#whoufle

“Always bring a banana to a party, Clara!”

  The sound of the TARDIS materialising hadn’t managed to disturb her sleep, but the Doctor’s yelling certainly did the trick. Groggily, Clara sat up in bed and fumbled blindly for the switch on the lamp on her bedside table.

  “Or a spoon! People love spoons.”

  When the lamp finally illuminated the room, she was greeted by the sight of The Doctor with a banana skin slung on top of his head and a shiny metal spoon in his left hand. Clara didn’t know whether to laugh, or yell at him for waking her up. “You do realise it’s the middle of the night, don’t you?”

  “Of course it’s the middle of the night! No point in having a party in the middle of the day… that would just be silly.”

  “We’re not having a party! And-,” She paused, eyeing the man in front of her suspiciously. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

  “No- why, are you?” He stepped towards her at that – well, it was more of a cross between a stagger and a lunge than a step. She pressed her hands over her face and willed herself not to hit him with something.

  “I think we need to take you back into the TARDIS so you can sleep this… whatever you are, off.” As she spoke, Clara crawled out from underneath her sheets and moved towards him. He promptly stepped back and she let out a weary sigh.

  “Where have all your clothes gone?!” The shock on the Doctor’s face was enough to have Clara glancing down to check whether she’d actually remembered to put her nightie on that evening.

  “I’m wearing them.”

  He peered down at her as if to double check she wasn’t lying to him. “Oh yes… So you are. Not very many clothes though… I don’t really know why you bothered. I wouldn’t mind.”

  He was definitely drunk. Completely and utterly plastered. The Doctor – this Doctor – did not flirt. In fact, she wasn’t sure whether that was still counted as flirting, or whether he’d just plunged head-first into the realm of downright propositioning. For both their sake’s, she chose to let the remark slide.

  “Okay… I think it’s definitely time we got you back into the TARDIS…” She knew it was a long-shot before the sentence had even made it past her lips.

  “Oh, Clara! When did you get so boring?!” He was too busy rummaging around in her drawers to notice the glare she was shooting him. “You seem to have a thing for the colour red…” The Doctor’s muffled voice sounded from within the wood of her top drawer. Clara had been about to let the observation slide, until it dawned on her what exactly it was that he was referring to. Oh no…

  “You can’t just go rooting through people’s belongings like that! They’re private!” Her berating seemed to have no effect on him what-so-ever as he pulled a red lace thong out from the drawer and dangled it in front of his face. It was only then that she noticed he was wearing sunglasses.

  “They’re nice enough, I suppose… though I prefer blue myself.” After that, he tossed the underwear onto her bed behind him and proceeded to return to his prior rummaging. “Ah-hah! TARDIS blue! Now that’s more like it! An excellent choice if I do say so my-,” She cut him off with a whack to the back of his head with a pillow.

  “Ow! What was that for?!” When he spun around to face her, she hit him in the arm again for good measure.

  “Stay out of my drawers!” She exclaimed exasperatedly. God help her it was like dealing with a child. No… actually, he was worse than a child. Children she could deal with, but this? No- this was something else entirely.

  The Doctor held his hands up innocently. “Alright, alright…” He conceded – far easier than she had anticipated he would in fact. “Control freak.” He must have thought that turning his head to one side and muttering the remark would be enough to keep her from hearing it. It wasn’t.

  “What did you just call me?” She took a threatening step towards him. He had the good sense to back into the open drawer behind him.

  “I said-,” He broke off, swallowing slightly. “I said… I said you have nice feet! And nice hair… in fact, you look very nice tonight, Clara. Did you brush your hair?”

  “You called me a control freak.”

  “I did nothing of the sort!” Clara shot him another glare. “Okay- well… perhaps I did, but I never said it was a bad thing. Maybe I like a woman in charge.” She wasn’t sure whether the comment was supposed to be suggestive, but she couldn’t fight back the heat that crept into her cheeks all the same. Now was absolutely not the time to be letting her mind wander down that route…

  Clara suddenly became aware that The Doctor was rather intently staring at her – and his eyes weren’t on her face. Glancing down, she realised with mild horror that her nightie had slipped down during all the commotion, revealing the creamy expanse of the tops of her breasts. She pulled the material upwards in one hasty motion and fought back the increasing redness in her cheeks. It seemed to snap The Doctor out of his reverie, who promptly removed the banana skin from its precarious position on top of his head and tossed it over to the other side of the room. She made a mental note to bin it later.

