~Ex Flammis Resurge~

~Amy and Vincent~

Holding hands.

Somehow for Amy, it seemed right.

She had never been keen on hand holding and even with Vincent Van Gough, stroking her knuckles tenderly with the pad of his thumb. Talking about how much he'd miss her. And she'd miss him terribly also. One of the bravest and most fiercely passionate men she'd ever met.

And yet, there was still a niggling inside of her. Her gut telling her something was wrong. Something was missing.

Her heart aching for no reason.

The moments she suddenly found herself crying when thinking of nothing in particular.

Like now.

This time, she could feel them coming, but refused to let the doctor & Vincent see her cry again.

She could hardly claim it was the beauty of the night, or the way Vincent described the stars.

So instead, she reluctantly untangled her fingers from Vincent and the Doctor and sat up.

"Sorry to break off this lovely moment boys," she dusted her legs and backside off of dirt and jumped around to face them, "But I am starving AND we have a long start tomorrow."

The doctor followed suite and both helped give Vincent a hand. They walked the short distance to his humble house, laughing and joking about the doctor attempting to remember how the stories of the constellations came about. During his ramblings about Orion and Artemis, Vincent' hand had found Amy' again. And this time, she did not let go.

Even when they were inside the house.

Even when the doctor offered to cook something up as a treat.

When he disappeared into one of the random rooms to dump his jacket and go exploring for things, Vincent took his chance.

And although Amy yelped and was caught off guard as he yanked and twirled her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers, she re cooperated immediately.

It felt wrong and right at the same time. And not just because the doctor was in the next room.

As her hands came up to strokes fingers through his gloriously ticklich beard, his hands pressed against her hips and back, holding her in place.

A very small voice in the back of her mind said no, but it was instantly repressed by the passionate outcry of, 'God, Yes' and, 'right there.'

They parted for air and separated looking at one another like hungry animals, just as the doctor's voice drifted back into the room.

"Righto, what do you kids fancy? And I know, I'll never say 'righto' again, " he barely glanced at them as he made his was over to another cupboard, "No fish and chips, however, I can make some mean cheese on toast with pickle...and banana...mmm, interesting."

Amy' stomach actually growling, but right now, she wanted something a bit more than food. Quickly snatching the banana from his hand, (ignoring his 'oi!') Amy cast a cheeky smile to the doctor, but gave a quick wink to Vincent as she passed by.

"Bah, I'm alright," she purposefully bounced up the stairs, flipping her hair theatrically as she cast a cheeky smile over her shoulder, "Vincent says he wants to draw me one last time."

"Oh! Like a Mona Lisa? But why are you going upstairs silly?!" The doctor seemed to perk up and be genuinely perplexed at this idea.

Vincent was already following Amy up the stairs, an apple being devoured as he took the steps two at a time. Where he had pulled that out of, she'd never know.

"Think...more like one of his french girls. And it's for privacy doctor."

"But I didn't think Vincent had any-"

Movie reference doctor, think about it!" Amy took Vincent' outstretched hand and pulled him up after her. She couldn't help but glance and laugh along with him as the Doctor' expression went from a happy, 'Oh!' to a shocked, 'Oh...'.

As Vincent' hand pulled her sideways into his room, she welcomed the return of his lips, with the taste of apple upon them still. Without looking, she used her boot to kick the door closed behind her .

'Get in.' She mentally cheered herself on for good aim and for her current goal, which was to get as close to Vincent as she could. She pushed off his jacket and allowed him to do the same to her, before their arms wrapped around one another again.

It was exhilarating. Thrilling. The rush.

Amy was kissing Vincent Van Gough. And he kissing her back with as much gusto as she was giving him. If Mel heard about this, she would either not believe her or force out the juicy details, like what was his beard like.

And currently, it was wonderful. Devilishly ticklish and scratching her gently in all the right places and she loved it.

They eventually pulled apart for much needed air and Amy had realised that in their heated moment, they still hadn't discarded their food. She watched his eyes follow hers to the apple he held in his hands and he brought it up as an offering.

The temptation was too much.

With what she hoped was seduction, she slowly placed her lips on the side of the apple he had not bitten into and kept eye contact with him as she stuck her teeth in. Not wanting to seem like an innocent, doe-eyed creature, she bit down harder and with a sharp pull, came away with a small piece between her teeth. Half in her mouth, half outside. Teasing.

