Been ages since I've written fanfiction, so please be gentle when critiquing.

Summary: Taken place after Cold Blood, but really, could be stuck in any time during Amy & the Doctor's travels. Absolutely NO spoilers, but definitely smut.

Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, but Matt Smith sure as hell owns my heart.

Tossing and turning. Turning and tossing. Tonight was not a night for a restful sleep for Amy. Heck, she couldn't even get to the sleeping bit. She wasn't even feeling sleepy at all. This is no good. Amy flung herself out of bed, left her bathrobe and slippers in her room and made a bee line to the kitchen. Inside the cabinets were assorted herbal teas for moments like these. She found a chamomile one and set the tea kettle on and made a mug ready. As she waited for the water to boil, Amy thought about what was keeping her up… or, more accurately, who was keeping her up.

Oh, Doctor. Ooooohhh, Doctor. You have little clue what you do to me, Amy inwardly sighed. She thought of his smirks, the way he would lean in close to her, the times he kissed her forehead or held her hand, the times he paid her a compliment, all the fantasies she had as a child, and… well, then there was that time when she flung herself at—

The tea kettle was hissing its note, signifying the water was boiling hot and ready to be poured. She slopped the hot water into her mug and watched the tea bag float to the top. She grabbed a spoon and started to poke the tea bag, amusing herself by watching it being pushed down and then slowly float to the top. The colours from the tea bag expanded around it and eventually engulfed the whole mug. After a couple of minutes, she threw away the tea bag and brought the mug and spoon back up to her room.

Amy carefully placed the mug on her night stand and laid back down where her body was lying just a few minutes ago. The sheets were cold. She drew the duvet over her and was able to feel some residue heat from when she laid in it before and rubbed her legs back and forth to feel the friction between the sheets.

As she got comfy, she tested the tea with a finger—still too hot. Her thoughts yet again drifted back to the Doctor. She picked up where she left off in the kitchen and thought carefully, each frame, each fraction of each second of what occurred in her bedroom back home, like the brief moment where she swore he kissed her back.

She silently congratulated her on her boldness and wouldn't hesitate to do something like that again. But, she already told herself that she made the first move, it's now the Doctor's turn to make advances on her. No way was she going to spend her days with the Doctor, chasing after him for a simple shag. If he didn't want to, she wasn't going to force him. But come ON now. What was the hold up? She knew she was decent looking, she heard so from many of the townies and how else would she have got her job ages ago as a kissogram? She obviously had something going on for her. She has seen people respond to her jokes and she heard the Doctor himself comment on her ingenuity and quickness.

Maybe he really was just that oblivious. And if he was oblivious when it came to being fancied, was he oblivious in other… more intimate… departments?

No, no, no. He quoted that he was, what, nine-hundred and some-odd years old? He must have had a couple experiences in there- at the very least! As a matter of fact, he should be quite the opposite by this point! He should have scores of lovers (wasn't there something the Dream Lord said about Elizabeth the "first"?)! The thickness of an Oxford English Dictionary (the Unabridged!) of techniques and positions!

What would it actually be like to sleep with the Doctor? Her previous fantasies before seeing the Doctor when she was nineteen were always skewed by her memory of what he actually looked like, what his voice sounded like, and his mannerisms- always hindering her perfect fantasies. But now she has plenty of reference material. She knew exactly how tall he stood, the slimness of his torso from hugging him, what his hands felt like, what his clothing felt like, what his lips felt like…

Amy, taking advantage of the closed doors and the night time, moved her hand from where it was lying idly on her stomach to the top of her pajama bottoms. She moved to underneath the fabric of her bottoms, imagining her soft hand was the Doctor's.

What would a man with over 900 years of experience do to a woman if he were in this position? He must know by this point the do's and don'ts of a woman's anatomy and arousal. So naturally, he would tease her first. She moved her fingers all around herself, teasing herself. The Doctor would probably whisper sweet nothings into her ear about how amazing she was and how he was so eager to have her completely and how he couldn't wait to hear her scream his name.

Amy briefly thought about the tea next to her but now there were more pressing matters. As she teased herself, she imagined the Doctor kissing her neck, her ear, that spot right behind the ear and tracing his tongue all along those areas. He would then move his face down and kiss the top of her chest, never forgetting what his fingers were doing down below. After all, he can multi task, she decided. He would nuzzle her breasts with his face and murmur how good she smelled and how soft her skin was. He would then go back up and kiss her mouth passionately just as he would push a finger inside.

With her fingers moist, she then allowed herself to touch her most sensitive spot. It gave her immediate shivers and she smiled, thinking of the smirk the Doctor would have when she would respond to his touch like that. She imagined the Doctor tracing kisses down between her breasts, down her stomach, and then imagined him replacing his fingers with his tongue. She vigorously moved her fingers and felt the pressure starting to build. In her fantasy, the Doctor would ask if she's close to coming and all she would be able to do is moan in response. The Doctor would take it as a yes and do what she loved most.

Finally, it was too much and Amy felt her world explode around her. She screamed the Doctor's name in her mind repeatedly while she struggled to not moan out loud. Her hand slowly stopped and she withdrew. Her eyes slowly fluttered closed and she drifted to sleep, thinking of the post-snuggle her and the Doctor would share. Would she lay on his or would he lay on her chest? She liked the idea of his head lying on her chest so she could smell his hair and comb her fingers through it.

Amy forgot all about the tea.