He watches her, agonized, life draining in the form of thick leaking red that blossoms unseen across the back of his black coat. Agonized, further, by the despair in her voice.
“You’re me,” he supplies, raspy, breathless, the simplest truth he can think to say.
“You? How can I be you?”
The hands that had clutched in her hair slid down, dropping to rest against her legs. The Doctor’s vision is blurred at the edges, her eyes thick with unshed tears.
“None of this makes any bit of sense…”
“Coom’ere, Hearts. The memory loss is temporary. It’s just your Kosch. That’s me. Some of the thoughts you have, the things you feel, they come from me. And mine from you. You’re me because we’re bondmates. Loomed at the same time, in different places, but meant to be in symbiosis. To be soul friends.”
The Master winces, and outstretches a hand. He mirrors the first gesture this person ever made in his direction. He repays her.
“I thought I’d never see you again. But here you are. It can’t be coincidence. Please sit with me. I dunno how long I have, and I need you to be okay.”
“No amount of pointless conversation is going to change the fact that I don’t know who I am!”
Her voice was hoarse as she all but screamed the words out of frustration. Her hands moved to grip the sides of her head, fingers pulling at strands of blonde hair.
He watches her, agonized, life draining in the form of thick leaking red that blossoms unseen across the back of his black coat. Agonized, further, by the despair in her voice.
“You’re me,” he supplies, raspy, breathless, the simplest truth he can think to say.
“Tremendously true, but to whom do I credit this compliment? Show yourself.”
Koschei growls appreciatively. He smacks the Doctor on the chest, and then the arm, and writhes in his arms.
“Stop.”
It’s a command, cheeks aflame, and always the indicator that his affection for his oldest friend is real: the shyness of his boyhood, buried under so many layers of narcissistic tyranny, comes out full force.
“Hra-HAH, STOP … !”
Theta chuckled and ceased nipping at his neck, his arms still wrapped around the man’s waist.
“Your wish..is my command..”
He wasn’t foolish enough to push further when the Master commanded him to stop. The Doctor respected him too much for that. Humming he instead rested his chin on the man’s shoulder, content to be so close.
Koschei ceases to gleefully ferret. His expression is hilariously petulant.
“Oh, but I didn’t mean it seriously,” he clarifies.
He produces his neck again, demanding, entitled, deeply comfortable in the grasp of his best friend.
“C’mon, go at me again.”
Hands rub possessively affectionate circles up and down the lean and wiry back of his lover.
The Doctor asked, turning her head to look at him. Her usually nimble fingers were fumbling with the earrings she was trying to properly put on. Having never had to wear them before this was a new challenge. It was strange but she liked how they looked. Especially the ear cuff that dangled on a chain.
“Mm. Onnnnnne sec.”
The Master turns a minuscule needle over intricate multi-hued copper wiring, on a superior external monitoring system for the Doctor’s TARDIS. If she won’t allow him to furbish it with weaponry, at least surveillance can slake his anxiety on her behalf. He places the project down on the workbench and saunters over to his oldest friend.
“Oh, that’s rather whimsical.”
He examines the earring closely; he has his own pair of black studs these days: factual, blunt, punctuating each side of his animated round face like a pair of periods, and somehow, alongside his eyeliner appropriately androgynous. Her suit her as well: a pale sterling silver and gold, hands of the two hues joined as though in warm collaboration, and a small galaxy of silver stars.
“ … It’ll hurt a bit. You should’ve left in the studs they used when you got the piercing, Hearts.”
His eyes, dark, as lustful as they are apologetic, simmer as his fingers grasp her earlobe. They fix upon hers.
The slim silver rod slips through the soft skin of her ear, with the slightest catch. Then he cuffs the stars in place.
Koschei hisses, and winces, in sympathy. He pauses, to turn and kiss her cheek, softly and warmly.
His whole soul and both his hearts are screaming at the sight of her: a delicate fey being, but thrumming with all the energy of the universe and its ineffable perpetually unfolding beauty. He’d count it a privilege to be seen even once through her eyes, and how he burns for that. How he burns like the sun with which he’d quarrel, for just one smile and one hello.
“It’s me, Doctor. It’s just me. You know who I am. I was your first.”
Your first friend. Your first affectionate physical touch. Your first telepathic bonding. Your first lover. Your first schoolmate. Your first enemy.
“That’s alright, come to it slowly, your memory. I’ve faith. You’re the brilliant one. Even if you’re a discombobulated, disorganized mess.”
Will she forget what passed between them, when she was a cantankerous old man? It can’t have been long ago, not for her. She still simmers with regeneration energy.
REVAN >w< ❤ I can’t believe I was one of the reasons you made your blog, that makes me so happy!!!!!!! I love you darling!!!! (also this says cont. but I only got this one :O thanks for whatever the other one said too lol! )
I actually try REALLY hard with dialogue to mimic the actor’s speech patterns and if I can’t hear the voice I delete and rewrite the dialogue so this is wonderful to hear!
“Tremendously true, but to whom do I credit this compliment? Show yourself.”
Smiling almost sheepishly he walks steadily closer and pulls Koschei close for a fond embrace. His eyes close briefly as he just enjoys the familiar feel and scent of the one he loves.
“I miss you too..”
His voice is a soft almost inaudible whisper as the words fall freely.
Koschei chuckles and nips his Theta on the ear.
“Are you smelling me?” he murmurs, needling him as ever, but oh, these days, it’s always with such an affectionate glow.
His own rumbling chuckle was partly an answer in of itself. The nip made him shiver, a quiet enjoyment of the familiar behavior he had missed so dearly.
“Yup. I missed all of you.”
Tucking his face against Koschei’s neck in an over exaggerated response he playfully nips there in retaliation for his ear.
Koschei growls appreciatively. He smacks the Doctor on the chest, and then the arm, and writhes in his arms.
“Stop.”
It’s a command, cheeks aflame, and always the indicator that his affection for his oldest friend is real: the shyness of his boyhood, buried under so many layers of narcissistic tyranny, comes out full force.
Icarus 