Chapter 11

What had happened that night was something he couldn't forget. The feeling of holding Clara in his arms while they slept together had been the most pleasant, special and extraordinary feeling. After a long day and an even longer night they had fell asleep together, both protected and warm with the covers pulled up to their chins. Eleven had held her exactly the way he had wanted to; his arms had circled her body and his nose nuzzled into her soft, brown hair.

He eventually stirred, after he felt her shift round to face him and stroke his hair, whispering.

He smiled under her touch, slowly opening his eyes.

'Clara Oswald...'

'How are you?'

'I am brilliant. I am the happiest I've ever been right now. You feel so good in my arms.'

She chuckled at that, pressing into him closer.

'We shouldn't have come up here, taken the risk. But it was worth it.'

'Yeah, it seems like they did win the rugby after all. Which left us in a very,' he leaned in, grazing his lips with hers, 'comfortable,' his hands took hold of her waist, 'position.' She laughed as he continued what had been left since last night, and it wasn't until she spied the alarm clock on his bedside table that her eyes widened even further. Reluctantly breaking off from the kiss, she sat up and observed her surroundings. Luckily, no one else was in bed. It was 2 am, so no one had come back from the celebration yet. At least not Eleven's friends.

'Shit...shit!' She cursed, picking up her clothing discarded around the bed and hastily shoving them back on. Eleven sat up in bed too, looking a trifle confused. The fact she could see his chest from where the duvet ended at his waist wasn't any guidance that helped her dress quicker.

'What's the matter?' He asked blindly.

'Well, if you hadn't noticed, I am sitting in you're bed naked at two in the morning when I should be at home, and not with one of my English students.'

'I'm just 'one of you're English students' now, am I?'

'No, no, baby, not like that.' She reassured him, while still dressing herself hurriedly.

'And you mean you should be home with you're husband.' He said bitterly.

'Please don't ruin the moment.'

'What moment? We didn't have a moment.'

'Don't get sulky like a child, Eleven.'

'If you are married, why is you're name Miss Oswald, and why don't you wear a ring?' He cut across, his tone a little angrier and annoyed than usual.

'Its complicated, okay? Don't worry about it.'

'Don't worry about it? We've slept together and you're in my bed, while you're husband's at home in the bed you should be in. Don't pretend like I don't need to know, because I do.'

'Eleven, please, don't bring it up,' she took both of his hands in her own, pleading with her eyes as she took a breath, 'I will explain everything, I will, I promise. But for now, I'd like to take this memory away as one of the best I have. Please.'

His eyes faltered, and his face shone half lit in the moonlight, making it even more beautiful and angelic than it already was.

'Okay.' He accepted quietly, finally staring her in the eye and giving a small smile.

'I know I'm being difficult, but it's the way it has to be right now. And,' she started to smile, patting his cheek, 'why were you in the middle of a rugby game when you don't know what the hell you are doing? What were you trying to do?'

'I don't...I don't actually know. Twelve told me to be a quarterback, so-'

She couldn't help the laughter.

'I don't think Twelve knows what being a quarterback is, either.'

'What?' He stared at her.

'Or most likely, he told you that so you looked like a twat. He probably still hadn't forgiven you fully yet. If if was a prank, it definitely worked.'

'Why?'

'You were standing with the offending team.' And at that point her laughter became woven with her speech, unable to help herself.

'He knew you'd be shit at playing, and wouldn't know what to do in any position you were in.'

He only sat there, his mouth forming an 'o'.

'Why didn't you tell me?'

'Oh, I didn't want to upset you.'

He fell backwards into the bed, staring at the ceiling in mock despair.

'I'm never playing rugby again. And definitely not with Twelve.'

'Why'd you do it in the first place?'

'I still felt a little guilty from when I shouted at them.'

'Okay, well next time don't play at all.'

'Aw, come on, lets not talk about rugby.'

'Well, I have to go.'

He made a sound of protest that made her laugh even harder.

'I'll see you in the morning. For now, I better get back.'

He sighed exasperatedly, murmuring assent.

She kissed him one last time, both holding on as long as they could.

'I don't want you to go.' He whispered as they broke apart and her thumbs stroked lovingly at his cheek.

'I know. But it would also be a sight if you're friends came in to bed and saw me here.'

He laughed, looking at the floor, 'I guess so.'

A pause of silence, just making the moment last longer than it should.

'Eleven, I-'

They both turned their heads to the window, where a loud bang had sounded and cheap, rocket fireworks whizzed round the air outside, streaking flashes of light around the throng of people making they're drunken way toward the building.

