WARNING: Mentions of spousal abuse. The words 'knee', 'punch' and 'slap' are used in internal character dialogue. Don't read if you are offended by this.
"And where the hell have you been?" she asked as The Doctor slipped in the door to their cabin. He loosened his tie as he tried to think up a good excuse and shut the door quietly behind him.
This was one of those moments where the wrong answer might earn him a slap and the right one, a reward. But the sight of her reclining on the bed in those silk pyjamas made him a little tongue-tied. He could see the material clinging to her curves and it did things to him, like re-routing the blood flow away from his brain and further south. He swallowed thickly and realised he still had a question to answer.
"I was waylaid," he offered lamely.
"I can see that," she said bluntly before rolling off the bed. Clara turned her back to him and poured him a glass of whisky, which was quite nice of her considering he'd left her waiting alone for twenty minutes when the Observation Carriage was only two minutes away.
"I nearly got started without you but I couldn't find the sonic," Clara said over her shoulder. She tried not to giggle as she waited for his inevitable response. Oh, how she loved to wind him up.
The Doctor looked horrified. "Don't you dare," he said sternly, pointing a finger at her even though her back was still turned. "It's a scientific instrument, not your plaything. Is there even a setting for that?"
Clara set the stopper back on the decanter with a solid whack from the palm of her hand.
"I don't know," she said playfully. "But as long as you take care of business we won't need to find out." She dropped a couple of ice cubes in the glass with a wee pair of tongs and turned to face her husband, holding the glass of amber liquid out to him. "You still haven't answered my question, Doctor."
A well-placed compliment might save him. It was worth a shot. He licked his lips nervously.
"Clara, you look lovely," he gushed, reaching to take the glass from her hand. She pulled the glass away from him.
"Flattery will get you nowhere. Try again."
"Okay. You look kind of short and roundish.." A slap was imminent; he could sense it. "Just the way I like it," he added quickly with a grin. Nice save.
He was rewarded with a wry smile and she cautiously handed the whisky over. He felt it was safe enough to take a sip without being glassed, so he did and made a mental note to not leave the sonic screwdriver lying around unattended, ever.
Clara slid her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest as he took another sip. She was a good foot shorter than him and he pondered whether her head would be a good spot to rest his whisky glass, but alas her head was just as round as the rest of her.
"Thank you for the drink," he offered, lightly stroking her back with his free hand.
She smiled and gripped him more firmly.
"But you're supposed to put the ice in first," he said and he tensed, waiting for a punch. Or would it be a knee in the balls? He never knew what to expect with Clara Oswald; it was a lottery of low-grade spousal abuse.
Clara laughed instead. He had misjudged her. Or was she just saving a thump for later?
Enough. He wanted his question answered. The one that brought him back here in the first place.
The Doctor drained the glass and as he did so, he let his free hand slip down to her waistband. Clara's eyes widened when his hand slipped beneath her pyjamas and over the curve of her backside.
She looked up at him. In his eyes was a look of half smug bastard, half kid in a candy shop.
"So, has your question been answered Doctor?"
"Can't be sure," he said as he moved his hand back up towards her waist. "As a man of science, I think some further investigation is required." He set the glass down on a nearby table with a loud crack and set to work.