"Bohemian Rhapsody"

by aces [Reviews - 13]

  • Teen
  • None
  • Het, Humor, Slash

Author's Notes:
I should probably apologize for this, but I won't.

Tegan stepped out of the TARDIS, turned around, and placed her hands on her hips. “Come on, Doc,” she said impatiently. “It’s a club. I want to go dancing. And if I can get laid, then that’s just a nice added bonus. You can stay in there if you want.”

And with that, in her black leather skirt and tight red tank top, she strode off.

Turlough slipped out after her, and turned back, smirking, for a moment. He was still in his public school uniform. “Coming, Doctor?” he asked innocently, and followed Tegan.

The Doctor sighed. “Bother,” he muttered, picked up his hat, and locked the TARDIS door behind him.


The club was a usual sort of club, with lots of strobing, dizzying lights, and lots of garishly loud music, and lots of people not wearing many clothes grinding against each other. Typical, really. The Doctor missed the bashes he and his friends threw at the Academy. They at least had the really good mind-altering substances back then. And the things the Rani could do that would make one’s very genetic coding shiver. Ohhh yes.

The Doctor sighed again. He surveyed the scene from a viciously-fought-for vantage point, which had involved a fair amount of judicious shoving, and stuffed his hands in his candy-striped trouser pockets. He was looking for either of his companions. Why, exactly, he didn’t really know, but he didn’t have anything better to do. Perverse masochism on his part, no doubt.

He supposed he could ditch them here. Serve them both right. Especially Turlough. Whiny git, always complaining about ending up on Earth again. It wasn’t as if the TARDIS would listen to him when he said he wanted to go someplace a bit more interesting than dreary old Earth again.

Tegan was grinding in the middle of two heavily-muscled and scantily-clad men.

“Typical,” the Doctor grumbled to himself.

Turlough was grinding in the middle of a heavily-muscled man and a scantily-clad woman.

“Absolutely typical,” the Doctor grumbled to himself, and flounced off to the bar.


He had barely gotten started on his third screwdriver, minus the majority of the orange juice, when he felt somebody else’s presence walk up to the bar next to his stool. He ignored it at first, but the other person’s presence just stood there, waiting.

With a repressed mutter, the Doctor turned slowly on his barstool and looked up to tell whoever was hovering over him in no uncertain terms to shove off as he wasn’t in the mood to be chatted up by anybody.

Black velvet, and a stupid high collar.

“Oh, bother,” the Doctor said.


“Sod off.”

“I just want to talk to you.”

“Sod off.”

“I’ll go and do something evil if you won’t listen to me.”

“Sod off.”

“I’m lonely too, you know. I miss you terribly.”

“Sod off.”

“You’re a very unhappy person, you know that?”

“Sod off.”

“That hasn’t worked in the past five and a half centuries; do you really think it’ll work now?”


The Doctor glared blearily at his arch-nemesisisisis. He needed something stronger than vodka to deal with this.

“Why haven’t you sodded off yet?”

The Master smoothly perched himself on the barstool next to the Doctor’s. The Doctor groaned and dropped his head onto his arms, folded on the bar, which wasn’t a very smart move as somebody sitting there before him had spilled beer on the bar top and now he was all sticky and smelled like really disgusting cheap beer on top of the nasty vodka he’d been drinking for the past half-hour.

He sat up again and swung around to pointedly look at the dance floor, hoping to find someone with some mind-altering substances. The vodka just wasn’t cutting it.

He saw Tegan making out with one of her heavily-muscled and scantily-clad men.

Turlough had apparently started a conga line. And lost his shirt somewhere along the way. But not his blazer, interestingly.

Bother,” the Doctor spat.

He felt a hand on his knee and turned a withering glare onto the Master.

“Piss off,” he said.

“That’s unfair,” the Master said. “I haven’t even done anything diabolically evil this time.”

“You showed up here, didn’t you?”

“I’m doing you a favor.”

“Doing me a favor,” the Doctor answered, enunciating clearly, “would be to sod off.”

“You’re drunk,” the Master said. “If I didn’t take advantage of you, somebody else would.”

“I’d like to see them try,” the Doctor muttered darkly.

