A/N: Who wishes they were Amy Pond? Or at least had Karen Gillan's job? *raises hand* I've been very anti-romance when it comes to 11/Amy, the Moffat's approach, however, is to be commended. One doesn't have to be madly in love to want to cop off with a fitty, so I think it was perfect. Anyway, this is something I knocked up this morning, hope you enjoy it!


by Flaignhan.

He stared at the ceiling.

He couldn't look at her. He refused to tilt his head, for fear the she'd be looking at him, expecting something.

Eventually, he chanced a quick glance, so fast that even if she had been looking at him, she wouldn't have seen it, wouldn't have even noticed it.

She was staring at the ceiling too.

It was a while before either of them spoke.

"Well that was..."

"Yeah!" he said, not knowing what exactly he was agreeing with, but wanting to stop her from talking.

"So what exactly about you is alien? You seem pretty average to me."


"You're just like any other bloke," she said, green eyes innocent and wide, lips stuck in that permanent pout that made other men fall over their feet for her, but not him. Never him.

And yet here he was, scarred for life...literally, actually.

"Well that's always nice to hear," he said, returning his attention to the ceiling. There was a cobweb stretching over the corner of the room and he made a mental note to get rid of the Arachnaphan that had spun it...before it spun him.

"I don't mean like that, I mean, you know. You haven't got tentacles or anything."

"Of course I haven't got bloody tentacles! Do I look like an octopus?"

"Yeah but you're an alien...I thought you'd be a bit different."

He opened and closed his mouth, while he tried to think of something to say, his eyes creased at the edges in disbelief.

"I've got two hearts," he said at last. "Is that alien enough for you?"

"Really?" she said.

He caught her by the wrist when her hand was an inch away from his chest, and pulled the duvet up to protect himself from her and her...limbs.

"I just wanted to feel," she said.

"Yes well that's how we got here in the first place, isn't it? You just wanting a feel."

She smirked. "It wasn't that bad, was it?"


To her credit, she laughed. He couldn't help but feel proud of her, just for a moment, before he remembered he was naked, in a bed, with a woman who was almost nine hundred years his junior.

Maybe he should just paint the Tardis red and be done with it, accept that his eleventh life was his crisis life. Maybe he should get a motorbike too, go the whole hog. Amy could sit on the back and they could go around wherever they liked, with him showing off this hot young floozy who he'd managed to pick up, despite being nine hundred and seven.

Or, or, he could vow to never let anybody put him in this position ever again.

Yes, that sounded like the better option. She'd be clinging onto him if he had a motorbike, and she wouldn't just settle for having her arms around his waist. She'd go too far, as she always did.

It was time to put his foot down.

"Amy, listen -"

"Oh here we go..."

"When I asked you to come with me, I didn't ask with the intention, or even hope that this would happen."

"I know, that's what makes it more fun," she said, grinning.

He twisted rapidly onto his side, and she laughed.


"Your hair."

He frowned at the reflection of his head in her pupils. His hair was certainly more manic than usual – sticking up at every possible angle, and quite a few impossible angles as well.

She reached forward, combing her fingers through it to calm it down.

He froze, distracted by the feel of her nails dragging gently across his scalp. He started to relax, closing his eyes, feeling almost sleepy. He snapped out of it, grabbing her wrist and thrusting it back towards her.

He had never felt sleepy in his life. Ever. And yet Amy Pond had just made him close his eyes contentedly.

He would not have it.

"Don't do that," he said, his index finger raised, in the hope that it would add some weight to his words.

"Why, because you enjoyed it?"

"I did no such thing," he said stubbornly.

She laughed again, and he clenched and unclenched his fists, pressing his lips tightly shut, knowing he was on the brink of saying something he'd regret.

Or something that might earn him a slap – though he often found the two went hand in hand.

"Oh come on, you enjoyed it and you know it," she said, head leaning on her hand, her bronze coloured hair hanging down and pooling on the plump pillow she was resting on.

"I did not. Humans and Time Lords do not mix. End of story."

"So why did you agree to it then?" she was biting her lip now, with those sharp shiny teeth of hers.

"I don't actually remember having much of choice."

"I suppose I'm an alien to you too," she mused.

"Everybody's an alien to me," he looked away from her, and eventually settled back down on the mattress. He stared at the ceiling again. The ceiling wouldn't hurt him, he could look at that without fear.

She put her hand on his shoulder, one of the few remaining exposed parts of his body. He considered batting her hand away, but found that right now, he'd rather have it there than not. She scooted closer to him, and wrapped her arm around his waist, her head resting on his chest. It wasn't about her getting what she wanted now, it was about her giving him what he needed, and so he let her.

They stayed in silence, her head rising and falling with his chest as he breathed.

"I can hear them," she said at last, her ear pressed against his chest.

"Good, that means they're both working."

She laughed softly and he clenched his fist as her warm breath fluttered over his skin.

"You're not gonna deny it was an experience though, are you?"

Moment over, she was sitting up and grinning.

Experience. She was right about that. An experience indeed. Mind-blowing and traumatic and exhilarating, all in one go.

"Not all experiences are good, Pond."

He was calling her Pond. Who calls someone by their surname after they've just...just...well.

"Plenty are though. And you seemed to think it was, at the time."

"Well..." he was unable to argue with that one. If he hadn't enjoyed it, it wouldn't have been able to happen in the first place. She'd got him there.

"What are you going to tell your fiancée?" he asked. It was a low blow, and he knew it, but if she was going to get one over on him, he was certainly going to retaliate, if he could. It might be childish, but it made him feel better, and right now, to him, that was all that counted.

"I'm not going to tell him anything."

"Ah, so you're going to marry him knowing full well that you threw yourself at another man the night before."

"We're in the time vortex though," she said, lips curving into a smug smile. "I might not even have met him yet, or he might be dead and gone."

"Just because we're in the time vortex it does not mean that you can throw your personal time line out of the window. You are still Amy Pond and you are still engaged to be married to...whatshisface."

"Rory. And I'm going to disagree with you."

"About what? How can you possibly disagree with a Time Lord about the theory of time?"

She shrugged. "I dunno, but I'm going to anyway."

"Out. Now. Take your clothes and get out," he pointed towards the door, and when she didn't move he frowned at her. "Now, Pond!"

"Once more?"

"Absolutely not!"

"Oh come on," she said, her index finger trailing down his chest until she reached the duvet. She gave it a sharp tug but he held on tight.


"One more time won't hurt though!"

"It hurt the first time!" he scrambled into a sitting position, clamping the duvet in place under his arms.

"How?"Amy asked, her mouth stretched into an amused smile.

"You! With your teeth, and your nails!"

She rolled her eyes. "I'll be gentle this time. Promise." She was pouting again, and he was starting to feel like 'other men'.

He shook his head, looking away from her face. "There is no 'this time'. Out!"

She didn't listen. Instead she pressed her lips against his, her hands gripping his arms and holding them firmly in place. He tried to wriggle away from her, but she was persistent, and surprisingly strong, despite her slender frame.

"Stop struggling, you'll enjoy it more."

"I don't want to enjoy it!"

"Yeah," she laughed. "All right."

He looked around rapidly for an exit but found none. Short of knocking her out, which was something he didn't particularly want to do, (and probably couldn't anyway, with the vice like grip she had on him) he was stuck.

And if he was stuck, he might as well make the most of it.

The End.