A/N: I apologise for not updating for so long. I never got such good feedback on a fic at the first chapter and I thank you all so much for that, but my laptop broke and I lost all the chapters of this fic, and I had to rewrite it. It also has been a very bad period for my mental health, so there's that too. I'm back in the game now, though! I'm almost done with rewriting this fic. You can expect updates once a week, I think.
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The Doctor woke slowly, his first thought being that he hadn't slept this well in a while. Actually, he had avoided sleep ever since his goodbye to Clara, in fear of dreaming of her and being tempted to go straight back to her. He felt well rested, almost drunk in the blissful feel of a long, dream-less sleep. He thought he might just lie there forever.
A good sleep was a rare occurrence for him. His sleep schedule had never been decent, had turned horrible after the Time War and had only got worse after Trenzalore, nightmares adding to nightmares, mixing up and twisting his memories into things even more horrible than those he had experienced.
He shifted slightly to move lying on his side and take the chance to enjoy the warmth of his bed a bit longer. Only then did he became aware of the very light weight over his body, and the memories of the previous night came washing over him as he opened his eyes to a sight that took his breath away.
Clara Oswald was sleeping peacefully half on top of him, pressed against his side, nose buried against the junction of his neck and shoulder, breathing softly against his skin. Her right arm rested on his chest, her hand just over his left heart, which seemed to beat faster in response. She appeared so small, bare and asleep next to him, her serene expression masking the need with which she clung to him, the space between them erased, her hand tense on his chest.
Instinctively, he reached out to tuck a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, committing to memory that single instant of Clara sleeping in his bed, the heat of her body, her scent all around him, on him, the sound of her breath and her heartbeat faint even to his hypersensitive ears, the warm tones of her skin glowing in the light of a late Christmas morning that the TARDIS was so faithfully recreating.
The Doctor revelled in the sensation of what felt like a weight which had been lifted off his chest: for long months he had forbid himself the luxury of even the slightest touch with Clara, to avoid that low-level telepathy he naturally fell into when physical contact was involved. He had seen Clara's fear, seen her want his old self back just after he had regenerated, and he had been too afraid of perceiving only rejection in her mind, only the difficulties she found in dealing with the new him, to allow himself to get close to her.
It hadn't been a smart decision, everything considered. He was a touch telepath. His nervous system, his health, were deeply dependant on touch and the emotions shared through it -just a general hint of what the other person was feeling, on the very surface of their mind, at every touch-. He had already mistreated his body enough with nine centuries of loneliness on Trenzalore, trying to detach himself from the townspeople who he was forced to see come into the world and live only to inevitably die, in the war or of old age, and this body had turned out so very sensitive, both physically and telepathically, making every sensation more intense than anything he had ever experienced in his previous bodies.
Clara's affection when she had kissed his cheek the previous night had hit him like a tidal wave, made him smile like an idiot. He smiled again at the thought, caressing his own cheek where the ghost of her touch somehow still lingered.
Lost in thought, he hardly noticed the fluctuation in the aura of clam she gave off. She moved against him, nuzzling into his neck.
"Mmh. Good morning," she murmured, her hand aimlessly caressing his chest.
"Good morning to you."
Clara smiled slowly against his skin. She pulled herself up and on fully on top of him, the weight of her upper body on her forearms, on his chest, regarding him with lazy eyes and a knowing smile that gave into a giggle shortly after.
The Doctor lay absolutely still beneath her as she moved, not knowing what he was supposed to do.
"Not a dream, then," he said, unsure of how to read her expression.
"Not a dream," she assured, her smile growing wider and only more confusing to him.
His first instinct was to reach out to her temple, ready to read what was going on in her head, but he stopped mid-movement. What was that that Clara always told him about personal space and privacy? He hesitated.
"It's fine," Clara said, guiding his palm to the side of her head, seemingly understanding the reason of his uncertainty.
He slipped into her mind with a simplicity that almost scared him. It was too easy to show every bit of himself to Clara Oswald. He was custom-made for her, having regenerated loving her. No one would ever quite match up to her in this life. She would always be the very centre of his being, his everything. It was too easy to love her with every fibre of his hearts, because it was ingrained in him, in this body, like an indelible mark on his skin that branded him as hers, for as long as he would wear this face.
