boxing day ;; scene, taptaptaptap
The Titanic was just as much of a disaster as the ship it was named for. Not so much in the loss of life as the catastrophic level of crisis. The Doctor did all he could, and maybe he knows that, but he does not seem especially keen on acknowledging it. So many lives lost ... the cyborg-alien, the couple who had spent their life savings to go, ( Read more... )
For once, the Master is reserved, choosing his words carefully if he finds call to speak. Since leaving the doomed ship, however, he's had not much to say on the subject of anything, least of all the Doctor's reaction to the loss of human life -- and perhaps one in particular. A very small part of him, a part he's trying his best to ignore at the moment, wishes he'd been able to repair the damnably inferior technology and retrieve the poor creature's biological signature for the Doctor. A very, very small part, almost entirely engulfed in the bittersweet taste of something particularly jealous-flavored.
Closing the doors of the TARDIS behind him, the Master drapes his tuxedo jacket over the bend of coral by the door and steps up the grated gangway to the console. A few twists of knobs, the flick of a switch and pull of a lever, sends the ship grinding into motion. "Theta," he urges, steadily commanding without raising his voice, and presents the Doctor with a hand to help him up from the seat. "Come on."
Reply
"Not today," the Master grants casually, leveling the Doctor with a serious look in response to the plead and the telepathic deluge of information. One day, perhaps very soon, he'll have to; they can't continue to exist like this, not after how they've lived for centuries, but for the time he's indulging in the Doctor's whims and needs - perhaps only while they parallel with his own - after so long, after the Time War, after everything they've ever known (and, in his case, hated to love) is gone. "Not now." At another time, in another place, perhaps he would have enjoyed leaving the Doctor while he's most vulnerable, but now ...
The Master is almost sorry the Doctor hadn't been able to save her, almost sorry he had to suffer the loss of another insufferably human companion after such a long line of fleeting, finite creatures in his company, but not sorry enough to actually form an apology in his mind or on his tongue. Instead, he pushes up from the chair and crosses the little distance between them. Don't apologize. It isn't ( ... )
Reply
Perhaps it's that the Doctor knows this will eventually have to come to an end - like everything - that he's reluctant to move on past the moment, however fleeting it is (or was). He reaches out, fingertips catching in the fabric of the Master's shirtsleeve, and traces down from elbow to wrist, finally moving to tangle their fingers together. It's an intimate gesture, perhaps too much so, but the Doctor hardly seems conscious of such issues as propriety between them at the moment.
And what is becoming of me? he asks, raising his eyebrows as he looks up at the Master.
Reply
As far as the Master is concerned, issues of propriety between them died with Gallifrey; after all, in their very long history together, he can only recall being vaguely concerned with what was proper in his much younger years, when there was still red grass underfoot and the shade of silver-leafed trees. It's been lifetimes since and none of it amounts to anything worth the drag of the Doctor's fingers down his arm and the so simple feeling of skin against skin.
"I think we've had this conversation," he murmurs aloud, letting their speech mingle in two separate mediums in a way that seems more clumsy than it actually is. They have spoken of this, haven't they? The rights of Time Lords in the vast expanse of the universe as superior beings, second to none that now live, and how drastically the Master's opinions differ from the Doctor's own. You pretend you're half the man who really are. Feign stupidity, surround yourself with simple beings. You see everything as I do, Theta, why do you deny it? All that brilliance, all that power ( ... )
Reply
Maybe it's that very power about himself that the Doctor fears, the reason why he hides it away and assumes such a naive and childlike air all the time. Whether this is the truth, however, the Time Lord isn't actually aware of it ... if it's an innate defense mechanism, then it's an unconscious one. He simply doesn't think of himself in those terms, or often choose to acknowledge them.
"All the time in the world," the Doctor responds. Can't we have this conversation again? He tugs the Master's hand to draw him down, and wraps his own free hand around the back of the other Time Lord's neck. They're close enough to kiss and he hovers, briefly, before drawing up to meet his old friend's lips with just that.
Reply
Yes. It isn't exactly a thought, just half an impression from the Master's mind, the only emotional response he lets through from the deluge of reaction that fills his mind in response to the Doctor's kiss. He's been waiting, so patiently, for the Doctor to come 'round and make a move, so tired of being rebuffed by his friend's aloof approach to physical contact. No, the Master had decided to wait him out, make the Doctor ask for it.
It isn't a 'please,' not entirely, but it's good enough for his barely repressed frustration and enough to spark a slow, deliberate reaction from him. Koschei leans in, furthers the kiss slowly, and draws out the moment with careful precision. Part of him is hungry, half starved, for this - the part of him that insists that other year and everything within it never existed - and he's afraid he'll devour Theta whole if he lets himself.
Reply
Maybe the Doctor is looking to be devoured, maybe that's why he behaves like the proverbial moth, continually skirting too close to the proverbial flame. Maybe someday he will be consumed, but for now he seems to lack that capacity for caution and good sense as he releases the Master's hand to wind that arm around his friend's back. Lying back onto the bed again, he his intent is clear to bring the Master down with him.
Yes, his telepathic voice murmurs in response.
