CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Warning strong sexual themes (M/R rating reminder on this fic).
Authors Note: Ok so the last Chapter whilst viewed a lot doesn't seem to have inspired many reviews or comments which was a little disheartening as I was quite happy with that Chapter but I guess it's not to everyone's tastes. Many thanks to those who did review as it saved me from thoughts of abandoning this (something I loathe to do). As it is I've had a bit of a rethink as to where I'm taking this fic and after this Chapter it will begin to follow Series 8 as an AU piece much as Time of the Doctor was, with this darker version of Capaldi's Doctor and their somewhat damaged relationship and seeing how that unfolds and subtly or not so subtly changes the episodes we've seen. Please let me know what you think in a PM or reviews as it really does help with the inspiration; thanks again to you all for following this story.
The Doctor had hoped that the distance she had placed between them would simply evaporate with that night together, but he quickly came to realise that was little more than wishful thinking on his part. Clara remained as quietly unsure and distant with him as before, outside of the bedroom at least; however inside it seemed like she was willing to secede certain terms... and then some. He honestly couldn't recall being so thoroughly stripped of his manhood and yet being so utterly assured of it as she had eventually left him. Wicked wife indeed.
But he was still unsure of what her intentions that day had been, it had been obvious she'd wanted to take back some of the control she clearly felt he had stolen from her by forcing her to leave behind her world, but he suspected it was also in part to alleviate the control he was sure he had over her body and so in her clear opinion, the control it gave him over their relationship. This had been her unsubtle way of asserting herself on this new him, because as she had realised he was no longer the willing little puppy, content to lap up the scraps of her affection.
Although he had to admit this was all purely speculation, he had no way of knowing for certain given the mental walls she had erected to keep him out; ironic as he had let his fall. But there was one thing he could at least be sure of, she still wanted him, possibly even more than she had before. He just wasn't sure how well her mind had accepted that fact, because if her body was already there then her heart seemed likely well on its way as well.
But it was a difficult situation for him in their waking hours, to feel the gaping chasm of distance she could put between them after being so thoroughly wrapped around him the nights before was beyond painful and he honestly wondered how much longer she could expect him to endure. Already he found his mind drifting to fantasy, if the attempt was to leash the physical yearning he had the ability to induce in her during the day so that she could deal with him with a clear head, then it seemed to be having the opposite effect on him. He was positively driven to distraction by her mere presence in the room and he was certain the little wench knew it.
But he was learning patience, it had certainly been a steep learning curve in restraint for him that first night she had allowed him back into their bed, terrifying and exhilarating all at once; to give his wife the control she craved over him. To put aside his need for dominance, the possessive nature he had always embraced during intimacy and to trust himself to her touch. But despite the consequences and his current distraction and her ever present coolness towards him, he considered that night a break through, it had after all been more than simply sex between them, they had become lovers again.
Whilst Clara was the only one it seemed allowed to initiate anything between them, there were some nights now that she would let him make love to her and not the other way around; her trust in him clearly growing. It was a heady thing, to see the way she smiled at him from beneath her hooded gaze as her eyes danced and gleamed with their secrets. To kiss her mouth and watch as it parted to cry out his name finally seeing only him in that moment, not the phantom of who he was.
Until the morning of course and reality would settle over her and remind her he was not the man she thought she wanted... not always.
So he fell back on that little used skill of his, patience; choosing instead to revel in what she would give him. In the way she drifted asleep content in his arms night after night, their joined pleasure thrumming between them and ignore whatever distance the morning might bring. It was a bliss he had dreamt of on those cold nights in Trenzalore, and something he had feared she would never trust him with again from the moment he had awoken in this new face, the ghosts of the monster he might become, the monster he possibly still was heavy between them. But she was his impossible girl and he was certain that soon enough the rest of it would fall into place for them. Patience.
His fingers grazed her skin, considering it a victory every inch she let him claim the closer night came to day. His lips traced patterns across her neck, her ear, her collarbone, listening to the sounds of her sleeping breaths, undisturbed by him. Then came the moment she would wake, he could feel the tension he had worked so hard to bleed out of her the night before creeping in to her frame, the way her eyes refused to open onto his, but instead turned to the wall of their shared room. Her hands would slide over his and for a moment just a moment, he held the hope she would pull him closer, but they always gently pushed his away, sliding her body out of his grasp as easily as she slid out of their bed. Her soft supple naked skin taunting him as she sat on the edge of the bed, her hair falling like a curtain around her face hiding it from him. He had once claimed that it was obsession that ailed his darker half, the one that could never come to be; watching as she stood, his eyes following the curve of her back, down to her perfect round little ass, to those legs that had so recently wrapped around him... he wondered if he was as free of it as he hoped, or if it might consume him yet.
