Here Comes A Lion
Title: Here Comes A Lion
Summary: Extension of Forget You. It's all Godric's fault that they're trapped in a cell with three gladiators. Contains references to The Lion King and a very small reference to Sherlock, if you squint.
Fandom: Harry Potter/Doctor Who
Characters/Pairings: Godric, Salazar, three random gladiators
Genre: AU, crossover, humour/crack, gen/friendship
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; swearing, mention of wanking, mild violence
Word Count: 1546
Author's Notes: Gladiators and Rome. Idk if I loooove it, but it was fun to write.
Godric's busy wanking in the bathroom when it happens. It's not easy to clamber out of a stuffy place where you've just been doing unspeakably pleasurable things to your own self with your non-metaphorical sword at the ready, but Godric manages it, his fly still open.
"What's up?" he asks Salazar, whose face is incredibly grim, even for Sal.
"A brawl. The TARDIS was nearly knocked right over, the arses." Salazar sighs, then turns to look at Godric, who's busy zipping up his jeans, his sword on the central console. "What in... What're you doing with that stick?"
Godric takes his time with his fly; the last time they'd been in a pickle, Godric was in the bathroom pissing, and had accidentally rammed the metal into his bits. "That isn't a stick. Stop calling it a stick. It is a sword, Sal. Say it. Sword."
Salazar just groans and tells him to leave it behind.
"You'll regret it later when I have to save your gorgeous arse," Godric mutters, resting Bacon-Cleaver down reverently on a seat, before following Salazar and his sodding grim face and honest to god perfect bottom out of the TARDIS.
It is all Godric's fault that they end up in a huge cell with a trio of angry men who happen to be gladiators.
Salazar is trying his hardest to keep his patience; he's chosen to sit at the furthest corner of the dingy space from both Godric and their cellmates, muttering possible escape plans to himself, while Godric's trying his hardest to get punched in the face by one of their new cellmates by singing songs out of tune.
Not that it'd matter anyway, since he's belting out 'Circle Of Life', a song that doesn't lend itself well to the TARDIS' English-to-Latin translator.
"Godric." Sal taps him on the shoulder and winces when his companion turns to yell the chorus directly into his ear. "Hush up. I've got a plan."
"A good plan?"
"A good plan. Now, Godric," Sal seizes the man's arm tightly; Godric's attempting to wrench himself away and start performing a pirouette. "We need to stay calm and not anger those gentlemen any further."
Godric just grins a shit-eating grin at Salazar, who grimaces back. "They are no gentlemen," he begins in an affected accent that surely translates well into any language. "They are but ruffians with no honour, and no sense of fucking humo-ahhh!"
"Shut up, or I'll stuff my whole scarf down your throat, I swear to you." Salazar's not one for violence, usually, but the morning's events have taken their toll on him, and right now he's just had had enough with Godric and his mouth and his smiles. He glances nervously at the gladiators on the other side of the cell as Godric spits out the end of his scarf. One of the men leers back.
Sal shudders, and turns to check on Godric who's still coughing. "I'm sorry, Godric. My temper got the better of me there."
"Never expected that from you, Sal." Godric recovers after one last bit of coughing, and pats him on the back.
"Well, you should. I'm the Doctor. I've done many unspeakable things in my lifetime. I have my bad days." Sal's gone all grim again, but Godric's no longer paying attention. Instead, he's winking flirtatiously at the leery Roman.
Salazar wants very much to wrap his scarf around Godric's neck.
"So. Plan. What plan?" Godric doesn't stop his outrageous behaviour, and progresses to making kissing noises with his mouth, enraging the three fuming men further. "Is it better than that plan you had for getting us out of the pub? Because that plan was utter piss."
"That plan would have worked if you hadn't been plastered with cheap beer and started a bet with our sober master, for fuck's sake," says Sal with gritted teeth. "If you'd just stopped after the third round, like I said, we would be in the TARDIS, flying off to our next adventure, instead of being imprisoned in a damned filthy cell, and would you please stop blowing kisses to the fellow; he's going to come right here and rip your balls out any time now!"
Godric sighs and stops doing things with his mouth that makes Salazar uncomfortable. "All right. Tell me the brilliant plan, oh wise Rafiki."
