Skirts and Other Distractions (Fic: Doctor Who, A/R, Oneshot)
Amy wasn’t wearing knickers.
That had made him drop the thermal coupling. He’d been yelling something about how she’d gotten her driver’s license (he still could never get her to admit that she’d cheated) when he’d looked up and… yeah.
Oh, she’d done it before. A few times, at parties, she’d worn her short skirts and gone without knickers to be particularly daring. He’d always feigned embarrassment, pleaded with her to be the innocent girlfriend, but he’d never for a second expected she would be. His pleading was all an act, really, because it was just… thrilling. And sometimes at those parties, huddled with her in a dark corner, her tongue tracing every inch of his mouth, her breath hot on his skin, he would slide his fingers up that skirt and onto warm, bare skin and-
He needed to find her. Now.
The Doctor had told her to put some trousers on. Knowing Amy, she was somewhere in the wardrobe, rifling through the racks of clothes. She always loved dress-up as a kid, a love that had carried over into her grown-up profession as a kissogram (if one could call dressing up for a living “grown-up,” anyway). He’d always been a participant in the dress-up games, too, frequently being shoved into the most ratty clothes Amy could find, made to be the raggedy Doctor, standing in for her hero.
Ever since the Pandorica, he was pretty sure he didn’t need to stand in for her hero anymore.
The Doctor was setting a course, and Amy had trotted off to the wardrobe. He followed the sound of her humming as she idly sifted through pairs of trousers. The wardrobe was a separate room entirely, so he didn’t have any qualms about the Doctor… overhearing them. Just in case, though, he shut the door, almost kicking it shut behind him and walking up to Amy, practically tripping over his feet to get to her and that damned skirt.
“Which do you like best?” Amy asked, holding up two pairs of trousers for his perusal, but he knocked them out of her hands, grasping her hips and pressing her against the wall, kissing her just as she kissed him at all those parties where she’d gone without knickers, hot and wet and desperate, tongue in her mouth and hands on her hips, hands that then fumble to her breasts, squeezing.
“You’re not wearing knickers,” he breathed into her lips, feeling her smile as she returned the intensity of his kiss, reaching down to start unbuttoning his jeans.
“Yeah, and you were taking a peek,” she half-groaned, throwing her head back as he broke the kiss and started licking the hollow of her throat, sucking at her collarbone, anything to drive her mad. He almost never initiated-he was the one taking orders, he was Mr. Pond and she was most definitely not Mrs. Williams, because he was hers and she never let him forget that-but he wanted to be the one taking control for once.
“Can you blame me? I liked what I saw, which… drove me to distraction.”
“Destruction, too,” Amy laughed, though it was more of a gasp, as he’d begun to nip at the skin of her collarbone, his teeth playing at the sensitive skin the way he knew she liked. She started working at his belt. “Could’ve been stuck here forever… although you definitely didn’t mind the thought of two of me… you have a dirty, dirty mind, Rory Williams,” she murmured into his ear, a low, sexy chuckle that became even more so as she moved her hand lower, stroking the inside of his thigh, nearly making him yelp.
“There are a lot of things I’d do if I had two of you,” he said, sliding his hands over her thighs as she got his belt undone. “But you know what I really want to do right now?”
“Try me,” Amy said huskily, her eyes closed, the pulse in her neck throbbing against his lips. “I can bet you I’ve thought of it.”
“You remember what we did the last time you had on this skirt?”
“You cheated.”
“Did not!”
“What d’you call that?” he asked, pointing incriminatingly at the denim that could most certainly not be called a skirt, maybe not even a miniskirt. “I bet you didn’t even drive; he probably just signed off on giving you the license right then and there!”
“And if he did? I still passed, didn’t I?” She smirked, then pouted when he didn’t laugh. “Come on. You love it when I wear this one.”
He couldn’t deny that he did. “All right, fine. I do.”
“Then can I drive?”
“I don’t love it that much.”
She leaned over, whispering into his ear. “Wanna show me how much you love it?”
Oh, he did.
