Someone sent me a message to say, "Venus is Greek, not Roman," so I re-searched to make sure I hadn't had a brain fart and, well, everything I found said that Venus is Roman, modeled after Aphrodite, who is Greek. I mean no disrespect to folks studying history/mythology; it's just what I found when searching Venus for tidbits for the Doctor's speech.

Pulling open the Tardis doors, the Doctor gestured out at the cream colored planet sitting just beneath them and bellowed into the universe, "Venus! Named for the Roman god of love and beauty, the brightest star in your sky and made of mostly gas. Had an ocean once, but then… just gas." He paused to wrinkle his nose at his companion, who remained a few steps away, "Why've we come here again?"

With a laugh, Clara came to stand just beside him, holding firmly to the door as she responded lightly with a tilt of her head towards him, "Dunno, Doctor, it was your idea. I was thinking of something a bit more… relaxing."

"Relaxing?" the Doctor scoffed playfully.

"Dinner, normal dinner, on Earth," she swung to nudge her elbow into him and watched the grin he gave her as she elaborated, "Could make veal, or pork chops? Maybe fish and chips? Shepherd's Pie? Blood pudding?"

"Clara, we can have dinner anywhere; could have dinner on Earth any day, but Venus?" He shifted towards her, hands coming up easily to her shoulders to pull her closer to the open space and she clutched at him as he sighed, "You know, the planet hiding underneath all that carbon dioxide is quite young and relatively unscathed by the universe. Smooth plains, cracked only by fault lines and volcanos that can be explosive at times, pumping sulfur into the atmosphere – like a planet that's had a few bad burritos."

She chuckled, fingers of her left hand holding his waistcoat lightly as she looked out on it, "As far as bad burrito flatulence goes, this is actually quite impressive." Clara sighed out into the stars and then smiled, "It's funny, not that long ago I would have told you you were barking mad for saying you wanted to go to Venus and now it's like second nature – we're floating above Venus, in a box the size of a shed that houses room after ridiculous room and you…" she glanced up, breath caught suddenly in her throat.

The Doctor was admiring her, features as calm as the surface of the planet beneath her, as if frozen in time just memorizing her face. She smiled, feeling her cheeks redden when he raised a hand and tucked her hair behind her ear, eyes following the motion and then meeting hers again to release a satisfied sigh. It wasn't really about Venus, she thought to herself, it was about taking her to Venus.

The goddess of love and beauty; brightest star in his sky.

She turned away first, releasing the air from her lungs and shifting back into the Tardis to walk up the ramp towards the console, twisting when she heard him close the doors behind him to grin up at her. "So dinner, you say," he finally said after a moment's agony.

Grinning, she watched him hold the railing on either side of the ramp, looking up at her from under a flop of hair as she nodded and supplied, "Anything you like."

"Fish fingers and custard," he laughed, testing her.

Clara's eyebrows lowered in amusement, but she nodded, "If that's what you'd like."

He straightened suddenly, flashing an excited grin at her as he rushed to the console and worked the machine, sending a loud crash through the engine on a laugh while Clara grabbed hold of the panel in front of her, watching him maneuver them back to Earth. They landed with a bang and Clara giggled, skipping towards the doors and feeling him on her heel as they emerged in front of the Maitland's.

"Would you really eat it?" She asked him as she approached the door, keys ready in her hands and she turned to see the devilish smile on his lips before nodding, "You really would."

"You'll love it, I promise," he breathed against her neck, and Clara was aware that he was standing dangerous close to her, almost pinning her to the door, hands pressed against the frame at either side of her.

"Sounds like a craving," she teased. "Are you having a craving, Doctor?"

"Maybe it is," he told her, poking her belly when she turned, "Maybe, someday, it'll hit you, out of the blue and you'll think to yourself, he really is a mad man, but this really is necessary right now, and this is really good."

Clara imagined, for just a split second, waddling around a house incredibly pregnant, gesturing at him with a stick of fish and watching the smile spread across his lips as he offered the bowl of custard. Quickly shaking the fantasy out of her mind, she moved through the house and into the kitchen, searching the freezer and finding a box to show to him for approval. He clapped his hands together and then rubbed them, moving to join her, searching the cabinets she was too short to reach before retrieving a small box of custard mix.

"Twenty minutes," she told him, switching the oven on.

"Twenty minutes!" he replied in exasperation.

Giving him a bump with her hip, she reminded, "Cooking takes time."

"Couldn't we just light them on fire a quick moment?" He shot.

With a laugh, she informed him, "If you set them on fire, the outside would be burned and the middle would still be raw."

He humphed his disapproval as he laid the box of custard mix down on the counter and watched her line a pan with foil to dump the fish sticks on. Clara kicked her shoes off and he smiled at the sudden increase in their height different, reaching out to tap her head and gaining an odd smirk in return. "You're being weird," she offered, glancing to make sure the temperature on the oven was right.

