#63 Summer
Fic Name: Summer
Rating: R (maybe... I'm not sure.)
Prompt: #63 Summer
Claim: Ten/Master
Summary: In which our heroes go swimming on a world that looks like the set of a popular children's television program. Additionally, there's a large amount of bickering, several dubious and well fondled plot devices, and some sex. Well... almost.
AN: This fic was supposed to be 700 words long like the others. Instead it is two thousand and 700 words long. As the Doctor once said, "It... got a way from me, yes". It's also the wrong POV and therefore totally ruins my beautiful short-fic, Doctor-centric season cycle. I would try to pass it off as another prompt, except this is what happens after Spring, and it has to be from the Master. So... here's Summer. Autumn is fine though. Autumn will be 700 words. All I ask, is that you do not actually laugh at me during the sex. It's my first time.
“You can’t be serious,” the Master says, as the Doctor locks the doors to the TARDIS carefully. “What the hell is this? Planet of the Teletubbies?”
Stretching in front of them is a vast expanse of idyllic countryside. The grass is slightly too green and the sky is slightly too blue. The few clouds in the perfect sky are bright white and fluffy like sleeping cartoon sheep. It does look very like a set from the popular children television programme. The Master feels vaguely ill.
“Nah,” the Doctor says, bouncing slightly to test the springiness of the very green grass. “This is just an unpopulated world south of the Klatow nebula. Five thousand years before we left Earth… give or a take a few millennia. Not just unpopulated either; completely unpopulated. Not a butterfly. Nothing, zilch, zip, na-da-”
The Master holds up a hand. “I get the idea. Nothing for me to kill.”
“That’s right,” the Doctor agrees. “Not so much as a sentient daisy for you to squash. Actually, I find it all a bit creepy, but there you go. Pretty, isn’t it?” He turns to look at the Master over the top of his sunglasses. “Also, you do know there’s no such thing as the planet of the Teletubbies... right?"
The Master makes a face at him. “If there’s a baby in the sun I’m going back to the TARDIS.”
The Doctor grins broadly. “Come on.” He holds out a hand and wriggles his fingers. The silver bracelet around his wrist bounces and glimmers in the too perfect light.
“I’m not holding your hand,” the Master says.
“What?” The Doctor raises his eyebrows. “For safety. I’m not trying to seduce you. Do you want to get zapped? Come on, no one will see.”
The Master folds his arms, his own matching bracelet revealed for a moment under the dark sleeve of his jacket. “Forget it,” he says.
The Doctor shrugs and puts his hands in his pockets. “Suit yourself. Just don’t wander off.”
“Where would I go?”
“Yes, good point,” the Doctor agrees. “OK, let’s go exploring!” He strides off across the grass, the Master following at his own pace.
The planet is eerily silent. The Doctor, of course, keeps up an energetic commentary on intergalactic travel, day time television and something he found in his sock once, but underneath that and the sound of their feet is a void, which ought to be filled by birds and insects, or the hum of machinery and voices depending what sort of planet the TARDIS has crash-landed on this time. For once, the Master is almost grateful for the Doctor’s inane chatter, but they can both sense the strange no-sound that is the absence of movement.
It is with relief, therefore, that the Master finally hears the sound of waves breaking, not too far away. He glances at the Doctor, to check he’s heard it too, which is a mistake, as the Doctor takes this as a sign to direct his conversation at the Master, rather than just to the world in general.
“Fancy a swim?” he offers cheerfully, coming to an abrupt halt as the small hill they have been climbing turns into a small cliff. The water is not too far beneath them and, predictably given the saccharine nature of the planet, a deep and perfect blue.
“No,” the Master says.
“Not even a quick paddle?” the Doctor asks hopefully, pointing towards a small beach, just visible across the water. “Over there. Looks like they’ve got sand. I love sand, though it always gets in your ice cream, doesn’t it, and you keep finding it in your clothes months later. But that’s part of the point of sand, really. Feel like paddling… at all?”
“No.”
“Well,” the Doctor says, stretching the word out. “You’re no fun.”