He had to pull over, taking them to the side of the road. Leadworth was small, but not always crowded, and they weren’t in a very populated area. He shut off the engine and reached over to Amy, skimming his hand over her thigh and taking pleasure in her throaty moan as he reached his fingers under the saddle of her panties, teasing the warmth until he got her wet and then slipping in…
Amy’s breaths were quick and labored, her eyelids fluttering as she remembered, almost whimpering as she nodded. “Yeah, I remember,” she said breathlessly.
“Want me to do you one better?”
“Oh, God, yes.”
He fumbled to get his trousers and pants around his ankles, and once he had, he slipped his hands back up her skirt, his hands caressing her bare backside before he lifted her and directed her to wrap her legs around his waist. He braced himself against the wall with one hand, supporting her with his other arm and thrusting into her, which made her make one of the sounds he loved to hear. He covered her mouth with his regardless, just in case the Doctor could hear after all (though it wasn’t exactly the first time they’d done it in the TARDIS).
She said his name as they broke for air, just once, but she said it again, louder, and again as he kept going, like an incantation, a chant, a prayer, the same way he used to say her name for the two thousand years when he’d feared he’d forget the sound of it. He knew he said it the same way even now, after the danger had passed, because he’d never lost his reverence of her. He suspected he never would.
She called his name one last time, loud enough that he was fairly sure the Doctor would hear, but he found he didn’t quite care, and so matched it with a loud cry of his own. He eased her down, enjoying the flush of her skin, the mess of her hair, the grin on her face. As he started to readjust his trousers, he watched those long legs saunter away from him, leaning down to pick up the trousers he’d knocked from her hands. She repeated the question he’d interrupted earlier, and he picked a pair he thought would highlight those long legs wonderfully. She said something about going back to their room for a pair of knickers, but he grabbed her wrist, stopping her.
She took one look at his face and smirked at the pleading she saw there. “You really don’t want me to get the knickers, do you?”
A shake of his head, his thumb stroking at her wrist: a supplication. She grinned, touching his cheek and then leaning in, pecking his lips. “Sometimes, Mr. Pond, I bloody love you.”
He chuckled, putting his hands on her waist again and pulling her close to him, kissing her just a bit more. “Sometimes, Mrs. Pond, I bloody love you, too.”
That had made him drop the thermal coupling. He’d been yelling something about how she’d gotten her driver’s license (he still could never get her to admit that she’d cheated) when he’d looked up and… yeah.
Oh, she’d done it before. A few times, at parties, she’d worn her short skirts and gone without knickers to be particularly daring. He’d always feigned embarrassment, pleaded with her to be the innocent girlfriend, but he’d never for a second expected she would be. His pleading was all an act, really, because it was just… thrilling. And sometimes at those parties, huddled with her in a dark corner, her tongue tracing every inch of his mouth, her breath hot on his skin, he would slide his fingers up that skirt and onto warm, bare skin and-
He needed to find her. Now.
The Doctor had told her to put some trousers on. Knowing Amy, she was somewhere in the wardrobe, rifling through the racks of clothes. She always loved dress-up as a kid, a love that had carried over into her grown-up profession as a kissogram (if one could call dressing up for a living “grown-up,” anyway). He’d always been a participant in the dress-up games, too, frequently being shoved into the most ratty clothes Amy could find, made to be the raggedy Doctor, standing in for her hero.
Ever since the Pandorica, he was pretty sure he didn’t need to stand in for her hero anymore.
The Doctor was setting a course, and Amy had trotted off to the wardrobe. He followed the sound of her humming as she idly sifted through pairs of trousers. The wardrobe was a separate room entirely, so he didn’t have any qualms about the Doctor… overhearing them. Just in case, though, he shut the door, almost kicking it shut behind him and walking up to Amy, practically tripping over his feet to get to her and that damned skirt.
“Which do you like best?” Amy asked, holding up two pairs of trousers for his perusal, but he knocked them out of her hands, grasping her hips and pressing her against the wall, kissing her just as she kissed him at all those parties where she’d gone without knickers, hot and wet and desperate, tongue in her mouth and hands on her hips, hands that then fumble to her breasts, squeezing.
“You’re not wearing knickers,” he breathed into her lips, feeling her smile as she returned the intensity of his kiss, reaching down to start unbuttoning his jeans.