Clara smiled at him, and then departed, speed walking as fast as possible toward the exit before anyone could spot her. So close. She was so close to saying it until the bloody fireworks had distracted her. Making her way toward the car park and her motorbike, she revved the engine. Watching the stars as she drove round the corner, her thoughts suddenly turned to what and who were waiting back home. She didn't know what the 'perfect excuse' would be this time. Dreading the moment she killed the engine, she embraced the cool wind on her face in the meantime, a dreamy and appreciative smile on her face. Taking the familiar route home, she finally took off her helmet and climbed off her bike, facing the whitewashed wall of her house. Inhaling a breath, she fit the key into the lock, and opened the door.

••••

He was woken by a crashing sound. His eyes opening groggily, the light shining painfully into them, he inspected a black-clad figure that was sprawled on the floor, face down in the carpet.

'Nine?'

No answer. Eleven quickly put on some jeans and crouched down to shake his shoulder.

'Nine, Nine, wake up.'

A groan, a stir of limbs, and finally a massive roll away from him.

'Mate, you're on the floor!' He laughed, shaking him again.

He yawned, stretching into a crawling position until he was on all fours. The sight was bizarre to watch. He looked like a cat. Scuttling back to bed, he jumped onto it, his head hitting the pillow and his snoring a sign of instant sleep.

'What are you doing? We have lessons!'

'No we don't.' He mumbled, his speech almost incomprehensible. Eleven stood over his bed reproachfully.

'We won the rugby game. They decided to give us all a day off as we WON THE LEAGUE!' he shouted, words still slightly muffled.

'Really?' He raised his eyebrows.

'Yeah!'

'Okay...'

'So we get to do anything we want. And it's only for the rugby team itself, so that technically means you get the day too. Everyone else has to do work.'

'Is that why Twelve told me to do the rugby?'

He sniggered, 'yeah. And also to make you look like a prat.'

'Thought so.'

'Seriously, that was quite funny. What the hell were you doing?'

'I was wondering that myself.'

'Well, now you know never to trust Twelve again.'

'Yep. Learnt my lesson.'

He sauntered back over to his bed, where he opened up his messages on his phone. After recently acquiring Clara's phone number, he had been texting her at every opportunity he got. And he was glad to hear she never got tired of them.

'Do you have a free period today?' He wrote.

Only five minutes later, she replied.

'3rd. Why?'

'Rugby players from the game yesterday get the day off.'

'Are you sure you do, then?'

He laughed aloud, shaking his head. This is what he got from dating an English teacher.

'Yes, it was why Twelve made me do it in the first place, to get me a day off.'

'And to make you look a fool.'

'Yeah. I'll see you third, then.'

Ten woke up, yawning and stretching.

'Ugh. I need to shave.' He commented, feeling the prickles on his chin. Lumbering out of bed and wiping his eyes he gave a sleepy smile to Eleven as he passed to the bathroom, but not before he noticed something in his bed.

'What's that?' He questioned, eyes going wider and brightening with flaming curiosity.

Eleven saw what he was looking at and his heart skipped a beat.

'Uh...uhmm..' He stammered, looking helplessly from him to the thing lying shamelessly on the bed.

'Whose are they?' He inquired further, pointing to the pair of knickers, a knowing smile forming.

'Uhh...' He said again.

'Oi, Twelve, Nine! Look what Eleven's got in his bed.'

Before he could even put his head in his hands in shame, the both of them joined Ten and raised their eyebrows.

'Whose are they, then?'

He crossed his arms, waiting for an answer Eleven couldn't tell.

'Why do you need to know?'

'Because you've clearly just fucked a girl.'

'Come on, just tell us.' Nine added.

'But why do I have to tell you?'

They stared at him, all quite shocked. Eleven had said to himself he would tell them what had happened, yet now he was in the very situation he couldn't. He turned away, not meeting his dishonest eyes, and walked to the bathroom.

