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Entry tags:
An Excellent Plan (1/1, Adult)
Title: An Excellent Plan
Characters/Pairing(s): Amy/Amy, Eleven, Rory
Rating: Adult
Word count: 862
Spoilers: Red Nose Day specials
Summary: The Doctor has a complicated term for what Amy's got in mind – "spatiotemporal duplicative autosexualisation" – but as far as Amy's concerned, it's just "fun."
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platypus
Disclaimer: Not mine, obviously.
Author's Notes: I wasn't planning on writing Amy/Amy, but since there isn't nearly enough of it yet, I don't mind doing my part.
::xposted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
pond_life and dwfiction, and archived at Teaspoon and AO3
The Doctor has a complicated term for what Amy's got in mind – "spatiotemporal duplicative autosexualisation" – but as far as Amy's concerned, it's just "fun."
There's been another accidental space loop, this one involving copies of themselves a zeptosecond out of phase with each other and much less easy to resolve without improbable foreknowledge of the wibbly lever's miraculous capabilities. So while two Doctors bicker below the TARDIS console, and a pair of Rorys pace jittery circles round the room, Amys I and II cock an eyebrow at each other and make plans. Entertaining plans. Excellent plans. Plans that would have started with them quietly sneaking out the upstairs passage if it hadn't been for a matched set of husbands immediately jumping to (admittedly correct) conclusions and stammering out an offer to join in.
This forces a minor change in the plan, but as the Amys lock their Rorys in a room with a bottle of lubricant, a deck of cards, and instructions to play naughty or nice, as preferred, they decide this is an acceptable kink in the system. So to speak.
Amy's kissed girls before. All part of the job, and even if it hadn't been, there'd been a few curious fumbles in the neighbours' woodshed, Amy and her friends daring each other, figuring out what they liked and with whom. Amy's never turned down a good kiss, and usually, after she's kissed someone, they never turn down her kisses, either.
So it's no surprise that kissing herself is blissfully perfect, her lips just the right softness, just the right pressure, the swipes of her tongue so tantalising. A toasted caramel flavour she recognises from the Dairy Milk bar she'd finished right before the TARDIS went kablooey again. Her hands grasping Amy II's head, fingers massaging her scalp until she moans. Amy II licking a stripe from collarbone to neck, nibbling at Amy's earlobe and jawline, tongue scribing curlicues in her mouth. All the little tricks of the trade the Amys have, now's the time they pull them out, and everything else besides.
They don't bother with a striptease. After all, they know what they look like, from the spatter of freckles across their clavicles to the mole at the base of their bellies. What they don't know is what it feels like, other than in the half-dark, alone or with Rory watching, his face alight in wonder. Whether the touches that normally leave her shuddering will simply feel depressingly ordinary regardless of whether they come from another self.
Except that now, with two of her, both knowing everything she's ever said she liked, and everything she's never said, there's so much more to try.
The scarlet strap-on ridged at the tip, the one she sometimes fucks Rory with, plunging in and out of her cunt with a rhythm she's never got quite right for him, but which turns out to be exactly right for her.
Her index finger rubbing herself in time with the dildo while Amy II's tongue swirls round a nipple, sucking it in with a bite.
And the filth. She's always had a dirty mouth in bed, and who else would know her unspoken fantasies? The words vibrate on Amy's skin, echoes settling warmly between her legs. Slut. You're mine now, I'll fuck you however I like, and I know how you like it. I really, really do.
Amy arches her back, spreads herself wider so her other self can fuck her harder, deeper. And when she comes that first time, her head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, it's like she's flooded with blindingly bright light, the pure white sparks of a magnesium flare where she'd been expecting the dim halo of a pocket torch. She is speechless and breathless and my God, she's had some fucking amazing times with Rory, but this puts those to shame.
Recovering, she reaches for the strap-on, but Amy II shakes her head. "You know what I want," she says, and of course Amy does, because she swaps places with her twin, gets comfortable between her legs, and gives herself a nice, long, experimental lick.
She's tasted herself on her fingers before, but this is different: she's surrounded by it, breathing in salt and humid and tang, and how did she never notice how delicious she is? She could spend all day down here, which sounds like it would be perfectly fine with Amy II, now whimpering and desperately clutching at Amy's hair. Not to mention Amy can finally see and feel all the motions she's only experienced from the other side before – how she quivers when the tongue withdraws, how the sweat on her thighs pools, how pink and complex and beautiful she really is.
How sweet she tastes when she comes, and how her cunt pulses so delicately against the flat of her tongue.
Amy II's head rises from the pillow. Her face is flushed, and she blows a stray strand of hair away from her mouth. And she smiles.
"Ready for another go?" she asks.
"You know it," Amy replies, because she does, and they do.
And an excellent plan like this deserves repeating.
Characters/Pairing(s): Amy/Amy, Eleven, Rory
Rating: Adult
Word count: 862
Spoilers: Red Nose Day specials
Summary: The Doctor has a complicated term for what Amy's got in mind – "spatiotemporal duplicative autosexualisation" – but as far as Amy's concerned, it's just "fun."
