Chapter 7

It was twilight, and the sky was alive with vibrant shades of azure and lavender, layered as though with nature's most expressively joyous paintbrush, spread with as much beauty as Clara felt in her heart and soul this magical night.

As for her heart, it was pounding with luscious excitement that made her skin tingle and her toes curl and uncurl in their elegant white, kitten-heeled shoes. Clara looked down at her ivory, off-the-shoulder dress, fitted snugly to the waist, where it shot out in layers of gauzy fabric one might term downright dreamy. It was a daringly whimsical dress, it was a princess dress because Clara had surrendered, deliriously happily, willingly to the fairy tale her life had become. Her hair was arranged in curls on top of her head behind the jeweled headband that stopped just short of the word "tiara."

Walking up the path that wound to the top of the hill where the Doctor waited, Clara held herself back from running. She had only taken a few steps when someone came striding down to her. The last person she'd expected to see.

Her father.

"Dad?!" Clara shouted in disbelief, throwing her arms around his neck. Dave Oswald laughed and hugged his daughter back. "You're here," she murmured.

"Of course I am, darling," Dave replied, grinning, "We all are. He made sure of that. We wouldn't have missed this for the world."

"What do you mean, 'all of you'?" Clara asked, "And Dad, how are you so cool and casual about this whole thing, anyway? Do you know you're on an alien planet right now? Do you know who I'm marrying?"

"You know, most people are actually able to understand most things quite easily, if someone just explains them," Dave answered, raising an eyebrow archly.

"Yes, he is awfully good at explaining," Clara admitted, shaking her head in disbelief transitioning into an "of-course" mentality. "I'm sorry it wasn't me to explain, Dad. I think I didn't want to burden you, in case it was all too much."

"Don't ever think like that again," her father urged her kindly. "You're my daughter. I'm here for you, always."

Clara nodded, kissed him on the cheek, and slipped her arm through his as they turned back to the path towards the altar.

Atop the hill, Clara was only slightly less than totally shocked to see her students all seated, merrily chatting, waiting for the ceremony to begin. Tears filled her eyes as they met the Doctor's. While her gaze was filled with amazed gratitude, his roved over her with astonished adoration, taking in the sight of Clara in her wedding gown.

When she got to him, her father kissed her forehead and shook the Doctor's hand before sitting down with the others. The Doctor took Clara's hands and winked at her, rather cheekily, Clara thought.

"You," Clara whispered intensely. "You did all this for me."

"Of course I did, Clara Oswald," the Doctor replied simply. "I'd do anything and everything for you, for your happiness. They'll all be safely returned to their cosy little homes on Earth right after the reception, I assure you."

"Thank you, Doctor," she murmured, caressing his hands. "I couldn't be happier. And you?"

"The same," he answered, "My eyes are full of stars, Clara. Millions of them. And every single one bears your name."

With that, the officiant, a grumpy, disapproving Gallifreyan priestess who'd been persuaded nonetheless to perform the ceremony, began the old-fashioned and exotic words, culminating in the vows that didn't seem all that different from typical Earth wedding promises. Then they were forever united by their heartfelt proclamations that only reflected vows no words could ever approximate, the true devotion they had always borne one another and always would.

The Doctor leaned into Clara and whispered a strange new word in her ear. The most beautiful word Clara had ever heard. And she knew what it meant. It was his real name. Their secret.

"Doctor, you didn't," Clara breathed in surprise as he led her to the sight of their reception: the Time Lords' High Council chamber, the long table of which had been covered with every delicious item of food or drink imaginable, an extravagant cake sitting in the middle of the spread.

"Oh, yes I did," the Doctor winked again. "There's only a ninety-five percent chance we'll be caught, scolded and fined."

"I think you just like trespassing and causing mischief," Clara sighed, crossing her arms in faux disapproval.

"Don't you know it," he quipped, pulling her into his arms as a song rang out. A small band had set up in one corner of the room.

Clara's students came up throughout the party to hug her and bemoan, "Miss, I can't believe I can't tell anyone back home about this!"

"That's Mrs.," the Doctor would correct them, his voice warm with love for his new wife.

"You're damn right it is," Clara purred as she wrapped her arms around the Doctor's neck for a slow dance.

"I think the party's winding down," he said suggestively against her cheek, his fingers stroking her waist.

"Looks that way," Clara agreed, looking up into his eyes to see anticipation and desire that matched her own.

When they returned to their room, Clara sighed as the Doctor unzipped her dress and it drifted slowly down to the floor. "It's a dream of a dress," she said, affectionately laying it over a chair before returning to face him in her white matching undergarments, all covered in lace, white thigh-high stockings perfectly calculated to make him give her that look. The one that told her he'd never wanted anyone more, and that she was in for it.

With a worshipful glint in his eye, the Doctor sank to his knees, plucking her shoes off and placing them gently to one side. He reached up her legs, running his long, skilled fingers over her stockings before slowly pulling each one down. "Doctor," Clara managed in a tight voice as his mouth traveled from her thighs upward, kissing and licking her through her sheer panties.

"Mmm?" he asked, busy.

"Don't you dare stop," Clara replied, tangling her fingers in that wonderfully unkempt hair of his as he slid her underwear down and continued his relentless attentions. Her gasps turned into helpless moans, and then the Doctor picked her weak body up and laid her on the bed, where she bit her lip as waves of pleasure continued to vibrate through her veins.

"There's consequences for that sort of thing around here," Clara warned him, ripping off his black suit jacket and yanking aside his white shirt with no regard for the buttons that flew who knew where due to her impatient attack.

"I hope so," the Doctor said gruffly, kissing her lips with answering demand.

Clara treated his pants with an equal disregard for propriety, then sat on top of him as she pulled off her bra and threw it across the room, making it her turn to wink and his to gasp as she ground against his hardness.

"Clara," the Doctor called out in a blissful haze Clara decided to award by sliding him into her as smoothly and deftly as a hand into a warm and welcoming glove. She rocked her hips against him and he grasped her tightly as the rhythm began to build.

When the height of ecstasy overtook them, they both cried out and collapsed into each other, an automatic embrace as their limbs numbly entangled, love-drunk.

"That was absolutely naughty, even for you," the Doctor accused hoarsely when speaking abilities had just barely returned.

"Oh, is that the best you think I can do?" Clara whispered, nuzzling elatedly into his chest, his hearts beating so hard and fast against her ear.

"I never said that," he chuckled softly. "In fact, I'm going to challenge you to outdo yourself on every possible occasion, as long as you promise to do the same back to me, my Mrs."

"Oh, yeah?" Clara asked, running a hand through her now-messy hair, pulling her fingers back to slip between her lips as she pondered the idea. "Prove it."

Their happiness was complete, but the story of the Doctor and Clara was just getting started.