He can see his brother, bent slightly away from him, head tilting back to peer over the couch to catch a glimpse at the woman moving about in their kitchen and he sniggers, raising a hand to slap his arm and gesture at the television, "You're about to get shot," he supplies.
Eleven is flustered and he gives a shake of his head, holding the controller in his hand tightly before refocusing on the game and… gets shot in the head. "You know I'm rubbish at this game," he tells Ten with a look of dissatisfaction on his face.
"Yeah," Ten says slowly, "I bet there quite a few other games you'd rather be playing. Bit of football in the park with your mate Craig; spot of knitting with our Gran; load of snogging in the kitchen with..."
The green eyes in front of him widen and his brother shifts, turning to clamp his hands onto Ten's mouth, wrestling with him a moment before Clara calls out, "You boys alright out there? I told you if the game got too rough, I'd put a stop to it and make you help me cut carrots."
"Would you like to cut her carrots, Eleven?" Ten teases.
"You shut it," Eleven spits back, throwing himself back into the cushion.
"Well," Ten starts, "You haven't stopped looking at her since she got here. What'd you call her on accident, over the phone when you invited me over? Your Clara? You're aware she's not a possession, not something to be purchased or owned or…"
"I said shut it," Eleven replies blankly. He points, "Don't start with me or I'll give Rose a ring, see if she'd like to know you're having dinner with another woman."
At that, Ten turns to give him a glare, "Don't bring her in on this. Don't you dare."
"Why not, mate?" Eleven smiles, knowing he's hit a soft spot, "You plan on telling her how you feel this week… or are you waiting for the sun to burn out?"
"You know things with Rose are complicated," he replies, jaw jutting out slightly as he looks away, "Besides, I doubt you've brought it up with your Clara."
"She's a friend," Eleven asserts.
"Not in that skirt," Ten replies, eyebrows rising as he sighs.
"Oi!" Eleven shouts.
"Yeah?" Clara calls.
"No, not you," Eleven hisses.
"Sorry," Clara tells him, voice even.
Eleven turns on the couch, lifting himself on his knees to look at the woman staring at him, head tilted slightly to try and evaluate him as he raises a hand, "Didn't mean it like that, just…"
"Brother bothering you; can hear you guys making a fuss – do I need to come over and settle something?" She smiles at him and he grins back easily, brow softening until Ten pokes him in the ribs.
"Tell her you'd bake her soufflé," he whispers.
Eleven drops back onto the couch, one leg bent underneath the other and he admits, "Look, it's not like with you and Rose – waiting for your fear to dissolve while rekindling it at every glance; there just hasn't been the right moment, always something coming up… and you know how women are – I can't just strut into the kitchen and tell her I love her, it's got to be right. Right place, right trip, right set of circumstances."
With a knowing smile, Ten allows, "Then you're stuck in the same predicament as I am, brother, whether you realize it or not and you know we're both fools." He waits, watching his brother frown because he knows what he's going to say, "They'll find other blokes – ones just enough like us, without all the baggage; or ones that are nothing like us at all – whole new being just appear out of nowhere and sweep them off their feet."
"Maybe we should stop being idiots then," Eleven argues.
Nodding slowly, Ten cocks his head quickly on an inhale to say, "Genetic defect, I'm afraid."