Santa Baby
A/N Oh fanfiction, it's been a while. Twelve/Clara has stolen my heart though, and after reading so many wonderful fics, it's only fair to add something back to the community. An idea I couldn't get out of my head after listening to this song on the radio the other day. Hope it makes you smile!
It's the silly crooning voices that he hears first. Ba-boom. They're swiftly followed by that clinking sound – what instrument even is that, a xylophone? – before the bloody crooners are back again. The Doctor looks up from his book and arches a grey eyebrow. What is she up to now?
The sultry singer launches into her song. Santa baby… The music unfurls from the console, wrapping itself sinuously around the control room. It's accompanied by the appearance of a small, impish woman, peeking around the corner of the door as she enters, coyly. Clara sings along, and my God, she's a sight to behold as she does. Warmth floods the Doctor's belly as he watches her, jauntily strutting towards him in her heels, her short black dress dancing around her thighs as she moves. Her hair is molten chocolate, framing her pretty face, and her eyes are dark as she gazes at him. She's made herself up to look just like she did on the Orient Express, he notices, with an inward smile as he realises she knew exactly what she did to him that evening in her 20s get up. Above all, her lips are cherry red, and there's a giddy smile in the corner of her mouth as she sings, pouting seductively. Anyone else, he thinks, would look ridiculous, trying to imitate this sexy classic. And although her performance is highly amusing, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't turned on.
Clara creeps ever steadily closer, slowly making her ascent up the stairs towards his wingback chair in time with the song's bridge. She runs her hand slowly up the length of the bannister, her hand light and firm all at the same time. He gulps. Come and trim my Christmas tree… She stops, runs her hands across her body, her palms flush against the black satin of her dress. The Doctor sits just the tiniest bit straighter in his seat. With some decorations bought at Tiffany's. He makes a mental note to purchase her a diamond at the next opportunity. To hell with it, a whole galaxy of diamonds.
She's at the top of the stairs now as the song nears its end. Hurry down the chimney tonight. As the strings slide, quick as a flash she drops to the floor until she's perched on the balls of her feet, before slowly snaking her way up again, twisting her hips. His hearts thump louder, yet he keeps his appearance cool, one eyebrow still raised in wry interest. Hurry down the chimney tonight. She slinks to his side now, spins round the back of his chair, trailing her fingers across the leather. He barely turns his head, following her out of the corner of his eye, as if every inch of him is not attuned to her precise position. Hurry….tonight. On the beats, she throws herself onto his lap, crosses her legs over each other, and leans back to kiss him, her arms around his neck. Instinctively, he drops the book immediately and cradles her in his arms, returning her kiss.
She pulls back, and quirks an eyebrow at him, waiting.
The Doctor shakes his head at her. "And what, pray, was that in aid of?"
She grins. "You, of course."
"You know I hate that song."
"No, you don't," she pouts. "You like it to an unsettling extent."
"I could say much the same thing about my feelings for you," he growls, and she giggles in return, sliding a hand up to tangle in his silver curls, and pulling his mouth back down to hers.