Reply
For all the Master's talk of destroying the Doctor, there's a sensible and reasonable side of him (albeit very small) that understands intrinsically that he can't, not ever, just the same way he couldn't destroy the Earth (or stand idly why while it was destroyed through inaction) and thereby destroy himself. If the Doctor wants to be consumed, he'll need to find another flame to throw himself in, as the Master is only good for a great burn ( ... )
Reply
Contrarily - so contrary, the two of them - the Doctor knows that year happened. Even if things reset, it happened just as equally as the year on the Valiant. And perhaps that taints it a bit, but the Doctor doesn't care ... he knows of and believes in the Master's potential for change, and still feels the unique bond they'd developed. He knows better than to bank too much on what happened in a timeline undone, but the potential, oh, that isn't going to go away.
There's something just a little impatient about the Doctor as he waits for the Master to remove the jacket and join him, and when the touch grazes his temple, his mind is open and ready, willing, welcoming the contact.
Reply
This is where the Master hesitates, jarring and in a way he usually doesn't (he's too calculated to falter, too cunning to hesitate), because he knows what the Doctor sees, what he feels, what he thinks is possible. He hates that potential, though the idea of it lingers in his mind like a bad taste in his mouth, and it feels too much like the Doctor is gloating, like the Doctor has won.
There's telepathic silence from the Master's end for a moment that feels like a small eternity before his hand slides away, down the curve of the Doctor's neck, with little explanation. He's still there, physically, and thoroughly engaged in the kiss, but he seems more than simply hesitant to open himself that much, that willing, to the scrutiny and acceptance of the Doctor's mind. And while physical contact alone feels like the sudden deprivation of sense, it's safe. (Not that he's afraid.)
Reply
Being shut out in such a way ... hurts, honestly, and that's something still openly conveyed from the Doctor, whether the Master chooses to keep listening or not. He feels a little twinge as the telepathic connection goes dead, but it still doesn't change the mind-buzzing intimacy of the physical moment, lips on lips, and the contact of skin against skin.
The Doctor doesn't press the Master to open back up, but he's ready and waiting for the time when the other Time Lord chooses to, his hands sliding around to fumble at buttons.
Reply
For a moment, the Master is tense with anticipation at the idea that the Doctor might make his own attempt at a connection, might pursue the issue himself, might try and convince the Master otherwise. But there's just hurt and something like disappointment lingering in the air between them -- and the Master is almost sorry, but not very. Self-preservation, the Doctor must understand, even if there's really no call for it now with all that has (and hasn't) happened between them.
It's a matter of moments before the Master brushes the Doctor's hands away impatiently, moving to slide the white undershirt up the Doctor's stomach and off, rather than helpfully unloop the buttons the Doctor is fumbling with. He breaks the kiss just long enough to tug the shirt up and off, dragging his nails slowly down the Doctor's chest afterwards. Ridiculously, he almost feels the need to say something, but speech seems irrelevant and he's keeping his mind carefully in check.
Reply
The Doctor makes the barest of noises of frustration as the Master brushes his hands away, but compliantly lifts his arms once he figures out what the other Time Lord is doing. His hair sticks up at odd angles once the t-shirt has been tugged off, hooded lids only helping to add to the rumpled appearance he's taken on. He wants to say something, any number of things, or simply to convey the various feelings he's experiencing to his friend ... but shut out as he is, he can't, and the Doctor is perhaps too afraid of rejection to actually attempt the connection without it being implicitly welcomed. He reaches for the buttons on the Master's shirt again, assuming he'll be allowed that much this time, and his fingers are just a bit steadier in undoing them.
Reply
Leaving the Doctor to the line of buttons down the front of his shirt now that he's achieved the desired effect as far as the Doctor's own state of undress is concerned, the Master threads his fingers through the ruffled hair, as if trying to find a rhyme or reason to the odd angles it's been coerced into. Your hair ... He means to express just what he thinks (grudgingly how he feels) about the Doctor's hair this regeneration, but they're just words, however telepathically communicated. Still, with a slight smirk and appreciative eye, it isn't difficult to get the hint.
His thumb brushes across the Doctor's temple slowly, pensively, before he lets his hand slip further down, feeling his way from the Doctor's cheek to his collarbone. Through the confusing tangle of limbs between them, the Master searches out the front of the Doctor's trousers and both button and zipper, perhaps deliberately keeping two steps ahead in this dance.
Reply
His hair ... the Doctor seems to recall the Master rather enjoying tangling fingers in his hair, and it would seem that's a memory that has held true. He doesn't say (mentally or otherwise) anything about it, but there is just the slightest twinge of amusement to be felt, indication of a funny thought having sprung to mind, just the same.
The Doctor isn't thinking of it as a race at all, rather something to take their time with and savor, but if the Master wants to keep a few steps ahead, that's fine. He pushes the shirt off his friend's shoulders, conveying a wordless thought on the subject of the Master needing to break away at least long enough to allow for the garment's removal.
Reply
He did - does - and it's not difficult to connect the memory (it isn't) with the Doctor's apparent amusement. Somehow, perhaps by miracle, the Master doesn't take it as offense. He may just be too busy sitting up on his knees and removing his cufflinks before shrugging the shirt off to pay much mind to being offended. With little regard for small items or wrinkled fabric, the Master tosses aside the removed items and settles back down to capture the Doctor's lips with his own.
His hand is back in the Doctor's hair immediately, as if that's precisely where it belongs, an almost unexpressed sense of longing in the very brief way his mind brushes against his friend's. Theta.
Reply
Leave a comment