Series 9: What We Deserve

Warnings: dark themes, violence, torture, m/f, f/f & m/f/f relationships, explicit scenes.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. If I did…damn you, Moffat!

A/N: Apologies for the late update. University and commuting 120+ miles a day is taking its toll.

Summary: Clara surprises Missy and the Doctor comes to a realisation about both of them.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The Doctor moaned as he rolled over, something soft and yielding covering him. He was warm and comfortable, but that was least of his concerns. That awful banging sensation against his temples that was sending lightning rods of agony through his brain was proving to be both distressing and disruptive to what had been a perfectly good REM cycle.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Suddenly light pierced his tightly shut eyelids, and he snarled. "Turn that light off!" he snapped hoarsely. "And tell someone to quit with the drilling!"

There came a soft laugh and footsteps towards the bed. The smell of cooked meat and fresh bread filled his nostrils, and he felt his stomach lurch sickeningly. "No drilling around here," Clara's soft voice punctured through his misery. "Don't think these people will invent drills for at least another five centuries. As for the light, I can't really help that. Morning and all, y'know. Up and at 'em!"

The Doctor groaned, and mentally sighed above the banging in his head. If it was morning, he really needed to open his eyes. Experimentally, he opened them a minute slit, and flinched at the light streaming through the open tent flaps. He heard Clara sigh and cross to close them, reducing the light levels to something approximating bearable.

"Ahh! Who hit me over the head last night?" he groaned, clutching one temple as he slowly levered himself into a sitting position. He glanced at her suspiciously. "Was it you? You do have previous for hitting me, you know…"

"I didn't hit you," Clara replied patiently. She had her 'Miss Oswald' look, and amusement danced behind the sternness in her eyes. "I think you'll find you've got a hangover, Doctor."

"Rubbish," he growled. "Time Lords don't get hangovers. Or drunk for that matter."

"Clearly, you do," Clara sighed. "Remind me to keep Missy away from anymore drinking rituals."

The Doctor finally registered the warm weight against his side, and looked down to find Missy sprawled alongside him, her back to him and her curls tumbling unrestrained and tangled across the pillows. Her skirt and jacket were wrinkled awfully, and she reeked of alcohol. She was still out cold. "And you," Clara continued. "Like a pair of teenagers always trying to outdo each other. She says jump, you grab the closest parachute."

If he'd been in any fit state, the Doctor would have been startled and unnerved to hear the exasperated affection in her tone when she spoke about the pair of them. But since he wasn't, he just chose to grumble instead. "Yeah, yeah and you're Mama Clara, keeping her kiddies in line."

"Two overgrown kiddies with superiority complexes and serious psychological issues," Clara added cheekily, while he just glared at her. She giggled, annoyingly chipper, as she fussed with a tray and a folding table. "And did you refer to yourself as a 'kiddie'?"

"I was…merely continuing the vein of your analogy," he replied repressively, fighting down the nausea and headache determinedly. He was a Time Lord, damn it! Such a pitiful physical state was beneath him. He nodded towards the tray as Clara came closer with it, wincing as his head throbbed. "What's that?"

"My mum's cure for hangovers. A full English plus curry sauce, works every time," she pronounced, as he groaned. "Well, as close to a full English as I could get, anyway. And it's not sure the sauce on the potatoes is curry, but it was spicy enough. And I think I might just have invented the chip in this universe."

"All praise to Clara, Goddess of chips," he muttered dryly, stomach churning at the thought of eating. "You didn't cook this, did you?"

"Hey!" she hissed. "My cooking isn't that bad anymore, y'know!"

"Except for soufflés," he retorted, as she glared at him.

"Just eat it. Trust me, it'll help," Clara sighed patiently, setting the tray down on the folding table and looking to him expectantly. At that moment, Missy began to stir, moaning softly. "Morning, nutjob."

