[OOC] Dune/Doctor Who fics
"You're early."
"Nonsense. I'm always and impeccably on time, Emperor," and Leto could see the Doctor's eyes twinkle mischievously. Leto smiled and walked down the corridor as the Doctor followed, "But you are in fact, early. I have not reached the state of my monstrousity yet and therefore, there is no problem for you to fix yet."
"What makes you think I'm here for that? Maybe I'm here for the spice cookies. I always found their taste... refreshing."
"Time to a TimeLord. What did you expect from it?"
"Cinnamon. Not Ginger."
"Everyone says cinnamon. I'm not terribly surprised you felt something else."
"They weren't lying, the Fremen. It is in fact," and those eyes were somber, so quickly, "It is life. In essence."
"We abused it," Leto said quietly, "Life and the future tides need to retreat so men can live without choosing easy paths, but by fixing things. Something I'm sure you understand."
"I don't want to kill you Leto," The Doctor was upset, "I don't."
"You'll have to," Leto smiled back, perfectly content, "And I will love you more for it."
"You love everyone."
"We are strangely similar in that respect," Leto admitted, "But that's why I rather place my life in your hands than anyone else’s."
"I'll save you."
"I would like to see you try," Leto grins, feral, menacing, "So try."
He entered Leto’s room loudly. Of course, even if he had entered in stealthily, Leto would have known, so pretending would have been fruitless. Leto smiled to himself as he adjusted the buttons on his coat. Soon, clothing would be useless (soon? Now? When? It blurred so often, the past, present, future that is now present is now past). But he still wore them. It was a part of humanity and he was loathe to give up what few pieces he had left of it.
“I’m here,” the Master said derisively, “Are you done acting in front of the mirror?”
“No,” Leto replied simply, knowing the answer will only infuriate the Master more. What a joy he was. He had no idea, of course, but he and the Doctor were joyous to his existence right now. Perhaps, even forever! But Leto doubted. Joy was always short-lived after all.
The Master walked towards him, anger set in his shoulders, a hiss in his mouth. Leto turned to face him, sculpting his most innocuous look (he tries his patience every time and every time, the Master steams and rages, no storm in him, no tempest, but a fire, a burn that lingers over a wound, balm and bitter). The Master, however did not spill out his anger and scathing wit like he normally did. Instead, he touched Leto’s neck. Wormskin meet heat and Leto’s eyes fluttered. The Worm was pleased.
“You’re an utter fool,” Today, today it was contempt, it was scorn, it was arrogance, it was new and Leto again fell a little in love with the Master, “You keep pretending and parading these-this ‘fake-self’ to them!”
“How little you understand,” Leto said smoothly, moving the Master’s hand from his neck (the Worm rumbled, but not yet Leto tells him, not yet).
“It’s sickening,” the Master muttered, “It’s pathetic.”
Leto went still. In his mind, he conjured a fake-Ghanima, to tell him, no Leto no, it’s all right, pretend a little. There was a hole in his stomach and he placed his hand there (births, births he never knew, mother to all, lover to none) .
“Is your bride coming today?” the Master continued. He was gloating, Leto noted. He won this round, so he reveled in the moment, “They were talking about it all over the Keep. More pretense?”
“Behind every successful man, there is a woman,” Leto quoted distantly and turned to him, “I am rather fond of them.”
“You don’t even want a woman.” Disgust rolled in waves.
“No I don’t. But it’s not about what I want. You know how people feel about dualities. Behind the strength, must lie a gentleness. In every desert… a spring to quench the brutality.”
The Master fell silent. Thinking of women in the past? Possibly. Leto could look, ahh, but he stopped that. It took away the fun, the joy. And he didn’t want to get bored that soon. He felt a pang in his heart. If he got bored, he would kill. And he didn’t want that. And what of the Doctor? What would he do without a Master to chase?
I must not interfere. I must restrain myself. I must not be jealous. I love them both.
Leto repeated the mantra, calm returning to him. The Master had pulled himself out of his own internal reverie and was openly studying Leto. He gave the Master a humourless smile, and tugged his collar upright (the atreides way) .
And then the Master was back, something dark and unreadable in his eyes. In his space, looking through Leto as if he’s not there. His smile was bright in blackness. “Charade after charade,” he said in a singsong voice, tracing Leto’s lines (wormskin, heat, wormskin, pleasure) on his face and through his hand before grabbing it and placing it on his own face.
“You will shatter,” the Master said, blue glinting back at Leto’s own, “And I will rejoice.”
Leto smiled sadly, “Yes.”
I will shatter. And then all my spice will go to you. One day, I will take you to my cellar, before I die, before the Doctor helps my murderers and you will hate me and curse me for dying. And perhaps, then, I will finally remember how to cry.