A/N: Okay, readers, a couple of housekeeping things:

1) Not that it should surprise anyone, but this honeymoon chapter is (and thus the whole story is now) rated M. Fair warning and all that!

2) I've had a fair few of you PM me to tell me that you have been leaving reviews that never end up appearing on the site. I WAS sort of wondering why the views were so high but no reviews were actually getting posted. I sent a word to admin but have so far not heard anything back about why this is happening. Someone recommended that I not post any more chapters until it gets resolved, but that's not my style, and I don't think it's fair to those of you who are reading.

So what I'd suggest is that if you're enjoying the story, drop me a PM so I'll know you liked it. And otherwise, just enjoy! :-)

"You know, when I said I wanted to go somewhere tropical, this wasn't precisely what I had in mind," Clara says, and the Doctor looks back at her, his face shining.

"What could possibly be cooler than seeing dinosaurs on your honeymoon?" he nearly goggles at her, as they walk (she walks, he whirls) through the image of a herd of stegosaurs, Earth's Jurassic vista surrounding them as the holographic sun shines down.

Of course, she knows, they're still in their own basement, catapulted into a holographic version of one of the Doctor's many, many memories. And he'd told her he'd saved this program especially for after their wedding, so she knows how special it must be to him. Truthfully, it's special enough just to know that he's saved a lifetime of adventures just for her, because even when they're physically trapped in one spot, he is still the Doctor, and he'll always find the loop-hole to every obstacle. He'll always win. She sighs happily, just watching him, because the wonder on his face is so adorable that it's hard not to smile.

"I guess I was thinking of something more beach-side with room service," she confesses. "And less scary monsters."

"What?" he cries, aghast. "They're not scary," he insists, going right up to a stegosaurus that's idly chewing on a plant. "Look at that face," the Doctor says, then turns and nuzzles the dinosaur's nose, his voice dropping to baby-talk, "you're just a big beauty, aren't you? Yes, you are!"

Clara sighs, but smiles just the same. "Oh, alright. I guess I should have known that Time Lords don't really do honeymoons."

The Doctor turns, still grinning, and reaches for her hand. "What? 'Course we do. When you have a time machine, every day is a honeymoon."

She laughs. "That's what I mean. There's nothing really different or special about it for you. It's one more day at the office."

His eyes widen and suddenly she can see his brain whirring again as a slow, delicious smile spreads across his face. "Oh, you want to know what's different about this, do you?"

He's grinning far too wide for comfort, she thinks, and when she speaks, her voice is actually hesitant. "Er. Yes?"

The Doctor taps the sonic and the hologram of the Jurassic view vanishes, leaving them back in the white-walled cavern of their basement. And then he quickly pulls her into his arms.

"Clara," he whispers. "There's something very special about everything we do now."

"There is?"

"Oh, yes," he nods emphatically, "You know how I said we were now psychically and physically linked?"

He's definitely smiling too much.

"Yes?"

"I meant that literally."

Clara frowns, because she's rather sure she would have noticed if she'd been suddenly joined to the doctor like a Siamese twin. "Um, what does that mean, exactly?"

"Well, I wasn't sure if it would work because you're…"

She smirks. "Only human?"

"I was going to say not from Gallifrey, but yes," he says, smirking back.

"And what would it mean if I was from Gallifrey, then?" she asks, trying not to get distracted by the fact that every time she's this close to his throat, all she wants to do is clamp her mouth on it. But the Doctor is too busy explaining to notice.

"Well, that's what I'm curious to find out," he tells her eagerly, "if it'll work the same on you, since some humans do have some degree of repressed psychic ability."

"Find what out?" she asks, planting a kiss on his chin to keep from sucking on his neck.

"If you can control my body with your thoughts."

Her head shoots up. "I'm sorry?"

And now the Doctor is smiling again. "I told you, that's why true mating for a Gallifreyan is such a serious thing. We share more than just a wedding ring," he says, and holds up his hand, waggling the finger that now holds the ring she'd given him.

"You can control each others' bodies?" she asks, mouth agape.

"Well, sort of," he explains. His other hand leaves her waist, idly dropping down the side of her hips. "You have to remember, Clara, that our society was dedicated to learning and expanding out knowledge, repressing any urges besides those."

"Hmmm," she says skeptically, as his hand finds her thigh. "Sounds like a good way to go extinct."

The Doctor smiles. "That's what I mean. Apparently, it was something we developed for survival reasons… so that we actually would get our heads out of books long enough to continue our species," he says, his body now so close she can feel the heat radiating from him. "There's quite a lot you might be able to do to me."

Her voice is breathless. "Like what?"

His mouth drops against her neck, now, and each word is punctuated with soft kisses along her skin. "Make me feel what you feel, control my blood-flow, heighten desire…"

Heat surges through her at the implication.

"Not sure I'll be able to do the same to you, though," he murmurs sadly.

Clara can barely get her voice to work. "Oh, trust me," she says, gulping as his mouth continued to suck its way along her throat. "You do all those things just fine already."

He pulls back, and she could curse herself for speaking. "I do?"

"Yes," she says urgently, pulling his head back to her neck, only to have him pop back up again, smiling.

"Really?"

Clara huffs at him. "Did you not just feel my pulse when you were doing… what you were doing?"

He smiles, then, a dopey boyish grin across his features. "Yes."

She smiles, too, unable to help it. "So you should already know what you do to me. It's me that never knows how I affect you."

He pulls away, his face falling with confusion. "Never know how you affect me? You've got to be joking."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh come on, Doctor. We both know you're never out of control with me," she stops, then says with an air of resignation, "the way I am with you." She sighs, because really, this was not a conversation she'd ever wanted to have. She'd accepted the fact that she couldn't really expect much more from a man whose entire species was so centered around control that they had mastered time itself.

