I Want to Hold Your Hand - fic (1/1)
Title: I Want to Hold Your Hand
Rating: PG
Summary: Movie night in the TARDIS.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who isn't mine, no copyright infringement is intended.
Pairing(s): Eleven/Amy. Probably set within the flawless days of Season 5.
A/N: Because a bit more fluff never hurts.
Amy bounds into the console room, a coy grin, ratty army boots, and her shortest skirt yet accompanying her. The Doctor raises an eyebrow, unable to stop a grin. “Pond, there you are! So where to today? I’m guessing somewhere warm, judging by your apparel.”
She rolls her eyes at him affectionately, huffing. “Come on,” and tugs on his arm, pulling him toward the kitchen. “I was thinking a movie night, actually,” she announces, watching his expression as she reaches up to pull a jar of popcorn kettles out of the cupboard.
He bounces delightedly on the heels of his feet, clapping in excitement. “Brilliant! Oh, Amy, so many movies…”
Ten minutes and a slightly singed tweed jacket later, Amy fills a huge bowl with buttered, salty popcorn, still listening to the Doctor list Disney movies that have puppies in them. (It’s rather cute, she admits to herself, but she purses her lips in teasing exasperation when he looks up.) They make their way, stumbling through winding corridors and dropping popcorn kernels like Hansel and Gretal, until he pulls open the library door with a flourish and a bewitching grin.
She’s been in the library before, but he leads her to a new corner she hasn’t seen before, all amber lights and bookcases. There’s a television tucked haphazardly in a corner and a cupboard full of DVDs, half of which are piled in disorder. Amy thinks, with a tinge of fondness, that it’s simply cozy.
She looks around, trying to spot an armchair or two, and as she does, the Doctor reappears, dragging a worn, green velvet bean bag. Once it’s in front of the television, he flops down on it with a self-satisfied air.
She raises an eyebrow.
The Doctor feigns grievous injury. “It’s a bean bag, Pond! We’ve been over this before-bean bags are cool.”
Amy scoffs. He moves over on the bean bag, patting the empty space next to him in invitation. For a moment everything is sharp elbows and knobby knees as they get situated. Once done moving however, the comforting warmth of the Doctor presses into Amy’s side and his tweed jacket brushes against her skin every few minutes.
They spend the next ten minutes deciding what movie to watch-Casablanca is the final result (though, as the Doctor points out, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2 is a masterpiece.)
Somewhere in the middle of it all, when the movie is more than half over and debates over favorite characters have already occurred, the Doctor's hand finds her. He laces his fingers in hers. Amy notices, sleepily and absentmindedly, that his fingers are still buttery from the popcorn, and they slide over her skin with a fiery touch.
He’s lying on his side, facing her, their linked hands in the middle between them. The amber light plays on his face and hair enchantingly, accentuating the angles and planes of his features. Tired and filled with an impossible sweetness that fills her to the brim and overflows, Amy thinks she’s never seen him so beautiful. So utterly hers. He gives her a small, closed-mouth smile, tinged with just the right amount of affection, that it warms her to the bone.
“Doctor?” she murmurs sleepily, tightening her grip on his hand.
“Hmm?” He squeezes her hand in response, smiling to himself.
“How does hot green tea in the console room sound?”
He grins at her now, lighting up his whole face and being with renewed energy, and that’s all the answer she needs. Amy Pond has never been more perfectly content than she is in this moment.
Rating: PG
Summary: Movie night in the TARDIS.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who isn't mine, no copyright infringement is intended.
Pairing(s): Eleven/Amy. Probably set within the flawless days of Season 5.
A/N: Because a bit more fluff never hurts.
Amy bounds into the console room, a coy grin, ratty army boots, and her shortest skirt yet accompanying her. The Doctor raises an eyebrow, unable to stop a grin. “Pond, there you are! So where to today? I’m guessing somewhere warm, judging by your apparel.”
She rolls her eyes at him affectionately, huffing. “Come on,” and tugs on his arm, pulling him toward the kitchen. “I was thinking a movie night, actually,” she announces, watching his expression as she reaches up to pull a jar of popcorn kettles out of the cupboard.
He bounces delightedly on the heels of his feet, clapping in excitement. “Brilliant! Oh, Amy, so many movies…”
Ten minutes and a slightly singed tweed jacket later, Amy fills a huge bowl with buttered, salty popcorn, still listening to the Doctor list Disney movies that have puppies in them. (It’s rather cute, she admits to herself, but she purses her lips in teasing exasperation when he looks up.) They make their way, stumbling through winding corridors and dropping popcorn kernels like Hansel and Gretal, until he pulls open the library door with a flourish and a bewitching grin.
She’s been in the library before, but he leads her to a new corner she hasn’t seen before, all amber lights and bookcases. There’s a television tucked haphazardly in a corner and a cupboard full of DVDs, half of which are piled in disorder. Amy thinks, with a tinge of fondness, that it’s simply cozy.
She looks around, trying to spot an armchair or two, and as she does, the Doctor reappears, dragging a worn, green velvet bean bag. Once it’s in front of the television, he flops down on it with a self-satisfied air.
She raises an eyebrow.
The Doctor feigns grievous injury. “It’s a bean bag, Pond! We’ve been over this before-bean bags are cool.”
Amy scoffs. He moves over on the bean bag, patting the empty space next to him in invitation. For a moment everything is sharp elbows and knobby knees as they get situated. Once done moving however, the comforting warmth of the Doctor presses into Amy’s side and his tweed jacket brushes against her skin every few minutes.
They spend the next ten minutes deciding what movie to watch-Casablanca is the final result (though, as the Doctor points out, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2 is a masterpiece.)
Somewhere in the middle of it all, when the movie is more than half over and debates over favorite characters have already occurred, the Doctor's hand finds her. He laces his fingers in hers. Amy notices, sleepily and absentmindedly, that his fingers are still buttery from the popcorn, and they slide over her skin with a fiery touch.
He’s lying on his side, facing her, their linked hands in the middle between them. The amber light plays on his face and hair enchantingly, accentuating the angles and planes of his features. Tired and filled with an impossible sweetness that fills her to the brim and overflows, Amy thinks she’s never seen him so beautiful. So utterly hers. He gives her a small, closed-mouth smile, tinged with just the right amount of affection, that it warms her to the bone.
“Doctor?” she murmurs sleepily, tightening her grip on his hand.
“Hmm?” He squeezes her hand in response, smiling to himself.
“How does hot green tea in the console room sound?”
He grins at her now, lighting up his whole face and being with renewed energy, and that’s all the answer she needs. Amy Pond has never been more perfectly content than she is in this moment.