AN: On the seventh day of Christmas, that bitch Fate gave to you, seven Doctor Who seasons watched, six different cultures, five parcels sent, four broken decorations, three hours shopping, two issues sorted and one argument over Christmas Day.
I own fuck all.
12 Days of Christmas
Anonniemoose
Chapter Seven: TV Specials
Word Count: 566
"It sounds ridiculous!"
"Oi! Don't you dare mock the Who!" You shout in return, throwing a rum ball in his direction, which he catches and eats. "Have you ever seen it?"
"I don't need to see it without knowing that a man in a spaceship that looks like a blue Police Box that is bigger on the inside who clicks his fingers and girls come running into that shag box of his is the most retarded and pathetic thing ever created!" You glare. Yes, you were an A-Class Whovian. You wouldn't show your darling boyfriend your rather – ahem – large collection of Whovian fanfiction published on your Tumblr account, especially in regards to its contents, but you thought that he would at least like to watch one episode of your beloved BBC TV program.
"Just one episode, and if you don't like it, I'll blow you." You offer, knowing that your crude words would make him more interested. "But if you like it, you have to wrap every single one of the presents, the human way, by your hand and they have to look fantastic or you'll have to start again." He looks at you blankly.
"You really think you can make me do whatever you want if you pay me with sex?"
"Well, it's gotten us this far, hasn't it?" You retort, already starting the first episode. "One episode, that's all I'm asking."
There is a loud sigh and he sits down next to you, opening his arm up so you can snuggle next to him. "Fine." You kiss him softly before settling down to watch the Eleventh Doctor save the world from man-eating snowmen.
Six seasons (and three days) later, Crowley was shouting at the television screen as the credits roll. "No, you can't stop there! What happens to the Doctor? Does he die? What about the Silence? Are they dead? C'mon, you stupid thing, give me answers!" You are trying so hard not to laugh at your boyfriend and his behaviour as he watches the last five minutes of the season six finale.
"I must say, that Canton fellow was a bit of a looker." The boyish grin you get in return makes you laugh.
"They have good tastes." He agrees before settling down next to you again.
"So, I gather you like it?"
"Yes, I was wrong and you were right."
"Again."
"Again." Romeo, Capulet and Montague are sleeping down by your feet and you smile as you enjoy the feeling of their chests heaving against your feet as they breathe and snore away.
"Ya know," you start, pulling a USB out of your jacket pocket, "there is a season seven."
"I knew there was a reason for why I love you." Crowley grins as he kisses you softly, grabbing the USB to put into your television.
"Besides my wit and good looks."
"And good taste in television, alcohol and food." He adds, clicking a glass of your favourite drink in your hand and a bottle of Craig with a tumbler in his. He puts his arms around you as 'The Doctor, The Widow and The Wardrobe' starts playing and you sip your drink.
"So, you're gonna do the presents then?" A wicked smile passes his lips.
"Ah, we never sealed the deal."
"If I recall, we actually did. Remember?" A few seconds tick by and his grin falls to a frown.
"Bollocks."