The Master considers pointing out that he’s an evil genius, forced into captivity with his arch-nemesis and that fun shouldn’t be expected of him. Instead, he gives the Doctor a sharp shove and pushes him into the sea. There is a very satisfying splash as the Doctor hits the water, and the Master has to step back quickly to avoid being drenched as well.
“How’s that for fun?” he calls as the Doctor emerges, spluttering, a moment later. The Master pulls a white handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabs away the spots of water on his face and smiles.
The Doctor grins as he treads water. “Not bad,” he says. He pushes his damp hair out of his eyes. “Not bad at all. Rather stupid, though, if you don’t mind me saying so. Because, you see, if I do this…” he swims backwards about a foot, “you’re left with very few options.”
“Oh,” the Master purrs, squatting down at the cliff edge, “an implied threat: how sweet. But, you know, you really shouldn’t make threats you won’t carry out. It just makes you look weak. We both know you wouldn’t electrocute me on purpose.”
“Wouldn’t I?” the Doctor says.
“And risk me not regenerating, leaving you all alone in the universe once more? No, I don’t think so.”
“Oh, but you’d survive, no problem” the Doctor points out. “I’ve actually been struck by lightning before: knocked unconscious for a bit, but no lasting damage. Hurts a lot though.” He pushes himself backwards in the water until they are almost nine feet apart and grins again, wickedly. “Are you sure you don’t want to go for a swim?”
The Master scowls and pulls off his jacket. “You know, you really are the most annoying Time Lord in existence,” he says. He unties his laces quickly, takes off his shoes and socks and arranges them neatly on the side of the cliff. He tugs his shirt out of his trousers and removes his tie, leaving it inside his left shoe. “And I’m not just saying that because you killed everyone else. If the others had survived, I’d still find your company intolerable.”
“I do my best,” the Doctor says, managing to look only slightly pained at the mention of his genocide. “Now, are you swimming or not?”
The Master dives in beside him, bending his body into slightly the wrong shape at the last minute so that the Doctor will be hit by a large wave. His shirt billows around him in the warm water, which is, of course, astonishingly clear. It is equally silent underneath the surface, but, this time, it is not an unnatural silence. Even the drums seem to have faded away. He gives the Doctor’s closest leg a tug, pulling the other Time Lord down below the surface with the weight of his body. The Doctor looks briefly startled, but then smiles and beckons with his head. He mouths follow me and, without waiting to see whether the Master will follow him or not, pulls himself deeper into the water. The Master rolls his eyes, but swims after him anyway for want of any other option. Both have switched to their respiratory bypass systems and so the stillness of the water is not even broken by the passage of tiny bubbles up to the surface. The Master estimates with this level of exertion they will have to come up for air in about fifteen minutes, but still, for now, it is unexpectedly perfect.
Before long he has overtaken the Doctor, who is slowed down by his heavy clothing and the silly canvas trainers he is still wearing. Just as the Master is about to turn around to gloat about this, the Doctor catches hold of his ankle and pulls the Master backwards, propelling himself forwards at the same time. He laughs silently as the Master mouths filthy cheat and the two of them race towards whatever it is that might be at the bottom of the sea.
The water is starting to get darker now and the Master can feel his lungs beginning to protest. They have maybe five minutes. The Doctor hasn’t stopped yet though, and the Master is unwilling to concede defeat in any game the Doctor is willing to play against him. If they can just reach the sea bed then they can turn back. He kicks his legs harder and glides past the Doctor into the darkness. There is something that looks firm not too far ahead and, for a moment, the Master thinks that they may have reached the bottom at last. But then it moves and he realises that it’s something alive and angry, something that looks like a giant underwater bat, with a webbed collection of poisonous-looking tendrils for wings.
The Master shudders to a halt, but the thing has already noticed him and makes a swipe at him with one of its enormous wings. Whatever species it is, it's not one he knows which is a very bad sign. It means whatever the thing is, it’s very old and very powerful and should definitely not be tangled with if at all possible.
He turns around to find the Doctor fiddling with his sonic-screwdriver. The Master swims past him without a second thought and is almost six feet away when he feels the sonic wave juddering through the water and hears the bat-creature’s shriek in his mind. Telepathic then: that’s interesting.
