Title: stay (if you're wondering)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Summary: 26th June, 1890, in a room in the recently opened Savoy Hotel - Amy and Rory decide that the Doctor is staying the night.
Two steps into the TARDIS he remembers something about the electricity - newly installed, first hotel of its kind in London, they should probably avoid the dimmer switch because he's not sure those have been invented yet.
"Did I mention-?" he starts, stepping out and clasping his hands together, but Amy's right in front of him like she was waiting, and she's grinning.
"That you were staying the night? Yeah," she says, grabbing him by the lapels and pulling him, stumbling, further into the room. Rory's standing a little to the right, looking oddly amused, and the Doctor finds his feet and looks at the both of them.
"Pardon?" he says, his arms hanging a little awkwardly at his side because Amy is still holding onto his jacket.
"Amy's- we've decided you're staying. With us. For the night," Rory says, correcting himself with a sharp glance from Amy, and when the Doctor fixes her with a look she just grins brightly.
"And this, is it...?" he says, waving a hand between the three of them. He's frowning, like there's a piece of the puzzle missing and they're being deliberately unhelpful by being all... human.
"We talked about it. What you stayed for those four days, we thought, maybe-" Rory starts, and then stops with a jerky nod.
Amy rolls her eyes, and laughs. "We thought you should join us. Properly," she says, and her hands slip a little further down the edge of his jacket, tugging him closer.
"Oh," he says, and laughs a little bit breathlessly. "Well then," he says, and then Amy has let go and Rory is grabbing his face with both hands and he's... hesitating.
"Amy said I should probably go first," Rory says, but doesn't actually move any closer. His hands are burning warm against the Doctor's jaw, his fingertips pressing lightly into his neck, and he can feel the hard jump of the muscles in his throat working as he swallows.
"Yep," Amy says, popping the 'p' sound with delight, and the Doctor glances at her. "It's only fair, as you two haven't actually kissed yet," she explains.
"Well," Rory says, glancing at the ceiling, and Amy cuts him off with a frown and a wave of her hand.
"I didn't see it so it didn't count," she says, and the Doctor laughs in a slightly unsure way. Amy widens her eyes at Rory and he kind of sighs and nods rapidly, his hands still holding the Doctor's head still, and then, finally, leans closer to kiss him.
The Doctor goes very still for a moment, and Amy is close enough that he can hear her quiet huff of laughter, but Rory's kissing him and that deserves attention; because if he's going to do this (and - of course he is, because he's never learnt how to deny himself the things he shouldn't want, and the way Rory is holding him with a stubborn grip is every reason why he shouldn't) he's going to do it properly. He presses into it, suddenly and harshly, his hand reaching up to curl around the back of Rory's neck, and Amy squeaks with delight.
Rory's mouth opens with a small noise of surprise, and his hands - no longer having to hold him still, having to stop him from running away - slide down to rest on the Doctor's shoulders, his fingers slipping under the edge of his collar. They kiss, soft and slow for a few long seconds, until the Doctor catches himself laughing and Rory pulls away, catching his eye with a calculated boldness.
"Right," the Doctor says, and his thumb brushes against the corner of Rory's jaw.
"Oh, come here," Amy says, with fond exasperation, and pulls him into a kiss, pushing her entire body close and leaning backwards so he has to bend over her. Rory slips away - the Doctor's hand hovers, for a moment, and then finds its way to Amy's waist, and then Rory's behind her and starting to unfasten her dress, the fabric slipping away under the Doctor's fingers.
"Got my boys," Amy murmurs happily against his mouth, and drops her hands from his shoulders so Rory can slide her dress down, skimming the lines of her corset and her hips and her thighs as it drops to the floor. Rory wraps his hands around her hips, his fingertips pressing pale shadows into her skin, and tugs her back a step - she pulls away from the Doctor, giggling, and spins in Rory's arms so she can kiss him properly.
She tries to hook a leg around his waist, and grins against his mouth when Rory curls his hands under her thighs and picks her up, his arms rigid and stronger than the Doctor has ever noticed - she tangles her fingers in his hair, licking into his mouth with familiar ease and Rory turns on his heel and carries her around the side of the bed, two steps that take forever as Amy uncrosses and crosses her ankles around his back, her thighs squeezing against his waist as she tries to rut against him teasingly. Rory tilts his head back, sucking her bottom lip for a second as he pulls away and catches her eye: all the warning she gets before he throws her onto the bed and she lands with a yelp, pushing herself up on her elbows to glare at him through her eyelashes as the feather in her hair starts to dip to the side.
Rory looks entirely unapologetic, though his smile is small and thoughtful until the Doctor steps up behind him and slides his hands around his waist, pulling Rory back against him. He nuzzles softly at the downy line where Rory's hair meets his neck, and Rory closes his eyes and sighs a little softly as the Doctor runs his hands up his chest to grab the edges of Rory's tailcoat, tugging it off and throwing it blindly across the room.
