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veronicasleepsTitle: Good Company
Author: veronicasleeps
Rating: NC-17 | FRAO
Characters/Pairings: Greg Lestrade/Rory Williams
Word count: ~2700
Contains: Explicit Sexual Content (aka. Porn), Crossed-Overness between Sherlock(BBC) and Doctor Who
Summary: It's Christmas, and as always the Doctor is kind of busy. Rory hooks up with a random stranger in a pub who just happens to be DI Lestrade.
Notes: Yeah, written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
beautybecks's prompt on sherlockbbc_fic. She asked for 'anything' with those two. So she gets porn.
+
Rory wasn’t sure what had driven him to enter the pub. Well, that wasn’t strictly right; he knew at least what had made him want to leave the street.
And really, if losing the Doctor and Amy while distracting giant pregnant aliens that had a craving for vanilla fudge wasn’t a reason to get stupidly drunk on Christmas, then what was?
So Rory found himself drinking a Guinness in a bar and the Doctor and Amy were running around London throwing fudge into the street to make the Alien (some kind of pet dog for an equally as giant humanoid race, the Doctor had explained, who were exclusively fed vanilla fudge during their younger years and thus retained a special fondness for it) follow them – in a move that would have made the witch from Hansel and Gretel very proud indeed- and he was snorting into his glass whenever the crappy TV-set in the far corner showed a clip of the destruction that the Alien’s big feet left behind.
It wasn’t so much the pictures that were amusing him. It was the theories that were scrolling over the lower part of the screen. “The real Big Foot!” exclaimed the white text on red ground, and wasn’t that just fucking ridiculous?
Really, Rory thought, as if Big Foots honestly had big feet, and he knew what he was thinking about, he’d had met some very friendly members of that species when they’d rescued a bunch of touristy cat-kind from certain death by avalanche a few weeks earlier, and now considered himself somewhat of an expert in the culture and behavior of Big Foots. They had even made Rory his own full-body suit out of Yeti hair, and it was the warmest thing he’d ever worn in his entire life (though albeit the smelliest one too).
So it was no wonder that Rory was in somewhat of a foul mood.
What was a wonder was that while the rest of the pub was having the time of their lives speculating about the next weird thing that went on at Christmas and getting drunk all the while, the guy sitting next to him was looking morosely into his half-empty glass of whisky, seemingly not caring at all about big foot or Alien threats to London or Christmas Spirit.
That made him very much his kind of preferred company for the evening. (And it also helped that he was pretty hot in that older-guy kind of way that had been known to push certain of Rory’s kinks very hard.)
And because he knew that his wife and the Doctor would probably be out having fun all night anyway, he decide he might as well get some as well. Preferably fun of the sexy kind.
“Bad day,” Rory asked, waiving for the bar man to get them another set of drinks, “Or more of a bad week?”
The other man didn’t look up from the glass cradled in his hands like it held the answer to all of life’s big questions, but at least he answered, “Bit of both,” and threw back the rest of the amber liquid just as the bar tender put the fresh glass in front of him. “Thanks,” he said, and swung around on the bar stool, coming to face Rory.
Rory grinned and picked up his own drink, Gin and Tonic, something that no other place in the galaxy he’d visited had been able to make so it tasted like it did on earth, and offered his hand. “I’m Rory.”
“Lestrade.”
Rory’s grin grew bigger when he saw Lestrade do that thing with his eyebrows that signified doubt in all humanoid species. It seemed as though Lestrade was intrigued by Rory, couldn’t quite decide what to make of him.
It was a reaction Rory was used to by now, the Doctor had tried to explain it to him, something to do with his erasure by the time field and his age –“two thousand years, even if it wasn’t quite you that lived them, and even though you haven’t lived them anymore do leave their trace, Mr. Pond!”- and the imprint left in the Universe by the Auton version of him made him seem different to people with linear time lines.” A bit wonky,” the Doctor had called it, and then kissed him and said, “I like it.”
“So what makes you come in here on Christmas Day?” Lestrade asked and gave him a full body look that was definitely interested, if Rory wasn’t mistaken.
“Oh you know,” Rory grinned, “just traveling. Having a bit of fun, looking for some company if you get what I mean.” He flushed a little; for some reason Rory still felt embarrassed when he tried to flirt, it wasn’t really something he was comfortable with, no matter how often Amy had him practice on the Doctor. But by the glint in Lestrade’s eye, he quite got his meaning, no question about that.
