[ Because for him, it would only be fun if she wanted it too. Not that he has much of a doubt about that, the way her cheeks have coloured, the way she's looking up at him — and no, no, it isn't the kind of expression he's used to seeing on her. Usually it's something more akin to exasperation or like she's about to laugh, teasing him for something he's said or something he's missed because there are times when he's just too odd, too alien, and it shows.
But then there are moments when she looks at him so deeply, like she could see into every life of his and remember when she'd been there — because she has — and the Doctor thinks about how intrinsically woven into the fabric of his timeline she's become.
She knows him. She knows him. But he'd like to think he knows her too. ]
[She's quick to want to reassure him of the fact that she would like lots of kisses, her eyes looking back upward. They get caught in staring into one another's eyes for a while, and it seems to help ease Clara's momentary shyness. They know one another so well by now, have been through so much together. And yet this side of their relationship is brand new. Everything's a new experience.
She doesn't question the fact that he loves her. Clara knows that he does. But she wonders if he knows that he's made himself essential to her. That she doesn't want to keep living a life that he won't be a part of. Being here on the Ximilia is a risk. There's no guarantee that regrets will be undone. But she's so grateful for the opportunity they've both had to come closer together. She's so in love that it feels like her heart might burst as she looks up at him.
So she rises up on her tiptoes to press her lips to his. Again and again she kisses him, showing him exactly how much she wants this. How desperately she wants him. But she's very mindful to let things stay slow, to let him lead the pace for now.]
Does that answer your question?
[Both of her hands reach up to adjust his bowtie back into a straightened position.]
[ There's a little bit of hand-flapping and squirming near the end of that last series of kisses, but nothing uncomfortable or unwanted — more like the tail-end of feeling just a touch overwhelmed and also very much in need of a breather. It's all so much — but in the best way, of course.
He's looking a little stupid and glassy-eyed when she pulls away to coolly readjust his bowtie once she's had her way with him (because that's exactly what it was, phew!), and he straightens and clears his throat when she does. ]
Yes, I think it answers both of our questions. [ He presses his lips together into a thin line, eyes bright, before he changes his mind. ] Although ... [ And here he pauses, expression overdramatically solemn. ] ... there is just one thing I might need a little clearing up on.
[ He dips forward to catch her lips with his again, to make his own response clear to her as well. ]
[Her expression contorts into a look of confusion when he mentions one more thing needing to be cleared up. And right as she opens her mouth to question him, he leans in to kiss her. And he manages to do quite a good job of flustering her in return. Her cheeks are a dark red when he pulls back and speaks again, and all she can do is dumbly nod in response at first.
But slowly and surely an utterly charmed smile makes its way onto her face, and she laughs softly at how well he's able to render her speechless. He's sure to take pride in that.]
I could go for a bit more clearing up on the matter.
[She teases, eyebrows arching as she takes hold of his arms. Clara starts to walk backward then, not stopping until the back of her legs bump against the edge of her bed. She promptly sits, which only serves to further pronounce the height difference between them.
The second she's seated she realizes that it may seem like an invitation for far more than he's ready for rather than just a place they can sit and properly snog. To try and quickly ease any anxiety he may have about that, she quickly adds on an out for him to take if he needs to.]
[ The Doctor is content to follow her movements, walking them both towards the — ah. Wait. This is her bed. Not his with its horrible mess of hats and garments and other miscellaneous items he'd picked up from the supply drop and the parts from the lab. And it's not his other self's bed either, which is full of empty wrappers and half-eaten snack foods, and other miscellaneous items, also picked up from the supply drop.
This is Clara's immaculate, perfectly clean, perfectly made-every-morning-when-she-wakes-up bed, and now. Now she's sitting. Yes, she's absolutely sitting on it. And she's looking expectantly at him too, which — well, you know, is fine, its not a new look for her or anything, but.
There's a bed. And beds with looks like that typically mean bed-things. And he's ... its been some time since he's done the bed thing, and also that's none of anyone's business thank you very much, but it's also Clara and a bed, and —
He pulls back, feet planted backwards. ]
Yes. [ It's said quietly, like his brain is catching up to him in its flurry of thought. He scratches at his chin. ] Yes, there's — I just remembered I left the rotating capacitor running, and if it goes on for too long without a a replacement power cell it may just burn the whole lab down, and that wouldn't be very good, would it? It'll just take a moment, and then I'll be right back.
