It’s a simmering hot summer afternoon on Boeshane, and even the infamously workaholic Koschei can’t withstand the heat. So naturally, he’s been swimming nude in the surf just by the house.
He surfaces and scrubs back hair from his eyes … only to be kissed soundly by his husband.
Long after Jack has pulled away from the Master, the wiry little criminal politician stands with his ruddied lips pursed, eyes closed, his smart, trim suit just slightly out of synch with his impeccable appearance: tie crooked, collar turned up on one side.
Eventually, he opens sharp bright eyes, eyes the hue of clear root beer on a sweltering July afternoon. There’s something both sizzling and refreshing in his gaze. It promises much.
“Why, Mr. Harkness. What DID we do last night, on that beach?”
Koschei blinks, and claps his hands over his fat flushed cheeks, like Little Lord Fauntleroy on Christmas morning.
“SAM!” he shrieks. “YOU STOLE A FUCKINGKLIMT?”
It’s a testimony to his shock that he curses so strongly, so contrary to his Victorian sensibilities.
He stands there, does a little dance in place, and rifles his hands through his silvery blond hair until it’s a crow’s nest.
“You stole THE fucking Klimt,” he amends under breath.
There’s a surprise waiting for him in the living room of their Boeshane house. Above the fireplace, standing out beautifully against the soft gray and clean lines of the room, is a large canvas that certainly wasn’t there yesterday. There’s no note, no indication where it came from or why it was put there, but really, is a note necessary?
A folded piece of paper is slid underneath the door of Koschei’s workshop.
Send my muse a gay anonymous love letter.
Koschei reads the letter three times before throwing back his head and laughing his thunderous and ever-ominous cackle, but the one from deep in the gut that’s also peculiarly infectious and warm.
He folds the letter and places it in the pocket of his suit. He tiptoes to the wardrobe and changes clothes. Then he sneaks to their bedroom to pen a new fanciful response, and he sticks it beneath the bathroom mirror, sealed with thoroughly old-fashioned red wax.
send me a url and i’ll write some positivity for them! @masterfulxrhythm
I’ve said it about a million times and I’ll say it again: Amber is literally the reason I like Simm!Master. She gives him such depth and honesty without dulling him down – and this goes for ALL her characters. They find their best possible outcomes without compromising themselves, something that isn’t often found anywhere.
And Amber herself has had a huge impact on my life – I have saved every card she’s ever sent me and chatting with her always gives him some invaluable insight, even in the most mundane of conversations. She’s such a wonderful person, with the biggest heart I have ever known, and I’m so proud to call her my friend.
8C I DIDN’T SEND THAT BUT NOW I’M GONNA CRY AND SMILE THE REST OF THE DAY <3333333
Ashley is my longest-standing verse on this blog. The “Different From You” verse with her Jack is irreplaceable and she has had more of a reciprocal positive impact on me than I think she realizes <3333
Yeah, can’t help it. Used to be a poster boy when I was a kid living on the Boeshane Peninsula. Tiny little place. I was the first one ever to be signed up for the Time Agency. They were so proud of me. The Face of Boe, they called me.
Koschei keeps his eyes averted, but they are tack-sharp, and he absorbs every syllable Jack speaks.
At length he nods once more, but this time it is singular and decisive.
“Right. Of course. That’s our thing, isn’t it.”
He continues to contemplate this truth as he’s bundled and tucked in with his husband.
When they’re tented together, in secret communion, free from the intrusions of the universe, and he’s tracing his finger along the perfect contours of Jack’s face, a smile creeps up one corner of his mouth.
“Really. Really, though? Can you really not know what a jealous baby I am, when it comes to you, my Sam?”
Those beloved dimples suddenly appear at his touch, and Jack turns his head to kiss his palm. Yes it is their thing, and it’s one of the very many precious things that makes him value their relationship so much. Never has he ever felt comfortable to be so honest, nor has he ever felt like he was given the same in return. Even as they know each other better and better, he never wants to lose that founding principle.
“There’s knowing, and there’s knowing,” he laughs. “Plus who doesn’t like a little reminder every now and then?”
Koschei’s gut twists in a knot at the sight of Jack’s dimples; he’s certain his husband is well aware of their effect.
Vivacity and desire seize him. He becomes self-assured again, when his husband offers that sheepish explanation. Seeing someone so utterly shameless abashed is peculiarly arousing.
So he climbs upright and slams Jack flat on his back, drapes himself across him as he did drunk out of his skull on their very first actual date, and kisses him hard. Their lips are red and swollen when he’s done, and he takes care to tickle his husband’s ever clean-shaven cheeks with his own stubble.
All beneath a tented tangle of sheets, somewhere sweetly between a slumber party and a tryst.
“I am a JEALOUS! BAAAAABY!” he roars, shamelessly.
Icarus 