He felt a little apprehension in sharing those thoughts with Clara, imagining that the depth of his affection might seem scary to someone with a life as limited in time as a human's, and knowing that he normally would keep such feelings to himself. Both he and Clara weren't ones to wear their hearts on their sleeves.
'It's good. This way we can fix our communication issues, want it or not,' Clara thought.
However, he sensed that it scared her, the idea of sharing herself so completely, of being unable to hide anything from him or lie in any way. She had easily understood that this was the deepest display of trust for his people, and a vow of absolute honesty. Clara, being human and lacking any telepathic skills, had basically no control over the link and over which thoughts he could see and inspect when they were bound. Even though he could, if he so desired, hide his thoughts from her, she would be aware he was hiding something, and even he could never lie to her without her noticing, when their minds were connected.
The Doctor couldn't help but empathize with her uncertainties, because neither of them liked the idea of being controlled, but he rejoiced in the fact that she didn't mock him for the intensity of his feelings. On the contrary, she felt for him just as deeply. Clara smiled again.
"You're all mine now," she declared, her voice doing that thing, that dropping low that made him shiver and feel all warm inside.
"Was I ever someone else's?"
She considered the option for a moment, distractedly playing with his hair, following the curl of a strand from the scalp to the hair tips, tangling her fingers in it.
"Nope, not really, no."
She caressed the top of his head, flattening his soft curls against his skull and watching them bounce back into place as soon as her hand moved. Her thoughts kindly informed him that this was rapidly becoming one of her favourite pastimes.
"Stop it," he protested weakly, slightly raising his head from the pillow.
"They're springy," she apologized, anything but sorry, and went on tormenting his hair.
It was more pleasant than he was willing to admit, to be touched by Clara in that way, to be the centre of her attention as she studied his features, see her smile as she thought he was handsome and beautiful and hers and she loved the feel of his hair through her fingers.
What he wanted more than anything else in the universe was to make Clara Oswald happy. He sighed in defeat as he let his head fall back on the pillow, an involuntary smile making its way on his face.
"See?" Clara continued, "You're much more fun when you're not scowling like a grumpy old owl."
"I don't scowl."
She giggled.
"Yes, you do. Doing it right now."
Clara was quick to supply him with the mental image of his face in that second, looking up at her, his eyebrows knitted together, deep lines between them and on his forehead.
He couldn't understand why exactly she was complaining, when she seemed to think his facial expressions to be funny and borderline adorable. He scowled harder at her at that thought.
'I'm not adorable.'
"Are so. Very."
Clara chuckled and proceeded to kiss his brow, which mysteriously melted his frown in a second.
She kissed the bridge of his nose, its tip, and his lips, which chased hers when she pulled back. Clara laughed again. Oh, how he loved the sound of her laughter.
One of his hands cupped her face and he kissed her softly, once, twice, three times, drawn to her like a fly to a fire. Only the previous night had he discovered how much he had been missing the contact of another living being, be it even just a hand to hold. Each kiss was a shiver down his spine, Clara's full lips against his thin ones creating something so perfect he wished it could never end, her hot breath heavenly on his sensitive flesh.
Clara deepened the kiss, keeping it slow, savouring the taste of his breath mingling with hers as her fingers tangled in his hair. He shivered, one of his hands sliding down her bare back, pulling her closer to him as she felt desire tug at her abdomen and he felt it through her, adding passion and intensity to the kiss, making her gasp in his mouth.
'God, you're good at this.'
The Doctor grinned against her lips at that, a fizzling warm feeling of pride causing him goose bumps, giving him a new enthusiasm.
Oh, he wanted to be good for Clara Oswald. He wanted to be the best, to never have her think of anyone else, only him. He wanted Clara to feel what he felt, the way he was exclusively hers, forever, no matter what happened, this face was hers, hers, hers.
