neveralarch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
neveralarch) wrote2011-07-14 01:03 am
neveralarch) wrote2011-07-14 01:03 am
Entry tags:
Fic: Cosmic Galacticians
I'm going to be honest, this fic is kind of dumb. This is what happens to you when you sneak in writing when you should be studying for exams. But I am done with one exam and one presentation, so this is a post to celebrate! Woo!
Anyway! I was reading this post by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
innocentsmith . Most of the post is about different themes and fanon in different fandoms, which is really interesting. But the bit I fixated on was the comparison of safe sex in the Dresden Files fic (there is a lot) to safe sex in Doctor Who (basically none). Especially Doctor/Master - though innocentsmith points out that 21st century safe sex procedures would basically make no sense in that context.
"Well," I said to myself. "That sounds like a challenge."
(Also I have lots of Thoughts about safe sex in fics, but I've decided to spare you from them. Unless you really want the very serious meta, because I am totally willing to give it to you.)
Cosmic Galacticians
Doctor Who
Rating: teen
(mentions of body-parts, kissing, mind sex)
Characters: Six/Ainley!Master
Wordcount: 2,200ish
Summary: "We had sexual education at the Academy," said the Doctor, testily. "I know you were there, as you and Drax kept throwing pieces of paper at my head."
A/N: inspired by a post byinnocentsmith . Thanks!
The Doctor's back hit the wall of his TARDIS, and he sputtered tolerantly at the velvet-suited man who had pushed him there. The Master pressed close, biting along the Doctor's chin. His left hand wandered down toward the flies of the Doctor's yellow striped trousers, and his right hand glided toward the contact points at the Doctor's temple.
It was the right hand that the Doctor reached up and stopped.
"Doctor," said the Master. It would be a whine, if a centuries-old villain could whine.
"Master," said the Doctor, calmly. "No."
The Master hooked his fingers in the Doctor's waistband and pushed further, plastering himself against the Doctor. His breath tickled the Doctor's ear.
"I'll make it good," he said, and yes, that was definitely a whine, "My dear, my Doctor-"
"Not without proper precautions," said the Doctor. You had to put your foot down somewhere. "We're not even wearing hats!"
"Hats," repeated the Master. He looked at the Doctor like he had just said something ridiculous.
"We had sexual education at the Academy," said the Doctor, testily. "I know you were there, as you and Drax kept throwing pieces of paper at my head."
"Yes, yes." The Master waved a hand, perilously close to the Doctor's face. "But surely half of what they told us was the superstitious ramblings of a hidebound culture. Half of everything they told us was."
"True, but the other half usually turned out to be important." The Doctor tried to think of examples that wouldn't touch any nerves, but couldn't. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. He tried to think of examples that would touch nerves instead, and had much more success. "You know, don't interfere with important points in history, don't try and steal any objects of Rassilon, don't set off waves of entropy that engulf large bits of the universe. All very practical and important. Like hats."
The Master's eyes narrowed. "If there's a point you're trying to make," he began, but the Doctor cut him off.
"The only point is that you should wear protection before you engage in sustained mental activity with someone. Otherwise there's cross-contamination or foreign objects get lodged in your hindbrain, and it's all very unpleasant."
"Don't be a fool, Doctor." The Master pushed away from the wall, the better to look indulgently pitying. "I've hypnotized countless people, and I've never caught anything from them."
"Yes, because that was only low-level contact," retorted the Doctor. "Unless you want the psychic equivalent of frottage, you'll have to wear a hat, pure and simple. I have several you might borrow."
"I don't want any of your hazy cosmic jive," said the Master.
"Don't try to distract me with frivolous slang, Master." The Doctor glared. "Let me be even clearer. We can physically copulate without the hats, but there will be no mental sex if you won't use protection."
The Doctor thought he had won for a moment. But then the Master took a step forward, a tentative and completely fake smile on his lips.
"I can trust you to be clean, I'm sure," said the Master. His voice was seductive, rather appropriately. "Why don't we just forgo the head-coverings?"
