“You —” The metacrisis Doctor didn’t bother waiting for the priest to finish talking.

At the word “may,” the Doctor was already reaching for Rose.

By the word “now,” he’d wrapped her in his arms, heedless of the layers of satin skirt he smashed as he brought their bodies together. 

Before the priest said “kiss,” the Doctor had already started, as tender and passionate as if it was their first time. As though through the touch of lips and the giving of breath, he was pledging his fidelity, his worship, every fiber of his being and moment of his life.

After the words “…the bride,” the Doctor didn’t let go, and neither did his wife. 

(Source: robin-scherbatsky, via laurenhasmoved)