A/N: The prompt for this one involved Twelve being a cuddle-monster in denial and Clara trying to escape him so she could get to work. This actually sounds very cute so yes pls I'll take it.
1155 words; just a short little scene nothing too much to it; set mid-s9, as is per usual
Cuddle Monster
The last thing that Clara could remember before falling asleep was that the Doctor was being extremely clingy. It was a bit of a surprise, considering the fact that there wasn't anything particularly dangerous that they had encountered in their prior adventure, nor could she think of any other factor that could have made him stay so close as they were drifting off into sleep. There hadn't even been any bedroom-related extracurriculars involved—just into her room on the TARDIS and pausing just long enough to change into pajamas before flopping into bed. She had dreamt of nothing that night, for all she really wanted was right there next to her…
...and the key word there was: next. As in besides; not on top… which was exactly how she found herself that morning. She was buried under her intergalactic space-insect of a Time Lord, who was very much fast asleep and very much refusing to budge. After wriggling around for a bit, she tried to shove him off.
"Doctor… come on… I really should be getting to work before I forget what we was in the lesson plan…"
He mumbled something into her chest and tightened his grip around her hips and waist.
"Doctor, come on, this isn't funny." She gave his shoulder a good shove and he didn't budge. "Now you're just doing this to me on purpose."
He did not answer, instead continuing to lay there, his breath slow and heartsbeats steady. All the physical signs pointed to the concept of him still being fast asleep, which was honestly something she would have taken on any other day but that day.
At least he wasn't drooling this time around…?
Frustrated, Clara glanced around to see what was available and within an arm's length that could potentially help her out. The water on the bedside table was well out of reach, as was the brush that was sitting there, and the pointy-ended cufflinks that had been thought of for once instead of clattering under the bed and hidden in discarded clothes. With nothing in reachable distance, it was now up to her to start playing dirty.
Dirty… though not too dirty—didn't want anything to come back around on her later.
First, Clara tried the ticklish spot right between his armpit and rib cage, taking advantage of the fact he had not worn a shirt to bed. Nothing. Not even a twitch.
Then, she tried pinching him, attempting to not go too hard and leave a red mark or three. He remained unmoving, save for his soft, slow breathing. Even if he wasn't breathing, that respiratory bypass of his made it so that she couldn't even think anything was wrong had he been completely-completely still.
This was what she deserved, she supposed.
With the Doctor so firmly and deeply asleep—which was admittedly funny considering all his blustering—it was now time to think outside the box. Since his face was decidedly nestled between her breasts, there was only so far down she could reach. One leg was pinned under him, but it was not in a position to rile his lower bits effectively. Her other leg wasn't even entirely uncovered and free either, making her arms the only limbs she had at her disposal. With most possible retaliation-free options already exhausted, she looked at the ceiling and exhaled heavily.
"Please tell me that you're in the mood to help," she pleaded with the ship. "The sooner I can get this idiot off me, the sooner we can get back to adventuring."
The TARDIS hummed pensively.
"Okay, okay, I know—it's the sooner I can get to work, but the sooner I'm at work means the sooner I'm back from work. The logic is sound."
The lights dimmed with an almost mocking tone—what is time to a sentient space-time ship? Clara felt she only had herself to blame as she laid there, completely stuck, at least glad that she didn't need to use the bathroom…
...that was it!
"Doctor," she whispered, shaking his shoulders gently. "Doctor, get up."
He grumbled again, something in a guttural, untranslated, Low Gallifreyan; not budging.
"Doctor, I really have to pee."
That got him moving; the Doctor jolted awake and rolled off Clara, letting go and giving her free range of movement. She laughed as she sat up, which completely bewildered the Time Lord.
"Why are you laughing?" he wondered.
"That it was needing to use the bathroom that was what got you to stop cuddling me," she explained. "You're such a cuddle-monster."
"Am not," he pouted, laying on his back.
"Are too."
"We've been over this, Clara: I am a two-thousand-year-old being from across the galaxy. I'm older than your brain can process. I'm not a cuddle-monster."
"I have a witness that would state otherwise."
"As though the TARDIS woul—" He was cut off by the lights temporarily dimming as the ship whirred chidingly at him, cutting him off and putting a metaphorical foot down. "Traitor!"
"Isn't it something when the women in your life team up?" Clara chuckled. She swung her legs over the side of the mattress and went to get ready for work, only for a pair of arms to wrap around her waist. "What was that about you not being a cuddle-monster?"
"That wasn't a cuddle-monster—this is a cuddle-monster," he replied. Clara tried to remove herself from the Doctor's grasp, though to no avail. He successfully pulled her back into bed and held her close, trapping her within his gangly limbs.
"Doctor, I really should be getting ready for work!"
"We're literally inside a space-time ship—work can wait."
"Doctor…"
"Clara…" He let go and maneuvered so that he was propping himself above her, looking down at her with such a soft, pleading look that it threatened to melt her right then and there.
"Doctor…?"
"Clara, please, a bit longer," he requested. She reached up and placed her hand along his cheek and jaw, with him leaning into her touch as he closed his eyes. "Please."
"Even the big, bad Time Lord needs a cuddle now and then, I guess," she relented. He set himself down, half next to her, half on top of, and gently wrapped his arms around her as he stared at her from across the pillow, face adoring and concerned. "Just make sure I'm back in time for work, yeah?"
"Always," he promised. She kissed the tip of his nose and his expression did not change.
"What's wrong?"
"I dreamt."
"...of what…?"
A pause.
"…he day I thought I lost you."
"Now we have Santa to thank for that, don't we?" she assured. She positioned the blankets so that they were covering them both well before sliding closer into the Doctor's grasp. "What's another couple hours?" Clara laid there, comfortable and warm, until she realized something mortifying:
She actually did need to use the bathroom.
Damn it.
