A/N: Just a little idea I had when One showed Twelve his brandy in the christmas special and wondered who had drunk it.

I have no idea how to play poker and I studied the basic principles overnight. If there's anything that doesn't match the game, please let me know so I can fix it!

Enjoy :)

The Doctor landed at Clara's flat with the biggest smile stamped across his face.

He just couldn't understand why she hadn't responded his happiness with features that matched his own. Instead, he found her lying across her couch, her eyes wide and pupils dilated. Her face didn't please him at all.

"You're crossed. Why are you crossed? Did I accidentally forget my dirty laundry here again?"

Her face then turned from exhaustion to frowning. "Again? When was the first time?"

His nose unconsciously wrinkled as his hand followed to his chin and scratched his non existent beard. "Well... There was this time after an adventure and we were very very tired. My clothes just slipped from my body and next thing I knew, bang, they're lying in a pile in your bathroom floor."

Gradually, she rose to a sitting position. Her hands gesticulated and threw aside a puff of air. "Why didn't I notice it? Did you put a perception filter in it because I would clearly notice it."

He bit down on his nails. "You were dropped dead in your bed. I couldn't blame you, it was a very tiring day. So, I popped off in the TARDIS and went somewhere that doesn't matter. I spent days, if not weeks away. Only then it hit me like a lightning that I had left my dirty clothes at your place, so I did the only sane thing to do. I went back in time to a couple of minutes after I had left you and retrieved them. You were dozing like a baby. It was adorable."

It was so much information in the little time frame her head surely felt like it was going to implode. "Doctor, how many times have I told you already that watching people while they sleep is creepy?"

His jaw suddenly dropped and formed an o within his lips. He was quick to regain his composure, however. "Regardless. That's not the point."

"What is, then?"

"Your crossed traits," he clarified, although his tone sounded as if it was already obvious. "We've got to get rid of them."

Clara sank herself deeper into the cushions. "Come back another day. I've had a long day at school. I'm not in the mood to be chased by aliens."

He bent his spine forwards and held both her wrists each within his thumb and index. "What I have in my mind is a little more orthodoxic than that, actually. Come on, it'll clear your head off from school and whatnot."

Without much of a choice, she was pulled onto her feet and dragged inside the TARDIS. It was hard for her to follow his hyped and gigantic steps with her short tired legs, but she still managed to meet him by a corner of the console room – could she address it as a corner if it was a round room? She stared at him funnily.

"This, Clara," he started, opening a compartment she didn't know existed, "Is something I haven't looked at ever since my first body. Long before I ever regenerated."

Her eyes enlarged at the sight of what he held in hands – like he was holding the most precious thing in the entire universe. "Brandy? You want us to get drunk?"

His smile was twisted and sickening. "Yes—well I do have a high tolerance for alcohol, so you're the only getting drunk tonight."

"You'd actually have to drink to know your alcohol tolerance, Doctor," she mocked him, eyes narrowing to properly see the amount of dust building around the bottle. "How long has that thing been in there?"

"Ever since I was two days old, were it to compare to the human life span," he shuddered, "But you know what they say about booze. The older, the better."

Hesitantly, she agreed with a shift of her head. "Isn't there a thing as too old?"

He shot his shoulders up and down. "Heh. We'll know once we wake up in the morning."

Clara instantaneously rolled her eyes. "We'll feel like trash in the morning, Doctor. There's a thing called hangover."

He scoffed, for she suddenly sounded bonkers. "Don't be so naïve. As the advanced Time Lord that I am, I won't actually feel the effects of hangover. But, if I do wake up feeling ill, then we know this beautiful brandy has poisoned us."

She chose to ignore ever one of his words. "Given the state of this beautiful bottle of brandy, you've never come anywhere near it. Your alcohol resistance is inexistent. Prepare to feel like death once you wake up."

The sweet ocean inside his eyes turned into a universe of battling. "You're on, Oswald. I'll be the one holding your hair while you puke."

"Well, yeah, your hair is too short, no matter how much you let it grow—seriously, at least comb it from time to time, it's getting out of control. I don't need to hold them as your insides made their way out of you."

Arching his brows at her, he led her into the inner rooms of the time machine, not leaving any room for further bantering – he was already sure it would be brought back to surface once they—she was under the influence of alcohol. They settled in a cozy small den.

The Doctor placed the bottle and the cups at the table in the middle of the room, dropping on his back to a beanbag behind him. He watched carefully as Clara paced around observantly before finally sitting down at the opposite bag from him. He poured themselves the booze.

In an attempt to impress her, he sipped an entire shot of the brandy. He tried to keep a straight face on and failed miserably. He dreaded to look in her way and see the devious smile spread across her lips, but the sweet sound of her voice allured him, "It burns, doesn't it?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," he spoke monotonous and hoarsely. He cleared his throat, yet serving himself some more. "Are you just going to watch or do you actually intend to pleasure yourself from this twenty hundred years old whiskey?"

Daringly, she swallowed it in. Not entirely, however. "Don't want it to get to my head. Need it clear while we're playing."

He tilted his head, hardening his defenses. "Playing? What playing?"

