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Word Count: 3853.


This was never the way I planned, not my intention.
I got so brave, drink in hand, lost my discretion
It's not what I'm used to, just wanna try you on.
I'm curious for you, caught my attention.


How the Doctor has lived all these years, travelled to so many places, and still not learned how to properly drive his TARDIS, will forever be a mystery to Amy. He tells her that he's found Rio, that he really has it this time, that there is absolutely, positively no way that it can't not be Rio. So, of course, when she opens the door she doesn't find sunny, warm beaches; instead finds a busy, loud, crowded city. She turns on her heel with every intention of telling him off about it, only to watch as the TARDIS fades away.

Fortunately, the Doctor phones her and tells her she's in London, a few years prior to her own time. Unfortunately, he's having a few problems with the TARDIS and he isn't able to come back and get her just yet. So he tells her to lie low, blend in, and stay out of trouble. He'll come and get her soon. It won't be any longer than five minutes, he promises, maybe ten. An hour or two, tops.

If this turns into another twelve years, she swears she'll murder him.

It doesn't take long for her mood to change, though. Because as luck would have it, it's New Year's Eve and half the city's already smashed. A smirk tugs at her lips, because she might as well make the best of a bad situation. The Doctor did tell her to blend in, after all.

She goes into the first bar she can find. "I'll have a beer," she tells the barkeeper, hoping up onto the only open stool.

"I wouldn't, if I were you," a girl beside her says and puts her own Shirley Temple down. She's blonde and can't be more than a year or so younger than Amy. "You must not be from around here; everyone knows the beers at Marley's are awful."

"What kind of bar can't sell a decent beer?" Amy shakes her head. "Thanks."

"No problem," she smiles and holds out her hand. "I'm Rose, by the way. Rose Tyler."

"Amy," she takes her hand and grins.

And, for some reason, Amy gets the feeling that her night is about to become a lot more interesting.

Rose has come to the conclusion she has been abandoned. Her so-called-friends have disappeared into the myriad of people cramming the dance floor and she isn't even sure she wants to find them. After all, Daphne is probably so wasted by now she will attach herself to the first hot guy she hones in on, and Mickey, while a darling, will only fret over her. So, instead, Rose orders a Shirley Temple and sits back to observe. She's half-tempted to flirt with the bartender, but the rational-not-yet-drunk portion of her brain whispers that that is a very, very bad idea.

After all, Mickey and her have this ... thing going on and she doesn't want to jeopardize the one relationship that is actually showing promise not to be a complete fuck up.

That, however, is when she spots her. All blazing red hair and swagger that says she honestly doesn't give a bloody damn, and Rose eats it right up. Hot red-head slides onto the barstool next to hers, orders that dreadful beer and Rose can't help but save her from a fate worse than death.

Then they're talking like they're best friends and it's bloody brilliant.

"Oi, bartender!" Amy calls, licking her bottom lip in a way Rose is sure must be illegal in some countries. "Get me a Sex on the Beach, will you?" And then she grins cheekily as she adds, "a shot of extra orgasm, if it isn't too much for you." And there is a wink and Rose is sure she is already half-in-love with her.

The bartender all but rolls his eyes as he attends to Amy's request. Obviously this sort of sordid behaviour is normal. Not that it surprises Rose. Oh no. "I would recommend leaving the orgasm for someone more skilled," she says slyly and perhaps she is a bit drunker than she thought; but hey, what the hell?

"Oh really," Amy says and something about the way she does is so feline and primal that it sends shivers all the way to her—oh dear, that really is something.

But Rose is quick to switch gears before her mouth gets her in trouble and her sexuality is called into question. "Unfortunately, we seem to be lacking in men up to the task." And, okay, maybe that was a seductive glance she sent Amy's way.

Amy's never had a girl friend before. All the ones in Leadworth were so boring and thought she was mad, and it wasn't as if she cared about them in the first place. But this Rose Tyler, she thinks, is different. She likes Rose. They talk and they laugh and they joke like they've known each other for years and it is bloody brilliant. And maybe it's the alcohol talking, but even Amy has to admit that Rose is, well, she's pretty hot.

"No men and no beer," Amy complains loudly, turning the stool so that she's facing Rose completely. "What a way to start the year off," she says, taking a sip of her drink. "Look at these boys. What does it take to get a bit of attention around here?" she calls out to no-one in particular.

Rose stirs her drink, a sly grin on her face. "Two girls kissing, maybe."

"Maybe," Amy smirks, crossing one of her legs over the other; her skirt rides up in the process, exposing a bit of her thigh.

Rose's eyes glance at her legs. "Aren't you cold?" she asks.

Amy rolls her eyes. "I dressed for Rio," she explains.

"Rio? I think you're a bit off there."

