Author's Note: Just something short and kind of smutty that popped into my head last night (this morning, really) as I was trying to get some sleep. Hopefully all of you lovely readers enjoy it! And as an addition, I've just joined tumblr so if some of you want to check me out, my blog is bowtiesandgreasepaint[dot]tumblr[dot]com. xo.
Permission.
The first time the Doctor asks Rory to fuck him, Rory's heart just about stops.
They're in bed together (as they so often are these days), shirts off, fresh bruises illuminated in the dim light. They should be tired, having just barely escaped close death at the hands of yet another alien race (whose name Rory has already forgotten) but it is because of that reason that they are instead tangled in the sheets, hands roaming and scratching and just plain holding on for dear life.
After a few moments of seemingly endless rolling back and forth, of shifting weight and switching positions, Rory ends up on top, propped up on his forearms, staring down at the Doctor with a question in his eyes. It's the question the Doctor has said he no longer had to ask but Rory never does anything without express permission; never has.
May I? May I take control?
The answer is a swift nod, followed by a whimper as Rory lowers himself down and start ghosting his lips down the Doctor's neck, murmuring words of endearment over his warm skin. He absolutely adores when the Doctor allows him to do this, when he lets his walls down and just lets Rory do whatever he wants to him. There are some days where Rory would just jump right to the chase but after a near-death experience (which happens more than he cares to think about), he always has this need to reassure himself, this need to touch and memorize every single inch of the Doctor's skin.
His lips continue on their journey, tracing over the Doctor's prominent collarbone and pressing soft kisses over both of his hearts. At the same time, he flattens his palms over his lover's ribs, letting his nails drag just the slightest over a patch of bruises. He can feel the Doctor pressing against him, hips arching and half finished words passing his lips, but Rory just keeps going, needing to feel everything. Hands sliding down to the Doctor's still-covered thighs, he starts memorizing the sharpness of his hip bones, using his tongue to trace over the exquisitely sensitive skin. He's only vaguely aware that the Doctor has progressed to full on babbling, his long fingers twisting into Rory's hair.
And then, he says it.
"Oh my, Rory, beautiful, you're so beautiful, please, oh please fuck me Rory."
They both freeze; Rory with his mouth still slightly open, the Doctor with his fingers still entangled. Other than their still laboured breathing, the entire room is silent. After a few moments of what can only be described as disbelief, Rory tilts his head up, meeting the Doctor's eyes. They're still dark, clouded over with wanton lust, but Rory can nonetheless see the fear lurking in them.
He thinks he has some reassuring to do.
"What did you say?" he asks quietly, crawling back up so that they're eye to eye. The Doctor swallows and turns his head slightly, his cheeks turning even more red. Rory barely resists the urge to giggle; the Doctor rarely ever gets embarrassed but when he does, it is the most adorable thing in the world.
"Well I... you know," he mutters, ending his sentence with a gasp when Rory kisses the spot right under his ear.
"No, I really don't," Rory replies, letting his hands go back to skimming over the Doctor's ribs. As he coasts over every sensitive spot in his path, eventually reaching the Doctor's hips again, he can see that bit of fear start to ebb away, fading until the Doctor's eyes are completely dark and he's gasping and arching upwards for friction. His nails come dangerously close to puncturing the skin on Rory's shoulders and he groans against the Doctor's neck, both of them shuddering.
"What did you say?" he forces himself to say, raising himself up so that he can hold the button for the Doctor's trousers in between his fingers, rolling it back and forth. The Doctor's fingers instantly move from Rory's shoulders to his hair, pulling hard enough to bring him out of the curve of the Doctor's neck so they can lock eyes again. Rory doesn't bother to hold back his groan at the sight of the Doctor having let himself go completely, his pupils completely blown, a glimpse of the darkness the Doctor keeps cooped inside himself.
"I said fuck me, Rory," he growls, his voice completely changed, nearly an octave lower. Moaning again, Rory presses forward, messily slamming his lips against the Doctor's as his fingers tear at the zips and buttons for both of their trousers.
That's all the permission he needed.