Beach (A Doctor/Master Fic)

[aunt_zelda]

Title: Beach

Author: me, aunt_zelda

Word Count: 1,772

Rating: R I suppose, for groping and swears in American-English and English-English.

Spoilers: S3 of DW, but it’s one of those ‘the Master is really alive and still Simm!Master and traveling with the Doctor … somehow’ fics.

A/N: I went to the beach on Earth Day and was struck with this fic idea as I was drawing Chinese characters in the sand. You should probably blame the Mainer in me for dragging our favorite Time Lords to a Maine beach, but be grateful I allowed at least some sand (in my opinion, if there aren’t rocks, it’s not a beach.)

Also I’m becoming very interested indeed in Academy Fics, anyone got any good linkies? Shamelessly pimping your own fics is allowed and welcome!

Also, ‘Whirligigs?’ No idea what they look like at all. Draw me a picture if you have time!

 

(Edit, July 30th 2008: This fic won runner-up in 'Best Fluff Fic' in the dwtwslashawards. Thank you to everyone who voted for me!)

 

 

 

In hindsight, it was, perhaps, a ridiculously optimistic idea. Unless it was a beach full of screaming, dying warriors with lots of things on fire, it was not a beach the Master was interested in paying a visit to for a whole day.

“I have always despised Americans,” the Master said as the Doctor – giddy, holding a picnic basket in one hand and the Master’s hand with the other – pulled him out of the TARDIS. “I doubt this venture will improve my opinion of all things Uncle Sam.”

“But it’s Maine!” the Doctor said, eyes shining, as he dragged the Master across the deserted parking-lot towards the rustling grasslands. “How can anyone, even you, find fault with it?”

“Is that a challenge?” the Master asked stiffly, wrenching away from the Doctor’s grasp and crossing his arms. “I’ll never forgive you for taking my clothes, you pervert.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “Oh really, like you could have spent the day here in that silly suit.”

The Master glared. He hated shorts: even if they went past his knees he felt dreadfully exposed (not that he’d admit that to the Doctor.) “I can choose clothing for myself, Doctor, I am not a child.”

“You certainly fooled me,” the Doctor muttered.

The Master raised an eyebrow. “Oho, do I detect a hint of sarcasm in the Messiah’s voice?”

The Doctor sighed, glanced into the distance. Then he whirled around, grinning. “Last one to the beach is a Whirligig egg!” he took off, unhampered by the picnic basket.

The Master snorted contemptuously, glanced around to check for anyone on the deserted coastline, then took off after the Doctor.

~*~

After leaving the basket by a large outcropping of rocks at the very edge of the beach, the Doctor kicked off his shoes and socks and threw out his arms as the breeze ruffled his hair and buffeted his body. He felt as if he could just leap into the air and fly away …

Muttered curses in assorted languages and heavy breathing alerted the Doctor to the Master’s presence (the wind from the sea and the crash of the waves had dampened his psychic senses) so the Doctor reopened his eyes and looked around.

Besides himself, the Master, and some birds, the beach was completely empty. There was actual sand on this beach, though there were a lot more rocks than the Doctor was used to when he thought of ‘beach.’ The sun was high in the sky, casting shimmering lights over the waves that hurt to look at for too long.

“Oh look at that! Isn’t that brilliant? The earliest sunrise is in Maine, did you know that? Up in Lubec … we should’ve gone there this morning, maybe later –”

Something poked him on the shoulder.

The Doctor turned around. The Master was holding a long, slim piece of driftwood like a sword.

“En garde, Doctor,” he said, giving the Doctor another jab with the stick.

The Doctor leapt back a bit. “What?!”

The Master took a step forward. “I said, you pathetic excuse for a Time Lord, en garde! One of the few things your ridiculous pet species got right is swordplay … so defend yourself!” he lunged forward again, but this time the Doctor was ready for him.

The Doctor ducked and rolled to the side, snatching up a likely-looking stick that was dry and did not fall apart as soon as he picked it up …

… and suddenly it was just like old times.

Parry, thrust, parry, thrust …

He could lose himself so very easily in this, particularly since there was no danger of being stabbed this time around. Without having to fear for his life, or someone else’s, dueling with the Master was quite enjoyable. No one else had ever been able to match him satisfactorily, but perhaps that was because they had practiced together when they were young almost every day. The Doctor felt that if he closed his eyes, he’d vanish into those memories: laughing with Koschei while they fenced with sticks out in the woods …

Then he tripped over a rock, lost his grip on the stick-sword, rolled down the sand, and landed in the surf just as a rather large and very cold wave crashed up, utterly soaking him.

The Doctor spat several times, shaking his head like a dog, bracing himself for the Master’s mocking laughter. He was surprised that it wasn’t coming. He was even more surprised when the Master tossed aside his own stick, strode down the beach, and shoved the Doctor back down into the water.

