A Teaspoon And An Open Mind: A Doctor Who Fan Fiction Archive
Tenth Doctor
What's My Genre? by Evilawyer [Reviews - 4] Printer
Author's Notes:
This is parody. And it's probably, but not necessarily, Ten/Simm!Master. Mostly just "Doctor/Master" discussing fanfic genres.

The Doctor pulled aside the shower curtain. “Move over, I'm coming in.”

“A little privacy here?” The Master put his head under the spray to rinse away the shampoo that had run into his eyes.

“No. You use every last drop of hot water and I'm not having it. I want a hot shower, too.”

The Master glanced at the large pump-topped jug the Doctor placed on the stall shelf. “What's that?”

“Body wash.”

“You buy it by the vat?”

“It's a better deal when you buy the two liter bottle,” the Doctor explained as he pumped a large dab onto his palm.

The Master wrinkled his nose. “It smells like Thai food.”

“It's from the Pacific Islands. It's made with the purest grade, organic, all-natural coconut shells. Excellent exfoliant.” The Doctor held his hand up to the Master's nose.

The Master sniffed at the exotic soap. “I smell garlic.”

The Doctor brought the soap glob to his own nose. “I think there's some coconut milk in here, too.”

“Yes. That must be it,” the Master snarked. “Garlic. Coconut milk. So easy to confuse the two.” He shook his head. “Why can't you just use Lifebuoy like everybody else?”

“Because they stopped making that ages ago.” The Doctor began sudsing his chest.

“They did? Pity. The soap that washed foul words out of little boys' mouths. Well, don't be squirting that stuff all over while I'm in here.”

“Why not? What's wrong with body wash?”

“It's slimy, that's what's wrong with it. It'll make the floor all slick and slippery and...” The Master stopped talking as a contemplative, leer-approaching look crossed his face. Grabbing the jug off the shelf, he peered at the ingredients on the label as he asked, “There isn't anything in here that would make mucous membranes sting, is there?”

“I have no idea.” The Doctor snatched the jug back. “If you don't like liquid soap, I've got some bar soap right over here.” He stepped out of the shower and over to the bathroom cupboard, leaving a trail of wet, sloppy footprints in his wake.

“I'm not cleaning that up, you know,” the Master shouted. “Just 'cause I'm obsessive compulsive does not mean I'm your maid!”

“It's just water. You just like yelling at me, is all. Calm down.” Hands filled with multi-colored and fragrant bars of soap, the Doctor got back into the shower. He held them out to the Master. “Here. Take your pick.”

“Why are they all pastel-colored?”

“Well,” the Doctor said as he pointed to the light pink bar, “this one's Wicked Watermelon. The green one, that's Appetizing Apple and this one here is...”

The Master didn't even try to hide his exasperation. “Oh, for Chrissake, Doctor, we're not gonna eat any of them. Just drop one of them on the floor and bend over to pick it up so we can get this party started.”

“Why do I have to bend over,” the Doctor pondered.

The Master picked up the body wash and waved it in the air. “So I can stuff this jug of coconut-garlic body wash up your fuck-hole. Lubeless. Wait. Just a minute.” He pushed down the pump and turned it to lock it in place, then flipped the jug upside down. “All set.”

'I am not letting you jam a two-liter bottle of body wash fat end first up my jacksy. With or without lube.”

“Oh, come on, Doctor. We have to have some sexual torture here. This is darkfic, after all.”

“It is?” The Doctor frowned. “Damn. I never get that one right. Well, if we have to do it, I'll do it to you, then.”

“No, no, no,” the Master said, disgusted at the Doctor's lack of savvy in anything fanfic-related. “If you do me, it'd be crackfic.”

“What!? Why would that be crackfic?”

“Because you're so subby and I'm such a dom that the very idea of you doing me with any organic or inorganic object can only come from the minds of tweekers on crystal meth.”

“You're making that up,” the Doctor scoffed.

“It's on line,” the Master retorted with smug authority.

“I'll give you on line,” the Doctor threatened. It was a weak threat, though, because the Doctor was busy thinking of a solution to their genre problem. “I'll tell you what. You take the jug up the arse while I shove my cock down your throat so hard and for so long that even your respiratory by-pass system fails and you regenerate as you come. Will that be darkfic?”

“No,” the Master purred. He puckered his lips and threw an air kiss at the Doctor. “That would be fluff.”

Februay 10, 2009
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