He explored her body with his lips and his tongue. Her hands, a kiss to each knuckle. Her neck, her breasts, her collarbones. He found all the places that made her keen and made her call out his name until he had her lying on her back, legs over his shoulders, hands fisting his hair, and her thoughts were demanding him to lick her, touch her, anything. He was more than willing to obey, making love to her with his mouth and his fingers, and she was pleading him and praising him until the shocks of her orgasm were making his own body shudder, groans escaping his lips, and Clara was moaning his name.
She lay on his bed, panting as she pulled him into another kiss, messy, sloppy, sweat on her temples, gratitude and daze in her mind.
"I don't want anyone else. I want you," she assured, pressing his forehead against her pulse point, her grip tight in his hair.
Her mind in his and the regular descending climax of her heart slowing down told him without any chance of doubt that she was not lying. For one long moment, he felt at peace.
'My Clara.'
"Mmh." Almost an agreement, an acceptance.
She pushed him gently with his back on the mattress: his body responded to hers automatically, opposing no resistance, allowing her to manoeuvre him as she pleased.
She looked so beautiful, straddling him, with her flushed cheeks and parted lips and round breasts with large, still-hard nipples, taking his breath away again. She did that often. Not that he strictly needed to breathe, but it was remarkable nonetheless, how the sight of such a small creature could cause such unbridled marvel in him.
Clara, looking down at him for a long moment, tucking her hair behind her ear when it fell like a curtain to frame her face. Her breath getting caught in her throat, her consciousness forming only one thought as she regarded him, his face, his deep lines and aging skin, his thin muscles, all nerves: gorgeous.
'My Doctor.'
She showered him with caresses, as though learning his body entirely by touch, memorizing a map of him, of what he liked, learning how to use their mental link to understand and catalogue his reactions, binding their thoughts so deeply his body became an extension of hers. Finally, touching him where his most basic instincts wanted her. Stroking his thighs, tracing the lines of his hipbones. Taking his cock in her hand, in her mouth, teasing his balls, caressing the curve of his arse, making him shudder and whimper and utterly fall apart just with those small, minuscule hands of hers. Every sound he made mysteriously turned into her name, murmured over and over, the nearly unbearable heat of her touch crashing his thoughts, dissolving them into each other, leaving nothing but blazing pleasure.
His need becoming hers, and their bodies joining again. His world collapsing on itself, becoming Clara and nothing else, her small figure moving expertly over his, rocking and rolling her hips, her laughter reverberating through his bones as she watched his eyes screw shut and his face scrunch up in pleasure, the synchronized rhythm of their bodies thrusting into each other speeding up, forcing each other closer as his mind fell into hers and hers in his.
Lights exploding beneath his eyelids. Blinding, thought-vaporizing pleasure. His release triggering hers, catching her off-guard, her muscles clenching hard around him as she came with a shout she tried to suffocate, her hand over her mouth and her eyes wide, so wide, before she could give into a long, shuddering moan.
Her body resting atop his, limp and spent, bliss swinging back and forth between their minds melted together, his fingers distractedly tracing circles on her back. Could have been Gallifreyan, but Clara's mind was so far into his that he found he momentarily couldn't read his own mother tongue. Clara chuckled.
"I don't think I'll ever get used to this. Don't think I want to."
He hummed his agreement, mind adrift.
"Doctor?"
"Mh?"
The Doctor met her gaze, looking down at her, her head on his chest. She seemed to belong there, in his arms, seemed to be made to lie just there like an element of a perfect artistic composition.
"Does this change everything?"
"I don't know. Does it?"
"No- I don't know. I asked first!"
"Nothing has changed, Clara."
What he felt for her, he had felt for centuries now. And nothing in the whole universe could ever change it. It was so human of Clara to think that something as simple as intercourse could shift anything at all in the mind of someone who'd been around for over two thousand years. The fact she reciprocated him, yes, that had turned his little world on its axis, but what he felt for her had been just as huge when he had thought it one-sided.
"But it changes something, doesn't it? We can… snog. Shag."
He smiled.
"Yes, that would be good," he said, maybe a little too eagerly. "If you want," he added quickly.
"Oh, I want. But do you?"
"My race is infinitely more evolutionally advanced than yours, and infinitely more detached from our instincts," he answered. "Which doesn't mean I don't enjoy intimacy."
