Fic: Dress-Up
Wow, it's been a while since I posted anything here. Whatever. I got bored during break and felt like writing, and so of course, I wrote Amy/Rory. Typical. It's a good bit smuttier than what I usually write, though, so tell me what you think?
"It's been a month since the Christmas special, it's way too late to write a fic inspired by it!" you say? Nonsense!
Title: Dress-Up
Word Count: 2,042
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters/Pairings: Eleventh Doctor (briefly), Amy/Rory
Spoilers: through "The Big Bang," vague references to "A Christmas Carol" and SJA's "Death of the Doctor" (very vague, considering I haven't even seen the latter)
Rating: R for smut and light bondage
Summary: The Doctor has an interesting idea of what couples do on their honeymoons.
A/N: Betaed by the fantastic sleepscribbling, who also gave me the prompt "Honeymoon Shenanigans."
~
Amy Pond, perched on the bed in an inn bedroom that was rather nondescript other than the presence of the TARDIS parked in one corner, cocked her head at the Doctor and followed his pacing about the room with narrowed eyes. “A honeymoon planet?” she repeated, louder, trying to draw the eternally distracted Time Lord’s attention.
“It’s not what you think,” he replied, pulling bags and boxes out from inside the doorway of the TARDIS, opening them, and throwing them back in. “It’s a planet on a honeymoon. It married an asteroid.”
“What?” Rory exclaimed from across the room. His outburst went completely unnoticed.
The Doctor, instead, moved over to the window, pulled open the curtains, and continued, “The whole planet’s celebrating. Well, the people on the planet, that is. The planet itself has other things to occupy her mind right now. Its mind. Her mind.” He paused in his grammatical considerations just long enough to look out the window. “There’s a wild festival going on out there, completely mad, and it’s all for the joy of marriage. You two will fit right in. Although,” here, the Doctor returned to the TARDIS, pulled a trunk out from the pile of luggage, and tossed it in Rory’s direction, “you’re probably going to need these.”
Rory caught the trunk in his arms, but staggered back a few steps from the unexpected weight until he collapsed against a wall. The Doctor, leaning in the doorframe of his time machine, added a few final thoughts, “I’ve cleared everything with the innkeeper. You two are all set to stay here for six nights, and everything else you need is in those bags. I’ll be back to pick you up in a week. Have fun!” With that, he slammed the doors shut, and before Amy or Rory could object, the TARDIS’s familiar departing noise drowned out anything they might have said.
“What did he mean, a planet marrying an asteroid?” Rory complained, slowly lowering the trunk to the floor. “How can a planet marry anything? Does he even know what marriage means? And what he is doing, leaving us by ourselves on some godforsaken planet in some galaxy we’ve likely never even heard of without a word of advice for what to do or how to…You’re not listening to me, are you?”
“Look at this, Rory. Can you believe it?” Amy had wandered over to the window and was now staring at the scene just outside the inn. Taking up about a quarter of the brilliantly purple sky above the planet was a softly glowing, cratered surface: the asteroid, and the groom, she had realized. But what fascinated her even more was the scene on the street below.
A sort of town square, it was paved with that looked like golden cobblestones, interspersed with white tents the size of some of the surrounding buildings, and completely flooded with people. Or at least, with humanoid figures. There were several distinct species visible in the mob, though the majority belonged to a race whose appearance was very similar to Amy’s own. The rest were most likely fellow visitors to the planet, she decided, but what most captivated her was the variety of outfits everyone was wearing. There were aliens dressed as doctors, as firefighters, as monks and nuns and as all sorts of animals, some of which she could identify. What most of the festival-goers were clothed as, however, she could only guess at. “Rory,” she laughed, “it’s a costume party!”
Her husband had been approaching slowly, but at that, he hurried over and joined her at the window, hand comfortably resting on the small of her back as he leaned over with her. “You’re right,” he responded after a few moments of staring. “There’s a zebra, and a flower, and what looks like some sort of soldier…”
“I wonder…” Amy slid out of Rory’s grasp and found where he had left the last trunk, at the foot of their bed. The Doctor had already given them three suitcases full of various provisions, which were by the door to the room, but he had seemed particularly insistent about this one once he had seen the event outside. Starting to grin, she undid the latch and opened the trunk, and saw just what she wanted: a pair of shiny metal handcuffs.