He stares at her, incredulous. "But… but I'm never in control when it comes to you," he says emphatically. "Not since the day I met you."

Clara pulls back slightly, and her arms cross, because it was impossible for him not to have noticed this. "Yeah? Then why are there times when I touch you that you don't seem to react?"

His mouth is still hanging open. "When does that ever happen?"

She sighs, flushing. "Well, last week, when we were setting the table, and I got between you and the table and… brushed against you….?"

"Yes?" he asks, utterly confused.

"Nothing happened."

The Doctor's mouth falls open. "We were outside in front of the whole town! It was a village picnic!"

"Yes, but you didn't even react," she says with pique. "You just kept putting your new-and-improved sparklers on the children's plates."

His brows draw together with disbelief. "I'll have you know I most certainly did have a physical reaction," he insists, then frowns at her, scolding. "And then I reversed it immediately because did I mention we were in front of the whole town?"

Clara giggles at his indignation at the idea that he would have walked around, perfectly tented and on display for the villagers of Christmas while they had their picnic. "Oh, alright," she concedes. "I know you have perfect control of your own blood flow. I just sometimes wish you didn't, I guess."

He lets out an exasperated sigh. "Clara, that's what I've been trying to tell you. I don't have perfect control anymore," he says, smiling suddenly. "You do."

Her brows furrow, studying him. "What do you mean, 'I do"?"

He's smiling again. "I told you. Psychically and physically linked."

"Which means what?"

The smile becomes devilish once more, and pulls her close again. "I'm not entirely sure, since I've never been joined like this to a human," he says, turning her around so that her back is pressed against him, his arms circling her. "But if we wanted to experiment, say…."

"Yes?" she asks, her own heart speeding up because she has no control of her own blood flow, damn him.

The Doctor's head dips down, lips brushing her ear. "Think of what you want me to do to you."

Her eyes fly open, but she instantly can't help thinking of what she wants him to do, taking her in every way imaginable, standing, laying, sitting, his body sheathed in hers, hard, pounding and….

She hears him moan in her ear, and his arms circle tighter as he staggers slightly and she feels his instant erection, pressing into the small of her back.

"Whoa," she breathes.

"Crikey, Clara," he nearly chokes out. "I think you've got the psychic part down just fine."

She smiles, nearly breathless herself, and pushes herself further back into him, hearing him groan with helpless need, the feel of his physical desire for her making her heart beat in double-time. He more than wants her, she realizes. And he'd allowed himself to be put completely at her mercy, to make him not the Doctor who was always in charge of every situation, but a man nearly blinded with need and lust for the woman in front of him.

No wonder it had taken him a thousand years to try this again, she thinks, amazed at the power he'd given her, and suddenly humbled by it, all at once.

"Need you," he whispers hoarsely. "Now." He turns her back towards him, his lips crashing to hers, fingers groping wildly for the buttons on her dress.

"Doctor," she almost protests, but he cuts her off.

"No talking," he orders. "I'm…" He stops, pushing her up against the basement wall, then dropping to slip her knickers off from underneath the dress. "…in the…." he says, rising up again to fumble with the zipper on his trousers. "…middle of…" he continues, lifting her up into the air, wrapping her legs around his waist with a grunt.

"Of what?" she asks, only half-caring.

"Being out of control," he nearly roars, slipping into her with one hard thrust, and making her gasp and moan all at once as he rocks her against the wall, holding her up with his hands.

She cries out against him, feeling every thrust upwards, hears his clothes sliding against hers, his breath hot in her ears as he groans and pants, desperate lust in his every sound and movement. And this time, more than any other… she more than senses it. She knows it, what he feels, how he yearns for her every moment of every day, his desire to not just love her tenderly, but to mark himself on her like a man possessed, to hammer his body into hers, fill her up until she screams with ecstasy. She'd been making him scream inside for years, she just hadn't known it.

He's still holding her with his alien strength, gasping and clutching at her as he pounds against her and already she feels the familiar tightness curling in her womb, ready to explode. Oh god, he's going to make her shatter against this wall, where he hadn't even bothered to remove their clothes, so desperate had he been to get inside of her. Pleasure builds higher and higher in her muscles, and she thinks suddenly that he might feel it, too, if she lets him. So she tilts her head back and lets him in a second time, into her mind, to feel her pleasure, how he's bringing her to edge.

He yells out as it rushes over him, and when he pulls back to look at her, Clara feels the wave break, bliss exploding through her as she comes, her legs going slack around his hips, and suddenly he's screaming with her as she leans forward, moaning into his mouth as they shake in one another's arms.

When their trembling ceases, she slides down to the ground, drawing in breath as he slips out of her, holding on to him for support. She can hear him struggling to catch his breath, just as she is, and she leans her head against his chest.

"Doctor," she finally whispers, when she's able to speak. "Is it always going to be like that?"

He laughs, still panting, and she hears the rumble of his chest against her cheek. "It's going to shorten my life considerably, if it is."

She laughs, too, holding tightly on to him. "I could always direct more blood to your hearts, if you need me to."

The Doctor chuckles, suddenly lifting her into his arms, scooping her under her knees with one arm, the other around her back. "My Clara," he says, his voice still rough. "You are my hearts."

She loves him so much at that moment she could cry. Instead, she lets him lay her down on the hay-strewn floor, where he quickly removes her clothes and his, then slips in beside her, pulling her head to his chest.

"You're mine, too," she promises him, listening to the slowing sound of his hearts beating.

And he is, she knows, as she snuggles into him, holding him close. He's more than her heart. He's her whole universe.

to be continued...