Fic: Mind/body (Doctor Who, teen)
May. 1st, 2008 09:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bagheera_sanSo the Anon Meme unexpectedly caused me to write Academy fic, which I didn't think I'd ever write. It's possible that this'll mutate into a Five Times the Doctor or the Master Got High story, as there's also Three fic which I have to polish a bit first.
Title: Mind/body
Pairing: Theta/Koschei (Doctor/Master)
Rating: PG13 for kissing
Words: 917
Summary: The Master's first addiction is sanity. But the Doctor won't follow there. (Written for this prompt: Any classic incarnations of D/M: Drugs.)
They have a room with a window, a view. Not many rooms in the Citadel have windows, and those that do mostly just show other buildings and the narrow slices of sky between the high spires. Theta, who grew up outside the Citadel and misses the mountains and forests like a fish on land misses water, loves their window. He spends more time sitting there and looking out, at the two suns and the stars at night, than he does reading.
He has been suggesting a move to a room without a window for years, because Koschei's health matters more than the view. But Koschei won't hear it. He says it's not the light. The light just makes it worse. The blinds are the only concession he'll accept, and Theta has come to associate them with headaches and pained silence and a friend who won't let him get close, neither physically nor psychically. He only suggested consulting a doctor once and then never again.
But it's not a headache that caused the room to be darkened today, and it hasn't been for weeks. Copper afternoon light falls in through the slits in the blinds, the air is stale and hot, swirling with dust that seems to have crawled out of the ancient walls and books. Koschei's desk is neat, his files and homework all done and sorted. He isn't neglecting his studies. Theta supposes that's better than the crippling headaches, but he's worried. He approaches Koschei's bed with caution as if it were a nest of vipers. Koschei sits, cross-legged and skinny, his hands slack in his lap and his dark head bowed as if in deep meditation. His lips are dry, his pale cheeks have the shine of fever about them. The small metal triangles sticking to his temples are almost obscured by his hair.
Theta toes of his shoes and slips onto the bed to sit cross-legged like Koschei, facing him, a mirror image. He waits. The angle of the light changes as time flows on. The heat becomes unbearable. He imagines the dust in the room clogging his nose and his lashes like it does when he wanders in the desert outside the Citadel.
When the headaches plague him, pain comes off Koschei in waves. It fills the room like distant thunder, like some unbearable, haunting noise. But now he is surrounded by glowing silence, his body at peace, his mind transcendent, safely separated from each other.
It seems like hours to Theta until finally Koschei shudders, breaking the spell. It's all the permission Theta needs to lean forward and kiss him on his chapped lips, gently drawing him back to the world of flesh. Koschei moans, caught between revulsion and desire, but then he moves into the kiss, sags into it as if coming down from soaring in the sky.
"Don't you think this is taking studying the archives a bit too far?" Theta whispers while their foreheads touch and Koschei pulls the cortical interface off his temples with trembling fingers. He cradles the two small metal triangles in his hands and kisses Theta again, exhausted and desperate to bridge the chasm between one addiction and another.
"Why do we live in these bodies at all?" Koschei asks, his voice full of resentment. He isn't looking at Theta, his eyes are nearly closed, and his brows are knotted with tension now. "Thirteen lives, when we could exist as pure truth."
Theta touches Koschei's neck, feels his pulse, the thudding double beat of blood rushing towards the brain, then sneaks his hand further, to the back of his neck, his spine, the backdoor of the central nervous system, the place of primal fears and desires, the seat of truth in the flesh. Koschei shivers, arching backwards. "Because I like your body," Theta says, kissing a hot cheek, the flushed shell of an ear, letting hair tickle his nose until he has to smile, "and you like mine."
Something presses into his touch, a coiled, resentful thing, fearful and struggling for control. Theta keeps his mind in his fingertips, but goes no further, waiting for Koschei to give in, to lose control, for fear to turn into anger and lust. In a moment, his friend won't remember a world where everything is silent and nothing hurts. The resistance rises, crests, breaks like a wave. Forgotten, the cortical interface clatters onto the bed as Koschei's fingers twist in Theta's hair. He pulls Theta in roughly, takes a bruising kiss, and Theta presses his fingers to Koschei's spine, letting their flesh thoughts, their heart truths mingle and bloom.
Theta tumbles backwards, spread underneath his friend, open and on offer in body and mind. Teeth bite his collarbone, fingernails dig into the skin of his upper arms. Koschei is in pain, and he is angry at Theta for reminding him of it, for saving him. Theta won't follow Koschei into his cold, ordered refuge of the mind from the weaknesses and betrayals of the body. Separating the two is madness, death. But Theta will always be there, advocating life over immortality, just by living it.
