Author's Note: Originally written in September of 2011. This is rated M for a reason so keep that in mind. R&R would be greatly appreciated. xo.

The telephone truly is a magical device. It has eliminated distance like no other invention, reducing thousands of kilometres to the few dollars it costs for a long distance plan. It has revolutionized the way we say I love you and the way we are informed of bad news. One telephone call has always been all it takes to change a person's life.

Rory William's life was no exception.

For years after the incident, he wondered what would (or wouldn't) have happened if he'd merely let the phone ring out, or if he had just hung up when he realized what was going on. There were dozens upon dozens of nights where he would lie awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling and watching various scenarios flicker on the blank canvas above; scenarios both good and bad, with advantages and flaws. He'd ponder until the sun came up and he went to work with heavy eyes and a heavy heart.

But looking in retrospect was useless. The fact was that he had answered that phone at half past two in the morning, even when he heard who (or rather, what) was calling.


"'Ory?" He would have known that drunken slur anywhere. Rum (or tequila or brandy orwhatever) had taken hold of Amy, his best friend and from the sound of things, she was completely incapacitated... again.

"Can you come get me?" Rory groaned and rolled onto his back, running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. He took a quick glance at the glowing red numbers of his alarm clock before slowly sitting up, setting his bare feet on the ground. He was certain that his parents wouldn't mind him borrowing the car, so long as it was back before five thirty, when his mum left for work.

"Where are you?" he sighed, fishing around for a shirt with his free hand.

"Jeff's." Muffling his yawn, Rory picked up a pair of sweatpants as well. He was too tired and Amy was too drunk to care about what he was wearing. (Not that she cared when she was sober, he reminded himself).

"Okay, I'll be right there. Go sit on the step and don't move until I get there."

"Okay." There was a momentary pause while Amy hiccuped. "Love you Rory."

In the dark, a lone tear slid down Rory's cheek.

"I love you too Amy," he whispered, knuckles white from gripping the plastic casing of the phone. "I love you."

Amy had already hung up.

Rory Williams has been in love with Amy Pond from the first time he laid eyes on her in the second grade. Everyone else had made fun of her but he had instantly taken to her flaming red hair and thick accent and overall Scottishness. She was different, like him; all the other boys thought that Rory was a sissy because he was quiet and shy and liked dressing up with the girls. He wanted so desperately to go up to her and say something, even just hello, but he couldn't find the nerve.

For three weeks, Amy Pond didn't give him the time of day. She stayed by herself, eating lunch in the cafeteria alone and reading during playtime while everyone (except Rory) whispered and said mean things about her. He kept hoping that she'd come over to him and want to dress up; after all, he was the only one in the class that didn't cruelly mimic her Scottish accent whenever she spoke in class.

Still, nothing, until one day after school. While Rory was sitting in the central park of Leadworth with his Gameboy, Amy had marched up to him with a shopping bag full of clothes, which she dropped at his feet.

"Do you like dressing up?" All he could do was nod but this alone made her break out into a fierce grin that Rory had not seen on her face up to that point.

"Great! Wanna play?" Rory didn't have to answer; Amy was already pulling ties and ripped shirts out of the bag and tossing them at his feet and he hurriedly shoved his Gameboy back into his coat.

That day was the beginning of a friendship that was always a little more; at least, it was for Rory. As they grew, him and Amy certainly changed; Rory got a little less quiet but a lot more awkward and she got more popular (and less Scottish) with each grade that passed. But no matter how popular she got, Amy always had time for Rory, always had time for a night of pizza and a movie when they should have been studying.

He was always there for her. He couldn't count the nights that he had held her while she cried over some bloke that had 'broken her heart.' He didn't know how many time she'd sobbed herself to sleep on his shoulder, making his arm lose feeling. He was there for absolutely everything she needed... and as of late, Amy had needed a designated driver at least once a week. No matter how much it bothered him that Amy was spending all her time getting drunk, Rory was there because he was Rory and that was just what he did.

The roads were completely empty, which wasn't much of a surprise; Leadworth was usually empty in the daytime so at three o'clock in the morning, it was positively abandoned. When he pulled up in from of Jeff's ten minutes later, Amy was indeed sitting on the front step, holding a red plastic cup in her hands. Her chin was sitting on her chest but as soon as Rory stepped out of the car, she jolted upwards, face splitting into this grin that nearly broke Rory's heart.

