Doctor Who Fic: Gotkes of Evil
Title: Gotkes of Evil
Author: Evilawyer
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Eleven/Eleven's Master
Genre: Humor
Time Frame: A post-EoT AU where Eleven and his Master keep company, at least on occasion.
Summary: Old marrieds fight about the goofiest things.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and its characters belong to the BBC and/or others who are not the author of this work of fanfiction. The author of this fanfiction neither intends any violation of any copyright or trademark protected under US or international law nor makes any monetary profit from the following fic.
Author's Note: For the prompt underwear at tw_dw_slashfest . Thanks to that comm's moderator shinodabear for the fun prompt. Thanks also to jjpor for the prior validation of visual perceptions re: body parts. 400 words.
“Doctor!” Even the Master's footsteps sounded furious as he approached the TARDIS console. “You let me burn to death on Sarn. You make a laughably insincere attempt to stop me from plunging to my doom in the Eye of Harmony. You don't think twice about killing me along with the rest of Gallifrey. You don't shed so much as a single tear for me after I save you from Rassilon's righteous wrath,” the Master said as he ticked each comment off on its own separate finger of his right hand. “And now,” he continued as he raised his pinky to join the rest, “you can't even be bothered to throw my laundry in with yours when you do a load of washing.”
“Can't,” the Doctor said shortly as he continued to fiddle and futz with console switches. “All your clothes are black. Again. All my whites will turn gray if I put things in together.”
“You never heard of the cold water setting,” the Master asked archly. “Or separating colors?”
“Who ever heard of black underwear,” the Doctor arched back. “Black underwear,” he bleghed. “It's so...tasteless.”
“Says the man who thinks bow ties are cool,” the Master phftted. “And let's not even mention how not one but two of you thought apparel like technicolor nightmare coats and gaudily striped trousers were haute couture.”
“It was the '80s,” the Doctor sniffed.
“You'll probably be wearing a fez next,” the Master sniffed in return.
The Doctor frowned. “What's wrong with fezzes?”
“You're never serious,” the Master scoffed. “With that square-shaped head of yours? You may pride yourself on being a walking fashion disaster, but I don't. Thanks to you, I've got no clean underwear.”
The Doctor didn't even pause to take a breath. “Or bow ties, for that matter?”
The Master could ignore with the best of them. “What am I supposed to do? Borrow a thong from Amy?”
“Bow ties are ....” An entranced look came to the Doctor's eyes. It was soon replaced by the rather sheepish expression that, in this Master's opinion, this Doctor did so well, square-shaped head and all. “Actually,” the Doctor said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a miniscule scrap of silky black material, “I've bought you your own.”
Author: Evilawyer
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Eleven/Eleven's Master
Genre: Humor
Time Frame: A post-EoT AU where Eleven and his Master keep company, at least on occasion.
Summary: Old marrieds fight about the goofiest things.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and its characters belong to the BBC and/or others who are not the author of this work of fanfiction. The author of this fanfiction neither intends any violation of any copyright or trademark protected under US or international law nor makes any monetary profit from the following fic.
Author's Note: For the prompt underwear at tw_dw_slashfest . Thanks to that comm's moderator shinodabear for the fun prompt. Thanks also to jjpor for the prior validation of visual perceptions re: body parts. 400 words.
“Doctor!” Even the Master's footsteps sounded furious as he approached the TARDIS console. “You let me burn to death on Sarn. You make a laughably insincere attempt to stop me from plunging to my doom in the Eye of Harmony. You don't think twice about killing me along with the rest of Gallifrey. You don't shed so much as a single tear for me after I save you from Rassilon's righteous wrath,” the Master said as he ticked each comment off on its own separate finger of his right hand. “And now,” he continued as he raised his pinky to join the rest, “you can't even be bothered to throw my laundry in with yours when you do a load of washing.”
“Can't,” the Doctor said shortly as he continued to fiddle and futz with console switches. “All your clothes are black. Again. All my whites will turn gray if I put things in together.”
“You never heard of the cold water setting,” the Master asked archly. “Or separating colors?”
“Who ever heard of black underwear,” the Doctor arched back. “Black underwear,” he bleghed. “It's so...tasteless.”
“Says the man who thinks bow ties are cool,” the Master phftted. “And let's not even mention how not one but two of you thought apparel like technicolor nightmare coats and gaudily striped trousers were haute couture.”
“It was the '80s,” the Doctor sniffed.
“You'll probably be wearing a fez next,” the Master sniffed in return.
The Doctor frowned. “What's wrong with fezzes?”
“You're never serious,” the Master scoffed. “With that square-shaped head of yours? You may pride yourself on being a walking fashion disaster, but I don't. Thanks to you, I've got no clean underwear.”
The Doctor didn't even pause to take a breath. “Or bow ties, for that matter?”
The Master could ignore with the best of them. “What am I supposed to do? Borrow a thong from Amy?”
“Bow ties are ....” An entranced look came to the Doctor's eyes. It was soon replaced by the rather sheepish expression that, in this Master's opinion, this Doctor did so well, square-shaped head and all. “Actually,” the Doctor said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a miniscule scrap of silky black material, “I've bought you your own.”