Chapter 10

The Doctor was suffering from cabin fever. There was no other explanation for his wound up and ruffled state. 7 days they had been locked up in here with no other place to go than the woods and the grocery shop. While Clara had calmed down more and more with each day, never once mentioning her plans of revenge again after the second day, the Doctor had only become more agitated. He hated not having anything to do. He hated sitting around and above all he hated what it did to him.

He watched Clara lounge about on the sofa, reading another Jane Austen novel, her naked feet dangling in the air. He knew he should be reading, too. The book was in his hands but his eyes would much rather remain on Clara's small figure, her soft skin, the hair that she kept brushing back behind her ear every five minutes. She was pretty like that, more than pretty and the Doctor's thoughts wandered over her body again, wondering what it would be like to touch her here and there, what sounds she would make if he climbed on top of her, kissing her.

Cabin fever. That's what it was. He hated being cooped up like this.

"Hangman," he said after a while.

"I'm sorry?" Clara craned her neck to look at him, the confusion written all over her face.

"We could play hangman."

Clara chuckled. "Who is the child now?"

The Doctor rose from his chair and threw the book aside, pacing the living room floor. He knew they were safe here, otherwise someone would have gotten to them already but seeing as they were rather close to London going out always posed a risk. He had half a mind to give in to Clara's earlier request for revenge just to have something to do. This place was too small, no wonder his thoughts kept circling around Clara when he saw her almost every minute of every day.

"What about a walk?" he suggested hopefully but when Clara nodded in the direction of the window he was reminded of the early December weather and the rain that kept knocking heavily against the glass. Okay, no walk then.

"We could cook something together," Clara had laid her book aside and was smiling at him now. She didn't seem to mind staying here very much, in fact, the Doctor was under the impression that it did her good, gave her a chance to calm down and come to terms with what had happened.

Clara often spoke to her grandmother on the phone, at least once a day. During their first days here she had cried sometimes, especially at night but now a sort of serenity seemed to have settled over her, even though she still refused to sleep alone in her own room. That was what bothered him the most because while Clara slept like a baby the Doctor found it increasingly hard to fall asleep with her lying next to him.

"Cooking sounds good," he agreed after a moment. It was almost lunch time.

The Doctor led the way into the kitchen and Clara followed him on his heels, skipping ahead of him to grab the cookbook from the counter and open a random page. She made a grimace and turned it over.

"How about an old-fashioned omelette?" she suggested, smiling up at him.

The Doctor ignored how his heart skipped a beat at her smile and nodded before he walked up to the fridge to retrieve some eggs and Clara started to fire up the hob.

Clara woke up to find herself still in darkness and for a brief moment she wondered what had roused her from her sleep when suddenly she found the Doctor stirring next to her. She lifted herself up only to see that he still had his eyes closed. He was dreaming and writhing in his sleep, a few drops of sweat glistening on his forehead in the dim moonlight. He uttered a low moan and Clara considered waking him for a moment, thinking that he was probably having a nightmare.

Gently she placed her hand on his chest and bent down to his ear. "Doctor," she whispered kindly.

"Mhhhh," he moaned again, differently this time, "Clara."

A wave of heat shot through her body at the sound of her name and the way in which he had said it. He was dreaming alright, but now she wasn't so sure anymore whether it was actually a nightmare. The Doctor always seemed so clueless and oblivious to her attempts to flirt with him that Clara had already given up the hope of her efforts ever getting her anywhere. She believed he saw her as a child. But what if he didn't?

Carefully she dipped her hand under the covers and led it between his legs. A rush of arousal went through her when she found him hard but he still didn't wake up. Clara couldn't help but smile. This was her chance. It was now or never.

She palmed him through the fabric of his pyjamas and squeezed gently only to find that the Doctor was instantly arching his hips up to meet her touch, groaning as he did and muttering her name again. He was dreaming about her and he was aroused, a thought that immediately sent her mind racing. As she stroked him a little harder Clara couldn't help but notice how big he felt in her hand and how her own sex started to itch at the idea of taking him inside of her. She wanted him so much, she had wanted him since she had been old enough to think about sex.

Beneath the covers she climbed on top of him and straddled his lap, causing him to thrust his hips up once more before she bent down to press their lips together in a kiss. Then the Doctor opened his eyes and stared at her.

He had struggled free and ducked out under her before Clara could even realize what was happening and just a moment later they were both sitting up in bed, looking at each other.

"What the hell are you doing?" the Doctor asked, panting a little, his voice full of horror.

And suddenly she didn't feel quite so sure about herself anymore, so she gave him an insecure laugh. "I thought it was obvious."

"It is. Was," he stammered, "Clara, this can't happen. Not you. Me. It's just-"

He broke off, still trying to catch his breath. He was so befuddled in his tired and aroused state that he seemed to have trouble getting the words out. She would have found it cute under different circumstances, but her mood had vanished at the brutal interruption.

"You were dreaming about me. You moaned my name," Clara said accusingly and she could've sworn she saw him blush even in the darkness, "You want it, I could feel it."

She reached out to touch him again but the Doctor caught her hand before she could come anywhere near him.

"Of course I'm dreaming about you. You're the only person I've seen and talked to for a week but this means nothing," the Doctor said and there was a hint of anger in his voice, even though Clara believed it was directed more at himself than her.

She swallowed hard and withdrew her hand from his grasp. "Okay," she said, exhaling sharply. She had been mistaken then and her dream of ever getting intimate with him burst like a bubble. "Okay. I'm sorry. Won't happen again," she hesitated, "Do you need some privacy?"

The Doctor furrowed his brows at her.

"Well, you know," she said sheepishly and dropped her gaze to his crotch, "We've been sharing a room for a week. There can't have been many opportunities for. . . private moments."

"Clara!" he exclaimed, aghast.

She rolled her eyes and jumped up from the bed. If he was going to play dumb and coy he could do it without her in the room. "Nevermind," she said angrily, "I'll sleep in my own room."

Clara closed the door a little more loudly than she had intended but she didn't care enough about it to go back and apologize. Instead she made her way to the empty bedroom that hadn't been used since their first night here and sank down on the bed. Needless to say she didn't really find the sleep she had wanted tonight.