"You don't have to tell me," she shoots back the last bit of her drink. "Oi, bartender! Keep 'em coming," she calls before turning back to Rose. "You'd understand if you knew how awful of a driver my friend is."

"So where is this friend of yours now?"

"Hell if I know," she shrugs. For some reason, the Doctor's disappearance isn't bothering her as much as it normally would. "We're travelling together. He'll turn up at some point."

Rose takes another sip of her own drink. "So this mate of yours, are you and him together?"

Amy laughs. Loudly. "He wears a bow tie," she says as if it's enough explanation. The barkeeper puts her drink down and she takes a sip.

"No!" Rose gasps.

"Yup. A big red one. He's got braces, too."

Amy leans forward as they laugh, her hand resting on Rose's knee. Rose gives her a wily smile, but doesn't move when she calls to the bartender for another drink. Amy smirks and takes another drink.

She definitely likes this Rose Tyler.

Two Shirley Temple's and one Whiskey Sour later, Rose Tyler is drunk. Granted, the club isn't spinning in circles and she doesn't feel the need to upchuck, but she is finding it harder and harder to avoid blatantly staring at Amy's pink, puckered lips. And, Jesus, something has got to be wrong with her! Mickey is undoubtedly still in the vicinity but all Rose can seem to do in her drunken stupor is think about how wonderful of a kisser Amy—probably!—is. Her mouth has gone dry in nervous anticipation and really, this is ridiculous.

"Oh, bugger," Rose moans, rubbing her index finger across her bottom lip. "I hate winter; it always dries out my lips!" She grins at Amy while she digs in her purse and smiles when she finds it—her glorious cherry chapstick. "Ah, here it is," she sighs contently as she pulls of the top and begins to smooth on the sweet tasting balm. "Cherry chapstick—a London girl's best friend," she finishes as she puckers her lips and smacks them, making obnoxiously pornographic noises that would make even her mother blush.

Amy's smile is downright devilish. "Seems like you've got admirers," she whispers, brushing her lips oh-so-close to Rose's ear, breath hot and ragged as she motions behind her towards two particular men whose gazes are a little too steamy.

Rose rolls her eyes, giggling drunkenly. "I'm much more interested in—" Rose cuts herself off, eyes wide and mouth open as she realises what almost just came out of her mouth.

It has caught Amy's attention. "And who is it that has caught your fancy?" she asks, leaning in towards Rose, their knees bumping together; suddenly she forgets how to breathe.

"I—" Rose starts, flustered.

"—here are your drinks misses," the bartender interrupts, slamming the two drinks onto the countertop with more annoyance than should be allowed for an employee.

Amy glares at him. "Thanks arse," she half growls before snatching her drink off the counter and downing it in one go. "So, tell me Rose," she says, "have anyone special?"

Rose shrugs. "I sort of have a thing with this guy."

"Oooh," Amy all but purrs, leaning forward in anticipation. "Do tell."

"Nothing to tell really," Rose admits. "He is just this guy who I may be able to have a decent relationship with; very ordinary. Nice guy, you know the type?"

"Ah," Amy nods, a faraway look in her eyes. "I know the type."

Rose opens her mouth to question Amy, but falters. Some things are best left unasked. "Mm, boys," she muses, "can't live with them; can't live without them."

Amy snorts. "I have doubts about that second half."

Despite herself, Rose smiles. "Who else would we tease with our hot bodies and string along like lovesick puppies?"

"You, Rose Tyler," Amy starts, "may yet prove to be a genius."

Rose throws her head back to laugh, blonde hair spilling over her shoulders and blue eyes shining. "You'd certainly be the first to think so."

Amy rolls her eyes. "Quit being modest, it's unbecoming."

"Oh?" Rose says as she quirks a brow. "Should I be more forthcoming then?" It's an innocent question, but the glint in Amy's eyes spells it might not end so. Her body moves on its own volition and brings her closer and closer to Amy; they are so close Rose can feel Amy's breath on her face and so close to—

"One minute to the new year!" The DJ shouts over the intercom, and Rose snaps back, scarlet painting her cheeks prettily. A moment later the whole bar seems to have erupted into a frenzy, what with everyone trying to find someone with whom they can have their sloppy, drunken New Year's Kiss with. It's loud and chaotic, but Rose finds herself staring shyly into Amy's deep, green eyes and maybe it's the alcohol, but she's very enticed.

The DJ starts the countdown. "Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five—"

Amy is looking at her now and there is a mischievous glint in her eye. "Have—" She starts.

"Four!"

"—you—"

"Three!"

"—ever—"

"Two!"

"—kissed—"

"One!"

"—a girl?"

"Happy New Year!"