"Clara." He whispered the broken sound of her name still the only word she would permit him to use with her when they shared a bed. She hesitated.
"I give you my nights." She murmured quietly knowing what he wanted, needed, as she slipped on her silken robe; her tone at least held an apology to it now, one he wasn't certain he deserved as she easily interpreted his plea. The answer enraged him and made his hearts twist painfully in his chest; that she was reducing their relationship to this... to nothing more, however incredible it was, however whole it made him feel as he sunk into her embrace, he needed more. He wanted all the moments, he needed her.
"You are mine." He bit out, unable to keep the bark from his tone as he threw the covers from himself, stalking from the bed and closing his arms firmly around her biceps, pressing his front against her silk covered back. She had promised him that, promised both his faces that much.
"That's the point." She replied quietly, turning her head to look up at him but her mind was a wall he couldn't scale and he failed to decipher the look she was giving him, "but at night, you are mine."
Her words slid through him, exciting, arousing and utterly infuriating him just as they had the first time she uttered them whilst he stood naked, bound and powerless before her. She had chosen to come with him; he had thought that had meant she'd chosen him. It seemed it was more complicated than that. "You can't pick and choose the parts of me you like and simply discard the rest!" He growled, his fingers tightening around her arms his anger flaring now, always so close to the surface.
"Why not?" she sighed, sounding weary whether of him or the situation he had placed her in he wasn't sure. She turned and he let her as her hand rose to his cheek, tracing the feint outline of the stubble there that he had yet to banish. "You're lucky I still like any of you at all."
The words cut him... although he wasn't certain that had been her intention, the sadness in her eyes spoke volumes in that moment and he longed to be the foppish idiot that could banish that look, if only fleetingly.
"I love you." She promised, "But this is the only way I know how to be with you right now." Strength left him and she slipped from his bruising grasp, dismissing him it seemed.
He bowed his head, naked and exposed again only this time in the daylight she left him utterly bereft. "Clara." He pleaded, the word more for him than her, but he felt her pause as a soft hand brushed his back, forcing him to draw in a shaky breath at the perfection in her touch against him.
"Go be the Doctor... Doctor, and we'll see about giving you the mornings too."
And so they had ventured out as they always had, because he was the Doctor and this was what he did... or at least what he remembered doing. He was more cautious perhaps than usual, not wanting to impinge on her already shaken ideas of him. Which was incidentally how they ended up at a masquerade ball for the Royal family of Hadregargovic Under the Sky. In his defence it had been interesting perhaps for a whole five minutes, a murder mystery for the ages that had scandalised a Star System. One he'd possibly accidentally solved. At least it seemed that way as it was half way through the ball and no one had been horribly murdered, he sighed in irritation. Apparently the gentleman who'd had the invitation he'd needed to get them in given as his psychic paper had utterly failed to impress the Royal Guard at the front gates, had in some way played a role in the murder... if not perpetrated it himself. Shame really then that the most efficient way he'd found to disable him had been a pinch to a nerve cluster that left him incapacitated and memory less in an alley.
He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, eyeing the guests over his glass as Clara sat merely watching him, her eyes on occasion drifting to the dance floor where couples were waltzing in a way that reeked of old Earth, even if the instruments producing the sounds was utterly alien. Yet another gentleman in an overly ruffled shirt and garish mask approached their table and bent in swift polite introduction to the woman on his right. She had made quick polite work of all other takers and he was confident this chap would meet the same fate.
"You should be dancing, beauty like yours deserves to be admired." The nonce practically purred as he held his hand out to Clara and the Doctor rolled his eyes, biting back the quip in which he pointed out that he couldn't even see her beneath the elegant mask... before he realised it didn't matter, she was clearly beautiful mask or no. He admired the man's audacity, right until she took his hand and shot the Doctor a look behind her dark mask that dared him to try and stop her. He put his glass down before he snapped the stem as the buffoon pulled her into his arms too close for propriety and began to dance her in the way she'd clearly been admiring all night. She'd even learnt the steps from careful observation he noted with distaste.
