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Chapter 18

Clara had suspected to wake up with the Doctor's arms still wrapped tightly around her but to her surprise the bed next to her was empty. A glance at the alarm clock told her it was already half past ten in the morning so he decided to get up and look for the Doctor and there was only one place she thought he could be.

Another surprise awaited her when she didn't find him painting but cleaning his studio. His painting supplies seemed sorted and the newest paintings were neatly stacked up against the wall but the Doctor himself seemed to have cleaned up as well. He had showered, shaved and changed into his favourite holey jumper. He was looking a lot better than he had when Clara had found him the day before.

"I see you've been busy," she greeted him.

The Doctor turned around and a smile spread over his face. "Oh, good morning," he said happily, "Yeah, I woke up at 8. Decided to clean a little. I also made breakfast but I wanted to wait for you."

"You made breakfast?" she raised an eyebrow, not sure if anything the Doctor had produced was actually edible.

"Well, I went to the bakery and got some fresh rolls and croissants. Oh, and I checked my mailbox. You were right. Missy indeed found a new housekeeper."

"Doctor," Clara began, her voice grave, "You can't keep doing this. You can't keep neglecting yourself whenever you're alone for a couple of days."

"I know-"

"No, you don't," she said harshly, "You rely on people looking out for you, on Missy, on me and probably your previous muses, too. And that's not fair. I can't be here all the time and I've told you that from the beginning. I have my job and my friends and my family and I don't want to spend the time I am busy with that worrying whether you'll be okay. I can't sit in class and wonder whether you've slept properly or whether you remembered eating over your paintings. I don't know how Missy can deal with that but I can't."

The Doctor gave a slight shrug. "What do you want me to say?"

"Look at yourself. You look good. Great, actually," Clara pointed in his direction, "You've slept well last night, you've shaved, showered, you made breakfast. But I get the feeling that you did it all for me and not for yourself."

"I did it for you," the Doctor replied simply, "Cause I thought that's what you wanted."

"See? That's exactly the point. You should be doing it all for yourself. You should sleep cause you need it, eat because you're hungry and not because I'm here. Why do you keep doing that? Do you think you don't deserve it? What is it?"

He stared blankly at her and after a while Clara gave up trying to make him answer her questions.

"Okay," she sighed, "Let's forget about it. Let's go downstairs and have breakfast."

She turned around to leave when suddenly she felt the Doctor grab her wrist, holding her back. She looked up at him.

"You're right," he admitted, "I don't deserve it. And I certainly don't deserve you."

Clara smiled weakly at him. "I'm sorry, but I am exactly what you deserve."

Quickly she pushed herself up on tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek before he could protest.

OOO

After Clara had dropped the subject the Doctor became more and more cheerful. They enjoyed their breakfast together, talking about how his week had been, how many new things he had painted and how her father was doing now. Clara managed to convince him to take a walk through the Kensington Gardens because she figured they both needed a bit of fresh air and it was a lovely autumn day. The Doctor suggested he could paint her out here, they just needed to pick a warm enough day to take out the easel and painting supplies and Clara agreed that it was a wonderful idea. They stopped for a cup of coffee and a snack when it was already past noon and resumed their walk, finally heading back into the direction of his house after hours of roaming the park.

"Do you wanna do the thing we talked about in Paris?" Clara asked him after a while.

"Uhm, what thing?" he glanced at her, somewhere in between confused and wary.

Clara giggled. "Painting me in the nude, of course. I know, I'm a bit vain but I'm in my late 20s. I'll never look as good again as I am looking now."

"Clara Oswald," he chuckled, "I doubt you'll ever look any different to me."

She nudged him gently as they walked, laughing. "Doctor, this isn't the time to be flirty. Will you do it or not?"

He stopped in his tracks and stared at her, that flabbergasted look on his face. "I, erm, I wasn't being flirty."

"I was kidding," she said, smiling at him as she took his hand and dragged him along, "Come on."

"I'll do it," the Doctor said after a while, "If you like. Paint you in the nude, that is."

"Good," Clara replied, "But first I'll need a bath or a shower and I'm still in yesterday's clothes."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You won't really need clothes."