The Doctor flailed around in the freezing surf, trying to swear and yell at the same time. He had the bizarre urge to laugh.

Seized with a mixture of anger and mischief, the Doctor grabbed a hold of the Master’s leg and yanked him down into the water.

In the ensuing chaos, neither Time Lord stayed above water for very long. Either they were having their face rubbed into the sand, a wave had knocked them down, or they were too busy trying to gain the upper-hand that they forgot about breathing altogether. Eventually they were too cold and exhausted and hopelessly entangled in each other’s limbs that they gave it up and declared a draw.

Helping each other along, they crawled back up onto the beach, shivering and gasping for air, like a horrible parody of human evolution.

Too embarrassed to look at each other, they staggered for the hither-to-forgotten basket the Doctor had packed what seemed like years ago, and began to pull out towels.  

~*~

Hours later they were finally dry, lying on a beach towel, and doing what the Master would never have admitted was ‘snuggling’ but was certainly something rather close. Whilst not-snuggling, they were sharing a warm cheese pizza the Doctor had purchased from a local store.

“Tosser,” the Master muttered, shifting about slightly.

“What did I do this time?” the Doctor asked, too relaxed and content to be exasperated.

“You made me fall in love with you again!” the Master crossed his arms and did his best to look rather huffy and put-out, but as his head was on the Doctor’s lap this was extremely hard to achieve. “Fuck you, Theta!” he added, glaring up at the other Time Lord.

The Doctor looked rather taken aback. “What did I do? How is this my fault?”

The Master sat up, a snarl playing about his lips, his hair sticking out in strange directions.

“This is all your fault! You’re a fucking cocktease! You have been since school!”

“Oh, finally!” the Doctor threw up his hands in mock-surrender. “I’m sure you’ve been waiting eight-hundred and eighty-odd years to tell me this, Koschei, so let’s have it!”

The Master looked a bit surprised. He paused, running a hand through his hair, accidentally giving it a more deranged appearance while the Doctor pretended to watch the waves crash and hiss on the rocks in the distance.

The Master let out an angry sigh. “You broke my fucking hearts when we were seventeen. I asked you to come with me and …” the Doctor looked away, but the Master continued, “… and you didn’t. You were going to abide by the rules for once in your miserable life; you decided to be a perfect little teacher’s pet at the worst possible moment!”

The Doctor was determinedly looking into the distance. His voice was barely audible when he said “But … but when I said no you just … brushed me off. Said there were a million boys out there better than me … you said you’d never give me a second thought, that I was just a … just a silly school crush. You said it was fun but you were ready to grow up.”

The Master seized the Doctor by the shoulders and forced him to face him. “And you believed that? After all these years, after all the times we’ve run into each other, you believed that?!”

The Doctor nodded.

The Master stared at him. “You idiot.”

Then he rushed forward and kissed the Doctor’s lips, licking off a drop of pizza-sauce as he did so.

The Doctor fell backwards onto the sand, setting the pizza box off to the side, tangling his hands in the Master’s short, still-damp hair. The Master’s lips were like fire, the Doctor felt as thought his skin was about to blister.

He slid one hand down the Master’s shorts. The Master didn’t object, so the Doctor slid into his underwear and felt around. He was out of practice but he had the feeling this was like riding a bike: you never forgot.

The Master shuddered and made a noise not unlike a stifled moan. Even in the darkening beach the Doctor could tell the other Time Lord had gone red.

“Rassilon’s hat stand …” the Master gasped. “Doctor … your fingers …”

The Doctor allowed himself a smug smile, knowing such smiles drove the Master so crazy he’d want to lick it off in sheer frustration. The Master obliged him.

Once most of their clothes were off, the Doctor shyly brushed his hand across the Master’s forehead.

“Please …” he whispered, trembling in the semi-darkness. “Please Master … let me in?”

The Master considered him for a painfully long time. The Doctor barely believed his ears when the Master whispered “Yes …” and pressed his own hand above the Doctor’s raised eyebrows.

The Doctor closed his eyes and got a better hold on the Master’s forehead …

~*~

Partially dressed they lay on the towels – not-snuggling – and fishing around in the pizza box for crusts. The moon was almost full and casting a silvery-blue light down on the softly hissing waves. Stars were so clear out here, the Doctor could pick out every single galactic ‘highway sign’ that could be seen from this hemisphere.

He traced a circle in the sand with a remnant of a stick, playing a game with the Master they’d played as kids. The goal was to spell the rudest sentence imaginable, by cramming as many circles and lines in the original circle as possible.

When drawn with sticks and fingers in sand, and not with proper calligraphy tools on art-paper, it wasn’t long until you could no longer read the symbols and it was scratched out by the Master, who’d refused to admit he’d lost.

Instead of fighting some more, the Master slung his arm around the Doctor and nuzzled his neck.

“Prat,” he muttered.

“Loon,” the Doctor whispered back.  

There was a pause.

“Love you.”

“Ditto.”