How about that? He's far more sure of himself now. Not that he hasn't been gaining certainty and confidence with all of their other recent kisses. But this one is different. There's no hesitation on either of their parts, no reason to hold back any longer.]
About time you kissed me like someone you loved.
[She whispers as they break apart, reminding him of the time at Christmas when she had directed him to kiss her beneath the mistletoe. Things had been so different then.
She counts her lucky stars they're exactly where they are now. She has to take in a slow and steady breath, to keep herself from pressing for more. As much as she wants him, she knows he has to be the one to be ready and initiate. All she needs to do now is keep a level head.
Clara reaches up to give a bit of a tweak to his bowtie, chuckling beneath her breath as she does. And then she's turning back toward the console, hand going back to the lever.]
Pretend we're really in the TARDIS right now. Pretend, and tell me where we're going next.
[ The Doctor steps back, turning so he could inspect the rest of the console with all of its familiar buttons — most of them looking the same as he remembers. He thinks most, because while Clara has as accurate an impression of the TARDIS as is possible, he's been traveling with her longest ... and some of the controls have a tendency to shift depending on her mood.
Sometimes the TARDIS has a knack of playing rather practical jokes on him, in fact. Like the time the mustard button wound up being ranch dressing. Horrible for American hot dogs. Definitely 0/10, do not recommend.
He eyes Clara from the opposite side of the console, just past the swivel-screen. He has a better idea, one she's sure to like; of that much he's certain. ]
[He doesn't give her the name of a planet. He doesn't tell her a grand story to get her interested in a place she's never heard of. He isn't trying to impress her with facts or sentimental anecdotes.
He asks about the simulation, and she's left blinking a bit cluelessly back at him. What could he possibly be up to?
There's most every room I can remember. The safe ones, at least.
[Because there's plenty of them in there that aren't.]
[ Clara has a sharp memory, of that he's certain. If there are all the rooms she remembers, he should hope he'll be able to find the ones he's looking for.
The Doctor holds a hand out to her, just like usual. Just like old times. ]
[She glances back toward the console unit before looking to him, smiling as she places her hand in his. His ideas can range from wonderful to humiliating and horrifying, but she has faith that this particular idea is going to be perfect.]
Show me.
[The second he moves, she's in line beside him. The nostalgic feeling of being in the tardis with him once again is nearly overwhelming. If it feels that way for her, she can't imagine what it's like for him.]
[ It feels right. It feels like missions and orbs and personal goals don't exist right now. That there aren't close friends who might betray one another, and there aren't another 50-some people to live and fight alongside. Not that any of those things are bad (well, except for the betraying friend bit, that one's inexplicably bad), none if it a regret in and of itself; it all just feels like a distant memory right now. It all feels so surreal.
Like this is the reality, and Ximilia is the simulation.
The Doctor guides her up the steps alongside him, hands linked together, and makes a hard right. His steps are sure but unhurried, leading them past closed doors and rooms upon rooms that Clara hasn't even seen before (and thus, they probably don't work). The doors are there but there's one he knows she should know too; they've gone in to have a look on those occasional Wednesdays in between planets and time travel, when they're in the TARDIS for a rest.
It's the equatorial room (or the observatory), the familiar old copper-coloured telescope fixed in its centre, its optical tube pointed upwards through a clear dark sky scattered with sparkling bright dots. An old leather couch is situated to one side, and a pile of blankets and pillows are on the other.
And it's here that the Doctor finally lets go of her hand to turn and face her properly. ]
The station has no stars, and I know these ones are just a memory — very well done, by the way — but we could pretend, eh?
[It doesn't matter to her if the stars are real. What matters to her is they're there, and he's brought her to this specific place because he knows that she'll love it. Her heart always longs to be out among the stars, but right now it belongs to him. So she spares a glance upward toward the memory of stars they had seen here together, but she looks back to him with adoration.
He's her entire universe, and now he's finally agreed to share a life here with her. She doesn't think she could possibly be happier than she is right now.
Her hand presses against his face, thumb trailing along his cheek.
Her Doctor. Always clever, always exactly what she needs.]
It feels real to me.
[When she leans in to press her lips against his, it's a tender kiss. Slow and unyielding, but not seeking to overwhelm him with intensity. She has to remind herself that he may run off if she presses for more. But kissing they've done, and kissing she knows he likes. Given the romantic setting, she thinks he won't mind a bit of that.]
[ The way he closes the distance between them, hands winding around her waist to pull her in against him while their lips meet, it's clear he's receptive. There really is very, very little he realizes he wouldn't do for his impossible girl, and the diminishing sands of time only make the moments like these feel precious — sacred. Not that he ever deigned to assume he'd live forever, no timelord really does (even ones who get an extra set of regenerations), but there's a little more urgency this time knowing that the moment he returns to his timeline, it really is all over for him in this particular face.