'At least let me go in there first!' Ten exclaimed at him, but the door only closed shut in response. Eleven didn't know what to do. Should he just tell them? They were like his brothers, after all. Yet a tugging thought at the back of his mind challenged this. Would they tell everyone else? As the news was so odd it would bound to spread. Twelve had already proven to him that he couldn't be trusted. He heard them mutter and slowly wander off from the door, which he stayed behind. Finally unlocking the door, he saw the place deserted. Must have gone down for breakfast, he thought. Getting dressed he knew he couldn't keep diverting the subject, that he would actually have to tell them. The morning went slowly, and he decided to spend it in his bed for the duration, boringly catching up on late work. He checked the time, waiting for the bell to go so he could see Clara again. And just possibly give back the clothing she had left. Flicking his pencil against the surface of his book, he leant back and counted the number of marks left on the walls from injuries and larking about. He noticed a few had been caused by themselves, and he smiled reminiscently at the memories. He was so conflicted. It felt like every choice he took would end badly. And both options had their repercussions. He would try talk to Clara about it, if he could. It seemed she wasn't open to sharing much about her own life, and a part of him was annoyed with that. If she could unashamedly sleep with him, she could also tell him the basic information. With shock he realised it had been such a physical attraction they hadn't even got to known each other in terms of interests and preferences, which were of course, very important to know. He didn't even know her favourite colour, her favourite foods, favourite flower. Things so simple that made all the difference of knowing a person. So that was what he was determined to do. As the alarm sounded and woke him awake from his thoughts, he bolted down to her classroom, where the last few students were leaving.

'Clara.' He called, running up to her and smiling.

'Eleven. Are you okay?'

'Yeah.'

Once they were alone he held her face in his hands and kissed her, almost desperately.

'I need to know, what's you're favourite colour?'

'Blue. Why?'

'Same as me.'

'Why?' She repeated, confused.

'We haven't actually gotten a chance to talk. Properly talk, about what we love and hate, about all the simple things that need explaining.'

'Okay.' She said cautiously. He took a seat opposite her. Looking closer she could see faint shadows under her eyes, and her face looked oddly...bruised. Like she had hurt it, especially her cheeks.

'What's happened to you're face?'

She waved him off yet again. 'Oh, it's nothing. Don't worry.'

'No!' He exclaimed, his hand coming down to rest on top of hers.

'Stop telling me not to worry because it will only make me worry more! I've had enough of not talking about things important!'

'I just can't-'

'No, that's not the answer. You need to tell me what's happened to you're face, why you don't wear a ring and who you're husband is.'

Her mouth formed a thin line, and he could see she was feeling guilty.

'Its nothing, I just, um, knocked myself.'

'It doesn't look like that to me. You've been hit. And I want you to tell me who it was.' He said more forcefully.

She shook her head as he leant closer, inspecting the bruises with hurt in his eyes. His thumbs stroked them, and his voice cracked.

'Who did this to you?' He asked, eyes shining with uncontrollable tears. The thought of someone even laying a finger on her made him feel sick.

'Please, please don't cry.' She told him, holding his face in her hands the same way and eyes starting to water too.

'Please just tell me.' He breathed, kissing the back of her hand.

'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'

'Don't say sorry. Tell me who it was.'

In answer, she locked his lips, and Eleven got heavenly caught up in her, so much so, he forgot his own name. The tears started to run down their cheeks together, and he could taste the saltiness on her lips, sweet and beautiful. He touched her everywhere he could reach, drawing her closer, until she was practically sitting on his lap, legs in their usual position round his waist and he leaned back. She was higher than him, weighing him down as he tilted his head to kiss her and he absentmindedly pushed away the clutter on her favoured desk. Undressing get slowly, he kissed her shoulders and held onto her tenderly. Once their clothes were abandoned on the floor, he rubbed against her eagerly until she allowed him entrance, eliciting a moan that made Eleven shudder in response. He laid her down fully, gasping at the sensation that was claiming him.

With a chuckle she commented on the red fez he wore, and he placed it on her own head. Wrapping his arms tight around her he buried himself deeper inside her, creating a string of curse words and moans. Their lips clashed together with violent passion as he thrust harder and harder, causing the thrill of pleasure he appreciated while she groaned his name in his ear.

'Clara!?'

A voice interrupted them and with lightning speed they threw themselves off each other as the man stood in the doorway, eyes flaming with anger and his fists clenched. Eleven nervously took the fez, covering his cock with it bashfully as his face turned violently red. He realised the person was one of his maths teachers.

'Danny.' She said, her hands trembling.

'What the fuck are you doing?'

She gave no answer.

'Who the fuck is this?' He asked, and he made toward Eleven with raised fists, his face a raging bull of hate and anger.

'No!' Clara ran up to him, stopping his movement toward Eleven.

'Don't you fucking dare lay a hand on him.' She warned. He looked between each person, confused out of his mind.

'Clara?' He called fearfully.

She sighed, turning to him.

'This is Danny, he teaches maths. And...' She broke off her sentence.

'Go on,' Danny persisted, giving her a push toward him with disgust, 'tell him.'

Eleven's teeth bared at the push, and she finally looked directly into his eyes.

'He's my husband.'