Author's Note: Part Three of "The Art of Making Love, One Sentence At a Time" series. One drabble, one sentence. Rated M for a reason. You've been warned.


The Doctor has never been more glad to have a heightened pain tolerance then right now, because now it's his fingers entangled in the sheets, twisting the silk in his sweaty palms as he pushes backwards against Rory, only feeling slightly uncomfortable as Rory pushes in, groaning loudly and the Doctor can't help but think for a moment about all the strange noises Rory has made thus far but this is pushed out of his mind when Rory wiggles slightly, making the Doctor whimper quietly before he shuts his eyes and just lets himself go into the moment because quite frankly, he's saved the entire universe enough times to warrant some TLC, even if it is in the form of a twentysomething man with absolutely amazing hips and a hot, wet mouth and the most spectacular hands, one of which is digging into the Doctor's hip while the other reaches around his body and starts bringing back feelings he'd forgotten and reactivating nerve endings that, after so many years of lying dormant, flare in only minutes, bringing the Doctor to a finale of Rory's name mixed in with the Doctor's first use of English curse words and during this, he decides that he could really get used to saying, "Jesus Rory, fuck me Rory, oh God Rory" and as he collapses on the sweat soaked sheets, Rory thinks that he could really get used to hearing it.