Begging.

Vincent' hands began to wander amongst the skin under shirt and she shuddered as the pads of his fingers swept over a ticklish spot on her side.

As his lips claimed hers again, it wasn't the hungry ones he'd been giving her. It was slow and soft as he bit into the other side of the apple and allowed the juices to spill out and overflow over their mouths.

It was tender.

Almost loving.

And Amy felt another pang as a repressed memory wanted to fight it's way up.

A boy from a dream.

A costume party.

A roman warrior.

Vincent pulled away and she felt herself crying again.

"Amy? Amy what's wrong?"

Genuine concern was in his eyes, but his body was still reacting, being pressed up so close against her own.

"I don't know...make it stop. Make it stop Vincent." Amy pulled him forwards and tried to silence her hiccups with his lips, but he pulled away.

"Amy. Amy look at me. Tell me to stop, it's hurting you." Vincent' hand's either side of her head stilled her and she could feel her tears fall over his fingers.

"I can't. Not now," Amy replied huskily, knowing that whatever it was wasn't going to go away, but she'd use it, "we've come to far Vincent. Kiss me."

Vincent' last remaining will power seemed to dissolve in a groan of satisfaction as he devoured her with passion again.

i'That's better.'/i

She felt a table bump into the side of her thigh and she placed the banana haphazardly down beside it, both hands free now as she began to unbutton his shirt.

And then she remembered something and pulled away, genuinely thoughtfully.

"Hang on, what about...," Amy thought for a moment and realised she couldn't continue on the route she was going.

"What? What is it?" Although he seemed calm, his hands gripped at her hips and he kept pressing his lips against the side of her neck.

"You know what, never mind."

'So stupid. Of course, there was no such thing back then. Just make sure you go to your room on the Tardis and take your pill...young lady.'

Amy could clearly hear her mother' voice in her head and quickly got back to the task at hand, not wanting it to be spoiled by her mother.

Finally, Vincent was free of his shirt and Amy raised her arms as Vincent pulled off her own top. For a moment, they just looked at one another. And then Amy laughed.

"What?" Vincent was still looking completely puzzled at her strange undergarment and Amy tried not to snort.

"Your face," She covered her mouth and then instead tried to wave off the laughter, "sorry, it's just, you look like the doctor when he's caught completely unawares."

Vincent' looked between her and her clothing again and Amy realised something.

"It's urm...you know, the latest fashion in London," she thought quickly, hoping to derail his mind by giving him a hand, "it only ever works for women, hang on."

She reached around her back with one hand and easily un-pinched the clasp, allowing it to loosen before she let it fall away and off of her arms. It was supposed to be so simple. But the look in Vincent' eyes made her shiver under his scrutiny. She knew she'd never been stared at in such a way before, but yet his gaze was so hungry and familiar: so carnal.

His face, first buried against the side of her neck and he nipped and sucked at her skin, Amy knowing it would be reddened beyond all belief.

Well, at least she had another reason to wear her scarf now, other than for the sheer fashion and weather.

She held onto Vincent, welcoming the hands against her back, smoothing down her skin and gently squeezing as his lips moved down her neck and collarbone, placing feather-light kisses against her chest.

As his mouth captured one nipple, her hand gripped for something, anything behind her, she felt ready to explode in delight.

She gripped onto Vincent' shoulder to keep him in place, guiding him back with her as she found the way down to the bed.

Desperately and blindly, finding the button on his trousers, she tried not to break it as she hurriedly freed him from them.

Vincent repaid the favour by hooking his fingers into her skirt and pulling them down, without even bothering with the zip and button.

Eagerly helping him to roll down her tights, she giggled when he pulled a little too eagerly and she found herself still trapped in them when he suddenly fell forward on top of her and kissed her.

"Come on," Amy rolled him off of her for the moment and rolled her tights down the rest of the way, realising that she actually still had her boots on. And she laughed at the sight of Vincent, now naked before her, was only wearing one shoe.

When she eventually managed to rid herself of her tights (which she swore she'd get rid of after this trip) and boots, she turned to see Vincent lounging back on his elbows (having kicked off the other shoe) and just staring at her.