She threw a hand of cards across the table. "Poker. We're playing poker."

The Doctor laughed evilly. "Oh, you wouldn't want to do that. I'm over two thousand years old, I've played my fair share of poker with the world's greatest players. You wouldn't stand a chance."

She blinked slowly, swallowing him in as she did. "Then what are you so scared of?"

Crossing both his legs and arms at the same time, he leaned back, "Bring it, Clara."

Clara shuffled the cards and then distributed them, five to each. The draw-pool was facing down right next to the bottle of brandy. The bag of chips that she found rotting in a desk in the corner of the room suddenly became a replacement for money, for she knew he didn't have any. She knew she would have to watch him carefully before he accidentally ate one of those.

He went first. He exchanged one card and sipped his drink right after. Clara did the same, joining him in his silent game of I can drink all I want and still remain sober. Regardless of the alcohol going through their veins, they both payed deep attention to each movement and feature displayed on the other's face.

After a few rounds, Clara stated, "I call it."

His nose danced in the air from one side to another until he finally revealed his cards. He smirked, "I've got a straight hand, babe."

Clara totally ignored his name calling, for she knew the alcohol was already starting to build up on him. Her face saddened at the sight and she was forced to show her hand. Her aim to take him for a fool succeeded completely. "Full house. You lose, babe. Drink it up."

He was perplexed with the results, forcing himself to take another shot. His eyes were slowly growing red but he refused to show any signs of tipsiness. It was his turn to shuffle the deck. "Don't you start glowing, Miss Oswald. I still shall make you beg for mercy."

They played a few more rounds, slowly ingesting the brandy as they played. The alcohol intoxication was the only explanation for Clara's suggestion, "Let's make this more… Interesting."

He glanced at her suspiciously. "I'm listening."

She placed her cards facing down to the table. "Let's turn this… Into strip poker."

The Doctor's face surely expressed the absurdness of her idea. "Clara…!"

Clara bit her lower lip seductively, clearly showing no signs of backing down on her idea. "I'm not taking no for an answer, Doctor. But hey, since I lost the last round, I'm more than willingly to show you how serious I am."

That was all she said before she discarded both her boringly patterned socks, throwing them next to where her long-lost shoes were displayed. The Doctor fixed the lapel of his tee. "Then I hope yo ain't ashamed of yo skin, Clara."

Which was a habited he had suddenly acquired. Drunk Doctor had a tendency to disconsider all the grammar he most absolutely loved and bring up his swagger talk, as he had called it.

Clara snorted and shuffled the cards once more. It took her a royal flush over his straight flush and a four of a kind over his three of a kind and the Doctor had lost both his shoes and his trousers. Was he at all uncomfortable, he showed no signs of it.

But she just couldn't miss the chance of mocking him. Shaping her brows into a V, she pondered, "Doctor, did you shave your ankles?"

It took his eyes an unreasonable amount of time to trace the part of his own body that she had comment on. He seemed surprised and delighted at the sigh. "Would you look at that, apparently I di'."

Clara took another shot to restrain herself from laughing even further. She was, however, caught off guard when he showed his royal flush hand, making her almost choke on her drink. "What—"

"I'm the king of the world!" his excitement was so big he jumped on his feet, arms high in victory. He only didn't expect his clumsy hands to drench his tee with brandy from the glass he held during the bragging. He made a face, "I guess my shirt is coming off."

She fought the urge to close her eyes to give him privacy as he undressed, understanding humiliation to be the main reason of their little game. "I lost, Doctor. It's me who's supposed to lose a piece of clothing."

"I know," he gesticulated with his free hand, this time careful not to spill the invisible content from his now empty cup. "But I don't wanna get a cold! Come on, pants off."

Struggling with her own limbs, she managed to get rid of her jeans, making way to her black lacy underwear. That didn't stop herself from saying, "I thought your superior Time Lord anatomy didn't allow you to get sick."

His mouth formed and oh with the absurdity of her accusation. "Clara! I'm only human! You can't expect me to never ever get sick—the cold of the shirt was really bothering me. I have sensitive skin!"

She tilted her head in agreement. "That's more like it."

The Doctor fell back to the floor. Instead of landing at his beanbag, he sat right next to her, placing the edge of his chin against her tight and rubbing circle motions with his thumbs on her. "Clara, it's so soft! How do you manage to make your legs so smooth and soft? Mine are so raspy! It hurts my fingers to caress them!"

Clara made a sound of disgust. "Really, Doctor, I don't want to picture you caressing yourself. Besides, I use body lotion. It does wonders to the skin."

"Okay, I'll try that," he spoke seriously, stinking his index onto his already filled glass and moistening his leg with it.

She gasped at the sight. "Doctor!"

"What?" he couldn't understand the reason of her scolding, "I'm doing exactly as you've told me!"

"You're doing it wrong!" she yelped, descending on her buttocks from the bean to the floor. She grabbed his glass from him and threw all the liquid across his tights. "That's more like it."

"Oooo, that's so cold," his voice was shaky. "Am I supposed to feel different? Like, some ground-breaking stuff is about to happen here?!"

"Does it feel tickling?"

"Tiny bit, yeah," he nodded several times.