And that's all right, really it is, but it feels like there's really no better time (or no time left) to loosen the hold he'd had on some of the wants and desires he'd been keeping very (very) close to the vest. Things like love, and a humany connection to someone who very much means the universe to him, and the last of the time he has to help her understand just how incredible she is, how grateful he is for her, and how quintessential she'd become to his very existence. She is stitched into every part of his life; she'd saved him every time, and that is no small thing.
He kisses her then in hopes that she might start to understand just how deeply he feels, just how much he'd been keeping locked away, how much he'd been holding back from her for her.
He's a selfish, selfish creature at the end of it all, and maybe he wants her to know that too. He is hers, but she is his too. ]
[Maybe they're both a bit selfish, because Clara's aware that they're only together like this now because she had stubbornly refused to move on from her feelings for him. But now he's told her that he wants to be with her, he's agreed to try and make the most out of the time they have left. And given the way he's kissing her in return right now, there's no doubt in her mind that he truly does want her.
It's hard to deny his feelings when she's faced when them in such a physical way. He pours his heart into his kiss, making her murmur in approval low in her throat. Whatever he had been keeping from her before seems to no longer be off limits now, lips seeking and laying claim to her in a way that definitely leaves her feeling warm and a little weak in the knees.
Her touch slips around to the back of his head, fingers running through his hair. Keeping him in close with that hand, she uses her other to press against his hip. She starts to guide him backward toward the blankets, stopping about halfway.
Her lips are kiss swollen as she pulls back, but doesn't dare move out of his arms. She isn't sure she'll ever be able to leave them again, now that she's found her way into them. ]
I believe you were going to show me the stars? [She feels flushed, her cheeks warm and pink. Her tone makes it seem like it's a euphemism, but she's fairly certain she still has the ability to concentrate on the pretend stars overhead if he wants.]
[ The Doctor breaks away with a slightly glazed look in his eyes, like emerging from something of a trance — but the happiness is unmistakable when he smiles, remembering just what it is they came here to do when she prompts him.
He touches her nose affectionately and then reaches down to clasp at her hand, fingers winding with hers like he's adamant to never lose physical contact with her in this moment. ]
Do you remember this telescope?
[ He gestures towards it now. He wonders at what exact coordinates it's been placed; if he notes that, he'll know exactly which memory she's building off of. ]
[She asks him with a mock offended laugh, her hand squeezing his. Letting go of his hand isn't an option at this moment, not when it feels so right to hold hands doing just about everything. She leads him over toward the telescope, her other hand taking hold of his. It makes it easier for her to back her way over, pulling him along with her.
Rising up and leaning in, she steals another kiss before clearing her throat and focusing on the matter at hand.]
We used to spend hours here. I'd ask you to show me something awesome, and you'd come through each and every time.
[Because of course he did. He was always determined to impress her, right from the moment he showed up on the Maitland's doorstep.
Her hands pull free from his, and she goes over to steal a peek. It's set to show the stars in Victorian London, from the night they had managed to escape unscathed from Sweetville. That was so long ago now that it feels surreal to look up at it now. ]
Well, that's what they call me — King of Awesome. I rather know it when I see it.
[ The Doctor grins, teasing and cheeky, when she goes in for that kiss, and it puts him a little off his guard, the spontaneity of it, the way she doesn't quite think about it because it's come so easily to her.
He likes it, appreciates how simple and small an action it might seem in the grand scheme of their ... whatever it is they're calling this (he really doesn't know; he's alien, he's timelord, and he's been a husband, a lover, and boyfriend to a droid that one time, but this ... is none of those things), and yet they'd really only made it this far because of everything that had happened since they arrived on the Ximilia in their own separate agreements with the orbs.
He trails after her, staying close behind while she climbs the steps to peer into the viewfinder of the telescope. ]
[She answers after a moment's pause, finding the sight through the viewfinder to be bittersweet. Tonight is about finally coming together, and a part of that is remembering the past. But it won't do to dwell on it, not when it's likely one or the both of them can get a touch too sentimental over these sorts of things.
When she pulls away, she bumps against his body, pressing in firm to him. Typically it would be when she blushes and pulls away, or he might flail and run off. But her hand instantly reaches out, fingers curling around his wrist. And her feet remain firmly planted in place as she guides his arm to wrap around her. Her palm presses over his arm, and she smiles at the feeling of being so close to him.
It all may prove to be too much for him, the natural ease she shows in touching him. It's all still innocent, of course, giving him room to back away if he wants.]
But I think we have the future to look forward to now.
