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Thoschei Lockdown The First 2020
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Published:
2020-03-25
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884
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1/1
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Stolen Greetings

Summary:

The Master has met River before -- not in this body, but in others -- and with a tilt of her head and a lilt of her tongue, she steals a greeting that does not belong to her, full of taunting, mischief, and untold secrets. "Hello sweetie.
 

Response to the prompt "11 and whittaker!master have a lot of fun flirting and getting space vegas married until 11 realises that whittaker!master is not, in fact, one of River's esoteric and more aggressive regenerations" for the Thoschei Lockdown exchange.

Notes:

Work Text:

The Master did not expect to encounter her oldest friend and best enemy here, of all places. This space is very much her domain. It thrives on entropy and darkness and a dim red light that echoes the burgundy of her clothes and is reflected back in the shine of her short blonde hair.  She slips through the room's shadows with a graceful, theatrical ease, as if she was born in their filthy recesses. This lair is not built to accommodate the Doctor, his various moral high grounds, and the horrible way in which his charisma seems to drown out her own.

Periodically, she catches him staring at her from across the room -- his expression dazed and confused and shockingly dopey. The Doctor always looks like an idiot, but there is something about this particular face that multiplies it tenfold. Perhaps it’s his disturbing lack of eyebrows or the flop of hair that constantly threatens to cover one eye or the way his smile always seems to sit cockeyed to the set of his bowtie. 

After several long, calculating moments, she closes the space between them, and without hesitation, wraps a gloved hand around the silk of his tie to pull his face down to meet hers. He squirms slightly beneath her touch as she plants a decisive kiss on his lips, and when they part, he's smiling expectantly, wringing his hands as if he has encountered the most exciting and vexing puzzle in the universe. 

"River?"

The Master has met River before -- not in this body, but in others -- and with a tilt of her head and a lilt of her tongue, she steals a greeting that does not belong to her, full of taunting, mischief, and untold secrets. "Hello sweetie.
  
In a bygone age spread beneath orange skies, the Doctor’s eyes used to sparkle like that for her and only her . Bitterness clamps her twin hearts in a vice grip, and she decides to do something deliciously cruel.

Her dark-painted lips curl into a smirk as she tosses errant bangs from her face with a carefree shake of her head. “Let’s get married.”

Bubbling, nervous laughter passes from his lips to hers. “Again?”

“ Again ,” the Master purrs, hunger and mischief flashing in her eyes as her hand tightens around that sinful bowtie. “We love a repeat performance.”

 

His whirlwind of a TARDIS carries them to Space Vegas. While in transit, The Doctor attempts to put a shockingly garish hat on her head, insisting that it is the sexist thing he has ever seen. In retaliation, she trips him on their way out the doors. The poor bastard has never had an eye for style. It almost manages to verge on endearing. Perhaps it would have melted her hearts, if she still had hearts to speak of, but whatever tenderness once lurked in her chest was torn out and replaced with pain and rage and an incessant drumbeat.



The Doctor doesn’t let go of the Master’s hand as he drags her through a crowded hallway, flashes that infuriating scrap of psychic paper in front of an android manning the front desk, and drags her in front of a six-armed, three-eyed officiant dressed in something that might have resembled an Elvis Presley costume at once point, but has since fallen to pieces. Hardly an elegant arrangement, but it will do.

The Master does not listen as the officiant rattles through his worn and tired speech. She’s running lines in her head, rehearsing and honing her reveal until it’s perfect enough that she can no longer prevent a wicked grin from spreading across her face. The Doctor does a double take when he sees it, and though brief concern flashes in his eyes, he chases the suspicion away by summoning a lopsided smile and running a restless hand through his fluffy hair. 

“Do you, Doctor, take this woman to be your wife, in accordance with the marital laws that govern this galaxy?”

An excited tongue darts across his lips and he rocks his weight forward and backwards on his heels, needlessly impatient. It every ounce of the Master’s control to refrain from stomping on his foot to curb the sickening, childish motion. “I do.”

The Master sighs through her nose and turns her eyes sideways.

The officiant continues down his script, refusing to so much as glance up at the couple before them. “Do you, River, take this man to be your husband, in accordance with the marital laws that govern this galaxy?”

A tight-lipped smirk tugs at the corners of her lips. “ Oh , do be a dear and use my proper name. Otherwise it doesn’t count.”

Confusion buzzes in the air as the officiant flips through the pages in front of him, trying to find the source of his mistake. Across from her, the Doctor’s eyes narrow, lips parting slightly as he tries to put his finger on the slippery feeling that has no doubt plagued him since the very moment that he set eyes upon her. It always takes him an embarrassingly long time to recognize the soul that lurks beneath the changing faces.

“Call me Master.”

The Doctor lets go of her hand and reels backward, stumbling as he misses the step off the podium.

The shock on his face is priceless.