Undone.Unhinged.Unwavering.

[x_losfic]

Title: Undone.Unhinged.Unwavering.

Author: x_los 

Rating: PG-13

Pairing:  Ten/Ainley!Master, Ten/Simm!Master

Summary: “They had a lot in common."

Beta: evilawyer_fic : because sometimes that adjective is not doing what you think it's doing.

A/N: edited request for best_enemies  Anon Meme

 

Undone.Unhinged.Unwavering.

They had a lot in common. They appreciated a good, thorough plot. They were determined beyond the human limits of the word. They wanted to fuck the Doctor until the past centuries fell away like scales from the other Time Lord’s eyes and he understood who he was, who they were, what had always been and always must be between them. But not before they clawed one of his hearts out for having ever forgotten.

The older of them said he’d be Prime Minister, and so the younger took Chancellor of the Exchequer. He thought it appropriate that his very title announced he’d come to settle his accounts.

“He’s coming,” the older Master swanned into his counterpart’s office, gripped the other man’s lapels and grinned widely. His words licked up the other man’s face in hot, delighted breaths. He released his counterpart and nearly spun over to the television, ready to demonstrate something. “I’ve got him on the CCTV footage, wait ‘til you see him, he’s just as pretty as yours! Mm,” the Prime Minister smacked his lips, “Skinny enough to break in half. I like him like that.”

His predecessor chuckled indulgently, leaned forward over the desk and propped his elbows on the blotter. Folded his hands under his brown-bearded chin. “Show me then.”

A click of a button, and they watched the Doctor spin in the middle of a street like a figurine from a music box, coat flying out around him as he turned. His eyes were fawn brown, fever-bright, and best of all, frantic. As the Doctor absorbed the broadcast of the two Masters walking, speaking in close conference after just accepting their Ministerial offices, his face registered beautiful confusion, contorted with a thrilling panic.

In the pre-recorded newsreel, both Masters turned their heads up to grin hugely at the camera. Directly at him. The only audience that mattered. In the younger Master’s office, they watched the Doctor’s jaw drop and snickered in unison.

“He looks good like that,” the younger Master pointed out.

“Like a thing undone,” the Prime Minister agreed. He turned to the younger Master, unhinged grin meeting unwavering smirk. “Conference call, then?”

“I thought you’d never ask. I expect a good, long run with him, before I go back and have to consign the memory to Imprimatur-repression.”

“You’ve more than earned it,” his older self conceded, “Weaving the paradox into the universal fabric like that? Ooh, you, sir, are good. He’ll never unravel it in a million years. He’s fucked. On that note I thought the first time at least we might share him. Shame to let a mouth like that go to waste just because you’re otherwise engaged.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Get him on the phone. I want to hear him beg.”

“You’re in luck. This one can positively wibble.”

The young Master leered ecstatically at his elder. “I love the whimpery regenerations. Sometimes it’s like he’s made himself as a present, specifically for me.”

The Prime Minister’s grin stretched too wide. “I can’t wait to unwrap him.”