"Even if you can trust me," said the Doctor, "do you really expect me to believe that you've been completely celibate? Or that you've been getting your regular check-ups? Goodness no. Hats, Master."
The Master scowled. "I don't see many of your companions wearing hats."
"When I have sex with them, they do."
"When you have sex with them?" The Master actually sounded shocked. "Doctor, you're a good six centuries older than any of them."
"They're all adults," said the Doctor, testily. "Anyway. That just provides another reason for using protection."
The Master said nothing, just frowned at him. The Doctor didn't think it was about the-possibly-very-rarely-almost-never having sex with his companions issue. There was something more at work here. Hopefully, anyway, since he couldn't exactly erase previous sexual encounters. Not without severely damaging the web of time, anyway.
"Master," the Doctor said slowly, "what did you mean when you said you'd never caught anything from the people you'd hypnotized, specifically? Did you catch something from someone else?"
The Master's face didn't change at all.
"Because we can get around that," said the Doctor. "If you tell me."
The Master's eyebrows twitched, briefly.
"I'm utterly serious," insisted the Doctor. "What is it? Phrases? Poetry? A song? Some of those pop songs, they get really wedged in-"
"All right, yes," said the Master, at last. Somehow, without changing expression, he now looked ready to kick the Doctor in the shins and run away, or something even more unpleasant. "It's Bowie."
"Oh, you poor man," said the Doctor. "Not-"
"Yes," the Master stalked away, around the console. "Starman. And there's nothing to be done, I've tried everything. It's stuck with me through regenerations."
"How long?" asked the Doctor.
"Since your exile." The Master's mouth twisted, and then his back turned as he walked further around the console. "You weren't interested at the time, but your brother was briefly in the area, and, well. One thing led to another. Bowie was on the radio during a rather crucial point."
"I can't believe this," said the Doctor. "None of it. You had... relations with Brax? And he didn't use protection? He's so conscientious during his normal life, I'd think he'd be better than that."
"He was on the pill," said the Master. "And we wore hats, but they obviously didn't work. There's no point insisting on them."
"Master, nothing has a hundred percent success rate," said the Doctor. The Master had paced his way back to the Doctor, so he had a shot at patting the Master's arm. The Master only bared his teeth, which was probably a good sign. "I'm sorry you got unlucky," continued the Doctor, "but hats still work all but one time out of ten thousand. Even if they only worked half as often, the extra measure of safety would still be worth it."
"I might have been using the hat improperly," admitted the Master. "I was young, and," he paused, "inexperienced." He looked rather pointedly at the Doctor, who felt no compunction at all for having left young Koschei a virgin. He'd been insufferable at the academy. They'd both been insufferable at the academy. It would have been a disaster.
"So you've been living with Starman ever since," concluded the Doctor. "I can hardly blame you for all that happened after-"
"Don't get ahead of yourself," snapped the Master. "I'm not being controlled by this disease. Everything I've done has been my choice, not influenced by Bowie or anyone else."
"Yes, of course," said the Doctor. He ached to touch the Master properly, comfort him, even despite the slightly disgusting knowledge that his brother had done the same, all those years ago. Well, probably not comforted. More like taken advantage of and probably smirked about it later. The Doctor would have to have words with Irving Braxiatel, when next he saw him.
"Come with me," he said out loud. "I'll show you how to use hats properly."
The Master still looked dubious, but he let the Doctor lead him to the wardrobe, then to the hatstand.
"Brazen of you," murmured the Master. "Leaving them out where anyone can see them."
"Hats are hardly inherently sexual," said the Doctor. "In some regenerations I've worn hats practically all of the time."
"Oh, I know," said the Master. He was managing an excellent leer for someone who had been decrying the effectiveness of hats not spans ago. The Doctor supposed it was his method of coping, and forbore to comment.
"Do you want to have sex or do you want to make fun of me?" he said instead. "I ask in all serious, since I know it can be a difficult decision for you."
