Author's Note: Though I haven't changed the rating, please be aware that there are some strong sexual themes here. So if that's not your cuppa tea, please skip this chapter. :) Also just wanted to say thank you to all those who've left feedback, favorited and followed this story. You guys are awesome! :)
Clara's mind and body were locked in a bloody, ruthless battle.
Her body screamed for her mind's surrender as the Doctor's fingers continued their own assault: his one hand skimming her knickers at her thigh; his other caressing the skin just above the line of hair, neither ever once venturing where she absolutely needed him to go, her body begging for her to turn around, push him back into a chair and fuck him until his eyes rolled back into his head, game be damned.
But then…his sanctimonious, self-righteous, smugly triumphant statement…
I WIN games.
Her mind revolted, seizing control as she reached out and clapped her fingers around his wrists, whirled him about and forced him back into that exact chair her body had been advocating for so loudly a second ago. Clamping her hands down on his shoulders, she straddled his lap, trapping him there. But she ignored her body's desperate pleas for direct contact, her mind firmly in control as she maintained a few inches of distance, her grinding motions meeting only air.
"Don't take your victory lap yet, Doctor," she warned him, wrists locking behind his neck so he had no choice but to look up at her. "If you think that will work on me, then you really don't know me that well."
"And if you think this will work on me, you really don't know me that well," he snarled.
Clara smirked. "Oh, I don't know…" She gave her hips a slow, languorous roll that conveyed just what he was missing. His body clearly knew it, too: there was unmistakable heat radiating beneath her. "Feels like it's working just fine," she purred.
His smile was slow and dangerous. Then, quite unexpectedly, he chuckled.
Clara faltered. "Something funny, Doctor?"
"Just your memory."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, it seems to have developed a fault. Maybe we should take a look - scan your brain to make sure it hasn't turned to pudding."
She was floored, the sudden turn of mood a splash of freezing ice water on her arousal. "And why would we need to do that?"
"Because you seem to have completely forgotten that I was married to River Song." He leaned forward in the chair until his nose was almost touching hers. "I can do this for hours," he sneered.
She should snog that smugness right off his face...
No. She wasn't done yet.
So she pushed herself to standing. "I was just getting warmed up," she said, reaching underneath her skirt and sliding her knickers down her legs.
"Really?" Apparently this only merited mild interest for him. "There's no way you can win this, Clara. Better for you to quit now – save yourself from the inevitable embarrassment later."
She cocked her head at him incredulously, hands planted on her hips. "You think that's gonna stop me? You think I'm just gonna give up?"
"No, I know you're not just going to give up, and that's the problem. Because the last thing you can do is admit when you've lost control." Though spite dripped from every word, it was impossible to miss how keenly he waited for her reaction.
He was daring her to prove him wrong.
It only took her two large strides to reach him, her hands diving purposefully into his lap, fingers deftly undoing the top button of his trousers, unzipping and yanking them and his pants down until she'd exposed him.
He couldn't hide his shock, though it quickly gave way to anticipation and heat.
"Oh, Doctor, when it comes to control…" She climbed atop his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. Despite the inches between them, he let out a shuddering breath at the first grind of her hips, as she started another agonisingly slow dance, inching down the slightest bit further with each swivel. He hissed when she came to within just centimeters of meeting him…
And stopped.
She brought her mouth so close to his ear, her lips grazed it with her words. "You really are out of your depth."
A curse ripped out of him, and he gripped her hips with trembling fingers.
Her traitorous body was begging now. Do it. Just a little pressure, oh please...
But he seemed to recognise the peril he was in, evidently not trusting himself. So he let his hands wander, trailing up the sides of her torso until they came to her face, clutching her head and wrenching it towards him resolutely.
Against her will, Clara's eyes fell shut.
A stream of his breath tickled her lips, and her resolve weakened further.
Her internal battle raged on, her body resorting to sneaky, underhanded tactics: just kiss him. You'll be taking what you want by ending this – not giving in.
But her mind rallied with a louder cry: you can't let him win!
Drawing on reserves of will power she normally saved for parent-teacher conferences and daily allotment of Lindt truffles, she kept her head still, leaving him to close the gap between their mouths.
If either of them was going to break their deadlock, it would not be her.
So when she felt his hands around her waist again, there was a breathless, glorious second where she thought he was capitulating, guiding her down onto him – but no, his grip was tightening and instead of letting her fall, he was lifting her up, sending her backwards so her legs slid from beneath her and she tumbled off of him in an entirely ungraceful pile of limbs.
Unceremoniously dumped onto the floor wasn't exactly how she'd envisioned the outcome when he raised his white flag, but surrender was surrender and she would gladly take it. She peered up at him with a widening smirk as he zipped himself up.
"What was that about not being able to admit when you'd lost control, Doctor?" she taunted.
Instead of replying, however, he merely offered her a hand in an uncharacteristic display of chivalry – especially after he'd just sent her toppling onto the floor without so much as an 'oops.'
She grasped his hand and let him help her to standing. "Guess it was too much for you to han -" She was cut off as he swooped down and hooked his arms underneath her shoulders, carrying her to one of the stairs where he plunked her down with the same lack of care he'd exhibited a moment earlier.