He looks back to see it shrinking slowly back into the darkness, but something has clearly gone wrong with the Doctor’s plan. One of the creature’s tendrils is wrapped around his ankle and, though he is still fighting it, he seems to be losing. His face is already drained of colour.
Quickly, the Master turns back, grabs the sonic-screwdriver from the Doctor, who is still trying to find a setting that will have some effect, and stabs the pointier end hard into the creature’s flesh. The shock of this ridiculous move is just enough to make the thing relax its hold on the Doctor, and the Master pulls him away. He switches the sonic back to its former setting and gives the bat-creature another blast of the high-frequency. This time it is enough. Still screaming, the thing retreats. The Doctor looks like he might lose consciousness any minute, so the Master grabs his hand and drags him forcibly back to the surface.
They break into the air and the Master is relieved to see the small beach he had earlier refused to paddle on is within reach. With the Master still half-dragging the Doctor, they make it to the shore.
“You utter bastard,” he says when the Doctor has finished coughing and gasping into the sand. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I seem to remember you saying something about how this world was unpopulated.”
The Doctor has been facing away from the Master and now he rolls over so they are nose to nose, his damp jacket picking up a thick layer of sand as he does so. “Well, it is,” he says. “Absolutely, completely unpopulated…. apart from the enormous great thing in the sea that will try and kill us both.” He starts laughing which quickly turns into another coughing fit. When he recovers he says, “Actually… on second thoughts, it was a rather… unforgivable oversight. I’m sorry. It wasn’t on the scanner.”
“Nothing appears on your scanner,” the Master says, irritably. “It stopped working five-hundred years ago.”
“Yes, but then I fixed it,” the Doctor says. The Master gives him a hard look and the Doctor says “what?” and then begins to laugh helplessly again.
“Oh, goody,” the Master says, pushing himself into a sitting position. “You’re actually hysterical.”
“No, I’m not,” the Doctor says, managing to control himself again. “Really. I’m not. It’s just… brilliant, isn’t it? We just escaped from a giant, poisonous sea-bat that should have killed us, isn’t that brilliant? I think that’s brilliant. Incidentally, what do you reckon? One of the Lastomaar?” The Master considers answering, but the Doctor has only paused to weigh up his own statement. “No, that doesn’t make any sense. They died out years before this, didn’t they? Perhaps a massively evolved Bloquion, which would account for the size and the anesthetising-wings, but it’s still not the right period, is it? Particularly… particularly if they have to evolve to such an extent...” He sits up. “What do you think?”
“I don’t care,” the Master says.
“No, well,” the Doctor says. “I suppose it doesn’t matter really. By the way, I couldn’t help noticing that you saved my life.” He smiles with the utmost sincerity. “And I haven't even said thank you.”
The Master scowls back at him. “Don’t be like that,” he says. “Even discounting the fun-factor, I had two very good reasons for stabbing that thing, neither of which, I might add, were based on any affection for you.”
The Doctor grins and starts brushing sand out of his hair. “Go on then. Share away.”
The Master holds out his braceleted arm. “Firstly, there’s these,” he says, giving the bracelet a quick flick with the other hand. “More than ten foot between us and I get zapped. Forgive me, if I didn’t fancy getting electrocuted. Apparently it hurts, but I wouldn’t notice, because I’d be too busy drowning or being eaten by an enormous bat once it’d finished eating you.”
“Fair enough,” the Doctor says. “No electrocution. Can’t argue with that.” He wrinkles his nose thoughtfully. “Except, of course, you had the sonic screwdriver. Brain like yours, it would have taken you three seconds to reconfigure them. Then you could just have left me to die. Easy.”
“Secondly,” the Master says, ignoring him. “Even if I had escaped to the surface, the TARDIS is still on isomorphic controls. Spending the rest of my life here, on a planet that even you think is dull, is strangely unappealing.”
“Again,” the Doctor says, “a point that would be a good point except, of course, you had the sonic screwdriver, which is clearly not isomorphically controlled. The TARDIS would be yours within an hour. And don’t try and tell me you didn’t think this through. Neither of us are idiots.”
