send 💁 for our muses to be stuck in a small space together

They’re a pair of idiots. Idiot old men, too stubborn to cede each other exit from the TARDIS ceiling through the small hole the asteroid made–the asteroid that is the result of the Doctor’s poor driving, mind–so, in trying to crawl out the top simultaneously, they’ve gotten stuck.  Arms free, but chest to chest, belly to belly, groin to groin.

The Master’s first impulse is to be furious.  

But in mere seconds, the whole foolish situation has him laughing. At first, a delicious scrumptious little chuckle, and then a big bawdy cackle.  As the laugh dies down into a hungry growl, he wiggles around, applying suggestive pressure to his lover’s crotch. 

He wiggles his eyebrows at the Doctor, leering close, 

      “I know what you like, you slut,” he teases, and cackles again.  “Let’s give the people who rescue us something to talk about …” 

He ruffles the Doctor’s hair into helpless disarray.