neveralarch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
neveralarch) wrote2012-05-30 02:11 pm
neveralarch) wrote2012-05-30 02:11 pm
Entry tags:
Fic repost: Midnight Oil
Doing some reposting! It's been a little while. Sorry about the kind of boring summary (summaries are hard).
Midnight Oil
Doctor Who
Rating: teen
(drug use, kissing, mentions of sex.)
Characters: Eight/Roberts!Master
Wordcount: 960ish
Summary: The Doctor smokes opium while the Master tries to sleep.
A/N: originally posted here for a prompt on the best_enemies anonmeme. Part XXI of the unanoning mission!
Something clicked in the dark of the bedroom. The Master rolled over onto his side, further than he should have been able to, into the empty spot left by the Doctor.
A light flared, and the Master opened his eyes.
The Doctor was sitting on the floor, bent over a little tray. The light was coming from a miniature oil lamp sitting on the tray along with various other pieces of obscure paraphernalia. As the Master watched, the Doctor placed a tiny ball into the bowl of a pipe, then laid down on the floor, cushioning his head on his arm.
"Hi," said the Master.
"Hello," said the Doctor. He held the pipe over the lamp.
"Couldn't sleep?" asked the Master.
"Not for lack of trying," said the Doctor. He bared his teeth, a grimace slowly softening into a smile.
"The floor doesn't look that comfortable," said the Master. "You want to come back up here?"
"I'd prefer that our bedspread remained ash-free," said the Doctor. He put the pipe in his mouth, breathed in. Smoke curled up from the floor as he exhaled, and a floral scent drifted over to the Master, somehow fresh and clean despite the greasy feel of the smoke.
"What is that?"
"Opium," said the Doctor. He was naked. Strange how the Master only noticed that now, as the Doctor curled his toes into the rug and the light gleamed on his fingers.
"That's an Earth drug," said the Master. There was a pause as the Doctor stared at his pipe and the Master realized just how obvious that statement had been. Well, he was tired. This brain didn’t work so great at four in the morning, go figure.
"Yes," said the Doctor, at last. "Although I believe the Venusians have created their own chain of interstellar opium dens."
The Master snorted. "Profiting off of the weak-willed masses? That does sound like the Venusians."
"Is it weak-willed to want relief from pain?" asked the Doctor. "I can understand the need to escape. Self-evidently." He gestured at the pipe, at himself.
"I don't see the point," said the Master.
"No, you wouldn't, would you," said the Doctor. He took another pull from the pipe, so that his next words came out in a haze of grey smoke. "You, my friend, are high on life. A dangerous and addictive habit, especially the way you pursue it. I think I need to take you to some sort of support group - 'Hello, I'm the Master, and I'm still alive. I'm on my second stolen body, and I just keep thinking about where I'll get the next one-'"
"I thought opium was supposed to make you lethargic," interrupted the Master.
"One of its many medical and recreational uses," said the Doctor, bright-eyed and disgustingly awake. "Opium is a sedative, a pain medication, and a treatment for diarrhea."
"Great," said the Master. "You go on, repair those bowels."
"It works on the intestines," said the Doctor, and puffed some more.
The Master could feel his eyes closing, dragged down by this body's perpetual demand for sleep. He drifted for a while, listening to the Doctor's breathing and the scrape of the Doctor's fingers as he placed another ball of opium in the pipe.
"There are other uses, of course," said the Doctor, minutes or seconds or hours later. "For pleasure."
The Master opened one eye, and the Doctor took a deep pull on his pipe. The Master rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling, but the Doctor climbed up onto the bed, interposing himself. His knees bracketed the Master's hips, and the Doctor's hands drew the Master's face up, up until the Master had to prop himself up on his elbows to relieve the strain.
"What?" asked the Master.
The Doctor held the Master's jaw with his left hand, caught the Master's bottom lip with his right thumb, held the Master's mouth open as he kissed him. The Master let him, let him breathe the drug into his lungs. He left his mouth open as the Doctor drew away, watched as the grey smoke drifted out of them and toward the ceiling.
"Opium has been traditionally used for sex," said the Doctor. "Li Shizhen wrote that it arrests the seminal emission."
Pseudo-medical jargon would put that gleam in the Doctor's eye, reflected the Master. He dropped back down onto his back, felt the Doctor's hands slip from his face.
"I'm tired," said the Master. He hated to say it, but it was true - his eyelids were drooping again. "I don't think all this opium smoke is helping, either."
"Don't worry," said the Doctor. "You can get your sleep. The effects last up to twelve hours." He lay down on the Master's chest, stifling a smile against the Master's collarbone. "Probably not those effects in particular. 'In the event of an erection persists longer than four hours, seek immediate medical assistance'..."
His voice trailed off into the rhythm of their chests rising and falling against each other. The Master felt compressed and comforted by the Doctor's weight, the Doctor's hands drifting into his hair. The Master was drowning in touch and smoke and languor.
"Put out that lamp before you burn the TARDIS down," he managed to say.
The Doctor licked his neck and didn't move.
The Master would have objected, except he was already asleep, his arms tightening around the Doctor's waist as he sunk deeper. The Doctor shifted until he wasn't squashing the Master's lungs, and then his eyes drifted closed as well.