"Rory!" she squealed, standing up and immediately falling back down onto her ass. Rory rushed forward to help her, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her up. The cup fell to the ground and she made a grab for it but he started pulling her towards the car, despite her protests.

"Oh Amy," he sighed quietly, "why do you do this?"

"It's just some fun," she muttered, barely understandable. Suddenly, with a speed Rory assumed had been stolen by the alcohol, her lips were on his ear, making the blood drain from his face.

"You should wear these out more often," she whispered, warm breath tickling his neck. "They make your arse look fantastic." One of her hands sneaked down his hip and gave the aforementioned body part a squeeze, making Rory yelp like he'd been shocked.

"Amy!" He quickly and ungracefully shoved her into the passenger seat, not bothering to buckle her in. The blood that had rushed from his face had pooled between his legs completely against his will and he just wanted to get Amy home. Then, once he got back to his bedroom, he could quickly wank, go back to sleep and forget that it had ever happened. After all, Amy was wasted and she wouldn't remember a thing in the morning and-

She was touching his erection. He took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at her silhouette but all he got was a mouthful of hair. Amy was on her knees in the passenger seat, lips running down his neck, soft kisses matching the soft caresses of her hand on the front of his sweatpants.

"Amy, what are you doing?" Rory managed to spit out, knuckles gripping the steering wheel.

"Making you feel good," she replied, words ghosting over his shoulder blade as she kissed it through his thin t-shirt. "Is that okay?"

"You're drunk," he whispered, thanking God that Amy's house was within sight. As he put on the brakes, her fingers tightened around his erection, making a groan escape from his throat.

"I may be drunk," she said, "but that doesn't mean that I don't want you." With her free hand, she guided his fingers underneath her short skirt, over the silky smooth skin of her thigh to her panties. Rory could feel how damp the lace was and he couldn't resist stroking her just the slightest. The moan that bubbled from her throat was even more lovely that all the ones Rory had dreamed of.

"Please Rory," she whispered, arching against his fingers, "please take me home."

He couldn't say no.

Amy Pond has been in love with Rory Williams from the first time he dressed up as the Raggedy Doctor. She didn't know it at the time, being only seven years old; she thought love was just something from a fairy tale.

What she did know however, as she looked at the mousy boy practically buried underneath one of her uncle's old shirts, was that she had finally found a friend in crummy Leadworth. She had finally found someone who didn't care that she was Scottish, didn't care that she was a complete and utter ginger. Rory didn't care about any of that and it was for that reason that Amy fell in love with him (even though she didn't know it).

As the years went by, Amy got more and more popular with the boys and Rory got less and less popular with the girls. Amy really didn't understand why; she didn't think that there was anything remotely unpleasant about Rory. She actually thought that he was rather appealing, with his sandy hair that was always sticking up somewhere and his nose that was just a tad too big for his tiny face. Admittedly, Rory was a little quiet (and maybe a bit clingy) but she thought that he would have made a great boyfriend for any girl who had given him a chance.

It had taken her another two years for her to realize that maybe she was that girl. She'd started having dreams; in some of them, Rory was taking her out on dates, buying her flowers and dinner and kissing her underneath the full moon and when she woke up from these, Amy would feel this warm, fuzzy feeling spreading through her entire body. In the other dreams, he was kissing her from head to toe, soft lips pressing at all the spots that made her sigh, fingers stroking every inch of her body, making her...

Well, making her wake up with her panties wet, to say the least.

But Rory couldn't like her. After the amount of bawling she'd done on his shoulders, after she'd told him about all of her dirty secrets, there was no way he could still respect her, let alone like her. So, Amy had tried her hardest to push away her dreams, to forget about them in a haze of alcohol and one night stands with boys who were the exact opposite of her Rory, who were loud and bulky and dominant.

It didn't work.

And now, here she was, after years of thinking that Rory couldn't like her, couldn't like someone who was so free and loose; here she was, head still slightly fuzzy from the tequila, holding Rory's shirt between her fingers, his breath warm against her neck. Her back was pressed against the door of his home, as familiar to her as that of her own house. His hands were resting gently on her hips, the touch of his fingers matching the feather-light kisses he laid on her throat.