Shivering with anticipation, Amy quickly unpacked the rest of her tool belt, followed by her black miniskirt, men’s dress shirt, police vest with attached radio, and even the shoes she always wore with the outfit. With the top layer of clothing removed, she could see that the trunk was filled with all of her old kissogram costumes: the schoolgirl, the witch, the nurse, even the kitten. Yet, she was drawn toward her old police attire, the gear she was wearing when she first saved the world with the Doctor and with Rory, the first day of her new life. She glanced back at Rory, who hadn’t thought to change out of the shirt, pants, and silver top hat of his wedding tuxedo, and decided that while he could easily pass for a magician or something, she, who had already wrestled out of her white gown while in the TARDIS and now wore a comfortable short red dress and her favorite black stockings, definitely needed a wardrobe improvement. Without a second thought, Amy pulled her dress off over her head.
“Um, Amy, love?” came a shaky voice from across the room, after a few moments. She turned to face Rory, short black skirt somewhat askew over her tights and white dress shirt hanging open to reveal a lacy black bra. He was staring straight at her, eyes wide with surprise. “What exactly are you doing?”
“It’s a costume party, Rory,” she repeated, straightening her skirt. “I’ve got to go as something!” Now conscious of his enthralled eyes upon her, Amy ran one finger down her bare stomach, then began slowly buttoning up the shirt. She smiled slightly with satisfaction when she heard his breathing grown heavy, and again turned away from him to don the vest, tool belt, and shoes. She was about to start digging further into the trunk to try to locate the costume’s matching bowler hat, when she felt arms circle and hug her waist from behind and soft wet lips touch the back of her neck.
“Did I ever mention how unbelievably attractive I find you in this outfit?” Rory murmured into her ear. Amy felt a wave of warmth surge across her body as she tried not to melt into his arms. Biting her lip to maintain calm, she reached deep into the box until her fingers encountered something cold, hard, and metal. After some tugging and jiggling, she managed to unearth the object: an ancient soldier’s breastplate. And a very familiar one, at that.
Amy immediately turned the trunk over onto its side and dumped out all of her various costumes. Remaining at the very bottom of the container was the complete wardrobe of a second century Roman soldier. It was all there, from the dull brown tunic and trousers and boots, to the armored breastplate and wrist guards, to the red cape and leather sword belt.
“What? How?” Rory spluttered. “Where did he even find this?”
“Does it even matter?” Amy’s eyes were wide with amazement. In this reality, the one where Rory was just a twenty-one-year-old nurse and not a plastic Roman soldier who spent two thousand years guarding the Pandorica, Auton Rory’s garb never should have existed. But when had that ever stopped the Doctor? “He made it or found a real soldier’s uniform or stole your clothes before the universe imploded and you didn’t notice. Who cares?”
Amy turned to face her husband, the red fabric of the cape whispering as she rubbed it between her fingers. “I don’t like that look in your eyes,” Rory said, backing up a few paces. “What are you think-”
“Put it on.”
The power of Amy’s demand froze Rory in place. Speechless, he stared at his new bride with helpless puppy dog eyes, but they were to no avail. Amy simply gave him an impish grin and raised one eyebrow as a challenge.
With a sigh, Rory took the cape from her hands and piled up the rest of the outfit in his arms. “Fine,” he said, “but you don’t get to watch me making a fool out of myself trying to remember how to put on armor.” Head down, he walked into the bathroom and shut the door. A moment later, Amy wasn’t sure whether she had imagined a glint of excitement and mischief in his eye just before he plucked the cloth from her hands.
~
“This is ridiculous,” Rory announced as he stepped back into the room. “The sword isn’t even real, and-”
The sound of the door slamming shut behind him was the only warning he had before small, slightly sweaty hands gripped his neck and soft lips pressed against his. Though he could see nothing but a thick curtain of beautiful ginger hair, Rory could feel Amy examining his entire ensemble by touch alone, tracing patterns on his breastplate, wedging her fingers between the metal and the rough woolen tunic, pulling him closer by his belt before finally slipping one hand beneath the cloth. He groaned softly, wishing more than anything that those few remaining layers of fabric weren’t there. Then she let go.
