tensimm – Page 2

@intergalacticstarlight from here

Another impossibly gentle ‘whoosh’ of air leaves the Doctor’s lungs as that one simple word, so like the others before yet holding such deeper meaning, is uttered. Before he realizes it he too is transported, to another time, another place where he almost confessed what needed confessing. Where he nearly bared himself and oh, oh how he should have. Fixed point or no, brought together and apart, together and apart like the ebb and flow crashing against the shoreline, oh how he wishes he’d been braver then. He wishes his cowardice and stubbornness hadn’t thwarted his attempts to say more than a pondering of what he would have become without the Master.

He knew, of course, as he knows now. He wouldn’t exist at all. Theta would not be without Koschei. That, too, like themselves, was a Universal constant. He would not have survived the brutality of his adolescent years were it not for the Time Lord in his arms.

That simple ’yeah’ says more than he himself ever has, in all of his utterances in any of his forms. It is beautiful and breathtaking, just like the man who’s said it and the words that follow, the tears that are shed, his hearts clench tightly and he knows. He knows. He knows the things which cannot be confessed because he knows his Koschei so well, and it does not repulse him. Contrary, it never has. His own tears fall more freely, equally as silent and bareft of any dramatic influence. He is simply Theta Sigma, bared now as he wouldn’t allow himself to be then, belonging to the keeper of his hearts the way he was always meant to.
His arms draw the Master closer, a silent request that is immediately accepted and carried out. The fear is gone, dust in the billowing winds of centuries wasted.

Too much time has passed for him to waste a moment of it now, nor ever again, and he clings near-too-tightly, not allowing a single breath of distance between them. His mind is open, his skin warm beneath the Master’s touch, countless hours of barriers, armor, defenses all falling away as mental signatures combine and leave a feeling of relief in the wake of combination. Tendrils outstretch, seeking and drawing in and it’s a wonder how he ever manages to go without this mental contact. Aloud, words fail him, his chosen medium rendered to ash in this moment of startling and brilliant clarity.

Inside, his thoughts speak for him and allow the Master, his Koschei, his home, his Universe, to hear and understand and know. Partly a repetition of the other’s own words to him in troubled moments, partly his own sentiments, all wrapped in a diaphanous blanket of pure and unadulterated love. The words within their swirling tendrils are base, simple, the artform gone and leaving behind just the words and meanings as before. Promises anew.

We’re not there anymore. The past is done and the future waits. Together.
I’m sorry. For all the hurt, pain, terror, blindness, broken promises, I’m sorry.
I understand. What you did, I understand.
I know. I accept. I forgive. Forgive me too.
Missed you every moment. Never leaving again. I remember.
Stay, as I stay, stay with me, Hearts.
I belong to you. Will always, have always. I’m yours.
My other half. Soul of my soul.
My Koschei.

Koschei murmurs a laugh. He remains otherwise resolutely immobile. A long moment passes, in which nothing but their pure minds communes. In this perfect silent bliss, free of the drums and their poisonous associations with death, insufficiency and solitude, he hears every syllable nudged across the ever-closing bridge between them. He hears, and realizes that he could happily never emerge from this place again.

In the silence there is a sound accompanying Theta’s words: the distant high hiss, the lull, of a seatide, peppered by something like glass chimes, in incandescent harmony, like the sound of light on the ocean at sunset. The sound is eternal; it’s their music, together. The sound is neither Koschei nor Theta, but the entropy of both.

Tears continue to fall indiscriminately, like the little boy beneath thousands of years of calcification is leaking through. His hands rest on Theta’s shoulders; he guides him down to kneeling, until they are both on their knees, then gently, without looking once, guides the pair of them down to the TARDIS grates, on their sides, foreheads still connected.

We’re not there anymore.
I understand, too.
Just, when you run, take me with you, or run toward me.
I trust that you will.
I know, I accept.
I do forgive you, too.
Now you are me, and I am you.
What can I do but stay with myself?
My other half. Soul of my soul.
Life of my life.
My every happiness.
My Theta.
I’ve got you, sweet my love.
I’ve got you. You are not alone.
I love you.
I know you love me.

He opens his eyes, then.

“ … Hi.”

“Crybaby.”