The Doctor waited one dance... the idiot deserved one he supposed given as he'd had the gall to ask the most beautiful woman in the room to dance. He could hardly fault the man, nor could he blame him; whilst he had very much wanted his wife beside him, there was little to show the outside world at present that they were together, let alone had once been madly in love. Particularly as until this moment he'd shown no inclination towards taking her in his arms and stepping out onto the floor. Apparently patience in all things was not in fact golden and he ground his teeth together in irritation that he consistently failed to read her. It used to be so easy.
He caught her on a twirl, deftly removing the larger mans arms from her and giving him a narrow look which lost none of its power behind his mask and had him pausing and giving that low bow again, if a little curt to show actual respect. The Doctor merely sneered at him and wrapped his arm around Clara's waist, pulling her sharply against him and focusing his gaze on the dance floor as he moved them expertly around.
She was giving him a knowing look, "So... he dances?" she murmured after a few minutes in which he hadn't crushed her feet or stumbled into another couple, or managed to upset an entire highly decorated table full of guests and their grand goblets.
The Doctor returned her look with one of his own, hearing the faint tinge of melancholy in her voice as she clearly imagined her bumbling buffoon of a husband in his bowtie and giraffe legs attempting to dance with her. The one time at their wedding not withstanding as he'd mostly swayed and she'd led.
"Custom built remember." He sighed, splaying his fingers across her bare back and enjoying the sensation of her skin beneath as they moved, inching closer to her offered warmth and gliding his fingers over hers in their joined hands. They moved gently across the floor, flowing from one dance to the other as he held her close, letting his calm, admiring state of mind brush hers. It seemed to be doing the trick because the tension was bleeding out of her with every turn he gave them, with every touch that wasn't meant to inflame. This could be more than just sex between them, more than need and want. It could be adoration, love, comfort, companionship, laughter, joy. He was certain of it and he wanted it again. Her head dropped to his chest and he instinctively lowered his chin to the top of it, pressing a kiss to the hair.
"Are we expecting a dastardly murder to spoil this moment?" she asked him quietly, her voice muffled in his shirt but he heard her none the less.
"Why, are you looking for an excuse to go find your original waltzing partner?" she snorted and he smiled fondly, he always had liked making her laugh, he supposed that was half way there. "Or does the thought of death and dismemberment amidst this finery excite you?" he was teasing and he was thankful that when she looked up at him her lips were curved upwards.
"Just wanted to make sure I was ready, wouldn't want to be lulled into a false sense of security with all this romanticism, or get this dress ruined." She replied lightly, splaying her hand across his chest and listening he knew to the echoing sound of his hearts. "We should dance more often." She offered and he dropped a kiss to her temple as her eyes fluttered closed briefly.
"I'm sure we could fit it into our busy schedule." He conceded noticing that they were now at the edge of the dance floor which had in fact all but emptied apart from those couples still trying to impress.
Her hand touched his cheek and he startled, his eyes widening as she drew him down to her lips; she kissed him softly with none of their usual fervour, just wanting to share the moment with him. "Take me home." She breathed against his lips and he nodded, letting her lace her fingers with his and gently pull him along beside her.
It was of course his own doing, because of his utter inability to sit still, to simply rest within the quiet of his own mind, not that it was ever quiet which was half of his problem. But she'd demanded he try and be 'the Doctor' which meant he had to go out, had to attract trouble in that way of his. Whatever it was, it would always be his downfall he realised as his eyes narrowed on the unconscious form of her floating in the tube of preservative fluid.
He hadn't meant to be so careless; to let his ego get so far away for him, but he just had to make his wild guesses, he loathed being wrong in public... but he had been, so wrong and Clara had paid the price. It was with immense satisfaction that he used the laser screwdriver to disintegrate the foolish Collector that had decided Clara was a piece of history that had to be preserved at all costs. It had taken him a while to revive her, his panicked brain struggling with the slight weight of her cold and limp in his arms, but he had managed it eventually, holding her close as she spluttered back to life.
"I'm sorry." He told her quietly, holding her chin and forcing the apology deep into her, wanting her to know he would never again make this mistake.
