A/N: Your continued positive reception of this bit of whimsy makes me so happy. Here's another chapter for your delectation. I may not be able to update as quickly as I have been after this one, but I will try to keep them coming as fast as I can. They're still in the pool...
A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years. ~Rupert Brooke
When I kiss you, I can taste your soul. ~Carrie Latet
I.
He watches the pulse in her neck pick up and enjoys the little bit of unsteadiness in her breathing that accompanied it. Her hands rest on his shoulders for support, and suddenly, he uses his greater height to push away from the wall, pulling her along with him, turning them so she now has a choice to make, keep holding on to him and let her head go under water periodically or let go and support herself by treading water. He locks his eyes to hers, and he smiles a little, just a little. There is a challenge in it.
But she's not one to back down, not one to give up so easily, and she doesn't release him. Instead, she gives him a little considering glance of her own, head tilting sideways slightly, and then Rassilon help him, she dips her head back into the water to clear her hair from her face and not only moves closer, she clings to him, wraps around him sinuously like some exotic flowering vine, arms tightening around his neck, legs slipping up to circle his waist, forcing him to keep them both afloat or be dragged down with her. Her face is so close to his now that he can feel the wash of her breath across his lips. She grins, and he sees excitement in her gaze, adrenaline, triumph, and desire. Her fingertips tease wet brown locks idly.
Ah, Pond. Good move. Good move that. Extremely effective both physically and as a point of argumentation. He can feel her long legs wrapped around him, and even though the pool's temperature is somewhat cool, it isn't going to be enough to counteract this...
He continues to maneuver them in a lazy orbit with the motions of his strong legs, working to keep them both above the surface of the water. He's stronger than he looks, something most people forget, so this isn't really that much of a strain for him. He has a destination in mind, but as with everything in life, the getting there is the fun.
"Thought there was supposed to be some gobbling going on, something...scary," she murmurs, saucy, bold as brass. "I was, in fact, threatened with a wolf." Her pink tongue flickers out to wet her lips, and his eyes are drawn there as if magnetized.
Yes, Amelia. Don't worry. I have a crystal-clear picture of exactly what you thought would be going on by now. His mouth quirks, and he shakes his head a little. His hands on her bare back circle, stroke gently, and she feels that little echo of that rippling tingling sensation again.
"Want scary, do you, Amelia? Want a little thrill? What a proper little adrenaline junkie you're turning into."
His voice is husky, pitched low, and she can feel the reverberation of it through her. That's how closely she's pressed against him. She realizes with a start that his voice isn't all she feels as she's wrapped around him, and the smile that appears now is feline, predatory, pleased, hungry. She wiggles against him subtly just for the pleasure of the sensation. He shows her his teeth briefly, but it's not in amusement.
"Ah, there's the wee wolfie, then. Been waiting on you. Shall I tell you what big eyes you have? Isn't that usually how this starts out?"
He laughs, a short, dangerous-sounding bark, and she feels her back hit the corner of the pool. There is a seat here built in, and her derrière slides onto it perfectly, and somewhere down below, a ledge that he is now standing on. Suddenly she feels just a tiny little bit cornered after all as he places his hands on the tiles to either side of her.
"Nah. Let's just skip right to the main event, shall we?" He's studying her face intently.
"The m-m-main event?" She cannot stop glancing down at his mouth. It's so close to hers and she wants it on her own, wants that taste of him again and...
"Yeah. The most important question in the story. Come on, Pond. You know which one I mean."
Her brain isn't working though. He's too close and her legs are still wrapped around his waist. And I mean come on, who the bloody hell wants to think about fairy tales with that entertainment available? Doctor, please... And yet, he's waiting, looking down at her, so it seems some response is expected.
"I'm afraid I'm coming up dry on that one, Doctor..."
Then he does it. He leans down and pauses, breath fanning her neck and ear for mind-altering seconds before saying it, "Oh, I rather doubt that, Ms. Pond..."
And she just can't stand it any more. Not the smell of him, the feel of him, the unexpected tease of him. Gonna be a tease? Oh no, well, then he's just asking for it, isn't he? She looks him right in the eyes, takes in the satisfied smirk, and slips her hands into his hair to tug him forward into the kiss.
II.
He lets her take the lead for a few moments, lets her press their mouths together in a clash of frustration and want, but he doesn't open for her. Not yet. Not yet. Because wolves are patient predators, actually. Know how to circle prey around, get it all confused, make it do what they want it to, don't they?
Her hands are on his shoulders now, tugging, pulling, wanting him closer, and he obliges, shuffling in that little tiny step allowed on the ledge and she squirms forward on the seat as if she's trying to climb up him. He can't stop the smile as he feels her red nails curve into his shoulders lightly. Little cat, little feline Amelia. Better be careful with that.
She nips at his bottom lip, trying to make him do what she wants, trying to make him give her more than the press of mouth to mouth, and he strikes. One of his hands streaks up and into her hair, twists gently there, tugs, pulls back, and her eyes meet his, full of desire and irritation at the restraint. He brings the index finger of his other hand up and he traces the outline of her lips very slowly, allowing a connection to begin to form. At that contact, she feels that shimmering sensation again and her mouth opens on a gasp, her body arching against his, her hands tugging insistently.
Now it's time to take. Now.
He lowers his mouth to hers as he instinctively slides his fingertips up to cradle her face in such a way that he can stroke her temple in tiny, slow rhythmic circles. He slips his tongue in to taste the flavor he's forbidden himself for all this time (I was right, strawberries, glorious great ripes ones, summer ones, the kind you never can find but always long for, dream of...) and feast on her. As he feels the link he's creating begin to strengthen, the beauty of Amelia begins to radiate through him, and he sighs, changes the angle of the kiss so he can taste more, drink deeper.
III.
She's lying against him, and she can feel the rhythm of his two hearts thrumming there like the beat of a drum. It only adds to the wonder that's building inside her. His kisses are... She realizes that there are simply no words. The urgency and rush she'd started with are gone, and now she's hanging here in this place he's creating on strings of starfire that brush against her with every pass of his fingers, every stroke of his tongue against her own. The hand he twisted into her hair relaxes, slides down to her neck, her collarbone, and she feels his thumb sweep over her pulse there gently.
If this is what it's like to have the Big Bad Wolf eat you all up, no wonder that silly little girl went into the woods by all by herself. God, this is the bit of that story they don't tell you about, her brain muses hazily, and she feels him chuckle against her lips.
*But Pond, I haven't even started to devour you yet. Maybe you'd better reserve judgment for just a bit longer, anyway, you know, just until you actually have a sample of my work for comparison purposes...*
And it suddenly occurs to her that his mouth is very much engaged in something that precludes his ability to fling witty banter at her. A frown furrows her brow, and she pushes at him, gently at first, but then with some force as it seems he doesn't want to notice her delicate inquiry.
He pulls away with an expression that manages to be slightly chagrined, totally defiant, and rather seductive at the same time on his face. "Yes?"
Nobody but him could pull that expression off, she thinks to herself. Nevertheless...
"Just what, may I ask," she murmurs in a dulcet tone that starts to set him at ease, starts to have his hands rubbing enticingly on her back again, before continuing in a voice that just gets louder and more panicked with every word, "what, were you doing inside my bloody head?"
If you enjoyed it, why not tell me?
They're not mine.