The stair creaked. The Doctor "eeped."

"Shh, Sweetie, we don't want to wake up Amy and Rory." River laid a tender finger over his lips. His eyes big, he nodded. She waved him over to the stairs closer to the wall, where he was less likely to find a loose tread.

Really, it was amazing the man had survived this long.

They padded down the rest of the stairs in Amy and Rory's house, heading for the kitchen. They had spent the night, at Amy and Rory's urging. They all intended to go to the zoo later in the day, then to an amusement park.

"A real, normal, family outing," Amy had declared, hands on her hips, defying either of them to deny her.

Of course they hadn't.

But both the Doctor and River were early risers, and they had decided to start the day off right by making breakfast for everyone.

Hence the sneaking.

The Doctor was in his stocking feet and shirtsleeves, sleeves rolled up, still sporting braces and bowtie, even this early. River was in a fluffy blue dressing gown that she left at her parents house, in the room they kept ready for her. She was wearing silk striped pajama pants and top, barefoot, and somehow making the whole boring ensemble look adorably delicious.

The Doctor tore his gaze away from River's "at mum's house" attire and stepped down, relieved, onto the kitchen's cool, stable, tile floor.

Soft, early morning sunlight filtered through the kitchen windows, and the glass back door, giving the room a cozy glow, they didn't bother turning on the lights.

"You squeeze the orange juice, honey. I'll start the pancakes." She waved him over to a heaping wire bowl of oranges on the counter, and elegantly padded, barefoot, over to the refrigerator.

He walked over and grabbed an orange, tossing it into the air and catching it. He loved watching her move around the kitchen with easy familiarity, her robe and silk pajamas fluttering around her. Her fluffy hair still tousled from sleep.

"Technically," he said, grinning at her, because he just couldn't not smile at his pretty wife, "you can't squeeze orange juice," he pointed out.

She turned and gave him a narrow eyed look from the fridge, bent over, a jug of milk in one hand.

He grinned and bit his lip, enjoying that sizzling glance. Then the look changed to something hotter, more languid. Her eyes roamed up and down him, there was practically a word bubble over her head reading "Naughty Thoughts!"

His stomach tingled.

"Juicer's on the top shelf," she said, casually, nodding up to the cupboards behind him.

He gave a little moue of disappointment. She wasn't going to rise to his bait. He turned and stretched up to rummage on the top shelf, looking for the juicer.

It wasn't on the top shelf, River enjoyed letting her eyes roam down the long lines of his lean back as he stretched up in those tight trousers, his hand patting around, searching, his hair still tangled, and looking adorable, and edible, in stocking feet.

She stood up and gathered eggs and milk and butter.

"Ah, there it is!" He turned around triumphantly, brandishing an old fashioned cone shaped plastic juicer. "It was on the bottom shelf."

"Uhm," River hummed in acknowledgment, birds twittered outside on the tree branches, dawn light streamed through the window, setting her curls to gleaming like a soft aurora around her as she brushed up against him to take a bowl down off the shelf.

His eyes got big, and he blinked at the feel of her silk-covered self brushing up against him. She set the bowl on the counter. "Can you hand me down the flour?" she asked softly, not moving.

He reached up a long arm, having to lean forward to reach around her, eyes locked on hers. She didn't move. Well, she may have leaned forward a bit too, just to give him room. All her soft, yielding front pressed up against his harder, unyielding torso.

The bag of flour landed on the counter behind her with a thump.

Flour erupted everywhere.

Dry powdered snow filtered down around them, dusting River's curls and the Doctor's unruly locks. But they didn't notice.

—

Rory shook his head and pinched his nose in the doorway, watching as his daughter and her husband were wrapped in an early morning clinch that didn't look like it would end any time soon. Absently, he noted that they really did know how to kiss, and the Doctor wasn't flailing now.

His kitchen was already well on the way to becoming a disaster area. He turned and headed back up the stairs as morning light filtered through the floury snowstorm in his kitchen.

Sometimes it didn't pay to be an early riser.

—

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