Rory sputtered a few incoherent protests as Amy backed up a few steps and moved toward the door to the inn’s main hallway. Eyes wide with mock innocence, she said, “We have to make it to the party! What else can we do here, with our old costumes, alone in a hotel room for a week?”
“I can’t even imagine, officer,” he murmured in response, more to himself than to the gorgeous woman in front of him. Then, with the skill half-remembered from years spent as a soldier in another life and the strength gained from weekends at the gym in the months before the wedding, Rory grabbed Amy by the waist, slung her awkwardly over his shoulder and carried her over to the bed.
“Put me down!” Amy shouted, struggling in his grasp even as he set her down gently, though he kept her pinned with his whole body. “I’m not one of your helpless damsels in distress, Mister Roman soldier man. And I am completely capable of stopping you, I have all sorts of things-”
“Like these?” Rory pulled the pair of handcuffs off of Amy’s tool belt, and in one easy movement, restrained her wrists around one post of the bed’s headboard that seemed to be specifically designed for such a purpose. Having thus contained his fiery policewoman, he got up from the bed and stepped back to admire his handiwork. Amy’s hair was all in her face and her very short skirt had ridden up even farther in an exceptionally appealing way.
“Rory Williams,” she seethed, eyes smoldering in a way that let him know quite clearly that this was not how she had intended the evening to go, “what on Earth do you think you’re doing?”
“Being your big bad soldier,” he replied, smirking slightly. “That is what you wanted, right?” Two of his fingers snaked up her leg, under what was left of her skirt, and hooked over the waistband of her stockings. Amy’s breathing grew heavy at once.
“Now, you’re going to stay here, and you’re going to do what I want, and when I’m done with you I’ll release you.” For just a moment, he dropped his imposing Roman act, and reached over to brush the hair out of her eyes. “Okay?” he asked, tenderly.
Amy looked deep into his eyes and nodded. “Do it.” Rory smiled again and ran his thumb between her legs, along the center seam of her tights. Amy hissed softly and bit her lip. “Now.”
Rory climbed back onto the bed and straddled his restrained bride, pulling down her tights and panties to better access what lay beneath. Breath hot on her legs, he murmured one last comment that made her squirm with excitement: “This is going to be fun.”
"It's been a month since the Christmas special, it's way too late to write a fic inspired by it!" you say? Nonsense!
Title: Dress-Up
Word Count: 2,042
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters/Pairings: Eleventh Doctor (briefly), Amy/Rory
Spoilers: through "The Big Bang," vague references to "A Christmas Carol" and SJA's "Death of the Doctor" (very vague, considering I haven't even seen the latter)
Rating: R for smut and light bondage
Summary: The Doctor has an interesting idea of what couples do on their honeymoons.
A/N: Betaed by the fantastic sleepscribbling, who also gave me the prompt "Honeymoon Shenanigans."
~
Amy Pond, perched on the bed in an inn bedroom that was rather nondescript other than the presence of the TARDIS parked in one corner, cocked her head at the Doctor and followed his pacing about the room with narrowed eyes. “A honeymoon planet?” she repeated, louder, trying to draw the eternally distracted Time Lord’s attention.
“It’s not what you think,” he replied, pulling bags and boxes out from inside the doorway of the TARDIS, opening them, and throwing them back in. “It’s a planet on a honeymoon. It married an asteroid.”
“What?” Rory exclaimed from across the room. His outburst went completely unnoticed.
The Doctor, instead, moved over to the window, pulled open the curtains, and continued, “The whole planet’s celebrating. Well, the people on the planet, that is. The planet itself has other things to occupy her mind right now. Its mind. Her mind.” He paused in his grammatical considerations just long enough to look out the window. “There’s a wild festival going on out there, completely mad, and it’s all for the joy of marriage. You two will fit right in. Although,” here, the Doctor returned to the TARDIS, pulled a trunk out from the pile of luggage, and tossed it in Rory’s direction, “you’re probably going to need these.”
Rory caught the trunk in his arms, but staggered back a few steps from the unexpected weight until he collapsed against a wall. The Doctor, leaning in the doorframe of his time machine, added a few final thoughts, “I’ve cleared everything with the innkeeper. You two are all set to stay here for six nights, and everything else you need is in those bags. I’ll be back to pick you up in a week. Have fun!” With that, he slammed the doors shut, and before Amy or Rory could object, the TARDIS’s familiar departing noise drowned out anything they might have said.
