Title: Outtakes and Tonging
Author: Jo Masters
D/M pairing: 3/Delgado!Master (Jo Grant gets a brief mention, too)
Rating: PG-13 for some adult references
Trigger warnings: None that I can think of, though very
mild BDSM is mentioned.
Summary: Delgado!Master breaks into Three's TARDIS in search of a Valentine's Day present and encounters more than he bargained for. Written for the best_enemies
D/M anon meme and inspired by the weirdest spam post of all Time and Space that appeared there.
For most people, TARDISes were difficult contraptions to break into.
The Master, on the other hand, was not most people. Besides, he thought, as the lock gave easily beneath the screwdriver he had created specifically for this task, if the Doctor didn’t want
him to muck about in his TARDIS, he really should invest in better security.
The first thing that struck him about the machine was her excellent condition. Her walls were healthy and bone-white, free of dust or calcium deposits—and of any meretricious decoration. Curious. Given this regeneration’s taste for all things lace, velvet, and wine colored
, he had expected the poor creature to look like a hybrid of a Victorian salon and a particularly dodgy Christmas tree.
The Master shook his head. He hadn’t the time to think about interior design. The Doctor would soon be back from wherever he and Miss Grant had run off to today, and if he wanted to evade discovery, he knew he had best finish his task as quickly as possible, for it was a task he simply could not fail to accomplish.
Where the deuce was the old man hiding his present?
Oh, yes. It was only a week to Valentine’s Day, and the Master knew he could just wait—he was, after all, the most patient and calculating of Time Lords. Only this wasn’t entirely about waiting, nor was it about some silly modern bastardization of both Chaucer and a pagan holiday used by humans to sell ridiculous cards and excuse immoderate sexual congress. No, this was about something far more important.
This was about obtaining chocolate.
In particular, it was about obtaining raspberry cordial chocolate. If the Master knew the Doctor as well as he thought he did (and oh, did he ever know him better than the Doctor gave him credit!), he was 99 percent certain a box of them were waiting…somewhere in this immaculately clean TARDIS.
The Master turned away from the walls and blinked. Apparently, that somewhere was the TARDIS consul. The box was simply sitting there, looking big, white, square, sterile…
…and decidedly not
like a box of expensive raspberry cordials pressed into little heart shapes.
Frowning hard enough to feel the strain in his brow, the Master lifted the package and turned it in his hands. Perhaps, he told himself, the Doctor had ordered it in from outside of England and hadn’t removed it from the package yet. The thought of Belgian or German chocolates melting on his tongue was enough to ease his expression back into a grin. However, the more he turned the box, the faster his worry returned. Of the box’s six sides, one displayed a shipping address that was decidedly not the residence of Neuhaus or Guylian.
The opposite side to this contained a description.
“Ah,” the Master said as he began reading. Perhaps this would explain what region of the world his goodies haled from.
“You're goal is the capture as many villains as possible before they destroy the entire town of New York.”
The Master frowned again. “There’s no cause for improper punctuation,” he told the box, which, of course, remained both unresponsive and misspelled. But what was this about capturing villains? The Master shook the box gently. Surely, if this had been an ingenious trap, it would not have come with a warning label, even one that would not be noticed until a net was dropping upon oneself or the bomb inside had started smoking. No, the Doctor was not so playful or childish as that.
The Master read on. “Will it cover me to be flown home if required?Do I have to be reimbursed and pay up front for medical expenses?Am I still covered if I am over 65?Is my family covered under the same card?”
Incorrectly punctuated and
incoherent! “I don’t understand,” he said. “Are you some kind of ponzi scheme? A handbook on committing insurance fraud? Because that really would be foolish of him, you know. Whilst I appreciate his approval of my interest in criminality, I really haven’t the time or care for such a petty enterprise as this.”
Once again, the box refused to divulge its secrets.
“Not only is she a treasure hunter,” the Master continued, “this Australian badass is equally comfortable in a gunfight or a fistfight, whatever the occasion demands. [URL=http://lopolikuminr.com
]deflagration[/URL] It will squeeze out any excess water, leaving you with a perfectly shaped log.”
“Well, really!” He exclaimed, nearly dropping the package in alarm. If this was one of those modern, pornographic “toys” used by so-called “modern” men and “liberated” women, the Doctor could kindly keep that sort of thing to himself! Oh, it wasn’t that he was a prude—really, he quite enjoyed being turned over the Doctor’s knees after doing something particularly objectionable—but there was a deep chasm between a bit of naughtiness and obscenity that no man should ever cross.
Only a few sentences remained of the misspelled, poorly-articulated, and rambling excuse for a paragraph. The Master swallowed in trepidation and read them, not entirely certain he was doing a sensible or safe thing.
“For those who consider the best console to have the greatest amount of new video games released each month, the Wii would be the obvious choice as it's well known that game developers for this popular console continue to crank out games at a rapid pace.”
“A W-eye.” The Master rolled the word over his tongue a second time. “What the Devil is a Why?” he asked the package. Rassilon’s Ghost, was this the name of whatever lewd sexual device the Doctor had purchased for their Valentine’s “entertainment?” The Master felt his cheeks heat, both with anger and embarrassment. “Why that impertinent, foul-minded, perverse, filthy—”
“Sorry, old chap, were you talking to me?”
Package in hand, the Master whirled to find the Doctor standing in the TARDIS’ doorway, wearing a ridiculous plum-colored velvet suit and a long cape to match. “Oh dear. You’re looking a bit flushed. Is something the matter?”
The Master tried to say several things at once, all of them beginning with “You libertine.” In the end, he simply settled for shouting “You libertine!” as loudly as his injured dignity would allow.
The Doctor merely blinked. “Sorry, I don’t quite follow.”