“What is your problem?” the Master says. “I admit I made a mistake. I should have left you to be slowly digested under the sea. However, this should on no account to be taken to mean that I’m in love with you like one of your pretty human disciples, or even that I remotely like you.”
“Nah. Course not,” the Doctor says. “Still… thank you anyway.”
He smiles, hesitates, and then presses a chaste and sandy kiss to the Master’s lips.
Without thinking, the Master opens his mouth and pushes his tongue into the Doctor’s. This is clearly the right thing to do because the Doctor’s tongue darts back against his and the Doctor’s hands reach up to tangle in his hair, pulling them closer together. Everything tastes like sand and salt water, but the feeling of being pressed against another body, even that of his greatest enemy, after nine months of abstinence is intoxicating. With the Doctor’s help, the Master pushes the wet jacket from the other man’s shoulders, and then shoves him roughly back onto the sand. He runs a hand up to the Doctor’s leg, traces the outline of his crotch, and pulls his shirt out from the ridiculously tight trousers, pushing it up across his chest. He kisses the Doctor again fiercely enough to bruise, his hands undoing the Doctor’s fly. The Doctor gasps, “Master,” as the Master slides a hand into his trousers and across his cock, which sends a thrill down the Master’s own. This is more like it. He is in control for the first time in almost a year. “Doctor,” he hisses, stroking him again. "Who knew you had it you?"
“Wait,” the Doctor mumbles. With obvious effort, he reaches down and stops the Master’s hand with his own.
The Master pouts. “Oh, are you sure about that?” he says, rubbing his thumb against the tip of the Doctor’s already hard cock.
The Doctor’s breath hitches slightly and the fingers on the Master’s wrist tighten, but he doesn’t let go. He says quietly, “It’s probably only fair to tell you… before we have sex, that I love you.”
The Master withdraws his hand immediately. Furious, he brushes himself down, stands up and strides off across the beach in the direction of the TARDIS. Ten feet away, the bracelets activate sending ten thousand volts of electricity through his system. It does hurt.
Ten feet away, the Doctor sighs, re-buttons his trousers and wanders over to resuscitate him.
Back to spring : On to autumn
Rating: R (maybe... I'm not sure.)
Prompt: #63 Summer
Claim: Ten/Master
Summary: In which our heroes go swimming on a world that looks like the set of a popular children's television program. Additionally, there's a large amount of bickering, several dubious and well fondled plot devices, and some sex. Well... almost.
AN: This fic was supposed to be 700 words long like the others. Instead it is two thousand and 700 words long. As the Doctor once said, "It... got a way from me, yes". It's also the wrong POV and therefore totally ruins my beautiful short-fic, Doctor-centric season cycle. I would try to pass it off as another prompt, except this is what happens after Spring, and it has to be from the Master. So... here's Summer. Autumn is fine though. Autumn will be 700 words. All I ask, is that you do not actually laugh at me during the sex. It's my first time.
“You can’t be serious,” the Master says, as the Doctor locks the doors to the TARDIS carefully. “What the hell is this? Planet of the Teletubbies?”
Stretching in front of them is a vast expanse of idyllic countryside. The grass is slightly too green and the sky is slightly too blue. The few clouds in the perfect sky are bright white and fluffy like sleeping cartoon sheep. It does look very like a set from the popular children television programme. The Master feels vaguely ill.
“Nah,” the Doctor says, bouncing slightly to test the springiness of the very green grass. “This is just an unpopulated world south of the Klatow nebula. Five thousand years before we left Earth… give or a take a few millennia. Not just unpopulated either; completely unpopulated. Not a butterfly. Nothing, zilch, zip, na-da-”
The Master holds up a hand. “I get the idea. Nothing for me to kill.”
“That’s right,” the Doctor agrees. “Not so much as a sentient daisy for you to squash. Actually, I find it all a bit creepy, but there you go. Pretty, isn’t it?” He turns to look at the Master over the top of his sunglasses. “Also, you do know there’s no such thing as the planet of the Teletubbies... right?"
The Master makes a face at him. “If there’s a baby in the sun I’m going back to the TARDIS.”
The Doctor grins broadly. “Come on.” He holds out a hand and wriggles his fingers. The silver bracelet around his wrist bounces and glimmers in the too perfect light.