[Her eyebrows arch, but she doesn't say anything. She lets him head off to tend to his whatever it is. He's said he's coming right back, so she waits. But after an hour of sitting there alone, it's obvious he isn't coming back.
Part of her is amused, because this is so ridiculous. But another part is hurt. So often it feels like every time they make a step forward, she unintentionally sets them ten giant leaps backward.
So she tries not to focus on the worry that she's messed everything up, and goes back to her day to day chores. He may or may not get the silent treatment for the rest of the day. That'll show him to lie to her about coming right back.]
[ It's ......... very late when the Doctor sneaks back into the room, having fully occupied himself with just about every other activity he might think to do in the time between his leaving their shared room, and his coming back.
He's brought a plate of buttered biscuits he'd concocted in the kitchen and a Rubik's Cube he'd found stashed in the supply drop last time, and he's sort of balancing both things between his hands, biscuit caught between his lips.
He expects the room to be either entirely dark with its occupants fast asleep, or mostly empty anyway; his other self crawling about in the vents somewhere, and River doing whatever it is River does when she isn't sleeping.
Instead he finds a small reading lamp still on, and Clara huddled with a book.
Well, shit. (Yes, it's a horrible word that he's picked up from Kovacs, and now he can't quite seem to get rid of it. It's an effective expletive anyway.) The biscuit drops from his lips and he swoops in with his plate to catch it before it falls. ]
[She's determined to ignore him, and only briefly glances his way when she hears the doors open to let him in. Her mouth opens like a codfish, flopping closed when she isn't sure what to say. Which is strange, because she always is able to find something to say about everything.
Then she remembers she's not talking to him anyway. She snuggles into her bed and turns the page of her book. Which she's not actually reading any longer, but he doesn't need to know that.]
So I have a bedtime now, do I?
[She says distractedly, almost dismissively. Clara is very intentionally playing it cool.]
Well, you're — it's very late and everyone else is asleep.
[ The Doctor slowly approaches on soft and softer footsteps, pausing only to put the Rubik's cube down on some flat surface somewhere, before he moves in to approach her. Yes. Close to the bed and everything.
He holds the plate out towards her, full of delicious Doctor-baked butter cookies (with alien ingredients, of course). ]
[She doesn't look over right away. She finishes "reading" the page she's on before earmarking the page and closing the cover. It's incredibly difficult to stay angry with him, particularly when he makes gestures like this. It's sweet, what he's doing. And clearly he knows he's done wrong.
So she slowly turns to grab one of the cookies, and takes her time going about eating it. It's only when she's finished the entire thing that she finally talks.]
I don't sleep like I used to.
[She hasn't since coming back months and months ago. He likely knows that, but couldn't possibly know the reason why. And she's not about to elaborate, so she turns the tables on him.]
Do you know I sat here for an entire hour waiting for you to come back?
[ Well, she takes a biscuit so that's got to count for something, right? Even if what she's said gives him pause. He isn't even sure he's really noticed, not really, not until he thinks about how much more time they seem to have during the nights on missions ... how she didn't seem to be bothered by the exhaustion like she used to.
How did he not notice that before? Stupid Doctor.
He puts the plate down next to her, you know if she wants to get another biscuit for herself, and picks one up for him.
He takes a bite. ]
Well, that's — [ He's daft, he's very, very daft, but even he can see that he's made her cross.
And that's new. ] You didn't have to. You shouldn't have.
[She points out, tone perfectly calm and even. Maybe she's so cross because she continues to put her trust and faith in him, and he continues to have moments where she's reminded that the Doctor lies.
Taking another biscuit, she nibbles on it, carefully choosing her next words. She only eats half before setting the remainder back onto the plate.]
I didn't run away. There really was a rotating capacitator needing a change, you see, and this station is nothing like the TARDIS, couldn't handle even one exploding cell without the whole thing going up in smoke, and —
[ He huffs a breath. Usually in situations like these, he could rely on the whimsy and wonder of the TARDIS, pushing at buttons, pulling at levers; he could use his art of distraction and pull them away into new adventures so neither of them ever have to think about things like this.
