Thank you for the sweet reviews :) You wanted a party? Let's have a party ;)

Chapter 22

The Doctor entered the brightly decorated room and immediately wanted to turn his back on Last Christmas playing at full volume, but he was here now and he couldn't just leave Clara alone with all these people who seemed more than happy to be here. Clara. Where was she?

He let his gaze wander around the room until the Doctor finally spotted her, standing next to the buffet and chatting with Amy, but something about her was wrong. Amy might not have been able to see it, but the Doctor had known Clara for too long now to tell when she was faking a smile. However, when she spotted him, her face lit up in earnest.

"I'm gonna go and see if the DJ can be bribed not to play that song again tonight, okay?" Amy said towards Clara before she turned around to look at him, "Hi Doctor!"

"Hi Amy," he said before she vanished into the crowd, "I think that's a brilliant idea. I hate that song."

"Right there with you," Clara sighed and downed the contents of her glass, "Care for some punch?"

The Doctor shrugged. "Why not? I took a taxi."

He watched as Clara filled him a glass before she got a refill for herself and again he couldn't quite shake the feeling that something was troubling her.

"Is everything alright?" he asked and took a sip from his glass. The punch was strong and tasted disgustingly sweet.

"Sure, why wouldn't it be?" she asked back, sipping her drink. The Doctor thought she was attempting to hide her face behind the glass.

"You seem-"

"I'm fine," she interrupted him, glaring up at him, "I'm just not so keen on being here."

The Doctor shrugged. "We could leave?"

Now she laughed at him. "You only just got here."

When he didn't reply to that, the Doctor suddenly felt Clara scanning him with her gaze, obviously considering something.

"Do you still have that bottle of Scotch in your office upstairs?" she asked him after a moment.

"Uhm, yes?" he replied a little uncertainly.

"Good," Clara concluded, "Bring your glass. At least we'll have better music than the rest."

When Clara started to make her way out of the canteen, the Doctor had no other choice than to follow after her if he didn't want to lose her. And, if he was completely honest, spending the evening alone with Clara, good music and some Scotch sounded a lot better than what they had originally planned.

He unlocked his office door and Clara instantly skipped ahead in the direction of the record player when she came to an abrupt halt next to his guitar.

"Oh, can you play me something?" she asked.

"Sure," the Doctor shrugged as he closed the door behind himself, "The Scotch is in the drawer."

While Clara helped herself to the bottle and emptied her punch, the Doctor reached for the guitar and plugged it into the small amplifier next to the sofa where he sat down. He turned down the volume so they wouldn't attract unnecessary attention from downstairs and started to play a melody when Clara sat down next to him.

"You're amazing at that," she said in awe and the Doctor felt himself blush a little. He should do something to impress her, to cheer her up, so eventually he decided to play the opening riff of Pretty Woman, staring straight at Clara as he did.

"Oh, stop it," she giggled, quickly averting her eyes.

The Doctor smiled and placed the guitar back in its stand, reached for his glass and sipped the sugary drink. At least he had managed to cheer her up a little and he was feeling a lot better now that the pressure of attending a boring Christmas party had been taken off his shoulders.

"How are the students behaving?" he asked her.

"Quite well actually," Clara replied and leaned back in her seat, sipping her Scotch.

Somehow the Doctor could tell that the combination of this, being alone in a room together, the alcohol, Clara's strange mood, was potentially a bad idea, but he couldn't find it in himself to do the reasonable thing and suggest to go back downstairs. He loved it just the way it was right now. Sitting next to Clara, chatting, drinking, laughing. He didn't want that to end and it was definitely a lot more fun than they would have had downstairs. After his third drink the Doctor could feel himself get a little braver as his hand dropped to Clara's thigh, but she didn't seem to mind the gesture. Quite the contrary. She giggled when his fingertips brushed her skin and his heart started beating a little faster.

"When will you tell me your name?" Clara asked after a while, smiling dreamily at him.

The Doctor snorted. "Never," he replied and set his empty glass back down.

"I could make you," she winked at him in reply, grinning.

"And how are you gonna do that?" he arched his eyebrows up, sure that his speech sounded a little fuzzy.

In response Clara raised the bottle and refilled their glasses. "By getting you drunk enough," she giggled and raised her own glass back to her lips. Her soft, wet, beautiful lips. The Doctor watched, almost mesmerized, as she sipped her Scotch, the drink clinging to her lips and suddenly his mind was somewhere else entirely.