Of course, he didn't need sex the way most humans seemed to do, but that didn't mean he didn't enjoy it, or that Clara's thoughts wouldn't quickly help similar ones resurface in his own mind.
"I'm not making you want anything, am I?"
"I'd like to see you try." He smirked.
"Shut up. Don't be so smug," she issued, grabbing a pillow she threw playfully at him.
"You don't want to start a pillow fight with me, Clara Oswald."
He grinned slyly, holding the pillow as a barrier between them.
"Why, afraid you can't win, old man?"
Her hands closed over his, ready to fight for a hold of the pillow.
He was about to respond with a witty remark, when his stomach growled.
After a moment of silence, Clara started giggling. The Doctor felt himself blush.
"Breakfast?" he suggested.
"Shower first."
He groaned. "It will take ages! I'm hungry now."
"We'll shower together, then. Come on."
She quickly got off him and her hand found his, pulling him sitting and out of the bed.
Showering together was an excuse for more kissing, he discovered, and for Clara to torment his hair some more a she insisted to wash him, her small hands massaging his scalp as she distributed shampoo and then conditioner through his curls.
He enjoyed her touch more than he was ready to admit, quick and efficient but still loving and gentle, running the soap bar all over his body. She watched him attentively as she washed him, taking in every detail of his body. Where he had some body hair -sparse, light grey, very thin-, where he had moles -all very small, very light, barely visible-, where his veins showed -his wrists and hands, his temples and his feet-. She appreciated the hard bones and muscles of this body, no softness to it at all.
Her body was the exact opposite. Where he was all sharp angles, Clara was all soft curves and roundness and Clara-ness, fit and strong for a human so small but not hardened by war like he was. The curves of her body melted into one another with perfect harmony, tender skin hiding her every bone, with the exception of her collarbones. He almost forgot about hunger as he got lost in appreciating the feel of her skin hot and wet under his fingertips, the silk of her dark hair that turned almost black under the spray of water.
They dried each other up, hair and all, Clara first, then him. She waited in his bedroom as he brushed his hair, spying out of the door now and then to see what she was up to, and his jaw dropped open as he saw her let her bathrobe fall on the floor and confidently slip on nothing but his black jumper, which fit her like a short dress. For some reason the sight had his hearts stop before restarting with a doubled rhythm.
"Clara?" he stuttered as she contentedly sat on the edge of the bed, gazing at him with an amused, mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "That's my jumper."
"Yep."
"You're wearing it."
"Yep."
"Are you… going to give it back?"
"Nope. Maybe. Later, if you're very good."
She hopped off the bed and covered the distance that separated them in a few swift steps, then stood on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.
"I'm going to make us breakfast," she decided.
He shot her a worried look, since by now he knew that Clara and cooking made a dangerous combination. Clara seemed to notice his expression, and glared at him.
"Something wrong, Doctor?" she asked, doing that face she did when she didn't want to be contradicted.
"No. Nope, everything's fine," he lied wisely.
"Good. It better be," she stated, pressing her index finger against his chest in a warning.
The Doctor sighed.
~oOo~
"Bloody-"
When the Doctor entered the TARDIS kitchen, wearing only clean trousers and undershirt as he awaited the return of his jumper, he found Clara in the midst of getting fried eggs stuck to the bottom of a frying pan.
"You forgot the butter," the Doctor said gently, sliding behind Clara, pressing his body against her back to watch what she was doing over her shoulder. "Let me."
He closed his hands around hers, his fingers over hers, directing her moves. He binned the half-burnt eggs, abandoned the pan in the sink and selected another one. He cut some butter and let it melt before breaking four new eggs into the pan.
"Like so," he instructed, grabbing Clara's wrist more firmly and showing her a rocking motion, back, forth and slightly up, preventing the eggs from sticking to the pan again.
After a couple of minutes, he disentangled himself from Clara and put the eggs on the plates, one for her and three for himself.
He sat down at the kitchen table and started to add sugar cubes to his coffee.
Clara didn't follow, so he looked up at her.
She was staring at him with an expression on her face he couldn't decipher, and only then he realized how easily and confidently he had slipped in an almost domestic intimacy, how readily he had accepted what Clara had offered, being an "us". It said a lot about how much he had longed for externalizing his feelings for her without fear.
