|Ten Little Chances to be Free (tenlittlebullets) wrote,|
@ 2012-02-14 01:44 pm UTC
|Entry tags:||doctor who, fanfiction|
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairings: Doctor/River, Doctor/Master
Word count: ~770
Summary: Response to evilawyer's prompt in the doctor_and_master Valentine's fest: "The Master and River Song compare notes about the Doctor."
"So what now?"
With her free hand, River reached for a cigar and lit it on the still-flaming wreckage of the Orient Express. "We wait. And admire the view."
"For what? For it to get too dark to even try to free ourselves? Don't get me wrong, I appreciate a nice dramatic ash-filled sunset as much as the next guy, but as plans go, that one's crap."
"What would your idea of a good plan be? Summoning a chronovore, I imagine," said River without rancor, placidly blowing a smoke ring before passing the Master her cigar. "No, at this point we could try to pick the lock on those manacles without setting off the land mine, or we could wait for all those deliciously abnormal energy readings to attract... the attention they usually attract."
It took a few seconds, then the Master choked on a lungful of cigar smoke as the realization dawned. "No."
"Have you got a better plan?"
"I'll take my chances with the land mine, thanks."
"Oh go on, live a little. He'll come trotting in like a cat that smells tuna, sonic us loose, be intolerably smug for a while, and seize the first opportunity to let his guard down without looking like he really wants you to escape and keep making his life interesting."
"If the combined smugness of the two of you doesn't kill me f--wait. Back up a minute there. He does not let me escape. I'm just fine at dodging his self-righteous retaliation attempts on my own merits."
"Mm-hm." River retrieved her cigar and spent a few minutes puffing away, admiring the landscape of felled trees radiating out in neat concentric circles from the blast site, while the Master indulged in a spot of what was most definitely not sulking.
"Has he still got the spiky hair and the smug rat face, then?" he said finally. "I could just slap that face of his. Been a while since I've done that. If I didn't know better I'd say I miss it."
"Ooh, no, I haven't met that one yet. Should I be looking forward to it?"
Now it was the Master's turn to smirk knowingly and grab the cigar. "Try to imagine a walking, talking, breathing 'please please please abuse me' sign. I assume you're into that sort of thing, Professor Song? Not that I wouldn't find it oh-so-touching if he only got off on bondage when I was the one strapping him down and threatening to kill him, but I can't really bring myself to believe the conjugal bed is boring with you involved."
"He really does have a type, doesn't he? Bless." The sun inched lower in the western sky, its reflection suddenly catching in the Tunguska River and lighting the whole thing up like a ribbon of lava. "He just can't resist presenting his backside to people he has no business turning his back on."
"He never changes, the stupid bastard, no matter how many bodies he goes through." The Master paused contemplatively. "Though I'm going to miss that pretty pout the last version got whenever he was feigning long-suffering resignation to something he desperately wanted you to do."
"Oh, he still does that! Usually when we're playing with guns."
"Guns? Now there's a new kink." A grin spread slowly across the Master's face. "Tell me more."
Half an hour later, when the TARDIS wheezed its way into material existence in the clearing, they were still at it.
"Not that I've seen so far."
"You just wait until you meet his last self, he was a glutton for it."
"Noted. Erotic asphyxiation?"
"Oh yes. Leather?"
"Not really. He loves playing dress-up, though--try to catch him in the 18th century sometime. Just be prepared for a horrifying variety of hats."
"Hmmm. Handcuffs, then?"
"Oh yes. I keep a few pairs on me whenever I can. I'm not sure which part he enjoys more--being completely at my mercy for a while, or sneakily picking the lock and feeling clever when he turns the tables. I ought to invest in a pair with better locks, I think he's getting quicker at it. It's just so hard to tell when he'd rather wait until he can do it under cover of begging for more instead of being sensible and freeing himself as soon as he can."
"Now that is him all over."
"It's funny, though, with the handcuffs. Sometimes I break them out and he looks like he's trying not to cry. As though he's thinking of someone who died under dubious handcuff-related circumstances, or something of the sort."
"Oh, Professor Song. The stories I could tell."