"Where's the hammer?" the Time Lady murmured sleepily, eyes only half-open as she winced with every movement. "Tell those apish cretins I'll turn them into chickens and make a casserole if they don't desist."

"And you thought I was bad," the Doctor muttered to Clara, as he braced himself for his first bite. The eggs were nice and runny, the bacon and sausages replaced by a slab of ham, and the chips were covered with some kind of reddish-brown sauce that vaguely resembled ketchup but smelt of spices. With a deep breath, he took the plunge.

If Missy saw him throwing up from a hangover, he'd never hear the end of it, incapacitated as she was. And not that he had a hangover anyway.

Surprisingly, ten minutes later the Doctor had finished his breakfast and he hadn't thrown up. It was still early days though.

But he did feel better.

Clara was looking smug, as he glared at her. "Don't say it," he growled, trying to straighten his wrinkled suit. She just shrugged with a glint in her eye.

Missy had rolled over with a groan and gone back to sleep, hiding her head under one of the pillows, during his breakfast. The Doctor decided to leave her there, as Clara cleared away the tray, and for the first time he noticed her slight awkwardness.

But just as he opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, his Impossible Girl beat him to it. "Shall we go for a walk now you're compos mentis?" she asked, carefully not meeting his gaze too often. "Leave Her Majesty here to sleep the rest of her hangover off in peace?"

Wordlessly, he followed her out of the tent.

They wandered aimlessly around the encampment, the Doctor eying Clara intently whenever he thought she wasn't looking. She barely took in the nods and bows of fearful worship from their hosts, behaving with proper goddess-y decorum. Not that she was aware of it, of course.

He'd always been hyper-aware of her. He'd brushed her desire for his approval early in his regeneration, regarding her physical appearance. Truthfully, he no longer took in physical appearance very much anymore, not in the way Clara had wanted him to, but even his newly narrowed perceptions had never forgotten how beautiful she was.

Grief had made her paler than before, her healthy tan muted to a pale blush after weeks in the Tardis. Her hair was growing out again, falling in soft curls to her shoulder blades. In her familiar outfit, she almost looked like the Impossible Girl he'd first met - or met again - in 21st century London. But there was a darkness in her eyes, an alertness to her stance and her movements, that spoke of things too terrible to contemplate. His Impossible Girl, who had seen and survived Impossible things. Anyone would have cracked under the pressure a long time ago.

It reminded him of someone else, someone he didn't want to think right now. Someone he had run with, a long time ago, before it had all started.

They had both been with him, for so long. His oldest friends, his oldest protector and his oldest nemesis. The one, invisible but always there, and the other so achingly, destructively present throughout his lives. Saving and destroying him, in equal measure. Missy had always been his destruction, the one being that was his true equal and opposite, always trying to finally beat him. She'd even caused one of his regenerations, millennia ago, and he'd had a hand in more than a few of hers, too. But she also saved him, over and over again. Reminding him of the avarice and the darkness within his own psyche, reminding him what he could so easily become if he fell. Reminding him of that awful, cowardly covenant he had made, that had doomed her to this, all those millennia ago. Saving him from death at the hands of Rassilon.

And Clara…his Impossible Girl. The Girl who had jumped into his own time stream, sacrificing herself over and over, living and dying to save him. And the Girl who ensured he didn't die, on Trenzalore, when his regenerations ran out. The Girl who pleaded with the Time Lords to grant him another chance. The Girl who had destroyed who he was, and helped to create this. The man who walked and called himself the Doctor, and had only recently come to a realisation of what that truly meant. He had lost himself for so long, and Clara had been a part of that. Clara had been the reason for that, in his mind at least. He hadn't wanted to know, for sure, who he was if it meant he might drive her away. After the Moon incident, he'd come far too close. After the clash with the Faceless, he'd realised it would be far better if he did drive her away. He'd always been toxic to those he befriended, changing them beyond what they were meant to be, in their blissfully human ignorance. And no more than with Clara.