Rose's no is lost in the roaring cheering of the crowd and suddenly everyone around them is kissing and touching each other inappropriately. Rose isn't sure who moves first but suddenly Amy's lips are on hers, hot and wet. She gasps softly, mouth opening just enough to allow Amy to slip in some tongue and bloody hell Rose thinks this might just be the hottest kiss she has ever experienced. Amy nips at her lower lip and Rose might just be bleeding but she can't bring herself to care because this kiss is so hot, so wrong, so right, so terribly, terribly fantastic that she never wants it to end.

But it does end and they're pulling apart, panting for breath, lips swollen and bruised from use. "Wow," Rose breathes, blue eyes wide.

Now Amy has kissed her fair share of people, ranging from drunk to sober, strangers to friends, boys to girls. She is a kissogram, after all; it's a part of her job. (Well, it's all of her job, really.) So if there's one thing she's learned from it, it's that she knows how to kiss. But she's also learned that most people don't know how to kiss and she knows not to keep her hopes to high.

They've spent the entire night flirting and touching and they're both a little more than drunk. And Amy decides she wants to kiss her and it's as clear as day that Rose returns the feeling. So why the hell not? It is New Year's Eve, after all. One kiss; it'll probably be messy and awkward, but a laugh.

It isn't clear which of them moves first, but it doesn't really matter, because Rose's lips are soft and smooth, and pressed against hers. Amy feels her gasp a bit and she smirks against her mouth before she slips her tongue in. But Rose catches up quickly, her own tongue dancing and teasing and damn, this Rose Tyler can kiss. She tastes sweet and sour at the same time, a bit fruity, and it just might be Amy's new favourite flavour, and she pulls at Rose's bottom lip without thinking, savouring the taste. Because Amy Pond has kissed more than her fair share of people, but never like this. A kiss has never felt so wrong in all the right ways, so horribly amazing.

"Wow," Rose pants when they've pulled apart.

"No kidding," Amy's tongue traces her own lips. "You were definitely right about the cherry chapstick."

She reaches up and brushes her fingers against Rose's forehead, tucking a blonde strand back behind her ear. A smile, somewhere between playful and seductive, pulls at Rose's lips; a mirror of Amy's own smile, she's sure. But before either of them can do anything more, a loud, familiar cry breaks her attention.

"What? WHAT?"

And sure enough, no more than a few feet away, is the Doctor with wide eyes and an open mouth and the most baffled Amy thinks she has ever seen him. He stares at her and then Rose and then her and then Rose and then her again. He switches between the two of them so fast that it makes her head spin a bit, and if he hadn't just ruined a perfectly good moment, she might have been amused. But no, she isn't amused. She's drunk and bloody furious that he's spoiled her evening again.

"Oi, what are you doing here?" she snaps, crossing her arms. He walks over and she wants to stand up, but she has a feeling her legs won't exactly cooperate, so she settles for glaring up at him from her stool.

"What do you mean what am I doing here? I told you it wouldn't take me long." Damn Doctor, she mentally curses. It figures that the only time he can actually be on time is when he's ruining her fun. "What are you doing?" His eyes shift from her to Rose and back to her and then back to Rose.

Amy rolls her eyes. "I made a new friend. What's wrong with that?"

"Friend? Amy you just – "

Suddenly, Rose laughs. Loudly. "Oh my God," her words slur in the slightest bit. "The bowtie. There's really a bowtie."

Maybe it's the alcohol, but Amy finds her reaction incredibly amusing. Any anger she felt quickly fades and is replaced with her own drunken giggles. "I told you." She glances back to her Doctor and he's staring at them with wide eyes again. "Oi, look at that, he shut up!" Amy looks back at Rose with a huge grin and points to him. "He never shuts up! I can never get him to stop talking. All he does is yap, yap, yap."

He shakes his head quickly. "Bow ties are cool," he protests, but he's still in shock and it comes out as more of a weak mumble. It only makes them laugh harder.

Amy and Rose continue to laugh so hard that they have to hold onto to each other so that they don't fall over. And the Doctor is so pale, so shocked, so overwhelmed, that she thinks he might actually just faint. It only makes them laugh harder.

A bowtie. Really. Rose had honestly though Amy had been pulling her leg on that bit, but nope—there's the lad, bowtie and all. It's side-splittingly funny and she believes she may actually die from the laughter. Her enjoyment, however, is cut short when she spots Mickey across the club and he does not look pleased.

He's stomping towards her now, frown set in place. "Rose," he tries to say angrily (but really, it comes out more like a pathetic whine). "What did you think you were doing?"