"It's fine. I'm fine." She managed, coughing up what remained of the fluid from her lungs. "Just get me out of here." She added, giving away how 'un-fine' she was as she curled her arms around his neck, letting her eyes close against his chest, relying on him for comfort, something she only ever allowed when she was in the throes of passion now. Her eyes fell on the pile of ash that had once been a man and for once she didn't comment, and he grimaced. The old him might have found away to avoid killing the bastard. Possibly, after all he hadn't always been a saint. But it seemed even she wasn't so sure this 'Collector' hadn't deserved it if her silence was anything to go by.
He'd held her gently that night, his fingers brushing her skin and trying to calm his mind and his worries as she ran her hand through his hair absentmindedly, unable it seemed to find sleep herself. So of course he felt compelled to break her rule... unable to hold his tongue as he pressed his lips to her stomach. "I'm not all that different from him." He whispered and she stilled her movements, her fingers gliding to a stop to rest over his scalp.
"Who?" she asked quietly and he let his mind answer her, let her see the dark desires and instincts that clouded his judgement. She was quiet for some time, once again her mind closed off to him, forcing him to take gladly only what she would allow, what she chose to share. "It's not the same." She replied after clearly giving the notion some thought, her fingers stroking down his face to raise his chin and force his eyes to her.
"He wanted to keep you forever... locked away, treasured and out of harm." He murmured, dropping her eyes and focusing instead on the soft expanse of her skin beneath him, his fingertips tracing patterns across her collarbone, to the small birthmark just beneath her left shoulder, the only blemish he'd ever been able to find and all the more precious for it. In his mind he was truly struggling to see how the Collectors desires for her were any different to his own... and certainly not to the self he'd fought so hard against becoming. The image of the cell door in the TARDIS, of the carnage within flickered in his mind's eye and straight into hers, they both flinched.
"Stop." She hushed him, her finger to his lips. "The Collector did it so he could take me out to admire when he chose, I was just an ornament, a possession." Clara replied, her tone gentle for once with him as he lay wrapped around her, refusing to let him travel the darker path even in his mind.
"I see no difference." He bit back, loathing himself in that moment.
She sighed and he heard the exasperation in it, perhaps even fondness if he was foolish enough to think that way. "You want to keep me out of harm's way to protect me, to keep me safe, because you love me."
He didn't meet her eyes, certain that whilst that was part of it, there were other, darker more possessive undertones to his reasons.
"It's not selfish." She chastised him and he closed the door in his mind surprised how easily she'd pulled that idea loose. "Love is possessive sometimes." He felt her mental barriers drop for a moment and he sucked in a surprised breath at the intensity of emotion she felt about this, about him. "I want you always and the thought of sharing you with someone, of losing you..." she trailed off. "Sometimes I want to lock you away from the Universe too." Her smile was everything he adored in her, kind and impossibly strong, before it quirked up into something coy "Even if it's just to protect you from yourself." She leant forward and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips.
"Besides we both know you want to do more than just admire me." Her tone dropped a fraction to a seductive purr and he felt himself stir again at just the thought that she might be teasing him, pushing aside her uncertainties because she wanted him to feel how much she loved him, despite himself. Before her mind locked down again as she drew him closer with just that look in her eye. Of course there was also the possibility that she was trying to distract him from actually having a deeper conversation with her and both of them confronting their issues. Fortunately he wanted the distraction.
He raised himself over her, his hands taking hers and intertwining their fingers as he pressed them to the bedspread beside her head; for once in control in their bed; but even as he gazed down at her, stealing a soft kiss, he was aware that whatever power he had in this moment she was giving him. "I want something." He whispered, knowing he had no right to want anything of her, not really, not after what she had given for him always.
Her eyebrow quirked, faintly amused he imagined, but she couldn't read his mind, not in that moment, he made sure of it. "How unlike you." She mocked and he had the grace to look away, to know his own selfish desires dominated so much of their life.
"Tell me." She offered quietly, her fingers squeezing his, urging him on, still his wife despite it all it seemed, willing to put his wants and needs first, even if he didn't deserve it.
"I want a first... between us." He elaborated and she frowned, uncertain of his meaning. He sighed wearily, holding her soft brown eyes in his gaze. "I'm the last of so many of me... 13 faces. One of whom got to have you first, to love you, to kiss you, to marry you." He elaborated. "There is nothing left for me to claim."