[ The ease at which Clara leans back into him, guiding his hands around her in the places they ought to go — he allows it. More than that, he pulls in close, finding that he likes this too, arms winding around her in an adoring embrace. When they'd been in this room the last time, gazing into the past (he can guess at what moment she might have remembered in particular), they'd been good friends. And she had still been a mystery, a question he was determined to answer. They had never been this close; they wouldn't have been caught like this. The Doctor wouldn't have let it happen, determined to let Clara have the most human life she was entitled to.
But this place has shifted something, and if that wasn't enough, his going home and coming back again at the very cusp of the end of this regeneration had him reconsidering all sorts of things he might never have considered before. Always incredibly selfish, he has to be very, very cognizant of what he wants and what he's allowed to have, and for the good of everyone else around him, make the conscious decision not to be.
But maybe he can have this one thing. Just this one thing, and he won't have to worry too much that it'll muck everything up. That it won't ... it won't ruin Clara.
He still thinks about it, of course, considers that the best thing he can do even now is to let her live her own life so the goodbye at the end of all this won't hurt so much. (Won't hurt him so much.) He already doesn't know how he's going to say goodbye to River again, and he's actually going to miss his older self quite a bit, and then there's all the friends he's made while he's been here: Kovacs and Newt and Alina and Rosinante ...
But if this is what Clara wants too ... then it's all right, isn't it? He tilts his head to nuzzle her at the crook of her neck and leave a kiss against her skin there. And for a moment, he just holds onto her, no words needing to be said.
[The silence that stretches between them isn't unwelcome. She's able to hear her heart pounding as he kisses at her neck, and she can just barely hear the sound of her fingers running through his hair as her palm presses against the side of his head.
With as connected as they are, with as in sync as they feel so often these days, it's easy for her to pick up on the fact there's hesitation on his part. She isn't sure if it's because he lacks the confidence or because he's still unsure, but it doesn't take away her confidence and her certainty. ]
We could lay out on the blankets. Just the two of us and the stars.
[Stars that aren't real but are still lovely all the same.]
See where things take us, maybe?
[It's not pressure, it's not a demand. But it's a start. A hint of desire evident in her voice, and the way her backside presses up against him just a bit more firmly. The thing with loving the Doctor is she has to coax him into things slowly. Then she knows once he's ready, it's all or nothing. There won't be holding back. But she has to quietly guide him to that point, hoping she won't cause him to change his mind because he thinks it's for her own good.]
He can feel the way she leans her weight into him, the delicate lines of her pressed in against him, and it's a good distraction from the darker thoughts that always hover somewhere just beneath the surface of his mind. He lets the feeling of her fingers in his hair overwhelm him just a touch, something perhaps to set his mind at ease and remind him that all of this is okay.
He'd told her he wanted this too, and it's the truth. (Maybe it's one of the few truest things he'd ever said aloud.) ]
We could. [ His voice is soft, but he still doesn't let her go right away, wanting to hold onto the warmth of her, the solidity of her in his arms. ] That's a fine idea, really.
[ With another kiss pressed just behind her ear, he lets his arms slide away from her and steps back. Presumably to gather the blankets where they're being kept. ]
[There's the softest exhale of protest as she feels him leave her, but she's quick to turn and see where he's gone off to. He gathers the blankets and she helps to lay them out, going over to grab some of the pillows to scatter about.
They quickly set things up and steal moments in the form of glances that turn to prolonged stares, which end in soft laughter as he sits on the blanket and she crawls over to him. ]
You know I'm not all that interested in the stars, right? Not tonight.
[Not with him here, not with the promise of good things to come for the two of them. Things on the Ximilia could often be hard. But they can make the most of them together, finding quiet moments like this one to make it all worthwhile.]
[ The Doctor lets out a chuckle, reaching out to graze the line of her jaw with a knuckle, just to appreciate her nearness and the fact that she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen in the whole multiverse — and then guiding her face towards his, he kisses her. It's very nearly chaste at first, a gentle press of lips, but it eases into a soft kind of intensity.
Truth be told, maybe he isn't all that interested in gazing at the stars tonight either. He feels ready for something else.
(But it's nice to know they're there, even in their simulated form.) ]
[She almost has the decency to look embarrassed by the fact that she's far from subtle. But even with a hint of pink to her cheeks, she won't be sorry for helping move things along. Not when his lips against hers feels this right. The slow and gentle intensity builds as they're comfortable with it, her fingers curling around his wrist.
Her thumb rubs at the inside of his wrist as she starts to feel warm, the feel of his double heartbeat beneath her touch a reminder that she definitely is capable of having an effect on him. Her own heartbeat seems to fall in line with his, racing faster and faster as they gradually build to something intense enough that she's the one who has to break away first.
Head turning, she presses her forehead against his cheek. Her breath is a bit quicker now, heavy and warm against him as her fingers idly touch at his bowtie.]
I need to know that you're not gonna regret this if we keep going.
[Because if they do and he does, she isn't sure she'll be able to handle the guilt. She never wants him to have a single regret, not when it comes to her.]
