Clara staggered out of her bedroom and towards her kitchen, with one burning goal on her mind…to make a cup of tea so strong it would drive every last bit of sleepy fuzziness out of her brain. She'd gotten into bed quite late the night before, but due to her sometimes scrambled sense of time she had no idea how long she'd gone without sleep before retiring for the night.
As she passed through the living room towards her destination, her eyes focused on a pair of considerably large, black-stockinged feet hanging over the end of the couch. From the depths of said furniture, a gentle snore could be heard. Clara grinned as she leaned over the couch to view her overnight guest—the Doctor himself, stretched out in deep sleep, one arm draped across his tousled head and the other resting across his stomach. As she watched he smiled in his slumbers, and murmured something unintelligible. She smiled in return; glad to see he was relaxed and comfortable.
Once in the kitchen, she tried to be as quiet as possible, getting her tea ready and then tiptoeing past her sleeping Time Lord. His continued snores reassured her that she hadn't disturbed his rest. Heaven only knew how often he got it.
She dressed quickly, putting together a casual outfit of a long-sleeved cotton top and jeans. As she applied her makeup, she considered making pancakes to tempt his appetite with. It would be quicker and easier than a soufflé, and she was never sure of how one would turn out. More often they were too beautiful to live.
Wandering back into the living room, she checked on the Doctor, who had turned over towards the back of the couch and was still snoozing away. She nodded approval, but before she turned to once more enter the kitchen, the sight of his long purple tweed jacket, crumpled up on the floor, caught her attention. Beside it were his boots and his vest. Draped over the top of the pile was his ubiquitous bow tie.
Tisking to herself, she leaned over to pick up his clothes, shaking them out and intending to put them neatly on a nearby chair, or at least hang them up on the coat pegs near her front door. Idly she wondered what it would be like to be his wife, picking up after him. The thought brought a blush to her cheeks.
As she held his coat up in preparation to hang it neatly, a faint scent drifted from it to her nostrils. An idea suddenly popped into her head.
She looked back to the couch; he was still conked out, sound asleep. Clara bit her lip, a mischievous expression on her face. Setting the jacket down, she first slipped his vest over her top, and then swiftly tied the bow tie at her neck. All that remained was to don the jacket. The sleeves, too long for her arms, fell over her hands. Clara suppressed a delighted giggle, as she wiggled the tips of her fingers—all that showed of her hands from the sleeves-in front of her face. And then she smelled it again.
The unmistakable scent of the Doctor-an odor mixed of TARDIS interior, jammie dodgers, time itself and that distinctive male aroma that hung about him. Some men smelled rank, especially after exertion; some men plied on enough cologne to choke a horse. The Doctor was one of those rare men who, although smelling very masculine, smelled wonderful. Clara took a deep sniff, hugging his jacket as it hung on her shoulders. Her fingers trembled a little and her heart beat a bit faster. She closed her eyes and imagined his arms about her.
A sound behind her made her jump. Turning, she looked towards the Doctor, to see he'd shifted again, this time onto his stomach, one arm dangling to the ground. He was, as far as she could tell, still asleep.
Tiptoeing over to his shoes, she snatched them up and ran lightly to the entryway. A full-length mirror hung near the front door, where Clara would often stop to check herself before leaving for the day. Now she lingered in front of it, smirking at her reflection. In the Doctor's oversized clothes, she looked so tiny. She slipped his boots onto her feet, wobbling a bit as she settled inside them. She was just reaching up to straighten the bow tie, when the sound of hands clapping came from behind her. Clara whirled around to find the Doctor, fully awake and on his feet, walking towards her with a wide smile on his face. There was something else in his expression as well, but Clara couldn't pin it down. Amusement? Delight?
Desire?
Whatever it was, it was tantalizing. Clara's mouth went dry, and her heart hammered harder in her chest.
"I must say…you do my clothes justice. You look better in them than I do," he grinned, his green eyes shining. Clara took him in with a glance. Dressed only in shirt and slacks, no bow tie and stockinged feet, hair standing up a bit, he looked like a normal boyfriend, just awakened from a nap. She felt her hands trembling again, this time from the longing to reach up and straighten his hair. Instead, she gave him a smirk, and displayed her dimples.
"Do I?" she flirted.
He crossed his arms and tilted his head, looking her up and down. "Maybe not quite the jacket," he remarked. "It is a bit long on you. I see you've even nicked my boots." Biting his lips slyly, he challenged her. "Is there anything else of mine you'd like to try on?"
Clara gave a soft gasp. Had he really said…that? Her pupils dilated with excitement. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out "your lips," as her eyes darted right to them, and then back up to his eyes.
For a moment, time stopped. The Doctor's eyes widened, and he gave Clara a very intense stare. Then he stepped forward, a tender smile on his face. One of his hands reached over to Clara's blushing cheek, and the other gently grasped her opposite shoulder. Softly he whispered, "If you like," then leaned down and kissed her.
Clara's hands slid onto the Doctor's chest, then slipped around his neck as his arms slipped around her. The kiss deepened, and Clara tasted jammie dodgers and the wonderful sweetness that was his mouth. He gave a soft moan and she felt herself melting into him. Another, and then a third soon followed their first kiss. Then the need for air overruled everything, so they reluctantly parted lips. He held her tightly in his arms, murmuring "my Clara," every now and then.
After a bit he sighed and said, "what made you decide to try on my clothes?"
Smiling to herself, she nuzzled against his shirt. "What girl doesn't want to try her boyfriend's clothes on?"
There was a pause. He pulled backwards away from her a bit, although he still held her in his arms. He gave her a quizzical look.
"This doesn't work both ways, does it? I'm not expected to try your clothes on, am I?" he queried.
She almost laughed out loud at the look of worry on his face. "No," she giggled softly, "not unless you want to."
With relief he replied, "not really. I don't think I'd look as good in your little short skirts as you do." A moment passed, and then he realized what he'd said. He went red to the ears. "Wait—I didn't mean—!"
"So you have noticed," Clara smirked, a wicked expression on her face. "Doctor, for being a mysterious, imposing old Time Lord, you're still quite the common bloke on the inside, aren't you?" she teased, tapping him on the nose. She pulled out of his arms and danced towards the kitchen.
"Clara! Wait! No! I didn't mean it that way—I meant you look better in your clothes than I would—I mean…oh you know what I mean, you infuriating impossible girl!" He strode after her.
As Clara pulled mixing bowls and ingredients for pancakes onto the counter, she smiled happily to herself as the Doctor followed her around the kitchen like a puppy. Before she began mixing up the batter, she removed his coat and vest and slipped out of his shoes. A bit of his scent still lingered on her body, and she reveled in it, along with his continued attention.
She'd had no idea when she'd slipped her arms into his jacket, that it would lure him into her arms. Should have tried it on ages ago, she thought to herself.