(Dr. Horrible/Doctor Who) Feeling Supersonic for everyoneisemo
Title: Feeling Supersonic
Author: lynnmonster
Fandoms: Doctor Who/Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog
Characters: Doctor Who (Ten); Doctor Horrible
Pairings: Ten/Doctor Horrible
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1,669
Spoilers: No particular spoilers, although to be safe, assume the entirety of Dr. Horrible and current Doctor Who (not including the 2009 Christmas special, if it has aired by the time this is posted)
Warnings: Do I need to warn for bad puns?
Disclaimer: Doctors Who and Horrible belong to their respective creators
A/N: Many thanks to shayheyred and thehoyden for saving me from the worst of my excesses! You ladies keep the egg off my face. Story title stolen from the song by Oasis.
Summary: Doctor Who drops in on one of the developers of his favourite gadget.
The Tenth Doctor strode into the laboratory of the infamous Doctor Horrible as if he owned it.
"Tenth doctor?" Doctor Horrible's brow furrowed as he read off the thin, flexible dataribbon in his hands, which reported The Tenth Doctor strode into the laboratory of the infamous Doctor Horrible as if he owned it. He looked up and addressed the intruder, who lacked the traditional white lab coat over his rather natty pinstriped suit but was, apparently, also some sort of doctor. "You and I make two at most, unless you've got eight doctor friends barging in here with you."
He made his observation both mathematically accurately and rather testily -- but not nearly as testily as one might expect given the circumstances, especially from an Evil Genius Mastermind (Certified Level Three). There was no engagement of the ray guns, for example, and the Intruder Eliminator remained undeployed. But then, luckily for his uninvited guest, the distraction wasn't completely unwelcome. He'd hit a bit of a roadblock on his research for the day, and Bad Horse had been throwing his weight around more than usual, with Snake Bite and Fake Thomas Jefferson only egging him on. Besides, the intruder was kind of cute for a potential enemy, and didn't seem to be carrying any weapons.
Looking back down at the dataribbon, he read, The Doctor was so excited to be in the laboratory of the famed Doctor Horrible that he couldn't decide what to look at first.
How interesting. Maybe he was a fan.
The stranger locked his hands behind his back, looking around and taking big, slow, exaggerated strides like a wind-up toy soldier. He admired the crackling Living Lightning sculptures on the wall, looked quickly over at Doctor Horrible, then glanced away again. He cleared his throat. "By the way, that's tenth consecutive, not quantitative. But I just go by 'the' Doctor. Much simpler." The Doctor pronounced simpler "simp-lah" with a pop and an open mouth at the end, which actually turned into an open-mouthed smile. He seemed to derive pleasure from the mere formation of the word, if that smile and his playful sideways glance were any indication.
In fact, he seemed to be having a pretty good time.
"You do know you're trapped in the impenetrable lair of an Evil Genius Mastermind, right?"
"Mmm-hmmm. Certified Level Three, no less, from what I hear. You must be proud."
"How did you manage that, anyway?" He really ought to know if there was a breach in his defenses.
The Doctor ignored him and came up to peer over Doctor Horrible's shoulder.
"What's that, then?"
Bemused, Doctor Horrible held up one of his latest inventions. The words held up one of his latest inventions were just scrolling across the display as he responded.
"That's the Narrative Thread."
"May I?" The Doctor tugged it out of his hands without waiting for a response. "Handy little device, aren't you?" the Doctor cooed at it, as the Narrative Thread informed him that Doctor Horrible was currently trying to remember which way his eyebrows looked more menacing while surreptitiously enjoying the way the Doctor hadn't moved away from his position directly behind him, close enough to radiate body heat.
"This is brilliant!" the Doctor enthused.
"Give me that," he snatched the dataribbon out of the Doctor's hands, but not roughly. He smoothed it absently as he wondered why on earth he was tolerating such chaos, at least when he wasn't the cause of it.
"So, Doctor," he said, and stopped, unsure of how to continue.
"Yes, Doctor?" The Doctor cocked his head.
He quashed a smile. "Given names are so passé, aren't they?" Doctor Horrible observed with a raised eyebrow. The Doctor chuckled on cue. He had a hard time picturing the man as the spearhead of an invasion or attack, and decided somewhat recklessly to just give in to the unaccustomed twinge of curiosity about his visitor. "So what would you like first, some coffee or the ten-cent tour?"
"Really?" The Doctor looked rather gratifyingly pleased at the prospect.
"Sure." He lifted his goggles and pulled off his impenetrable black work gloves. "I don't think Moist has managed to contaminate this stash yet." He busied himself under the Doctor's watchful gaze with his coffee implements of choice: the as-yet-unsoggified grounds, a beaker, a Bunsen burner, a thermometer, and a few chemicals and some distilled water stored in the fridge beneath the lab table.
