PORN I mean fic
Title: Running Away By Staying Still
Rating & Warnings: R for hetero sex.
Pairing & Suchlike: Eleven/Amy
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters!
Summary: Time is relative.
Notes: I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Must. Not. Ship them.
It is the endless night before her wedding. She's read in bridal magazines about time stretching out before the walk to the altar, but none of them said anything about aliens and getting back home before you left.
She's picked up enough to know that somewhere out there in time and space Amy Pond is getting married right now. A ring is slipping onto her finger, but somewhere else - here - Amy Pond is having sex with an alien.
Fourteen years and of course she thought about it, once puberty hit and the dress-up games with Rory got less innocent. Wondered what it would be like, what he'd be like, whether aliens even had the right parts.
He moves with his awkward grace and says "Amy" against her skin. It sounds fairytale when he says it, changing it didn't make the slightest difference there.
She turns her head to a carpet of flannel and tweed trailing back to the doorway, tries not to laugh at the sudden idea that he might turn into a frog.
She remembers a shot about Elizabeth I, but there's something virginal about him. She strokes his hair to soothe him, places a hand on his chest and there's something wrong with his heart. She's distracted when he thrusts just so and how dare he be so good at everything.
Maybe this is why she didn't tell him. She's hit by the urge to test him, halted by the sudden certainty that he'd stop. There's something noble in him.
He pushes and she pushes back, equal in motion even if she's so very aware of being just a human. She wonders if he minds, but if he does it isn't in his movements, his laboured breathing, that crazy heartbeat.
"Amy" again and she scratches lightly with red-painted nails. She soothes the raised red flesh with gentle strokes across the planes of his back, feeling knots of muscle moving under smooth skin that feels almost new.
At some point she has to tell him, and this is just making it worse. Amy pushes the thought away and closes her eyes.
His active hands move like explorers, across her breasts, her stomach, until his thumb brushes her clitoris and she's back to biting to express herself.
She knows there were others before her ("And someone wore this on purpose?" she had asked in the wardrobe room) but she's not going to ask if he did this with the others, in case the answer is yes. In case the answer is no.
Her hands go back to the music in his chest and she realises with a shock that she's feeling two heartbeats. Something new (something borrowed, something blue...) and she blinks back her joy that even inside him there are wonders. She has so much to learn, she wants to know everything.
It's the night before her wedding, and the night might last for years.
Rating & Warnings: R for hetero sex.
Pairing & Suchlike: Eleven/Amy
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters!
Summary: Time is relative.
Notes: I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Must. Not. Ship them.
It is the endless night before her wedding. She's read in bridal magazines about time stretching out before the walk to the altar, but none of them said anything about aliens and getting back home before you left.
She's picked up enough to know that somewhere out there in time and space Amy Pond is getting married right now. A ring is slipping onto her finger, but somewhere else - here - Amy Pond is having sex with an alien.
Fourteen years and of course she thought about it, once puberty hit and the dress-up games with Rory got less innocent. Wondered what it would be like, what he'd be like, whether aliens even had the right parts.
He moves with his awkward grace and says "Amy" against her skin. It sounds fairytale when he says it, changing it didn't make the slightest difference there.
She turns her head to a carpet of flannel and tweed trailing back to the doorway, tries not to laugh at the sudden idea that he might turn into a frog.
She remembers a shot about Elizabeth I, but there's something virginal about him. She strokes his hair to soothe him, places a hand on his chest and there's something wrong with his heart. She's distracted when he thrusts just so and how dare he be so good at everything.
Maybe this is why she didn't tell him. She's hit by the urge to test him, halted by the sudden certainty that he'd stop. There's something noble in him.
He pushes and she pushes back, equal in motion even if she's so very aware of being just a human. She wonders if he minds, but if he does it isn't in his movements, his laboured breathing, that crazy heartbeat.
"Amy" again and she scratches lightly with red-painted nails. She soothes the raised red flesh with gentle strokes across the planes of his back, feeling knots of muscle moving under smooth skin that feels almost new.
At some point she has to tell him, and this is just making it worse. Amy pushes the thought away and closes her eyes.
His active hands move like explorers, across her breasts, her stomach, until his thumb brushes her clitoris and she's back to biting to express herself.
She knows there were others before her ("And someone wore this on purpose?" she had asked in the wardrobe room) but she's not going to ask if he did this with the others, in case the answer is yes. In case the answer is no.
Her hands go back to the music in his chest and she realises with a shock that she's feeling two heartbeats. Something new (something borrowed, something blue...) and she blinks back her joy that even inside him there are wonders. She has so much to learn, she wants to know everything.
It's the night before her wedding, and the night might last for years.