"Then the ground-breaking stuff is beginning to happen. I say by the time I finish getting all of your clothes off, you're gonna have the softest and smoothest legs in the whole entire universe."

He clapped his hands eagerly. "This is so exciting, Clara!"

He poured himself some more and they were playing again. They both had the perfect view from the other's cards, but they were both too drunk to notice. Clara was taking another shot when he had the brilliant idea of trading their cards so he could have the better hand. And his victory was guaranteed and accompanied by his scream of happiness.

"Pop off your shirt, Clara. Show the world what you've got hidden in there."

She stared at him incoherently, "Um, breasts?"

His epiphany was ended by the dull of her voice. His climax was shortened when she got rid of her blouse and revealed her bountiful boobs, hidden underneath a bra that matched the color and fabric of her panties. His lips scowled at them. "That's boring."

"If they're so boring, then why can't you stop staring at them," she playfully alleged, not all uncomfortable as she should have been.

"They're very alluring, Clara!" he stated, almost offended at how alluring they were. "Your collar bones are like a pre-show, preparing yourself for what's about to come. Your sternum acts like a figurant, only decorating your skin and diving right in the middle of your boobs. And this cleavage that hangs around your breasts like a halo, guarding the pax de deux that your bosoms are about to dance."

"They are indeed a spectacle, thank you!" her ego was clearly talking.

He sighed, melancholically. "I bet they smell really good."

She pouted, "They're not supposed to smell as good as they look, Doctor."

"Nonsense, I can smell them from here. Oh, the sweet smell of pheromones…"

She pushed his head away with the palm of her hand, "Stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

It took him about 0.2 seconds to understand the double meaning behind her saying. He immediately broke into laughter. "Clara, you're so funny."

Having their previous conversation completely pushed to the back of her mind, she joined his giggling. "I really am, aren't I."

They carried on with it for a while until the Doctor spoke up, "Care for 'nother round of strip poker?"

She chose to ignore his weirdly emphasized words. "Nah. We both stand here with only two pieces of clothing intact. I guess it's a fair tie."

He strangely looked down at himself, realizing he only wore rainbowed briefs and a pair of pairs stamped with caricatures of Beethoven – he had custom made them. "When… I thought I still had all my clothes on…?"

She threw her feet onto his lap, expecting him to start massaging them. Of course, he didn't get the innuendo. "Nope. I fairly won them over. Well, except for that one time you just willingly decided to undress yourself."

"I did that?" he was unusually impressed, "Man, I am on fire today."

Clara served herself yet another shot. "Brandy has that effect on people."

He agreed with a tilt of his head, before attempting to get up. The result was catastrophic since gravity immediately pulled him back to the floor and he fell with his skull on her lap. All Clara did was laugh, neither of them caring of their state of undress and how close his mouth was to her hip.

"I don't think I can walk, Clara! Ever again!" he cried in pure despair, frightenedly holding her by the curve of her waist to prevent her from whirling along the rest of the room.

She sank her thin fingers onto his absurdly big sea of silver curls. "Don't be so dramatic. You're fine—well, you're drunk. But you're going to be fine."

Her words went in one ear and out the other. "Oh, I think I'm going to be sick. The cold brandy lotion has clearly made me sick! Can you help me get to my bedroom?"

"That's the price you pay for getting absolutely gorgeous skin," she clarified, faithful to her pledge. She wrapped her arm behind his neck, "Come on, up we go."

He didn't even complete sitting up before uttering, "Wait, are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, look at you! You're so petite! And I'm so big! I might crush you with all my body mass!"

She was clearly insulted by his allegation, purposely digging her nails deep into his skin as a form of punishment. "FYI, I am really strong. Your incredibly heavy body mass has got nothing on me."

"If you say so."

It was a matter of entire minutes before they managed to stand up. The Doctor leaned himself against her bare shoulders as she hugged his unusually warm waistband, for she knew he had no control over his own legs. The outcome was, obviously, disastrous.

They successfully took three steps towards the door before he started to overweigh her. Clara tried to remain in control of their balance, but it was a matter of seconds until he fell down, bringing her along. The Doctor landed on his back and she docked on his lap, in a sitting position, her back to him. The position made it seem that he was about to bone her from behind. The moan that escaped his lip clearly implicated that he already did.

When she realized the state of their nakedness and their position, she quickly glided to his side, also laying on her back. The floor was really cold beneath her, but her body heat soon started to warm it up. She bickered her lower lip, "That went well."

"Not at all," he clearly missed her sarcastic tone. "How about we just lay here forever?"

Reluctantly, she agreed, cuddling against him. "I think that's a good idea."

She used his bare breast as a pillow, throwing one of her legs around his waist, whilst the other tangled around his own ones. Her head fit the curve of his neck perfectly, and the Doctor wrapped his arms around her tiny body, working as some sort of human blanket. Although their intoxication had caused them to end up in that position, neither of them would willingly move again. Not until they were sober again, at least.

Perhaps alcohol granted them the courage to do things and say things to one another that they would never say or do in their sobriety.

A/N: Any feedback here or on twitter (dutiesofcare) is much appreciated :)