Sal ignores the strange reference (there're some points in human culture that he hasn't read up on yet) and proceeds to outline his very simple plan.
Picking the lock will be the easy part, as Sal's sonic screwdriver is still safely tucked in his jeans. The difficult part is waiting for the change of guards (sonic screwdrivers aren't great against pointy swords; the man whose house they were under is very protective of his investment, and Sal can see why: the gladiators in the cell are tough and battle-scarred) and stopping Godric from antagonising the men.
When the guards stumble off soon after mealtime, Salazar nods at Godric and begins fiddling with the lock. Sal's delighted when the screwdriver makes short work of it, but knows something is wrong when a roar goes up among their cellmates.
"What did you do?"
Godric is grinning, which isn't a good sign at all, and the men are striding forward, their meals forgotten. "I didn't do nothing. Just mooned them, is all. Shenzi, Banzai, and Ed take things too seriously, much like you, Sal. Toodles, darlings."
"Run, run, little mice, or stay and fight like men." The leery Roman's face is red with rage. "Cowards."
Salazar groans. "Godric, we're done, let's go." He starts towards the gate, but soon realises that Godric, is still standing in the middle of the cell eating a piece of bread. "Godric!"
"Now, see." Godric stretches lazily, and Salazar shuts his eyes, because he just knows that Godric is going to do something rash by the tone of his voice, which is now deceptively cool and very unlike the man. "See, Sal, I cannot bear to be insulted and called a coward, for I am not one. I am a brave knight, a warrior king."
"A stupid arse who needs to stay alive and get the hell out of here with me, right now!"
"Don't interrupt, Salazar, it's rude." Godric turns to face Sal and snickers at the look on his face.
Leery Roman and friends are halfway across the cell by now, and Salazar is immensely grateful for the hugeness of the room.
"We need a war cry. This is awesome and we need a fucking war cry, Sal." Godric's staring at him with crazed eyes, and Salazar can't help but whine because the trio of gladiators are getting closer and they look murderous. "Oh fine, you twat. I've got one."
And then Godric's stuffing the last bit of the crust of bread into his mouth, and before Salazar can do or say anything, he starts running towards the men, who look slightly taken aback, but who charge forward as well, intent to kill Godric and his mooning arse.
Salazar doesn't understand what Godric is yelling, and can only make out two words: 'hakuna' and 'matata', which he recognises to be a Swahili phrase.
He grits his teeth and runs to join his partner. Somehow, between Godric's wild punches and Salazar's well-aimed kicks, they manage to take down two of the men. The last one standing is Leery Roman, who has blood running down the side of his mouth. Godric faces him with his fists ready, and they collide in a cloud of grime and dust. Salazar observes for a moment, waiting for the right moment to jump in and strike. When Leery Roman tackles Godric to the ground with a growl and wraps his hands around his neck, Sal swoops in with his scarf at the ready and coils it around Leery Roman's entire head twice in a flash. Blind and choking, Leery Roman falls onto Salazar, who gets the wind knocked out from him (the gladiator is all stinking muscle) but manages to hold on until the man falls limp and unconscious.
"Nice job," Godric says, panting as he picks Salazar off the floor. "Not bad for a Doctor. Relatively unscathed except for that black eye, yeah?"
Salazar scowls. "That was you, you impetuous, madcap, mindless, ungrateful little wanker!"
He refuses to say another word until they reach the TARDIS, and doesn't say much past a few terse words as he pilots them away from ancient Rome. Godric, to his credit, has a chastened look on his face, though a grin occasionally breaks the surface.
Sal starts speaking civilly to Godric once again when he finds out that Godric has actually cooked dinner for the both of them. He's further mollified when Godric apologises rather meekly for his reckless behaviour, especially when Godric employs his puppydog eyes, the scoundrel. Sal himself mutters an apology to Godric for being short with him, but takes it back moments later when they're both in the console room after the meal.
"We could have avoided all that nastiness if you'd let me bring this, you know." Godric says, as he picks up Bacon-Cleaver and twirls it in the air with an expert hand. "But I forgive you, Sal. Where to next? Ancient Greece?"