She was becoming like him. She was becoming too like him. All his companions shared a few similar traits. Restlessness, a desire to escape, rampant curiosity. The need to run. But Clara…she went too far, emulated him too much. He wasn't vain enough to think it entirely deliberate on Clara's part. Travelling with him, throwing his companions head-first into the dangers he did, no wonder he rubbed off on them. The thought brought Rose to mind, for the first time in years. And Martha, Amy, Rory, Mickey, Donna…so many exceptional people, and he changed them all. And he wasn't always sure it was for the better.

He liked the pudding brains just the way they were.

But Death now stalked Clara the way it shadowed him, the way it clung to Missy. All three, all connected now. No matter what he did, no matter if he left her at home, it was too late for Clara. She was stuck, addicted to his life, as bound to the homeless, irresponsible way of life as he was. She had taken that final step the moment she decided to stay with him on the Tardis. She had suffered that final, irreversible change the moment PE's eyes left hers for the last time.

A chill ran down his spine as he recalled a similar incident, one that had only been recalled from the dark well of his memories recently. Of another death, another closing of eyes and another irreversible step. They were so alike…

"Hey? You still alive in there?" Clara's voice interrupted his reverie, her hand prodding him in the arm. "You zoned out on me."

He refocused on his Impossible Girl, forced himself to see beyond the self-imposed blindness he'd been practicing when it came to her. After his regeneration, he'd been careful to cut himself off, physically, from her. This body disliked physical contact with others anyway, unless he had a prior emotional attachment that had survived the regeneration process, so it hadn't been hard.

In the weeks after his rebirth, spent rebuilding their friendship before he inevitably tore it down again, he hadn't been able to forget the look in her eye, the distance, the suspicion. She'd known about Time Lord regeneration, but knowing and seeing it firsthand were two different things. She'd had to contend with a new version of him, while mourning the old one, and it had taken her awhile to truly see him again.

And even then, it hadn't been the same, couldn't be the same, because he wasn't the same man. Or rather, he was more himself than he'd been in centuries. He hadn't wanted to risk his hearts again, not after Clara's subtle rejection. Or what he'd thought had been her rejection as anything more than friend and irritation, especially after PE. But Missy's words, her insinuations…he didn't want to feel it, but they gave him hope. Gave him hope that his Clara wanted him, still.

His beautiful, beautiful Clara with doe brown eyes, hair like brown satin and…

"Woohoo," Clara waved her hand in front of his eyes, her own narrowed and worried. "Doctor?"

He blinked, shocked inwardly at himself. That had been easier than he'd expected. "What?" he muttered rudely, some of the tiny slivers of memory that existed within him from his previous lives wincing at his rudeness. "I'm fine."

"Right," Clara nodded, a slight glint of irritation in her eyes. Once again, he noticed her slight tension and wondered what on Earth was wrong with her. "So, how are you feeling? After last night?"

"Better," he murmured, rearranging his rumpled jacket. "Especially now I'm in the fresh air. What about you?"

"What about me?" she returned defensively, her tension rising. "I wasn't the one who was hideously drunk last night."

Ahh, now they came to it. The other thing which had been playing on his mind ever since Missy confessed to him in the console room. "I may have been… somewhat inebriated last night," he replied grouchily, putting pointed emphasis on the 'may have'. "But Time Lords have excellent memories. I remember every word you and I said."

"Doctor…" Clara tensed right up now, her body in what he'd fondly come to call 'battle' mode, her eyes narrowed as she stared out at the horizon. She was about to go into a tirade, and he needed to get to the bottom of this.

"Why didn't you come to me? Tell me what's going on?" he cut across her brusquely, his Scottish burr becoming more prominent as he grew agitated, reminded of the fear and the anger that had spiked in his hearts, when he realised that his Impossible Girl hadn't trusted him enough to tell him.