What's this, then? After everything it took to get us here?
[ It's a gentle admonishment, almost teasing really, but he understands the hesitation because in some ways, he feels it too. He doesn't want to be her regret either, to think that she's obligated to remain by his side when she'd rather go elsewhere. Be elsewhere. (Be with someone else, perhaps.)
The Doctor tilts his head to kiss her hair, and then lifts her chin upwards to look at him properly. He wants her to see the sincerity in his expression, something he doesn't offer to everyone. The Doctor often hides behind all sorts of masks, sometimes to protect those around him from those darker truths about life and the cosmos, but mostly to protect himself.
Very, very few have come across him and been able to see past that. Rarer still are those times when the Doctor allows it. He's leaving himself rather open now. ]
Clara Oswald, you would never be something I regret. Never.
[Allowing him to guide her head upward, her eyes meet his. And the look of open honesty that she sees there nearly takes her breath away. Words seem to escape her for a few moments, as she takes in the fact that the Doctor finally has set aside all his masks. He's letting her in, encouraging her to not shy away now.
Because he's right. It took them entirely too long to get to this point. Too many ups and downs, and she can't let him slip away now.
A smile slowly forms on her face, dimpled and full of love.]
Never. [She agrees, slowly leaning in closer. When she kisses him this time, it's with every ounce of longing and affection that she feels for him. It's slow, and painfully gentle, but this time there's no hesitation or worries of regret.
She won't be something he ever regrets. And she knows the only regret she could ever have in his case would be if they never got to experience happiness together like this. They've been through so much together, and have come so far. There isn't a need to be apprehensive now.
As the intensity slowly builds once again, her hand works at his shirt. One button after another is undone, until all that's left is his bowtie to untie. That's done slowly and with intention behind every deft motion of her fingers. When she pulls away this time, her confidence seems to have returned.]
No regrets for either of us, then. Not ever again.
[ The Doctor shrugs out of his now undone shirt, bowtie now a long length of dark blue ribbon left to coil by the first of their discarded clothing. What few scars he might have collected over the course of this particular regeneration appear to be gone with the reset, leaving his skin smooth and free of any flaws. More than that, the Doctor is surprisingly fit beneath the multitude of layers that make up his usual aesthetic; his chest and stomach reveal hard lines of muscle though he still remains slimmer and less defined than your average superhero. It seems all that running, dodging things, fighting aliens, and saving the planet makes for a decent exercise routine.
He dips forward to kiss her again, lips finding hers with what may come across as a surprising amount of boldness for someone who had run away at the idea of 'bed things' not so long ago. This time his fingers slide across her shoulders with surprising deftness to find the top clasp of her dress. He unhooks it and pulls the zipper down the length of her spine — it's slow and deliberate, all traces of that flapping, bumbling Doctor gone. Here is someone who seems to be rather confident in what he's doing, and knows what they're moving towards next. No manual required.
It seems there are still a few unexpected things to learn about him. ]
[She expects there to be fumbling, possibly even some stammering. She's fully predicting he might find a reason to leave and run off. When he slips off his shirt, she thinks he'll think better of it and leave her there to try and calm down on her own.
He doesn't, and she's completely transfixed by the sight of him. She's seen him before, all the way back on that Christmas so long ago. She had politely averted her eyes then. Clara doesn't bother doing that now, letting her gaze trail along his body. Her fingertips slowly map out the hard planes and curves of his muscles, palm pressing flat against the toned outline of his abs as he leans in to kiss her.
Gone is the Doctor she's used to handling when it comes to things like this. His confidence knocks her off balance, leaving her stunned as his lips against hers seek to reassure her that she's exactly what he wants. That this moment is all he needs, just her and him together.
She's left wide eyed and staring up at him as he works the zipper to her dress down ever so slowly. She can feel his skin against hers as his hand deliberately takes its time along its path, and she shivers as her breath hitches. She realizes then that maybe the Doctor is far more capable of sex and romance than she had thought. As her breath comes to her a bit heavier now, she licks at her lips.
Shoulders dip inward to let the top of the dress fall off of her, and with a motion of her arms it rests at her hips, barely hanging on. She leaves it there for now, enjoying watching his face as he takes his time revealing her body to him.]
The way you look at me, it's...
[With such open want and desire, like there's nothing that's going to get in the way of having her. Not anymore. There's no need to hide what he feels away from her. She can see what she does to him without any need for either of them to be guarded.]
You look at me, and you finally see me.
[And this is the first time she thinks he's allowing her to see the him that exists beneath the surface. He doesn't need to protect her anymore. She's ready to have him completely. She guides him in for another kiss, one so achingly slow and tender that emotion builds and catches in her chest. Her palm slides upward, resting over his double heartbeat.]