Clara's expression remained quietly neutral, a soft hitch of her breath perhaps the only thing that gave away her expectance as she waited for something he simply didn't dare speak, not now with this fragile trust between them. "Ask me... husband." She whispered, forcing him to find his courage, but there was a sharpness to her tone that reminded him that she was nowhere near settled with him and nowhere near past looking for the differences.
He lowered his mouth to hers, their lips close enough to brush, he wanted her trust... like this, and there was a way of course she could offer it, at least in their bed which was the only way she would give herself to him now. "There is only one part of you he never claimed, one part of you that you could give me that wasn't his first." Their breaths intermingled as he listened to the sound of her heartbeat increasing in his mind, could feel the swell of heat across her skin and the moisture on her lips begging him to close the distance as he kissed her.
"And should I trust you my Doctor?" she rasped, breaking the kiss and staring hard into his features, assessing him quietly and perhaps finding him wanting as she struck to the core of the issue, the tension that still lingered between them.
He pressed their joined hands harder into the bed, pushing his hips against hers and letting her feel what it was she could do to him, how completely he was hers like this. "Like this, in this bed... you can trust your husband." He promised, because asking her to trust the Doctor, to trust him beyond these sheets was a step he could never force her to take; not yet, he'd not nearly earned it, he wondered if he ever would.
She didn't ask foolish questions like why he needed to claim any part of her at all; she knew well enough, had married him knowing he needed to claim her in front of the Universe. For all that she was human, she knew his Time-Lord hearts; knew enough to force him to give it up to be with her like this. Her lips parted into a smile that was mostly ironic he thought. "I think that might just be the most romantic proposition for that I've ever gotten." But her eyes were dark and hooded, staring and assessing, judging him; but she hadn't dismissed him, or slapped him; which was endlessly surprising.
He felt his lips quirk in quiet satisfaction that his body, the pleasure he could bring her was once again working as a bridge between them; but then he had always dared where other men had retreated, fear was his constant, it had long since stopped being the thing that gave him pause. And as far as he knew, it had never given her pause... 'so brave' that was what his last self had thought of her, idealistic perhaps. Perhaps that was the truth of it, his previous self so full of optimism and boundless enthusiasm, he had never been able to see the weaknesses of the woman beneath him. But that was his gift now... and his curse, to see the weaknesses in others, to know instinctively how to manipulate those to his own ends. He didn't want to manipulate the woman in his arms, but she had left him little alternative, refusing to accept anything from him but a physical connection. And Gods whilst it was indescribable, perfection even, he craved more... the instinct to take more to twist circumstances to his own ends to have her offering him more. He wanted his wife back he supposed, but as he was now because even if he could change, he refused to go back to the man he had been, no matter how badly she wanted it. Despite what she'd insisted he knew in his hearts that was the definition of 'selfish'.
Her fingers tightened in his grip and her eyes scanned the furrowed features of his face as she reached out to his mind, looking for the surface thoughts, for the intent. Her let her see it, let her see his honest desire to connect with her, to have her trust him when they lay like this at least. "My dear Doctor." She breathed, shifting beneath him fractionally until her legs wound around his waist; in control as always like this. But there was still a bitterness to her words, to her mind that he brushed away, tenderness and exasperation warring equally within her for supremacy. He wondered if at times she hated him, hated that she had bound herself to him unwittingly, to a man that was so wholly unable to be what she needed.
Her hips tightened around him and her eyes narrowed darkly as she picked up on his darker line of thoughts. "Shut up and kiss me." She instructed, her tone brooking no argument as she glared up at him silencing his self-pity for the time being, but there was a quirk to her lips that gave him hope as he bent his head, capturing her mouth with his own as he felt the mental walls around her mind go back up, clearly she didn't want to hear any more of it.
She kissed him back and he released her hands, letting them twine around him and revelling in the feel of her as she slid her short nails across his back, more gently than she had been of late with him as her legs parted and he slid easily into her waiting heat. It was so easy with them, so simple when they were like this he mused as he rocked his hips languidly into her, building her pleasure and holding back his own. His hand slid between them and he touched her purposefully, enjoying every breathless sound she made as her head rolled back and her lips parted teasingly. In this form, this version of him had all but lost his affinity for human beings and the attraction to them, if anything he found them all slightly repellent. As if his time spent living amongst them for a thousand years on Trenzalore had robbed or perhaps cured him of their mystery, their wonder.
