pairings: amy/martha, rory/amy/eleven otfriendship
rating: m just to be safe? idk there is under the skirt action.
summary: leave it to rory and eleven to ruin a perfectly good snog.
notes: based on the three sentence au fic meme on tumblr. this is both my first real fic and unbetaed so all mistakes are my own. feedback is much appreciated.
"Come on, Amy! We know you're in there!"
A squeak escapes her companion's lips as Amy snakes a cold hand just up her skirt. Amy giggles. "Shh, they'll hear you!" She whispers, her other hand making it's way up to let the other girl's hair down.
She's only been seeing Martha Jones for a few months, but it feels both longer and shorter than that at the same time. Every curve of Martha's body is committed to memory, every smile (the ones reserved specifically for her are her favorites, the ones she sees across the Great Hall at breakfast when Amy's running late and her hair's a mess but Martha smiles like Amy's part Veela or something), her laughs and touches and kisses. It hadn't been easy; after the initial run-in in the Prefects' bathroom Martha had been put off by Amy's advances, though Amy didn't blame her for that in the slightest - she'd be rather uneasy if some random girl had done that to her - but it worked out in the end. She - she didn't want to say she wore Martha down, but more showed her that she wasn't actually quite the pervert she made herself out to be. Either way you looked at it, though, she must've done something right, because Martha actually asked her to Hogsmeade, not the other way around.
Most of their dates are simple and easy; Martha won't break quite as many of the rules that Amy loves to bend. She works around that, though, with picnics by the Black Lake watching the Giant Squid wave from the water, Quidditch games where she unfailingly roots for Ravenclaw with her (even sporting a blue and bronze scarf she charmed a fourth year into loaning her when they play Slytherin). There are Hogsmeade weekends with hand holding and cheeks flushed from the cold and study dates in the library where they sit too close together and do very little homework, instead opting to whisper about their day and their friends and how Nine (he would never be Professor to them, always Nine) was making obvious googly eyes at Rose Tyler again. But her favorites - oh, her favorites are when Martha forgets herself if only for a little while, when she forgets that she's supposed to be Responsible and An Example and Future Head Girl and she skives off Potions when she knows Amy has free time. They usually end up somewhere no one can find them - the unused corridor on the second floor, the classroom next to the rusty suit of armor, behind Hagrid's giant pumpkins on a nice day - but sometimes they're not so successful in hiding from the world.
The banging on the broomcloset door would indicate that this was one of those times.
Amy leans in and tries to focus on the spot where Martha's neck meets her shoulders, but her friends' yells were doing their very best to distract her.
"Honestly, Pond, you've got eight inches on Bridget Wenlock due in an hour and I know you've only got the information off her Chocolate Frog card, plus Mickey Smith was looking for you with a new play and a change in the practice schedule, and you said you'd help me with my Charms theory. None of that involves -"
She groans into the bit of skin she'd been paying careful attention to (and not in the fun way), resting her forehead against Martha's collarbone. "I'm so sorry for this," she murmurs, squeezing her eyes shut and hoping that, if she can't see them, they're not really there, and she can live on in this blissful little cupboard.
It's not that she doesn't love Rory and Eleven - of course she does, they're her boys and have been from the moment they sat in her compartment their first year. Even when they were sorted into Hufflepuff while she was alone in Gryffindor, back in the days when Eleven still had a real first name (it's okay to act like an eleven year old when you're actually eleven, after all) and Amy was the tallest of them all they were her boys, through thick and thin. Now, though, Amy wishes they were anyone's boys but her's and if Eleven doesn't stop rambling on about Bridget Wenlock's arithmantic contributions to society she was going to hit him so hard Rory feels it, then hit Rory for bringing it up in the first place.
Martha pulls away and Amy loses her balance, falling forward and catching herself on a dusty shelf. (She's fairly sure she felt something squish, but she'd rather not investigate.) "You told me you'd already finished that essay!" Martha's arms cross her chest and Amy knows it's all over.
"Well, I thought this took precedence over -"
"Amy, honestly, you know Nine's going to be extra hard on you because you're my best friend!" Eleven's voice was quite possibly the worst thing she's ever heard. "Being the brother's best friend isn't all sunshine and badgers, you know!"
If she'd been paying attention, Amy would've seen Martha mouth badgers in confusion, but instead she throws open the door and advances on her gangly, awkward-looking friends with the rage of a horny woman scorned, fists flying and cries of pain echoing in the corridor. (Martha slips out unnoticed behind the squabble, playing the 'if I don't see it, it didn't happen' game so she doesn't have to take any points from Amy and Gryffindor.) When Amy feels they're thoroughly beaten, she realizes she's been defeated as well; Martha's long gone, probably to get her Potions assignment, and she's left with two bruised best friends, an uncompleted essay, and what looked like it would be a long, arduous double Arithmancy with Nine (when was Professor Tyler coming back from maternity leave anyway?).
They were going to pay for this. Oh, how they would pay.