Clara Oswald sits upon his lap, her legs wrapped around him and her lips trailing down his neck to the collar of his shirt. She feels so soft under his hands, delicate and vulnerable. When she pulls away, her honey colored eyes scan his face. She resembles a porcine doll whose features had been carefully painted on by a steady hand. Her lips are full and her cheeks are splayed with a natural blush. Her chest rises and falls in time with his heart beats, and he feels hypnotized. She is all of time, space, and the universe to him, and yet, with all that power, she just sits on his lap, studying his face.
"Clara..." He whispers, his voice trailing off into the void, husky and thick.
Her lower lip disappears behind her upper teeth as her eyebrows knit together in thought. His hearts begin to beat faster.
"I want you," She says softly after a long pause, her hands now holding onto his. The subtle light of his bedroom makes her almost have a glow about her. He could have mistaken her for an angel if he believed in such creatures.
He swallows, his several layers of shirts suddenly feeling restrictive. He hopes beyond all hope she does not notice how much he is trembling. He wants her too, but the words will not fill his mouth; His tongue is a desert.
Somehow she seems to understand his silence. She lets go of his hands and begins to stroke his hair. He tilts his head ever so slightly and their lips meet.
He is the most alive he has ever been in that moment. He can smell her subtle perfume and feel every little movement of her lips against his. He dares to close his eyes, savoring her, but instantly misses looking at her. He brings his hands to her back and rests them upon her silk blouse. He begins to tear up from how much he loves her, and adores every inch of her.
'I'm scared,' He thinks. 'I'm scared because you always disappear.'
He tries to memorize what each finger feels like as it traces down to the hem of her shirt and grazes upon the skin beneath. He desperately clings to each thought of how her nerves sing as he parts her lips with his tongue and the feeling of her pressing into the kiss as if she could never have enough.
'I'm lost, Clara.' The Doctor's mind continues. It takes some strength to push away the sudden panic he feels.
Clara gently pulls away and reaches to take off her top. She is wearing a white bra with cherry blossoms subtly stitched into the fabric. He swallows. His hand reaches to cup her breast over the bra, running his thumb over the top of her skin. He watches as the blood rushes to the spot, and she lets out a small whimper.
He brings his lips to her collar bone, kissing it and lingering as Clara begins to tug at his hair. The sensation trickles down his spine and spreads warmth and need through his body. He wants to speed up but he also just wants to touch her, learn every piece of her, and stay with her. Forever.
"Doctor..." Clara whispers.
Oh yes, he wants her more than he wanted to reach the brightest stars and the biggest planets. He wants to keep her close and do his best to fulfill her every whim and need. He wants to marry her.
He is about to kiss her mouth again, but the image of her under his hands, calling his name and breathing, began to fade. He tries to hold onto her. He cannot.
The Doctor's eyes begin to flutter open, and he is sat in his chair in the TARDIS. The ship hums around him and he is so very alone. He tries to remember his dream, it had been a good one. The woman missing from his memories had been in it. He knows because he can't picture her face no matter how hard he tries. He wipes at his eyes and finds tears.
'How curious...' He thinks. His hearts ache.