  “Let’s play a game!”

  She shot him a withering look. “Go back to your TARDIS, Doctor. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  “The morning just won’t do. I’ll only get bored of my own company during the night, and she’s blocked me from flying her anywhere. I think she’s mad.” No, I think she’s trying to keep you from drinking and driving. God only knew where he’d end up in the state he was in.

“Alright… a compromise. You can sleep on my sofa tonight.”

  “Who said anything about sleeping? No time for that… Do you know how many hyper vodkas I had to drink to win these glasses?” He gestured to the sunglasses perched on his nose as though they were some sort of trophy. Clara had no idea what hyper vodka was, but by the look of things it certainly wasn’t water.

  “Something in me tells me it was a lot.”

  “Sixteen! Sixteen hyper vodkas, Clara! If you had sixteen hyper vodkas, you’d be dead. In fact, if you had six hyper vodkas you’d probably be dead… Or at the very least unconscious…” He trailed off, whirling on the spot and pushing the wooden drawer behind him shut. “Game time, Clara.”

  She stared at him then. Watched as bottom of his coat flared out briefly to reveal the red lining underneath. It wasn’t a bad look on him… bit magician-y, but she rather thought black suited him. And red. The red was a nice touch, and… focus, Clara. From the sound of things, sixteen hyper vodkas was an awful lot of alcohol for anyone to imbibe… and if she knew men, he’d probably want to sleep at some point soon (if he was anything like human men, he’d probably want to fuck too, but she clamped down on that thought before it had chance to surface). If she could just keep him entertained until that point…

  “What sort of game?” As soon as the question was out of her mouth, she knew she was going to regret asking it. The Doctor grinned at her manically.

  “Now that’s more like it! What have you got? Jenga? I do love a good game of Jenga… Or twister! Oh Clara, please tell me you have twister.” His eyes were expectant, if a little hazy, as he stared at her in question. She wanted to lie and tell him no, but against her better judgement she decided to humour him.

  “In the cupboard in the spare room.” He was out of the room like a shot.

  Ten seconds later, a twister mat with legs appeared in the doorway. Despite the fact that it was well into the early hours of the morning, Clara couldn’t help but laugh.

  The Doctor’s head peered out from behind the mat with a frown. “There’s no room on the floor.” He observed with a disdainful look at the carpet under his feet.

  “Well we’ll just have to take it-,” He cut her off before she could finish the sentence and threw the mat down on the bed.

  “This will do just fine.” He looked almost triumphant as he hopped up onto the edge of the bed, staring down at the twister mat.

  “I was just going to suggest that we take it down-,”

  “Left hand green!” She hadn’t seen him reach for the spinner. The entire situation was utterly ridiculous, but she resigned herself to playing twister on her bed until he gave in and fell asleep somewhere. She didn’t care if she had to sleep on the sofa herself, so long as she got to sleep somewhere that night. With that thought in mind, she climbed up onto her bed, crouched down and placed her left hand on a green circle in front of her. The Doctor eyed her for a moment before reaching out to place the spinner in her free hand.

  “Right foot blue.” Obediently, the Doctor stepped forward onto a blue circle and held his hand out for the spinner expectantly. She had to stretch to hold it up high enough for him to take. They waited in silence until the piece of plastic stopped spinning.

  “Right hand red.” When she glanced up at him, he was grinning down at her. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him, and extended her body over the length of the mat to place her right hand on the red circle to the side of his leg – giving him a very clear view down the front of her nightie in the process. She might have rolled her eyes at him had she not caught the heat in his gaze as he eyed her openly. Lust was something she’d seen on many occasion. Danny had looked at her like that on the occasions things had gotten a little heated on the sofa back when they’d been dating, and she’d seen it in the odd teenage boy back in high school, but the Doctor? The Doctor didn’t look like that… The Doctor didn’t look like that towards her. She wasn’t sure if he’d ever looked like that towards anyone… No, in 2000 years of existence he had to have been attracted to someone… There was no way he could still be a virgin. Did Time Lords even have sex?

