The lock of her apartment door clicks, but a glance at the clock reassures Clara that she needn't drag herself up off the couch - she knows precisely who it is.
Rose tromps into the apartment, shaking and then dropping one of their polka-dotted umbrellas to the floor beside the door. She shakes her head, blonde hair whipping about, and Clara giggles as she makes a sound akin to a horse's whinny.
"Weather's rubbish out there, it is," Rose declares, as though Clara hadn't a clear view of the hellishly heavy rain storm through the massive window that spanned much of the living room wall, and strips off her soaking wet jacket, haphazardly hanging it on the back of one of the chairs in the kitchen that they rarely used.
Clara slips a bookmark into her book, setting it down in her lap before sitting a bit taller and leaning back into the arm of the couch.
"And look a' you, you're just sittin' here, smug and snug, waitin' for the bloody kettle to boil!" Rose exclaims, but she smiles as she's coming over and both she and Clara know it's in good humor. Rose traps her into a heartfelt kiss for long enough that her wet hair soaks the shoulder of Clara's robe before she pulls back.
"What sort of monstrosity is that, Miss Oswald?"
"It's called a book, Miss Tyler, have you heard of them?"
"Indeed. But there's a lovely film - well, devastating, but still, rather well done - so why are you reading that big hunk of paper?"
"Rose, it's a classic. Besides, I am an English teacher, remember? I have to read heavy books on my free time; otherwise, I'll start to get bored."
"Bored? Clara, how on Earth and every other planet we've been to could you ever get bored?"
Clara rolls her eyes, but with a hand sneaking back around Rose's neck Clara knows they're soon tinted with lust.
"Well, what better suggestions do you have?" she smirks, reaching to unzip Rose's hoodie; Rose grins, and pulls her back in for another kiss, then wraps an arm around her stomach to yank her up onto the arm of the couch. The movement is sudden, and Clara gasps, grumbling when her blanket slides off her lap back down to the couch, slipping over the edge to the floor, and her brand-new copy of Les Miserables consequently tumbles down to the carpet.
"Your hands have much better things to be doing," Rose murmurs in her ear; the rain still spotting her face is moist against Clara's cheek, and she ensconces Clara in her arms with her head atop the brunette's shoulder - too close for Clara to try to turn around and kiss.
Clara reaches to where Rose's hands rest about her stomach, and guides them into untying the belt of her bathrobe, then spins the robe off by turning around to face Rose, at which point they engulf each other in a desirous embrace.
Clara's momentarily conscious again of the wide, uncovered window, but soon relinquishes herself to tugging at the clasp of Rose's jeans as Rose's warm, wanting mouth aggressively traverses her skin, bringing deliciously painful treatment to Clara's breasts and a bright flush across her chest before riling Clara up between her thighs and continuing lower.