He downed his second whiskey, Rory cringed a little inside, just glad that he didn’t actually pay for anything anymore, the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver quite handy at keeping him and his wife well provided for, because the stuff he was throwing back there wasn’t cheap at all, and then he took Rory’s glass out of his hand and put it on the counter, his eyes focused on his face in a way that made Rory want to shiver.
“Company, huh?” He drawled. “Is that so?”
Rory smiled, a little bit nervous at the predatory look that Lestrade had suddenly.
“Well, Rory,” Lestrade’s thumb stroked over the wrist his hand was still wrapped around tightly, “It seems you’ve found some.” He tugged him down from the bar stool he was sitting on and led him towards the door, his grumpiness from before seemingly all but forgotten at the prospect of a good old fashioned one night stand. “How about we go somewhere where we can make the best of it, what do you think?”
And really, in that moment, with that gaze on him, Rory was unable to do anything but nod and lead the way.
+
Rory rubbed his head self-consciously as he looked at Lestrade who had a frown again on his face. In hindsight, he supposed, leading a random pick up from a random pub in central London to the Tardis and expecting him to simply get into to it without arguing might have been a bit far-fetched of him, but he’d honestly not thought about it.
“That’s a police box,” Lestrade said, disbelieving.
“Yeah,” Rory grimaced, and fished for the key in his pocket. Maybe, he thought, Lestrade would simply forget about it when they were inside in the warmth and they could get back to other things, more enjoyable things than puzzling about the mysteries of the intergalactic space ship and its broken chameleon circuit.
He opened the door, took Lestrade by the hand and pulled him along, into the Tardis. Not wanting to go through the same old boring stuff again he babbled a bit, “Yeah, bigger on the inside. I know.”
And then he simply walked Lestrade through the corridors of the (quite obviously amused) time machine to the bedroom that they kept for such ‘special occasions’ as these.
Catching himself, and really simply not caring if Lestrade thought he was crazy or whatever, because now that sex was so near he could almost taste it, and he wouldn’t let himself be distracted from scratching an itch that he hadn’t satisfied in a long time. It was sheer impossible, really, living with an almost asexual Alien that got him so hot for its non-existent cock that he sometimes thought he’d die from unresolved sexual tension, and no manner of strap-on sex with his wife could come close to the feel of a real cock up his arse, no matter how good it was.
“Didn’t I tell you? I travel,” he said, going for nonchalance but arriving more at breathless anticipation when he tugged Lestrade’s belt loose and opened his pants. “Only I travel in Time and Space.” And with that he swallowed down the half hard cock that he’d freed and proceeded to blow Lestrade’s mind and make him forget all about where they were.
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Lestrade groaned, but burrowed his hands deep in Rory’s hair and bucked into his mouth. “Time and Space my arse.”
Rory would have liked to reply, he really would have, but his mouth was somewhat occupied at the moment. He moaned around the cock and bobbed a little, enjoying how Lestrade squirmed under the onslaught of his mouth.
“Next thing you’ll tell me you’re a fucking Alien or something.” And that made Rory snort a little and back off.
He jacked the wet cock, thumbing the head, slicking it with its own pre-come and his spit until it was shiny and licked his lips as he grinned up at his partner. “I’m not an Alien,” he licked down the underside until he reached the ball sack and mouthed the soft skin there, “but I do travel with one.”
Lestrade’s reply, probably a “Don’t fuck with me” or something equally as disbelieving as that, was lost in the gasp when he bit down on the fleshy part of his thigh where the femoral artery was pulsing just beneath, and he chuckled and toppled the older man onto the bed, straddling his stomach and slowly rutting his own still cloth covered cock against the skin and the muscle there.
“Fuck,” he bit down on his lower lip when Lestrade rolled them and settled down on top of Rory with his knee pushing up against his erection, grinding and giving just so much pressure that it wasn’t enough.
“Right now I wouldn’t care,” here Lestrade bit sharply into the side of his neck, “if you were and alien and had sixteen tentacles,” here, Rory was unpleasantly reminded of the Ood, who –while supposedly quite good at sex (at least according to an old friend of the Doctor’s who’d sworn that in the fifty-first century a fling with an Ood was incredibly en vogue, and that sex with them was more addictive than Rakweed to Raxacoricofallapatorians)- were not the most attractive species Rory had ever met, “or a green dick in your pants!”
Lestrade opened said pants single handed and licked his palm before wrapping his hand around Rory’s decidedly not-green cock and then simply holding it, keeping it encased in warmth and wetness and the lovely feeling of rough calluses against tender skin but not giving him any friction.