A gentlest tease, as plentiful tears stain his own face.

intergalacticstarlight:

sclfmastery:

Send “✘” for your muse to run their fingers along mine’s scars!

  “Well hel-lo.”

Unconsciously, the Master’s begun to mimic this particular face of
the Doctor, down to speech patterns and physical mannerisms.

Never, ever tell him this.

In case the Doctor has been searching for his Sonic, he’ll find it
in the Master’s current possession: tinkering with a particular
function that can maximize efficient wavelength output. Basically,
he’s performing system maintenance on the device, an act that
reveals his natural meticulousness and the Doctor’s natural
gunslinging, while tsking and muttering all the way.

But presently the Doctor’s knelt at his feet and reached up beneath
his charcoal gray dress shirt, to finger the bullet hole scar right over
his bellybutton, left seemingly eons ago by Lucy Saxon’s avenging
gun.

Koschei laughs through his blunt nose, while finishing the rewiring
process with a delicate little pair of pincers.

“Reminiscing on the ‘good old’ times, are we?” he jokes grimly.

The sonic is gripped tightly at first in his hand, an anchor of technological alteration purely metaphorical at the moment before it is quickly tucked within the Doctor’s pinstriped pocket in favor of his hand returning to its’ previous location, its’ previous actions beneath the other’s shirt. He recognizes the affectionate meddling for what it is an in this moment accepts it without snark or snide remarks. It isn’t the time and he still wants to grovel, still is groveling in his own way, the only way he possibly can.

The Doctor’s dark eyes lift upward, gazing into the eyes of the Master as hands find his face. His own eyes are seeking, searching, but for what he does not know- he just knows he finds it there, within the Master, that unnamed and intangible thing. Deeper than love, more powerful than comfort, more familiar than any face or mental signature and as those calloused thumbs trace his eyebrows the corners of his mouth begin to tilt upward, threatening to smile.

Pulsating variants of cerulean blue quake beneath the touch of the other’s mind, dark eyes rolling shut for a moment at the mental contact. The feeling of the Master’s silent reassurances make him exhale and release those nightmares back into the abyss where they belong. Blue and red twining together, coiling like smoke around the outskirts of one another’s minds and when his eyes open now they are clear, bright, almost vibrant.

Sparkling blue water lapping at the edges of crimson grass, mimicking their minds or perhaps their minds are mimicking the elements but it hardly matters because it is real. The hands in his hair produce a soft sigh and the rest of his body relaxes, nearly melting if he were ever to admit it- he wouldn’t -and both of his arms move to place his hands palm-flat against bare skin, against the Master’s sides beneath the shirt.

His other half knows him so well that it feels almost insulting that he should be able to pull him out of such a deep depression so easily and a part of him wishes to remain in a horrid mood out of spite. Like a petulant child with a pouting disposition, kicking and screaming and refusing to be happy. But how can he possibly refuse? The Master is here, he is alive, the war is over, they are together and at once the Doctor defines that formerly indescribable feeling. That previously intangible thing that’s deeper than love and more powerful than comfort. Familiar as the TARDIS, as his own mind, as his counterpart’s.

Home. That feeling is home. How about that- neither one of them had ever been wanderers after all. They’d been carrying home with them all along, apart or together, all along.

The smile appears in its’ full magnitude as he gazes up at his love, his other half, his home, himself. The Master is right, of course- far more often than the Doctor would like– another fact he won’t be sharing. The ghosts are gone and he soaks in his private patch of sunlight in the form of the Master above him. He no longer minds being in the submissive position he finds himself in this moment. Once in a while, the Doctor can yield. It isn’t weakness, he understands that in this moment. Rather, it is trust. Thumbs trace circles against his counterpart’s skin beneath that shirt as he finally speaks again, his voice more clear and strong than it had been before.

“We’re not there anymore.” Theta repeats the confirmation, an assurance that he believes it, that he’s heard him, and adds to the sentiment. “We’ll never be there again.”

You are my home and we are each other.
Never leaving, never again.
My hand in yours, your hand in mine, always.
I love you, Koschei.

(I haven’t been able to properly articulate a reply to this for like over a week, so I decided I’d sketch them kissing instead)

( ;w; I hope you like it lol ❤ )

Tag: tensimm

✘ – [Tenny of course]