The Doctor grins from her place lounging about on the sofa in the media room as she feels the Master’s presence surround her, bright cerulean tingling and coiling outward automatically in response. Melted-toffee eyes follow the feeling and find him standing at the entryway to the room, a hand lifting to motion to her face. In the background, instead of the usual movie, haunting music can be heard.
“Look’it what I found. The brainy specs. Been in the pocket’a that trench all this time, can ya believe it? Thought I lost ‘em centuries back. You were ri’.”
Her hand falls back to her side and her expression melts into one of reflection and devotion, a look he’s seen more times than either of them could hope to count.
“Coom sit with me, Hearts.”
Halfway between cocky and proprietary, the Master lingers in the doorway taking in the sight of the Doctor. He tilts his head, smile spreading, as a web of red accepts the tendrils of blue and swallows them to violet.
“Can you even see in this face, with that prescription?” he points out saucily, with a quiet laugh from his gut.
But he won’t deny for a second that this sight has the power both to bewitch and to arouse him, and to make his chest ache with nostalgia. That face, from so long ago, will forever mean more to him than his own breathing: the first face to properly ask, join me.
And how appropriate it is, now, that she would say, come sit with me.
So he does, as a cat deigns to wander over to its mistress’s side, sauntering, yet the path is a beeline directly to her. He perches beside her long enough to lay flush across her, and plant a savory kiss to her mouth.
Icarus 