"Because I thought you had enough on your plate as it was," she replied, and the insinuation stung him. It also confirmed what Missy had been hinting for weeks now, that Clara had seen them together in the console room. "It's ok, Doctor. I know."

"And I know. About you and her," he said on a sharp exhale, passing a hand over his eyes. "What are we doing, Clara?"

"You tell me," she replied, turning away from him stubbornly. "What are we, Doctor?"

"I don't know," he replied truthfully, the words as painful to him as they were to her. "Things have…changed."

"I'll say so," Clara snorted defensively. "I've lost my boyfriend and my best friend all in one go. And I don't know where we're going."

"You haven't lost me, Clara," he retorted fiercely, but she spun to face him and her eyes spat sparks.

"Haven't I?" she asked, gesturing wildly. "You and me…you would never look at me that way, would you? Doctor? You can touch your lunatic ex-girlfriend but you can't touch me…"

"And what about you, hmm?" he cut in, sharply. "Cavorting about with the creature who mutilated your boyfriend. What are you doing, Clara Oswald?"

Clara's face froze as her eyes narrowed, becoming cold as ice. Her hands turned into fists, and she turned as hard as rock. Shutting him out. "Don't you dare, don't you dare turn this on me! What are you doing, cavorting about with the mutilator of your best friend's boyfriend?" she added, mocking his words and throwing them back at him.

"Best friends don't usually betray each other," the Doctor was digging his own grave with every word and his hearts were breaking. "Best friends don't usually ask the other to kill the last remaining member of their species in this universe."

Clara's breath came out on a hitch, and her eyes fogged. He cursed himself, determined to make things right and take back those treacherous, nasty words he'd flung at her, but she stumbled backwards. "Don't touch me," she breathed, and he realised he'd stepped forward with his arms outstretched pleadingly. He watched as she seemed to fold in on herself, hugging her body with her arms and bending forward, hiding her face behind her hair as it fell forward. He could see her shaking with silent tears, and he ached to go to her and forget everything they'd said to one another.

But they couldn't. They'd hurt each other, over and over again, and sometimes there was no going back from that. Only forward, but at that moment, he couldn't see any way forward.

Finally she straightened, looking at him with deadened eyes, a look he'd once sworn to himself he would throw himself into a black hole rather than see there again. "What are we doing to each other?" she asked, her voice tremulous and cold. He had no answers for each other as she sighed and strode past him, back into the camp, leaving him there. Leaving him behind, just like they always did.

It was only much later that he realised he'd completely forgotten about the issue of the singing in Clara's head during their spat.

Clara wandered through the camp for what felt like hours, lost in a haze of misery and hurt. How dare he say those things to her? How dare he judge her?

But there was a lump in her throat as his last hateful words were thrown back at her, in her head, over and over again. The last of his species…

Technically Missy and the Doctor weren't the last of their species, but there had never been any guarantee they could find Gallifrey again until Missy showed up, and of course, she'd made it impossible to find their homeland without her. To protect herself, because she'd known what Clara would do in her grief because that was what she might have done herself. Losing Danny and trying to cling onto the Doctor in the worst way, to make him bend to her will again in recompense for what she'd lost. To make him choose her so completely, he'd literally have nothing else.

Clara always knew she had a darker side to her personality. It had simply been part of who she was, and she'd long ago accepted it. But now, she was seeing how much it had hurt the people she loved, she still loved with all her heart. She had run away from her family, lied to and lost Danny, so very nearly lost the Doctor so many times.

But so did he. The Moon incident, his post-regeneration crisis, and now. How could he judge her for the very same thing he was doing? Why, because she was human and thought she couldn't handle it? Couldn't handle a Time Lord lover? Well, no wonder he'd never…

Clara cut off that line of thought quickly, hating the spike of pain in her heart as she did. She didn't want to think of that, but she couldn't help dwelling on some of it anyway.

Was he jealous? Were Time Lords/Ladies even monogamous anyway? With the ability to change gender, did that mean their sexuality could change too? Or were Earth labels simply too narrow and rigid to define them?

