Dressing Up (PG, 13/Dhawan!Master)
Jan. 6th, 2020 08:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grassangelTitle: Dressing Up
Series: Doctor Who
Character/Pairing: 13/Dhawan!Master, past 12/Missy
Genre: More romance than not
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 882
Summary:
"You should've worn your dress," the Doctor says, coming up behind the Master where he's sitting in one of the TARDIS's many staircases. "The sparkly black one. It's still there in the wardrobe. We even passed it to get Graham some shoes."
He ignores her, continuing to twist the cuff she'd slapped on him after the Unfathomable had turned on him. It's been upgraded from the one he'd put on her in the Vault and he hasn't found a way to take it off yet. He will, he always does, but until then he's stuck to the Doctor's side or restricted to her TARDIS.
"You looked nice in it," she adds, sitting down beside him, flicking the length of her coat back so she doesn't sit on it.
The Master's lip curls at her comment. Typical Doctor, remembering him as a past version he no longer was, that no longer existed except as a memory. He's fond of the old girl though, and she wouldn't have let her Doctor say that without comment so he says it for her. "Pig."
"Oi!"
His hearts flutter in his chest for a moment at the glare the Doctor shoots him, her eyes sharp and bright.
"You're one too! You said I looked gorgeous in it when I wore it back in 1972. Or was it 1983?" she trails off, distracted by her unreliable memory of when that event had occurred.
The Master can't remember the year either, but he can remember the way the Doctor's back had looked in that dress, the way the neckline fell across the Doctor's collarbones when he'd taken it out for the somethingth anniversary of that night when she'd been in the Vault. Closing his eyes against the memory, the Master tries to ignore those images, push them back into the past where they belong.
"You also took a fancy to it when we were in that hospital resort on Zo-geh."
The Master turns to glare at her, teeth bared at the recent memory.
"I was dying. I was delirious."
The Doctor rolls her eyes and gives a small shrug at his growl. "Wasn't me who was the stubborn bastard trying to hold back a regeneration because I was jealous of who I'd become," she says, lip curling, her opinion on that past regeneration's attitude clear. His feelings before Zo-geh had been transparent too, loving her and hating him because he wasn't her, not yet.
"No, you're just a coward." The Master had stopped twisting the cuff around minutes ago, the skin underneath growing raw with the action, but now he pulls his fingers away from where he'd been tracing the hinge, sick of the Doctor's self-righteous attitude. Hypocritical too, from what he can tell of his hazy memories of that night on Zo-geh and the sympathy the Doctor had for his stubbornness even while she'd urged him to let go and regenerate.
He makes to push up from his seat on the stairs but the Doctor reaches out to grasp his hand before he can take another step, halting his departure.
"Not if I have you with me."
The Master makes the mistake of looking at her face at those words, her dappled forest sunlight eyes shining brightly with that stupid, irascible hope the Doctor has. He tries to resist the temptation they hold, clenching his jaw against its pull. He remembers being in this TARDIS before, her grasping hands shied away from before hesitantly being held. She'd reached for his hand once again after that, their hands pressed between them, the last time they'd done so in those bodies before she pushed him away.
The Doctor's fingers are strong now, no hesitation in her reach as she leans forward towards him. Her hand doesn't have the weight of the terms and conditions his hand had held and the Master finds himself curling his fingers around hers.
"You look better in it. You should wear it next time," he offers, no longer turning to pull away from her grasp. He stays there, standing on the stair in front of the Doctor, his hand clasped in hers for a moment as she registers what he's just said. He's stunned her into silence, her mouth slightly open as she looks at him, her fingers still clinging to his.
"Oh," she says softly, eyes looking down at their joined hands. The Master has to give a small smile at the use of his alias as realisation breaks across the Doctor's face at the implied promise that they'll have a next time together.
The wonder lasts only for a moment before it scrunches up, her nose wrinkling as she winces.
"Actually, I think after what happened on Zo-geh that dress might not quite be wearable."
An memory passes through their point of contact of fabric heavy with blood and a rip riding high up the side of the dress as booted feet run down a long corridor. The Master gives as single chuckle at the Doctor's admission and tugs on her hand to pull her up.
"Just as well I didn't wear it then."
The Master offers the Doctor his arm, the lightly grasping hand just above his elbow a far more agreeable tether to the Doctor than the one on his wrist.