"Clara… If I'm going too fast-"
"No," she interrupted, sitting at the table with him. "It's fine. We're going to be just fine. We've got enough wasting time."
She had that confident, slightly wide-eyed look she had when she was taking a resolution. He nodded.
The Doctor started taking big forkfuls of his eggs and they ate and drank in silence for a while, as he refrained from complaining for the lack of bacon, then Clara suddenly said:
"We should go back at my place. I'll need my stuff."
"All right," he answered, not sure of what she meant.
"No, I'm moving in with you, Doctor! Don't "all right" me."
He grinned in spite of himself.
"Really?"
"Yeah. I thought it was obvious when I said- when you asked me to come back."
"Well, that's fantastic news. I'll have the TARDIS reorder your old room so-"
"Doctor," she stopped him, leaning towards him and placing her hand over his on the table. "We're sleeping together."
"…Oh."
A new grin bloomed spontaneously on his lips. Clara smiled in return.
"Stop being so smug about it!" she exclaimed, but her tone was playful, light, and his smile only grew wider.
"Can't help it."
He took another forkful of his breakfast with renewed enthusiasm.
"I'm still going to teach. And to see my friends and Dad and Gran. But after I'm done you're gonna be there to pick me up, and we'll go on with saving the universe as always, understood?"
"Yes, boss."
"Good. And we're going on dates. And you're going to take me out for dinner. Don't think I'll let you skip that part, mister."
"I always take you out for dinner," he objected.
"Yeah, but it wasn't- not out out. We were having dinner together, and we were out, but I wasn't aware that we were going out for dinner. So it doesn't count."
"Okay," he agreed without discussing, a small smile curving his lips. Something was plaguing him, though. "Can I, uhm- make a request, ma'am?"
"What? Yeah, of course."
She looked a little upset, and he wondered if he hadn't made her feel self-conscious about her bossy-ness.
"In between the times we meet, I'd like to spend two weeks on my own. Every time."
"What? Why?"
He remained silent, and avoided her gaze, but allowed his mind to meet hers trough their linked hands on the table.
'I don't want to burn up your time. Our time.'
He had been working on this thought in the background of his brain ever since he had woken up. Clara only had about sixty years left. He probably had over five hundred just in this body. That was over eight times the years she had left. Ever since he had regenerated he had been spending quite a lot of time alone in between his visits to her.
"If you see me every two weeks, you won't have to see me go," Clara realized. "You'll go first."
He met her eyes, but didn't answer if not in his thoughts.
'Yes.'
"Well, you can't do that. You don't get to go first. You're not leaving me alone."
"That, you understand, leaves us at a stall," he said calmly.
She didn't answer immediately, thinking.
"Together," she decided. "Start with two weeks, then adjust the aim as time passes. We're going together."
"That would be… complicated."
"But it's doable?"
"Yes-"
"Good. You do that."
She stared at him, determined.
Settling life and death at the breakfast table. That was his life with Clara Oswald, he guessed. He smiled at the fire in her eyes, perhaps what had made him fall for her in the first place. He could live with that. Live happily with it, too.
"We have a deal, then."
They finished their breakfast in near silence, gazing at each other over the edge of their mugs, fingers entwined over the table, toying shyly with each other's fingers, and after a while her eyes were smiling. Pushing the thought of their inevitable separation far, far in the back of his mind, the Doctor started grinning, and found he couldn't stop.
When Clara moved to get up from her chair, he stopped her, his grip on her hand tightening.
"Clara?"
"Yes?"
He smiled.
"Welcome home."
Clara smiled back.
~oOo~
"Come on, I know you want to ask," Clara said as she gathered some of her clothes in a small red suitcase.
"Your flat. What happened to it? Did it inflate?"
They had got dressed and he had materialized the TARDIS back to where he had picked Clara up the night before, but he was starting to notice now just how big her house was. He seemed to remember her living in a rather small flat. It wasn't like he had been paying too much attention, he hardly paid attention to anything that wasn't Clara when she was around, if they were on Earth. It was mostly boring and uninteresting anyway, or certainly less interesting than Clara.