"Weird," he repeated, moving swiftly to pick her up as she gave a shout and settle her on the counter with a simple, "Sorry, the opportunity to talk face to face was too much to pass up." Straightening, he looked into her eyes, eyes that seemed to be studying him.

Eyes that seemed to question what he'd just done, but were too frightened to ask and he realized it was weird and now, watching her, faces less than foot apart, foolish grin on his lips, he understood that it wasn't just weird, it was strangely intimate. And he liked it. The Doctor considered the fact that he felt comfortable, waist pressed against her knees, hands planted beside either of her thighs, standing in the middle of the kitchen in the middle of an actual house.

He considered how easy it would be to lean forward – through the few inches that stood in his way – and kiss her. To take the awkward half grin off her face and feel her hands come up into his hair as his travelled up her legs and rested themselves just underneath her blouse and he swallowed hard, breaking eye contact and turning away.

"Where are the Maitland's, anyway?" He asked, fingers scratching at the side of his head.

The question, she knew, was a distraction, and he shifted away, leaning against the counter at her side to flip through a magazine that sat there with the mail. "Italy."

"Italy, I love Italy," he pointed, "I'll have to take you there."

"That would be lovely, ride a gondola."

He smiled up at her. "Italy has dinner."

"That's a date then, you and me in Italy," she laughed, lightly tapping his shoulder with the back of her hand, but when he glanced up, her laugh tapered off seeing the longing there. He imagined she'd been joking, only joking, and it hurt him. Clara gave his shoulder a rub and asked, "Would you dress up?"

Stepping back, he gestured down at himself, "I am dressed up," he pointed, "Would you?"

"Saw a nifty black dress in that wardrobe of yours I wouldn't mind trying on."

The right corner of his mouth lifted slowly, "Short number with the low neck?"

Clara snorted, "Have you tried it on?"

"No, just imagined you wearing it, is all…" he trailed, turning back to the oven to ask, "Is it done yet? I don't want to start on the custard before the fish is cooking, liable to eat it all up before they're done and then we're just stuck with fish fingers and no custard and who wants fish fingers and no custard," he glanced at her to say, arms crossing over his chest.

She'd been through his wardrobe a few times as he continually offered her a bedroom aboard the Tardis, said he could return her the same day he picked her up, but their trips didn't have to remain in a single day. The dress he spoke of was a bit sexier than the rest, something, she imagined, you wore when you wanted it taken off and as she watched him, rubbing the back of his neck as he waited for the oven to pre-heat, it dawned on her that he might want her to wear it for that very reason.

"Doctor…" she started.

The oven dinged.

Finger shooting into the air, the Doctor moved forward and put the fish sticks in, turning an egg shaped timer on the counter and setting it down before twirling to look at Clara, now watching him in contemplation. "We can start on the custard," he told her lowly.

With a smile, she jumped off the counter and went to his side, silently watching him work through the instructions as he detailed his first encounter with Amelia Pond. She smiled, heart skipping every time he turned to touch her arm, or gently caress the side of her neck for no real reason at all and when he finally had his custard, he beamed at her.

"Just a few minutes until dinner," he told her, voice low and oddly seductive, and Clara had to turn away to grab placemats because she was struck with the sudden desire to do naughty things with that custard and she knew she had to keep her head on straight.

"Have I ever told you about Hodar?" he called, settling the custard on the stove to lean back against the counter next to it, crossing his arms and legs as he watched her shake her head. "Has seven moons and on each one they have colonists from all over the galaxy. Intergalactic marketplace really – you can get anything you want. Was thinking about the food, you'd love the food."

She smiled, coming back just in time for the timer to ring shrilly and she pulled the fish sticks out of the oven, delicately placing them on two plates with a fork, hissing when one burned her finger and the Doctor turned swiftly to her, sentence about buying parts for his Tardis stopped. Taking her hand, he examined it as she laughed, telling him quietly, "It's nothing."

"Shhhh," he replied quietly, holding her hand within his to get a closer look at the fingertip that had turned red. She knew it was nothing, she'd touched hot food before – it wasn't scalding – and she watched the grin that slipped on his face readily just before he dropped a lingering kiss against the bit of skin and told her, "Now it's nothing."

Clara turned, quickly, and she took their plates to the table, listening to him as he fell back into a diatribe about the black market on the moons of Hodar and how it was the best place to find cheese. Cheese. Clara laughed to herself as they sat down and suddenly he went quiet. She glanced up at him, first fish finger stabbed onto her fork and realized: he was waiting for her to try it. Clara laughed at the giddy look on his face and the way his hands were clasped together and she almost felt guilty because what if she didn't like it.

