ximilialog | (no subject)

[She's very quiet after he says that, and maybe a bit too still as well. She's holding a little biscuit in one hand, and the jar of jam in her other. And she stares over at him, trying to piece together what he's meant with those words. Clara typically prides herself on being able to decipher what the Doctor says, particularly after understand how often he lies.

But she doesn't want what he's just said to be a lie.

At the same time, she has to accept the fact that it very well could be. A pretty lie meant to make her feel better and smile. Her head ducks to hide the fact she's having to put a smile on her face. After a few seconds, the fake smile feels real enough, and she's able to look back his way and hope he doesn't think she's anything other than happy.]

No. Neither would I. Think of all the souffles we can make together in an entire lifetime. And jams now, I suppose.

[Those words are the truth, and her smile becomes more warm because of them. She even leans over to try and steal the last bite of his biscuit with jam, just to see if she can make them both laugh.]

I'll fill the whole station with all flavours of jams before the season is through.

[ And yes, the Doctor does laugh when Clara moves in to chomp at that last bit of his biscuit like some kind of over-eager puppy.

For that, he reaches out to boop her nose gently — and unfortunately gets a dab of jam over her nose, sticky and sweet. ]

[Nose wrinkling up as she feels the jam stick there, she laughs but makes no move to wipe it away just yet. It's easy to act like everything's fine and the reality of their situation isn't depressing, when he's booping her nose and laughing along with her. ]

Do you know what I wish we could get our hands on? That fruit we tried back on Akhaten. It'd make a lovely jam, I wager.

[She insists, finally wiping away most of the jam off her nose. It smears across her finger, which she almost pops right into her mouth to suck off. The pad of her finger just barely presses against her lips before she thinks of a different plan. Some of the jam is left behind, the sticky sweetness far more pleasant there than on her nose.

Her eyes meet his as she reaches up to press her finger against his lips instead, intending on getting the jam on him.]

I thought you didn't like it.

[ But if he could, he would absolutely find a way to get them that fruit. Glowing, and not quite sweet — perfect, really, for a cracker topping.

He licks at his lips to get at the sweetness there, and then raises an eyebrow as though to tell her, 'Nice try.' His eyes go back to the last smudge of jam still there on the tip of her perfect little nose. ]

You didn't quite get it all. Missed it right —

[ He takes her chin between his fingers to keep her still and leans in, tongue quickly flicking across her nose. ]

There.

Nostalgia has a way of making you like the things you thought you didn't.

[She points out, right before he turns his attention to the jam still on her nose. Her eyes go wide as he leans in, but she doesn't try to move away. Lips part as his tongue finds her nose, and she softly gasps in surprise. It's a bold move, particularly given they're in the middle of the sunlight room.

And maybe she thinks that because her heart is racing a bit faster now, cheeks feeling warmer as they flush pink. Her fingers curl around his wrist, encouraging him to keep his hold on her chin. Seconds tick by as her eyes look from his, and down to his lips.]

Seems like you missed a bit yourself, clever boy.

[Turnabout is perfectly fair play when it comes to food, she thinks. Her eyes look back up to his, and she holds his gaze for a moment before her eyes close and she closes the minimal distance between them with a kiss that's far sweeter than the jam that's on both their lips. As their tongues meet she can taste the jam he's just licked off her nose, prompting her to bring a hand up to press against his cheek and keep him in close in return. She's content to let this draw out until he breaks away, taking delight in the taste of jam along with the usual addictive taste of his lips against hers.]

[ The 'ah' doesn't quite make it past his lips before Clara has leaned in to kiss him in a way that is both sweet but also manages to set both of his hearts racing just a little more than they normally would (except when running or avoiding any oncoming destruction coming his way).

By her reaction he thinks he's probably done the correct thing, still adjusting to this sort of whatever-it-is he and Clara have between them, what had been culminating between them for nearly a year of normal moving time. It's the longest he's ever gone the normal way forward, and the length of that time has given him every nuance involved in getting to know someone, that lack of time's compression offering him new insights into what it really must be like to be human. To live a human existence.