"Rory," she gasped, running one hand up into his hair, "can we go inside? Please?" In between the continuing string of kisses going down her neck, Amy could hear his breath hitching with each caress of her fingers on the nape of his neck. After another few moments, Rory finally managed to pull himself away from Amy's beautiful skin long enough to open the door and pin her against the other side. Her breathing seemed to echo throughout the front hall, reverberating until it was the only thing Rory could hear. He could no longer see Amy but he could still feel her, her body pressing against his, warm and soft and so inviting, like he had imagined in all of his dreams.

"Amy, I need to know," he whispered, one hand resting on the hem of her skirt. "Before this goes too far... are you sure?" All Amy had to do was grab the back of his neck and kiss him, connecting their lips for the first time. It wasn't the most perfect first kiss in the world (after all, Amy still tasted like gin or tequila or something equally awful) but to Rory, it was more than amazing. Her lips were so soft, parting easily underneath the gentle pressure of his tongue. His fingers tangled through her hair, combing through the red strands that he had loved from the first time he'd seen her. Hers trailed down his chest, from collarbone to his hips, making him gasp into her mouth and press his body harder against hers.

He didn't even remember pulling Amy away from the door but next thing he knew, he was lying on his back in bed, shirtless, skin lightly dusted with sweat, watching as Amy tried in vain to work the button on her skirt. Rory could tell that she was getting frustrated and he sat up again, pulling her towards him by her belt loops. Gently pushing her hands away, his fingers went to work, skilfully unbuttoning and unzipping her skirt while pressing open mouth kisses to her stomach. When he reached her hip, he ran his tongue along the bone, making Amy's entire body shudder. Rory looked up at her with one eyebrow raised, eyes twinkling with mischief.

"What was that?" he asked, repeating the action again and receiving the same result.

"God Rory, please..." There was no way he could say no to her voice, laden with pleading and sheer lust. He tugged the skirt down over her hips, exposing her red, lace panties to him. Rory couldn't help but let out a groan of his own as he pressed his lips against the damp front of them, quickly flicking his tongue against the fabric. That was enough for Amy; she pushed him onto his back and climbed on top of him, connecting their lips again. Her long hair fell down to cover them both, surrounding Rory in the smell of her shampoo. Her hips ground down against him, making him groan as his cock twitched against her. He broke for breath long enough to tear off her jumper before diving back in, hands roaming over her newly exposed skin.

"Rory?" Amy asked as she pulled away, hands running down his flat stomach. "Do you feel nervous?" Rory stopped what he was doing and looked up at her, hands resting on her thighs.

"Not really," he finally said quietly, thumbs tracing patterns on her pale skin. "It just feels like this was supposed to happen this way. It just feels... right." She sighed heavily and for a second, Rory thought that he had said the wrong thing. A wave of embarrassment ran through his body and he was about to get up when suddenly, Amy smiled, this absolutely beautiful grin that nearly made his heart stop.

"You like me," she said, ducking down to kiss his collarbone. "You really do."

"Amy Pond," Rory whispered, running his fingers through her hair and down her back, "I love you."

"I love you too Rory." Amy sealed the words with another slow, deep kiss, cradling Rory's face in her hands. His hands were gentle on her body, skimming over her stomach and up to her breasts, trailing his fingers along the curve of them. Still kissing him, Amy reached behind her back and undid her bra, leaving only Rory's sweatpants and her panties between them. Soon enough, these were gone as well, discarded on the floor. Each of their nerves was on fire, sparking as skin slid against skin and fingers skimmed over bodies. Rory only broke away from Amy's body long enough to find a condom and slide it on before going back to kissing her, resting in between her legs. When he pushed in, they simultaneously gasped, foreheads pressed together. Amy's hands grasped at Rory's back, her fingernails scratching slightly as he thrust again, biting his lip heavily. Amy was so warm and so tight around him; it almost felt like they were no longer two separate people but one connected entity, nerves flaring up at the same time.

"Oh God..." Rory buried his face in Amy's neck, fingers clutching her hips, using them as leverage for his relatively unsteady thrusts. Amy whimpered, wrapping her legs around Rory's waist and digging her ankles into his back.