“I’m not holding your hand,” the Master says.
“What?” The Doctor raises his eyebrows. “For safety. I’m not trying to seduce you. Do you want to get zapped? Come on, no one will see.”
The Master folds his arms, his own matching bracelet revealed for a moment under the dark sleeve of his jacket. “Forget it,” he says.
The Doctor shrugs and puts his hands in his pockets. “Suit yourself. Just don’t wander off.”
“Where would I go?”
“Yes, good point,” the Doctor agrees. “OK, let’s go exploring!” He strides off across the grass, the Master following at his own pace.
The planet is eerily silent. The Doctor, of course, keeps up an energetic commentary on intergalactic travel, day time television and something he found in his sock once, but underneath that and the sound of their feet is a void, which ought to be filled by birds and insects, or the hum of machinery and voices depending what sort of planet the TARDIS has crash-landed on this time. For once, the Master is almost grateful for the Doctor’s inane chatter, but they can both sense the strange no-sound that is the absence of movement.
It is with relief, therefore, that the Master finally hears the sound of waves breaking, not too far away. He glances at the Doctor, to check he’s heard it too, which is a mistake, as the Doctor takes this as a sign to direct his conversation at the Master, rather than just to the world in general.
“Fancy a swim?” he offers cheerfully, coming to an abrupt halt as the small hill they have been climbing turns into a small cliff. The water is not too far beneath them and, predictably given the saccharine nature of the planet, a deep and perfect blue.
“No,” the Master says.
“Not even a quick paddle?” the Doctor asks hopefully, pointing towards a small beach, just visible across the water. “Over there. Looks like they’ve got sand. I love sand, though it always gets in your ice cream, doesn’t it, and you keep finding it in your clothes months later. But that’s part of the point of sand, really. Feel like paddling… at all?”
“No.”
“Well,” the Doctor says, stretching the word out. “You’re no fun.”
The Master considers pointing out that he’s an evil genius, forced into captivity with his arch-nemesis and that fun shouldn’t be expected of him. Instead, he gives the Doctor a sharp shove and pushes him into the sea. There is a very satisfying splash as the Doctor hits the water, and the Master has to step back quickly to avoid being drenched as well.
“How’s that for fun?” he calls as the Doctor emerges, spluttering, a moment later. The Master pulls a white handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabs away the spots of water on his face and smiles.
The Doctor grins as he treads water. “Not bad,” he says. He pushes his damp hair out of his eyes. “Not bad at all. Rather stupid, though, if you don’t mind me saying so. Because, you see, if I do this…” he swims backwards about a foot, “you’re left with very few options.”
“Oh,” the Master purrs, squatting down at the cliff edge, “an implied threat: how sweet. But, you know, you really shouldn’t make threats you won’t carry out. It just makes you look weak. We both know you wouldn’t electrocute me on purpose.”
“Wouldn’t I?” the Doctor says.
“And risk me not regenerating, leaving you all alone in the universe once more? No, I don’t think so.”
“Oh, but you’d survive, no problem” the Doctor points out. “I’ve actually been struck by lightning before: knocked unconscious for a bit, but no lasting damage. Hurts a lot though.” He pushes himself backwards in the water until they are almost nine feet apart and grins again, wickedly. “Are you sure you don’t want to go for a swim?”
The Master scowls and pulls off his jacket. “You know, you really are the most annoying Time Lord in existence,” he says. He unties his laces quickly, takes off his shoes and socks and arranges them neatly on the side of the cliff. He tugs his shirt out of his trousers and removes his tie, leaving it inside his left shoe. “And I’m not just saying that because you killed everyone else. If the others had survived, I’d still find your company intolerable.”
“I do my best,” the Doctor says, managing to look only slightly pained at the mention of his genocide. “Now, are you swimming or not?”