“But the next time you bring a guy you just met into your space ship you might just want to consider warning them beforehand so they don’t leave you hanging.” He twisted his wrist for a moment and gave Rory’s cock a full on grope before stilling his hand again.
Rory gasped, slack mouthed and disbelieving. “You wouldn’t!” He moaned and tried to buck up in desperation.
Lestrade chuckled deeply, and slightly squished the glans a little between his forefinger and thumb, sending shivers through Rory’s entire body.
Rory, with no leverage and his cock in the hands of the other man could do nothing but take it and squirm, whining under his breath. “Please,” he moaned, “Lestrade, come on!”
This wasn’t how he’d planned the evening to go at all.
At last, after making Rory beg and wriggle and groan in desperate need, Lestrade took pity on him. He turned Rory over, onto his knees and shifted his legs so that he was spread open completely. He laved Rory’s balls with his tongue, soaking them with his spit and slicking up his inner thighs at well, and when he backed off a little and straightened his body the cool air hit Rory’s wet skin. He shivered, not only from the coldness of the air that forced his skin to tighten into goose bumps, but also from feeling the head of Lestrade’s cock bump against his balls.
“Close your legs, Rory,” Lestrade whispered, into Rory’s ear in a tone so filthy that it almost had him coming then and there, “and tighten up your thighs for me.”
Rory did as he was told and moaned when Lestrade started sliding his still wet cock into the small tight space that was left for him between Rory’s thighs. It felt fucking good, slick and wet, and every time Lestrade’s cock stroked over his balls he moaned and shook his head into the bedspread.
“Yeah,” Rory pressed his fist against his temple to give him something to anchor himself to. “C’mon, Lestrade. Harder, please.”
Lestrade didn’t rut harder, but he definitely sped up, fucking Rory’s thighs in irregular jerky strokes until he came, pulling out and smearing his come all over Rory’s arse.
“If you want to get off, I’d suggest you start now, “ Lestrade emphasised his words with a sharp nip on his arse cheek and a broad lick of his tongue over his come-covered arsehole.
Then he sat back, and helped Rory guide his hand to his cock, to jerk himself off.
With only a few strokes he came all over the bed sheets and collapsed into the slick mess underneath him. With Lestrade’s body curled around his own, completely sated by their activities, he fell into a deep sleep, only for a moment considering that his behaviour this evening had been a bit off and the slipping into a most wonderful dream that had to do with Sex on his favourite Yeti-hair Jacket that for some lovely reason didn’t smell. At all.
+
He was woken by the giggling of his wife and the Doctor. “I told you this would happen,” the Doctor whispered so loud that it didn’t merit the description of a whisper in the least. “It is scientifically proven that Vortisian guard dogs emit certain pheromones during their pregnancy that tend to lower inhibitions in many humanoid races.”
Next to Rory, a big lump that was probably Lestrade began to rouse, cursing under his breath about a headache. Rory could empathize; if Lestrade’s head pounded as bad as his own did, he could very much understand the need to curse. It felt as though a Judoon had thrown the party of his lifetime in Rory’s skull and he blinked against the luckily dimmed light of the Tardis.
“ Well,” Lestrade sat up, running a hand through his hair, and not at all looking embarrassed by waking up under the scrutiny of more than double as many people as he’d gone to bed with the night before. “It was lovely meeting you, but I’ve got to get going.” He threw a heated look at Rory who was still trying to pretend he wasn’t awake at all, and didn’t have the head ache from hell at the moment. “You were certainly good... company.”
He slipped into the jeans he picked up from the floor, threw on his wrinkled shirt (that also had a few buttons missing, Rory observed, feeling slightly proud about how well fucked that ensemble made Lestrade look) and started to pass by the Doctor who was standing in the doorway with Amy.
He was stopped by the Doctor grabbing his wrist, grinning abashedly.
“We might have a problem there,” he mumbled, and Amy just shook her head in exasperation.
Rory felt his stomach do a little somersault, not sure at all if it was amusement, happiness or dread, but it did make him feel faintly sick because he suddenly knew what the problem was.
The Doctor’s grin grew a little bit wider as he confirmed Rory’s suspicion. “We’re actually kind of in space.”
Then he put out his hand and let his eyes run appreciatively over Lestrade’s body. “Hello,” he said, “I’m the Doctor, and who’re you?”
Rory just rolled his eyes, and tugged the covers over his head. It helped hide the silly little grin on his own face that he simply couldn’t seem to shake, because, well, he started imagining all the fun they could have with Lestrade in their company.