  Her thoughts were interrupted by The Doctor clearing his throat above her. When she glanced up again, she came face to face with the spinner. “My hands are a little busy.” She pointed out with a glance downwards.

  “Use your mouth.” His voice had adopted a huskier tone, and Clara wasn’t sure what flustered her more – his words, or the way he’d looked at her as he’d said them. Suddenly twister had gone from a quick game to entertain a drunken Time Lord until he fell asleep, to a strange, seductive battle of wills.

  Never one to back down from a challenge, Clara raised an eyebrow and gripped the plastic spinner between her teeth. Her feeble attempt moved the contraption onto the next circle: right hand green. They both eyed the spinner for the briefest of moments, before The Doctor placed the cardboard down onto the bed beside him and craned over to place his right hand on the green square directly beside her left.

  Leaving his crotch positioned directly in front of her face.

  Clara tried not to look, she really did (or at least that was what she’d tell herself later when the Doctor was sober and she was wallowing in a pool of her own embarrassment), but it was extremely difficult to avoid something that was quite literally staring her right in the face. One peak out of the corner of her eye had her struggling to swallow the sudden lump in her throat.

  There were definitely more than a few similarities between humans and Time Lords, after all.

  Of their own accord, her eyes had settled unashamedly on the prominent bulge in the front of the Doctor’s black trousers. There was a voice somewhere in the back of her head that screamed at her to get up and leave the room immediately, to avoid the Doctor until morning when he’d be sober and decidedly less aroused, but it was driven out by a host of others screaming at her to make the most of an opportunity she’d only ever thought about in the very depths of night when there was no one else around to judge her for it. Her mind drifted back to his earlier command… use your mouth. Suddenly the temperature in her bedroom seemed to sky-rocket and the palms of her hands quickly became slick with sweat against the plastic of the twister mat beneath them.

  “I think this is the fifth time I’ve told you to put your right foot on yellow… but do feel free to continue with your ogling.” There was a lazy smirk settled on his lips as he craned his neck to look down at her.

  Clara blushed furiously in response. “I wasn’t-,”

  “Yes, you were. Don’t worry, I don’t mind.” She could have sworn he winked at her – either that, or she was the on who’d been drinking. She wasn’t sure whether she’d rather the entire situation was one big hallucination… Part of her was more than a little glad to think that it wasn’t.

  “Doctor-,”

  “Right foot yellow.” He insisted, and she only hesitated briefly before responding. Her weight shifted onto her hands as she moved to lift her leg up off of the bed. The sweat on her palms unfortunately had other ideas. Before she knew what had hit her, Clara was lying sprawled face first on top of a crumpled twister mat. Apparently her dignity was something she was going to be allowed to keep that night. The Doctor only laughed loudly from above her.

  Clara smirked into the plastic of the mat as she reached out with one hand to pull at his leg. In his drunken state, the limb gave way from underneath him and he came tumbling down beside her. She was in hysterics as he rolled off of the bed altogether and towards the carpet of the bedroom floor. Then he was clutching for the twister mat to stop his fall and she was dragged down off of the bed with him. They landed in a heap of limbs and laughter on the floor.

  She stopped laughing when she felt the bulge of his erection pressed against her stomach where they’d landed. Her nightie had ridden up during the fall, and now there was nothing but his trousers between his crotch and her bare skin. If the room had felt hot before, the heat seemed to be radiating off of the walls in waves now. She didn’t want to look up at the Doctor – didn’t want to catch the lust in his gaze that she knew full well she’d find there. She didn’t want to see him want her – not when he was drunk and didn’t have a clue what he was doing. If she met his gaze with her own, she was afraid of just how poorly her self-control would hold up.