I think you're the first one who ever has.
[Her lips brush against his as she murmurs. She knows he can't bring himself to say that he loves her so openly. Maybe someday he will. But for now, that's an opening to put love into terms that are easier for a man with the weight of the universe on his shoulders to process.]
[ His voice is low, their mouths barely grazing against each other's when he responds. He folds a hand over hers, the double-beat of his heart feeling louder and quicker in his ears. ]
I see you Clara Oswald. [ He kisses her again. ] And you can see me too.
[ There's a definite weight in his words, the sincerity and truth that he allows them when he often spends so much time devising a careful and willful mask of sorts. Not always a lie, and oftentimes still very genuine, but always with some level of protection against himself. He would argue it's to protect others, but in more ways its always been to protect himself. There are so few who know the real Doctor, and Clara is seeing into more of that tonight than he's ever allowed anyone else to see in a very long time.
And this sort of thing, the intimacy of it all ... well, it's been even longer since that's gone about. But then time is always a bit odd when you're a time-traveling alien with your very own time-and-spaceship.
He lets his fingers trail against the edge of her skin as though to study her in ways he'd never done before, to raise goosepimples and a gasp from her lips, and no, he doesn't shy away from her near-nakedness either, church or no church. (And this really isn't a church moment.)
He drops a kiss over her shoulder then, as though touch through his hands isn't quite enough to complete his study; he needs to use his lips as well. ]
[There's something about the way he explores her now that makes her feel self-conscious. Not in the sort of way that has her shying away from him, but in the very real awareness that they actually have all the time in the world for him to explore her body. He'll know every dip and curve, every single scar and freckle. Her heart starts to beat faster, and her lips part for a soft gasp his his lips press against her shoulder.
He'll be satisfied when gooseflesh rises up over her skin, and she gives the slightest shiver. She reaches for him instantly, fingers pressing against his temple before sliding up to run through his hair. After a few moments she lets that hand slip away, ghosting touch down along his body on her way to take hold of his hand.]
Here. [She directs him gently, guiding his hand to where the fabric of her dress is bunched at her hips.] You'll be able to see more this way.
[Not that he already can't see plenty. But she's certain that the temptation of more will guide him.]
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How about that? He's far more sure of himself now. Not that he hasn't been gaining certainty and confidence with all of their other recent kisses. But this one is different. There's no hesitation on either of their parts, no reason to hold back any longer.]
About time you kissed me like someone you loved.
[She whispers as they break apart, reminding him of the time at Christmas when she had directed him to kiss her beneath the mistletoe. Things had been so different then.
She counts her lucky stars they're exactly where they are now. She has to take in a slow and steady breath, to keep herself from pressing for more. As much as she wants him, she knows he has to be the one to be ready and initiate. All she needs to do now is keep a level head.
Clara reaches up to give a bit of a tweak to his bowtie, chuckling beneath her breath as she does. And then she's turning back toward the console, hand going back to the lever.]
Pretend we're really in the TARDIS right now. Pretend, and tell me where we're going next.
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Sometimes the TARDIS has a knack of playing rather practical jokes on him, in fact. Like the time the mustard button wound up being ranch dressing. Horrible for American hot dogs. Definitely 0/10, do not recommend.
He eyes Clara from the opposite side of the console, just past the swivel-screen. He has a better idea, one she's sure to like; of that much he's certain. ]
How much of this TARDIS have you got mapped?
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He asks about the simulation, and she's left blinking a bit cluelessly back at him. What could he possibly be up to?
There's most every room I can remember. The safe ones, at least.
[Because there's plenty of them in there that aren't.]
Why?
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The Doctor holds a hand out to her, just like usual. Just like old times. ]
I have an idea.
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Show me.
[The second he moves, she's in line beside him. The nostalgic feeling of being in the tardis with him once again is nearly overwhelming. If it feels that way for her, she can't imagine what it's like for him.]
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Like this is the reality, and Ximilia is the simulation.
The Doctor guides her up the steps alongside him, hands linked together, and makes a hard right. His steps are sure but unhurried, leading them past closed doors and rooms upon rooms that Clara hasn't even seen before (and thus, they probably don't work). The doors are there but there's one he knows she should know too; they've gone in to have a look on those occasional Wednesdays in between planets and time travel, when they're in the TARDIS for a rest.
It's the equatorial room (or the observatory), the familiar old copper-coloured telescope fixed in its centre, its optical tube pointed upwards through a clear dark sky scattered with sparkling bright dots. An old leather couch is situated to one side, and a pile of blankets and pillows are on the other.
And it's here that the Doctor finally lets go of her hand to turn and face her properly. ]
The station has no stars, and I know these ones are just a memory — very well done, by the way — but we could pretend, eh?
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He's her entire universe, and now he's finally agreed to share a life here with her. She doesn't think she could possibly be happier than she is right now.