The room is starting to spin now and Rose is entirely not sober enough for this encounter. "Duh," she manages, unable to keep the drunken giggle that escapes held in. "I was kissing Amy here. She's a fabulous kisser, you know? Way better than y—"

"Oh-kay!" Amy's mysterious (and handsome) male friend interrupts, seeming to have gotten over the initial shock and regained his vocal cords. "As you can tell, my friend here seems to have had a bit too much to drink and surely so has Rose. Which is perfectly understandable, seeing as how it's News Year's and they're young and all. Completely natural, if you ask me. But that's not the point. The point is that we should assume that everything they say or do henceforth is a result of the alcohol, alright? And their, uh, earlier activities included. It'll make both of our lives easier. Don't you think so, Mickey? Also, I think Rose is beginning to look a bit exhausted. Perhaps it's time you took her home. Wouldn't want Jackie to skin you alive for misplacing her daughter—scary woman, that one."

Mickey looks confused. "You know Jackie?" he asks incredulously.

Rose giggles as Amy's male friend stiffens visibly. "Oh, yes. Old family friend. Isn't that right Rose?"

Rose slumps onto Mickey and, woah, the whole bar has started to tilt sideways. "Yeeeah, suuuure," she slurs, grinning stupidly in Amy's direction.

Amy is looking hard at the man. "Old family friend?" she mumbles, seeming unimpressed and even in her drunken mind something seems to click into place. "How do you know their names?" She slurs the question and almost topples off the stool but, thankfully, her male friend catches her by the shoulders and sends her a withering, but affectingly worried smile that is tight around the edges as he steadies her.

"Now is not the time, Amelia—"

"Don't call me thaaat," Amy snaps.

"I think I may puke," Rose interrupts and Mickey is at her side in a heartbeat.

"Oh, Jesus, Rose," he turns to Amy and her friend. "I think we better get going."

"Noooo," Rose protests. "Gotta—" she starts, leaning against Mickey's chest. "Gotta say goodbye to Amy..."

Mickey sighs and props Rose up so she can grin stupidly at Amy. After fumbling for something in her pocket she pulls out the very same chapstick she'd put on earlier. "I want you to have this," she says, forcing it into Amy's open hand. The next moment Mickey all but drags her out of the club mumbling, "Jackie is going to kill me."

Rose can't bring herself to care. She just had the best New Years Kiss of her life, after all.

Amy wakes up the next morning in her TARDIS bedroom with a single thought. "Oh God," she groans before she even opens her eyes. She covers her face with a spare pillow. "My head. Kill me now."

"Well, what did you expect?" The Doctor pulls the pillow off of her and chuckles in this way that sounds particularly loud and obnoxious, and makes her want to smack him. Fortunately for him, he holds up a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water. "You had more than your fair share to drink last night."

She pops a few pills in her mouth and swallows the whole glass of water in one gulp. "You left me alone on New Year's Eve. Honestly, Doctor," she hands him back the glass, "what did you expect me to do? I was bored."

He puts the glass down on her dresser. "I didn't leave you," he protests. "The TARDIS had a few problems. Besides, I told you I would be back soon."

She snorts. "Right. Because you're always on time."

He opens his mouth as if he's going to protest, but quickly shuts it. He looks thoughtful for a moment. "Anyway, I came back and you seemed have had plenty of fun with your, er, friend."

Amy grins. "Oh, I did. Before you rudely interrupted, that is."

"Sorry, I don't normally find my friends making out with random girls at bars," he rolls his eyes, but then pauses for the slightest of moments. "So why did you do it?"

She stares at him for a moment, confused. For someone who's supposed to be scolding her on getting so smashed, he's doing an awful job at it. All he does is mention the kiss over and over. Unless… a smirk pulls at her lips. "Oh, Doctor! You sly dog!" She slaps his arm, playfully.

"What? No. No, no, no! That's not what I meant! That's not what I'm like!"

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, please. You're a bloke and isn't that every bloke's fantasy? To see two hot girls snogging?" she grins. "Sorry though; I don't kiss and tell."

A grin teases at his lips for a moment – no doubt remembering the scene from last night – before he catches himself and protests. Not that she's paying attention, because when she shifts slightly in the bed, she feels something pressing against her upper thigh. She digs in her pocket and finds a small tube of chapstick. Cherry chapstick, actually. A grin tugs at her lips.

"What's that?" He tries to peer over, but Amy clamps her fist around the tube.

"None of your business," she says. "Now, out. This is my room and I need to get dressed."

The Doctor stares at her for a moment, before he picks up the glass, shakes his head, and walks out of the room mumbling something to himself. It's only once the door is shut and Amy's sure he's gone that she unclenches her fist and takes the cap off the chapstick. She presses the balm against her lips and smacks them lightly. It tastes like Rose.

And cherry, she thinks, is definitely her new favourite flavour.


Ain't no big deal, it's innocent
I kissed a girl and I liked it,
The taste of her cherry chapstick.
I Kissed A Girl, Katy Perry


Note: We just had to do it. Because, seriously, we all know it's been the Doctor's fantasy ever since he met Amy.

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