Doctor Who Ficlet: Practical Solution
Feb. 3rd, 2018 08:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kat_lair***
Title: Practical Solution
Author: MistressKat /kat_lair
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: Doctor/Master (Ten/Simm!Master in my mind)
Rating: PG
Word count: 455
Disclaimer: Not mine, only playing
Summary: The Master was, above all else, extremely practical.
Author notes: Written as a![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandom_stocking gift for navaan Posted originally on AO3 here (as part of the collection), reposted on DW for sake of completeness!
"Here," the Doctor said, offering his coat. "You're freezing."
The Master was, in fact, freezing. The Hell, however and to his knowledge, was not and therefore he made no move to actually take the proffered piece of tatty clothing.
It seemed the disdainful sneer was enough to convey his sentiments on the topic as the Doctor sighed and resignedly pulled his coat back on.
They resumed the silent staring of the prison walls.
The walls looked like brick but were clearly not, based on their absolute imperviousness to sonic screwdrivering of any frequency. They were the colour of dried blood, which the Master rather liked, though sadly tasted nothing like it even though the texture was rather pleasant on the tongue.
"What is wrong with you?" the Doctor had asked with something very much like genuine curiosity in his voice when the Master had methodically licked his way across the room.
"All the same things that are wrong with you," he'd answered. "Shall we compare notes?"
The conversation had petered out after that.
They'd been here for close to twelve hours, far as he could tell. The cell was roomy and almost comfortable – sporting all the modern cons of a lavatory and two cots – except for the temperature that had been steadily dropping. It was below mere 'uncomfortable' now, heading straight toward 'dangerous'.
Apparently, the Doctor had arrived at the same, stellar, conclusion. With another deep sigh, he pulled the bedding off one of the cots and piled it on top of the other, positioning the spare mattress against the wall and curling himself into the corner.
"What are you doing?" the Master asked, even though he knew, of course he knew. Just like the Doctor knew a pathetic stalling tactic when he saw it.
"Trying to survive this with all our extremities intact," he said, lifting the covers and beckoning impatiently. "Now get in here. Who knows how long it'll take for our guards to figure out that Time Lord icicles are even less co-operative than the regular kind."
"Watch who you're calling regular," the Master muttered but climbed into the bed, slotting his limbs between the Doctor's. He didn't want to, but it was the most practical solution. And the Master was, above all else, extremely practical.
Turned out, the Doctor’s warm, tender middle parts were quite soothing against his freezing hands. Even better was the way the Doctor cursed in five languages, three of them dead, at the contact but didn't push him away.
Instead, he wrapped the blankets around them and closed his eyes. "Well," he said. "I'm going to sleep. Try not to lick anything."
The Master simply hummed, snuggling closer, unable and rather unwilling to make any such promises.
***
Title: Practical Solution
Author: MistressKat /
kat_lair Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: Doctor/Master (Ten/Simm!Master in my mind)
Rating: PG
Word count: 455
Disclaimer: Not mine, only playing
Summary: The Master was, above all else, extremely practical.
Author notes: Written as a
fandom_stocking gift for navaan Posted originally on AO3 here (as part of the collection), reposted on DW for sake of completeness!"Here," the Doctor said, offering his coat. "You're freezing."
The Master was, in fact, freezing. The Hell, however and to his knowledge, was not and therefore he made no move to actually take the proffered piece of tatty clothing.
It seemed the disdainful sneer was enough to convey his sentiments on the topic as the Doctor sighed and resignedly pulled his coat back on.
They resumed the silent staring of the prison walls.
The walls looked like brick but were clearly not, based on their absolute imperviousness to sonic screwdrivering of any frequency. They were the colour of dried blood, which the Master rather liked, though sadly tasted nothing like it even though the texture was rather pleasant on the tongue.
"What is wrong with you?" the Doctor had asked with something very much like genuine curiosity in his voice when the Master had methodically licked his way across the room.
"All the same things that are wrong with you," he'd answered. "Shall we compare notes?"
The conversation had petered out after that.
They'd been here for close to twelve hours, far as he could tell. The cell was roomy and almost comfortable – sporting all the modern cons of a lavatory and two cots – except for the temperature that had been steadily dropping. It was below mere 'uncomfortable' now, heading straight toward 'dangerous'.
Apparently, the Doctor had arrived at the same, stellar, conclusion. With another deep sigh, he pulled the bedding off one of the cots and piled it on top of the other, positioning the spare mattress against the wall and curling himself into the corner.
"What are you doing?" the Master asked, even though he knew, of course he knew. Just like the Doctor knew a pathetic stalling tactic when he saw it.
"Trying to survive this with all our extremities intact," he said, lifting the covers and beckoning impatiently. "Now get in here. Who knows how long it'll take for our guards to figure out that Time Lord icicles are even less co-operative than the regular kind."
"Watch who you're calling regular," the Master muttered but climbed into the bed, slotting his limbs between the Doctor's. He didn't want to, but it was the most practical solution. And the Master was, above all else, extremely practical.
Turned out, the Doctor’s warm, tender middle parts were quite soothing against his freezing hands. Even better was the way the Doctor cursed in five languages, three of them dead, at the contact but didn't push him away.
Instead, he wrapped the blankets around them and closed his eyes. "Well," he said. "I'm going to sleep. Try not to lick anything."
The Master simply hummed, snuggling closer, unable and rather unwilling to make any such promises.
***
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