Her hand presses against his face, thumb trailing along his cheek.
Her Doctor. Always clever, always exactly what she needs.]
It feels real to me.
[When she leans in to press her lips against his, it's a tender kiss. Slow and unyielding, but not seeking to overwhelm him with intensity. She has to remind herself that he may run off if she presses for more. But kissing they've done, and kissing she knows he likes. Given the romantic setting, she thinks he won't mind a bit of that.]
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And that's all right, really it is, but it feels like there's really no better time (or no time left) to loosen the hold he'd had on some of the wants and desires he'd been keeping very (very) close to the vest. Things like love, and a humany connection to someone who very much means the universe to him, and the last of the time he has to help her understand just how incredible she is, how grateful he is for her, and how quintessential she'd become to his very existence. She is stitched into every part of his life; she'd saved him every time, and that is no small thing.
He kisses her then in hopes that she might start to understand just how deeply he feels, just how much he'd been keeping locked away, how much he'd been holding back from her for her.
He's a selfish, selfish creature at the end of it all, and maybe he wants her to know that too. He is hers, but she is his too. ]
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It's hard to deny his feelings when she's faced when them in such a physical way. He pours his heart into his kiss, making her murmur in approval low in her throat. Whatever he had been keeping from her before seems to no longer be off limits now, lips seeking and laying claim to her in a way that definitely leaves her feeling warm and a little weak in the knees.
Her touch slips around to the back of his head, fingers running through his hair. Keeping him in close with that hand, she uses her other to press against his hip. She starts to guide him backward toward the blankets, stopping about halfway.
Her lips are kiss swollen as she pulls back, but doesn't dare move out of his arms. She isn't sure she'll ever be able to leave them again, now that she's found her way into them. ]
I believe you were going to show me the stars? [She feels flushed, her cheeks warm and pink. Her tone makes it seem like it's a euphemism, but she's fairly certain she still has the ability to concentrate on the pretend stars overhead if he wants.]
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He touches her nose affectionately and then reaches down to clasp at her hand, fingers winding with hers like he's adamant to never lose physical contact with her in this moment. ]
Do you remember this telescope?
[ He gestures towards it now. He wonders at what exact coordinates it's been placed; if he notes that, he'll know exactly which memory she's building off of. ]
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[She asks him with a mock offended laugh, her hand squeezing his. Letting go of his hand isn't an option at this moment, not when it feels so right to hold hands doing just about everything. She leads him over toward the telescope, her other hand taking hold of his. It makes it easier for her to back her way over, pulling him along with her.
Rising up and leaning in, she steals another kiss before clearing her throat and focusing on the matter at hand.]
We used to spend hours here. I'd ask you to show me something awesome, and you'd come through each and every time.
[Because of course he did. He was always determined to impress her, right from the moment he showed up on the Maitland's doorstep.
Her hands pull free from his, and she goes over to steal a peek. It's set to show the stars in Victorian London, from the night they had managed to escape unscathed from Sweetville. That was so long ago now that it feels surreal to look up at it now. ]
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[ The Doctor grins, teasing and cheeky, when she goes in for that kiss, and it puts him a little off his guard, the spontaneity of it, the way she doesn't quite think about it because it's come so easily to her.
He likes it, appreciates how simple and small an action it might seem in the grand scheme of their ... whatever it is they're calling this (he really doesn't know; he's alien, he's timelord, and he's been a husband, a lover, and boyfriend to a droid that one time, but this ... is none of those things), and yet they'd really only made it this far because of everything that had happened since they arrived on the Ximilia in their own separate agreements with the orbs.
He trails after her, staying close behind while she climbs the steps to peer into the viewfinder of the telescope. ]
What do you see?
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[She answers after a moment's pause, finding the sight through the viewfinder to be bittersweet. Tonight is about finally coming together, and a part of that is remembering the past. But it won't do to dwell on it, not when it's likely one or the both of them can get a touch too sentimental over these sorts of things.
When she pulls away, she bumps against his body, pressing in firm to him. Typically it would be when she blushes and pulls away, or he might flail and run off. But her hand instantly reaches out, fingers curling around his wrist. And her feet remain firmly planted in place as she guides his arm to wrap around her. Her palm presses over his arm, and she smiles at the feeling of being so close to him.
It all may prove to be too much for him, the natural ease she shows in touching him. It's all still innocent, of course, giving him room to back away if he wants.]
But I think we have the future to look forward to now.
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But this place has shifted something, and if that wasn't enough, his going home and coming back again at the very cusp of the end of this regeneration had him reconsidering all sorts of things he might never have considered before. Always incredibly selfish, he has to be very, very cognizant of what he wants and what he's allowed to have, and for the good of everyone else around him, make the conscious decision not to be.
