makemeasong | Open post/meme overflow 💫

Yes. Yeah of course.

[His voice is heady with desire as he removes his goggles and hoists the both of them up from the chair. His room is normally down plenty of bends and turns, tucked closer to the heart of the TARDIS because it feels slightly like home, but the TARDIS moves it around, readjusting the hallways so that they're there soon enough.

He lies her on the bed gently, eyes ablaze.]

[ Last time he doted on her, this time, Clara dotes on him. She knows that for as long as they've been apart, he hasn't sought pleasure for the sake of it. She knows he loved, but she also knows him given what he told her already. He held a part of himself back, gave and rarely received. But she's fixing that, now.

As soon as she's on the bed she tugs him over her but immediately rolls them over and switches their positions. The only thing she does quickly is rid them of their clothing. Then, she's slow and lazy, pressing kisses first at his neck and throat. Her nose nuzzles playfully at his chest hair before a barrage of kisses rain on his skin. Her hands aren't idle, trailing up and down his sides, fingernails leaving a faint trail that disappears quickly.

She makes her way lower, trailing her fingers through coarse curls before kissing his stomach and wrapping her hand around him to slowly stroke. It's such an intimate touch, to hold onto her husband this way, to touch him again. She needs to love him, to shower him with it, to give him an ocean of it to make up for his billions of years trying to bring her back from the dead, and the thousands of years they were unknown to one another.

Stretching along his side, her free hand runs through his hair and she whispers in their native tongue to him everything he can already see in her mind before encouraging him to give in to her, to let himself feel. ]

[There's a look of surprise in his eyes when Clara rolls them over but he's more than happy to let her lead. His skin feels alive with a warmth he hasn't felt in a while. This feels different from their first night in the cabin; it's not less intimate, but it's hard to deny the difference when he can feel both of their thoughts and feelings pouring into one another, melding until there isn't a difference between them.

He relishes the feel of her fingers as they roam and he can't help the moan that escapes his lips when Clara's hands find his length. There's a shudder through his body more so in response to the words she's speaking into his ear and into his mind than anything else, but the carnal pleasure is just as good.

He desperately wants to pleasure in return, far more used to that than this but instead he settles for tugging her face towards him to capture her lips with his.]

[ In some ways, being connected to one another's thoughts feels more intimate than anything else. It's a place no one else can ever go, only the two of them, and she savors the feeling.

When he kisses her she's distracted enough that her hand stills and she takes the time to flicker through mental images, silently asking him what he wants, how he wants to finish, how he wants her. ]

[She'll feel a slight smugness there being able to throw her off her focus and he takes the opportunity to take advantage of the brief opportunity to deepen the kiss.

It's tempting to continue to tease her but instead he relents, knowing that she'd be happier this way. He shows her - but it's more of a feeling. He just wants to be as close to her as possible. To feel her pressed to him, on top of him, surrounded by her - and he can't help himself - whatever will make her feel good.]

[ Clara decides not to move far, and instead lays on her side facing him, bringing one leg over his hip. It's easy to guide him into her and she lets out a soft breath, eyes fluttering shut. Every thought in her mind is of him coming home to her, the way she feels buried in his arms, completely enveloped by him.

One hand presses to the side of his face as she moves with him slowly. It's partially a tease - which one of them will give in and move faster once they're on the precipe about to fall over? It feels so good to be breathless again, to feel her skin grow hot against his. Clara's eyes never leave his, watching as they dilate and darken, knowing hers must be doing the same. She fights the urge to close them as long as she can, but that's the battle she loses, moaning his name and closing her eyes.

All of her thoughts seem to turn to white noise, unable to focus anymore on anything at all. It occurs to her that they could come together; it's the one feeling that escapes her mind to wrap around them both. ]

[The Doctor can't help but groan softly when he feels himself slip inside her. This is coming home. It isn't Gallifrey, it's here with Clara. It always has been. His hands press against her back as he religiously moves in time with the movement of her body and breath despite how their legs are tangled up in one another.

He presses soft kisses to her collar bone between gentle bites. She is his and he's hers in every way and he projects that into Clara's mind. Before long he feels her mind melt into a soft, heated, glow, unable to concentrate on anything coherent.

But one thought does ring out and he nods even though he knows she can't see it with her eyes closed. Together, he thinks. Always. He cups the back of her neck, increasing his speed and intensity, and inadvertently losing the teasing game they had played and he moans her name - her true name - through a muffled kiss.]

[ As soon as she feels him let go, Clara tenses for a single heartbeat, then one more, before she's with him. One hand grips his hair, buried in it while the other clings to his shoulder while they move together. She doesn't want to lose this feeling of him inside of her, not ready for the ache it leaves behind, the coldness and feeling like there's too much space between them.

Four and a half billion years, death, near misses - she's earned the right to be needy, to cling, she thinks. They both have. Shaking in his arms, she chases his lips, unable to truly kiss him as her pleasure ebbs; lingering pulses move through her to him, and it's enough to make her whimper softly.

Once her skin begins to cool, she feels her hearts sync to the beat of the Doctor's, and she presses kisses all along his jaw. Finally, she speaks softly, one word pressed against his mouth while a smile curves her lips. ]

Husband.