"Faster please," she whispered and Rory did what she asked, increasing his speed while sucking on the skin above her pulse. He could already feel heat building up in the pit of his stomach and he deliberately turned his thoughts elsewhere so that he wouldn't go too early. He focused on the stray cat with the missing leg, on his mum's underpants, on anything that would let him hold out long enough for Amy to go.

Speaking of Amy, with one quick twist of her legs, she had switched their positions so that she was straddling him, rotating her hips slowly. All of those thoughts in Rory's mind disappeared, replaced with the beautiful woman on top of him, staring down at him with the most wonderful look in her eyes beneath her curtain of red hair. It was impossible to think of anything else but her, his gorgeous Amy, his best friend in the whole world.

"I love you," he said again, finding her left hand and entwining their fingers together. She smiled again and began moving up and down, her movements matching her whimpers. The faster she moved, the closer Rory got and when her right hand moved to her clit and began to rub tiny circles, Rory gave up his final shred of self-control and just let himself fall into the moment, arching his hips up against her as she grew tighter around him.

"Oh Rory, oh God, I..." Any words that she had meant to say afterwards were lost in a silent scream as Amy tipped over the edge, her orgasm hitting her like a brick wall. As hers finished, Rory's began, making him groan out Amy's name as he squeezed her fingers, nails digging into the back of her hand. When he finally calmed down, he could barely breath. Even holding his eyes open was a challenge so he didn't try; he simply let them close as Amy slid off of him, taking the condom and throwing it in the bin. When she curled up beside him, head on his chest, he managed to throw an arm around her, holding her close. For ten minutes, neither of them said a word; they were content to just lay there in silence, stroking damp skin and kissing slowly.

"I've dreamed about this," Amy finally said in a voice barely above a whisper, her eyes half-closed, dreamy smile on her lips.

"You did?" She nodded, running a thumb over his hipbone.

"Every night. It didn't matter who I was with, it was always you." She pressed a gentle kiss to his chest, letting her eyes droop completely shut.

"Were they all... like this?" Amy couldn't help but giggle briefly; Rory's awkwardness, that appealing self-conciousness, was creeping back.

"Some," she admitted, blushing slightly, "but not all. In some, you were... taking me on dates." Rory was silent for a few moments and Amy couldn't help but think that maybe she should have kept that last part to herself. Rory's response, however, was nothing short of amazing.

"Well, if those other dreams came true... maybe the rest can too." Amy propped herself up on her elbow, one eyebrow raised, smiling as Rory slowly opened his eyes again.

"Rory Williams, are you asking me on a date?" she asked, unable to stop another giggle from escaping her mouth.

"Well, first, I'm going to ask you to be my girlfriend," he replied, resting a hand on her bare hip, "and if you say yes to that, then I'll ask you on a date." He paused to clear his throat, getting rid of the rasp in his voice.

"Amy Pond, would you like to be my girlfriend?" Amy nodded excitedly, leaning down to capture his lips for a few, heart stopping seconds.

"I would love to be your girlfriend," she said, still nose to nose with him. Rory couldn't help but grin; he didn't think he could remember ever being this happy in his entire life.

"In that case, I plan on taking you on as many dates as you'll let me," he said. "I want you to be the happiest girl in the world."

"I think I already am."

Things were never as easy as that night. Amy was still Amy after all; still spontaneous, still flighty, still volatile. Sometimes these things worked to his advantage; there was nothing more thrilling then when Amy would drag Rory into a closet at a party and kiss every inch of his body before dropping to her knees and doing these absolutely amazing things with her mouth. After a few months, he found out that angry sex was just as amazing as everyone had made it out to be; they'd nearly broken the mattress that time.

But still: there were times where Amy got too flirty, where she got angry over the silliest thing, where she was just plain selfish. The kissogram job was nearly the end; after that row, Rory didn't talk to Amy for a week.

In the end, however, none of it mattered; the flirting, the job, the partying, nothing. Even though there were nights where Rory laid in bed and thought back to that phone call, he knew that he made the right decision because, above everything, he loved Amy and above everything, she loved him. It was him that she came back to every night, it was him that she cuddled with and kissed with everything she had.

It was him that she was marrying and that was the only thing in the world that mattered.