When Rory opens his eyes Amy is watching them, her legs endless and golden in the candlelight and her bottom lip caught between her teeth, and the Doctor slides his fingers over Rory's ribs as he mouths at the flushed skin under his jaw.
"Don't mind me," Amy says, low and breathless when the Doctor bites at the curve of his neck and Rory's breath stutters.
"I think my wife would like some attention," Rory whispers, and the Doctor exhales a laugh against his skin.
"Damn right I do," she says, and swings her legs around so she can kneel up in front of them, grabbing Rory by the front of his shirt and moving him to the side so she can paw at the Doctor's bowtie. "I am not sleeping with you if you're still wearing this."
Amy bats his hands away when he tries to protest, and a glance at Rory is no help at all as Rory sits down on the bed and undoes his own necktie and the top three buttons of his stiff shirt; he laughs softly when the Doctor shoots him a betrayed look, and lets himself fall until his back hits the bedsheets.
He lifts his head a little so he can watch them - the delicate, considering way the Doctor looks at Amy as she tugs the bowtie apart but leaves it dangling around his neck, her fingers immediately working on the buttons of his shirt and when she glances up the Doctor smiles a little wider.
"What," she says, but the Doctor just wets his bottom lip with a flick of his tongue and she doesn't hesitate to throw her arms around his shoulders and kiss him, warm and demanding and brilliant, until the Doctor lets his hands curl around her hips, dipping low over the edge of her corset and suddenly she grabs him by the shoulders and spins them around, pushing him down onto the bed to land with a thump next to Rory.
The Doctor stares up at her with wide eyes, the sweep of his hair falling over his forehead and she just laughs at him, kneeling on the edge of the bed.
"You've no idea how long I've wanted to do this," Amy says, her eyes bright as she grins down at both of them, glowing and beautiful in the light spilling out from the fireplace.
"Seriously. She talks about it a lot," Rory sighs, but his fingers are tracing invisible patterns up Amy's thighs and something in his smile turns soft whenever he looks at her. "Usually when I just want to go to sleep."
"Yeah, because you're boring," she says, and swoops down to kiss him, her carefully-arranged pile of hair shifting a little as he arches up to greet her and the Doctor just watches, smiling quietly.
"Hey," Amy says, barely pulling away from Rory's mouth and blinding reaching out towards the Doctor. "Stop watching and get over here," she says, her lips brushing Rory's with every word and in a rustle of bedsheets the Doctor is pressed up against his side, his fingers tracing the dips of his chest and Rory feels impossibly warm, flushed from the heat of the fire and Amy and the Doctor; he's all soft shadows and flickering highlights when Rory cants his head towards him, and in the sweet crush of bodies the Doctor finds himself on his back as Amy and Rory suddenly decide to focus on him. Amy looks deviously gleeful, her eyes dancing, and the Doctor reaches up to untuck a curl of her hair.
"Your champagne, sirs," the concierge says suddenly from the doorway, wheeling in a small trolley, and Rory lifts his head to stare at him disbelief. The concierge looks unperturbed, pouring out three glasses, and then turns to leave.
"Er," Rory says, mostly by accident, and the concierge turns his head to look at him. There's a crack as his neck rotates beyond the line of his shoulder, his body facing the door as his head is turned completely towards him.
"Thanks?" Rory squeaks. He nods, in a way that Rory knows should be impossible with a broken spine, and leaves.
"Er, Doctor?" Rory says, and the Doctor just hums vaguely underneath him, Amy's mouth against his collarbone. "I don't think that guy was human," he says, and everything goes to hell.
For seven weeks they don't really talk about it - because they're busy, and the Doctor is easily distracted, and Amy accidentally gets married again. It's complicated, until it's not, and they're back at their own anniversary party before the second bottle of champagne is opened.
"The Doctor's staying with us, for a while," Amy says, when it's a little past midnight and the last of their friends have said goodbye, leaving a scattered mess of empty wine glasses and paper cups and the fairy lights in the garden blinking at empty space. Their house suddenly seems to ring in the silence.
"Ha," Rory laughs, and Amy looks at him. "Oh God, you're serious."
"It's because of the cubes, and stuff. And-" she pauses, presses her lips together and closes the short distance between them, looping her arms around his waist.
"And?" Rory prompts, glancing down as she licks her lips.
"And because we have some unfinished business," she says, and kisses him; soft and sweet and swiftly turning dirty as she parts her lips just enough to slide their mouths together, crowding close with her hands slipping under his shirt.
"Oh! Don't mind me, I just left something in the garden-" the Doctor says, trying to stride past without really looking at them, and Amy pulls away to scowl at him.
