A/N: The prompt for this one was "Slightly NSFW Whouffaldi story where 12 wears a kilt on a particularly windy day has a few too many wardrobe malfunctions and Clara can't stop giggling and blushing." Luckily for the prompter, I like this topic a bit too much ahaha

1371 words; while actual modern kilt-going Scotsmen are sometimes divided on the issue, for the sake of the prompt, we are going with the more giggle-worthy option for what's under there; I am also 1000% on the idea of getting more men in kilts it just looks so nice but that's also partially the Scots in me talking; now just imagine Twelve and Jamie—just Twelve and Jamie—you're welcome

Exotic for Devon

It had been nearly a week since the TARDIS had crash-landed in the Edwardian Era, with Clara at a bit of a loss. She was irritated, for a variety of reasons, and much of it stemmed from the fact she was still considered mere arm decoration by most of the people they had encountered and was not terribly in the mood to pretend she did not think she was otherwise. It wasn't a surprise (she knew her history) nor an entirely new experience (it annoyed her all the other times too), but it was still frustrating for her as they attempted to navigate getting the TARDIS back into sorts while also playing significant parts in order to schmooze their way into getting the correct discarded part.

They were in a garden party, of all the things, and although it was enjoyable and interesting to a degree, at the same time, she knew that tension was drawing taut underneath the cheerful demeanor of other attendees. Within ten years' time the entire world as these people knew it would be in upheaval and she sure as hell wasn't feeling generous enough to warn anyone.

"You certainly are lucky to have caught the Doctor's eye, Mrs. Oswald," one of the ladies she was sitting with said. She snapped out of her train of thought and was brought back to the conversation.

"Hmm…? My apologies," she replied, using the crispest accent she could muster. "I'm afraid I've rather gone and wandered off."

"I was saying that you certainly are lucky to have caught the Doctor's eye," the woman repeated. The men were all on the other side of the garden chatting, leaving the women to gossip on their own. "We've only been privy to his charms for a week and a few of us are distinctly jealous that you found him first."

"I didn't think that 'charms' was something that could be wantonly associated with the Doctor," Clara smiled politely. She glanced over at the Doctor to make sure he was still behaving—if there was anyone else who couldn't stand the situation more than her, it was him. Neither were in the mood, and she imagined that there was going to be a decent side-adventure to make it up to them both. He was avoiding talking to the other men as he stood holding a drink, looking incredibly sharp but also awkward in his jacket and kilt.

They had only stumbled upon the collection of upper-middle-class toffs by chance, stopped just short of rescuing the part that had flown off in the crash. When they heard his accent they were immediately enamored and invited their newfound partymates to varying luncheons and soirees, absolutely insisting they come and enjoy the get-together. They had also insisted that the Doctor show up in his "Scots best", which they quickly learned meant finding a kilt from the TARDIS's wardrobe.

He had grit his teeth, but the Doctor knew that being treated like some rare and exotic treat by sounding Scottish in Devon was all in the name of getting the pendant dangling on their hostess's neck.

"Oh, he is charming," the woman assured. "He is handsome, wears a tartan well, and hides his education behind just enough of an accent to make things interesting." She took a sip of her drink and shrugged. "I thought that was why you married him… or were there other reasons involved?" The woman and her friend, seated on her other side, both looked at Clara expectantly, awaiting an answer.

"I've never met another man like the Doctor, and I don't think I ever will as long as I live," she said. "There was only one other I could have seen myself with, but he's in no position to do much of anything now."

"Married?"

"Dead; still would have been respectable. Former soldier, served honorably." Clara paused, wondering how long she could take talking in these circles. 'He would be as uncomfortable as I am,' she thought, remembering how awkward Danny was in social settings.

"I'd take a doctor over a soldier," the friend stated. She glanced over at the Doctor, her gaze nearly predatory, and smirked. "That doctor specifically." Clara looked and saw that someone had moved and all three of them could see the Doctor clearly now, a fire churning within her gut. There he was with his long legs and slender frame, accentuated by the cut of the jacket and kilt. Sure, it was just some simple Royal Stewart gifted to him long ago by a man named Alistair, but to see him in a punk's plaid was right somehow. Seeing his knees in the open air didn't do anything to scandalize it less, either.

"Need I remind you I put that ring on him," Clara claimed. She watched as a breeze passed through the garden and ruffled the tartan pleats; she might not have placed the ring on his finger, but he wore it because of her, so that no one else might approach him. He had never explained it directly and using such plain words, but he had dropped hints here and there, and she was able to pick them up deftly. "Married men might make for more challenging targets, though take my advice and look for your prey elsewhere. This quarry is not worth your time and my effort."

The woman's friend sat back in her seat and scowled, making Clara feel somewhat victorious. At least they were no longer asking her of the Wallace tartan of her jacket and why it didn't match the Doctor's kilt. She could see their hostess a couple yards away from them, with another group as they chittered along, the TARDIS's cast-off part gleaming from its chain around her neck. She thought about it intensely: how was she going to get a hold of the item without bringing attention to herself or the Doctor? As she thought, she watched the Doctor's kilt sway in the breeze, knowing she was going to have plenty of fun with him in it later on.

Suddenly, the wind kicked up in earnest and ripped through the garden, upending umbrellas and making off with hats and generally creating a bit of a panic. Clara ducked under the table as it topped over, using it as a shield as she looked around for the Doctor. She saw him, over near the men, dodging hats and umbrellas and more than a few napkins in the ensuing gusts punctuating the maintained breeze. It seemed as though he was grateful for the distraction as well… however…

...as Clara watched him take solace in the mercy the wind gave them, she also was privy to the way his kilt was moving about. Although it was made of heavy wool, the pleats caught and the fabric flipped up, exposing his thigh as he crouched down defensively. She caught a brief glance at some dangling bits not hidden thanks to the leather sporran's weight, all of which was hidden again as he braced himself by kneeling with both knees. The wind calmed and the partygoers all began to slowly pop back to their feet, wondering what to do in their rather obvious lack of knowing what it was to be useful.

"I know what you said, Mrs. Oswald," the first woman Clara had been talking to said. "Yet I know what I just saw—that was more than a True Scotsman under there. Married or not, he is a prize, provided he knows how to use it."

"That idiot," Clara tutted falsely, "that kilt is going to have to be laundered twice. He might be an idiot, but he's my unhygienic idiot." She paused and glanced over at her conversation partners, who were still completely out of sorts as they attempted to fix their hair and hemlines. "And before you ask: yes, he does know how to use it, and well at that. One thing I cannot say is that the Doctor is neglectful."

The expressions that crept across the women's faces were ones that brought Clara great joy and contentment. If all they had to talk about was their husbands and other men, then that was what they were going to get.