"Normally it would take a few minutes to brew, but here you go," he said, pressing a steaming mug into the Doctor's hands. "I tweaked the basic cafetière setup a bit so that it's practically instantaneous. Cream?" The doctor nodded, so he passed over Moist's cow-shaped milk pitcher and fixed his own cup. Black and bitter, like my heart, he thought with a ghost of a smile, his routine mantra whenever he poured coffee for himself.
The Doctor snorted into his mug. "Why not 'strong and rich' or even 'invigorating and delicious'?" he asked merrily. Doctor Horrible stomped over and snatched the dataribbon out of the Doctor's grasp yet again.
"I thought I told you to give that back. Did you come here to steal from me?"
"No, no, no! I don't steal." He shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit coat and rocked back and forth on his feet. "We-ellllllll, to be honest, let's just say I don't steal unless it's really important."
Doctor Horrible harrumphed and locked the Narrative Thread in a drawer. He crossed his arms and glared. "Do you want that tour or not?"
"That would be lovely," the Doctor said quietly.
Doctor Horrible cleared his throat. "Right. Well, obviously, right here is just some basic laboratory equipment, general purpose stuff, you know," he said, gesturing at the sinks and glassware and scales. "Chemicals over there," he pointed out the bottles of substances ranked along the shelves against the wall. He placed his palm against the Doctor's shoulder to guide him over to the next area.
"Oh, um," he said, realizing what he'd just done. He almost pulled his hand away, but hesitated. It was kind of nice, touching the Doctor. More than nice. He decided to leave his hand where it was, even if he'd already thought about it too much for it to feel natural. "The electronics and circuitry area is over here." He positioned his eye in front of the retinal scanner and the doors to the glassed-in, dust-free environment slid apart. "Normally we'd have to wear protective gear, of course, but there was a mishap this morning and I haven't gotten it cleaned up yet."
"I see," said the Doctor, poking at the scorch marks and melted plastic on the worktable.
Doctor Horrible frowned. "I've been working on sonics lately, but I think I might have to give it up as a dead end."
"Oh, really?"
He hadn't known the Doctor more than a few minutes, but if that was his best attempt at "guileless," Doctor Horrible really didn't want to know. He sat down on the nearest stool with a sigh and started unbuttoning his blood-red lab coat. "Why do I get the feeling you knew that already?"
The Doctor was staring at the whiteboard covered in snatches of incomplete equations. "It would be such a shame to quit before you've finished the theory, at least. Wouldn't it? Maybe it's something one of your successors could try their hand at. Standing on the shoulders of giants and all that."
"Are you here to give me a pep talk?" Doctor Horrible demanded incredulously.
"Sort of?" the doctor answered absently. He peered at the whiteboard some more and then straightened, turning with a bright, genuine grin. "You really are a genius; I think that was rather underreported."
The blatant appreciation in the Doctor's eyes caused something to flare in Doctor Horrible's famously unfeeling chest. Unless he was greatly mistaken, the Doctor was checking him out.
Quicker than thought, he wrestled the Doctor up against the wall. "Does my brain turn you on?"
The Doctor's eyes darkened and he sucked in an audible breath. Doctor Horrible pressed even closer and kissed him. The Doctor's mouth opened against his own and suddenly he felt breathless and hot and prickly in the most exhilarating way. They were making out, pulling back only to dive at one another again, not quite grinding but pressed up against each other enough to be aware. Their interlaced thighs brushed maddeningly against each other, generating heat both metaphorical and actual, and Doctor Horrible felt as if he were part of one of his own chemical reactions about to boil over.
He settled his hands at the Doctor's hips and took a reluctant step back, with a parting nibble at the Doctor's jaw line. They were both breathing heavily, and he rested his forehead against the Doctor's, feeling like Billy again. Not that Billy ever had it so good, but Doctor Horrible, Evil Genius Mastermind (Certified Level Three) never had a stomach that insisted on doing joyful somersaults. He certainly never felt so young.
He looked at the Doctor, still flushed and appealingly mussed. He wanted him to look like that for a long time. He wanted to make him look like that all day long. He swallowed and managed to find his voice. "So, you like them smart, huh?"
"I do," the Doctor said, relaxing back against the wall.
"Well, believe it or not, all this," he waved at the general lab-ness of their surroundings, "didn't really take off until lately. Um. I guess personal tragedy is good for the creative process. Maybe you've gotta give in to the destructive megalomania before the real inspiration hits."
"Destructive megalomania's not necessarily a turn-off for me." The Doctor shot him the most wickedly brilliant smile yet. "Want to see my time-and-spaceship?"
"Does it have a bedroom?"
"At least twelve."
"Then what are we waiting for?"
"Just -- don't forget your notes. Sonics are a very worthwhile field, I promise you."
-END-
Prompt: My writer kindly gave me carte blanche as far as scenarios. I did manage to work in the "Brilliant smiles" and "First kisses" prompts, though.
