intergalacticstarlight:

masterfulxrhythm‌:

sclfmastery:

Oh, the smirk that spreads across his face, at that declaration; the expression of triumph.  Oh, this conquest.  He takes the hands around his waist, forces them down and slides his fingers into the Doctor’s.  He lifts both joined hands to his lips and kisses, with particular fervor, the left.  

      “I think you belong to me already.”  

He turns his head enough that he can look up, and back, at his oldest friend’s face.

      “But I will marry you anywhere and anywhen. So let’s go.”  

      “Now, now.  You’re being disagreeable, you know.”

The Master stands on the Doctor’s feet, as he always does when particularly, possessively affectionate.  He snaps his teeth at his nose, and nuzzles his face, demanding access to every inch of his essence.  

     “Monopolizing all the pretty words, so I’ll have none left with which to speak you my vows, heard across those infinite star systems.  You cur.  You know what a show-off I am.” 

He slips off the feet of his beloved long enough to return his arms round his waist, standing behind him, conspiratorial, inhaling deeply of his fugitive scent. He closes his eyes and burrows a cheek against the crook of the Doctor’s neck.  

Nowhere, you’ll go nowhere on me again.  You’ve got to break this death-grip. I am obstinately attached to you now, my love of loves. 

The thought process is silly and infantile, but he can’t help it; it’s so difficult to trust this building euphoria.  Even as the TARDIS moves toward the spot the Doctor has chosen, the Master gloms tightly on.  His features are blinding, joyous and wicked and crafty.  

The Doctor’s hearts both melt in tandem as the keeper of them speaks, climbs onto his feet in that way that they both know he cherishes perhaps more than any other gesture made. It’s invasive, it’s territorial, it lets the Doctor know exactly who he belongs to and prevents those feet from moving a centimeter. He wouldn’t move, anyway- he’s through running. He’s found comfort and peace in the static, in the long-way-round with his counterpart, his other half. Himself, external, staring back at him through a mirror of affection and ownership.

“Disagreeable, hm? How insubordinate of me. I hope I’ll be punished for it later.”

His tone is impish and as luminescent as the chocolate-umber of his eyes, and as the Master snaps his teeth the Doctor growls- actually, genuinely growls -in response. His free hand moves briefly to the other’s hip, holding him there as he nuzzles and returning the intimate and affectionate gesture by nuzzling right back.

Oh, he belongs to the Master, always has- but now he relishes in it. He’d proclaim it from the highest point on every planet, if that’s what it takes to convince his cloven half that this euphoria is not a blip, not a pit stop but a promise. His mind shouts to those infinite stars of which his lover speaks.

I am his. He is mine, we are each other. We are the same. Hear me Universe, if you ever dare disturb this utopia of bliss I will rend every star asunder. I will burn every planet, I will tear time and space apart to get him back.

“Hmmm, you’ve not heard anything yet- and you know my propensity for the dramatic, Hearts. Pretty words are my forte’, among a few other things I know you enjoy. I can’t really be blamed for it. I’m just that good, darling.”

He chuckles softly, not joking but rather joyous in his own admissions and arrogance. His mind holds no fear, no regrets, no turning back now, no shame or embarassment. The past is over and done for the pair of them and only the future awaits and Theta Sigma is free. He lets out a contented hum as the Master circles him and encircles him in his arms from behind, one hand lowering to rest atop both of the Master’s own hands and the other lifting to card through his beloved’s hair, scratching his nails gently against the other’s scalp. The TARDIS materializes at its’ destination but he makes no move to untangle them, finding comfort in the embrace.

“We’re here, love.”

The words are spoken as a whisper, and still he makes no move to pull away. The embrace reassures the Doctor of the very same thing it reassures the Master- they are together, they are happy, and they are staying.

       “You arrogant bastard, I love you.”  

He’s hanging off his affianced, his best friend and bondmate, utterly besotted, bunting his forehead into the Doctor’s cheek, as though doing it enough will rub off his scent, will impart his essence indelibly. 

He steps off the Doctor’s feet only when convinced that the act will bring them breathtaking adventure closer together, ever closer, in mind and body and soul, colliding indelicately and jubilantly, like the wild children they are.

He takes the hand of his beloved.  He drags him in circles round the TARDIS in flight, every jostle and bump eliciting a mad and joyous cackle, a wiggle of eyebrows, a flash of teeth.  

Once they’ve landed he resumes the embrace, tighter still, rests his stubbled chin on the Doctor’s chest and grins all the broader. Dark effervescent eyes like a mug of root beer sparkle.  
 
    “Then what are we waiting for?  You think this’ll end just because we’ve changed positions? You REALLY think you’ll ever get away from me now? HA.”

Once again rendered the intrepid forthgoer, when all their lives it was the Doctor dragging him by the hand on exhilarating journeys, he seizes his bondmate and pulls him straight to the doors.

He pauses and turns, hearts thundering. He places both hands on the Doctor’s chest, over each heart. This is a gift for him, a surprise, and he must appropriately articulate his gratitude. His bliss.  

Who better than a human the Doctor has met and admired? And so: 

     “ ‘Did my hearts love til now? Foreswear it, Sight. For I ne’er saw true beauty til this night.’ ”