Sometimes it works. Sometimes someone else will be in the TARDIS too, and he could foist those heavy questions in their direction. (Handy thing, that.) ]
And I thought you wanted to — and it's not that I don't want to, but — well. [ There's a quick wave of his fingers as though he's trying to draw words from the air itself. ] You know. It's just — [ He flaps a hand. ] Here. Very soon.
[He doesn't come right out and use the word sex, but he's definitely talking about sex. And Clara seems shocked at first. Her eyes widen as her eyebrows arch, and she actually feels her cheeks turning a little warm. It isn't like the idea of sex with the Doctor is embarrassing, but she's a little ashamed he thinks she may've been expecting him to just leap right into that with her.
She has needs and desires, but they would never override his comfort level.]
You, bed. Sit.
[The very edge of the bed is pat, a sign that any lingering anger she might've had is gone now. He has a way of rendering her unable to stay mad for long.]
I wasn't trying to get you to have sex with me, Doctor. I was just wanting to sit and snog a bit. I'd never expect you to do something you're clearly not comfortable with.
Ah. [ Yes, the Doctor does settle himself down tentatively at the spot she's directed him to sit, obedient and admittedly a little at a loss for words.
He huffs a breath. ]
Well, with all you humans and your — your needs, I was certain that's exactly what you meant. [ And in his travels with this face, this wouldn't have been his first proposition either. He isn't sure why, he imagines it's totally the bowtie (because bowties are cool); he'd be traveling through time and space, passing through, saving the world, sometimes saving the universe, and he'd get himself accidentally married or wooed or something of the like.
And then he'd have to slip out from that hairy situation and be on his merry way. Most of the time it's just a little embarrassing and nothing more, but it never means anything.
Clara, however ... ]
But this is different, isn't it?
[ His voice softens with that question. Whatever this is with them, it's different from any companion or fling he's ever been involved in. ]
[The single word is whispered, and she finds herself smiling fondly despite the fact she really thinks she should be more cross. She isn't new to relationships, but he's right. This is completely different. In all of her previous relationships, things have never felt like this.]
Things with us, they're different. And I won't lie and say I don't have those needs, because I do. I often find myself thinking about you and wanting...well, you know. But that doesn't mean I'm incapable of waiting until you're ready.
[Her hand slips over to press over his, gentle and reassuring.]
[ He nods, moving to cover her hand over with his free one and squeeze her fingers.
This moment, this understanding, reminds him of a time before he knew Clara as well as he does now, when he'd known even then that there was something incredibly special about her. Something outside of her coming in to rescue him in every single one of his lives; it was about the way she knew him, could predict him, and yet still be surprised by the silly things he could do. He'd said that she was perfect for him in every way once, and now he thinks that more than ever.
He doesn't want to muck this up. ]
Besides. [ The Doctor huffs, gesturing to their general surroundings, dimly lit by Clara's lamplight alone. ] We can't possibly use this room, can we? It's very ... boring.
[oh, she could tease him about more thrilling places to have sex. But the urge to tease him is absent now, replaced with a quiet desire to simply enjoy this quiet moment they're having. Her head ducks to try and let hair fall in her face to hide the fond smile on her face. But she's sure he can hear the breath of a laugh that she exhales.]
I think we'll find a way to make anyplace special, Doctor.
[And with that said, she lifts her head. There's a moment where she looks over to him, taking in the sight of him light in the dim lamp light. She always thinks he's handsome. But right now, he's the most captivating thing in the entire universe.
Fond smile still intact, she leans over to press a kiss to his cheek. He really is a daft old man. But he's her daft old man, and she wouldn't have things be any other way.]
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[ Because for him, it would only be fun if she wanted it too. Not that he has much of a doubt about that, the way her cheeks have coloured, the way she's looking up at him — and no, no, it isn't the kind of expression he's used to seeing on her. Usually it's something more akin to exasperation or like she's about to laugh, teasing him for something he's said or something he's missed because there are times when he's just too odd, too alien, and it shows.
But then there are moments when she looks at him so deeply, like she could see into every life of his and remember when she'd been there — because she has — and the Doctor thinks about how intrinsically woven into the fabric of his timeline she's become.