And that was a most welcome prospect.
+
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Author: veronicasleeps
Rating: NC-17 | FRAO
Characters/Pairings: Greg Lestrade/Rory Williams
Word count: ~2700
Contains: Explicit Sexual Content (aka. Porn), Crossed-Overness between Sherlock(BBC) and Doctor Who
Summary: It's Christmas, and as always the Doctor is kind of busy. Rory hooks up with a random stranger in a pub who just happens to be DI Lestrade.
Notes: Yeah, written for
beautybecks's prompt on sherlockbbc_fic. She asked for 'anything' with those two. So she gets porn. +
Rory wasn’t sure what had driven him to enter the pub. Well, that wasn’t strictly right; he knew at least what had made him want to leave the street.
And really, if losing the Doctor and Amy while distracting giant pregnant aliens that had a craving for vanilla fudge wasn’t a reason to get stupidly drunk on Christmas, then what was?
So Rory found himself drinking a Guinness in a bar and the Doctor and Amy were running around London throwing fudge into the street to make the Alien (some kind of pet dog for an equally as giant humanoid race, the Doctor had explained, who were exclusively fed vanilla fudge during their younger years and thus retained a special fondness for it) follow them – in a move that would have made the witch from Hansel and Gretel very proud indeed- and he was snorting into his glass whenever the crappy TV-set in the far corner showed a clip of the destruction that the Alien’s big feet left behind.
It wasn’t so much the pictures that were amusing him. It was the theories that were scrolling over the lower part of the screen. “The real Big Foot!” exclaimed the white text on red ground, and wasn’t that just fucking ridiculous?
Really, Rory thought, as if Big Foots honestly had big feet, and he knew what he was thinking about, he’d had met some very friendly members of that species when they’d rescued a bunch of touristy cat-kind from certain death by avalanche a few weeks earlier, and now considered himself somewhat of an expert in the culture and behavior of Big Foots. They had even made Rory his own full-body suit out of Yeti hair, and it was the warmest thing he’d ever worn in his entire life (though albeit the smelliest one too).
So it was no wonder that Rory was in somewhat of a foul mood.
What was a wonder was that while the rest of the pub was having the time of their lives speculating about the next weird thing that went on at Christmas and getting drunk all the while, the guy sitting next to him was looking morosely into his half-empty glass of whisky, seemingly not caring at all about big foot or Alien threats to London or Christmas Spirit.
That made him very much his kind of preferred company for the evening. (And it also helped that he was pretty hot in that older-guy kind of way that had been known to push certain of Rory’s kinks very hard.)
And because he knew that his wife and the Doctor would probably be out having fun all night anyway, he decide he might as well get some as well. Preferably fun of the sexy kind.
“Bad day,” Rory asked, waiving for the bar man to get them another set of drinks, “Or more of a bad week?”
The other man didn’t look up from the glass cradled in his hands like it held the answer to all of life’s big questions, but at least he answered, “Bit of both,” and threw back the rest of the amber liquid just as the bar tender put the fresh glass in front of him. “Thanks,” he said, and swung around on the bar stool, coming to face Rory.
Rory grinned and picked up his own drink, Gin and Tonic, something that no other place in the galaxy he’d visited had been able to make so it tasted like it did on earth, and offered his hand. “I’m Rory.”
“Lestrade.”
Rory’s grin grew bigger when he saw Lestrade do that thing with his eyebrows that signified doubt in all humanoid species. It seemed as though Lestrade was intrigued by Rory, couldn’t quite decide what to make of him.
It was a reaction Rory was used to by now, the Doctor had tried to explain it to him, something to do with his erasure by the time field and his age –“two thousand years, even if it wasn’t quite you that lived them, and even though you haven’t lived them anymore do leave their trace, Mr. Pond!”- and the imprint left in the Universe by the Auton version of him made him seem different to people with linear time lines.” A bit wonky,” the Doctor had called it, and then kissed him and said, “I like it.”
“So what makes you come in here on Christmas Day?” Lestrade asked and gave him a full body look that was definitely interested, if Rory wasn’t mistaken.
“Oh you know,” Rory grinned, “just traveling. Having a bit of fun, looking for some company if you get what I mean.” He flushed a little; for some reason Rory still felt embarrassed when he tried to flirt, it wasn’t really something he was comfortable with, no matter how often Amy had him practice on the Doctor. But by the glint in Lestrade’s eye, he quite got his meaning, no question about that.