"Oi," she says, and the Doctor stops, and slowly turns to look at her. "Are you coming to bed, or what?"
"Oh," the Doctor says, and glances at Rory, who smiles at him. His hands are splayed over Amy's hips, and his shirt is rucked up around Amy's arms, and Amy is staring at him expectantly. "Yes. Yes, I suppose I am," he says, and grins.
"Good," Amy says, and presses a quick kiss to Rory's mouth before slipping away and grabbing the Doctor by his wrist, propelling him towards the hallway. "Come on!" she calls, and Rory tries not to laugh as he follows them upstairs.
There's a brief dance about showers and toothbrushes ("We got you a toothbrush. Just in case, you know," Amy says, and waves her hand vaguely in way that definitely doesn't mean anything in British Sign Language, but does mean 'pigeons' on a small planet just outside of the Perugellis System. He assumes she doesn't mean it) and how, exactly, they are going to fit on their bed, but then Rory slips out the room to brush his teeth and Amy fixes the Doctor with a look.
"No complications this time," she says, and keeps her voice flat. "Just us, and this house, for as long as you're here. Okay?"
"No complications," the Doctor echoes, looking slightly concerned, and Amy rolls her eyes and reels him in with an arm draped around his neck.
"Not unless you count the taps in the bathroom not working," she says, and then hooks a finger over his bowtie when the Doctor suddenly looks thoughtful. "No. Don't you dare tinker with anything in my house, you hear?" she says, lowering her chin so she can glare up at him.
Rory comes back in before he can reply, in just boxers and a soft grey t-shirt, and Amy smirks at him. "Clothes off," she says to the Doctor, and pulls off her own shirt in one quick gesture. "I've never really been into the whole 'slow stripping' thing."
She's down to her black and lacy underwear in moments, and she jumps onto the bed to lean against the headboard, patting the space either side of her. "Come along, Mr. Pond. And you, Doctor," she says, low and teasing, and then laughs when the Doctor just raises an eyebrow at her as he undoes his bowtie.
"Let me help you with that," Rory says, calm and light and with calloused hands that burn against his skin as he starts to unbutton his shirt, and then Rory's tugging off his jacket and suspenders and trousers and the Doctor catches his face between his hands and kisses him, guiding them towards the bed.
"Finally," Amy sighs, when they are either side of her, Rory's hand ghosting over her stomach and the Doctor reaching up to card his fingers through her hair, and it works: Rory kisses his way from her collarbone to her hip, nosing at the crease of her thigh with a hot rush of breath against her pale skin before flicking his tongue down, his fingers tugging her panties to the side as he presses a kiss to her core and she gasps happily into the Doctor's mouth as he kisses her, his hands smoothing up the sides of her ribs and she squirms, laughing.
It works: as the Doctor presses into her, as he licks the hollow of her collarbone and Rory bites at the flesh of his shoulder, as the Doctor wraps a hand around Rory's cock and the three of them work out some kind of staccato rhythm, not quite moving together but it's slick and hot and perfect. It works even as the Doctor accidentally elbows Rory in the ribs, and Amy's thigh gets in the way when they try to move, but then Rory's pressing up warm and solid around her and the Doctor's at his back, touching them both as much as he can with his leg thrown haphazardly over their thighs and when Amy comes it's with her mouth muffled against Rory's chest and her fingers interlinked with the Doctor's.
The Doctor watches them as they drift off to sleep, Amy curled around Rory as he sprawls out in the middle of the bed, and doesn't think about the cubes.
There are very early mornings when Rory gets home from a long shift and they undress him slowly, letting him sink into the mattress and keeping him teasingly awake as they cover him with wet-soft kisses and smooth hands. Amy likes to pin the Doctor against the kitchen counter when he's experimenting with something mysterious he found in the garden, and if Rory is reading in the living room while the Doctor is playing on the Wii he tends to get jumped on in celebration whenever the Doctor wins at the tennis (on easy mode, Rory doesn't point out), and sometimes that drifts from a mad crush of their lips into something a little slower; the Doctor working his tongue in a way that reminds him of Latin grammar, and Amy will find them half an hour later still making out like teenagers, Rory's leg pressing up between the Doctor's thighs, and asks loudly if they should get a bigger sofa.
It feels a bit like running, in the overwhelming dizziness of the emotional feedback loop when they're both crowding close and deliciously hot, but then Amy slips a hand under his jacket, and Rory presses a kiss to his jaw, and,
"Thanks," Amy whispers, late one night when Rory's already asleep, and Amy is still sandwiched between them. "For staying," she says, warm breath quiet and tender against his chest, and the Doctor tightens his arm around her.
"How could I leave?" he says, after a long minute, and Amy sighs in her sleep.