She could see his face now, but his eyes were still on the picture his device was projecting. “Rabbits?”
“Mm. Boring thing to dream about, if you ask me.”
“I wonder what Freud would say,” she shifted to sit up, wincing as she realized the arm that had been wedged beneath her had gone to sleep
“Probably something about cigars,” the Doctor supplied, distractedly. “We could go ask him if you like.”
“Hmph.” Clara rubbed at the pins and needles in her arm, trying not to openly grimace. “Let’s save the visit to Vienna for another day, shall we?”
Without a word, the Doctor set down his device to grip her arm with both hands. He applied pressure lightly at regular intervals and the pain eased. Clara flexed her fingers until all the feeling had returned.
“Thank you.”
He nodded and took back up the little hologram screen.
Clara sat up the rest of the way, the blankets falling away as she stretched and ran her fingers through her hair. She probably looked a fright but the Doctor had seen far worse than her morning face, at this point. She looked back over to ask if he might want something to eat when her eye fell, of its own accord, just below his belt.
That was no sonic screwdriver in his trousers. He was clearly fully erect, straining against the zipper. And he was completely ignoring it.