He downed his second whiskey, Rory cringed a little inside, just glad that he didn’t actually pay for anything anymore, the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver quite handy at keeping him and his wife well provided for, because the stuff he was throwing back there wasn’t cheap at all, and then he took Rory’s glass out of his hand and put it on the counter, his eyes focused on his face in a way that made Rory want to shiver.
“Company, huh?” He drawled. “Is that so?”
Rory smiled, a little bit nervous at the predatory look that Lestrade had suddenly.
“Well, Rory,” Lestrade’s thumb stroked over the wrist his hand was still wrapped around tightly, “It seems you’ve found some.” He tugged him down from the bar stool he was sitting on and led him towards the door, his grumpiness from before seemingly all but forgotten at the prospect of a good old fashioned one night stand. “How about we go somewhere where we can make the best of it, what do you think?”
And really, in that moment, with that gaze on him, Rory was unable to do anything but nod and lead the way.
+
Rory rubbed his head self-consciously as he looked at Lestrade who had a frown again on his face. In hindsight, he supposed, leading a random pick up from a random pub in central London to the Tardis and expecting him to simply get into to it without arguing might have been a bit far-fetched of him, but he’d honestly not thought about it.
“That’s a police box,” Lestrade said, disbelieving.
“Yeah,” Rory grimaced, and fished for the key in his pocket. Maybe, he thought, Lestrade would simply forget about it when they were inside in the warmth and they could get back to other things, more enjoyable things than puzzling about the mysteries of the intergalactic space ship and its broken chameleon circuit.
He opened the door, took Lestrade by the hand and pulled him along, into the Tardis. Not wanting to go through the same old boring stuff again he babbled a bit, “Yeah, bigger on the inside. I know.”
And then he simply walked Lestrade through the corridors of the (quite obviously amused) time machine to the bedroom that they kept for such ‘special occasions’ as these.
Catching himself, and really simply not caring if Lestrade thought he was crazy or whatever, because now that sex was so near he could almost taste it, and he wouldn’t let himself be distracted from scratching an itch that he hadn’t satisfied in a long time. It was sheer impossible, really, living with an almost asexual Alien that got him so hot for its non-existent cock that he sometimes thought he’d die from unresolved sexual tension, and no manner of strap-on sex with his wife could come close to the feel of a real cock up his arse, no matter how good it was.
“Didn’t I tell you? I travel,” he said, going for nonchalance but arriving more at breathless anticipation when he tugged Lestrade’s belt loose and opened his pants. “Only I travel in Time and Space.” And with that he swallowed down the half hard cock that he’d freed and proceeded to blow Lestrade’s mind and make him forget all about where they were.
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Lestrade groaned, but burrowed his hands deep in Rory’s hair and bucked into his mouth. “Time and Space my arse.”
Rory would have liked to reply, he really would have, but his mouth was somewhat occupied at the moment. He moaned around the cock and bobbed a little, enjoying how Lestrade squirmed under the onslaught of his mouth.
“Next thing you’ll tell me you’re a fucking Alien or something.” And that made Rory snort a little and back off.
He jacked the wet cock, thumbing the head, slicking it with its own pre-come and his spit until it was shiny and licked his lips as he grinned up at his partner. “I’m not an Alien,” he licked down the underside until he reached the ball sack and mouthed the soft skin there, “but I do travel with one.”
Lestrade’s reply, probably a “Don’t fuck with me” or something equally as disbelieving as that, was lost in the gasp when he bit down on the fleshy part of his thigh where the femoral artery was pulsing just beneath, and he chuckled and toppled the older man onto the bed, straddling his stomach and slowly rutting his own still cloth covered cock against the skin and the muscle there.
“Fuck,” he bit down on his lower lip when Lestrade rolled them and settled down on top of Rory with his knee pushing up against his erection, grinding and giving just so much pressure that it wasn’t enough.
“Right now I wouldn’t care,” here Lestrade bit sharply into the side of his neck, “if you were and alien and had sixteen tentacles,” here, Rory was unpleasantly reminded of the Ood, who –while supposedly quite good at sex (at least according to an old friend of the Doctor’s who’d sworn that in the fifty-first century a fling with an Ood was incredibly en vogue, and that sex with them was more addictive than Rakweed to Raxacoricofallapatorians)- were not the most attractive species Rory had ever met, “or a green dick in your pants!”
Lestrade opened said pants single handed and licked his palm before wrapping his hand around Rory’s decidedly not-green cock and then simply holding it, keeping it encased in warmth and wetness and the lovely feeling of rough calluses against tender skin but not giving him any friction.
