Warning: No Smut
The Doctor absolutely, for all his years could not fathom how you managed to get clothes all over the TARDIS. You had your room, hell, you even had a walk in closet. But they just got everywhere.
He'd find your jumpers in the library, or a pair of socks that had made their way into the hall. You'd given up on explaining how things ended up where they did, now just giving him a quick grin and a thanks.
You did have lots of clothes, always changing into something era-appropriate wherever you went. It added to your fun, plus if you were persuasive enough you could get the Doctor to change up his hairstyle for the day- since he was never going to change out of his suits (he'd most likely do anything for you, so he never took much persuasion, he just liked you pleading for him).
For the day (okay, evening) you'd decided to go the premier of some film from the 50s, since the psychic paper could get you in anywhere and your last trip to the decade had ended up being a disaster. You'd worn the fanciest dress you could find, awkwardly pinned your hair up in some waves, and put on some heels that just barely made your head line up with the Doctor's shoulder.
He combed his hair down with some slick gel, his own (bare minimum, you protested) way of getting dressed up too.
You both had a fun night, amongst familiar faces and having a few drinks. Plus the Doctor was friends with Frank Sinatra, a backstory you were dying to ask him whenever you remembered to. So you hobbled back to the TARDIS with him, still laughing giddy and almost immediately bee-lining to change out of your now-uncomfortable outfit.
You weren't drunk, you only had about three drinks in you, but it was enough to leave you just slightly more eager than you probably should be after a long night, and most definitely made your heels feel more uncomfortable.
The Doctor stepped into the TARDIS probably barely 2 minutes after you did, still chatting slightly and dawdling as he always managed to do. He made his way back in with a sigh, immediately spinning up to the console to do whatever he usually did.
He leaned back on the railing for a second, waiting for you to come back when he noticed you'd left something lying across the floor of the ship- actually, multiple things. Typical, he thought.
He quickly began picking up the things you'd dropped, clearly in a hurry to strip into your comfier clothes. Muttering something under his breath about how domestic he had managed to become he paused.
He noticed a barely-there piece of red underwear, hanging stupidly from part of the railing. And he blushed at the thought.
His first thought was that maybe it was wildly inappropriate or unwelcome for him to drag your array of clothing back to you, since they were your own garments. Flustered, he quickly dropped everything he had pulled together onto the floor, letting your two heels clang on the metal grating.
But he corrected himself. How old am I? I've seen underwear before.
He was 905 (and around 78 days), and he wasn't so much of an idiot to act like a child around a pair of underwear- that's what he told himself. It was more so the fact that it was your underwear that caused him an issue.
He picked everything back up again, neatly folding the dress you had worn (as best he could) and piling everything on top. Including the underwear, though he did have to force himself to look straight as he made his way up you your room.
He lightly knocked first, not that you'd shut the door on your entry. And there you were, smiling at him before you even saw him- perched on your bed in the same jumper and joggers you always wore, glass of water in hand.
"Thank you." You said with a giggle, the redness around his neck glaringly obvious- otherwise he had quite the poker face.
He placed the pile somewhere on your floor, carefully, pretending he was unaware of the general mess of the rest of your room- though in your defence you had been scrambling for an outfit before you left.
And you tapped lightly on the bed next to you. "In a rush?" He mused, sitting down beside you in a much more casual way than he was probably feeling. You knew him much better than he thought you did, or at least told himself you did.
"Yes." You laughed again, and bit down on your lip for a moment when he looked at you. Brown hair now tussled about as normal for him, a little gleam in his eye, probably still from the party. You wished you could look at him for even longer, but you shook your head.
"S-sorry I, I know I said we'd play that game but I'm knackered." Cringing at yourself, "Clearly." You corrected yourself again.
"Mm." He mumbled, then turned to you with a smile, just in case he'd seemed rude. "Tomorrow."
"Perfect." You grinned once again and passed your water to him. He must've been clamouring for water too, you'd been drinking the same. And yes, he happily took a sip.
You yawned obnoxiously, not even aware how tired you were. You shuffled quickly and before he could stop you, you placed a quick kiss on the Doctor's cheek.
You pretended not to notice his body freeze up, and the redness that adorned his cheek.
"Thank you, seriously. You take me to all these fun things and I don't really say thanks." You yawned into your words, christ, you were tired. "Plus you put up with me."
"You're not much to put up with." He shrugged again, turning to you with a quick smile and placing the empty glass on the side somewhere.
"Says the man who just picked up all my clothing and brought it up to me. Neatly folded." You gave him a teasing look, which he returned with a plain stare. You laughed again. You knew you'd get to him eventually, he wasn't as opaque as he thought he was.
"Night, Doctor." You said in a quieter voice, waiting for him to stand up before laying down into your bed.
"Night." He replied, looking at you for just a brief second before he left. He was so tempted to brush your cheek, just one touch- more tempting than anything else in the universe.