  When she finally chanced a glance up at his face, Clara knew she needn’t have worried. There was no lust in the Doctor’s gaze; his eyes were shut tight as he slept soundly on the floor underneath her. Despite her slight sense of frustration, she couldn’t help let out an affectionate laugh. At the very least they’d now be spared the embarrassment of the morning after. God only knew how the Doctor of all people would react to finding himself naked in bed with a woman. She dreaded to think that he full well might have disappeared on her and never come back again.

  Quietly so as not to wake him, she pushed herself up off of the floor and rolled him gently onto his side. He was too heavy for her to lift, but at the very least she could make the floor as comfortable for him as possible. From her bed she retrieved a throw and a pillow and lifted his head to slip the latter underneath. The throw was then placed over his sleeping form before she moved to straighten herself up again. A hand on her wrist caused her to still.

“Clara…” The Doctor’s voice was little more than a soft murmur, but the tug on her wrist was as strong as if he’d been awake. She frowned as she gazed down at the slumbering Time Lord. Did he want her to sleep on the floor with him? It was a tempting notion… True, he’d probably awake and kick up a fuss, rattling on about how he wasn’t a hugger and that she ought not to have taken advantage of him in his drunken state, but she could worry about that in the morning…

  Resigned, Clara lowered herself down onto the floor and tugged half of the throw over her body. It took the Doctor all of two seconds to roll towards the heat of her body and drag her into the hard plane of his chest. She could still feel the bulge of his erection pressed against her from behind and felt an answering rush of heat between her thighs. It was going to be a long night.

    Pain was the first thing to greet her when Clara awoke the following morning. Sleeping on the floor hadn’t been a pleasant experience when she was a child, let alone now that she was an adult and bounced back far less quickly. She only had to move her head an inch to the side and another burst of pain shot through the muscles in her neck. She made a mental note never to allow the Doctor to coerce her into sleeping on the floor with him again. Said Time Lord was also nowhere to be found.

  Clara forced herself up into a sitting position in order to get a better look of the rest of her room, ignoring the protests of her aching muscles. She scanned every inch for any signs of life before concluding that he must have disappeared on her in the night judging by the absence of his TARDIS looming in the doorway.

  Suddenly she was struck with a sudden sense of dread. What if he’d left with the intention of never coming back? She liked to think that the Doctor would never do that to her, but if his memory of the night before was still intact then the embarrassment might have been enough to drive him away. With a groan, Clara buried her head in her hands.

  She was in the process of cursing herself for her own reckless behaviour when the sound of the TARDIS materialising reached her ears. The relief was instant and she sat bolt upright in order to get a better look at the doors to the blue box, waiting in anticipation for the front doors to swing open. She didn’t have much of a wait before the Doctor emerged carrying two cups of coffee in his arms.

  “At last, you’re awake. I thought you’d never get up.” He observed as he made his way into her bedroom.

  “I thought you’d gone…”

  “I did go, and then I came back. See? Really, Clara. You must keep up.” She shot him a glare.

  “I meant I thought you’d gone for good.” He glanced away at that and settled the coffee down on the top of her dresser.

  “Don’t be silly. Just went to get coffee. Why would you think I’d leave you?”

  “Because of what happened last night…”

  He frowned at that, and cut her off before she could elaborate any further. “Nothing happened last night, Clara.”

  “A hell of a lot of things happened last night.” She corrected stubbornly.

  “None of which require any further discussion.”

  She was certain he intended for that to be the stopping point, but Clara had never been one for letting things drop. “But-,”

  “Clara.” His voice had taken on an edge of warning.

  “No, don’t Clara-,”

  “Drop it.”

  For a moment, she considered obeying his orders. It would be quite easy to pretend that he hadn’t stumbled into her bedroom the night before, drunk and rather obviously aroused as he openly flirted with her until he eventually fell asleep on her floor. It would be easy to ignore the implications of his arousal, or the suggestiveness in every single word and touch he threw upon her, but Clara decided that for once she didn’t want to. Beating around the bush about it was only going to work for so long.

  “Are you really so afraid to admit that you’re attracted to me?” She began as she pushed herself up off of the floor and straightened out her nightie.

  “The only thing I’m attracted to right now is the notion of you shutting up.” He deliberately wasn’t looking at her as he spoke.

