A/N: Just a cheeky, quite strong T-rated oneshot set post The Crimson Horror (which, can I say, is one of my favourite dw episodes so far). Can I also say... so close to two hundred reviews. Guess what. Whoever my 200th reviewer is I'll dedicate my next oneshot to. Hope you enjoy! Whouffle love xx

Don't forget to review :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who.

Other Ways

In which the Doctor helps Clara with a number of things.

"Doctor!"

The Doctor's ears prick at the sound of his name, dragging his attentions away from fixing the TARDIS parts beneath the platform of the control room and removing the goggles he has over eyes to perch on his forehead.

"Doctor, kind of need some help here!"

He can't help but grin and roll his eyes when its Clara's voice he hears (as if it was anyone else) - always had something or other wrong with her, either the TARDIS was tricking her up ('Hey, I definitely did not leave those shoes there') or he'd left the toilet seat up again ('Seriously, I thought this ship was infinite, yet I always end up in the bathroom that you've done your business in!').

Yet, however trivial, he always seemed to end up by her side and aid her eventually. Why was that? She definitely did not need assistance when putting the toilet seat into its original position nevertheless he went along anyway, did a thing with the seat, and endured a rollicking from her as she explained in great detail just how very annoying that action was and how he should never do it again.

So he drops the mess of wires he's pulled from the control panel and lets them dangle freely; giving his ship a friendly tap and a promise to fix it all up later when he's assisted Clara with whatever trifling issue she's after this time.

"Where are you?" he yells out as he clambers into the main part of the control room. So much easier just to shout than go looking for her, which can take hours and make her even more livid than she already is.

(He knows this from experience. He prefers not to recollect the time Clara got trapped in The Hat Emporium when an avalanche of fezzes bombarded the only exit; and he'd forgotten exactly where The Hat Emporium was at that very point in time.)

"My room!" she yells back in response, and he can't help but feel a little relieved because he knows exactly where her room is, no question about that.

-x-

It's not long before he's twisted round two corridors and down a ladder and he finds Clara's bedroom; the one with the blue door which she demanded was painted crimson so he obliged, even though he could've asked the TARDIS to make her a new room with the red door as she'd wanted.

He steps into the doorway to find Clara sitting on her bed, still dressed in her Victorian attire (they'd came home from Yorkshire a while ago now and, to be honest, he'd expected her to be back in her normal clothes by now) and her hair still in that magnificent array of curls which he liked rather a lot.

He's confused as to what's wrong with her as she looks perfectly fine on the outside; but he's known Clara long enough to realise just because her exterior looks okay it could still mean she's fuming on the inside.

"Ay-up love, do you need some help there, Mrs Smith?" he says in his comical Yorkshire accent which he has to admit, is rather proud of. Very convincing.

She smiles sweetly and flutters her eyelashes. "I need you to remove my clothes."

His eyes suddenly widen at her request and he's extremely taken aback- sorry, what? Clothes? Remove? Need? Three words he did not expect to be put together in a sentence ever. He didn't do that, did he? No, no definitely not… Did he?

His absolutely astounded expression makes her burst into laughter, her brown eyes dancing. He can't really understand here humour. Was it only him that heard the words remove my clothes? There was nothing funny about that. It was outrageous! He couldn't believe she'd ask such a thing. How very ridiculous! Very, very ridiculous…

"Not in that way, idiot!" she teases, pointing her finger with her words, "Although, that thought process did enter your brain, so I'm beginning to question what your intentions are there mister…"

He clamps his mouth shut and gives her that look. You know the look. The look which means oy you shut up I am a time lord I don't do that thing thank you very much yet also means but I'm doing this look because you're absolutely right like always and I do not want to admit it.

"Shut up!" he says, making her giggle even more. There's just no use with Clara anymore. He's blasted all his innocence (which was incredibly precious to him) out the water as soon as she'd set foot in the TARDIS. "You were the one who said you wanted me to take off your clothes!"

"And I do," she adds as she lies back onto the bed, "Because this bustle is hell to try and remove without assistance."

And he looks at her, just for a moment, and he's sees someone else who isn't her yet is-

"My bustle is stuck!"

"Your bustle?"

And in those moments he feels so heartbroken because she was his Clara yet she was completely different and-

"I've got underwear on underneath, no need to look at me like that!" she gestures towards his current facial expression, which she of course still thinks is about the whole clothes scenario. He instantly snaps out of it, slapping his cheek with his hand, blowing those memories away with the dust at the back of his mind.

He shakes his head with a grin and rushes over to her side, where he tries to hide how very awkward this situation is while he's sliding his arms up her skirt to try and unclip the bustle from underneath. The bustle (which the TARDIS had created especially for Clara for easy fitting as bloody hell, neither of them could understand how an actual bustle worked) had so many clips and flicks in order to attach firmly to Clara's waist that it took him several minutes to detach it- him trying his best not to brush his hand on her thigh as it would knock up the awkwardness (or the sexual tension DAMN IT STOP NOW) by about a thousand kilowatts.

"Are you okay down there?" she asks before adding with a smirk, "Enjoying yourself?"

His head instantly emerges with a scowl plastered all over it. She definitely knows how to push his buttons. "I've seen space-age technology which is less complicated than this thing!"

She winks, "Whatever you say."

He gives her another look before submerging again underneath the satin and after another few screws and an 'aha!' later he's back, holding the nasty looking entrapment in his grip.

"You actually wore this?" the Doctor screws up his face at what looks like a cage for some sort of rabid animal. "You know, I understand many things, but I will never understand fashion."

Her eyebrows instantly flick up as she looks over at him. "Clearly."

Damn it!

Next up on the things he has to remove is the upper apart of the gown- which he knows she could probably do herself, but he still lets his long and inelegant fingers dance down the buttons positioned on the front and he opens them with ease. She flings this part onto the bed along with the rest of her skirts, until she's left with just her petticoat and her corset.

She turns around so her back is facing him; and all he can see is her bare neck and a row of ribbons which she beckons him to untie.

"As quick as you like," she says, "Because this thing is bloody tight and I'll feel more comfortable when I don't think I'm going to faint at any second."

But he's not really listening to her anymore, because he's so distracted by that beautiful, bare skin which he's definitely not usually distracted by. In fact, he's never really noticed it before, and he doesn't really know why because it's a bit perfect.

A stray curl, escaped from her up-do, dangles across this flesh so he brushes it away and behind her ear in this swift, intimate action. And, just like that, she's silent: like she felt something or other that she can't really explain.

And before he's realising what he's doing he's stroking his middle finger down from her neck, over this smoothness, until it reaches the beginning of the corset.

"Sorry!" he coughs, quickly beginning to untie the mass of ribbons but getting them knotted up because damn he's just so distracted by this skin that he just needs to-

"It's fine," she says, before brushing his own hands away and the corset falls off, and bloody hell she's just standing there with barely anything on. At all.

She turns around and presses her hands on his shoulders and he just looks at her, not sure whether to push her away because this is definitely not what time lords do or pull her in because even time lords do this sometimes.

"Can you help me with my hair?" she asks him, and that's a question he did not completely expect her to come out with.

"Um. Yes! Yes, definitely," he babbles as he points to her chest, "But can I, uh- you seem to appear to be lacking in, uh, clothes, as of present-"

She shakes her head before kissing him; perching on the very edge of her tiptoes in order to reach his lips and brush a very chaste and quick contact with them. "Silly, there's other ways to help me with my hair, you know…"

And, before he knows it, a half-naked Clara Oswald has him backed onto the bed and is casually ripping his clothes off and kissing him simultaneously.

Well. That's one way to sort out her hair.