Clara had a feeling the latter was true at least. She'd always tried to define the Doctor by Earth standards, and failed, and it still hurt her even now. It would keep hurting her until she stopped. But right now, she didn't feel like stopping and she didn't feel like apologising. Her anger needed to run its course first.

And for once, she felt alive, every cell in her body brimming with feeling after intermittent periods of numbness. She didn't want it to fade, just yet.

She found herself stalking back to their tent, ignoring the bows and whispered salutations on the people around her, only to find it empty, devoid of Time Lord. That suited her just fine, and she threw herself on the bed, freshly made up, and buried her head in the furs. She could feel tears coming, but fought them back as best she could, determined not to give in.

She lay there, relishing the feeling of anger even as it made her feel sick, and her cheeks were wet with tears. She was so immersed in her own emotions that she didn't hear the tent flaps open and close, nor the muted sound of high-heeled boots on the furs.

She only tensed when she felt the furs move as someone knelt and then reclined beside her, and she dearly hoped it wasn't the Doctor. She couldn't deal with him right then.

But as she inhaled, she smelt the familiar perfume of the Mistress. The Doctor smelled like old books, tea and strong mint, but Missy smelled of blood and fire and jasmine. One had always been comforting, and Clara knew she should have been horrified that the other had become just as comforting; as a strong, unyielding hand rolled her over. "Dear, dear," Missy muttered, staring down at her from where she reclined insouciantly beside her, her head supported by one hand. All traces of her hangover were gone, her hair once more immaculately coiffed and her clothes correctly neat. It made Clara annoyed, lying there with her smudged face and ruffled hair. "Whatever has happened now?"

In stark contrast to her mocking tone, her hand smoothed away Clara's tears on her cheek, stroking her mussed hair. Remnants of their telepathic bond vibrated softly against Clara's mind, and she shivered, even as she hoped it wouldn't trigger another episode.

Presumably Missy picked up enough of what had occurred from their incomplete bond, as her face softened even as her eyes danced with a cruel light. "Oh, my dear. He can be so mean sometimes," she whispered, stroking her cheek. "Even to those he loves. But then again, he has a point."

"Not. Helping!" Clara muttered, burying her head back into the furs.

"I mean, you did try to get him to kill the last of his species. And judged him for his attachment to me, when you yourself harbour one to me…" Missy continued, ignoring her, and Clara had had enough.

"Shut up!" she growled, surging up beside Missy and pinning her to the furs by the wrists. Clara knew Time Lords were far stronger than humans, so she guessed it was only the element of surprise that had allowed her to pin Missy, passive and soft, underneath her. The shock was there in her wide, blue eyes and the parted scarlet slash of her lips. She'd got one up on Missy.

Clara shifted atop her, and she saw Missy lick her lips, her pupils dilating. "Sooo," she purred. "You've finally cracked. What are you going to do? Take out my disintegrator I know you carry around with you and end it all? But first…say something nice…"

"You talk too much," Clara murmured, trying not to think about what she was going to do, trying not to think at all. Thinking only got her in trouble, all she wanted to do was feel.

Clara leant in and pressed her lips to Missy's, and slid her hands into that frustratingly chaotic hair of hers, insistently pressing her tongue into Missy's mouth. She felt the sting of Missy's claws on her scalp, returning the forceful pressure of her hands in her hair, and felt the nudge of her mind against hers. Clara resisted, not wanting a repeat of the library incident, as Missy broke away, disgustingly unruffled while Clara was panting. But she was certain of what she wanted, and this time she wasn't going to run away. Missy obviously felt it in her kiss, in the way Clara was gladly pressing into her without reticence this time.

"Now, sweetheart," Missy breathed, licking her lips, shifting underneath her. "I don't play swapsies with my possessions. Don't start something you're not ready for."

