FIRST DOCTOR WHO SMUT! Reviews/feedback please! :) Follow/Favorite! I'm also working on a longer piece: I Made the Fish (Doctor/Clara)

The Doctor pondered and smiled as he looked into Clara's eyes with wonder. Clara was once again very appreciative for his rescue, but particularly of Angie and Artie. His eyes combed over her beautiful features, and stopped at her mouth. She truly has a perfect mouth and body—impossible mouth and body. The Doctor's darker thoughts were fresh in his mind too. He would have to thank and damn Mr. Clever for that.

"Goodnight." Clara sighed sincerely. She stepped away from his side, the Doctor's eyes traveled with the pace of her tight mini skirt. He smiled as she strode towards the door. "See you next Wednesday!"

The Doctor grimaced at the thought of not being with a companion for a whole week. Chaos could befall the planet. What if Cybermen returned in the night and he wasn't there?

"Well, a—a Wednesday definitely. Next Wednesday, or last Wednesday," His pulse quickened as she spun around to show her innocent smile. His childish stammering amused her. "One of the Wednesdays…" The door shut and he relaxed, suddenly serious. "Impossible girl." He shook his head in disbelief. "A mystery, wrapped in an enigma, squeezed into a skirt that is just a little too…tight."

Visions of Clara in the chess room came across his mind. Mr. Clever knew his feelings, his dark feelings—the ones that no one else should know about—not even himself. Clara's too tight skirt didn't make light of the situation any. He thought about placing his hands firmly on her waist, among other places. He imagined that he would find her being playful with the Tardis. She'd be pressing buttons on her mainframe, curious yet nervous, she was cute while nervous. He imagined that without doubt in his mind he came up the metal stairs swift and proud of his devious intentions. Without announcing himself and his hands planted firmly on her waist he would wrap himself around her. He knew Clara would stiffen her body at first—most humans did, but soon she'd relax. He would relish at the warmth of her entire body pressed against him. As she would crane her neck back to gaze at him, her breath would graze his earlobe and send shivers down his spine.

A puff of steam rolled from the top of the Tardis and distracted his thoughts—probably for the best. He stood straight and wrinkled his face up. "What are you?" He let out a baffled huff before he cranked a handle down, and set the Tardis into action.

The Doctor sat in his tinker room filled with trinkets, tools, and taffy. He nibbled an orange marmalade piece as he finished up the last touches on his new sonic app. The app would hopefully disassemble a Cyberman at the point and press of a button.

"Damnit." He cursed and let out an exasperated sigh. The Doctor shook his head, spit out the candy and pushed his tools aside, frustrated. "What am I thinking?" He threw his head back in utter confusion. He cocked his head to the left and read the clock on the wall upside down. It was just two minutes past midnight, the following Wednesday.

The Doctor grabbed at his stomach. The swell of anxiety that had built up in what felt like hours to him, and a week for Clara was astronomical. He made sure to pay attention to her human week. Nothing adventurous or usual, she was teaching three days a week—at home nanny for the rest of the week. No aliens, or natural disasters to speak of, how boring. The candy in his stomach poked and prodded at him. It was time to go for a walk.

The midnight air was cool. Cars could be heard in the distance, the neighborhood was quiet, and far too peaceful. How did humans tolerate such slow progression of time?

He pointed his sonic at the front door and examined the upstairs window where Clara slept. The latch clicked and he winced as the door creaked open. Waking her or the children was one thing, but having to explain his presence to Artie and Angie's father was less than desirable. He held his breath as he trotted up the stairwell and down the hallway to the left. No squeaky floorboards, thankfully.

"Clara?" He whispered outside her door. He ran his hands through his messy hair—he needed a shower he noted. Embarrassed, he straightened his bowtie. With bated breath he tapped lightly with his fingers against the door and then twisted the handle on the cast-iron knob. Mr. Clever, who had invaded his mind, would grab Clara and throw her against the closest wall moments after she answered the door. She would try to cry out with surprise, but he'd stifle her voice with a teeth-clanking kiss before she would get the chance to. With passion and pent up frustration, he would greedily dance his tongue across her lips into her mouth. With a grin he'd pull back and listen as her cry turned into a moan. The Doctor closed his eyes and shook his head. He wasn't Mr. Clever.

With as much silence as an old door would allow, he slipped into her bedroom undetected by anyone—Clara included. He looked around her room, a desk with a computer and a closet left open with dresses and more skirts. Something buzzed. He let out a puff of startled air, and searched himself. Was his sonic malfunctioning?

"Ohh, Doctor." Clara whispered. The blankets and sheets on Clara's bed shifted. He watched as she arched under the blankets like a bridge, her hips moved up and down like the waves of an ocean.

Oh, Doctor? Had she noticed him? He hid in the corner by her opened computer, safe in the shadows by her bathroom closet. Where was that sound coming from? He emptied another pocket—a jamie dodger.

"Ahhh…" Her mouth parted and she moaned. The Doctor's face flushed at the inappropriate nature of the sound. Something buzzed again. He realized it was Clara.

Mr. Clever wanted to rip the blankets off and show her body to him. He'd grab her arms and hold them close up above her head. His mouth would venture to her neck and suckle her delicate skin. He'd hike up her nightgown, and relish in the sound of her passionate scream as he plunged himself inside of her. The Doctor pursed his lips and brought his hands down to his trousers and covered himself.

"Doctor—haaa." Clara gasped as she touched herself. The Doctor felt himself swell as her hips bucked violently beneath the blanket. "Please, Doctor." The plea sent him over the edge. The Doctor's eyes closed slowly, the lids heavy with lust. He licked his lips, pushed the guilt aside as he continued to gaze at the very private moment.

Lust aside, the Doctor still fidgeted, nervous like a teenage boy with dirty pictures. He took it upon himself to blame Mr. Clever for all of this. Blame aside, his hands brushed against his growing member, and he hated to admit how amazing it felt.

As he stroked himself, the Doctor wondered how she would feel against his hands. He wanted to bring her to orgasm with the touch of his hand and kiss of his mouth first. Clara threw back the comforter that lay across her bed and worked at herself a little harder. She panted, her hips bucked violently beneath the sheets.

The Doctor undid the buttons of his pants and made a mental note to create holographic clothes. He stroked himself to the rhythm of her thrusts. Clara's buzz was louder now and followed a pattern.

"Doctor!" She let out a hushed cry.

Clara, he mouthed silently and bucked his pelvis forward. His left hand reached back for balance, and pressed against the keyboard of her laptop. The computer screen awoke and lit up like the sun. The room fell still. Clara didn't move, nor did the Doctor. There was only the buzz between Clara's thighs.