Day 8. One hundred and eighty six hours since initial Infection.

'This time,' he was saying, panting slightly, 'This time it's going to be perfect.'

Beneath him Clara erupted into laughter, 'This time Doctor,' she patted him on the shoulder, 'You go for it.' She caught his eye and smirked and it took him all his effort not to collapse into giggles.

'When I get over this, Ms Oswald, you are not going to know what's hit you.'

'You've been doing pretty well as it is,' she said.

'Well I can do even better…' he bent and kissed her neck, pulling her closer in his arms, feeling her legs wrap round his hips, her pelvis nudge up against him encouragingly. He hissed needily. 'Stop trying to put me off…' he accused.

He'd lost track of time, which wasn't a new experience for him, but the preceding three or possibly four days had begun to merge into one long and intensely pleasurable memory. Clara he knew had been forced to sleep on a number of occasions and had also insisted on eating a few times but other than that appeared to be keeping up rather well given she was no longer infected and he had been riding out the peak of his Fungus problem. The first day or so had been an abject disaster as far as he was concerned, the slightest touch and it was over and he'd tried every form of distraction technique known in the universe. But she'd not once been angry and as a result he'd felt relaxed enough to make sure he made it up to her on a regular basis before they started again, his desire refusing to be sated for long.

Luckily Clara was both a generous, patient and surprisingly gifted lover … for a human, although he'd shown her a few things which had made her eyes pop. He doubted many would have put up with his incapacity as she had, but such was their friendship and her ability to understand that she had done just that and more importantly he had trusted her to. To think he had feared the loss of that friendship as a result of this new intimacy, instead it had forged itself into something even stronger.

The Doctor felt his hearts skip in his chest, an odd fluttering which he hadn't felt there for hundreds of years, something made of happiness and another unspoken emotion.

He nipped at her neck and made her wriggle and that made him grin. In the last twenty four hours things had been closer to perfect and the last scan he did as she slept had indicated that his Fungus titre was almost undetectable. Just another few hours and he'd be normal again.

'You're going to collapse at the end of this,' Clara said as his mouth closed over her breast, 'Four days, Doctor, four days, you'll be exhausted.'

'I don't need sleep.'

'I do… and I'm not sure I can walk…'

He looked up sharply, 'Do you need to stop for a bit?' he asked concerned.

She batted him playfully, 'No I had a nap this morning, keep going.'

He trailed his tongue around her nipple and then sucked gently at it. 'Sure?' he asked, 'Because I could just stop…'

'Don't you dare.'

He smiled against her skin and then kissed her belly gently. She smelt of him and it triggered something primal and possessive inside him. They'd given up on quarantine and moved to his room days ago and they'd barely had cause to leave since, the TARDIS thoughtfully providing them with essential food and fluids for the short breaks between their lovemaking. Clara was right though, they couldn't keep this up forever, it would burn out, he just wanted to make sure these last few hours were particularly memorable.

He slid further down her body, his mouth trailing over her pubic hair and letting it tickle his nose. Clara shifted and he felt the humidity rise from her sex, warm against his skin, moist and intoxicating. His mouth watered and he felt his almost permanently hard member twitch. He placed his lips against her and moaned, the vibrations drawing a low groan from her and then flicked at her with his tongue while trying to ignore his growing need. His focus was on her and her alone, on the patterns he was drawing on her heated flesh, on the hitch in her breathing when he caressed her just there, on the way her hands were tangling in his hair, directing him, urging him on, her hips thrusting up despite the way his hands held her secure. She was almost there.

So he stopped. Stopped and pulled back. Crawled deliberately slowly up her body, his tongue passing over her stomach, the curve of her breasts, reaching her neck. He kissed her deeply, held her tight against him, let her feel how hard he was and how much he wanted her, let her squirm under him as his lips found her earlobe and nipped gently. She was saying his name. freely and of her own accord, not a spore in sight.

He felt a rush of pride and a need to be closer, to be in her, have her surround him. He asked for permission with the angle of his body and she granted it, letting him slide deep inside her, her muscles holding him, taking breath from him as he nuzzled against her neck and tried to regain control of the burning arousal along his length. He could feel it coiled at the base of it, taut throbbing, and willed it back down to a level he could direct. He'd promised her this time. He'd promised himself. And though he was certain she wouldn't hold him to that promise, though he was sure she would be just as understanding, he was determined to make this time the one. This time he wouldn't leave her behind as he rushed to his conclusion, this time he would take her with him.

He was moving cautiously, listening to her heartbeat and her breathing, feeling for the telltale twitches in her muscles when he hit the right spot. Her hands were at his back, her nails scratching at his shoulders, then in his hair, her thumb trailing to his lips so that he could suck on it and kiss her palm. Switching his mouth to hers, letting her dictate the pace and depth, holding himself entwined in her limbs, the stinging aching pleasure hot within him but still biddable. He was winning, and so was she. Her breathing becoming more ragged, her eyes closed in concentration and her hands now clasping him tight, he could feel her muscles working him, milking him, pulling him deeper into her with each thrust, and her body quivering under his.