Series: Doctor Who
Character/Pairing: 13/Dhawan!Master, past 12/Missy
Genre: More romance than not
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 882
Summary:
The Doctor suggests that the Master could've worn his old dress instead of a suit.also available on AO3
It leads to a discussion that is as much about regeneration as it is about who wore the dress better.
"You should've worn your dress," the Doctor says, coming up behind the Master where he's sitting in one of the TARDIS's many staircases. "The sparkly black one. It's still there in the wardrobe. We even passed it to get Graham some shoes."
He ignores her, continuing to twist the cuff she'd slapped on him after the Unfathomable had turned on him. It's been upgraded from the one he'd put on her in the Vault and he hasn't found a way to take it off yet. He will, he always does, but until then he's stuck to the Doctor's side or restricted to her TARDIS.
"You looked nice in it," she adds, sitting down beside him, flicking the length of her coat back so she doesn't sit on it.
The Master's lip curls at her comment. Typical Doctor, remembering him as a past version he no longer was, that no longer existed except as a memory. He's fond of the old girl though, and she wouldn't have let her Doctor say that without comment so he says it for her. "Pig."
"Oi!"
His hearts flutter in his chest for a moment at the glare the Doctor shoots him, her eyes sharp and bright.
"You're one too! You said I looked gorgeous in it when I wore it back in 1972. Or was it 1983?" she trails off, distracted by her unreliable memory of when that event had occurred.
The Master can't remember the year either, but he can remember the way the Doctor's back had looked in that dress, the way the neckline fell across the Doctor's collarbones when he'd taken it out for the somethingth anniversary of that night when she'd been in the Vault. Closing his eyes against the memory, the Master tries to ignore those images, push them back into the past where they belong.
"You also took a fancy to it when we were in that hospital resort on Zo-geh."
The Master turns to glare at her, teeth bared at the recent memory.
"I was dying. I was delirious."
The Doctor rolls her eyes and gives a small shrug at his growl. "Wasn't me who was the stubborn bastard trying to hold back a regeneration because I was jealous of who I'd become," she says, lip curling, her opinion on that past regeneration's attitude clear. His feelings before Zo-geh had been transparent too, loving her and hating him because he wasn't her, not yet.
"No, you're just a coward." The Master had stopped twisting the cuff around minutes ago, the skin underneath growing raw with the action, but now he pulls his fingers away from where he'd been tracing the hinge, sick of the Doctor's self-righteous attitude. Hypocritical too, from what he can tell of his hazy memories of that night on Zo-geh and the sympathy the Doctor had for his stubbornness even while she'd urged him to let go and regenerate.
He makes to push up from his seat on the stairs but the Doctor reaches out to grasp his hand before he can take another step, halting his departure.
"Not if I have you with me."
The Master makes the mistake of looking at her face at those words, her dappled forest sunlight eyes shining brightly with that stupid, irascible hope the Doctor has. He tries to resist the temptation they hold, clenching his jaw against its pull. He remembers being in this TARDIS before, her grasping hands shied away from before hesitantly being held. She'd reached for his hand once again after that, their hands pressed between them, the last time they'd done so in those bodies before she pushed him away.
The Doctor's fingers are strong now, no hesitation in her reach as she leans forward towards him. Her hand doesn't have the weight of the terms and conditions his hand had held and the Master finds himself curling his fingers around hers.
"You look better in it. You should wear it next time," he offers, no longer turning to pull away from her grasp. He stays there, standing on the stair in front of the Doctor, his hand clasped in hers for a moment as she registers what he's just said. He's stunned her into silence, her mouth slightly open as she looks at him, her fingers still clinging to his.
"Oh," she says softly, eyes looking down at their joined hands. The Master has to give a small smile at the use of his alias as realisation breaks across the Doctor's face at the implied promise that they'll have a next time together.
The wonder lasts only for a moment before it scrunches up, her nose wrinkling as she winces.
"Actually, I think after what happened on Zo-geh that dress might not quite be wearable."
An memory passes through their point of contact of fabric heavy with blood and a rip riding high up the side of the dress as booted feet run down a long corridor. The Master gives as single chuckle at the Doctor's admission and tugs on her hand to pull her up.
"Just as well I didn't wear it then."
The Master offers the Doctor his arm, the lightly grasping hand just above his elbow a far more agreeable tether to the Doctor than the one on his wrist.
