The Doctor woke up one evening to the sound of typing. He turned to his side, noticing the empty space beside him in his bed. Groaning, he got out of bed, wrapped the TARDIS blue duvet around him and followed the noise. As he went down the stairs sleepily and approached the living room, the noise grew slightly louder, echoing in his ears. The door to the living room was slightly ajar so he carefully peeked inside. On the sofa, curled up with a laptop, was Clara, typing away nimbly at the keys. And wearing a very revealing pair of lace panties and a matching bra.

"Clara, it's -" he checked the clock, "3 o'clock in the morning. Come back to bed!" He whined like a sleep-deprived child. "Please."

"One second, I'm trying to finish this." She replied, not bothering to remove her eyes from the screen.

"What're you writing?" He approached Clara to peek at her laptop, but she partially closed the lid, just enough so he couldn't see, but not quite turning it off. He looked shocked when she did this. "Why're you being so private? I only wanted to see -" He gapsed, "are you looking at por-"

Clara groaned impatiently. "No! If you must know I'm . . . writing . . . stuff . . ." Her cheeks glowed with a sudden redness.

The Doctor sat down next to her, and Clara looked up at him. She hadn't noticed his awful bed head, or his sleepy eyes. Or the fact that the only thing concealing his naked body was a blanket that she could easily whip away -

"What kind of stuff? Are you writing a story?" His eyes gleamed like an excited child that had just discovered something new. "Is it like 50 shades of Grey?" He smirked cheekily.

"Doctor!" Clara scowled. "It's nothing like that! It's . . ."

"It's what?"

"For heaven's sake! It's FANFICTION!" Clara was acting like someone had just discovered an awfully embarrassing secret of hers. What was so bad about fanfiction?

"Fanfiction?" The Doctor asked, completely gob smacked.

"Yes, fanfiction means . . ."

"I know what it means." The Doctor smiled at the brunette thoughtfully. "I've written it before."

To say Clara was shocked would be the biggest understatement in the world. "You've written fanfiction? As if!"

"I have!"

"What was it about then, Chin?" She challenged. She definitely did not believe that he knew what it was, let alone wrote it.

"Don't laugh or anything. . . I write Rumbelle fanfiction." He gave her an unsure, quivering smile.

Clara's jaw dropped. Literally.

"Rumbelle?! As in, Rumplestiltskin and Belle? From Once Upon A Time?"

"Yes."

Clara laughed slightly. "I was writing Once Upon A Time fanfiction, too." She smiled at him, running her hand through his unkempt hair, making it even more messy. "Except mine was about CaptainSwan."

"Hook and Emma? Seriously?" His eyes grew in astonishment. "I would've thought you were more of a Snowing type of person."

Clara laughed, twiddling her soft brown hair around her finger. "Nah. Snow and Charming are too perfect, to be honest. CaptainSwan is a bit more... realistic, you could say." The Doctor rubbed his thumb across the smooth skin of her cheek, his other hand still clutching the two sides of blanket together, making sure not to let go. Despite what she was usually like in the bedroom, he was sure Clara wouldn't really want to see his naked body just yet.

"There is no way in all of time and space that CaptainSwan is as realistic. Rumbelle is definitely more realistic than CaptainSwan." He laughed.

Clara rolled her eyes, feeling his thumb drift lower down her neck. "Whatever. Hook and Emma are still cuter together."

"Is that a challenge, Clara Oswald?" His thumb trailed across her collar bone, followed by his finger.

"It is." She challenged, placing her laptop carefully on the coffee table.

"Fine, then." His hands went straight to her stomach, tickling her senseless. She laughed until it actually ached, and it took a lot to make her laugh so much. She let her back fall backwards on to the couch and he took this as an opportunity to climb on top of her. His legs went either side of her thighs, his hands either side of her head as to not crush her. Whether it was fortunate or not, his blanket slipped away, and Clara's eyes widened lustfully, the only thing seperating their bodies merely a few pieces of fabric.

"Is this like a game of battle ship?" She breathed.

"Indeed, it is." He growled as his lips attacked hers.

Okay, maybe just this one time, she'd let Rumbelle win.