Dipping it, she told him, "Don't be offended if I remain unsold on this." He nodded, but the look of glee hadn't dissipated as she took a bite and chewed it over a second before muttering, "Ok, it's odd."

"But good," he prompted.

She smiled, free hand coming up to cover her mouth as she nodded and told him, "Yeah, I can see craving this on occasion."

They fell into quiet discussion, Clara trying to discern just what she could get on one of the moons on Hodar, or even Hodar itself, but he continued to talk about the cheese. Apparently it was greater than anything on Earth. Actually, she deciphered, it must be better than anything he'd ever had in any corner of the galaxy and she knew, if she ever really wanted cheese, she would ask him to take her there. When their plates sat empty and they were idly dipping their fingers into the remnants of custard, sipping on glasses of water she'd gotten midway through the meal, she landed her chin into her palm, watching him talk about the textures and the stringiness.

"Cheese. Seven moons and you're on about cheese," she finally joked.

His eyes widened as he leaned forward and explained, "You don't understand; the cheese is magnificent."

"I gather," Clara told him, inching towards him to mimic his expression.

They sat silently that way, grinning at one another like fools and then his left hand dropped absently on her right on the table, taking it within his and giving it a gentle massage as he stared into her with a sigh. "I'll have to take you there one day."

"Careful, Doctor," she whispered, "Fairly soon you'll have promised me the universe."

He tilted his head, telling her calmly, "Haven't I already?"

"Have you?" She asked.

His other hand came up to her cheek, resting there a moment before his fingers slid into her hair and he smiled, thumb rubbing over her ear before he explained, "Clara, you are the universe when I'm with you. These places are merely destinations, spots on a map, pages in a brochure – they're nothing if not seen with you."

"Don't get soppy, Doctor – a girl might get ideas," Clara managed to murmur back.

"I love ideas," he breathed, closing the gap between them with a simple kiss. A testing brush of his lips against hers to gauge her reaction and when he slipped back, a small smacking noise the only sound in the room, Clara reached up for his face, fingers sliding over his skin slowly to hold him just enough away to focus on the softening of his features.

The wrinkles at his brow had smoothed and the worry in his eyes had faded. The Doctor had been reduced to a man resting in the palm of her hands asking the questions without speaking the words: Will you have me as I am? Will you have me in spite of it? And she understood he'd given himself to her in that moment to decide and in his smile, sudden and amused, she knew what he was thinking.

You're the boss.

Standing, Clara's hands slipped down, waiting for his, and she tugged him, leading him towards the stairs and walking slowly up them with him on her heel, until she stood at the threshold to her bedroom. Turning and staring up at him, she offered him the same opportunity he'd given her in the kitchen, and he took it, bending to wrap his palms around her neck and study the warm smile she was giving him. Letting him know that all she wanted was him, exactly as he was. Because of who he was.

Clara reached up to wrap her hands around his forearms and she stepped on tip toe as he bent and this time their kiss wasn't a test, a delicate taste of each other's lips – it was an explosion of pent up emotion. His hands came away and replaced themselves at her waist and he lifted her off the ground, taking several steps back with her into the bedroom as their tongues battled for dominance and the Doctor was satisfied letting her win, moaning slightly against the feel of the swirl hers did around his just before he slipped away with a smile.

Fingers trailing down his waistcoat, Clara undid the buttons carefully and as he let it fall off his shoulders and over his arms to the floor, she freed him of his bow tie and then his shirt, fingers landing at his waist before he tilted forward and caught her neck with his mouth, releasing a breath against her when she moaned. Clara held him as he inched into her, his arousal evident against her stomach and she smiled before shifting away to rid herself of the blouse keeping her skin from his.

With an exasperated sigh, he watched her reach up behind her to undo the clasp of her bra and then he slipped his fingers underneath the straps to ease them off her shoulders before letting his hands slide over her breasts to cup them, thumbs rubbing over her nipples unexpectedly and Clara gave a small cry as he kissed her again and his hands roamed lower. She could vaguely feel the zipper on her skirt being undone before it fell to the ground and she reached for his trousers again, working at them until they were a crumple of fabric at his feet along with his underwear.

The Doctor stepped out of them and he smiled down at her, caressing her face before he turned her gently towards the bed and lowered her into it, pressing a knee between hers and climbing in atop her with a small chuckle. "Last time we were here, you were unconscious."

"Yeah," she breathed, "You brought me cookies and flowers."

"And a teddy bear," he reminded with a poke of his finger to her nose.

"I rather like this better," she growled with a smile as he involuntarily rubbed himself against her in a quick jerk of his hips that made her gasp and she was painfully aware of that last slip of clothes between them.

He smiled as her eyes closed against the slow strokes he was now working over her and it wasn't long before he could feel the wetness through them as she exhaled roughly and regularly into his ear. He nudged her temple with his and called her name quietly, stopping his motions and waiting. In the stillness their breathing seemed amplified and his brow furrowed against the urge to bury himself inside of her, still waiting.

