“Well then, I guess you’re in luck, aren’t you, darling?”
“Extremely lucky, as always,” he says, a mellow smile on his face as he reaches out for Koschei. “Come here, I need you closer.”
“Well who wouldn’t, I mean LOOK at me.”
The Master throws back his head and bawdily laughs, hands on hips, some sort of darkly seasoned Peter Pan, as he saunters over to his husband. All jokes are propped against the door to their intimacy, however, as he curls up in a feline ball against Jack’s side, head on his chest.
Lily stood beaming at the man. In her arms was a black box, wrapped in red ribbon with a rather extravagant bow to finish it off.
“Happy Birthday Papa!” she cheered holding it out to him. She knew that they hadn’t know each other that long, But already she adored him just as much as she did her Dad.
He was her Papa and he would be treated as such, So only the best of her work would do. She had spent hours on this design, drafting out 3 different ones before she finally got to this one.
Inside the Box, lay a black wool coat. The finest wool she could find with a lining of silky red on the inside. The edges were accented with red, and so were the buttons. She gave it a high collar, knowing that he suited them.
The coat lay on a bed of red tissue paper, with another layer to cover it. Under the coat was the original drawing design that she would let him keep.
“So… What do you think?” She rocked on her heels, really wanting to know. but forced herself to be patient.
The Master wiggles his fingers at the elegantly wrapped parcel, licks his lips and flings off the lid.
His lips purse into an “O” of exquisite satisfaction, and turn into a hiss of delight, teeth set on edge, as he unfastens the buttons and feels up and down the lush red silk.
“My favorite colors, my favorite design, it’s almost like a Chinese changshan, only so mooch more chicly austere, by GOD, Lily!”
He leaps to his feet, seized by two extreme motivators: being the center of attention, and the vanity of high fashion. He throws off his sweater, which flies to the cottage floor, and canters shirtless into the bathroom.
He exits moments later dressed in his new coat, cutting a sharp figure indeed.
Koschei emits a soft gasp at the discovery, peering more closely still at the scientifically “enchanted” snowglobe.
“That’s stupendous. Darling. Nobody realizes what a genius you are, in your own right. And that is a true crime.”
He passes another kiss off to one of Jack’s beloved dimples, while peering closer still at all the intimate details of the painting.
Sharp dark eyes lock on that bassinet and his lips thin to a fine line against a torrent of ecstatic glee. A strangled little sound escapes the Master, and he shoots from his chair, knocking it clear over. He points both fingers at Jack, in unabashed triumph.
“I KNEW it!” he roars. “I KNEW IT!”
He flings his arms around Jack and tilts him back, kissing him properly on the lips.
“When? D’you know? Oh, my love, my gorgeous clever wicked Sam, have you done a scan yet?”
He laughs as he’s suddenly enveloped by his ecstatic husband, squeezing him tight as the secret comes out. “I had my suspicions about a week or two ago, but I wanted to be extra sure before I told you.”
Then he opens that ring box, and instead of a ring, there’s a little print out of an ultrasound scan. There’s BARELY a little bean sized dot in there, but it’s definitely there, and Jack kisses Koschei’s cheek.
“I was supposed to be down on one knee for this, but I guess this will do. Koschei Oakdown, will you have any other baby with me?”
“HohOOOO, bloody hell! You idiot, get OOP! Can’t have the mum on his knees!”
Koschei smacks Jack’s arm and drags him to his feet, where he steps onto his shoes and kisses him breathless.
“I’ll have a damned HORDE of them with you, and you bloody well KNOW it!”
Ah yes, his birthday has come around again. And this year, Jack has an extra special treat in store for him. Early in the morning, Jack slips out of their bedroom to pilot the TARDIS to their restaurant. The one that they always seem to go to for special occasions, ever since their very first date. As always, there’s a table set for two, but because it’s earlier in the day, the beach is practically empty except for a stray waiter or someone walking their dog.
It’s the perfect setting.
Jack’s waiting there for him, glasses of mimosas and a plate of croissants at the ready. There’s two wrapped presents in front of him, one largish one and the other much smaller, about the size of a ring box. Come and find him, husband.
Koschei exits the TARDIS dressed to the nines in natty formalwear that he rarely breaks out since the birth of the twins: featuring, of course, the red and brown tie. The moment he steps onto the sand he richly chuckles. He knew it. That romantic bastard always remembers.
“Sam McCoy, where ARE you?” he thunders languidly, extending his hand into the air for a kiss, and as he spots the table, he drops jovially into his chair. “For ME?”
“As if you didn’t see this coming,” he says, dutifully kissing the extended hand, once on the knuckles, once on the back of the hand, and then he just goes for it and kisses all the way up his arm until he gets that sweet spot on his neck. As Koschei sits, Jack pushes his chair in for him and drops down to murmur in his ear, “happy birthday, sweethearts.”
He moves back to his own chair, lifting his glass of (non-alcoholic) mimosa at him. “Here’s to another year of living with your magnificence.”
Koschei laughs self-indulgently, rolling his head to and fro. He scoots in his chair with an air of entitlement to the gorgeous specimen doting upon him, but at the same time, one of quiet astonishment, still, to have landed such an idyllic life: without having to feign being anyone more palatable, more desirable.