"What?" Amy suddenly felt a little self conscious under the scrutiny of this man. This man who had a place in history and she...what did she have?

"I thought, if you were to look away from me, I could begin to control myself again, but every bit of you is beautiful," He pushed himself up and ran one hand up her back and down again, "skin the colour of porcelain. There's not a mar upon you Amelia Pond. Pure, angelic Pond."

Amy chuckled and cupped his face in one hand, slowly lowering him back down the the bed.

"I don't think you'll see me as angelic soon Vincent."

She silenced anything else he was going to say with a deep kiss. This time, she took full control, her hands coming up to his face and running their way down his body. Vincent had lean muscles and she noted the various, tiny cuts along his body, but she daren't ask about them. She knew what they were from. Breaking the kiss she planted delicate kisses down his neck, and at each mar upon his skin, tenderly lick, nibbled and sucked around them. She knew kisses were sentimental and she wanted him to look at them from then on and see her. Not showing him sympathy, but wanting him to know he wasn't alone. That wherever she went or however he choose to end his life, she would always be there with him, a part of her forever his.

With a renewed keenness she admired, Vincent stopped her just as she reached his soft curls and pulled her back to him. Rolling them over, Amy on her back and Vincent know in control, he separated her legs with his own and rolled his hips down against hers. He watched her moan and gasp at the sensation and the only barrier between them know where her thin, cotton pants.

And yet, Vincent seemed to have found his control.

"Tell me you're sure Amy," Vincent' voice croaked slightly, trying to control his body and his emotions, "I don't want you to hate me for this tomorrow. Please."

"Vincent," Amy reached up and kissed him quickly before pushing her hips up to his and smiling devilishly, "does that answer your question?"

Surprising her, he growled ever so lightly and swooped down, claiming her mouth and sending her on a whole new roller-coaster ride of 'Oh boy!' as his hands caressed her hips and rolled down the material of her knickers.

She knew they had come off, but for the life of her, as her legs opened to accept him, she kept losing places in time. All she could do was feel.

She felt Vincent settling in between her legs and braced herself for the inevitable, uncomfortable stretch and, 'oh-there it is!'

She gasped when he was inside of her and Vincent' face buried into her neck and suckled on her earlobe.

As his hips slowly moved against hers, something else opened up in Amy. It was the horrible aching again. And this time, as the tears came, she couldn't control them.

Vincent pulled away when he heard her sob and held her face in his hands.

As Vincent placed kisses all over her face, wiping away her tears, he spoke.

"I can't promise to stay with you, Amelia Pond. But know this," he looked into her eyes, "if I had the chance...if you were here always or if we had met some place else, I would never leave you. I would stay with you. Even with the doctor. For tonight, all I ask of you Amy, is just for tonight. For us."

He done the only thing he could think of. He comforted her. With words of love and endearment, he held her close and moved within her, sending them both into the night.

Only the sound of their heavy breathing, words of sweetness and the occasional laughter when something tickled or they changed positions echoed in the night.

They laid together, they sat together and Amy found herself gazing down at such a well known figure, that she found herself feeling light headed that she was the one giving him pleasure and receiving it immensely herself.

Eventually though, exhaustion took them both and they collapsed in one another' arms and fell into a deep sleep.

Well, Amy did.

Vincent awoke a while later and broke his rule.

As she slept, he carefully crept over to fetch his sketchbook and set to work.

The next day, after setting off and being with Vincent and going through the emotional journey of returning back to the museum for a third time, Amy sat in the Tardis, wandering what on earth to make of it all.

Vincent was gone. But he wasn't. They could go back to see him for one more day, but no, best not to, that's what she thought anyway.

It wasn't until she undressed in her room, did she notice the neatly folded piece of paper in her pocket.

Recognising the writing on the back, she unfolded and read.

'My Dear Amy.

My fiery, passionate lover.

My Phoenix.

Yours eternally,

Vincent.'

She turned it over and gasped.

A picture of herself, asleep in Vincent' bed, covered in bright colours that appeared to be flames bursting out from her skin and around her.

At the bottom, a tiny scribble of one word made her smile and fall back onto the bed, clutching a present that she would never let leave her side.

'The Phoenix.'

"Oh Vincent," she wiped away happy tears, "you're such a soppy git."