  “Really? Because last night you were having a rather hard time keeping your eyes off of my chest.” Clara thrilled in the way his cheeks tinged with red at the memory. She wondered if he could remember the heat in his gaze as clearly as the image flashed before her own eyes.

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, I was under the influence of a rather large quantity of alcohol.”

  She took a deliberate step closer to him. “Does alcohol usually cause you to openly invite women to stare at your crotch?” She’d definitely pushed him too far that time.

  In a flash he had whirled away from her. The coffee was left discarded on top of the dresser as The Doctor stalked across the room and back into the TARDIS. The wooden doors closed behind him with a resounding thud, and Clara wasted no time in hurrying after him.

  “Don’t even think about running away from-,”

  “What is that you want from me, Clara?! You and I were both present last night. You know as well as I do exactly what happened, and you know as well as I do exactly why I don’t wish to discuss it.”

  He was angry now. She could see it in the way his eyebrows cinched together, and the way his hands gestured erratically. “Because you can’t possibly admit that for even one measly second that you might have just the tiniest bit fancied me? Because the great Doctor couldn’t possibly go through the shame of admitting to being attracted to a-,”

  “Enough!” He turned on her then; a blaze of fury as he stepped towards her. “Is that what you want to hear? That I fancy you? That last night I wanted to tear that pathetic little night dress of yours off and fuck you until you screamed? That I probably would have fucked you if it hadn’t been for me falling asleep from all the alcohol? That I probably would have enjoyed fucking you so much that I’d have done it again, and again, and again?” Clara stared at him, speechless. When she still said nothing, he went on; “Because me confessing to any of that wouldn’t change a thing. I’m still not your boyfriend, and no matter how much you might want me to be, I never will be.” He was stood barely two feet in front of her now; his gaze piercing as he held her eyes with his own. “So, pray tell, Clara, what exactly is it that you want to hear from me?”

  She said nothing, again. Each individual word that had left his lips slowly registered itself in her head, comprehending in a jumble of thoughts that didn’t really begin to make sense, but that were enough to drive her forwards to close the distance between them and press her lips insistently again his. It was the best answer she could give.

  For a moment, she worried he wouldn’t respond. Still simmering from his previous rage, the Doctor stood stark still under the firm yet gentle pressure of her lips. It was when she moved to pull away that he finally reacted. Something in his head seemed to change – as though he’d been having an inner argument with himself and one side had finally won out – and it had his mouth pressing forwards to claim hers with a hunger she’d only seen the night before.

  In an instant, his entire demeanour had shifted. His frustration channelled itself into lust as his arms encircled her in their grasp; his fingers sliding to grip the silk of her nightie in tight fists. Clara could only groan under the force with which he tugged her into the heat of his body. Her lips parted under the insistence of his tongue as her hips pressed forwards against the hard outline of his erection. The Doctor grunted at that and hoisted her up into his arms. He had her back pressed against the book case behind them before she could so much as pause to breathe.

  Then his mouth was on her neck and she was shuddering in his arms. He worshiped the skin there; dragging his teeth down towards her collarbone and then pausing to suck at the skin above her pulse. She panted his name between a series of gasps, and briefly considered the thought that she ought not to have given into him so easily, but her hands were pushing his jacket off of his shoulders before she could think to stop herself. The Doctor was riddled with impatience as he tossed the offending garment to the floor. Then her fingers were on his buttons, shaking ever so slightly in anticipation as she fumbled with the first few.

  “Tear them.” He growled in her ear – and so she did. The buttons scattered across the floor of the console room as she snapped the threads with her fingers, exposing the wiry expanse of torso underneath. A smattering of grey hair covered his chest and her hands ran through it appreciatively, before swiftly pushing the crisp white shirt over his shoulders and down the length of his arms.

  His patience seemed to vanish altogether then. Suddenly his hands seemed to be everywhere all at once; her hair, her hips, her thighs, her breasts… and then he was tugging the garment hiding her from his view up towards her head. Clara lifted her arms and he discarded it without a second thought. She blushed under the unabashed lust in his gaze as he allowed his eyes to wander over every inch of her skin. He seemed to drink her in; mapping her to memory and storing her away for fear of never seeing such a perfect sight again. They seemed to stay like that for what felt like an eternity, before finally he stepped into her and crashed their lips together once more.

