A Fairy Tale; Rose/Master Drabble
Rose/The Master is one of my guilty ships. This is what happened when I opened Word!
A Fairy Tale
Fandom: Doctor Who
Length: ~200 words
Characters/Pairings: The Master/Rose Tyler
Rating: R; sex, but not explicit
Disclaimer: Everything owned by the BBC. I just like to play with their characters!
He has two hearts; his fingers tap out their rhythm.
He has ancient eyes, a young face.
His voice is a comfort, hypnotic, a driving force in front of which people will gladly step.
As he moves above her, she breathing his name, he leaving behind bright red marks on her pale skin, she catches something in the corner of her mind. It flutters there, a dying thought, speaking of a better man, a kind face, whispering a word. The echo of Run spoken long ago.
But it's only there for a moment, leaving behind an afterimage like that from a camera flash, from staring into a burning sun.
Because it's something that doesn't belong, an anomaly fettered away by the man thrusting into her. He is a thief of memories, but she can't remember why.
She asks, "Who is he?"
He answers, "A fairy tale." Then, "Come for your Master."
And she does, fingernails digging into his back, stars exploding in her mind. After, she lays in his arms, pressed close against his body and imagines a far away beach, words spoken too late.
A fairy tale.
A Fairy Tale
Fandom: Doctor Who
Length: ~200 words
Characters/Pairings: The Master/Rose Tyler
Rating: R; sex, but not explicit
Disclaimer: Everything owned by the BBC. I just like to play with their characters!
He has two hearts; his fingers tap out their rhythm.
He has ancient eyes, a young face.
His voice is a comfort, hypnotic, a driving force in front of which people will gladly step.
As he moves above her, she breathing his name, he leaving behind bright red marks on her pale skin, she catches something in the corner of her mind. It flutters there, a dying thought, speaking of a better man, a kind face, whispering a word. The echo of Run spoken long ago.
But it's only there for a moment, leaving behind an afterimage like that from a camera flash, from staring into a burning sun.
Because it's something that doesn't belong, an anomaly fettered away by the man thrusting into her. He is a thief of memories, but she can't remember why.
She asks, "Who is he?"
He answers, "A fairy tale." Then, "Come for your Master."
And she does, fingernails digging into his back, stars exploding in her mind. After, she lays in his arms, pressed close against his body and imagines a far away beach, words spoken too late.
A fairy tale.