“You know you’re my birthday gift, you cur,” he voices this coyly, turning his head to catch that loving whisper in a kiss.
And he lifts his own mimosa, and clinks the glass decisively against Jack’s.
“Here’s to another year sharing my magnificence with only my darling Sam and our darling babies. Now enable my unbridled avarice and let me open one of these gifts before we eat.”
“Alright, go ahead, you hoarder,” he says, nudging the larger of the presents towards him. As he does, he palms the little ring box and sits there with a smug little grin.
Inside this larger box is a snow globe, but naturally, it’s not just any snow globe. It’s the four of them, sitting exactly how they were portrayed in the family portrait. Well, almost exactly. They all look slightly older, slightly… Well, slightly like they do today.
“Each figure is linked to our biodata, so they’ll change with us. And we can sever the link whenever we want, too, to freeze a particular period whenever we want.”
However, there is one other detail that makes it different from the portrait. On the other side of Koschei’s chair, there’s a little rocking bassinet with a question mark hovering over it.
Koschei emits a soft gasp at the discovery, peering more closely still at the scientifically “enchanted” snowglobe.
“That’s stupendous. Darling. Nobody realizes what a genius you are, in your own right. And that is a true crime.”
He passes another kiss off to one of Jack’s beloved dimples, while peering closer still at all the intimate details of the painting.
Sharp dark eyes lock on that bassinet and his lips thin to a fine line against a torrent of ecstatic glee. A strangled little sound escapes the Master, and he shoots from his chair, knocking it clear over. He points both fingers at Jack, in unabashed triumph.
“I KNEW it!” he roars. “I KNEW IT!”
He flings his arms around Jack and tilts him back, kissing him properly on the lips.
“When? D’you know? Oh, my love, my gorgeous clever wicked Sam, have you done a scan yet?”
Ah yes, his birthday has come around again. And this year, Jack has an extra special treat in store for him. Early in the morning, Jack slips out of their bedroom to pilot the TARDIS to their restaurant. The one that they always seem to go to for special occasions, ever since their very first date. As always, there’s a table set for two, but because it’s earlier in the day, the beach is practically empty except for a stray waiter or someone walking their dog.
It’s the perfect setting.
Jack’s waiting there for him, glasses of mimosas and a plate of croissants at the ready. There’s two wrapped presents in front of him, one largish one and the other much smaller, about the size of a ring box. Come and find him, husband.
Koschei exits the TARDIS dressed to the nines in natty formalwear that he rarely breaks out since the birth of the twins: featuring, of course, the red and brown tie. The moment he steps onto the sand he richly chuckles. He knew it. That romantic bastard always remembers.
“Sam McCoy, where ARE you?” he thunders languidly, extending his hand into the air for a kiss, and as he spots the table, he drops jovially into his chair. “For ME?”
“As if you didn’t see this coming,” he says, dutifully kissing the extended hand, once on the knuckles, once on the back of the hand, and then he just goes for it and kisses all the way up his arm until he gets that sweet spot on his neck. As Koschei sits, Jack pushes his chair in for him and drops down to murmur in his ear, “happy birthday, sweethearts.”
He moves back to his own chair, lifting his glass of (non-alcoholic) mimosa at him. “Here’s to another year of living with your magnificence.”
Koschei laughs self-indulgently, rolling his head to and fro. He scoots in his chair with an air of entitlement to the gorgeous specimen doting upon him, but at the same time, one of quiet astonishment, still, to have landed such an idyllic life: without having to feign being anyone more palatable, more desirable.
“You know you’re my birthday gift, you cur,” he voices this coyly, turning his head to catch that loving whisper in a kiss.
And he lifts his own mimosa, and clinks the glass decisively against Jack’s.
“Here’s to another year sharing my magnificence with only my darling Sam and our darling babies. Now enable my unbridled avarice and let me open one of these gifts before we eat.”
Ah yes, his birthday has come around again. And this year, Jack has an extra special treat in store for him. Early in the morning, Jack slips out of their bedroom to pilot the TARDIS to their restaurant. The one that they always seem to go to for special occasions, ever since their very first date. As always, there’s a table set for two, but because it’s earlier in the day, the beach is practically empty except for a stray waiter or someone walking their dog.
It’s the perfect setting.
Jack’s waiting there for him, glasses of mimosas and a plate of croissants at the ready. There’s two wrapped presents in front of him, one largish one and the other much smaller, about the size of a ring box. Come and find him, husband.
Koschei exits the TARDIS dressed to the nines in natty formalwear that he rarely breaks out since the birth of the twins: featuring, of course, the red and brown tie. The moment he steps onto the sand he richly chuckles. He knew it. That romantic bastard always remembers.
“Sam McCoy, where ARE you?” he thunders languidly, extending his hand into the air for a kiss, and as he spots the table, he drops jovially into his chair. “For ME?”
Jack’s engaged his husband’s most feline tendencies. They’re always in evidence when Koschei is affectionate, never more so than when his eyes are closed, and he’s bunting his forehead against Jack’s devastatingly beautiful features, and rubbing his cheeks against his jaw, and warmly, bodily clinging.
Icarus 