Softly he pressed a kiss to the Master’s temple, keeping his loving embrace. Closing his eyes he allowed a gentle brush against the telepathic connection they shared. There was no probing just gentle reassurance. The silence didn’t bother the Doctor he merely stayed there offering his love and comfort to the one he so dearly cared for.
The Master shoves his face into the Doctor’s neck, inhaling aftershave and windburn and all things mysterious and fugitive. Home, home.
“Don’t forget me, don’t doubt me, please, please, please, I’m here, I’m still here,” he all but chants through his teeth, clinging, making his fists full of shirt tremble.
“I am constantly surprised by the longing for you that never quiets. You are here and you are in my hearts, always. My thoughts often stray to you even when I don’t mean them to. Wondering how you are, what you’re doing, if you’d welcome my endless company. Endless because pulling myself from you is a pain I tire of enduring.”
The Doctor speaks softly, hands gingerly trailing up and down the man’s back. Having him so close is always lovely, it makes his hearts soar. Warm, fierce, beautiful, mine.
The longer the Doctor holds him, the more the Master stills; the quieter he grows, save for that tell-tale gentle thrum deep in the diaphragm of his psyche, just like the purring of a cat with its favorite human. His eyes fall closed and he says nothing, instead savoring the silent nearness of his beloved.
“Yes, well, have fun with that, darling. Meanwhile I’ll be situating myself at a suitable distance to laugh at the ensuing debacle.”
The Doctor puffed out his cheeks in childish annoyance. How dare he. Theta of course, pouts.
“It works most of the time!” He protested. “As if you could come up with something better.”
He knew far too well that he could come up with something better, and childishly hopped that he wouldn’t even try.
“I can’t tell if that’s an invitation to be schooled by someone who has long been your logistical superior, but either way, I’m calling your bluff. Move, bitch.”
Says the asshole who made the entire planet himself and then didn’t notice when one of his armed guards was several inches too tall.
Softly he pressed a kiss to the Master’s temple, keeping his loving embrace. Closing his eyes he allowed a gentle brush against the telepathic connection they shared. There was no probing just gentle reassurance. The silence didn’t bother the Doctor he merely stayed there offering his love and comfort to the one he so dearly cared for.
The Master shoves his face into the Doctor’s neck, inhaling aftershave and windburn and all things mysterious and fugitive. Home, home.
“Don’t forget me, don’t doubt me, please, please, please, I’m here, I’m still here,” he all but chants through his teeth, clinging, making his fists full of shirt tremble.
Mind control? Surprisingly, too easy: not enough of a challenge. No, it’s not enough for people to be obeisant; they have to want to obey him. They have to worship him because they truly desire it.
“I would make it so others would see me only as I wished them to.”
There. He could construct a desirable persona; a worthy persona; a self that had unequivocally earned the right to attention and love. A way to finally placate a terrible, insatiable hunger for validation. And then others would choose to be his.
“Oh, yes, it was delightful. They all recognized me as ‘the Mad Prime Minister’ and I, what’s the term the youth use? ‘Trolled’ them: especially in the elevators and bathrooms. Pretended to talk to myself or to an invisible friend, usually a unicorn, or the Easter Bunny. Went double if they had dressed oop their brat children. One of them wouldn’t stop smacking me on the leg, so I made him cry by alleging that the Easter Bunny had terminal cancer.”
Icarus 