Beta:
platypusDisclaimer: Not mine, obviously.
Author's Notes: I wasn't planning on writing Amy/Amy, but since there isn't nearly enough of it yet, I don't mind doing my part.
::xposted to
pond_life and dwfiction, and archived at Teaspoon and AO3The Doctor has a complicated term for what Amy's got in mind – "spatiotemporal duplicative autosexualisation" – but as far as Amy's concerned, it's just "fun."
There's been another accidental space loop, this one involving copies of themselves a zeptosecond out of phase with each other and much less easy to resolve without improbable foreknowledge of the wibbly lever's miraculous capabilities. So while two Doctors bicker below the TARDIS console, and a pair of Rorys pace jittery circles round the room, Amys I and II cock an eyebrow at each other and make plans. Entertaining plans. Excellent plans. Plans that would have started with them quietly sneaking out the upstairs passage if it hadn't been for a matched set of husbands immediately jumping to (admittedly correct) conclusions and stammering out an offer to join in.
This forces a minor change in the plan, but as the Amys lock their Rorys in a room with a bottle of lubricant, a deck of cards, and instructions to play naughty or nice, as preferred, they decide this is an acceptable kink in the system. So to speak.
Amy's kissed girls before. All part of the job, and even if it hadn't been, there'd been a few curious fumbles in the neighbours' woodshed, Amy and her friends daring each other, figuring out what they liked and with whom. Amy's never turned down a good kiss, and usually, after she's kissed someone, they never turn down her kisses, either.
So it's no surprise that kissing herself is blissfully perfect, her lips just the right softness, just the right pressure, the swipes of her tongue so tantalising. A toasted caramel flavour she recognises from the Dairy Milk bar she'd finished right before the TARDIS went kablooey again. Her hands grasping Amy II's head, fingers massaging her scalp until she moans. Amy II licking a stripe from collarbone to neck, nibbling at Amy's earlobe and jawline, tongue scribing curlicues in her mouth. All the little tricks of the trade the Amys have, now's the time they pull them out, and everything else besides.
They don't bother with a striptease. After all, they know what they look like, from the spatter of freckles across their clavicles to the mole at the base of their bellies. What they don't know is what it feels like, other than in the half-dark, alone or with Rory watching, his face alight in wonder. Whether the touches that normally leave her shuddering will simply feel depressingly ordinary regardless of whether they come from another self.
Except that now, with two of her, both knowing everything she's ever said she liked, and everything she's never said, there's so much more to try.
The scarlet strap-on ridged at the tip, the one she sometimes fucks Rory with, plunging in and out of her cunt with a rhythm she's never got quite right for him, but which turns out to be exactly right for her.
Her index finger rubbing herself in time with the dildo while Amy II's tongue swirls round a nipple, sucking it in with a bite.
And the filth. She's always had a dirty mouth in bed, and who else would know her unspoken fantasies? The words vibrate on Amy's skin, echoes settling warmly between her legs. Slut. You're mine now, I'll fuck you however I like, and I know how you like it. I really, really do.
Amy arches her back, spreads herself wider so her other self can fuck her harder, deeper. And when she comes that first time, her head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, it's like she's flooded with blindingly bright light, the pure white sparks of a magnesium flare where she'd been expecting the dim halo of a pocket torch. She is speechless and breathless and my God, she's had some fucking amazing times with Rory, but this puts those to shame.
Recovering, she reaches for the strap-on, but Amy II shakes her head. "You know what I want," she says, and of course Amy does, because she swaps places with her twin, gets comfortable between her legs, and gives herself a nice, long, experimental lick.
She's tasted herself on her fingers before, but this is different: she's surrounded by it, breathing in salt and humid and tang, and how did she never notice how delicious she is? She could spend all day down here, which sounds like it would be perfectly fine with Amy II, now whimpering and desperately clutching at Amy's hair. Not to mention Amy can finally see and feel all the motions she's only experienced from the other side before – how she quivers when the tongue withdraws, how the sweat on her thighs pools, how pink and complex and beautiful she really is.
How sweet she tastes when she comes, and how her cunt pulses so delicately against the flat of her tongue.
Amy II's head rises from the pillow. Her face is flushed, and she blows a stray strand of hair away from her mouth. And she smiles.
"Ready for another go?" she asks.
"You know it," Amy replies, because she does, and they do.
And an excellent plan like this deserves repeating.
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THANK YOU FOR BRINGING THIS TO THE FANDOM.
and for saving me the trouble of having to write it because OMG this is better than what I would've written."spatiotemporal duplicative autosexualisation" might just be my new favorite term.
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With myself. ;)
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Very, very hot. Thanks for helping to fill in the dearth of Amy/Amy smut in the Whoniverse so expertly. :)
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Everything about this fic makes perfect sense :)
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