"Let me see," said the Master, making a show of it. "I have to consider all of the benefits and drawbacks."
The Doctor groaned and picked up a hat from the rack, the old brown one he had worn two bodies ago. He rolled it around in his hands to distract him from how irritating the Master really was.
When he looked up again, the Master was swallowing hard. One hand was tugging absently at his collar. Apparently the Doctor wasn't the only one being distracted.
"Yes?" asked the Doctor.
"Yes," said the Master. His hands reached out for a hat, but he hesitated, as if he were unsure of what to do. The Doctor didn't need any other prompting to take the initiative.
First he pushed the squashy brown hat down on his own curls. It didn't fit quite as well as it had two bodies ago, but to be honest it hadn't fit particularly well then, either. It wouldn't fall off and it covered his pate, and that was what was important. He gave the Master the old black cap he had worn in his first body, reaching over to tuck it above the Master's ears. It matched the Master's jacket rather well.
"There," said the Doctor. "Now we can pick up where we left off."
The Master took him literally, surging forward to push the Doctor against the wall. His hands reached for the Doctor's flies and temple, inspiring a carefully calculated sense of deja vu. This time, the Doctor didn't stop him.
The Master's fingers brushed the Doctor's hat, and they both moaned as their minds connected. Not the raw, naked connection of two un-hatted minds, but a more dulled, teasing push and pull.
"You have to work a little harder if you want me to feel everything," said the Doctor. His voice hissed a little and the cadence wasn't quite right, but he thought he sounded calm. "Unless you'd like me to do the honors?"
"Just give me a moment," snapped the Master. "I'm still getting used to this."
The Doctor was going to say something along the lines of 'take all the time you need,' but then the Master pushed a little harder at just the right place, and the Doctor was very very glad that the wall was holding him up and very very bad at putting words together.
"Ghhk," he tried.
"Pleasure centers?" asked the Master. "Excellent. Try to be more vocal, if you can."
"Master," managed the Doctor, and the Master grinned like a tiger with a surprisingly good dentist. His mind was humming with triumph, and the hum vibrated along the Doctor's nerves, setting the receptors to jangling and the neurons to firing double-time.
"Yes, perfect, exemplary, oh." The Doctor stopped talking, but his mouth stayed open. The Master kissed him, first wet and exploratory, then pulling back to catch and worry at his lower lip. The Doctor whined as he felt the Master draw blood, but then that was subsumed in the feeling of the Master sliding further in to his mind, half-joining them. By now the sensation was only barely dulled by the felt of his hat, and the feeling of safety, of security, made it even more erotic. Safety and security from infections of the mind, that was. The Doctor was trying not to think about how dangerous letting the Master into his mind at all would turn out to be.
"That’s right," said the Master, and the Doctor wasn’t sure if he was referring to the Doctor’s thoughts or to the way the Doctor could feel his own back arching away from the wall. The Master’s grin was more feline all the time, complete with specks of blood on his canines. The impact was only slightly mitigated by the jaunty angle of his borrowed hat. "Oh, my dear," hummed the Master, "I'm going to blow your mind."
The Doctor's laugh was cut off by the bright burst of pleasure as the Master clutched at his brain and set it alight.
Afterwards they slumped in the wardrobe together, in a pile of discarded jackets and unwise belts. The Master's silly, terrifying grin hadn't quite gone away, though he was trying to hide it. The Doctor was sure that he had a similar expression on his own face. He took off his hat and felt the sweat-damp curls underneath it. The Master was still wearing his hat, and didn't seem exactly fussed about it.
Positive reinforcement, the Doctor supposed.
"Thank you," he said, patting the Master's knee.
"My pleasure," said the Master, sincerely. "It was all worthwhile." He stroked a white fur coat and hummed to himself, a pattern of high notes that had been on the radio perpetually during the Doctor's UNIT days.
