Fic: Booty Call (1/1, Adult)

[nonelvis]

Title: Booty Call
Characters/Pairing(s): Eleven/Clara
Rating: Adult
Word count: 1,800
Spoilers: Through "The Rings of Akhaten"
Warnings: none
Summary: That phone that was never, ever supposed to ring was ringing again.
Beta: platypus
Disclaimer: Not mine, obviously.

Author's Notes: I blame nostalgia for this.

::xposted to clara_who, eleven_clara, oswalds, dwfiction, and dwfiction, and archived at Teaspoon and AO3


That phone that was never, ever supposed to ring was ringing again.

"Hello, tech support? There's a problem with my laptop," said the voice on the line.

"I told you," the Doctor said, "I'm not tech support ... Clara, is that you again?"

"Clever boy. Come and meet me at the house. Ten o'clock tonight."

"Finally ready to come with me, then? Good, it's about time."

"I didn't say that. I just said you should come and meet me at the house. Wear something slutty."

"Something –" His voice sputtered. "Clara, I'm a married man."

"Is that a problem for you? Or a problem for her? It's not a problem for me, if that's what you're wondering. And if it's not a problem for her, you could give her a call, ask her to pop by, too."

"Clara!"

"See you soon, then." The line clicked off.

The girl was a bottomless pit of mysteries. Multiple selves littering the universe, dying and resurrecting practically as often as Rory had. Refusing to travel with him full-time, instead making the Doctor fetch her whenever she had a whim to see new worlds. And now this – this booty call, the kids called it, as if he were the sort of man who let his baser, most un-Time Lord instincts get the better of him whenever some vaguely appealing creature tapped him on the shoulder.

But perhaps most mysterious of all was that he found himself walking straight back into the TARDIS, setting coordinates for Clara's house, and heading to the wardrobe room, pondering which of his bow ties was the sluttiest.

* * *

"Right on time," Clara said when she opened the door. "Punctuality: very sexy."

He hesitated in the doorway, wrapping his hands round each other. "I'm still not sure this is a good idea, Clara."

"Rubbish." She pulled him in by his lapels, kicked the door shut, and fell back against the wall, dragging him along with her so that his face was only inches from her own. "Everyone's off visiting family in Cornwall. It's just me and you and this big old house to ourselves, and I want to know what it's like to shag an alien."

"I can go get you one if you like. What do you fancy? Kirellians? They're triple-jointed, very flexible. Mind you, the height difference is going to be a bit of an issue unless I can shrink you to, oh, about eight centimetres –"

Those bow lips of hers were now much, much closer, brushing past his lightly, snuggling over his bottom lip and the corner of his mouth. If he shrank Clara, she wouldn't be able to do this with him anymore, and that would obviously be a very serious problem. No Kirellians for her, then.

"Bobolingets?" he murmured as Clara's fingers tangled deeper in his hair. "Any objection to tentacles?"

She kissed her way along his jawline, and he shivered.

"Why? You got any tentacles down there I need to know about?" she asked. She was drawing him tighter against her. She'd nothing on but a fleece dressing gown, dusty rose. All it would take was one tug on the tie for her to be naked next to him, and here he was trying to convince her of the erotic value of interspecies romance with someone other than him.

Truly, he was an idiot sometimes.

"No tentacles," he said. "None whatsoever." Her lips drifted back towards his, and he stilled, waiting.

"In that case," she said, kissing him full on the mouth, letting her tongue slip through to taste him, then drawing back with a smile, "come on, then. Upstairs with you."

* * *

She straddled him, swiftly undoing and tossing aside that bow tie he'd so carefully picked out, kissing her way down his chest as she unbuttoned his shirt and waistcoat. The Doctor tugged at Clara's sash, loosening it until he could work his hands inside her dressing gown, slide his hands along the warm curves of her waist. She was, in fact, naked beneath thin fleece, and while she worked her way along his shirt to the zip on his trousers, he slid his hands higher, cupping her breasts and the sharp jut of her nipples. Her breath tickled his chest.

She had his shoes, socks, and trousers off in good time, leaving him squirming and pinned below her in just his increasingly tight pants.

"Any last words before these go?" she said. "Warnings about alien bits? I mean, if it's going to look like a starfish or sing me a little song and dance number, I want to know about it in advance."

"Clara," he said with as much dignity as it was possible to muster while nearly naked, almost painfully erect, and trapped below yet another human companion he probably wasn't supposed to be shagging, "I can assure you, my bits don't look anything like a starfish."

"So, song and dance, then? Does it know anything from Wicked?"

"Sorry, you'll have to settle for Les Mis." It was brutally unfair that Clara was still wearing her dressing gown while he was stuck unclothed beneath her, and he loosed the sash completely, shoving fleece from her shoulders and kicking it the rest of the way off the bed. She had the sort of youthfully smooth and perky body he'd always imagined most of his companions had, even the ones he hadn't slept with, and her thighs were clamped round him like iron. Probably muscles gained from chasing small children across multiple timelines.

She tugged at his underwear, lifting her legs just long enough to remove his pants. "You look completely normal," she said, brow creased. "Really? That's it? I mean, don't take this as a complaint, but I wasn't expecting ..."