The smoke slowly melted away into the air. The lamp guttered out.
The TARDIS did not burn down, although the Master did trip over the little tray when they got up the next morning.
Midnight Oil
Doctor Who
Rating: teen
(drug use, kissing, mentions of sex.)
Characters: Eight/Roberts!Master
Wordcount: 960ish
Summary: The Doctor smokes opium while the Master tries to sleep.
A/N: originally posted here for a prompt on the best_enemies anonmeme. Part XXI of the unanoning mission!
Something clicked in the dark of the bedroom. The Master rolled over onto his side, further than he should have been able to, into the empty spot left by the Doctor.
A light flared, and the Master opened his eyes.
The Doctor was sitting on the floor, bent over a little tray. The light was coming from a miniature oil lamp sitting on the tray along with various other pieces of obscure paraphernalia. As the Master watched, the Doctor placed a tiny ball into the bowl of a pipe, then laid down on the floor, cushioning his head on his arm.
"Hi," said the Master.
"Hello," said the Doctor. He held the pipe over the lamp.
"Couldn't sleep?" asked the Master.
"Not for lack of trying," said the Doctor. He bared his teeth, a grimace slowly softening into a smile.
"The floor doesn't look that comfortable," said the Master. "You want to come back up here?"
"I'd prefer that our bedspread remained ash-free," said the Doctor. He put the pipe in his mouth, breathed in. Smoke curled up from the floor as he exhaled, and a floral scent drifted over to the Master, somehow fresh and clean despite the greasy feel of the smoke.
"What is that?"
"Opium," said the Doctor. He was naked. Strange how the Master only noticed that now, as the Doctor curled his toes into the rug and the light gleamed on his fingers.
"That's an Earth drug," said the Master. There was a pause as the Doctor stared at his pipe and the Master realized just how obvious that statement had been. Well, he was tired. This brain didn’t work so great at four in the morning, go figure.
"Yes," said the Doctor, at last. "Although I believe the Venusians have created their own chain of interstellar opium dens."
The Master snorted. "Profiting off of the weak-willed masses? That does sound like the Venusians."
"Is it weak-willed to want relief from pain?" asked the Doctor. "I can understand the need to escape. Self-evidently." He gestured at the pipe, at himself.
"I don't see the point," said the Master.
"No, you wouldn't, would you," said the Doctor. He took another pull from the pipe, so that his next words came out in a haze of grey smoke. "You, my friend, are high on life. A dangerous and addictive habit, especially the way you pursue it. I think I need to take you to some sort of support group - 'Hello, I'm the Master, and I'm still alive. I'm on my second stolen body, and I just keep thinking about where I'll get the next one-'"
"I thought opium was supposed to make you lethargic," interrupted the Master.
"One of its many medical and recreational uses," said the Doctor, bright-eyed and disgustingly awake. "Opium is a sedative, a pain medication, and a treatment for diarrhea."
"Great," said the Master. "You go on, repair those bowels."
"It works on the intestines," said the Doctor, and puffed some more.
The Master could feel his eyes closing, dragged down by this body's perpetual demand for sleep. He drifted for a while, listening to the Doctor's breathing and the scrape of the Doctor's fingers as he placed another ball of opium in the pipe.
"There are other uses, of course," said the Doctor, minutes or seconds or hours later. "For pleasure."
The Master opened one eye, and the Doctor took a deep pull on his pipe. The Master rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling, but the Doctor climbed up onto the bed, interposing himself. His knees bracketed the Master's hips, and the Doctor's hands drew the Master's face up, up until the Master had to prop himself up on his elbows to relieve the strain.
"What?" asked the Master.
The Doctor held the Master's jaw with his left hand, caught the Master's bottom lip with his right thumb, held the Master's mouth open as he kissed him. The Master let him, let him breathe the drug into his lungs. He left his mouth open as the Doctor drew away, watched as the grey smoke drifted out of them and toward the ceiling.
"Opium has been traditionally used for sex," said the Doctor. "Li Shizhen wrote that it arrests the seminal emission."
Pseudo-medical jargon would put that gleam in the Doctor's eye, reflected the Master. He dropped back down onto his back, felt the Doctor's hands slip from his face.
"I'm tired," said the Master. He hated to say it, but it was true - his eyelids were drooping again. "I don't think all this opium smoke is helping, either."
"Don't worry," said the Doctor. "You can get your sleep. The effects last up to twelve hours." He lay down on the Master's chest, stifling a smile against the Master's collarbone. "Probably not those effects in particular. 'In the event of an erection persists longer than four hours, seek immediate medical assistance'..."
His voice trailed off into the rhythm of their chests rising and falling against each other. The Master felt compressed and comforted by the Doctor's weight, the Doctor's hands drifting into his hair. The Master was drowning in touch and smoke and languor.
"Put out that lamp before you burn the TARDIS down," he managed to say.
The Doctor licked his neck and didn't move.
The Master would have objected, except he was already asleep, his arms tightening around the Doctor's waist as he sunk deeper. The Doctor shifted until he wasn't squashing the Master's lungs, and then his eyes drifted closed as well.
The smoke slowly melted away into the air. The lamp guttered out.
The TARDIS did not burn down, although the Master did trip over the little tray when they got up the next morning.