"I'm not your possession," Clara hissed, sitting upright as Missy eyed her thoughtfully. Annoyed with the slow pace, Clara reached for her collar and began unbuttoning it until her dress hung loosely on her shoulders. "Well?" she said enquiringly, adrenaline taking over as the exhilaration of wrong-footing the Mistress again and again took hold, mixing with the desire in her veins. "Are you the Mistress or not?"

Abruptly, Clara found herself on her back, pinned beneath Missy, seemingly restored to her usual arrogant self, as she smiled bestially down at her prey. "Oh, Clara, my Clara," she sighed, bending her head to just feather her lips with coy, playful kisses. "You have no idea."

They wasted no time after that, as Clara forced aside her fears and her conscience, delighting in the physical sensations of Missy, the soft, rigid fabric of her coat under her palms as she pushed it off, the crispness of her blouse, the fall of her silky hair as Clara succeeded in destroying her careful style. Their mouths locked and Clara found she could draw oxygen from Missy as her respiratory bypass kicked in, meaning they didn't have to surface for air. Missy's hands glided over her body, savouring her Impossible Girl's determined compliance, finding a strangely sweet pleasure in exploring her human body.

Eventually it wasn't enough, as Missy's hand glided over Clara's heaving breast, and the barrier of fabric became an annoyance. Missy broke from their kiss, shedding her coat and blouse herself, quite determined that this time, Clara wasn't running away from her.

And she didn't appear to be even contemplating it. As Missy held out her hand to Clara, she took it eagerly, letting her haul her up onto her knees as she kissed her again. Clara's much shorter dress was easy to remove, as Missy ran her hands over the scorching human heat of her thighs and waist, breaking the kiss to drag her tongue between her breasts. Clara moaned and bucked, the scent of her arousal strengthening with every caress and kiss.

Not wanting to be passive, Clara reciprocated, exploring every inch of Missy's still mostly clothed form, ignoring her own nakedness. She wasn't surprised to learn the Time Lady preferred modern underwear, apart from the corset, but as she went to slide Missy's skirt down, she caught her hands. "Ah, ah, ah" she whispered teasingly. "Not quite so fast, sweetheart. What kind of girl do you think I am?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?" Clara replied cheekily, as Missy's eyes narrowed. Without warning, Missy's hands dropped to her thighs and pulled her legs out from under her, leaving her sprawling across the furs. Missy reached under her and unclasped her bra without fuss, pulling it away from her. Clara had the strange feeling of total vulnerability as Missy perused her, wanting to cover herself and turn away. She'd never been shy of her body, knew she was beautiful and attractive to many, lizard women and Time Ladies too apparently, but knowing what she knew of Missy, and what Missy knew of her, made it far more terrifying than any encounter she'd ever had before.

Missy's icy eyes met hers, and her smudged lips quirked in an amused smile. "Relax, love," she breathed, leaning over her as Clara's heart raced. All thought of the Doctor had been subsumed, for now, and she eagerly gave herself up to the desire and the need she felt for this mad, impossible woman.

She bent her head to Clara's breast, pert in the cool air of the tent, and teased it with her lips, brushing the peak as Clara moaned and shifted impatiently beneath her. The curls of her hair, unbound and tumbling freely now, brushed her skin, heightening the excruciating sensitivity of her skin. Finally, she took the peak of Clara's breast into her mouth, sucking and teasing the nipple with her tongue. Clara's back arched off the bed, and Missy's hand tightened around her hips to hold her still.

Missy played for awhile, indulging her human's desires generously, exploring her erogenous zones and finding which were the most sensitive, all the while denying her access to her own skin. No, that she was saving for a special occasion.

Clara's hand clenched in her hair, her body trembling, as Missy left her breasts and returned to kiss her deeply, claiming the cavern of her mouth completely, leaving Clara in little doubt of who was in charge. Their bodies lay pressed together, from knee to mouth, and the friction of Missy's skirt and corset on her skin drove Clara mad, desperate for more. Her hips lifted instinctively, and Missy smiled into their kiss.