'Don't stop…' she whispered before she knew she'd said the words, 'I mean… it's ok… I just..'

'I won't stop,' he assured her suddenly certain that he wouldn't, that he was himself again finally and that Clara's needs came first. He heard her keen slightly at his response and grind herself up into him, her movements becoming more frantic, more erratic, a charge of desperation in her voice. In the last few days he had brought her to climax on numerous occasions but never like this, never when deep inside her, feeling her orgasm begin from within, watching her under him coming apart, witnessing the absolute freedom with which she moved with him. He felt her contract around him slightly and his arousal spiked, he could feel his own release coming but she was ahead of him. His eyes on her face, his lips moving to her ear, smiling now, encouraging her with soft words and then she was calling out, her pelvis thrusting hard up into his and tipping him easily into his own release. He pumped hard into her, each forward movement drawing a deep cry from both of them before they finally slowed and came to rest, tangled and sweaty, the Doctor's head buried against Clara's neck.

'I think I'm cured,' he said.

Day 8 One hundred and ninety five hours since infection.

He'd been asleep. And not just a nap, not forty winks or a doze in his chair, he'd been properly, soundly asleep for around eight hours. The last thing he remembered was rolling off Clara and pulling her into a dazed and slightly damp cuddle before presumably passing out and sleeping off the last of the Frengalian infection. Now he was vaguely aware of her somewhere on the other side of the room, moving about, looking for something.

'Clara, what are you doing?' he asked, pushing his hands through his hair and propping himself up in bed.

'Need my robe,' she bent and located it by one of his bookcases, 'TARDIS seems to think we are well enough to get our own breakfast now. Our usual pot of tea wasn't here when I woke up.'

He snorted, 'We must be better. I suppose the waffles aren't there either.'

'Nope,' Clara emerged from the gloom of the other side of the bedroom, 'And I suppose you're wanting those.'

'Only to ensure my complete recovery, you understand.'

She smirked as she closed the robe and tied its belt. 'Exhausting few days,' she said, 'I swear I've lost weight…'

'Better go and cook something then…'

She pulled a shocked face and clambered over the bed to exact some form of punishment but rather quickly got diverted, rolled over and kissed. Eventually he released her and she spent a moment tracing his cheekbones with the tips of her fingers, her gaze fixed on his.

'I think I love you,' she said out of nowhere.

He felt the back of his throat tighten and his eyes burn just a little, Clara caught his expression and kissed him gently.

'I love you too,' he confessed.

She smiled, 'You're just saying that because you're still a bit emotional post Fungus.'

'No, I'm not!'

'I was giving you an out in case you got all embarrassed,' she explained wearily, rolling her eyes.

'Why would I be embarrassed about loving you? I've always loved you,' he said seriously, his eyes unwavering.

'Oh,' she said in a small voice. He saw her bite her lip and her own emotions well up and then the moment passed. She sprang up from the bed and trotted to the door.

'Breakfast!' she called back over her shoulder. The Doctor settled back into the pillows and decided to wait for it to be brought to him. It would wind Clara up and they'd probably banter about her waiting on him and he'd make a protest that he was only just recovered and he'd expended an awful lot of energy of late and so really…

'Doctor!' her voice was an odd mixture of alarmed and amused, 'Get out here!'

Curious he slid from the covers and pulled his own robe on quickly.

'What is it?' he asked wandering towards her voice and emerging into the console room, 'TARDIS isn't playing with you again is she… Oh..'

Clara stood by the controls with her arms folded glaring at him in a not altogether serious manner.

'I thought you got them all?' she asked.

'I thought I did,' he admitted gazing around at the forest of blue mushrooms that had sprung up while they had been busy in his room. 'I must have missed one.' He took a hesitant step forward. 'Clara be very careful these ones have had a little time to mature, they look like they're about to spore….'

He watched as she leaned over and stared meaningfully at a particularly large fungus. Its red balloon sporing pod throbbed purposefully and she held out a pointed index finger close to it.

'Clara no….'

'It looks ready to pop,' she said.

'It is… its ripe… Clara we've only just recovered… I don't think this is a good idea,' he edged between a few mushrooms and tried to get close enough to grab her hand but she was two steps ahead and placed the tip of her finger on the pod, 'Clara….' His voice warned, 'Clara… no!'

The pod shrank back, quivered and then ejected its contents forcefully over both of them.

They stood for a moment with the clear liquid dripping from their faces and down over their robes, little flecks of gold shining in the console room lights. The Doctor glared at Clara and she looked at him in mock innocence, gathering a fingerful of the goop and sucking at it for its sweet taste.

'Clara we'll be stuck in here for weeks…' he started, his voice shaking with effort as he tried not to laugh. 'Possibly months… years!'

'Oops,' she said.