Koschei loves him, and he can't let go of Theta and for that he hates him. Sometimes that love frightens Theta. But he believes in it. He suspects that one day he will run from it, but that might not be a betrayal, because if Theta runs, Koschei will chase and they'll be together that way, alive, and love will win against peace of mind.
Title: Mind/body
Pairing: Theta/Koschei (Doctor/Master)
Rating: PG13 for kissing
Words: 917
Summary: The Master's first addiction is sanity. But the Doctor won't follow there. (Written for this prompt: Any classic incarnations of D/M: Drugs.)
They have a room with a window, a view. Not many rooms in the Citadel have windows, and those that do mostly just show other buildings and the narrow slices of sky between the high spires. Theta, who grew up outside the Citadel and misses the mountains and forests like a fish on land misses water, loves their window. He spends more time sitting there and looking out, at the two suns and the stars at night, than he does reading.
He has been suggesting a move to a room without a window for years, because Koschei's health matters more than the view. But Koschei won't hear it. He says it's not the light. The light just makes it worse. The blinds are the only concession he'll accept, and Theta has come to associate them with headaches and pained silence and a friend who won't let him get close, neither physically nor psychically. He only suggested consulting a doctor once and then never again.
But it's not a headache that caused the room to be darkened today, and it hasn't been for weeks. Copper afternoon light falls in through the slits in the blinds, the air is stale and hot, swirling with dust that seems to have crawled out of the ancient walls and books. Koschei's desk is neat, his files and homework all done and sorted. He isn't neglecting his studies. Theta supposes that's better than the crippling headaches, but he's worried. He approaches Koschei's bed with caution as if it were a nest of vipers. Koschei sits, cross-legged and skinny, his hands slack in his lap and his dark head bowed as if in deep meditation. His lips are dry, his pale cheeks have the shine of fever about them. The small metal triangles sticking to his temples are almost obscured by his hair.
Theta toes of his shoes and slips onto the bed to sit cross-legged like Koschei, facing him, a mirror image. He waits. The angle of the light changes as time flows on. The heat becomes unbearable. He imagines the dust in the room clogging his nose and his lashes like it does when he wanders in the desert outside the Citadel.
When the headaches plague him, pain comes off Koschei in waves. It fills the room like distant thunder, like some unbearable, haunting noise. But now he is surrounded by glowing silence, his body at peace, his mind transcendent, safely separated from each other.
It seems like hours to Theta until finally Koschei shudders, breaking the spell. It's all the permission Theta needs to lean forward and kiss him on his chapped lips, gently drawing him back to the world of flesh. Koschei moans, caught between revulsion and desire, but then he moves into the kiss, sags into it as if coming down from soaring in the sky.
"Don't you think this is taking studying the archives a bit too far?" Theta whispers while their foreheads touch and Koschei pulls the cortical interface off his temples with trembling fingers. He cradles the two small metal triangles in his hands and kisses Theta again, exhausted and desperate to bridge the chasm between one addiction and another.
"Why do we live in these bodies at all?" Koschei asks, his voice full of resentment. He isn't looking at Theta, his eyes are nearly closed, and his brows are knotted with tension now. "Thirteen lives, when we could exist as pure truth."
Theta touches Koschei's neck, feels his pulse, the thudding double beat of blood rushing towards the brain, then sneaks his hand further, to the back of his neck, his spine, the backdoor of the central nervous system, the place of primal fears and desires, the seat of truth in the flesh. Koschei shivers, arching backwards. "Because I like your body," Theta says, kissing a hot cheek, the flushed shell of an ear, letting hair tickle his nose until he has to smile, "and you like mine."
Something presses into his touch, a coiled, resentful thing, fearful and struggling for control. Theta keeps his mind in his fingertips, but goes no further, waiting for Koschei to give in, to lose control, for fear to turn into anger and lust. In a moment, his friend won't remember a world where everything is silent and nothing hurts. The resistance rises, crests, breaks like a wave. Forgotten, the cortical interface clatters onto the bed as Koschei's fingers twist in Theta's hair. He pulls Theta in roughly, takes a bruising kiss, and Theta presses his fingers to Koschei's spine, letting their flesh thoughts, their heart truths mingle and bloom.
Theta tumbles backwards, spread underneath his friend, open and on offer in body and mind. Teeth bite his collarbone, fingernails dig into the skin of his upper arms. Koschei is in pain, and he is angry at Theta for reminding him of it, for saving him. Theta won't follow Koschei into his cold, ordered refuge of the mind from the weaknesses and betrayals of the body. Separating the two is madness, death. But Theta will always be there, advocating life over immortality, just by living it.
Koschei loves him, and he can't let go of Theta and for that he hates him. Sometimes that love frightens Theta. But he believes in it. He suspects that one day he will run from it, but that might not be a betrayal, because if Theta runs, Koschei will chase and they'll be together that way, alive, and love will win against peace of mind.