Author: lynnmonster
Fandoms: Doctor Who/Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog
Characters: Doctor Who (Ten); Doctor Horrible
Pairings: Ten/Doctor Horrible
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1,669
Spoilers: No particular spoilers, although to be safe, assume the entirety of Dr. Horrible and current Doctor Who (not including the 2009 Christmas special, if it has aired by the time this is posted)
Warnings: Do I need to warn for bad puns?
Disclaimer: Doctors Who and Horrible belong to their respective creators
A/N: Many thanks to shayheyred and thehoyden for saving me from the worst of my excesses! You ladies keep the egg off my face. Story title stolen from the song by Oasis.
Summary: Doctor Who drops in on one of the developers of his favourite gadget.
The Tenth Doctor strode into the laboratory of the infamous Doctor Horrible as if he owned it.
"Tenth doctor?" Doctor Horrible's brow furrowed as he read off the thin, flexible dataribbon in his hands, which reported The Tenth Doctor strode into the laboratory of the infamous Doctor Horrible as if he owned it. He looked up and addressed the intruder, who lacked the traditional white lab coat over his rather natty pinstriped suit but was, apparently, also some sort of doctor. "You and I make two at most, unless you've got eight doctor friends barging in here with you."
He made his observation both mathematically accurately and rather testily -- but not nearly as testily as one might expect given the circumstances, especially from an Evil Genius Mastermind (Certified Level Three). There was no engagement of the ray guns, for example, and the Intruder Eliminator remained undeployed. But then, luckily for his uninvited guest, the distraction wasn't completely unwelcome. He'd hit a bit of a roadblock on his research for the day, and Bad Horse had been throwing his weight around more than usual, with Snake Bite and Fake Thomas Jefferson only egging him on. Besides, the intruder was kind of cute for a potential enemy, and didn't seem to be carrying any weapons.
Looking back down at the dataribbon, he read, The Doctor was so excited to be in the laboratory of the famed Doctor Horrible that he couldn't decide what to look at first.
How interesting. Maybe he was a fan.
The stranger locked his hands behind his back, looking around and taking big, slow, exaggerated strides like a wind-up toy soldier. He admired the crackling Living Lightning sculptures on the wall, looked quickly over at Doctor Horrible, then glanced away again. He cleared his throat. "By the way, that's tenth consecutive, not quantitative. But I just go by 'the' Doctor. Much simpler." The Doctor pronounced simpler "simp-lah" with a pop and an open mouth at the end, which actually turned into an open-mouthed smile. He seemed to derive pleasure from the mere formation of the word, if that smile and his playful sideways glance were any indication.
In fact, he seemed to be having a pretty good time.
"You do know you're trapped in the impenetrable lair of an Evil Genius Mastermind, right?"
"Mmm-hmmm. Certified Level Three, no less, from what I hear. You must be proud."
"How did you manage that, anyway?" He really ought to know if there was a breach in his defenses.
The Doctor ignored him and came up to peer over Doctor Horrible's shoulder.
"What's that, then?"
Bemused, Doctor Horrible held up one of his latest inventions. The words held up one of his latest inventions were just scrolling across the display as he responded.
"That's the Narrative Thread."
"May I?" The Doctor tugged it out of his hands without waiting for a response. "Handy little device, aren't you?" the Doctor cooed at it, as the Narrative Thread informed him that Doctor Horrible was currently trying to remember which way his eyebrows looked more menacing while surreptitiously enjoying the way the Doctor hadn't moved away from his position directly behind him, close enough to radiate body heat.
"This is brilliant!" the Doctor enthused.
"Give me that," he snatched the dataribbon out of the Doctor's hands, but not roughly. He smoothed it absently as he wondered why on earth he was tolerating such chaos, at least when he wasn't the cause of it.
"So, Doctor," he said, and stopped, unsure of how to continue.
"Yes, Doctor?" The Doctor cocked his head.
He quashed a smile. "Given names are so passé, aren't they?" Doctor Horrible observed with a raised eyebrow. The Doctor chuckled on cue. He had a hard time picturing the man as the spearhead of an invasion or attack, and decided somewhat recklessly to just give in to the unaccustomed twinge of curiosity about his visitor. "So what would you like first, some coffee or the ten-cent tour?"
"Really?" The Doctor looked rather gratifyingly pleased at the prospect.
"Sure." He lifted his goggles and pulled off his impenetrable black work gloves. "I don't think Moist has managed to contaminate this stash yet." He busied himself under the Doctor's watchful gaze with his coffee implements of choice: the as-yet-unsoggified grounds, a beaker, a Bunsen burner, a thermometer, and a few chemicals and some distilled water stored in the fridge beneath the lab table.