It was entirely as grating now as it had been then, irritating his sore and stretched nerves. The Doctor suspected that the Bowie was being made worse by the situation - mind infections were often exacerbated to similar circumstances as those during their inception.
Oh, Rassilon, these couldn't be similar circumstances to when Braxiatel had- had had his way with- It couldn't be the same, could it? Surely they hadn't cuddled.
The Doctor shuddered, and the Master hummed louder.
"First thing in the morning, we're going to a psychiatric STD specialist," muttered the Doctor. "And while we're there, maybe I can have something done about these recurring thoughts."
---
In case you don't know the song: link
Anyway! I was reading this post by
innocentsmith . Most of the post is about different themes and fanon in different fandoms, which is really interesting. But the bit I fixated on was the comparison of safe sex in the Dresden Files fic (there is a lot) to safe sex in Doctor Who (basically none). Especially Doctor/Master - though innocentsmith points out that 21st century safe sex procedures would basically make no sense in that context."Well," I said to myself. "That sounds like a challenge."
(Also I have lots of Thoughts about safe sex in fics, but I've decided to spare you from them. Unless you really want the very serious meta, because I am totally willing to give it to you.)
Cosmic Galacticians
Doctor Who
Rating: teen
(mentions of body-parts, kissing, mind sex)
Characters: Six/Ainley!Master
Wordcount: 2,200ish
Summary: "We had sexual education at the Academy," said the Doctor, testily. "I know you were there, as you and Drax kept throwing pieces of paper at my head."
A/N: inspired by a post by
innocentsmith . Thanks!The Doctor's back hit the wall of his TARDIS, and he sputtered tolerantly at the velvet-suited man who had pushed him there. The Master pressed close, biting along the Doctor's chin. His left hand wandered down toward the flies of the Doctor's yellow striped trousers, and his right hand glided toward the contact points at the Doctor's temple.
It was the right hand that the Doctor reached up and stopped.
"Doctor," said the Master. It would be a whine, if a centuries-old villain could whine.
"Master," said the Doctor, calmly. "No."
The Master hooked his fingers in the Doctor's waistband and pushed further, plastering himself against the Doctor. His breath tickled the Doctor's ear.
"I'll make it good," he said, and yes, that was definitely a whine, "My dear, my Doctor-"
"Not without proper precautions," said the Doctor. You had to put your foot down somewhere. "We're not even wearing hats!"
"Hats," repeated the Master. He looked at the Doctor like he had just said something ridiculous.
"We had sexual education at the Academy," said the Doctor, testily. "I know you were there, as you and Drax kept throwing pieces of paper at my head."
"Yes, yes." The Master waved a hand, perilously close to the Doctor's face. "But surely half of what they told us was the superstitious ramblings of a hidebound culture. Half of everything they told us was."
"True, but the other half usually turned out to be important." The Doctor tried to think of examples that wouldn't touch any nerves, but couldn't. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. He tried to think of examples that would touch nerves instead, and had much more success. "You know, don't interfere with important points in history, don't try and steal any objects of Rassilon, don't set off waves of entropy that engulf large bits of the universe. All very practical and important. Like hats."
The Master's eyes narrowed. "If there's a point you're trying to make," he began, but the Doctor cut him off.
"The only point is that you should wear protection before you engage in sustained mental activity with someone. Otherwise there's cross-contamination or foreign objects get lodged in your hindbrain, and it's all very unpleasant."
"Don't be a fool, Doctor." The Master pushed away from the wall, the better to look indulgently pitying. "I've hypnotized countless people, and I've never caught anything from them."
"Yes, because that was only low-level contact," retorted the Doctor. "Unless you want the psychic equivalent of frottage, you'll have to wear a hat, pure and simple. I have several you might borrow."
"I don't want any of your hazy cosmic jive," said the Master.
"Don't try to distract me with frivolous slang, Master." The Doctor glared. "Let me be even clearer. We can physically copulate without the hats, but there will be no mental sex if you won't use protection."
The Doctor thought he had won for a moment. But then the Master took a step forward, a tentative and completely fake smile on his lips.