She broke it reluctantly, enjoying the wet heat of her Clara's mouth and tongue, and stared down at her, holding her eye. "Let me in, love," she murmured. "It won't be like last time."

"You don't know that," Clara gasped softly, before sighing and closing her eyes as Missy pressed their foreheads together. Clara's mind fell into hers with an ease she was uncertain was a good thing, and to her relief there was no singing, no pain. Just pleasure as reality blurred.

See, told you it wouldn't hurt. Now just relax and let me make you feel good…

Clara did as she was told, while Missy trailed kisses down her body, lingering at her breasts again, before licking a wet trail down her abdomen. Her manicured nails scratched lightly at Clara's thighs, and she opened them willingly, as her underwear disappeared and she was left bare.

Excitement built, and Clara's heart thudded, or was it Missy's hearts? Clara didn't know and didn't care as Missy's lips trailed down to the apex of her thighs, pressing teasing kisses as her fingers gently caressed her slick flesh. Without apparent warning, Missy pounced, latching on to her clit as she eased a finger inside Clara. She screamed, clutching the furs by her waist and the curls of Missy's hair, her body trembling as Missy skilfully built her orgasm, a detached part of Clara wondering where she learned to do that in such a repressed society as Gallifrey.

Experimentation, love. That and exploring my own body when I regenerated, an educational experience. Now, stop thinking and just…

Missy's thought trailed off into a moan in Clara's head, matched by her own verbal one. The feeling of dual sensation took over and she was lost inside them, feeling the silky skin of her thighs under Missy's hand, the heat of her body and the taste of her arousal. She could feel Missy's own desire and pleasure building alongside hers, her own body reacting to the pleasure she was extracting from Clara's as if she were the one being pleasured. Clara's hips bucked and moved in time with Missy's thrusts as she added a second finger, quickly finding the right spot and teasing it, drawing wordless pleas from Clara's lips.

A familiar feeling of pressure grew in Clara's thighs and abdomen, as her toes curled and her hips rolled into the steady, unrelenting pressure of Missy's tongue and fingers against and inside her, but it was ten times as intense as anything she'd ever experienced before. The sensation of two orgasms, two sets of feelings, of pleasuring and being pleasured, was almost too much and Clara lost herself, going insane, wanting it to stop, wanting it to never stop.

Missy knew well how addictive and disconcerting sex augmented by a telepathic bond could be. Even without the genetic conditioning, such relations were and had always been forbidden on Gallifrey, but Missy had never cared for rules. Neither had the Doctor. It both amused and excited her how lost, how enthralled her Clara was by it all, novice that she was in same-sex relations. Their bond was affecting her so as Clara's climax grew, so did hers despite not letting her touch her. Oh, she would collect her due from her little Impossible Girl soon enough, but she could be patient. By then, Clara would be in so deep she wouldn't have a clue how to get out again, and most importantly, she wouldn't want to.

She could feel how close the human was to the edge, and tipped her over it with one last thrust, pressing her lips against her one last time as she screamed and then slumped, body limp as Missy felt her own orgasm wash over her. It left her trembling and exhausted in turn, as she sighed and pulled Clara into her, cradling her in her arms after she dragged a fur over them both, shielding her dewed skin from the air.

Clara only managed a few mumbled words before she succumbed to slumber, and Missy nudged her along, feeling it when she finally did give in to sleep. Her Impossible Girl was a stubborn one.

An affectionate smile lingered on her lips, though Missy couldn't see it and Clara was comatose, drugged by pleasure and exhaustion, her anger and need burned out. As she lay there with Clara, Missy idly speculated how to use this latest turn in the Doctor and Clara's relationship to bring them closer, both together and to her.

Well…she'd always been up for a challenge.

A/N: *Sigh*. Our babies sure have their issues.

To be continued…