“You don’t—” the Master spluttered. He brandished the package like a shield and shook it until it rattled.
“Ah-ah, careful. You’ll damage it.”
“Good!” the Master roared before stamping across the consul room, bringing the offending box along. “Doctor, what is the meaning of this?”
“‘This, my dear?’”
“Don’t you ‘my dear’ me.” The Master shook the package again. “I know
what’s inside of this.”
“Do you?” The Doctor serenely folded his arms across his ruffle-covered chest. The twinkle in his green eyes only enraged the Master further—even though he had to admit they were very, very lovely green eyes.
“Yes!” He shoved the package against the Doctor’s forearms until they opened to take it from him. “And let me tell you, Doctor, I dislike it.”
“You dislike it?”
“Oh, yes, Doctor. I dislike it intensely. If you think for a moment that I’m some—some gigolo who will try any perverted thing to please you, I tell you, you ought to think again.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Doctor, I may be a man of what others call dubious morals, but I am not a—a carnal plaything.”
“Master, what on Earth are you talking about?” The Doctor shifted the package onto one hip and touched the back of his hand to the shorter man’s forehead. “Are you feeling quite all right?”
The Master batted him away. “I am talking about whatever infernal device you have put inside that package. And let me tell you,” he continued as the Doctor looked down at the writing, “I will have none of whatever obscene device you have purchased or created to—excite me. Gentlemen simply don’t—do you think this is amusing?”
The Doctor, who had begun snickering the moment the Master mentioned inserting something inside his person, was guffawing now.
“Doctor, this is hardly appropriate!
The Doctor looked down at it, and back up at the Master. “My dear, don’t be absurd! This isn’t a sexual device. I assure you,” he said as the Master visibly cringed at the words, “I would never purchase or design such a thing, knowing the oceanic depths of your disapproval.”
It was now the Master’s turn to cross his arms. “Then you will have no objection to telling me exactly what is inside this package.”
“Oh, it’s not for you.”
“Then I am to understand this is not my gift?” The Master tried not to let disappointment creep into his voice. Of course. The Doctor hadn’t gotten him anything. Really, knowing that, he almost preferred the degrading alternative.
“No. Not at all.” The Doctor stepped around him and returned the package to the consul. “This, my dear fellow, was a decoy.”
“A decoy?” The Master followed him.
“Well, something had to distract you until my return.”
“Doctor, I despise being toyed with even more than—”
“And this,” the Doctor said, “is your gift.” He switched his cape open, revealing a large, heart-shaped box of chocolates strapped to his side.
The Master felt his eyes widen. “Neuhaus?” he asked in what he hoped was a very disinterested manner.
“Now, would I buy you anything but the finest?”
“I’m afraid that isn’t good enough, Doctor.”
“Oh?” The Doctor shrugged. “Very well, then.” He removed the chocolate box and untied the red velvet ribbon.
The Master watched with calculated indifference as the other Time Lord lifted one heart-shaped—oh, heart-shaped!—confection from the tray within and popped it into his mouth. He could never fathom why the Doctor had never taken up the art of hypnotism—the way he chewed and licked his lips afterwards could have made the citizens of several star systems fall to their knees. But as he had a point to make, the Master did not waver. Not even when the Doctor removed a second chocolate and held it out to him.
“If you think I am going to forgive you that easily—” The Master’s insult was cut off against the point of a hard, dark chocolate heart, and then lost forever in a sea of raspberries and sugar.
“Oh,” he moaned before he could stop himself. “Oh.” And really, he thought, what else could he do? The wretched little things were more addictive than Cuban cigars, than brandy, than anything but the Doctor’s fingers now tracing the curve of his lower lip.
Confound it all. Staying furious at the man was simply impossible, even when he was being insufferable. The Master blamed his eyes, his hair, his ridiculous suits, and the way he always seemed to know just how to caress the shell of his left ear.
“I’m still cross with you,” he said after he had swallowed.
“Oh, I do not doubt that,” the Doctor said as he pulled another chocolate heart from the box. “It was a rather dirty trick. But really, my dear fellow, what did
you expect after sneaking in here, hm? And attempting to steal a box of sweeties at that! You aren’t going soft on me, are you?”
The Master snorted before clipping another chocolate from the Doctor’s fingers. “Don’t be absurd, Doctor,” he said after he had finished indulging a second time. “It’s just that these humans of yours make the blasted things taste so good.”
“Indeed.” The Doctor placed a third chocolate in his mouth and leaned forward.
“Mh. Quite,” the Master agreed before nipping it away.
“Of course,” the Doctor said several minutes later when the flurry of kisses had ceased. “There is the matter of your bad behavior. You entered my poor TARDIS unauthorized and mucked about with something you had no right to touch.”
The Master did not try to shake the hand from his back. “It’s your own fault, Doctor. You know I simply can’t be trusted.”
The Doctor made a disapproving noise as he reached for his lover and best enemy’s hand. “Perhaps, then, as you’re already devouring of your Valentine’s gift like the rapacious jackanape you are, I ought to give you the rest of it.”
“Which is?” The Master asked as he reached for another cordial.
The Doctor twined their fingers together. “Oh, I’m afraid you’re not going to ruin this surprise, my dear. I’ll give it to you in good time—after, of course, I’ve shown you what a very bad Master you have been and gotten you back in line.”
The Master blushed as the Doctor’s fingers brushed across his rear.
“Now, my dear,” the Doctor whispered. “Surely this doesn’t scandalize you?”
“No,” the Master agreed when he was able to think in full sentences again. “Still,” he said as the two moved towards the TARDIS’ cavernous bedchamber. “When you are done…er, disciplining me, I would like to know one thing.”
“What’s that, then?”
“What the deuce is a Why?”