"I can trust you to be clean, I'm sure," said the Master. His voice was seductive, rather appropriately. "Why don't we just forgo the head-coverings?"
"Even if you can trust me," said the Doctor, "do you really expect me to believe that you've been completely celibate? Or that you've been getting your regular check-ups? Goodness no. Hats, Master."
The Master scowled. "I don't see many of your companions wearing hats."
"When I have sex with them, they do."
"When you have sex with them?" The Master actually sounded shocked. "Doctor, you're a good six centuries older than any of them."
"They're all adults," said the Doctor, testily. "Anyway. That just provides another reason for using protection."
The Master said nothing, just frowned at him. The Doctor didn't think it was about the-possibly-very-rarely-almost-never having sex with his companions issue. There was something more at work here. Hopefully, anyway, since he couldn't exactly erase previous sexual encounters. Not without severely damaging the web of time, anyway.
"Master," the Doctor said slowly, "what did you mean when you said you'd never caught anything from the people you'd hypnotized, specifically? Did you catch something from someone else?"
The Master's face didn't change at all.
"Because we can get around that," said the Doctor. "If you tell me."
The Master's eyebrows twitched, briefly.
"I'm utterly serious," insisted the Doctor. "What is it? Phrases? Poetry? A song? Some of those pop songs, they get really wedged in-"
"All right, yes," said the Master, at last. Somehow, without changing expression, he now looked ready to kick the Doctor in the shins and run away, or something even more unpleasant. "It's Bowie."
"Oh, you poor man," said the Doctor. "Not-"
"Yes," the Master stalked away, around the console. "Starman. And there's nothing to be done, I've tried everything. It's stuck with me through regenerations."
"How long?" asked the Doctor.
"Since your exile." The Master's mouth twisted, and then his back turned as he walked further around the console. "You weren't interested at the time, but your brother was briefly in the area, and, well. One thing led to another. Bowie was on the radio during a rather crucial point."
"I can't believe this," said the Doctor. "None of it. You had... relations with Brax? And he didn't use protection? He's so conscientious during his normal life, I'd think he'd be better than that."
"He was on the pill," said the Master. "And we wore hats, but they obviously didn't work. There's no point insisting on them."
"Master, nothing has a hundred percent success rate," said the Doctor. The Master had paced his way back to the Doctor, so he had a shot at patting the Master's arm. The Master only bared his teeth, which was probably a good sign. "I'm sorry you got unlucky," continued the Doctor, "but hats still work all but one time out of ten thousand. Even if they only worked half as often, the extra measure of safety would still be worth it."
"I might have been using the hat improperly," admitted the Master. "I was young, and," he paused, "inexperienced." He looked rather pointedly at the Doctor, who felt no compunction at all for having left young Koschei a virgin. He'd been insufferable at the academy. They'd both been insufferable at the academy. It would have been a disaster.
"So you've been living with Starman ever since," concluded the Doctor. "I can hardly blame you for all that happened after-"
"Don't get ahead of yourself," snapped the Master. "I'm not being controlled by this disease. Everything I've done has been my choice, not influenced by Bowie or anyone else."
"Yes, of course," said the Doctor. He ached to touch the Master properly, comfort him, even despite the slightly disgusting knowledge that his brother had done the same, all those years ago. Well, probably not comforted. More like taken advantage of and probably smirked about it later. The Doctor would have to have words with Irving Braxiatel, when next he saw him.
"Come with me," he said out loud. "I'll show you how to use hats properly."
The Master still looked dubious, but he let the Doctor lead him to the wardrobe, then to the hatstand.
"Brazen of you," murmured the Master. "Leaving them out where anyone can see them."
"Hats are hardly inherently sexual," said the Doctor. "In some regenerations I've worn hats practically all of the time."
"Oh, I know," said the Master. He was managing an excellent leer for someone who had been decrying the effectiveness of hats not spans ago. The Doctor supposed it was his method of coping, and forbore to comment.
