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“Custard creams? Really?” Missy said with a stern look. She sat with impeccable posture, her arms crossed, on the sofa the Doctor had dragged out to the console room for the comfort of her guest.
“Why not?” the Doctor asked, and popped another from the biscuit dispenser. “They’re the best. Want one?” She offered the biscuit to Missy. She had thought Missy deserved a tiny little break from the Vault where she was supposed to be guarded by the Doctor’s past self, and bringing her here to admire the Doctor’s current TARDIS had seemed only fair. Even if she still found something to criticize.
“No, thank you,” Missy replied.
The Doctor shrugged, and put the biscuit into her mouth. “’Oo lhosh.” Oh, speaking around a biscuit was hard.
“Pardon?” The corners of Missy’s eyes crinkled in amusement, if just a little.
The Doctor grinned back at her and munched on her biscuit peacefully, and finally swallowed. “I said, your loss.”
“It’s just that bourbons are better.”
The Doctor shrugged and smiled. “Try it. Maybe she’ll give you one. Bourbons are the right shape.”
Missy said, “A bourbon, please.”
A moment, then a dark brown rectangle clattered into the biscuit dispenser. The Doctor could hear the TARDIS humming in prim satisfaction. Good girl, she thought.
Missy smiled. “Seems you got yourself a very nice TARDIS.” She reached out and took the biscuit. “Thank you,” she said, addressing the TARDIS.
“See? You act nicely towards her and she acts nicely towards you.” The Doctor stretched out her legs. “The shape matters. Graham tried to get her to give him chocolate chip biscuits, but didn’t get any, and they’re round. But when Yaz asked for a speculaas, she got it. You can’t put a round biscuit into a rectangular hole, you know.”
“Funny that’s where transdimensional engineering ends,” Missy observed, and took a tidy bite of her biscuit. “Mm, this is a truly excellent bourbon. Want a taste?”
“How nice of you —” The rest of the Doctor’s sentence was lost as Missy leaned over and kissed her.
The kiss was intense and wet and tasted of rich chocolate. Missy’s tongue, cool and sweet, darted into the Doctor’s mouth with methodological precision, and oh dear stars she’d forgotten how good this sort of thing felt. The Doctor clung on to Missy with more desperation than she cared to admit, and returned the kiss with messy enthusiasm.
When Missy pulled back at last, they were both breathing heavily. The Doctor noted the attractive way in which Missy’s bosom rose underneath the layers and ruffles of her snug dress, emphasized by her cinched waist. The Doctor twined her arms around said waist, and then realized she had probably stared at said bosom far too long. She glanced up, meeting Missy’s lust-darkened eyes and insolent grin.
“Hello to you, too,” Missy almost cooed.
“Well,” the Doctor managed, “she makes really good bourbons.”
Missy, smirking, grabbed her by the braces, and she felt Missy’s hands brushing against her breasts through her shirt. Her body flushed. She made an undignified sound at the back of her throat, and then Missy pressed her mouth on the Doctor’s again.
This time the Doctor was more prepared and met Missy’s kiss with equal gusto. She let her hands roam all over Missy’s body, pushing her towards the back of the sofa, tasting and feeling, licking and biting and fondling. Missy’s hands were in her hair, on her back, on her waist and hips, and she wanted to feel them everywhere. In all her lifetimes she’d had many different reactions to the Master, but in this body, she had one very clear reaction to this incarnation, to Missy: want.
Perhaps Missy felt the same way, for she barely paused for breath between kisses, and kept pulling the Doctor closer. There was only so close they could get while sitting next to one another, and soon the Doctor decided it wasn’t enough, she needed more. Pulling Missy into her lap wasn’t going to work with that snug dress, so she sat on Missy’s lap instead, straddling her comfortably. She ground her hips against Missy and continued kissing.
Missy caressed the Doctor’s breasts, and the Doctor hissed at the sweet sensation. She ran her own hands over Missy’s body, stroking the sides of her waist, feeling the delicate bones of the corset underneath. A heated wave of lust rippled through her at the thought of freeing Missy from that corset with her own hands. She felt tightness and heat between her legs, and she growled and kissed Missy hard and deep. Missy’s hands were tugging the Doctor’s shirt. Some moments later the shirt was off, her bra was off, and Missy’s hands were on her breasts, caressing them. The Doctor tried to loosen the fastenings of Missy’s dress —
“Your clothes are far too complicated,” she told Missy.
“Yours are far too silly,” Missy retorted.
The Doctor shrugged. “Well, it is me.”
Missy rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m afraid so.” She waited with exaggerated patience as the Doctor finished with the fastenings, then wriggled out of her dress. Clad only in her corset and underthings, she struck a seductive pose. “I hope you appreciate the immense pain it gives me to associate with someone as unstylish as you.”
The Doctor sat back, quirking her eyebrows, disregarding how hot and wet Missy was making her feel. “I could always take you back to the Vault now.”
“Don’t,” Missy replied.
Wow, amazing how just one word could make her feel even hotter and tighter between her legs. The Doctor laughed, scooped Missy into her arms, and began to attack the lacing of the corset.
*****
After the pleasant and rather lengthy, repeated proceedings, they lay together, naked and hot and sated.
“That was fun,” Missy drawled, her hand trailing the Doctor’s bare stomach.
“Yes,” the Doctor agreed. It had been fun. And exhilarating, and moving, and passionate, and other words she wasn’t sure about. She shouldn’t be doing this. Taking Missy out of the Vault like this, with her past self not knowing, might mess up the timeline at some point. Was it even right at all, by her own moral standards, to go around cavorting with someone like Missy, who had been responsible for so much death, cruelty, destruction?
But Missy had changed. The Doctor knew it. Missy at this point in time was already changing. Had changed. Had begun to learn.
Who knew, maybe Missy had changed so much because the Doctor, in her present self, had come back in time and done some cavorting? It was possible. In that case she was keeping the timeline intact and doing the world a service.
She chuckled to herself. She’d gladly take any justification. Any justification for something this fun. For something she couldn’t, and wouldn’t, resist.
“What’s so funny?” Missy asked. Her hand moved, curling delicately around the Doctor’s bare breast.
The Doctor shivered with pleasure and moved against Missy. “Nothing,” she said. She turned around slowly, so that she was facing Missy. “Only that you’re bad for me.”
Missy leaned in and kissed her. “You say the sweetest things.”