Tuesday afternoons are the worst, Rory Williams thought angrily as he stumbled up the stairs to the 11th floor of his apartment building, hand pressed firmly against his eyes, a migraine pounding his head into a proverbial wall that seemingly wanted him dead, or at the very least, writhing on the floor.
Rory opened the door to his flat, collapsing against the door and sliding down it, the panels pressing into his back and making him squeak with pain. He closed his eyes and moaned loudly, reaching up to massage his forehead again, futilely.
"Hello Rory!" A chipper voice sounded off in the living room. Rory smiled in spite of himself, and dragged himself off the floor and stumbled into the living room.
The Doctor was sprawled on the dark blue couch that took up about 80% of the small room, wearing a gray t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, looked up from Popular Science, and smiled at Rory. Rory smiled back cautiously, and collapsed on the couch.
"What's up?" The Doctor chirped, closing the magazine and setting it carefully on the floor, marking his page with discarded pizza coupon.
"Head. Killing me," Rory groaned. The Doctor clucked his tongue in sympathy, and gently got off the couch. He walked slowly, his feet slapping quietly on the floor as he went to the kitchen to get something for him.
Rory readjusted himself on the couch and held himself carefully, breathing in and out in quick succession as a particular painful wave of nausea pulsed through his head, making him see stars.
"Here, have some aspirin and tea," The Doctor quietly padded back into the room, holding a tray of necessary items. Rory smiled his appreciation, and quickly took the aspirin and drunk down the tea.
The Doctor looked at him worriedly, and slowly moved closer. Rory let him get closer until he was directly beside him, and he felt the Doctor's hand rub his head soothingly.
"Feeling better?" He heard the Doctor ask quietly, and he nodded under his hand. He peeked out from between his fingers at the Doctor and he saw the Doctor staring worriedly at him. He cracked a smile, and Rory rested his head on the Doctor's flat stomach. He felt the Doctor tense momentarily before relaxing, stroking Rory's hair in long straight motions, and he smiled against the Doctor t-shirt.
The Doctor let his hand rest on Rory's shoulder, so warm and so soft and so solid on his skin. Rory turned his body so he was clinging to the Doctor's side, head buried in his chest and legs meshing together.
Rory felt the Doctor lean down and press a gentle kiss on his temple, soft and sweet, and the headache seemed to disappear under his lips. The Doctor relaxed, leaning back on the couch and curling his arm around Rory's waist protectively. Rory made a noise and wriggled higher up the Doctor's body so his head was now resting on his collarbone. Rory put a kiss on the softly protruding bone, and let his eyes shut. The Doctor smiled down at Rory, stroking his back and leaning down to press his forehead with his. He kissed the bridge of Rory's nose and Rory huffed and inched up, making the Doctor shake with laughter. Rory poked his ribs hard, and the Doctor smiled down at him widely. Rory huffed again softly, and found his eyes drifting shut. He let them, chest moving up and down slightly as he began to snore softly.
The Doctor let Rory sleep on him for a while, than carefully maneuvered the nurse scrubs off him until he had nothing on but his pants and his white undershirt. He picked him up in his arms, and slowly made his way down the slim corridor, careful not to bump any part of Rory on the walls because he knew he would hear about it later.
He shouldered the door to Rory's room open, and laid him down carefully on the heap of blankets and pillows he called a bed. His and Rory's rooms were so different. Rory's room was all neutrals, with pale blue walls and a not-quite matching bedspread and a few pictures of Rome dotting the walls. The Doctor's room was explosive, with dark blue walls and a wall of just windows and pictures of space littering every spare inch of available wall and floor space. His bed was just an accessory, though; he usually slept on the blue couch after he finished his work.
The Doctor smiled fondly at Rory as the younger man slept contently, every so often a smile would start to form and he would mumble nonsense.
The Doctor pressed one last kiss to Rory's forehead and shuffled over to his own room, opening the door and shutting it quietly so he wouldn't wake Rory up. He stepped over the ripped out articles on time travel and neutron flows that he found quite interesting and crumpled wrappers of jelly babies and custard cans. He sat down on his bed with a humph and laid down, feeling the bed's rigidness and sighing internally.
A soft knock sounded at the door, and the Doctor sprang up, clearing a path through the trash to the door.
He opened it quietly and smiled when he saw Rory's tired smile on the other side.
The Doctor grabbed his hand and set off toward his bedroom, swinging Rory's hand lightly and laughing, the sound light and carefree and so, so happy.
He kneed the door open and the Doctor collapsed on his bed, taking up only a bit of the giant bed. He stretched out an arm, and Rory fell into him, curling up in the pit of his shoulder. The Doctor tilted Rory's head up and kissed his squarely on the mouth, feeling Rory's smile under his.
"I love you," He whispered against Rory's skin, and Rory nodded.
"I love you too," He whispered back, kissing him playfully on the chin and settled back into his arms.
The Doctor curled his arms around him, and when he felt the man his arms sigh in contentment, he just cuddled him closer.
He took off his glasses and placed them gently on Rory's bedside table, and rested his cheek on Rory's head, smelling the smell of manly cologne and chemicals and that weird essence of daisies that was ultimately Rory.
"Your headache better?" He whispered into Rory's hair.
"It's better," Rory smiled, and they both fell asleep, wrapped in each other's arms, awkwardly smushed together as close as they could.
Tuesday afternoon's always don't suck balls, he thought, half asleep and too groggy to think anything more profound than that.
He letting the small remains of the headache wash off him and letting himself smile, awkwardly and strangely toothy, until he fell asleep, hand curling to the other man's, the weird heat that came off him and soaking it in, feeling more happy than he had felt in a long time.
He was with his Doctor, and all was well.