She cant help giggle at his adorable reaction, her eyes lighting up in amusement, before she stands on her tip-toes and kisses his nose.
“Are you always this adorable or am i the only creature in existence who has the pleasure to witness this?” she asked him happily.
“I’ll staunchly deny that I’m ‘adorable,’” and he makes obnoxious air quotes, “in any shape or form, to anyBODY.”
She just continues to grin. “So just me then, thats good to know.”
“Ill tell you a secret, You,” She pokes his nose gently, again; “will always be the only one to know my true self.”
Wether thats a good or bad thing, not even she knows, but The Master… no, Koschei, will always be the ONLY creature in existence, who knows the little boy, the REALTheta Sigma under the name that is ‘The Doctor’.
“ … . is that right. And where did that come from, my darling and star?”
The words come out like ripping off a scab, even though the Master strives with every fiber of his independence-loving, ire-filled soul to appear intimidating.
“After all,” and even less successfully, to look smug and dark, “it’s not like I’m going anywhere.”
“Should I?”
She screws up her face, clearly confused as to not only where this is coming from but why he would say such a thing. “Did I say something? Did she say something? Did I do the thing again where I miss some human social cue and now it’s a thing?”
“Nah, luv. The only thing I think you definitely missed is that you thrive on stimulation and novelty. And … humans provide you with a vulnerability, an innocence, that I can’t provide.”
The words veil unheard anguish. Acting selflessly is against every principle he possesses; he might as well be harpooning himself through the vitals, and it would hurt less, but he masks it well.
“You should enjoy them while they’re still here. I don’t have an expiration date.”
The pair of them are sitting across from each other, yogi style, knees bumped together, when the Doctor brightly declares this.
The Master leans in across the purple couch–the couch he promised he’d procure for the Doctor when she exclaimed how much she wished she owned one–and kisses her. No predication, no warning, he just does so, and enjoys thoroughly the perfect lock of their mouths into place. There’s a pattern to the “randomness” of the stars, and to the “chance” of lives meeting.
“That would be divine, if my best friend joined me.”
The kiss surprises her, even flusters her slightly and she’s just the slightest bit pink when he pulls back. She’s still getting used to this kind of random physical affection somehow, despite how often he showers it upon her. She may never get completely used to it, too many centuries of cultural indoctrination to peel away even for her.
“I think your best friend would be delighted. Shall I give ‘em a call?” she teases.
“I dunno, you think she’ busy saving the world, or … marrying strangers, or maintaining timelines? Should I leave a message after the beep? Don’t want to bother her with little old me.”
This is entirely a tease; he would interrupt her marching with Mahatma Gandhi or dabbing Mother Teresa’s brow if he felt something–usually himself–important enough.
Which is all the clearer when he pulls her into the wardrobe with a well-nigh lecherous grin, and kisses her again, on the long, soft, smooth neck.
“Please tell me you’ll wear a suit … Doctor, make my wildest fantasies a reality.”
It’s highly possible he’s figured out that he has the capacity to fluster her.
Icarus 