“What did he mean, a planet marrying an asteroid?” Rory complained, slowly lowering the trunk to the floor. “How can a planet marry anything? Does he even know what marriage means? And what he is doing, leaving us by ourselves on some godforsaken planet in some galaxy we’ve likely never even heard of without a word of advice for what to do or how to…You’re not listening to me, are you?”
“Look at this, Rory. Can you believe it?” Amy had wandered over to the window and was now staring at the scene just outside the inn. Taking up about a quarter of the brilliantly purple sky above the planet was a softly glowing, cratered surface: the asteroid, and the groom, she had realized. But what fascinated her even more was the scene on the street below.
A sort of town square, it was paved with that looked like golden cobblestones, interspersed with white tents the size of some of the surrounding buildings, and completely flooded with people. Or at least, with humanoid figures. There were several distinct species visible in the mob, though the majority belonged to a race whose appearance was very similar to Amy’s own. The rest were most likely fellow visitors to the planet, she decided, but what most captivated her was the variety of outfits everyone was wearing. There were aliens dressed as doctors, as firefighters, as monks and nuns and as all sorts of animals, some of which she could identify. What most of the festival-goers were clothed as, however, she could only guess at. “Rory,” she laughed, “it’s a costume party!”
Her husband had been approaching slowly, but at that, he hurried over and joined her at the window, hand comfortably resting on the small of her back as he leaned over with her. “You’re right,” he responded after a few moments of staring. “There’s a zebra, and a flower, and what looks like some sort of soldier…”
“I wonder…” Amy slid out of Rory’s grasp and found where he had left the last trunk, at the foot of their bed. The Doctor had already given them three suitcases full of various provisions, which were by the door to the room, but he had seemed particularly insistent about this one once he had seen the event outside. Starting to grin, she undid the latch and opened the trunk, and saw just what she wanted: a pair of shiny metal handcuffs.
Shivering with anticipation, Amy quickly unpacked the rest of her tool belt, followed by her black miniskirt, men’s dress shirt, police vest with attached radio, and even the shoes she always wore with the outfit. With the top layer of clothing removed, she could see that the trunk was filled with all of her old kissogram costumes: the schoolgirl, the witch, the nurse, even the kitten. Yet, she was drawn toward her old police attire, the gear she was wearing when she first saved the world with the Doctor and with Rory, the first day of her new life. She glanced back at Rory, who hadn’t thought to change out of the shirt, pants, and silver top hat of his wedding tuxedo, and decided that while he could easily pass for a magician or something, she, who had already wrestled out of her white gown while in the TARDIS and now wore a comfortable short red dress and her favorite black stockings, definitely needed a wardrobe improvement. Without a second thought, Amy pulled her dress off over her head.
“Um, Amy, love?” came a shaky voice from across the room, after a few moments. She turned to face Rory, short black skirt somewhat askew over her tights and white dress shirt hanging open to reveal a lacy black bra. He was staring straight at her, eyes wide with surprise. “What exactly are you doing?”
“It’s a costume party, Rory,” she repeated, straightening her skirt. “I’ve got to go as something!” Now conscious of his enthralled eyes upon her, Amy ran one finger down her bare stomach, then began slowly buttoning up the shirt. She smiled slightly with satisfaction when she heard his breathing grown heavy, and again turned away from him to don the vest, tool belt, and shoes. She was about to start digging further into the trunk to try to locate the costume’s matching bowler hat, when she felt arms circle and hug her waist from behind and soft wet lips touch the back of her neck.
“Did I ever mention how unbelievably attractive I find you in this outfit?” Rory murmured into her ear. Amy felt a wave of warmth surge across her body as she tried not to melt into his arms. Biting her lip to maintain calm, she reached deep into the box until her fingers encountered something cold, hard, and metal. After some tugging and jiggling, she managed to unearth the object: an ancient soldier’s breastplate. And a very familiar one, at that.
