“Okay, I’m not saying we pretend to be American, or proceed to believe that colonist brutally murdered natives, but what I am saying is that I would be partial to a very large meal where afterwards I take a nap on the couch.”
“Prerequisites: turkey is involved, and afterward I get to ‘nap’ with you.”
“You say ‘nap’ like I’m totally not going to pass out on the couch after eating food consisting of extremely large amounts of tryptophan.”
The Master sighs with feigned patience.
“Yes, love, but I. Get to nap. WITH. You. Emphasis on the collaborative nature of snuggling with, as the plebs put it, ‘full tummies.’”
“Well I beg your pardon, madam, but the world will not suffer from the loss of another presumptuous buffoon with the intellectual capacity of a melon baller.”
“Mmmmmmmhmhm,” the Master hums at the delectable greeting.
He draws the Doctor near, feasting upon her, his face doting, more wholesome than most might believe him capable. It could not be clearer that he delights in every beauty and blemish that make the Doctor who she is.
“What did I do to deserve that, hmmmm? Tell me so I can do it more.”
He pinches her bum, and rubs her lower back warmly.
She scrunches her nose as she’s pulled close, a small little yelp at that pinch which makes her press even closer to him. Her fingers dance up the buttons of his shirt before booping his nose.
“You exist. Simple as tha’.”
“ … . Oh dear. I dunno how I can turn that into anything snide or naughty. You’ve won this round, Doctor.”
He snatches her hand and kisses her inner wrist. And then her nose, as well.
Icarus 