Small, slim fingers dipped between his legs, slid behind his balls then back up along the length of his cock while the Doctor gasped. Clara tightened her hand into a fist, moving it back and forth slowly.

"Well, at least I know what to do with this," she said cheerfully. She snatched a foil packet from her bedside cabinet, tearing open the packet edge with her teeth when fingers failed to do the job.

"There's no need for –" the Doctor started, as Clara rolled the condom on him. "I can't – I don't –"

"You men are all alike. I'm not having any of your alien babies, thank you very much, or any of your alien diseases." She paused, fist still tight around him. "You don't have any invisible alien STDs I need to know about, do you? Didn't think that far ahead. Should have, though. Guess I was too busy wondering whether you had a singing starfish cock."

"Even if I had any, I probably couldn't transmit them," he said, breathing heavily. God, why wouldn't she just start moving her hand again?

"Right. Good to know." She lifted herself up slightly, guided him inside her, and settled back down, slowly starting to rock. "Off we go, then. Oh, yes, that'll do."

It certainly would do just fine, as far as the Doctor was concerned. Clara moved steadily above him, squeezing his cock when she pushed forwards, again as she rotated her hips slightly in a complicated and delicious pattern he'd no idea where she could have picked up. Enigmatic as she was, it might have been a move she'd learned in the past, or the future, or a parallel universe connected via some sort of Sex Vortex instead of a time one. He contemplated, briefly, what else one might learn from gazing into whatever passed for the Untempered Schism of the Sex Vortex, which was the point where Clara's rhythm shifted, and the Doctor's hips bucked hard against her, and if she did that once or twice more, he realised, he'd be left limp and incoherent underneath her in a matter of seconds.

But instead, she slowed, leaning in to kiss him with her palms pressed close to his cheeks. The Doctor slid his hands down Clara's sides, pausing to run his thumbs across her breasts again, moving to where their bodies joined and he could rub that slippery point between them. Clara moaned so softly he almost missed it, but the curve of her lips and the blush on her cheeks were further proof he could get to her, too: that not everything about her was a mystery, that some things about her, at least, were unravelled with simple attention and skill.

He twisted beneath her, gripping her tightly and rolling her over until he was on top and could thrust into her harder, deeper, listening for Clara's gasps at his every motion. Leaning down, he licked swift circles around one of her nipples, sucking it in as it hardened, biting gently just to hear Clara squeak.

"That's my boy," she said. "Now, let's see how you like this."

She slipped a finger into his mouth, let him slide his tongue around it, then reached behind him. Deep behind him. All the way behind him, and straight down the crack of his bottom into his arsehole, and he bucked into her sharply and quickly; twice more as she wriggled her finger, and then his head was swimming with light, and he collapsed, blinded and winded, upon her.

"Oh," Clara said. "Guess you liked it." She slowly removed her finger, wiping it on the sheets.

Sex Vortex. No question about it. He withdrew and flopped on his back next to her, carefully unrolling the condom and dropping it on the foil packet left on the cabinet.

"And you? Your first time with an alien?"

"Not bad. Could have gone longer. Kind of needed to, to be honest."

"Clara Oswald," the Doctor said, slipping his hand between Clara's legs, "I would never want anything about your first sexual encounter with an alien species to be less than spectacular."

"Mmm. This is a definite improvement."

"I thought it might be."

His index finger slid down across her clit, back up, pressure increasing with each stroke. Clara reached for his face, kissing and faltering and kissing again as the Doctor's hand sped up. She was still wet and slick, and he slipped two fingers back inside her, rubbing her hard with his thumb while she stuttered and moaned beneath him.

When she came, she dug her fingers in his shoulder and whimpered in his mouth. He withdrew his hand slowly while she shuddered around him, left his palm resting across her fluttering stomach.

She fell back to the pillow and lay smiling beside him. "Much better," she said.

"I aim to please."

"You do. Even if you don't have a singing starfish for a penis."

"You can't have everything, Clara."

"No," she said, drawing him down to her again, "but I can try."

Comments

[ms_prue]

*squee* So many shiny moments!
- the sluttiest bowtie
- "Punctuality: very sexy."
- the hypothetical Untempered Schism of the Sex Vortex
- the firm grip explained as being honed by chasing small children across multiple timelines
- "you can't have everything"/"but I can try"

Hawt and... how to put this? Really satisfying. In the sense that it perfectly scratches a fic itch I had about why they would shag in the first place - it's a test, obvs, because Clara knows they'd do it sooner or later, and she wants to see upfront whether alien sex is a dealbreaker before taking the plunge and agreeing to travel with him. Except I couldn't work out how to write it and remain lighthearted and funny and gorgeous, which you have done here, to a tee. Brilliant work, beautifully done!

[nonelvis]

Thank you very much! I know you're still feeling your way around the Eleven-Clara relationship (no pun intended), so I'm glad the fic helped with that a bit.

[miss_s_b]

Well this has made MY morning at work a lot more interesting... ;)

[nonelvis]

HA! Happy to be of service ;)

[miss_s_b]

Luckily my boss is a who fan too, so in the unlikely event that they check my internet history, he'll just laugh :)