Amy immediately turned the trunk over onto its side and dumped out all of her various costumes. Remaining at the very bottom of the container was the complete wardrobe of a second century Roman soldier. It was all there, from the dull brown tunic and trousers and boots, to the armored breastplate and wrist guards, to the red cape and leather sword belt.
“What? How?” Rory spluttered. “Where did he even find this?”
“Does it even matter?” Amy’s eyes were wide with amazement. In this reality, the one where Rory was just a twenty-one-year-old nurse and not a plastic Roman soldier who spent two thousand years guarding the Pandorica, Auton Rory’s garb never should have existed. But when had that ever stopped the Doctor? “He made it or found a real soldier’s uniform or stole your clothes before the universe imploded and you didn’t notice. Who cares?”
Amy turned to face her husband, the red fabric of the cape whispering as she rubbed it between her fingers. “I don’t like that look in your eyes,” Rory said, backing up a few paces. “What are you think-”
“Put it on.”
The power of Amy’s demand froze Rory in place. Speechless, he stared at his new bride with helpless puppy dog eyes, but they were to no avail. Amy simply gave him an impish grin and raised one eyebrow as a challenge.
With a sigh, Rory took the cape from her hands and piled up the rest of the outfit in his arms. “Fine,” he said, “but you don’t get to watch me making a fool out of myself trying to remember how to put on armor.” Head down, he walked into the bathroom and shut the door. A moment later, Amy wasn’t sure whether she had imagined a glint of excitement and mischief in his eye just before he plucked the cloth from her hands.
~
“This is ridiculous,” Rory announced as he stepped back into the room. “The sword isn’t even real, and-”
The sound of the door slamming shut behind him was the only warning he had before small, slightly sweaty hands gripped his neck and soft lips pressed against his. Though he could see nothing but a thick curtain of beautiful ginger hair, Rory could feel Amy examining his entire ensemble by touch alone, tracing patterns on his breastplate, wedging her fingers between the metal and the rough woolen tunic, pulling him closer by his belt before finally slipping one hand beneath the cloth. He groaned softly, wishing more than anything that those few remaining layers of fabric weren’t there. Then she let go.
Rory sputtered a few incoherent protests as Amy backed up a few steps and moved toward the door to the inn’s main hallway. Eyes wide with mock innocence, she said, “We have to make it to the party! What else can we do here, with our old costumes, alone in a hotel room for a week?”
“I can’t even imagine, officer,” he murmured in response, more to himself than to the gorgeous woman in front of him. Then, with the skill half-remembered from years spent as a soldier in another life and the strength gained from weekends at the gym in the months before the wedding, Rory grabbed Amy by the waist, slung her awkwardly over his shoulder and carried her over to the bed.
“Put me down!” Amy shouted, struggling in his grasp even as he set her down gently, though he kept her pinned with his whole body. “I’m not one of your helpless damsels in distress, Mister Roman soldier man. And I am completely capable of stopping you, I have all sorts of things-”
“Like these?” Rory pulled the pair of handcuffs off of Amy’s tool belt, and in one easy movement, restrained her wrists around one post of the bed’s headboard that seemed to be specifically designed for such a purpose. Having thus contained his fiery policewoman, he got up from the bed and stepped back to admire his handiwork. Amy’s hair was all in her face and her very short skirt had ridden up even farther in an exceptionally appealing way.
“Rory Williams,” she seethed, eyes smoldering in a way that let him know quite clearly that this was not how she had intended the evening to go, “what on Earth do you think you’re doing?”
“Being your big bad soldier,” he replied, smirking slightly. “That is what you wanted, right?” Two of his fingers snaked up her leg, under what was left of her skirt, and hooked over the waistband of her stockings. Amy’s breathing grew heavy at once.
“Now, you’re going to stay here, and you’re going to do what I want, and when I’m done with you I’ll release you.” For just a moment, he dropped his imposing Roman act, and reached over to brush the hair out of her eyes. “Okay?” he asked, tenderly.
Amy looked deep into his eyes and nodded. “Do it.” Rory smiled again and ran his thumb between her legs, along the center seam of her tights. Amy hissed softly and bit her lip. “Now.”
Rory climbed back onto the bed and straddled his restrained bride, pulling down her tights and panties to better access what lay beneath. Breath hot on her legs, he murmured one last comment that made her squirm with excitement: “This is going to be fun.”