"This is my Gran's house. We switched."
"You switched houses? Well, now that's just confusing. Why would you do that?"
She closed her suitcase with a heavy sigh and sat heavily on it, hands in her lap.
"My place was small. And here I'm closer to Coal Hill."
She kept her eyes down, fixed on her hands.
The Doctor sat beside her on the bed.
"Reminded you too much of Danny, didn't it."
"And of you, Doctor!" she exclaimed, suddenly standing again, picking up various objects while she paced around the room, steadily avoiding his gaze. "Where you parked the TARDIS. Where you blew up my old phone. That cupboard you kept hitting your head on because it was designed for my height."
"My God, yeah. Good riddance."
Clara finally turned towards him, only to glare at him. Then she went on with her packing.
He rose from the bed and grabbed her wrist delicately.
"Clara."
She looked up at him. "Gran's better off in my flat anyway, this house is too big to clean for an old lady. That's why we switched. She asked me."
"Of course she did." He didn't care if Clara was lying to him or if her grandmother was just as clever as Clara was. "Do you need a hug?"
"Yes, please."
Clara let her things fall on the floor and he pulled her into his embrace without hesitation, wrapping his arms around her, resting his chin over her shoulder. Her face buried into his neck, he let his mind comfort hers with soothing thoughts.
"I missed you. I just wanted you back," she whispered, voice shaking a little.
"I'm back."
"But you were gone. You can't do that." 'I need you.'
"Clara…"
"Promise me. Promise me you won't leave me alone again."
"I promise," he swore, because he couldn't help but do what she asked, and because he genuinely did not want to leave her.
"No dying. No regenerating."
"Okay."
It was surprising really, how easily he could promise her things that weren't under his control. But he would try his best to stay alive if that made Clara Oswald happy.
"Good."
They parted and Clara started to pick up the stuff she'd let fall.
"Do you have a lot more to pack?"
She looked doubtfully at the two suitcases on the bed, one closed and another one still open.
"Not really, no. The TARDIS can get me anything I need anyway-" She paused when her phone started ringing in her pocket.
She looked up at him as she answered.
"Gran. Hi."
*Merry Christmas, sweetheart! Everything okay for today?*
With his earing, the Doctor could hear the voice of Clara's grandmother quite clearly.
"Uhm… today. Yes! Sure. Christmas. Lunch at my place. Yep. Everything's fine."
Clara bit her lip nervously, looking alternatively at him and around the room. The Doctor frowned.
*Are you okay, Clara?*
"Yep. Never better. I- uhm- I'm a little busy at the moment-"
*Are you sure you don't need help cooking?*
"Nope. Cooking's fine. Know what, we're having turkey!"
"Clara, what are you talking about? I thought we were leaving," the Doctor said, confused.
"Shhh!"
*Clara? Are you with someone?*
"I- Nope! No, no one at all!"
He frowned again at that, crossing his arms. Clara mouthed an 'I'm sorry'.
*Is it that Doctor friend of yours?*
"Uhm…"
*Wouldn't you be happier to spend Christmas with your friend, rather than with this old lady, your dad and that horrible woman?*
Clara smiled at that. "Gran-"
*Hush, child. Just tell me one thing: does he make you happy?*
Clara's smile grew wider. She glanced at him, then at the floor, then back at him.
"Yes. Yes, he does."
*Off you go then, I'll take care of lunch. Let's see if we can poison that witch, shall we, hmm?*
"Gran! I… Thanks. Could you tell Dad?"
*Naturally, dear. Enjoy Christmas with your boyfriend!*
"He's not- thanks, Gran. Don't poison Linda without me."
Clara hung up and smiled somewhat apologetically at him.
"Gran and Dad were supposed to be here for lunch. And Linda too. Sorry, I completely forgot about it," she said as she moved her suitcases from her bed to the inside of the TARDIS.
"Can we go see a planet now?" he asked, leaning on the doorframe, looking into the console room.
Clara grinned.
"I thought you'd never ask."
She grabbed his hand and pulled him in as he grinned back at her.
The doors closed behind the Doctor's back as he followed her to the console, glad to have his co-pilot back, not a care in the world.