"Normally it would take a few minutes to brew, but here you go," he said, pressing a steaming mug into the Doctor's hands. "I tweaked the basic cafetière setup a bit so that it's practically instantaneous. Cream?" The doctor nodded, so he passed over Moist's cow-shaped milk pitcher and fixed his own cup. Black and bitter, like my heart, he thought with a ghost of a smile, his routine mantra whenever he poured coffee for himself.
The Doctor snorted into his mug. "Why not 'strong and rich' or even 'invigorating and delicious'?" he asked merrily. Doctor Horrible stomped over and snatched the dataribbon out of the Doctor's grasp yet again.
"I thought I told you to give that back. Did you come here to steal from me?"
"No, no, no! I don't steal." He shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit coat and rocked back and forth on his feet. "We-ellllllll, to be honest, let's just say I don't steal unless it's really important."
Doctor Horrible harrumphed and locked the Narrative Thread in a drawer. He crossed his arms and glared. "Do you want that tour or not?"
"That would be lovely," the Doctor said quietly.
Doctor Horrible cleared his throat. "Right. Well, obviously, right here is just some basic laboratory equipment, general purpose stuff, you know," he said, gesturing at the sinks and glassware and scales. "Chemicals over there," he pointed out the bottles of substances ranked along the shelves against the wall. He placed his palm against the Doctor's shoulder to guide him over to the next area.
"Oh, um," he said, realizing what he'd just done. He almost pulled his hand away, but hesitated. It was kind of nice, touching the Doctor. More than nice. He decided to leave his hand where it was, even if he'd already thought about it too much for it to feel natural. "The electronics and circuitry area is over here." He positioned his eye in front of the retinal scanner and the doors to the glassed-in, dust-free environment slid apart. "Normally we'd have to wear protective gear, of course, but there was a mishap this morning and I haven't gotten it cleaned up yet."
"I see," said the Doctor, poking at the scorch marks and melted plastic on the worktable.
Doctor Horrible frowned. "I've been working on sonics lately, but I think I might have to give it up as a dead end."
"Oh, really?"
He hadn't known the Doctor more than a few minutes, but if that was his best attempt at "guileless," Doctor Horrible really didn't want to know. He sat down on the nearest stool with a sigh and started unbuttoning his blood-red lab coat. "Why do I get the feeling you knew that already?"
The Doctor was staring at the whiteboard covered in snatches of incomplete equations. "It would be such a shame to quit before you've finished the theory, at least. Wouldn't it? Maybe it's something one of your successors could try their hand at. Standing on the shoulders of giants and all that."
"Are you here to give me a pep talk?" Doctor Horrible demanded incredulously.
"Sort of?" the doctor answered absently. He peered at the whiteboard some more and then straightened, turning with a bright, genuine grin. "You really are a genius; I think that was rather underreported."
The blatant appreciation in the Doctor's eyes caused something to flare in Doctor Horrible's famously unfeeling chest. Unless he was greatly mistaken, the Doctor was checking him out.
Quicker than thought, he wrestled the Doctor up against the wall. "Does my brain turn you on?"
The Doctor's eyes darkened and he sucked in an audible breath. Doctor Horrible pressed even closer and kissed him. The Doctor's mouth opened against his own and suddenly he felt breathless and hot and prickly in the most exhilarating way. They were making out, pulling back only to dive at one another again, not quite grinding but pressed up against each other enough to be aware. Their interlaced thighs brushed maddeningly against each other, generating heat both metaphorical and actual, and Doctor Horrible felt as if he were part of one of his own chemical reactions about to boil over.
He settled his hands at the Doctor's hips and took a reluctant step back, with a parting nibble at the Doctor's jaw line. They were both breathing heavily, and he rested his forehead against the Doctor's, feeling like Billy again. Not that Billy ever had it so good, but Doctor Horrible, Evil Genius Mastermind (Certified Level Three) never had a stomach that insisted on doing joyful somersaults. He certainly never felt so young.
He looked at the Doctor, still flushed and appealingly mussed. He wanted him to look like that for a long time. He wanted to make him look like that all day long. He swallowed and managed to find his voice. "So, you like them smart, huh?"
"I do," the Doctor said, relaxing back against the wall.
"Well, believe it or not, all this," he waved at the general lab-ness of their surroundings, "didn't really take off until lately. Um. I guess personal tragedy is good for the creative process. Maybe you've gotta give in to the destructive megalomania before the real inspiration hits."
"Destructive megalomania's not necessarily a turn-off for me." The Doctor shot him the most wickedly brilliant smile yet. "Want to see my time-and-spaceship?"
"Does it have a bedroom?"
"At least twelve."
"Then what are we waiting for?"
"Just -- don't forget your notes. Sonics are a very worthwhile field, I promise you."
-END-
Prompt: My writer kindly gave me carte blanche as far as scenarios. I did manage to work in the "Brilliant smiles" and "First kisses" prompts, though.