Blood pounded in her ears as she waited for his next move.
But he inexplicably turned, pacing away from her, shaking his head with something akin to disappointment. "You have no patience, Clara," he chastised, like she'd just reached for a second helping at the table and he'd batted her hand away. "You're so eager to jump right into it, you're missing the point."
Every time she expected him to zig, he zagged. Following his mercurial moods was exhausting enough as it was, to say nothing of these new hairpin turns. "I don't think I'm missing the point."
"Yes, you are. As a human I understand why because frankly your lives are laughably short, but you especially – you need to stop. You need to stop and slow down."
Clara made a valiant effort to keep her features neutral. "Isn't it the other way around? Slow down and then stop?"
"No!" He pointed a finger at her. "No, it isn't. Because the rate you were going, I had to stop you first. You were going too fast for me to slow you down."
Her game face was starting to slip and her bravado with it. "You mean the game? The way I was playing the game?"
"Oh, the game, the game, the game – is that all you care about?" He fixed her with an expression that was half Haughty Headmaster and half Ancient Judgmental Alien.
Clara smoothed her skirt self-consciously. She swallowed. "No, I just want to know if we've stopped. I mean, if you've stopped or don't want to play anymore. But then that also means that I win."
"Do you want to know what I would do to you?"
She couldn't help her gaping, and not just at how his voice seemed to have suddenly dropped an octave, tone softened to a barely audible rumble. "Wh…what?"
Predatory gleam in his eye, he stalked towards her, words falling in time with his steps. "Do you…want to know…what I…would do to you?"
Caught with her guard down like that, she grappled for control of her voice. "Do to me..."
"I would start slow, teasing you – like before." To illustrate, he started mimicking a stroking motion. "I would run my fingers up your thigh just enough to make you squirm."
Clara's legs parted, seemingly of their own volition.
"Once I got high enough, I would touch you, just once…" He continued to mimic his words, pointer finger slicing through the air. "Just enough to…" He turned his hand gracefully inward, the motion like that of a magician. "Taste you," he finished, and a brief flash of pink appeared as his tongue darted out from between his lips to wet his fingertip.
Clara let out a shuddering breath, shifting as she felt her body respond.
"I'd return to stroking you, then…up…and down…slowly, and I'd pull back when I felt you start to push into me because Clara, patience." The look he shot her was devoid of chastisement or disappointment now, holding only the promise of mind-blowing fulfillment. "I'd increase the pressure on my own time, finding your most sensitive spot, rubbing…" The tip of his finger elegantly circled the air.
Clara gripped the edge of the step, legs falling shamelessly open. Hunger flared up in his eyes as her fingers strayed to her skirt, pulling it up her legs.
"You're already thinking about it. Aren't you?"
She nodded.
"I didn't hear you," he murmured, moving almost imperceptibly forward. "I said, 'aren't you?'"
"Yes," she said breathlessly.
"Well, Clara, I'm terribly sorry to tell you this, but…" His next step brought him close enough to touch her. "I haven't even started yet."
The noise that sounded from her throat was part frustration and part anticipation.
"Because do you see these fingers?" He wiggled them at her. "They're long. And slender. Perfect for…" He dropped his hand, palm up, fingers pointing towards her. Still watching her, his second and third fingers curled.
Clara let out a long whimper.
"I'd continue to slide into you like this, using my thumb on the outside…" He made tight circles again, as he continued his motions, moving his hand back and forth languidly, his fingers bending and flexing. "You see what I'm doing? I'm writing my name inside of you, like I said I would… searing it into you…"
This time she groaned, her hands getting restless, needing to feel it, to feel him…
"And then, and only then, Clara…I would use my mouth." He bowed his head over his hand and moved one step closer…
And stopped, not even a fingertip's length away from her.
"Please," she whispered, practically shaking with need.
He peered up at her. "Please what?"
She was beyond reason, her mind utterly vanquished. "Please, I need…"
"Do you want this, Clara?"
"Yes, I want…"
"You can have it."
She let out another groan, reaching for him, needing his mouth, his hands, his everything, his anything to touch her, but he nimbly avoided her. "What…?"
A strange mixture had settled into his features: pupils blown wide with desire and need clashed with the determined clamp to his jaw, the low set of his eyebrows. "Three words. Give me three words, and you can have it."
"Three words?"
"Just three words."
Her mind awoke and everything she'd disregarded with lustful eyes sharpened as her heart started pounding for a different reason. Three words…
She searched his face for any hint of longing, of yearning for her in that way. Of a desire that lay beyond the carnal, that unbeknownst to her, had sat in his hearts all along…
And yet…he wanted the words from her.
Had this been his ultimate goal the whole time? To tease her until she was crying out for him, willing to do anything he asked?
Had he used the entire evening as a ruse to wrench this confession out of her?
I've seen just how different it is with him.
Had the Doctor noticed it, too?
"What three words?" she asked hesitantly, hoping she was wrong…and somehow also hoping she was right.
Whatever he needed from her, it was serious. He approached her again, the intensity of his focus breathtaking.
"'You win, Doctor.'"