Maybe this had been a properly bad idea.
Rory let his knuckles bear down, pressing against one of the TARDIS' sealed bedroom doors.
"Doctor?" he tried again, rapping them. "Doctor, I feel medically inclined to be concerned at this point." Honestly, Rory didn't think his voice would be heard over the commotion inside (and it was, really, somewhat unnerving), over the pleasure-wrecked, guttural cries of the Doctor.
"OOO~~OOOooOooOOooOOH, YESSS… OOO~OOH~!"
Amy padded in from another coral-colored hallway, bringing along with her the hearty aroma of apple-smoked bacon when she swooped in to kiss him quickly on his hair-dappled cheek. Likely what she had been cooking up in the kitchen nook while Rory stayed rooted where he was, increasingly becoming more antsy and embarrassed.
Several of her fingers rose up from her side. Her glittery, macaroni-orange fingernails dragging at her uncovered, right breast, at some itch. On a completely domesticated-husband impulse, Roy turned away from the bedroom door to tighten up her opened, fluffy pink robe, knotting the ragged sashes together at the front. Her amused eye-blink. Maybe a small leer. Yes, he could very well read her smallest gestures. "So, anything yet…?" she said, trailing off.
"Not really." He tried pounding this time on the steel door. "It's been about twenty minutes," Rory mentioned, shooting her a frowning look when a gleeful smile perked up her mouth.
"Oh my god," she said, laughing. "Gave the bloke an orgasm that lasted over three minutes and you're horrified."
Rory's cheeks burned dark with his flush. "Almost a half an hour isn't healthy, Amy."
"He's an alien, dumbo. This is probably how some orgasms go for him."
"Couldn't we have gotten a warning, at least?"
"OHH, BLIMEY~," another ecstasy-tinged cry muffled from behind the closed-off room. "THAT'S — GOOD! BETTER THAN CHRISTMAS!"
Even with how stupefied he felt about the escalating situation, Rory's cock stiffened up in his boxer briefs. A part of his brain wished to keep the seared image of the last hour playing in bits, of pale, sleek limbs tangled round his; Amy shuddering and crooning, hooking her leg to Rory's bare waist when he eased into her, pressing his mouth over and over to the top of her soft knee, looking through his eyelashes to catch a glimpse of those ridiculously colorful and blunt nails of hers raking up the Doctor's human-looking nipples as he dutifully cradled his arms around her upper half, rocking along with Rory's uneven thrusts.
He wasn't a stranger to their bedroom, not recently. Something seemed to have changed. The Doctor seemed… clingy.
More so than he normally would be, asking to live with them, to have monitored the cubes, monitor them. Not that they complained.
They couldn't. He was theirs; this was their dalliance.
At first, everything about the Doctor outwardly seemed deceptively human, his anatomy, his reactions, his thick, hard cock smearing and grinding back to Rory's lower back; how the Doctor's feet were massively ticklish; how he mumbled about sweet peaches, sweet, sweet Amelia, when the flat of his his long tongue massaged over Amy's clit; the sensitivity to pressure, his prostate right where it would be in a male human when two of Rory's latex-gloved fingers opened up his muscled rim, exploring tentatively for what he knew would be a bundle of nerves, slowslow because, bleedin' hell, they've never done THIS intimate before. Their quirky, eccentric, prideful Doctor had spread out his thighs and tower-long legs like habit now, pushing his face down into the mattress and whining a little, leaning and bucking into Amy's hand circling his back.
He did spill; the tips of Rory's gloved fingers pushing down inside him — perhaps accidentally jabbing too quickly, too hard on that little gland — coming untouched by either of them.
Ropes of semen coating and cooling the ruined, scroll-patterned bedsheets. He gasped loudly through the intensity and clawed his Time-Lord hands into that mop of brown hair as the waves of his evidently mind-blowing pleasure overtook him. Rory glimpsed those stormy, large eyes rolling steadily back in his skull.
The Doctor's gasping turning into short-winded, urgent whimpers, and his job-trained instincts kicked in full gear as Rory aided the other man onto his side, eyebrows raising towards his hairline as the Doctor bellowed out his name, with a splitting grin, body arching into Rory's deliberate touch and starving for it.
Nothing seemed wrong with the over-stimulation, exactly…
But that had been twenty-seven minutes ago.