The Master’s hand on his knee tightened. “Oh, come on. Just this once?”

“Why? So you can come moping after me throughout the cosmos ever after, drawing attention to yourself by trying to take it over with an over-the-top maniacal laugh? I don’t think so, darling.”

The Master looked hurt. “You always say such mean things. I could have everyone in this club turned into–goats, if I wanted to.”

“Yes, but you wouldn’t do that,” the Doctor answered reasonably, and gestured at the bartender for another drink, “because that would be too silly even for you.”

The Master leant forward. “You know if you just gave me what I wanted I would leave you alone,” he breathed in the Doctor’s ear.

The Doctor swatted at his ear irritably, and the Master yelped, sitting back quickly. “That tickled,” the Doctor scowled, and drained half his not-quite-screwdriver.

The Master sulked. “Oh, don’t start that again,” the Doctor sighed.

“Start what again?”


“I’m not sulking,” the Master pouted.

“Yes, you are. You always sulk. It made you quite dull at the Academy.”

The Master grinned slyly. “That isn’t what you used to say when I would dress up in–”

“Yes, yes,” the Doctor said hastily, and speedily finished off his drink. The Master’s hand was still sitting possessively on his knee. He squinted out into the club to see if he could spot his companions again.

They appeared to be making out with each other this time. Turlough had finally lost the tie, but still not the blazer. And he curiously appeared to have gained Tegan’s pants.

The Doctor turned back to the Master and glared at him repressively. “If I shag you,” he said, “you promise to leave me alone? Forever and ever?”

The Master’s eyes lit up. His hand squeezed convulsively. “Yes,” he said.

The Doctor harrumphed. “Git,” he said and slid off his bar stool, searching the club for a likely-looking lad. “I need more mind-altering substances.”


He got his mind-altering substances. And then they obtained a currently-unused back room in the club. Various bits of clothing were lost in various ways, which the Doctor found himself surprisingly enjoying quite a bit. The Master not quite so surprisingly was also enjoying himself exceedingly.

The Doctor decided to blame it all on the mind-altering substances and just get on with it. He could have a good angst about it tomorrow, along with the hangover.

A couple hours later, two scantily-clad companions discovered them.

“Doctor!” Tegan squawked.

“Doctor!” Turlough yelped.

They stared at the Doctor, naked and not quite sure which limbs were his, which the Master’s.

There was a somewhat awkward pause in the conversation.

“Bugger,” said the Doctor at last.


“I can’t believe you!” Tegan fumed as she stalked back to the TARDIS in three-inch red high heels that went with her tight red tank top and bright red lipstick and the red pants she was currently not wearing. “Shagging the Master! Your worst enemy!”

“With a horrible dress sense too,” Turlough said, as he slipped his tie back around his neck and began retying it.

“Look who’s talking,” the Doctor sniped as he trudged along behind them.

“Hey!” Turlough protested, but Tegan overwhelmed him as she swung around to walk backwards, the better to glare at the Doctor.

“You don’t go around shagging your mortal enemies!” she yelled. “Especially when you won’t even shag me!”

“Or me,” Turlough added in a mutter.

“Alright, fine, next time instead of going to a club we can all shag each other,” the Doctor snarked, “would that make you both happy?” He strode ahead of them as the TARDIS came into view, unlocked the door, threw it open, and gestured for them to proceed him inside.

Tegan shook her head up at him, slipping off her heels before walking inside. “You disappoint me, Doctor,” she said and disappeared through the door.

Turlough adjusted his tie. “Personally, I thought it was a nice one,” he grinned.

“Turlough,” the Doctor stopped him before he could follow Tegan.

“Yes, Doctor?”

The Doctor held out a hand, sighing. “Hand them over.”

Turlough’s face crumpled. “Oh come on, Doctor…”


Turlough sighed and took Tegan’s underpants from his blazer pocket, dropping them wistfully into the Doctor’s hand. “Ah well,” he said and went into the TARDIS.

“Git,” the Doctor muttered to himself, dropping the underwear into his own coat pocket. He winced and rubbed a hand at his forehead. “Bloody Master,” he added in a monotonous undertone as he stepped inside. “Total mopey wanker…”

The door crashed shut behind him, and the TARDIS dematerialized.