Summary: Extension of Forget You. It's all Godric's fault that they're trapped in a cell with three gladiators. Contains references to The Lion King and a very small reference to Sherlock, if you squint.
Fandom: Harry Potter/Doctor Who
Characters/Pairings: Godric, Salazar, three random gladiators
Genre: AU, crossover, humour/crack, gen/friendship
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; swearing, mention of wanking, mild violence
Word Count: 1546
Author's Notes: Gladiators and Rome. Idk if I loooove it, but it was fun to write.
Godric's busy wanking in the bathroom when it happens. It's not easy to clamber out of a stuffy place where you've just been doing unspeakably pleasurable things to your own self with your non-metaphorical sword at the ready, but Godric manages it, his fly still open.
"What's up?" he asks Salazar, whose face is incredibly grim, even for Sal.
"A brawl. The TARDIS was nearly knocked right over, the arses." Salazar sighs, then turns to look at Godric, who's busy zipping up his jeans, his sword on the central console. "What in... What're you doing with that stick?"
Godric takes his time with his fly; the last time they'd been in a pickle, Godric was in the bathroom pissing, and had accidentally rammed the metal into his bits. "That isn't a stick. Stop calling it a stick. It is a sword, Sal. Say it. Sword."
Salazar just groans and tells him to leave it behind.
"You'll regret it later when I have to save your gorgeous arse," Godric mutters, resting Bacon-Cleaver down reverently on a seat, before following Salazar and his sodding grim face and honest to god perfect bottom out of the TARDIS.
It is all Godric's fault that they end up in a huge cell with a trio of angry men who happen to be gladiators.
Salazar is trying his hardest to keep his patience; he's chosen to sit at the furthest corner of the dingy space from both Godric and their cellmates, muttering possible escape plans to himself, while Godric's trying his hardest to get punched in the face by one of their new cellmates by singing songs out of tune.
Not that it'd matter anyway, since he's belting out 'Circle Of Life', a song that doesn't lend itself well to the TARDIS' English-to-Latin translator.
"Godric." Sal taps him on the shoulder and winces when his companion turns to yell the chorus directly into his ear. "Hush up. I've got a plan."
"A good plan?"
"A good plan. Now, Godric," Sal seizes the man's arm tightly; Godric's attempting to wrench himself away and start performing a pirouette. "We need to stay calm and not anger those gentlemen any further."
Godric just grins a shit-eating grin at Salazar, who grimaces back. "They are no gentlemen," he begins in an affected accent that surely translates well into any language. "They are but ruffians with no honour, and no sense of fucking humo-ahhh!"
"Shut up, or I'll stuff my whole scarf down your throat, I swear to you." Salazar's not one for violence, usually, but the morning's events have taken their toll on him, and right now he's just had had enough with Godric and his mouth and his smiles. He glances nervously at the gladiators on the other side of the cell as Godric spits out the end of his scarf. One of the men leers back.
Sal shudders, and turns to check on Godric who's still coughing. "I'm sorry, Godric. My temper got the better of me there."
"Never expected that from you, Sal." Godric recovers after one last bit of coughing, and pats him on the back.
"Well, you should. I'm the Doctor. I've done many unspeakable things in my lifetime. I have my bad days." Sal's gone all grim again, but Godric's no longer paying attention. Instead, he's winking flirtatiously at the leery Roman.
Salazar wants very much to wrap his scarf around Godric's neck.
"So. Plan. What plan?" Godric doesn't stop his outrageous behaviour, and progresses to making kissing noises with his mouth, enraging the three fuming men further. "Is it better than that plan you had for getting us out of the pub? Because that plan was utter piss."
"That plan would have worked if you hadn't been plastered with cheap beer and started a bet with our sober master, for fuck's sake," says Sal with gritted teeth. "If you'd just stopped after the third round, like I said, we would be in the TARDIS, flying off to our next adventure, instead of being imprisoned in a damned filthy cell, and would you please stop blowing kisses to the fellow; he's going to come right here and rip your balls out any time now!"
Godric sighs and stops doing things with his mouth that makes Salazar uncomfortable. "All right. Tell me the brilliant plan, oh wise Rafiki."