But Clara? His Clara? He lowered his lips to the column of her throat, the very taste of her exploding behind his eyes and sending a shudder through his body. She was and always would be the most exquisite thing he had dared set eyes on, the Universe in all its boundless uncompromising beauty paled next to her. If he was truly a madman in a box, then she was the cause of his affliction. She had replaced the starlight in his heart with the gold flecked hues of her impossible brown eyes, the heat of a thousand suns with the gentle warmth of her skin against his.
His fingers moist with her desires slid further back between her legs as he kept up his torturously slow speed, until he brushed against the part of her he had yet to claim. Her breath hitched in an almost strangled sound as he pressed the digit into her feeling the tight space give for a moment before she trembled violently all around him, coming hard. He slid out of her and rolled them quickly until she was spooned against his body, his arms wrapped tightly around her, his front moulded to the soft contours of her back as he pressed his all but dripping cock between her pert round ass cheeks, feeling her tense for a fraction despite her limbless state. But he waited, hesitant to take this further without a sign at least, he knew her well enough to know that this would be a first for her too after all. Her hand found his and intertwined their fingers as she held it tightly around her chest, pulling him closer.
"This will hurt." He whispered in apology, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck.
She nodded, a soft sigh escaping her as she rubbed her leg gently against his calf, her hand rising up to touch his cheek tenderly. "Go on then..." she breathed, her head turning until she could see his face her expression open and inviting, "hurt me."
Her soft plea in a voice already doused in sex would have reduced any man to a quivering wreck he decided, not just him, as his right hand shook slightly as he placed it over her hip. With a sharp inhale of breath, quite unable to decide what he had done in this regeneration to deserve her, knowing it had little to do with this him, he pushed aware even as he did it that as always like this, she had complete control of him and she'd needed no leather bindings this time.
The soft cry she made stilled him and he felt her fingers grip his tightly as her entire body tensed against him. He rasped his adoration and desire in Gallifreyan against her skin, soothing and trying to relax her as he trailed his right hand up and down her side, "we'll go slowly." He assured her, feeling her breathing soften a fraction as he remained still, barely the head of himself pushing into her; but he couldn't stop, wouldn't not now. His hand trailed forward and between her legs, his clever fingers gently finding her already sensitive nub and brushing lightly as he pushed once more with his hips and she cried out again, her fingers clinging to his. They moved agonisingly slowly together, her eyes pressed tightly shut and her mouth issuing soft pants and mewls of intermingled pain and pleasure. Trusting him with this... with her.
For his part his entire body was trembling with the desperate need to thrust wildly and with abandon, her tightness in this new arena was something to behold and her delicious contractions as she fought to simultaneously push him out and pull him deeper were a new form of torture. His fingers rose to her head, brushing through her hair and coming to rest over her temple as he pressed his cheek against hers, he hadn't tried to enter her mind when they lay together like this since that first, frantic moment in the console room after he'd regenerated. Letting her be the one to initiate any mental contact much as she initiated any contact, but he needed it now... she needed it as she finally gave her body over to him completely. It was time to work on her mind as well.
"Open." He rasped, his meaning as laced with intent as he could make it as he let his mind push against hers, before lowering his fingers back to the apex of her thighs and pushing two questing digits inside of her, as his hips finally slid home. Her mind parted and she instantly let out a gasp at the sensations he shared with her, at the feel of her like this. He captured her mouth, filling her completely as he pressed his tongue into her, tasting and teasing and pushing. Perhaps controlling her like this was beyond him... but he could possess every inch of her it seemed.
The Doctor moved slowly, he didn't want to damage her but with the shared pleasure coursing through them he was finding it harder and harder to keep his movements restrained. In that moment he also struggled to keep the utter feeling of possession of her to himself, but there was no hiding it like this as it suffused her in that moment as it did him. To his surprise she didn't recoil, even if she didn't entirely embrace the notion; but her vanity, her newfound need to dominate him like this revelled in the power she had over him and it only increased his overwhelming desire for her. Maybe she was just damaged enough to accept his weakness too?
"Gods!" He murmured, releasing her mouth and staring at her gloriously half lidded eyes as she stared back at him and he dropped his mouth to her neck unable to bear the acceptance she was giving him.
