When Amy murmurs it in his ear, he doesn't know what to say. "You've...quite planned this out," is what he manages.
"Things don't always go according to plan," Amy acknowledges, "but hey, a girl can hope."
"And a boy!" Rory interjects, apparently feeling left out, and then corrects himself. "Man. A man can hope. Does that sound odd?"
"Not to me," the Doctor says, but his mouth is on autopilot, because his brain can't stop thinking about the scene Amy so vividly sketched in his mind.
"We've refined this one over time," Amy adds. "You know, before."
Before they were lovers, she means, and with this new piece of information the Doctor can feel his face flushing. He has high spots of color on his cheekbones now, he knows it. "You talked about this," he says inanely.
Rory's laugh is low. "Amy worked out pretty quickly that this fantasy was the best way to make me lose it."
And isn't that a picture. Amy whispering this same story into Rory's ear and Rory moaning and gripping his cock at the root, trying not to succumb. He's seen them in just that tableau, on the bed the three of them sometimes share. Is this what she's been murmuring to Rory in those moments?
He is poleaxed with this knowledge. Paralyzed. Caught between the part of his fretful mind which still can't quite believe they continue to want to include him and the other part which is thrumming at this evidence that oh, yes, they really, really do.
Rory evidently mistakes his silence for reluctance, because the next thing he says is, "It's okay, though. If you don't want to."
"Rory's right," Amy adds hastily, the throaty seduction of a moment ago replaced with concern. "We don't have to try it. We don't have to do anything. We could go for a swim!" She's trying so hard to sound as though she doesn't mind.
They're worried about overwhelming him. They don't want him to spook like a frightened horse.
They don't realize that the reason he holds back is that he doesn't want to overwhelm them. With yearning deeper than they can imagine. With his inhumanity. He may look like a man, even in their intimate moments, but he isn't. He craves a connection they can't possibly want to provide.
He can't bear the thought that they are pulling back to protect him.
He clears his throat. "Your first idea sounds more fun." He pretends he doesn't see the quick glance which darts between them: eagerness warring with disbelief.
"Yeah?" Amy says, striving for nonchalant.
"Yes," the Doctor says, his voice going gravelly without any volition. Amy beams at him. Rory looks slightly more abashed, but he's worrying his lip in that way that means he's hungry for touch. The Doctor tries hard not to shiver with anticipation, but he's not at all sure he succeeds.
He almost trips over his own feet entering their room. Amy's jumper hits the floor straight away, and she kisses him while Rory tugs off the Doctor's braces, unfastens his trousers. Being undressed by the two of them always feels the tiniest bit dangerous. A foretaste of the way that making love with them opens him to their eyes and their hands. He unclasps Amy's brassiere, is rewarded with the press of her breasts against his chest, nipples already hard.
He turns and there's Rory, right behind him, unbuttoning his own shirt. The Doctor schools his hands not to tremble as he unfastens the zip on Rory's trousers. Once Rory's stepped out of them the Doctor kneels to gently pull his pants down. Rory's already hard. The Doctor's mouth waters. But before he can lick, Rory's pulling back, grinning at him. "If you do that, I'm not going to last." Regret tinged with anticipation.
"Next time," the Doctor offers.
"I'll hold you to that," Rory promises, then gestures to the bed. The Doctor lies down, anticipation racing his hearts.
Rory is always careful. He's a nurse; he doesn't ever want to inflict harm. But this time he goes above and beyond that, because when the Doctor rests his forehead on his pillowed arms what he feels is not a lubricated finger but Rory's mouth. He gasps into the pillow as Rory licks, gentle and insistent, each stroke sending a frisson of pleasure up the Doctor's spine.
He imagines that Rory is trying to tell him that this isn't just about the two of them, Amy and Rory, wanting to delight in his body (though it still amazes him, often as not, that they do) -- they want to enjoy his enjoyment.
Of course, he could find out exactly what Rory thinks he's doing. The human mind is never as open to him as in moments like these. But he won't. That would be unfair. A violation. Instead he closes his eyes and lets himself whimper. Reveling, for a moment, in this sheer physical vulnerability.
Rory's fingers, when they come, are a welcome invasion but not nearly enough. He twists himself back on them, aching for more. His eyes are closed but he knows that Amy is watching them. He knows the expression which must be on her face, the love and the fondness and the hunger. And then Rory drives into him and he sighs with relief. This, this is what he needed. Rory hot and insistent inside him. Rory fucks him slow and perfect, and he could almost forget that there's more to come. Just when the rhythm becomes almost too-good, Rory murmurs "ready?"
There's no holding back now, is there? The Doctor manages a nod, and Rory withdraws. It's all the Doctor can do not to protest, even though he knows this is the plan. Rory settles into the chair beside the bed. "Get over here," he says, beckoning an invitation, and -- on embarrassingly wobbly legs -- the Doctor approaches him and then turns so that he is facing Amy (she has licked her lips, two of her fingers are buried deep inside her quim, watching them) and Rory places one warm hand on his hip to guide him back down onto Rory's cock.
Both men groan as Rory slides home.
"Good?" Rory asks, and though the question is surely rhetorical the Doctor nods assent. This new angle is amazing, sending showers of sparks through his body every time Rory thrusts up. The Doctor is pinioned, held tight, unable to move with him. All he can do is let Rory bear him up.
His head has fallen back against Rory's shoulder, exposing his neck, to which Amy presses a gentle open-mouthed kiss. He opens his eyes and she's right there. She's flushed from her face down to her glorious breasts. Desperately turned-on, then. By watching them. That never fails to arouse him further.
"Ready?" she asks. Giving him one more chance to opt out. As though he could possibly say no to this, to them.
"Please," is all he can say, but apparently it's enough. Amy climbs onto the chair and raises herself up to descend onto his erection.
The angle is awkward at first, the rhythm stuttering, but from the moment she slides down his entire body is singing. He is pressed between them. He can't set the pace, can't be in control, can't surprise them with a flourish of skill or technique. And Rory -- steady, brilliant, beautiful Rory -- figures out how to dance this dance. Rory thrusts up and Amy pushes back, both of them gasping filthy endearments, and his whole body is golden with fire.
This is how it feels to be the filament which completes the circuit. Energy pouring into him, and all he can do is incandesce.
And his walls disappear; he is open. Open to everything they are feeling. To Rory, bearing their combined weight, euphoric, loving Amy, loving him. Got to hold on, bring the Doctor pleasure first, don't succumb, think about something else, but oh, fuck, it feels so good, I love them so much --
To Amy, so close to her own orgasm, exulting in having him inside her, awash in pleasure and yearning and love. Not for the Raggedy Man of her childhood dreams but her lover, her Doctor, their Doctor. He has no idea how much we love him. Want to make this good for him. Bring him pleasure, I can't hold on, oh, Doctor, please--
He doesn't know if they're aware of him in their minds, but he can't stop himself. Opened and undone with pleasure, with yearning, theirs and his intermingled. He can't hold on.
And when he comes, he can feel Amy's pleasure (the throbbing inside of her tips her over the edge) and Rory's (his orgasm pulled out of him by the Doctor's shuddering) magnifying his own. And there, at that peak, they realize the doors he has opened.
I'm feeling what you're feeling -- what he's feeling -- hi -- so much -- there you are -- here we are -- I can feel you -- so much, I needed this so much -- this is all of us -- love you -- love you -- love you
-- and there is no fear, no revulsion. Only welcoming. Only joy.