Sal ignores the strange reference (there're some points in human culture that he hasn't read up on yet) and proceeds to outline his very simple plan.
Picking the lock will be the easy part, as Sal's sonic screwdriver is still safely tucked in his jeans. The difficult part is waiting for the change of guards (sonic screwdrivers aren't great against pointy swords; the man whose house they were under is very protective of his investment, and Sal can see why: the gladiators in the cell are tough and battle-scarred) and stopping Godric from antagonising the men.
When the guards stumble off soon after mealtime, Salazar nods at Godric and begins fiddling with the lock. Sal's delighted when the screwdriver makes short work of it, but knows something is wrong when a roar goes up among their cellmates.
"What did you do?"
Godric is grinning, which isn't a good sign at all, and the men are striding forward, their meals forgotten. "I didn't do nothing. Just mooned them, is all. Shenzi, Banzai, and Ed take things too seriously, much like you, Sal. Toodles, darlings."
"Run, run, little mice, or stay and fight like men." The leery Roman's face is red with rage. "Cowards."
Salazar groans. "Godric, we're done, let's go." He starts towards the gate, but soon realises that Godric, is still standing in the middle of the cell eating a piece of bread. "Godric!"
"Now, see." Godric stretches lazily, and Salazar shuts his eyes, because he just knows that Godric is going to do something rash by the tone of his voice, which is now deceptively cool and very unlike the man. "See, Sal, I cannot bear to be insulted and called a coward, for I am not one. I am a brave knight, a warrior king."
"A stupid arse who needs to stay alive and get the hell out of here with me, right now!"
"Don't interrupt, Salazar, it's rude." Godric turns to face Sal and snickers at the look on his face.
Leery Roman and friends are halfway across the cell by now, and Salazar is immensely grateful for the hugeness of the room.
"We need a war cry. This is awesome and we need a fucking war cry, Sal." Godric's staring at him with crazed eyes, and Salazar can't help but whine because the trio of gladiators are getting closer and they look murderous. "Oh fine, you twat. I've got one."
And then Godric's stuffing the last bit of the crust of bread into his mouth, and before Salazar can do or say anything, he starts running towards the men, who look slightly taken aback, but who charge forward as well, intent to kill Godric and his mooning arse.
Salazar doesn't understand what Godric is yelling, and can only make out two words: 'hakuna' and 'matata', which he recognises to be a Swahili phrase.
He grits his teeth and runs to join his partner. Somehow, between Godric's wild punches and Salazar's well-aimed kicks, they manage to take down two of the men. The last one standing is Leery Roman, who has blood running down the side of his mouth. Godric faces him with his fists ready, and they collide in a cloud of grime and dust. Salazar observes for a moment, waiting for the right moment to jump in and strike. When Leery Roman tackles Godric to the ground with a growl and wraps his hands around his neck, Sal swoops in with his scarf at the ready and coils it around Leery Roman's entire head twice in a flash. Blind and choking, Leery Roman falls onto Salazar, who gets the wind knocked out from him (the gladiator is all stinking muscle) but manages to hold on until the man falls limp and unconscious.
"Nice job," Godric says, panting as he picks Salazar off the floor. "Not bad for a Doctor. Relatively unscathed except for that black eye, yeah?"
Salazar scowls. "That was you, you impetuous, madcap, mindless, ungrateful little wanker!"
He refuses to say another word until they reach the TARDIS, and doesn't say much past a few terse words as he pilots them away from ancient Rome. Godric, to his credit, has a chastened look on his face, though a grin occasionally breaks the surface.
Sal starts speaking civilly to Godric once again when he finds out that Godric has actually cooked dinner for the both of them. He's further mollified when Godric apologises rather meekly for his reckless behaviour, especially when Godric employs his puppydog eyes, the scoundrel. Sal himself mutters an apology to Godric for being short with him, but takes it back moments later when they're both in the console room after the meal.
"We could have avoided all that nastiness if you'd let me bring this, you know." Godric says, as he picks up Bacon-Cleaver and twirls it in the air with an expert hand. "But I forgive you, Sal. Where to next? Ancient Greece?"