"Oh, you know what I mean," she sighed and grabbed his arm a little tighter as they walked.

Eventually they arrived back at his house and Clara headed straight for the bathroom with the starry ceiling while the Doctor said he'd prepare the studio and turn up the heating a little more. After a long and relaxing bath she reached for the bathrobe that was hanging on the rack next to the door and headed upstairs.

Even though Clara had been keen on this she was now starting to grow a little nervous. The Doctor would be looking at her naked and not just looking, he would be studying her intently while he painted her. She knew that she had nothing to worry about, always having kept her body well in shape but stripping for a man she wasn't sleeping with was not something Clara did regularly. Yet she wanted to sleep with him and that was the whole point of this little exercise.

The Doctor gave her a shy smile as she stepped into the studio that seemed a lot cosier and warmer than usual, yet he still wore his black jumper with the sleeves rolled up his arms.

"Okay," Clara gave a nervous giggled as she came to a stop next to the sofa, "Ready when you are."

He took a seat behind the large canvas on his easel. "I'm ready."

It was now or never so Clara quickly undid the belt of her robe and let it fall to the floor before she could think twice about it. Taking a deep breath she remained standing there for a moment, giving the Doctor a chance to look at her – which he did.

For a long time he said nothing at all, just taking in her appearance as she stood there and something about the way he stared at her was reassuring. It wasn't like a painter should look at the naked model, it also wasn't the way a man looked at the woman he desired but then again, this was the Doctor, so the way he observed her was bound to be something new entirely. It was exactly why Clara was drawn to him. He was a mystery to be uncovered and she had just taken the next step towards that.

"Are you cold?" he asked after a long moment.

"No," she replied with a smile, "I'm fine."

Clara took a comfortable position on the couch as he started to take up his brush and as much as the Doctor was watching her Clara watched him in return. She followed his gaze from the canvas back to her where it lingered sometimes and something about the situation was utterly tantalizing. The Doctor could see her, all of her and Clara couldn't even begin to imagine what must be going on in his mind. Was he thinking about kissing her again? Did he like what he saw? Was he tempted at all by this? Clara had no idea and the uncertainty of it all just made it all the more interesting.

Suddenly the Doctor put his brush aside, rose from his stool and made a step into her direction, hesitating after that.

"I'm sorry, Clara," he said, "Can I?"

She frowned at him but instead of replying he stepped up to her and came to bow down to her, lifted his hand and carefully brushed a strand of hair out of her face. For a moment he said nothing at all and only smiled at her.

Clara knew she should feel vulnerable, she should feel shame or anything, anything but this. She was sitting in front of him, stripped naked down to her last piece of clothing, a man she had known for less than two months. There shouldn't be this naturalness between them, this feeling of belonging however broken they both were and however desperate for each other's company. Clara knew she should have never come here, knew that she was being pulled into his life because that was what the Doctor did to everyone. She knew right there that it could end badly and she refused to care because the Doctor was all she could ever want. He was adventurous and free in a way that was strange to most people and he was also handsome and she wanted him, every part of him.

And then she realized he was still smiling at her and it made the butterflies in her stomach go wild.

"Doctor?" she asked carefully.

"You are beautiful," he whispered, his hand still caressing her cheek, "So beautiful, my Clara."

Clara didn't know what compelled her to do it but she raised her own hand above his, leading it away from her cheek to gently move over skin on her neck where his touch tickled slightly until she finally let it come to rest on her breast. When she removed her hand the Doctor's remained. She could hear him swallow as his fingers grazed her hardened nipple.

"Clara-"

"Shhh," she silenced him even though the coarseness of his voice resounded along her spine, causing her juices to pool hot between her thighs, "Don't speak. Don't say a word. Just touch me."

