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By her own count Rory was the twelfth man Amy had kissed, clients not included. Her first kiss had been at the tender age of eleven because her two best friends had already kissed boys and Liam MacCord had the most wonderful pair of blue eyes. He'd been eating a chocolate bar right before she grabbed him on the playground and pressed her mouth against his and there was a brief, beautiful time in her life when Amy thought that all kisses tasted like chocolate.
Peter Stewart taught her that was not true and Andrew, Peter and George whose last names didn't matter at all confirmed this unfortunate truth. James Piper-Davies taught her that kisses could taste like beer with a hint of dreams that were crushed before being fully realized and then there came a string of men who taught her that remembering nothing about them, including their names, wasn't the worst thing in the universe.
The first time they kissed Rory tasted like nerves, champagne and the roasted chicken that had been the main course at the New Year's Eve dinner they both attended. He held her face gently between his hands and kissed her like she was someone amazing. There was a brief pause where they whispered Happy New Year to each other and then his second kiss tasted like the future.
After the nightmare worlds Rory found her in one of the hallways of the TARDIS that seemed to lead everywhere and nowhere at the same time. With her back pressed against a wall that was warmer than it looked Amy was kissed by Rory until she couldn't see straight. There were visions of worlds beyond their imagination in those kisses and visions of a cozy little home with a nursery upstairs that they would decorate together.
Amy saw it all with every brush of his lips and tasted nothing but Rory every time their mouths came together. It was his dreams and hers all meshed together as their arms wound tighter around the other. Soon she saw and tasted nothing but them and millions of miles and years away from the world she knew Amy felt home for the first time.