Her hands rose to the back of his head, fingers clutching at him "It's ok." She managed to gasp out and he didn't need to wonder what she was referring to, he knew it was to all of this, to them like this, to the way he needed this from her. Her head fell back onto his shoulder, her eyes closing and he rubbed her furiously in time with his increasing thrusts, lowering his mouth to her throat and biting down hard enough to break the skin.
"Doctor!" Her voice crying out his name had the power to ground him like nothing else whilst somehow letting him soar, as he focused on the sensation of her body rocking gently against his, "Doc...tor." she gasped coming once more for him as he absorbed the sensation of the way her pleasure raced through him, tightening his balls and curling his toes and he smiled against her skin.
"My Clara." He managed breathlessly as he shut his eyes tightly letting her tip him over the edge as his body shuddered and he grasped at her trying to draw her somehow into him as he came violently within her.
Their breaths came together and their heartbeats slowed as he continued to hold her close, unwilling to allow an inch between them.
"That was..." she tried and failed to give it words.
He pressed a kiss to her slightly damp temple. "It was." He murmured back as she sighed gently content, as he very carefully withdrew himself from her. He felt the overwhelming urge to thank her, but there was no need, as he wrapped his arms around her whilst she held him there curling back into him. He obliged holding her and basking in the contentment she felt, listening to the soft flutter of her mind as she slipped into sleep, feeling very much his and secure in that despite all her other doubts, and that was ok for the time being at least.
When he was certain she was asleep, he slipped from the warmth of her body and their bed, brushing his hand across her cheek as he took in the simple pleasure of seeing her so at peace because of him. But he withdrew his hand before it began to curl in tension, his eyes dropping to his bloodstained cock. His eyes lingering at the evidence of the damage he could do because of his own selfish needs.
He closed his eyes, blocking out the sight of her, and trying not to notice that guilt was not pressing on him as he knew it probably should, instead there was only anger. She was too fragile and she'd willingly let him hurt her... he was still the monster.
That had been the moment he realised, staring down at his own naked monstrous visage and her utterly serene one, that he had set his mind, if it wasn't already set before. It didn't take the escapade on the market world of Gharr to tell him what he already knew as the blade sliced her flesh, just a scratch against her golden skin, but enough to make him see red. He didn't disintegrate this one, instead he used that other nifty little function the Master had installed on the screwdriver and once used on him to great effect. He aged the thug, aged him until he was nothing but dust, slowly and painfully letting the bastard know that he was going to die for laying so much as a finger, let alone a blade on his wife.
Clara of course had been horrified with him, her hand going to the screwdriver and ripping it from him, storing it in her jacket pocket as the sounds of alarms began to blare for the death of one of its precious citizens. She grasped his hand and ran, pulling him along with her and not stopping until they had slammed the TARDIS doors shut.
"God damn it!" she hissed, taking the screwdriver out of her pocket and stalking to the centre console before he could react, the TARDIS seemed to know exactly what she was planning as she dropped the item into an already open receptacle. "Hide this." She instructed as his Old Girl sucked it into her depths. "Or better yet, destroy it!" She insisted glaring back at him and daring him to contradict.
He ran his hands across his face in exasperation, before smelling the faint trace of her blood which once again overtook all reasoned thought, he stalked forward taking her chin and tracing his finger across the gash on her face his heart thumping with fury that hadn't abated with that bastards corpse.
"It's fine. It's not even deep." Clara murmured, pulling away and examining the slice herself in the TARDIS scanner. "I'll get something from the medbay to fix it right up." She added, putting distance between them and he let her go, gripping onto the centre console for dear life as he felt the tremor racing along his body. He wanted to scream, to rage, to obliterate the world they'd just stepped foot on, to go back and murder that arrogant little prick at every point along his time-line, then to go back along his ancestors and take them out too. Hardly rational thought he knew that, but it didn't seem to matter.
The TARDIS scanner displayed for him what Clara had confirmed that the wound was superficial, it wouldn't scar even if it were to heal naturally, let alone with the healing gel he knew his wife would apply. But it didn't ease him any and he snarled shoving the scanner away rejecting his ships attempt to pacify him.
"She's too fragile." He hissed at the TARDIS, feeling the Old Girls gentle brush of sympathy and shrugging it off. He didn't want to be appeased, didn't want pity, he wanted to fix it. To fix her.