He falls asleep well after her - but he doesn't mind that she's accidentally fallen asleep on his bed, sprawled out and snoring softly. He thinks she looks cute when she sleeps, anyway. Her expression has turned all soft, peaceful, all traces of stubbornness and bossiness has dissipated from her face.
He wakes up to the sound of her footsteps thudding over his wooden floors, doors opening and shutting, the shower running, idly wondering if she's making so much noise in an intentional effort to wind him up. He's determined not to let her get the better of him, shoving a pillow over his head and rolling over, attempting sleep again. Attempting being the key word.
"Morning," he grumbles when she emerges, swamped in one of his shirts, damp hair wrapped up and bundled on her head neatly in a towel, looking impossibly chipper. Morning people. He thinks it's a crime to be up before nine. Especially on a Saturday. He's resigned himself to being awake now, however.
"Morning," she answers, flashing him a smile, one that confirms his suspicion. He's almost certain she's being loud and, dear god, enthusiastic on purpose. "I don't even know your name, you know?"
"Uh- John. People call me the Doctor, though."
"Are you a doctor?"
"No. Just a childhood nickname."
"Okay then, the Doctor."
She flashes him that grin again, and he rolls his eyes in exasperation, biting back a laugh. "Just Doctor."
"Okay, Just Doctor."
Right. So he walked into that one, he'll admit. Doesn't stop him from letting out a loud grumble and throwing his pillow at her, expression only softening slightly when she giggles.
"So what's your name?"
"Clara."
"Well, thanks for dropping by, Clara," he teases, voice dropping. He thinks he sees her eyes darken when he says her name - he makes a mental note to use that against her in the future.
Right now, however… he's still half asleep and she certainly knows it; he's unable to think fast enough to stop her taking control (and of course she does, she seems to have a knack for sensing his weakness). She's climbing on top of him, bare legs straddling over him, her skin warm and smooth against his as she rolls her hips against him sensually, every movement deliberate, not quite enough.
His fingers reach out to brush against her thighs and he's about to make a remark about how it's a pity there's a layer of fabric separating them when she's gone, throwing him a devilish look over her shoulder as she practically skips out the door, leaving him painfully hard and wanting.
Oh, he'll be sure to wind her up tonight.