I have absolutely no idea where this idea came from but I got it a few days ago - before the Christmas special aired. Maybe it was my coping mechanism that kicked in, haha. I don't know - let me know what you think and enjoy!
The Doctor was always fascinated by how humans would apply coloured powder and compact whiteboard markers to their faces – he didn't understand the concept. Well, he did – actors use cosmetics to alter their appearance so that they could play a character but what about people who aren't actors? What was the point of it? Won't they look silly?
The thought had kept him awake – it wasn't that he needed sleep anyway but the fact that Clara Oswald was asleep right now prevented him from doing other things, so he was confined to bed, pondering about cosmetics and the word 'makeup'.
Just a few hours ago, his understanding of makeup was simple – those funny looking coloured pencils, compact powder, three large mirrors, lipstick or compact whiteboard markers as he called them since the latter was a more accurate description of what it was and paint brushes.
Of course, there's the term 'make up' which means reconciliation – burying the hatchet, forgive and forget, and make peace. Simple.
However, just a few hours ago, make up had a hidden meaning. Sure, it was reconciliation, but it was more than that. Reconciliation wasn't the only thing he and Clara had done.
The Doctor couldn't even remember what they were 'forgiving and forgetting about' … oh, that's right! It had all started when he dropped by in her tiny little flat – how on earth was she able to live in such a tiny space still amazes him.
"Clara, Clara, Clara," the Doctor exclaimed as he ran out of the TARDIS. He had been trying to find the perfect holiday destination for them and finally found one – a quiet beautiful beach in Quadro 10 which was specifically reserved for him after he saved the planet from being blown to pieces. Just him and Clara spending their time together and kissing. Oh, how he loved that particular physical contact!
He found her sitting on the sofa, a stack of papers was on the coffee table and Clara was holding a pen that was about to run out of red ink. "Doctor, I would love to go on an adventure with you right now, but I have to mark my students' coursework – I need to finish these before the Christmas break," she explained.
He examined her face carefully. "There are bags under your eyes, lips dry, you seem moody – are you suffering from menopause?" he asked automatically without thinking. "I know humans suffer those at the age of fifty, but you don't look that old."
Clara was not only shocked but offended by what the Doctor had said. She was dead tired, stressed and now there's an idiot Time Lord in her flat insulting her.
"I am not suffering from menopause!" she snapped. "How dare you insult me like that!"
"That's not what I meant!" the Doctor said, eyes wide with panic. That wasn't what he meant at all. He was merely making an observation. He thought he would be fine without those cards, but it would seem he still needs them.
"What are you trying to say, then?" she asked impatiently, arms crossed. Despite being taller, the Doctor couldn't help but feel as if she was towering over him.
He was silent for a moment, trying to think of the right words until he was able to construct the proper sentence when he remembered a quote from a random TV show. "Is it that time of the month again?" he said but it sounded more like a question rather than a statement.
Her mouth dropped before she let out a growl before marching to her bedroom and slamming the door shut before locking it. The Doctor immediately ran to the door and tried to open it and just as he was about to take out his sonic sunglasses, he heard her say, "Don't you dare unlock my door or I will break your sunglasses in half!"
He immediately put them away. "Clara, I didn't mean to offend you – I just remembered that quote from a TV show… I'm not entirely sure what it means now, but what I meant to say was: are you having one of those bad days?"
He heard the door click before it slowly creaked open.
"I'm sorry if I've upset you," he murmured.
"And I'm sorry for lashing out – I'm just stressed that I have to mark all those assignments and hand them back tomorrow morning," she said before hugging him, burying her face in his chest.
"So just to be clear, you're not suffering from menopause?" he asked innocently. "Because your behaviour is consistent with signs of menopause – read about it in an article."
"You're an idiot," she hissed before freeing herself from his embrace. Why did he have to ruin the moment?
"I don't understand what I'm doing wrong!" he said frustratingly. "I was just asking a simple question! All I wanted to do was take you on holiday!"
They glared at each other for what seemed like minutes until she suddenly grabbed the lapels of his jacket and crushed her lips against his before pulling him into the bedroom.
The Doctor couldn't help but notice that there was something different about this kiss – it was desperate, hungry, passionate, something which he couldn't really think of. He couldn't since he could Clara removing his jacket, unbuttoning his shirt.
His hands seemed to have minds of their own as hey started unbuttoning her blouse.
He pinned her against the mattress before kissing her neck.
He didn't know what the hell this was called. This was no ordinary sex, unlike what they've had before.
Hours ago, he later found out what it was called. Make up sex and was it wonderful – not the arguing bit, of course – just the sex. He had a whole new understanding of the term 'make up' now.
"Doctor, stop thinking so hard and sleep - I can hear you think," Clara murmured as she snuggled deeper into his embrace and placed a hand on his bare chest.
"Sleep," she instructed.
He kissed her head, cracking a smile. "Yes, boss," he answered before shutting his eyes.
There's makeup which humans, commonly female humans, use to alter their appearance and then there's makeup which was what they had done just a few hours ago. He definitely likes the new definition of it. What a funny language.