“Yeah, and you were taking a peek,” she half-groaned, throwing her head back as he broke the kiss and started licking the hollow of her throat, sucking at her collarbone, anything to drive her mad. He almost never initiated-he was the one taking orders, he was Mr. Pond and she was most definitely not Mrs. Williams, because he was hers and she never let him forget that-but he wanted to be the one taking control for once.
“Can you blame me? I liked what I saw, which… drove me to distraction.”
“Destruction, too,” Amy laughed, though it was more of a gasp, as he’d begun to nip at the skin of her collarbone, his teeth playing at the sensitive skin the way he knew she liked. She started working at his belt. “Could’ve been stuck here forever… although you definitely didn’t mind the thought of two of me… you have a dirty, dirty mind, Rory Williams,” she murmured into his ear, a low, sexy chuckle that became even more so as she moved her hand lower, stroking the inside of his thigh, nearly making him yelp.
“There are a lot of things I’d do if I had two of you,” he said, sliding his hands over her thighs as she got his belt undone. “But you know what I really want to do right now?”
“Try me,” Amy said huskily, her eyes closed, the pulse in her neck throbbing against his lips. “I can bet you I’ve thought of it.”
“You remember what we did the last time you had on this skirt?”
“You cheated.”
“Did not!”
“What d’you call that?” he asked, pointing incriminatingly at the denim that could most certainly not be called a skirt, maybe not even a miniskirt. “I bet you didn’t even drive; he probably just signed off on giving you the license right then and there!”
“And if he did? I still passed, didn’t I?” She smirked, then pouted when he didn’t laugh. “Come on. You love it when I wear this one.”
He couldn’t deny that he did. “All right, fine. I do.”
“Then can I drive?”
“I don’t love it that much.”
She leaned over, whispering into his ear. “Wanna show me how much you love it?”
Oh, he did.
He had to pull over, taking them to the side of the road. Leadworth was small, but not always crowded, and they weren’t in a very populated area. He shut off the engine and reached over to Amy, skimming his hand over her thigh and taking pleasure in her throaty moan as he reached his fingers under the saddle of her panties, teasing the warmth until he got her wet and then slipping in…
Amy’s breaths were quick and labored, her eyelids fluttering as she remembered, almost whimpering as she nodded. “Yeah, I remember,” she said breathlessly.
“Want me to do you one better?”
“Oh, God, yes.”
He fumbled to get his trousers and pants around his ankles, and once he had, he slipped his hands back up her skirt, his hands caressing her bare backside before he lifted her and directed her to wrap her legs around his waist. He braced himself against the wall with one hand, supporting her with his other arm and thrusting into her, which made her make one of the sounds he loved to hear. He covered her mouth with his regardless, just in case the Doctor could hear after all (though it wasn’t exactly the first time they’d done it in the TARDIS).
She said his name as they broke for air, just once, but she said it again, louder, and again as he kept going, like an incantation, a chant, a prayer, the same way he used to say her name for the two thousand years when he’d feared he’d forget the sound of it. He knew he said it the same way even now, after the danger had passed, because he’d never lost his reverence of her. He suspected he never would.
She called his name one last time, loud enough that he was fairly sure the Doctor would hear, but he found he didn’t quite care, and so matched it with a loud cry of his own. He eased her down, enjoying the flush of her skin, the mess of her hair, the grin on her face. As he started to readjust his trousers, he watched those long legs saunter away from him, leaning down to pick up the trousers he’d knocked from her hands. She repeated the question he’d interrupted earlier, and he picked a pair he thought would highlight those long legs wonderfully. She said something about going back to their room for a pair of knickers, but he grabbed her wrist, stopping her.
She took one look at his face and smirked at the pleading she saw there. “You really don’t want me to get the knickers, do you?”
A shake of his head, his thumb stroking at her wrist: a supplication. She grinned, touching his cheek and then leaning in, pecking his lips. “Sometimes, Mr. Pond, I bloody love you.”
He chuckled, putting his hands on her waist again and pulling her close to him, kissing her just a bit more. “Sometimes, Mrs. Pond, I bloody love you, too.”