(Sometimes it's still unbearably slow and boring and could drive him utterly batty, but. But. There are good things too. There are things like this.) ]

[Her tongue grazes across her lower lip as she rights herself, sitting up straight as if she's perfectly innocent and hasn't just kissed him right in the middle of the sunlight room. But of course that's exactly what's just happened.

It feels like a natural progression in things between them, simple stolen moments that are sweet and wonderful. She isn't sure exactly when things shifted in this direction, but she remembers several nights in Badrock where they laid in bed and talked quietly while staring into each other's eyes. She feels herself blushing when she thinks back on it, and is glad she has the excuse of kissing him to put the flush on her cheeks now.]

You're blushing.

[She teases him before he has the chance to do the same to her, laughing softly as she sets about reaching for the jam once again. Her hand bumps into his in the process, and the contact feels electric. Gulping down a lump that quickly forms in her throat, she decides to take hold of one of the biscuits instead.]

I am not —

[ He protests anyway, squeezing in the amused petulance between her laugh and her retrieval of one of the biscuits he'd carefully poured all of his own heart(s) and soul into, making efforts in his Parisian culinary skill that he might not otherwise show on any normal day. He deserves this little bout of brattiness, all right, even if the effects are neutered by the silly smile playing across his lips.

Even if the way their hands touch feels different than it ever has.

He swipes a biscuit of his own now that the moment has somewhat passed, pulling back into his own space, clearing his throat. ]

Anyhow. Yes. Right, what was I saying? Oh — crepes. Yes, let's try the crepes now.

[She glances up to catch the look on his face. There's something special about when the Doctor tries to be impressive. He sometimes gets these proud yet self-conscious looks on his face that questions if he's done enough. Clara hopes the content smile on her face is reassuring in that he has.]

That's right. You promised me crepes.

[After he gets them set up and ready to eat, she focuses on grabbing a plate and preparing her crepes. They smell delicious, and she notices just how perfect they all look. He probably burned through a few batches to get these just right. She has to bite back her smile at the thought, and is grateful when she's able to take her first bite.

It's absolutely delicious, and she can't hide the fact that she's surprised because of how good things taste.]

These are really, actually good, Doctor! Properly delicious. There's no way you're getting out of helping me in the kitchen now.

Oy! You're acting surprised, as if you didn't expect them to be.

[ He huffs, without any of the bite. ]

I'll have you know, I spent a whole month — well. Give or take, you know how it goes with time travel — but in that time, Clara, in that time Raoul and I prepared an entire banquet for the King of France in under six hours. It was madness.

[ He looks delighted, as though 'madness' is just another word for 'exciting'. ]

He ate like — well, a king.

[Only the Doctor would be able to casually tell her stories like this, and expect her to take them as truth. Which she does, of course. She knows exactly what his life is like, and is still sometimes a little surprised by the stories he tells her.

This isn't one of the more surprising stories. But she still looks shocked for a moment, because of course he's casually namedropping the King of France.]

Yeah, and we've been here nearly an entire year.

[It's pointed out in a way that's intentionally contrary, and she can't really wipe the smile off her face.]

You haven't helped me prepare a souffle. Not even once.

[Both eyebrows arch as she glances over his way, before popping another forkful into her mouth.]

Yes, well, that's because that's your thing, isn't it?

[ And just to be an extra gremlin, he grabs his fork and leans in to swipe a proper bite-sized portion of crepe off of her plate.

He puts that into his mouth with a smile. ]

Souffle Girl.

[Hey, that's hers! And that level of smugness isn't any fair. She rolls her eyes, leaning back like she can't believe the audacity and just has to put some distance between them.]

Yeah, yeah. I'm souffle girl after all.

[She remembers the last time she had said something along the lines of that. It feels like so long ago now.]

But if you steal another bite of my food, I'm absolutely refusing to be your impossible girl any longer.

[ He lets out a petulant little huff of breath ... that just so happens to be accompanied by a smile. ]

Please. You like it.

[ The name? When he nicks a bite of her crepe? Who knows, but the Doctor is feeling particularly silly right now. ]