But maybe he can have this one thing. Just this one thing, and he won't have to worry too much that it'll muck everything up. That it won't ... it won't ruin Clara.
He still thinks about it, of course, considers that the best thing he can do even now is to let her live her own life so the goodbye at the end of all this won't hurt so much. (Won't hurt him so much.) He already doesn't know how he's going to say goodbye to River again, and he's actually going to miss his older self quite a bit, and then there's all the friends he's made while he's been here: Kovacs and Newt and Alina and Rosinante ...
But if this is what Clara wants too ... then it's all right, isn't it? He tilts his head to nuzzle her at the crook of her neck and leave a kiss against her skin there. And for a moment, he just holds onto her, no words needing to be said.
Not this time. ]
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With as connected as they are, with as in sync as they feel so often these days, it's easy for her to pick up on the fact there's hesitation on his part. She isn't sure if it's because he lacks the confidence or because he's still unsure, but it doesn't take away her confidence and her certainty. ]
We could lay out on the blankets. Just the two of us and the stars.
[Stars that aren't real but are still lovely all the same.]
See where things take us, maybe?
[It's not pressure, it's not a demand. But it's a start. A hint of desire evident in her voice, and the way her backside presses up against him just a bit more firmly. The thing with loving the Doctor is she has to coax him into things slowly. Then she knows once he's ready, it's all or nothing. There won't be holding back. But she has to quietly guide him to that point, hoping she won't cause him to change his mind because he thinks it's for her own good.]
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He can feel the way she leans her weight into him, the delicate lines of her pressed in against him, and it's a good distraction from the darker thoughts that always hover somewhere just beneath the surface of his mind. He lets the feeling of her fingers in his hair overwhelm him just a touch, something perhaps to set his mind at ease and remind him that all of this is okay.
He'd told her he wanted this too, and it's the truth. (Maybe it's one of the few truest things he'd ever said aloud.) ]
We could. [ His voice is soft, but he still doesn't let her go right away, wanting to hold onto the warmth of her, the solidity of her in his arms. ] That's a fine idea, really.
[ With another kiss pressed just behind her ear, he lets his arms slide away from her and steps back. Presumably to gather the blankets where they're being kept. ]
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They quickly set things up and steal moments in the form of glances that turn to prolonged stares, which end in soft laughter as he sits on the blanket and she crawls over to him. ]
You know I'm not all that interested in the stars, right? Not tonight.
[Not with him here, not with the promise of good things to come for the two of them. Things on the Ximilia could often be hard. But they can make the most of them together, finding quiet moments like this one to make it all worthwhile.]
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[ The Doctor lets out a chuckle, reaching out to graze the line of her jaw with a knuckle, just to appreciate her nearness and the fact that she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen in the whole multiverse — and then guiding her face towards his, he kisses her. It's very nearly chaste at first, a gentle press of lips, but it eases into a soft kind of intensity.
Truth be told, maybe he isn't all that interested in gazing at the stars tonight either. He feels ready for something else.
(But it's nice to know they're there, even in their simulated form.) ]
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Her thumb rubs at the inside of his wrist as she starts to feel warm, the feel of his double heartbeat beneath her touch a reminder that she definitely is capable of having an effect on him. Her own heartbeat seems to fall in line with his, racing faster and faster as they gradually build to something intense enough that she's the one who has to break away first.
Head turning, she presses her forehead against his cheek. Her breath is a bit quicker now, heavy and warm against him as her fingers idly touch at his bowtie.]
I need to know that you're not gonna regret this if we keep going.
[Because if they do and he does, she isn't sure she'll be able to handle the guilt. She never wants him to have a single regret, not when it comes to her.]
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[ It's a gentle admonishment, almost teasing really, but he understands the hesitation because in some ways, he feels it too. He doesn't want to be her regret either, to think that she's obligated to remain by his side when she'd rather go elsewhere. Be elsewhere. (Be with someone else, perhaps.)
The Doctor tilts his head to kiss her hair, and then lifts her chin upwards to look at him properly. He wants her to see the sincerity in his expression, something he doesn't offer to everyone. The Doctor often hides behind all sorts of masks, sometimes to protect those around him from those darker truths about life and the cosmos, but mostly to protect himself.
Very, very few have come across him and been able to see past that. Rarer still are those times when the Doctor allows it. He's leaving himself rather open now. ]
Clara Oswald, you would never be something I regret. Never.
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Because he's right. It took them entirely too long to get to this point. Too many ups and downs, and she can't let him slip away now.
A smile slowly forms on her face, dimpled and full of love.]
Never. [She agrees, slowly leaning in closer. When she kisses him this time, it's with every ounce of longing and affection that she feels for him. It's slow, and painfully gentle, but this time there's no hesitation or worries of regret.