She knows him. She knows him. But he'd like to think he knows her too. ]
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She doesn't question the fact that he loves her. Clara knows that he does. But she wonders if he knows that he's made himself essential to her. That she doesn't want to keep living a life that he won't be a part of. Being here on the Ximilia is a risk. There's no guarantee that regrets will be undone. But she's so grateful for the opportunity they've both had to come closer together. She's so in love that it feels like her heart might burst as she looks up at him.
So she rises up on her tiptoes to press her lips to his. Again and again she kisses him, showing him exactly how much she wants this. How desperately she wants him. But she's very mindful to let things stay slow, to let him lead the pace for now.]
Does that answer your question?
[Both of her hands reach up to adjust his bowtie back into a straightened position.]
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He's looking a little stupid and glassy-eyed when she pulls away to coolly readjust his bowtie once she's had her way with him (because that's exactly what it was, phew!), and he straightens and clears his throat when she does. ]
Yes, I think it answers both of our questions. [ He presses his lips together into a thin line, eyes bright, before he changes his mind. ] Although ... [ And here he pauses, expression overdramatically solemn. ] ... there is just one thing I might need a little clearing up on.
[ He dips forward to catch her lips with his again, to make his own response clear to her as well. ]
Right. Yes. All right, I think I've got it now.
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But slowly and surely an utterly charmed smile makes its way onto her face, and she laughs softly at how well he's able to render her speechless. He's sure to take pride in that.]
I could go for a bit more clearing up on the matter.
[She teases, eyebrows arching as she takes hold of his arms. Clara starts to walk backward then, not stopping until the back of her legs bump against the edge of her bed. She promptly sits, which only serves to further pronounce the height difference between them.
The second she's seated she realizes that it may seem like an invitation for far more than he's ready for rather than just a place they can sit and properly snog. To try and quickly ease any anxiety he may have about that, she quickly adds on an out for him to take if he needs to.]
Unless you need to get back to work?
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This is Clara's immaculate, perfectly clean, perfectly made-every-morning-when-she-wakes-up bed, and now. Now she's sitting. Yes, she's absolutely sitting on it. And she's looking expectantly at him too, which — well, you know, is fine, its not a new look for her or anything, but.
There's a bed. And beds with looks like that typically mean bed-things. And he's ... its been some time since he's done the bed thing, and also that's none of anyone's business thank you very much, but it's also Clara and a bed, and —
He pulls back, feet planted backwards. ]
Yes. [ It's said quietly, like his brain is catching up to him in its flurry of thought. He scratches at his chin. ] Yes, there's — I just remembered I left the rotating capacitor running, and if it goes on for too long without a a replacement power cell it may just burn the whole lab down, and that wouldn't be very good, would it? It'll just take a moment, and then I'll be right back.
[ Spoilers: he won't be right back. ]
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Part of her is amused, because this is so ridiculous. But another part is hurt. So often it feels like every time they make a step forward, she unintentionally sets them ten giant leaps backward.
So she tries not to focus on the worry that she's messed everything up, and goes back to her day to day chores. He may or may not get the silent treatment for the rest of the day. That'll show him to lie to her about coming right back.]
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He's brought a plate of buttered biscuits he'd concocted in the kitchen and a Rubik's Cube he'd found stashed in the supply drop last time, and he's sort of balancing both things between his hands, biscuit caught between his lips.
He expects the room to be either entirely dark with its occupants fast asleep, or mostly empty anyway; his other self crawling about in the vents somewhere, and River doing whatever it is River does when she isn't sleeping.
Instead he finds a small reading lamp still on, and Clara huddled with a book.
Well, shit. (Yes, it's a horrible word that he's picked up from Kovacs, and now he can't quite seem to get rid of it. It's an effective expletive anyway.) The biscuit drops from his lips and he swoops in with his plate to catch it before it falls. ]
You should be asleep by now.
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Then she remembers she's not talking to him anyway. She snuggles into her bed and turns the page of her book. Which she's not actually reading any longer, but he doesn't need to know that.]
So I have a bedtime now, do I?
[She says distractedly, almost dismissively. Clara is very intentionally playing it cool.]
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[ The Doctor slowly approaches on soft and softer footsteps, pausing only to put the Rubik's cube down on some flat surface somewhere, before he moves in to approach her. Yes. Close to the bed and everything.
