Requested Anonymously (by someone who loves Classic Who SO MUCH. I love it too, flubble. Make as many Classic Who requests as you want.)
“I know the child’s a mathematic genius,” you sighed as you flopped face-down onto the Doctor’s bed, “but for a genius, he’s really stupid.”
The Doctor, who was already tucked into bed and had been reading avidly, looked at you over the tops of his half-moon glasses.
“Adric being troublesome again?” he guessed, giving you a sympathetic look. Although, you couldn’t see it, what with your face being completely immersed in the fluff of a down comforter.
“Yessss,” you hissed, your voice muffled by thick fabric. You lifted your head to look at the Doctor. “He’s- he’s supposed to be a genius, and I know he is because he can recite the digits of pi to the whatevereth decimal, but he’s such a teenager. So he’s a genius teenager, which makes him ten times as difficult because he’s rebellious and smug about it because he knows he’s smarter than me.”
The Doctor chuckled and reached out to tap your nose teasingly. “Only at maths, my darling. You are wiser by far.”
You only frowned at him. The Doctor shut his book, set it on his nightstand along with his spectacles, and pulled back the covers on the bed.
“Come on,” he said, offering you a beckoning smile. “Might as well get in bed so you can complain and be warm at the same time.”
“I’m not complaining,” you grumbled. “I’m venting. There’s a difference.”
You crawled under the covers and the Doctor immediately pulled you close to him. He placed a kiss on your neck, the traced his lips against the line of your jaw.
“You’re cute when you’re venting,” he murmured.
“Oh?” You scoffed. “And here, I was wondering why you put up with me.”
“Being married to you has its perks,” the Doctor admitted.
“Does it, really?” you deadpanned.
“Mm-hmm.” He kissed and pulled back so quickly that you didn’t even get the chance to catch his lips. “Yes, in fact, married to you, I have-” kiss “-an absolutely beautiful-” kiss “-kind-” kiss “-clever wife, who’s cute when she vents, and who wears the most adorable pajamas, have I ever said that?”
“That you think my pajamas are adorable? No.”
The Doctor let out a burst of giggles against your skin and you smiled to yourself. You reached up and threaded your fingers through his cornsilk hair, wondering at its softness. He shook with mirth even as he dotted your shoulder with kisses.
“You’re not half bad yourself,” you told him, and the Doctor laughed again, burying his face in the crook of your neck.
“Glad to know I’m an acceptable husband.”