She won't be something he ever regrets. And she knows the only regret she could ever have in his case would be if they never got to experience happiness together like this. They've been through so much together, and have come so far. There isn't a need to be apprehensive now.
As the intensity slowly builds once again, her hand works at his shirt. One button after another is undone, until all that's left is his bowtie to untie. That's done slowly and with intention behind every deft motion of her fingers. When she pulls away this time, her confidence seems to have returned.]
No regrets for either of us, then. Not ever again.
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[ The Doctor shrugs out of his now undone shirt, bowtie now a long length of dark blue ribbon left to coil by the first of their discarded clothing. What few scars he might have collected over the course of this particular regeneration appear to be gone with the reset, leaving his skin smooth and free of any flaws. More than that, the Doctor is surprisingly fit beneath the multitude of layers that make up his usual aesthetic; his chest and stomach reveal hard lines of muscle though he still remains slimmer and less defined than your average superhero. It seems all that running, dodging things, fighting aliens, and saving the planet makes for a decent exercise routine.
He dips forward to kiss her again, lips finding hers with what may come across as a surprising amount of boldness for someone who had run away at the idea of 'bed things' not so long ago. This time his fingers slide across her shoulders with surprising deftness to find the top clasp of her dress. He unhooks it and pulls the zipper down the length of her spine — it's slow and deliberate, all traces of that flapping, bumbling Doctor gone. Here is someone who seems to be rather confident in what he's doing, and knows what they're moving towards next. No manual required.
It seems there are still a few unexpected things to learn about him. ]
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He doesn't, and she's completely transfixed by the sight of him. She's seen him before, all the way back on that Christmas so long ago. She had politely averted her eyes then. Clara doesn't bother doing that now, letting her gaze trail along his body. Her fingertips slowly map out the hard planes and curves of his muscles, palm pressing flat against the toned outline of his abs as he leans in to kiss her.
Gone is the Doctor she's used to handling when it comes to things like this. His confidence knocks her off balance, leaving her stunned as his lips against hers seek to reassure her that she's exactly what he wants. That this moment is all he needs, just her and him together.
She's left wide eyed and staring up at him as he works the zipper to her dress down ever so slowly. She can feel his skin against hers as his hand deliberately takes its time along its path, and she shivers as her breath hitches. She realizes then that maybe the Doctor is far more capable of sex and romance than she had thought. As her breath comes to her a bit heavier now, she licks at her lips.
Shoulders dip inward to let the top of the dress fall off of her, and with a motion of her arms it rests at her hips, barely hanging on. She leaves it there for now, enjoying watching his face as he takes his time revealing her body to him.]
The way you look at me, it's...
[With such open want and desire, like there's nothing that's going to get in the way of having her. Not anymore. There's no need to hide what he feels away from her. She can see what she does to him without any need for either of them to be guarded.]
You look at me, and you finally see me.
[And this is the first time she thinks he's allowing her to see the him that exists beneath the surface. He doesn't need to protect her anymore. She's ready to have him completely. She guides him in for another kiss, one so achingly slow and tender that emotion builds and catches in her chest. Her palm slides upward, resting over his double heartbeat.]
I think you're the first one who ever has.
[Her lips brush against his as she murmurs. She knows he can't bring himself to say that he loves her so openly. Maybe someday he will. But for now, that's an opening to put love into terms that are easier for a man with the weight of the universe on his shoulders to process.]
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I see you Clara Oswald. [ He kisses her again. ] And you can see me too.
[ There's a definite weight in his words, the sincerity and truth that he allows them when he often spends so much time devising a careful and willful mask of sorts. Not always a lie, and oftentimes still very genuine, but always with some level of protection against himself. He would argue it's to protect others, but in more ways its always been to protect himself. There are so few who know the real Doctor, and Clara is seeing into more of that tonight than he's ever allowed anyone else to see in a very long time.
And this sort of thing, the intimacy of it all ... well, it's been even longer since that's gone about. But then time is always a bit odd when you're a time-traveling alien with your very own time-and-spaceship.
He lets his fingers trail against the edge of her skin as though to study her in ways he'd never done before, to raise goosepimples and a gasp from her lips, and no, he doesn't shy away from her near-nakedness either, church or no church. (And this really isn't a church moment.)
He drops a kiss over her shoulder then, as though touch through his hands isn't quite enough to complete his study; he needs to use his lips as well. ]
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He'll be satisfied when gooseflesh rises up over her skin, and she gives the slightest shiver. She reaches for him instantly, fingers pressing against his temple before sliding up to run through his hair. After a few moments she lets that hand slip away, ghosting touch down along his body on her way to take hold of his hand.]
Here. [She directs him gently, guiding his hand to where the fabric of her dress is bunched at her hips.] You'll be able to see more this way.
[Not that he already can't see plenty. But she's certain that the temptation of more will guide him.]
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