He holds the plate out towards her, full of delicious Doctor-baked butter cookies (with alien ingredients, of course). ]
They're still warm from the oven.
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So she slowly turns to grab one of the cookies, and takes her time going about eating it. It's only when she's finished the entire thing that she finally talks.]
I don't sleep like I used to.
[She hasn't since coming back months and months ago. He likely knows that, but couldn't possibly know the reason why. And she's not about to elaborate, so she turns the tables on him.]
Do you know I sat here for an entire hour waiting for you to come back?
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How did he not notice that before? Stupid Doctor.
He puts the plate down next to her, you know if she wants to get another biscuit for herself, and picks one up for him.
He takes a bite. ]
Well, that's — [ He's daft, he's very, very daft, but even he can see that he's made her cross.
And that's new. ] You didn't have to. You shouldn't have.
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[She points out, tone perfectly calm and even. Maybe she's so cross because she continues to put her trust and faith in him, and he continues to have moments where she's reminded that the Doctor lies.
Taking another biscuit, she nibbles on it, carefully choosing her next words. She only eats half before setting the remainder back onto the plate.]
Why did you run away?
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[ He huffs a breath. Usually in situations like these, he could rely on the whimsy and wonder of the TARDIS, pushing at buttons, pulling at levers; he could use his art of distraction and pull them away into new adventures so neither of them ever have to think about things like this.
Sometimes it works. Sometimes someone else will be in the TARDIS too, and he could foist those heavy questions in their direction. (Handy thing, that.) ]
And I thought you wanted to — and it's not that I don't want to, but — well. [ There's a quick wave of his fingers as though he's trying to draw words from the air itself. ] You know. It's just — [ He flaps a hand. ] Here. Very soon.
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She has needs and desires, but they would never override his comfort level.]
You, bed. Sit.
[The very edge of the bed is pat, a sign that any lingering anger she might've had is gone now. He has a way of rendering her unable to stay mad for long.]
I wasn't trying to get you to have sex with me, Doctor. I was just wanting to sit and snog a bit. I'd never expect you to do something you're clearly not comfortable with.
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He huffs a breath. ]
Well, with all you humans and your — your needs, I was certain that's exactly what you meant. [ And in his travels with this face, this wouldn't have been his first proposition either. He isn't sure why, he imagines it's totally the bowtie (because bowties are cool); he'd be traveling through time and space, passing through, saving the world, sometimes saving the universe, and he'd get himself accidentally married or wooed or something of the like.
And then he'd have to slip out from that hairy situation and be on his merry way. Most of the time it's just a little embarrassing and nothing more, but it never means anything.
Clara, however ... ]
But this is different, isn't it?
[ His voice softens with that question. Whatever this is with them, it's different from any companion or fling he's ever been involved in. ]
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[The single word is whispered, and she finds herself smiling fondly despite the fact she really thinks she should be more cross. She isn't new to relationships, but he's right. This is completely different. In all of her previous relationships, things have never felt like this.]
Things with us, they're different. And I won't lie and say I don't have those needs, because I do. I often find myself thinking about you and wanting...well, you know. But that doesn't mean I'm incapable of waiting until you're ready.
[Her hand slips over to press over his, gentle and reassuring.]
Promise.
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This moment, this understanding, reminds him of a time before he knew Clara as well as he does now, when he'd known even then that there was something incredibly special about her. Something outside of her coming in to rescue him in every single one of his lives; it was about the way she knew him, could predict him, and yet still be surprised by the silly things he could do. He'd said that she was perfect for him in every way once, and now he thinks that more than ever.
He doesn't want to muck this up. ]
Besides. [ The Doctor huffs, gesturing to their general surroundings, dimly lit by Clara's lamplight alone. ] We can't possibly use this room, can we? It's very ... boring.
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I think we'll find a way to make anyplace special, Doctor.
[And with that said, she lifts her head. There's a moment where she looks over to him, taking in the sight of him light in the dim lamp light. She always thinks he's handsome. But right now, he's the most captivating thing in the entire universe.
Fond smile still intact, she leans over to press a kiss to his cheek. He really is a daft old man. But he's her daft old man, and she wouldn't have things be any other way.]