![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
predatrix.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
best_enemiesOne of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
were_lemur's excellent 19 drabbles (now she manages to keep to 100 words when I'm hopeless at that...) is a Third Doctor/Delgado!Master crack, in which the Master summons something again (because that always turns out so well when the Master does it. Not), and has to explain embarrassedly to the Doctor that instead of helping him gain personal power, it told him he would have to die horribly in an hour's time unless he fed it. With sex.
Being the sort ofpervert person I am I immediately wondered what happened next and started getting ideas for smut and funny dialogue.
This Regrettable Object has the dubious honour of being the first fic I've completed in this fandom. Probably R-rated for smut but not incredibly graphic.
The Doctor tried his very hardest not to laugh. The Master glared.
Then he gathered the Master in his arms and did his best to open proceedings, but that wasn’t successful either.
The Master looked daggers at him, even more so. “For some reason, I cannot imagine why, the prospect of imminent doom is not doing much for my amorous enthusiasm.”
The Doctor chuckled. “But you like to live dangerously, my dear.”
“No, I like you to live dangerously. If I had you in such a perilous position, my dear Doctor, I would be thoroughly prepared to take advantage.”
“Close your eyes, old chap, and imagine you’re taking shameless advantage of me,” murmured the Doctor.
A great shudder ran through the Master’s body. “I hate you,” he whispered, and clung on with all his might. He was beginning to show more enthusiasm.
“I hate you too, old fellow,” the Doctor whispered soothingly. “There’s never been anyone else.”
“…ever since school, Theta Sigma, I never forgot.”
“I'll still hate you in the morning,” murmured the Doctor.
The Master groaned and squirmed and came all over him. The Doctor finished off against the Master’s thigh.
“Blasted dry-cleaning,” muttered the Master sleepily, pulling a crumpled leather glove from between them.
“Is that your charming way of letting me know you’re back to normal?” asked the Doctor (wondering himself how easy it was to get stains out of velvet).
“Mm.”
“So that thing’s definitely gone? How do you know?”
“Psychic presence at the back of my mind,” said the Master, yawning hugely. “I came, it went.”
“If you’re absolutely sure,” said the Doctor. “I do like saving people.” He thought. “Maybe once in a while, if you’ve been good and not committed genocide, I could come and make sure it couldn’t get you again?”
were_lemur's excellent 19 drabbles (now she manages to keep to 100 words when I'm hopeless at that...) is a Third Doctor/Delgado!Master crack, in which the Master summons something again (because that always turns out so well when the Master does it. Not), and has to explain embarrassedly to the Doctor that instead of helping him gain personal power, it told him he would have to die horribly in an hour's time unless he fed it. With sex.Being the sort of
This Regrettable Object has the dubious honour of being the first fic I've completed in this fandom. Probably R-rated for smut but not incredibly graphic.
The Doctor tried his very hardest not to laugh. The Master glared.
Then he gathered the Master in his arms and did his best to open proceedings, but that wasn’t successful either.
The Master looked daggers at him, even more so. “For some reason, I cannot imagine why, the prospect of imminent doom is not doing much for my amorous enthusiasm.”
The Doctor chuckled. “But you like to live dangerously, my dear.”
“No, I like you to live dangerously. If I had you in such a perilous position, my dear Doctor, I would be thoroughly prepared to take advantage.”
“Close your eyes, old chap, and imagine you’re taking shameless advantage of me,” murmured the Doctor.
A great shudder ran through the Master’s body. “I hate you,” he whispered, and clung on with all his might. He was beginning to show more enthusiasm.
“I hate you too, old fellow,” the Doctor whispered soothingly. “There’s never been anyone else.”
“…ever since school, Theta Sigma, I never forgot.”
“I'll still hate you in the morning,” murmured the Doctor.
The Master groaned and squirmed and came all over him. The Doctor finished off against the Master’s thigh.
“Blasted dry-cleaning,” muttered the Master sleepily, pulling a crumpled leather glove from between them.
“Is that your charming way of letting me know you’re back to normal?” asked the Doctor (wondering himself how easy it was to get stains out of velvet).
“Mm.”
“So that thing’s definitely gone? How do you know?”
“Psychic presence at the back of my mind,” said the Master, yawning hugely. “I came, it went.”
“If you’re absolutely sure,” said the Doctor. “I do like saving people.” He thought. “Maybe once in a while, if you’ve been good and not committed genocide, I could come and make sure it couldn’t get you again?”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}