Clara could see it in his eyes, she could see that he wanted her because when she looked at the Doctor she found him mesmerised. He didn't even seem to know where to look first, his gaze lifting and dropping between her face, her breasts and the rest of her as his hands began exploring, not much unlike that afternoon in Paris when he had mapped out her face with his thumb. He seemed to touch every inch of her skin, every bit except the one that was desperate for his caress. Gently he cupped her breasts in both his hands before beginning to squeeze, testing out just how far he could go before she let out a tiny squeak. He moved his palm up just between her breasts, ghosting over the skin on her neck and the spot behind her ear. The Doctor's face was so close to her own that she could smell his aftershave, hear his excited breathing but he never once kissed her. He only touched and watched as Clara was beginning to squirm beneath him, pressing her thighs together to get that itch under control that was turning into a fire burning between her legs.

As the Doctor moved down to caress her legs she wondered for a brief moment if he was aroused by this, if he was as aroused as Clara was but his wide plaid trousers gave nothing away. His face however did, his dark eyes did and Clara pictured what he would look like naked, pictured his arousal hard and leaking and ready to dive inside her and she uttered a frustrated moan at the thought of it. The throbbing fire between her legs was burning hot, too hot to bear. Impatiently she parted her legs, reached for his hand once more and led it where it was most needed.

The Doctor threw her a glance that was somewhere between scared and asking permission. Clara smiled at him reassuringly before she leaned her head back in a moan as he slipped a finger between her folds and dove into her wetness. It wasn't enough, not nearly enough. She bent her back, pushing her hips up to meet his hand, to increase the friction that could satisfy her itch when suddenly his hand was gone completely.

Clara was about to open her eyes and mouth and protest when the feeling of his hand was replaced by something else, something hot and wet and she looked down to see the Doctor kneeling in front of her, his head buried deep between her thighs and his tongue was beginning to circle around her clit. Clara sank back into the sofa, her fingers reaching down to anchor in his hair as he was working her with his tongue. She gave another moan as he dipped into her entrance, causing her to move her hips up against his face. Soon she was beginning to lose track of what exactly he was doing, whether his tongue was pressed flat against her or circling or sucking or thrusting. The feeling of it all merged into just one that soon spread over her entire body like a wildfire, having her writhe beneath him, panting and whimpering until she realized that he was only playing with her. Her fingers tightened their grasp in his curls.

"Please," she whispered breathlessly, begging him to release her from his sweet torment.

Then she could feel his hand again, one finger at first and then a second entering her carefully while his tongue was still pressed firmly against her sensitive clit. Clara started rocking against him, whimpering and moaning as he was beginning to speed up. A whole lot of obscenities went through her mind as her orgasm was beginning to build up from the inside, the tension growing with every thrust until finally it came crashing over her and Clara moaned when finally she felt the release she had been craving.

Carefully he withdrew his hand and put some distance between the two of them. Something was going on in his mind, Clara knew it just by the way he was looking at her. This was the moment she had been waiting for ever since she had stepped into his painting class. She wanted nothing more than to grab him by the collar of his jumper and pull him on the sofa with her. She wanted to kiss, to touch him, explore him just like he had just explored her. She wanted to kiss him so much.

"Clara," he whispered softly, "You are so, so beautiful like this. God, I wish you could see yourself like I'm seeing you."

"Like what?" she asked, still slightly out of breath.

"So human," he said and there was a desperation in his voice that she couldn't completely understand, "So utterly human with your messy hair and your flushed cheeks. This is exactly how I want to paint you."

Clara watched in confusion as he rose up and walked back to his canvas and she knew that whatever she had thought would happen would definitely not happen now. This was far from the breakthrough she had been hoping for.

She shook her head, reached for the bathrobe and got up from the sofa, dressing quickly to cover herself. Never in her entire life had she felt anything like this. Even though it had been the Doctor to pleasure her, it was Clara who felt used and ashamed. He didn't see her like that, Clara wasn't sure if he was even capable of that. For him she was only just a muse.

"Clara?" the Doctor asked, confused and baffled, raising his eyebrows at her.

"I'm leaving," she said strictly. She had to get out of here.

"Why? Is something wrong?"

Clara snorted. "You really don't know, do you? You have no idea?"

The Doctor gave a slight shrug, still looking absolutely clueless.

"You're beyond hope," Clara spat and rushed downstairs to gather her things.