"Do you want to have sex or do you want to make fun of me?" he said instead. "I ask in all serious, since I know it can be a difficult decision for you."
"Let me see," said the Master, making a show of it. "I have to consider all of the benefits and drawbacks."
The Doctor groaned and picked up a hat from the rack, the old brown one he had worn two bodies ago. He rolled it around in his hands to distract him from how irritating the Master really was.
When he looked up again, the Master was swallowing hard. One hand was tugging absently at his collar. Apparently the Doctor wasn't the only one being distracted.
"Yes?" asked the Doctor.
"Yes," said the Master. His hands reached out for a hat, but he hesitated, as if he were unsure of what to do. The Doctor didn't need any other prompting to take the initiative.
First he pushed the squashy brown hat down on his own curls. It didn't fit quite as well as it had two bodies ago, but to be honest it hadn't fit particularly well then, either. It wouldn't fall off and it covered his pate, and that was what was important. He gave the Master the old black cap he had worn in his first body, reaching over to tuck it above the Master's ears. It matched the Master's jacket rather well.
"There," said the Doctor. "Now we can pick up where we left off."
The Master took him literally, surging forward to push the Doctor against the wall. His hands reached for the Doctor's flies and temple, inspiring a carefully calculated sense of deja vu. This time, the Doctor didn't stop him.
The Master's fingers brushed the Doctor's hat, and they both moaned as their minds connected. Not the raw, naked connection of two un-hatted minds, but a more dulled, teasing push and pull.
"You have to work a little harder if you want me to feel everything," said the Doctor. His voice hissed a little and the cadence wasn't quite right, but he thought he sounded calm. "Unless you'd like me to do the honors?"
"Just give me a moment," snapped the Master. "I'm still getting used to this."
The Doctor was going to say something along the lines of 'take all the time you need,' but then the Master pushed a little harder at just the right place, and the Doctor was very very glad that the wall was holding him up and very very bad at putting words together.
"Ghhk," he tried.
"Pleasure centers?" asked the Master. "Excellent. Try to be more vocal, if you can."
"Master," managed the Doctor, and the Master grinned like a tiger with a surprisingly good dentist. His mind was humming with triumph, and the hum vibrated along the Doctor's nerves, setting the receptors to jangling and the neurons to firing double-time.
"Yes, perfect, exemplary, oh." The Doctor stopped talking, but his mouth stayed open. The Master kissed him, first wet and exploratory, then pulling back to catch and worry at his lower lip. The Doctor whined as he felt the Master draw blood, but then that was subsumed in the feeling of the Master sliding further in to his mind, half-joining them. By now the sensation was only barely dulled by the felt of his hat, and the feeling of safety, of security, made it even more erotic. Safety and security from infections of the mind, that was. The Doctor was trying not to think about how dangerous letting the Master into his mind at all would turn out to be.
"That’s right," said the Master, and the Doctor wasn’t sure if he was referring to the Doctor’s thoughts or to the way the Doctor could feel his own back arching away from the wall. The Master’s grin was more feline all the time, complete with specks of blood on his canines. The impact was only slightly mitigated by the jaunty angle of his borrowed hat. "Oh, my dear," hummed the Master, "I'm going to blow your mind."
The Doctor's laugh was cut off by the bright burst of pleasure as the Master clutched at his brain and set it alight.
Afterwards they slumped in the wardrobe together, in a pile of discarded jackets and unwise belts. The Master's silly, terrifying grin hadn't quite gone away, though he was trying to hide it. The Doctor was sure that he had a similar expression on his own face. He took off his hat and felt the sweat-damp curls underneath it. The Master was still wearing his hat, and didn't seem exactly fussed about it.
Positive reinforcement, the Doctor supposed.
"Thank you," he said, patting the Master's knee.
"My pleasure," said the Master, sincerely. "It was all worthwhile." He stroked a white fur coat and hummed to himself, a pattern of high notes that had been on the radio perpetually during the Doctor's UNIT days.