Clara must have noticed it because her gaze dropped from his face to his crotch slowly enough for him to understand just where she was looking and before the Doctor could react properly, Clara had set her glass down and climbed onto his lap. Her movements were a little uncoordinated and her hand slipped from its grasp around the back rest, causing her to land on top of his chest.

"There," she smiled at him once she had propped herself back up, "That's better."

The Doctor wanted to protest, tell her that it probably wasn't the right time, the right circumstances, but when she pressed her lips on top of his own, he once more forget why he should be protesting at all. Clara instantly opened her mouth to him, their tongues colliding sloppily, and her hands wandered to the back of his head, grabbing his hair to hold him in place. The Doctor couldn't help but moan into her mouth when she started grinding down against his crotch and instantly he realized just what she was up to. Clara wasn't fooling around, not this time, and the excitement about it suddenly seemed to drain all the blood from his brain.

Clara untangled one of her hands from his hair and let it slide down his chest, their lips never parting, not even when it finally came to rest on his belt. The Doctor had a hard time catching up. Clara was on top of him, kissing him, everything he had ever wanted was about to come true and he was too drunk to react properly.

"Clara," he mumbled against her lips, "I don't think I'm in the best state for this."

She broke away from him, panting, and the Doctor took a moment to catch his breath as well when suddenly she had him palmed in her hand. Clara squeezed him through the fabric of his trousers and it sent a jolt through his entire body.

"Seems to be working," she shrugged and lowered her other hand as well, struggling to undo his belt.

"You sure about this?" he asked.

Then, all of a sudden, Clara rose from her position on his lap, staggering a little, but eventually she reached down under her skirt and produced a pair of black, lacey knickers. The Doctor was only dimly aware that she stuffed them into his jacket pocket when she sat back down, their lips colliding once more in a kiss, and the Doctor lowered his hand between her legs, finding her already damp.

She whimpered into his mouth when he started rubbing his finger against her clit and the Doctor sank further into his sofa cushions while Clara dipped her hand past the waistband of his underpants and reached for his cock again. He was growing harder in her hand, her touch almost making him fall apart at this instant. He started rocking into her palm, craving more, craving her wetness around him. Clara circled his tip with her thumb and he swallowed a moan.

"Clara," he said breathlessly when their lips parted, "Please."

Clara stopped her touch and looked down, obviously aiming to pull down his underpants when she suddenly came to a halt.

"Doctor, why do you have. . ." she began warily, slurring her words a little, "Teletubbies on your underpants?"

"Long story," he replied and helped her push down the unwanted fabric.

Finally Clara closed her hand around his cock that by now was throbbing with desire for her and led her to her entrance. He didn't even try to stop the moan that came over him as he slipped into her wetness, her walls adjusting around him when he was fully buried inside her. She gasped on top of him, propping herself up against his chest and started moving. Out of all the times the Doctor had imagined doing this with Clara, the reality was definitely better. She was so hot, so tight around him, the sensation of it overpowering everything else. There was nothing on this planet right now except him and Clara.

"Oh, fuck me," he muttered when Clara leaned forward, sinking down on him again.

She giggled. "That's what I'm doing."

The Doctor couldn't help but chuckle as well at the silliness of their conversation at this particular moment and he laid his hands on her hips, guiding their rhythm, trying to make her go a little faster.

Clara gave a moan when his thrusts started to come harder and her nails dug through his shirt until he could feel them on his skin. Clara was perfect, but he needed more. The pressure was already building up in him, driving him to go faster and harder, his breath coming out ragged.

"Mhh," Clara hummed on top of him, the sound resonating through his entire body.

Damn, he was too close already and he couldn't find the will to slow down. He just needed more, and so the Doctor thrust up harder, causing Clara to utter a soft cry of pleasure as she purposefully tightened her walls around him.

It was too much and he couldn't stop it, the feeling of her around him was driving him utterly insane and before the Doctor knew it, his body just took over, plunging into her frantically until he was unable to hold it back any longer and the Doctor spilled himself inside of her with a groan when his orgasm came over him.

"Sorry," he muttered instantly, "Sorry, I just. . . I couldn't-"

"It's fine," Clara panted, "'s okay."

Clara rose from his lap and pulled her dress back down until it was covering her thighs again and the Doctor slumped back onto the sofa, still breathing heavily, his cock still tingling in the afterglow, and suddenly he felt insanely tired. The room was spinning just a little when he closed his eyes and the Doctor just knew he would pay for the Scotch with a headache the next day.

"I just need a moment," he said groggily.

"It's fine," Clara repeated instantly, "I'm gonna find a toilet."

The Doctor hardly heard the door close behind her and before he knew it, he was already drifting off.