Clara raised her lips to meet his and she nodded, a simple yes escaping lustfully and he lifted slightly, bending to hook his fingers into her knickers to strip them from her before staring back down at her in the light of a table lamp. The Doctor knew she was beautiful, but exposed to him the way that she was now, he lost his breath, lips curving up as he took her in and Clara grinned back at him deviously, a small giggle ready as she made no attempts to cover herself as he gazed over her.

After a moment, Clara edged up, slipping her palms over his chest and she clamped them to his shoulders, bringing him back down on her with a grunt of surprise. The Doctor sighed, finding her ready as he filled her, moaning to match her own noise of satisfaction before he leisurely beginning to rock his hips into her, gasping at the feel of her body hugging onto his, desperately pulling him back to her each time he inched away.

He cried out unexpectedly, angrily, because he could feel himself losing control of his body, a rush of adrenaline pumping through him and he dug into her until she shouted. Pushing himself up on his elbows, he stared down into her face, the closed eyes and the open lips, in terror because he would never forgive himself if he hurt her, especially not in this way. But Clara turned to look up at him, small look of surprise before she reached up and grabbed hold of his face, bringing it into hers to kiss.

"Keep going," she urged when she finally separated, and he understood – it hadn't been pain, it had been pleasure, and the notion set something off inside of him as she wrapped her arms around his neck, giving her leverage to counter his movements as he began to glide back into her.

He dropped his lips to her shoulder as she laid her forehead against his, their bodies colliding with greater and greater force until Clara clutched his back and released a strangled cry as she came. The Doctor dropped onto her heavily, his own end sending shocks through his body, amplified by her continued efforts to tilt her hips into him.

She slowed, trying to regain her breath, tilting her forehead to touch his ear with a small content laugh before he lifted himself up to look down at her, stroking the hair from her face. With a grin, he sighed, "So this is a night in?"

Clara released a laugh and he kissed her, rolling aside and taking her with him so she could rest on him, her knees dropping at his sides before she sat up and stared down at him. "This is most definitely a night in," she teased.

Considering it playfully, he raised his hands to rest at her waist, holding her firmly atop him and declared, "I think I like a night in."

"Do you?" She asked, bending forward until she rested her lips on his, smiling as she spread her palms over his chest and she bit his lower lip lightly, giving it a tug and then shifted back.

Taking a long breath, he watched her, small twinkle in his eyes and without warning, he flipped her on her back again and Clara laughed merrily as he told her, "I do."

"I can sense that," she replied coyly, eyes darting down at the space between them, where she could feel his length stiffening inside of her and he gave her a quick thrust she responded to with a small noise of surprise before he caught her lips.

They moved slower now, tantalizingly exploring one another through touches and tastes, both continually fighting for control and the Doctor eventually won, dropping himself flat against her as she bowed her body to accommodate him. Clara laughed as he growled into her face playfully before dipping his head to suck at her neck, finding a spot just behind her ear that made her shriek with joy. When they finally laid silently in each other's arms, too spent for anything else, it was nearing three in the morning and Clara yawned into his chest, fingers trailing circles over his skin.

He kissed her forehead and she glanced up at him, giving him a sleepy smile that mirrored his own and Clara felt an odd tickle in her stomach as she looked into his eyes. She'd seen a lot run through those eyes during the time she'd known him. She'd seen the terror of thinking they might die, and the elation of knowing they hadn't, and the worry over troubles he wouldn't quite detail, and the happiness over the newness of a found thing. But this was different. She watched him for a moment, as he looked down at her.

He looked at home.

Clara snuggled closer to him and felt the hand that had been lazily stroking at her back come up to hold her securely to him as he closed his eyes. And in a split second, her alarm was sounding, rousing them both from a deep sleep and she frowned, telling him gently, "You have to go."

"I," he started, "I whu?"

She pushed a hand through her hair, sitting up and shivering as the cold temperature of the room hit her bare skin and she sighed, "I have to go pick up the Maitland's at the airport in an hour."

"Oh," his eyebrows rose, "You could do loads in an hour," and he sat up to embrace her, pulling her into his lap to kiss her as she held his face, caressing it gently before pulling away with a shake of her head.

"No, you really should," she told him sadly.

He pulled on his clothes and she followed him down the steps, listening to him talk excitedly about how he was going to take her to Hodar and he was going to get her the best cheese they had and when they stood on the doorstep, Clara stood on tip toe to kiss his forehead. The Doctor was grinning when he stepped back, holding her hand tightly in his a second before rubbing his thumb over it and bringing it to his lips to kiss.

"Next Wednesday," he promised.

And Clara laughed with a nod, watching him rush to his Tardis, ready to fly the days away.