The Master dives in beside him, bending his body into slightly the wrong shape at the last minute so that the Doctor will be hit by a large wave. His shirt billows around him in the warm water, which is, of course, astonishingly clear. It is equally silent underneath the surface, but, this time, it is not an unnatural silence. Even the drums seem to have faded away. He gives the Doctor’s closest leg a tug, pulling the other Time Lord down below the surface with the weight of his body. The Doctor looks briefly startled, but then smiles and beckons with his head. He mouths follow me and, without waiting to see whether the Master will follow him or not, pulls himself deeper into the water. The Master rolls his eyes, but swims after him anyway for want of any other option. Both have switched to their respiratory bypass systems and so the stillness of the water is not even broken by the passage of tiny bubbles up to the surface. The Master estimates with this level of exertion they will have to come up for air in about fifteen minutes, but still, for now, it is unexpectedly perfect.
Before long he has overtaken the Doctor, who is slowed down by his heavy clothing and the silly canvas trainers he is still wearing. Just as the Master is about to turn around to gloat about this, the Doctor catches hold of his ankle and pulls the Master backwards, propelling himself forwards at the same time. He laughs silently as the Master mouths filthy cheat and the two of them race towards whatever it is that might be at the bottom of the sea.
The water is starting to get darker now and the Master can feel his lungs beginning to protest. They have maybe five minutes. The Doctor hasn’t stopped yet though, and the Master is unwilling to concede defeat in any game the Doctor is willing to play against him. If they can just reach the sea bed then they can turn back. He kicks his legs harder and glides past the Doctor into the darkness. There is something that looks firm not too far ahead and, for a moment, the Master thinks that they may have reached the bottom at last. But then it moves and he realises that it’s something alive and angry, something that looks like a giant underwater bat, with a webbed collection of poisonous-looking tendrils for wings.
The Master shudders to a halt, but the thing has already noticed him and makes a swipe at him with one of its enormous wings. Whatever species it is, it's not one he knows which is a very bad sign. It means whatever the thing is, it’s very old and very powerful and should definitely not be tangled with if at all possible.
He turns around to find the Doctor fiddling with his sonic-screwdriver. The Master swims past him without a second thought and is almost six feet away when he feels the sonic wave juddering through the water and hears the bat-creature’s shriek in his mind. Telepathic then: that’s interesting.
He looks back to see it shrinking slowly back into the darkness, but something has clearly gone wrong with the Doctor’s plan. One of the creature’s tendrils is wrapped around his ankle and, though he is still fighting it, he seems to be losing. His face is already drained of colour.
Quickly, the Master turns back, grabs the sonic-screwdriver from the Doctor, who is still trying to find a setting that will have some effect, and stabs the pointier end hard into the creature’s flesh. The shock of this ridiculous move is just enough to make the thing relax its hold on the Doctor, and the Master pulls him away. He switches the sonic back to its former setting and gives the bat-creature another blast of the high-frequency. This time it is enough. Still screaming, the thing retreats. The Doctor looks like he might lose consciousness any minute, so the Master grabs his hand and drags him forcibly back to the surface.
They break into the air and the Master is relieved to see the small beach he had earlier refused to paddle on is within reach. With the Master still half-dragging the Doctor, they make it to the shore.
“You utter bastard,” he says when the Doctor has finished coughing and gasping into the sand. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I seem to remember you saying something about how this world was unpopulated.”
The Doctor has been facing away from the Master and now he rolls over so they are nose to nose, his damp jacket picking up a thick layer of sand as he does so. “Well, it is,” he says. “Absolutely, completely unpopulated…. apart from the enormous great thing in the sea that will try and kill us both.” He starts laughing which quickly turns into another coughing fit. When he recovers he says, “Actually… on second thoughts, it was a rather… unforgivable oversight. I’m sorry. It wasn’t on the scanner.”
“Nothing appears on your scanner,” the Master says, irritably. “It stopped working five-hundred years ago.”
“Yes, but then I fixed it,” the Doctor says. The Master gives him a hard look and the Doctor says “what?” and then begins to laugh helplessly again.
“Oh, goody,” the Master says, pushing himself into a sitting position. “You’re actually hysterical.”