“But the next time you bring a guy you just met into your space ship you might just want to consider warning them beforehand so they don’t leave you hanging.” He twisted his wrist for a moment and gave Rory’s cock a full on grope before stilling his hand again.
Rory gasped, slack mouthed and disbelieving. “You wouldn’t!” He moaned and tried to buck up in desperation.
Lestrade chuckled deeply, and slightly squished the glans a little between his forefinger and thumb, sending shivers through Rory’s entire body.
Rory, with no leverage and his cock in the hands of the other man could do nothing but take it and squirm, whining under his breath. “Please,” he moaned, “Lestrade, come on!”
This wasn’t how he’d planned the evening to go at all.
At last, after making Rory beg and wriggle and groan in desperate need, Lestrade took pity on him. He turned Rory over, onto his knees and shifted his legs so that he was spread open completely. He laved Rory’s balls with his tongue, soaking them with his spit and slicking up his inner thighs at well, and when he backed off a little and straightened his body the cool air hit Rory’s wet skin. He shivered, not only from the coldness of the air that forced his skin to tighten into goose bumps, but also from feeling the head of Lestrade’s cock bump against his balls.
“Close your legs, Rory,” Lestrade whispered, into Rory’s ear in a tone so filthy that it almost had him coming then and there, “and tighten up your thighs for me.”
Rory did as he was told and moaned when Lestrade started sliding his still wet cock into the small tight space that was left for him between Rory’s thighs. It felt fucking good, slick and wet, and every time Lestrade’s cock stroked over his balls he moaned and shook his head into the bedspread.
“Yeah,” Rory pressed his fist against his temple to give him something to anchor himself to. “C’mon, Lestrade. Harder, please.”
Lestrade didn’t rut harder, but he definitely sped up, fucking Rory’s thighs in irregular jerky strokes until he came, pulling out and smearing his come all over Rory’s arse.
“If you want to get off, I’d suggest you start now, “ Lestrade emphasised his words with a sharp nip on his arse cheek and a broad lick of his tongue over his come-covered arsehole.
Then he sat back, and helped Rory guide his hand to his cock, to jerk himself off.
With only a few strokes he came all over the bed sheets and collapsed into the slick mess underneath him. With Lestrade’s body curled around his own, completely sated by their activities, he fell into a deep sleep, only for a moment considering that his behaviour this evening had been a bit off and the slipping into a most wonderful dream that had to do with Sex on his favourite Yeti-hair Jacket that for some lovely reason didn’t smell. At all.
+
He was woken by the giggling of his wife and the Doctor. “I told you this would happen,” the Doctor whispered so loud that it didn’t merit the description of a whisper in the least. “It is scientifically proven that Vortisian guard dogs emit certain pheromones during their pregnancy that tend to lower inhibitions in many humanoid races.”
Next to Rory, a big lump that was probably Lestrade began to rouse, cursing under his breath about a headache. Rory could empathize; if Lestrade’s head pounded as bad as his own did, he could very much understand the need to curse. It felt as though a Judoon had thrown the party of his lifetime in Rory’s skull and he blinked against the luckily dimmed light of the Tardis.
“ Well,” Lestrade sat up, running a hand through his hair, and not at all looking embarrassed by waking up under the scrutiny of more than double as many people as he’d gone to bed with the night before. “It was lovely meeting you, but I’ve got to get going.” He threw a heated look at Rory who was still trying to pretend he wasn’t awake at all, and didn’t have the head ache from hell at the moment. “You were certainly good... company.”
He slipped into the jeans he picked up from the floor, threw on his wrinkled shirt (that also had a few buttons missing, Rory observed, feeling slightly proud about how well fucked that ensemble made Lestrade look) and started to pass by the Doctor who was standing in the doorway with Amy.
He was stopped by the Doctor grabbing his wrist, grinning abashedly.
“We might have a problem there,” he mumbled, and Amy just shook her head in exasperation.
Rory felt his stomach do a little somersault, not sure at all if it was amusement, happiness or dread, but it did make him feel faintly sick because he suddenly knew what the problem was.
The Doctor’s grin grew a little bit wider as he confirmed Rory’s suspicion. “We’re actually kind of in space.”
Then he put out his hand and let his eyes run appreciatively over Lestrade’s body. “Hello,” he said, “I’m the Doctor, and who’re you?”
Rory just rolled his eyes, and tugged the covers over his head. It helped hide the silly little grin on his own face that he simply couldn’t seem to shake, because, well, he started imagining all the fun they could have with Lestrade in their company.
And that was a most welcome prospect.
+
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