  This kiss was messier – all teeth and tongues and heavy panting. It was as though however hard he tried, the Doctor couldn’t quite taste enough of her, and it left a fresh rush of wetness pooling between her thighs.

  Finally, he let his hands roam over her bare skin. His fingers crept up the expanse of her thigh painfully slowly, and Clara’s hand tightened its grip on his hair to keep from reaching down to drag his fingers upwards and inside of her. She squirmed against him when he finally grazed the tips of his fingers over her clit. His chuckle of amusement reverberated against her lips and she thought to herself that she wanted to fuck that laughter out of him. The thought died in her head when his hand dipped between her thighs and promptly slipped his fingers inside of her.

  “Oh-,” was all she managed to gasp out as she clutched at any part of him she could reach. Her hips pressed forward, begging for more as he slowly allowed the digits to slip back out again before burying themselves inside her once more. On the third thrust of his fingers, she was a quivering, desperate mess.

  “Enough-,” One hand reached down to wrap around his wrist, tugging his hand away from her thighs. She didn’t want his fingers inside her – she wanted him. She wanted to feel him take her there in the console room before he came to his senses, or she woke up from whatever crazed dream it was that she was having. He seemed to sense her urgency and let his hands fall away from her in order to unfasten the zipper on his trousers. She pushed his hands away and set about removing the garment herself.

  When her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers, she felt him hesitate. She only had to glance up at his face to see him stood stark still, staring at her with a mixture of uncertainty and… fear? It was enough to give her cause for concern.

  “Doctor…” She started, watching as he turned his gaze away from her to focus on the wall to his left. “Are you afraid?” The question was tentative and her tone gentle. She wanted to coax him through this – not scare him away.

  He didn’t answer for a long moment, and then; “Terrified.” The word was breathy as it left his mouth in a barely audible murmur. Clara supposed she hadn’t given much thought to the consequences of their relationship for him. She wasn’t the one who would be left to live on alone when he died, after all. It wasn’t something that bore thinking about really.

  Instead, she reached out and placed one hand on his cheek. “Don’t be.” It was the best she could do as she used her grip on his boxers to tug the material down over his hips. When his erection sprang free, she didn’t waste time staring at him, but rather reached out to guide him towards the wet junction of her thighs. “I want you.”

  It was all the go ahead he needed. In one swift thrust of his hips, he was buried inside her, eliciting a sudden gasp from Clara’s lips. She allowed herself a moment to adjust to the intrusion before tilting her hips and pressing them into his experimentally. The Doctor grunted and proceeded to rock his own hips in reply.

  It didn’t take them long to find a comfortable rhythm. Nor did it take Clara long to reach the point where she was gasping for breath as she clutched and clawed at the skin of his back in her desperation for something to cling onto. His forehead rocked forward to press into her shoulder as her head fell back against the bookcase behind them. Three books had already made their way down onto the floor from the force of the Doctor’s thrusts as he drove himself into Clara time and time again.

  She could tell when he was growing close. His thrusts had taken on a jagged edge and her name fell from his lips in a series of unadulterated groans. Clara had tried herself to keep quiet, but the desperate thrust of his hips against hers had driven her to pleading his name. “Let go for me, Clara.” He growled against the skin of her shoulder as his teeth bit down roughly. One hand strayed from her hips to slide between their heated bodies, pressing his fingers to her clit and rubbing hard. She came apart with a cry of his name on her lips. He barely lasted a few more hard, shallow thrusts afterwards and he was tumbling over the edge into oblivion with her. His teeth sunk in her skin to muffle his moan of her name as he spent himself inside her.

  Struggling to breathe, he pulled back to gaze up at her a few moments later. The silence between them seemed to stretch on for a life time, and Clara briefly wondered whether she’d managed to ruin things between them for good, until The Doctor fixed her the slightest of smirks. “You ready to see some more planets?”