It was entirely as grating now as it had been then, irritating his sore and stretched nerves. The Doctor suspected that the Bowie was being made worse by the situation - mind infections were often exacerbated to similar circumstances as those during their inception.
Oh, Rassilon, these couldn't be similar circumstances to when Braxiatel had- had had his way with- It couldn't be the same, could it? Surely they hadn't cuddled.
The Doctor shuddered, and the Master hummed louder.
"First thing in the morning, we're going to a psychiatric STD specialist," muttered the Doctor. "And while we're there, maybe I can have something done about these recurring thoughts."
---
In case you don't know the song: link
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This is brilliantly ridiculous. I kept getting sucked into the overall narrative, and even entertaining thoughts like, well, hats are symbolic representations of identity, so it makes sense that they'd be useful in retaining one's psychic integrity... and then I'd hit another especially silly line and I'd just be laughing like a hyena again.
"Don't get ahead of yourself," snapped the Master. "I'm not being controlled by this disease. Everything I've done has been my choice, not influenced by Bowie or anyone else." <---- my favorite line, possibly of all time.
I am proud to have inspired this fic, even accidentally!
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Do you mind if I friend you? Not to farm inspiration or anything, you just seem like a cool person.
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As for friending me, I'd be delighted. I have long admired your fic, and you seem like a pretty cool person yourself. ^_^
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Aw, thanks!
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I think the existence of this fic may go into my writing toolbox with the skateboarding ninja pandas and bonsai-raising sentient jellyfish.
(
MortFic devolving into AAAAAANGST again? Break out the pandas! Other People's Normalcy(tm) taking over the story? Substitute a jellyfish! Feeling that the premise is too cracky and unsustainable? There exists a Six/Master fic in which hats are telepathic condoms. And it works.)no subject
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"I don't want any of your hazy cosmic jive," said the Master.
"Don't try to distract me with frivolous slang, Master."
Laughed out loud at that.
I do wonder, though, that the Doctor doesn't have any rib-knit watch caps around. For his pleasure.
Very, very fun story.
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I guess since it's my fanon, I'm going to say yes. Bowlers and top hats give you the classiest sex. Fedoras make you want a smoke after. Wizard hats make the whole experience magical.
Anyway, thanks!
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This was seriously rofl-worthy, and I thank you.
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"Oh, my dear," hummed the Master, "I'm going to blow your mind."
YESSSSSSSSSSSS THE PUNS ARE MY FAVOURITE!!!!!
He...hummed to himself, a pattern of high notes that had been on the radio perpetually during the Doctor's UNIT days.
Heavens, do you mean that random white static noise the Master was listening to for some reason in Mind of Evil? I'm not sure how you hum that, but I wouldn't put it past the Master to figure out how to hum static noise. XD
I'm now regarding my treasured neon-green bucket hat with suspicion because of this. And the red one. And the white one. XD (Avid hat wearer is very amused.)
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The humming is still Starman - it was a hit during the early seventies. But the Master could definitely hum annoying static. Also, I apologize for sullying hats! I wear them too, and there are milliners in my family and, actually, this is going to be a bit awkward when I'm back home, surrounded by hats. Hm.
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also there should be more six/ainley. hurrah.
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... If the drums are an STD, does that mean the Master had unprotected psychic sex with Rassilon?
Lots of unprotected psychic sex?
O_o
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the only way to fix things is to have sex with the doctor, apparently - see this fic, and also this fic (http://bagheera-san.livejournal.com/159330.html) (now we know why brax is so keen to get the meeting over with).
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I get songs stuck in my head a lot - I had 'You Can Call Me Al' stuck in my head for a solid month a few years ago, which was no fun. The Master probably blames Brax a lot, though to be fair I'm sure Brax has since realized that whole episode was a really bad idea.
Re: the comment conversation, the drums can totally be an STD, even if I don't want to think about how the Master got them.
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You win something. I'm not sure what.
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