even though it's her and it's always been her.
It's so different this time, with the sand creating a little Rose crater underneath her. She doesn't cry out, she isn't scared or weak or apprehensive (though she never has been, not Rose). She only grins, grins at the look on his face, still drunk off her scent and the sun and the salt and the haze of lust hanging in the air and she draws him closer and he really, really isn't doing very well at this being coherent thing, instead mumbling what he hopes are sweet nothings into her hair.
He does a good job keeping up with her, no matter what she decides to do, how she decides to move, and he's almost thankful flopping into the sand next to her, a little bit dazed and lost in paradise. She turns and draws the same patterns once more, the words and letters and phrases he's taught her, a mix-up of circles and lines and her own added English words, repeating the same thing over and over again until she wears grooves in his skin and leaves marks that will last long after she's gone. He can feel the sparks popping and crackling against his skin as she leans in, whispering translations into his ear.
"Forever, forever, forever," and the word echoes on until the sun returns, bringing with it another new adventure (that unfortunately requires clothing and proper manners, but neither one of them forgets Santorini for a long, long time).
Besides, they can always go back and do it all again, if they want to.