“No, I’m not,” the Doctor says, managing to control himself again. “Really. I’m not. It’s just… brilliant, isn’t it? We just escaped from a giant, poisonous sea-bat that should have killed us, isn’t that brilliant? I think that’s brilliant. Incidentally, what do you reckon? One of the Lastomaar?” The Master considers answering, but the Doctor has only paused to weigh up his own statement. “No, that doesn’t make any sense. They died out years before this, didn’t they? Perhaps a massively evolved Bloquion, which would account for the size and the anesthetising-wings, but it’s still not the right period, is it? Particularly… particularly if they have to evolve to such an extent...” He sits up. “What do you think?”
“I don’t care,” the Master says.
“No, well,” the Doctor says. “I suppose it doesn’t matter really. By the way, I couldn’t help noticing that you saved my life.” He smiles with the utmost sincerity. “And I haven't even said thank you.”
The Master scowls back at him. “Don’t be like that,” he says. “Even discounting the fun-factor, I had two very good reasons for stabbing that thing, neither of which, I might add, were based on any affection for you.”
The Doctor grins and starts brushing sand out of his hair. “Go on then. Share away.”
The Master holds out his braceleted arm. “Firstly, there’s these,” he says, giving the bracelet a quick flick with the other hand. “More than ten foot between us and I get zapped. Forgive me, if I didn’t fancy getting electrocuted. Apparently it hurts, but I wouldn’t notice, because I’d be too busy drowning or being eaten by an enormous bat once it’d finished eating you.”
“Fair enough,” the Doctor says. “No electrocution. Can’t argue with that.” He wrinkles his nose thoughtfully. “Except, of course, you had the sonic screwdriver. Brain like yours, it would have taken you three seconds to reconfigure them. Then you could just have left me to die. Easy.”
“Secondly,” the Master says, ignoring him. “Even if I had escaped to the surface, the TARDIS is still on isomorphic controls. Spending the rest of my life here, on a planet that even you think is dull, is strangely unappealing.”
“Again,” the Doctor says, “a point that would be a good point except, of course, you had the sonic screwdriver, which is clearly not isomorphically controlled. The TARDIS would be yours within an hour. And don’t try and tell me you didn’t think this through. Neither of us are idiots.”
“What is your problem?” the Master says. “I admit I made a mistake. I should have left you to be slowly digested under the sea. However, this should on no account to be taken to mean that I’m in love with you like one of your pretty human disciples, or even that I remotely like you.”
“Nah. Course not,” the Doctor says. “Still… thank you anyway.”
He smiles, hesitates, and then presses a chaste and sandy kiss to the Master’s lips.
Without thinking, the Master opens his mouth and pushes his tongue into the Doctor’s. This is clearly the right thing to do because the Doctor’s tongue darts back against his and the Doctor’s hands reach up to tangle in his hair, pulling them closer together. Everything tastes like sand and salt water, but the feeling of being pressed against another body, even that of his greatest enemy, after nine months of abstinence is intoxicating. With the Doctor’s help, the Master pushes the wet jacket from the other man’s shoulders, and then shoves him roughly back onto the sand. He runs a hand up to the Doctor’s leg, traces the outline of his crotch, and pulls his shirt out from the ridiculously tight trousers, pushing it up across his chest. He kisses the Doctor again fiercely enough to bruise, his hands undoing the Doctor’s fly. The Doctor gasps, “Master,” as the Master slides a hand into his trousers and across his cock, which sends a thrill down the Master’s own. This is more like it. He is in control for the first time in almost a year. “Doctor,” he hisses, stroking him again. "Who knew you had it you?"
“Wait,” the Doctor mumbles. With obvious effort, he reaches down and stops the Master’s hand with his own.
The Master pouts. “Oh, are you sure about that?” he says, rubbing his thumb against the tip of the Doctor’s already hard cock.
The Doctor’s breath hitches slightly and the fingers on the Master’s wrist tighten, but he doesn’t let go. He says quietly, “It’s probably only fair to tell you… before we have sex, that I love you.”
The Master withdraws his hand immediately. Furious, he brushes himself down, stands up and strides off across the beach in the direction of the TARDIS. Ten feet away, the bracelets activate sending ten thousand volts of electricity through his system. It does hurt.
Ten feet away, the Doctor sighs, re-buttons his trousers and wanders over to resuscitate him.
Back to spring : On to autumn