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Amy's curled up in bed, with the Doctor curled tightly around her. His legs are tangled with hers, his breath cool against the back of her neck, his cock buried deep inside her.
They both pretend this doesn't happen. But sometimes, late at night, she'll feel the blankets lift and there he is, like a dream or a miracle or a gift. It started after Vincent; she's not sure why. She'd ask—Amy has no problem being direct—but there's a sadness in his eyes sometimes that quiets even her. It's like an echo of her own sadness, that inexplicable feeling that catches in her chest at odd times. So she accepts the comfort the Doctor offers, and they don't talk about it afterward.
Tonight, she climaxes quickly—sooner than he expected, from the gasp he makes when she spasms around him. It's a small victory, getting him to make any noise at all during these night visits. He thrusts deep and stays there, rocking with her all the way through her orgasm, drawing it out. She expects him to speed up soon as she's done, to find his own release in a series of quick thrusts, but instead he withdraws, still hard.
She groans an inarticulate protest—she loves to watch him come, feel him come, loves those rare moments where he's not behind some kind of mask. But he isn't leaving; he simply repositions himself, nestling the head of his cock against her clit, and begins to thrust shallowly again. Maybe he wants to come like this, hot and wet and messy. He's moving his hips steadily, his smooth, slick head rubbing at her until she finds herself squirming with renewed desire.
Gradually, his movements shift, until he's rubbing up and down between her labia. The head pushes briefly inside her, not enough to satisfy her need, then slides up and down her slit again. He takes longer strokes, longer, until he's sliding all the way up the cleft between her arse cheeks; she holds her breath as he presses gently over her opening, but he keeps moving, sliding back down to touch his tip to her clit again. Her belly muscles are shaking, she's sopping wet, she needs him to do something, but he just keeps sliding up and down lazily, hypnotically.
Eventually he begins to press harder, and when his slick tip nudges her arsehole again, she's so sensitive she gasps. He seems to take that as a cue, pausing to rub the smooth head in little circles there. His cock is leaking fluid, warmer and slicker than the lube left over from their earlier activities, oh god, why doesn't he just—but he moves on again, sliding up and down, up and down. She's thoroughly slick now and he's so hard and she has done this before, whatever he thinks. It's been a long time—she can't quite remember when, actually—and they'll have to take it slow, but somehow it seems like that won't be a problem.
He lingers between her cheeks on each pass, touching and stroking and nudging just enough to make her tense or squirm before he moves onward. But finally, finally, the moment comes when he presses that tiny bit harder and her tight muscle starts to relax.
They both go still, but he doesn't pull back, just stays there with the tip of his cock caught tightly against her. "Amy," he says, low and rough. She's never heard his voice like this before. He's never spoken to her at all in bed before.
"Yes, Doctor," she says firmly.
He reaches for the lube on her bedside table, dribbles some down her crack, and then his thumb is pulling her cheeks apart as he pushes himself in. She knows in precise and familiar detail the exact size and shape of his cock, but it's never felt like this before. He's moving slowly, so slowly, and it's almost too much, but finally there's the tiniest easing of pressure as he gets past the widest part of the head. One hand guides his cock while the other slides up to tweak her nipples back to hardness, then moves down and slips between her folds. A slick fingertip feels around her clit until she's gasping, and all the while he's pushing deeper into her, gentle thrusts pressing and easing up like waves. It seems like it could go on forever, but then she feels him let go of his cock; one more thrust, two, and she's stretched to the fullest as he comes to rest against her.
He wriggles a little, letting her feel just how full she is, and she groans. She's sweating with the strain, but it feels so good, he's so thick and deep and it's the Doctor. This is all for her, the catch in his breath, the swelling hardness of his cock. All hers.
He keeps stroking her clit, fingers so wet that there's barely any friction, and then with utmost care he rolls it gently between his thumb and forefinger. She throws her head back with a hoarse cry, squeezing around his cock with little clutching spasms. It's so intense, it's too intense, she'd ask him to stop but it feels too incredible. He knows when to let go and return to his light stroking, leaving her shaking.
Then his legs entwine with hers and he begins to move, pushing slowly back and forth, a little awkward at first but quickly becoming rhythmic. She feels achingly full each time his pelvis bumps up against her, but the throbbing heat isn't quite pain, the keen edge of arousal sending twinges through her swollen clit. His fingers have backed off; she's not sure she could bear to be touched anymore.
The Doctor, too, seems to be getting close, writhing against the sheets as his efforts grow more urgent. He pulls her back to meet each stroke, thrusting more forcefully, but he can't seem to get enough leverage, no matter how hard he grasps at her. He shudders, but without the involuntary movements of orgasm, and finally pulls out, rolling Amy onto her stomach.
She feels strangely empty, aching with unsatisfied need, even though she's already had one orgasm tonight. The Doctor must be desperate by now. She expects him to pull her up onto her knees, but he's already straddling her thighs, bringing his cock back to her opening. This time she opens to him readily, and he slides in with a slow, thick thrust. It's firm and deep and oh, yes, he's got leverage now. He lets his weight rest on her, burying his cock a final fraction deeper with one last emphatic push. His pubic bone is pressed tightly to her, his balls a soft weight against her arse. The fit of his cock feels perfect, now.
Then he shifts his knees, widening his stance, and pulls out inch by inch, all the way to the tip. Amy bites her pillow, her hands clutching spasmodically at the mattress when he sinks back in. He doesn't pause, drawing out again, then coming back in with one long thrust. Caught up in the rhythm, he surges onward, in and out, over and over; Amy wriggles a hand beneath herself and presses her palm over her clit, her hips rising and falling with his thrusts. It won't be long; he's fucking her properly now, with deep, steady, satisfying strokes, his breath coming faster. She's stretched so tight around him she actually feels his cock give a sudden throb; he stiffens with a muffled grunt, and then he's pumping into her with shuddering abandon.
She's so close, she doesn't want to lose it now—she rubs herself frantically and the Doctor keeps moving and then her body arches, jerking against his. Relief floods through her as the rhythmic contractions grip his cock, still deep inside her.
Afterward, he rolls them to their sides, still entwined. She's sated and loose-limbed with orgasm, and the Doctor's arm is comfortingly heavy around her. She feels the slow ebb of his cock, softening inside her, but he makes no move to withdraw; they stay like that, lying quietly together, until he slips wetly from her.
He's still there as she drifts to sleep. He won't be in the morning, she knows; she'll find him in the console room, bright-eyed, fully dressed down to the bow tie, like she's never known him naked in the dark.
But this is enough. For now, it's enough.