"At least he's talking in English again," Amy said, taking a musing sip out of her coffee mug. The golden lights highlighted against the coral, organic walls and the deep red of her hair.
"This is barking," Rory mumbled, staring again at the door.
"Go on then. Check on him. I thought you would have by now."
An uncomfortable shuffle.
"I think physical contact only makes him… worse."
"Then observe him." Amy teased, her widening smile dimpling her face, "In the name of… science. Nursing science." At his disapproving scowl, she shoved his arm. "If you won't go, then I'll go. His vocal chords are going to be damaged soon if one of us doesn't calm him down."
As if the mere thought summoned the inner works of the sliding, bedroom door, it whirred right open for them.
First stepping in, it reeked like humidity, the musk of human fluids, and strangely like a faint, woody spice in the back of their throats. Perspiration trickled still from the Doctor's raising and falling chest, his forehead shiny and beaded, but he had finally stopped writhing and shouting at the top of his lungs.
Amy came forward, plopping down on the mattress edge, and raked her fingers through his hair, over his sweat-moist scalp with a seldom kind of gentleness.
"Pond," he rasped, cracking his eyes open, and after a fleeting moment, offered her a weary, familiar smirk.
She mirrored it, stopping her fingers.
"Are you feeling okay, Doctor? Do you need some—?"
Before her sentence finished, Rory appeared next to her, carrying in an emergency kit and a glass of cool water. He handed it off to her, joining her on that empty space of cozy mattress edge as the Doctor scooted up on an elbow. A deep, grateful drink, nodding wordlessly when she lowered the glass onto the carpet, and Rory grasped onto his wrist with both hands, blank-faced as he located the Doctor's pulse. And its matching pair.
"Deep, slow breathes," he instructed, in a clinical tone as the buds to the thin stethoscope went into Rory's ears. Without a single remark, the Doctor did so, and without shivering at the cold temperature of metal as Rory adjusted to listen for both. Knew what irregularities were considered dangerous for his patient.
"Right useful, isn't he?" Amy spoke up, beaming when Rory's expression softened into a mildly exasperated and fond smile.
The Doctor wiggled himself out on the bed, a crusting mess of himself but okay.
"Corking," he announced, lightly patting Amy's cloth-covered thigh. "Didn't anticipate that happening." Rory shrugged.
"Should we, um… hold off the 'activities' from now on?"
Though busy with the task of hunting around the items in his kit, he snapped back to attention when the Doctor's palms framed his face; a perfectly fleshy and awkward fit.
"Rory. Gorgeous Rory," he murmured, stormy eyes meeting bright blue. "The Centurion. No, no," the Doctor wrinkled his features, letting his rightfully bemused companion go, turning over a little and holding out his screwdriver (but, from where.…?). He scanned himself, green light flooding over his naked skin, and grinned distracted at the invisible readings. "Chemical balances. Endorphins. Oh, that's… ha-ha, that's," the Doctor flicked it off, jerking upright.
"Internal stimulation induces… louder Doctor . Normal, very normal," he rambled on. "Nothing to be worried about."
A playful tweak to Rory's nose between the Doctor's finger and thumb.
"So," Amy said, doubtfully, "that's it, you're fine, ya? All that screaming was for nothing?"
"And just why wouldn't I be, Pond?" The Doctor countered her, leaping between his companions to stand — or more like twirl around in a lazy circle, and knocking over the glass of water. "You're fine. I'm fine. Rory's fine. The universe needs exploring, hop to it, you lot." He slapped his hands in front of their faces, chidingly, racing out without trousers. "… …and why do I smell BACON IN MY TARDIS? AMY! AMELIA POND!"
She folded her arms over her chest, sending her husband an eerily knowing stare. "Aren't you glad we're not living in the flat…"
"Little bit, yeah," Rory mumbled, hands scrubbed over his face tilted towards his lap, and into his bed-mess of hair.
Probably, probably a really bad idea.
Doctor Who is not mine. I missed writing for this fandom so much. And I love my OT3 so much. ;-; AND AND AND GUESS WHO FOUND THE DW KINK MEME? AHAHA! Couldn't resist sneaking in a Donna Noble reference and the fact the Doctor hates bacon and calls it poison. Aaah, this was fun. Any comments appreciated~
"You ever heard that a pig's orgasm lasts 30 minutes?
Fic where this applies to Time Lords."