Wife. My wife.

[Their completion is like a crescendo, a grand end to a song that is purely theirs. He presses kisses to her forehead, not minding the sweat that mingles with her taste before meeting her lips.

As they're lying there in the afterglow, it dawns on the Doctor that for the first time in a long while there's a sense of calmness in his body. Is that what letting himself be loved feel like? The thought lingers in his mind and transfers to Clara's.]

[ His thought quietly breaks her hearts and she nods, pressing her forehead to his. ]

It should have been like this, always. You never should've forgotten this feeling.

[ She's always had a suspicion that he was starved for love but didn't know how to express it, and that was before she knew he was her husband. ]

It was easier to forget. [To some degree he knows that he kept himself away like this for that very reason. Loneliness might as well have been a companion in and of itself.] It made the loss easier.

Never again.

[ Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper. But the words are fierce, and there's complete conviction. She won't ever be parted from him again, she doesn't care what it takes. ]

You can have this again, every day, always. [ Her lips press to his chest, right in between his hearts as she closes her eyes. ]

Never again.

[He takes her hand, the one now wearing the ring, and presses adoring kisses to it all the while thinking he's so lucky that Clara thinks he's deserving enough for her. They remain there cuddling and murmuring to one another before eventually dozing off.

The Doctor isn't certain when he falls asleep, but when he wakes several hours later he shifts to feel for Clara at his side.]

[ Clara's only been awake around twenty minutes. But it's long enough that she's wearing his clothes again from after her shower. Her plan was to do some exploring, just a little, on her way to the kitchen. Then she'd opened a random door in a random corridor and felt her breath catch.

When the Doctor finds her, she's sitting on the floor of a room that has things she's instantly recognized: old toys, favorite blankets, their granddaughter's books. She has a photo album in her lap, quietly looking at each of their children's faces, softly touching the pictures with her fingertips like she can stroke their cheeks again.

She doesn't hear her husband, too lost in memories. ]

[The Doctor's own hearts drop when he finds her. He doesn't come to this room often, if ever. It's too much for him to remember on his own and it's often too much for him to put on the shoulder of his companions. So there it sits, taken care of by the TARDIS ever dutifully.

Of course Clara finds it.

He lingers in the doorway before wandering over to her and sitting down beside her clad in a t-shirt and some black joggers.]

I haven't seen those in a while.

[A while is an understatement.]

[ When he's sitting beside her, she spreads the photo album across both of their laps. Their kids are small, their youngest not even walking yet and they're all sitting in red grass. Clara's caught mid-laugh during a picnic, with the baby in her lap and the other kids sitting around her as they eat. ]

Do you remember this? She asks with a soft smile. I didn't want to go on a picnic that day but you convinced me, and it turned out to be the best day.

I thought that the fresh air would help with the nausea and it turns out I was right.

[Time Lord biology was different from humans, but it seemed that child birth still brought about similar symptoms.]

I had a hell of a time trying to wrangle all the children and get food ready for the picnic.

[ Clara can't help but laugh softly even though her hearts feel like they're breaking. ]

Calliope was barely walking when I was pregnant here. You were so good with them. You were perfect with them.

Arcturus might as well have been. They were kicking in your stomach. [He hates that he can hear her hearts softly crying, and his hand captures the hand on the photo album.]

So were you. All of them were lucky to have you.

[ Lacing their fingers together, she presses herself to his side and keeps looking through the photos with him. These are their babies and though they'd long been adults when they died, it hurts badly to know how it ended. ]

I understand now why you haven't come here in so long. But I haven't been able to stop thinking about them since I remembered everything. I just wanted to see their faces again.

[ Her voice cracks and she lets her head rest on his shoulder, taking a deep breath and letting it out shakily. ]

You loved them so much. With every ounce of yourself.

[He uses his other arm to pull her close and rests his own head on hers. His own voice is hoarse as he speaks, memories of all their children rushing back. They'd had ten all together, three of their own and then seven that they had adopted. Whether they were biological or adopted though made no difference to them. They had loved them all fiercely and dearly.

His voice is remorseful when he speaks next. Sorrowful even.]

I'm sorry.

So am I.

[ She whispers the words and sniffles. She'd lost track of Susan at the end, her hand slipping right out of her granddaughter's grasp. It's the last thing Clara can remember about that life, and she can't even bring herself to tell the Doctor, she hasn't forgiven herself for it. ]

We can remember them today. But they wouldn't want us to be sitting here in puddles, either.

You're right they'd make fun of us because most of them took after our sense of humour.

[He tries to bring up her mood slightly even if he feels like his own hearts tightening. It was an absolute nightmare living in a household full of people that constantly roasted each other and by nightmare, the Doctor definitely meant a joy.]

[ She laughs softly and wipes at her eyes with her free hand. ]

We made a damn good team. Still do. We weren't supposed to want any of this, we were supposed to be above this sort of life. But we were always the different ones.

Why do you think I stole you away from the President? [He asks with a bit of a cheeky smirk.] There was no way anyone that knew the real you thought you two were a proper match.

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