Thank you again for your response to this story. The fourth chapter should be up soon. Enjoy.
Also, please note the rating change. This chapter took a bit more of an adult turn. Nothing too explicit, but this is the point where the children should turn back.


Chapter Three

The Doctor travels alone for nearly a year before he next sees Missy. It's a relatively short time in the context of his life, but each day feels like an eternity when he's carrying around an ache in his hearts. It hurts. It's taken him some time to admit it, but it's true. For so long he tries to pretend that it is just from travelling alone. He travels with a new companion for some time, a lovely bright girl from Sark, but when the heartache continues all throughout their time, he struggles to deny it. When the inevitable happens and they part ways, the Doctor has to admit that this is more than just regular loneliness. His hearts ache for his friend.

He doesn't look for her. He knows she will find him when she's ready. She'll drag him off to witness some masterful plan of hers, like a sleek and elegant cat leading its master to the mangled carcass of a rabbit it's just caught. She's a show off, the Master, and she shows off the most for him.

She doesn't call for him this time. Instead she comes to him. It's the middle of the night and both the Doctor and his TARDIS are sleeping, parked safely on the outskirts of a nebula. The Doctor has warmed up to sleeping, and bedrooms in general. Ever since the TARDIS redecorated his bedroom ceiling to look like the night sky above Gallifrey, he's had more pleasant dreams and a more peaceful sleep, although the nightmares still drift into his dreams sometimes.

Just like Miss Clavel, he awakes with a start, a horrible feeling in his stomach and the words "Something is not right" on his lips, biting through the night air. The Doctor climbs out of bed and pushes his feet into a pair of worn slippers, a gift from the people of the planet Doxos. He knows he's not alone in his TARDIS. He can feel it. The air is warmer now, almost like an invisible blanket that has been wrapped around his shoulders. There's an odd feeling of comfort spreading over him. It's particularly odd when you consider that it's not really a normal response to realising that someone has broken into your home. Although, the Doctor never has been one for normality.

His shadow follows him along the darkened corridors of the TARDIS, only barely lit by the dimmed overhead lights. He briefly considers greeting his shadow or waving to it before deciding that this is neither the time nor the place. Plus, they'd just spend all night chatting (again) and he'd never find out who's broken in to his TARDIS. His slippers make a soft tapping noise on the floor as he cautiously makes his way into the console room to find her there. He really shouldn't be surprised.

There Missy stands, hands slowly roaming over the controls of his TARDIS - he vows to have a word with her later about who she lets through her doors without a key. He can see Missy's TARDIS through the open doorway, parked next to his. Evidently, even in space, one's ship can still be boarded by pirates. But then again, Missy isn't really a pirate. She's more of a siren trying to seduce him with her wicked ways and drag him into the depths of her facinorous and poisonous mind.

She's a shadow in the dark. He almost doesn't believe she's real, but the Missy in his dreams isn't this lucid. Nevertheless, he still feels a compelling need to touch her, just to make sure it really is her. She's not using any of the controls or pushing any buttons (yet); she's just touching. He feels like he should be angry with her for the intrusion. He wants to, but the sight of her there, leant over the control panel, running her hands over his ship, his TARDIS, brings about a whole different range of feelings.

She spins around, sensing his presence.

"Oh dear. I didn't wake you, did I?"

There's false concern in her voice that leaves the Doctor with no doubt that she hasn't come here just to fondle his TARDIS. She's there for him. But he still feels the need to ask.

"Why are you here?"

"I wanted to have a go of yours." She continues to let her hands glide over his controls, watching him out of the corner of her eye. "Yours is so much bigger and more exciting than mine. I wanted to try it out."

She lightly runs the tips of her fingers over the edge of the console before turning one of the many dials. All it serves to do is bring some mood lighting to the previously dark console room. The Doctor knows she didn't just pick that dial at random. Everything she is doing is calculated.

"You've redecorated," she states as she leaves the console and makes her way up the stairs. "I like it."

The Doctor's eyes follow her wherever she goes, locked on her. She picks up a book off the shelf, raising her eyebrows, and begins flicking through it. He wants to tell her to put it down, to leave and stop embedding herself in his life, but he can't find the words or the will. She's caressing everything just to claim it. That book is now a Missy book, touched by her: tainted. It's now submerged in the cloud of smoke she is spreading over his entire existence.

She's decked out in full Mary Poppins attire, making him feel underdressed in his silk pyjamas and old slippers. He runs a hand through his already rumpled hair, but it doesn't do any good.

Missy snaps the book shut with a thump and places it back on the shelf. It's in the wrong place, but the Doctor doesn't think that announcing that fact will change anything. She walks back down the stairs, casual and leisurely, her hand gliding along the banister. He can't look away. Not even an army of Daleks could tear his eyes away from her. She stops once she reaches the Doctor, because she's missed him so much. And he's missed her.

This time it's not a welcome package or a thank you. It's a natural progression. (Although the Doctor doesn't remember actually deciding to do this). Their lips meet in heated passion, both of them leaning in at the same time. She's touching and claiming again.

Her enthusiasm pushes him back into the TARDIS console (though he's not trying to escape this time) which he grips before realising he can touch her. One hand winds its way into her elaborate hairdo while the other finds her waist, holding her in to him. Missy, on the other hand, came to this realisation much sooner and has already subjected his hair to a further mussing before settling with one hand grasping the hair at the nape of his neck and the other making its way under his pyjama shirt, nails lightly raking against his skin. He shivers. She bites his lip, a growl emanating in her throat. His response is to push himself closer to her, tongue stroking hers with all the enthusiasm and desperation of a starving man. She's always been his Moriarty, but now she's his Irene Adler too.

"Doctor," she whispers, sending another shiver down his spine. Because she's missed him.

She cries out and lets her head fall into the crook of his neck as his lips find a particularly sensitive spot by her collarbone and suck. Because he's missed her.

For the moment, she's not the destroyer of worlds and the one responsible for countless amounts of destruction. She's not the one driven insane by the sound of the drums. He's not the saviour of world, the spark of hope. He's not the lonely man with two hearts that care more than should be physically possible. They're not the Master and the Doctor. They're just two old friends, two old lovers. It feels right.

By some miracle they manage to make it to the corridor outside the Doctor's bedroom before Missy's hand find its way down the front of his pyjama pants, grasping his erection. He suspects that his TARDIS has temporarily rearranged things so that the path to his bedroom is shorter. He'll have to remember to thank her later. (He mentally adds that to the list of conversations he has to have with his TARDIS - it's a long list.) He's the one who's insisted on the location change - Missy would have ravaged him against the console quite gladly, had he given her the chance. He always feels like the TARDIS is watching him with an almost Orwellian level of surveillance when he's in the console room. This isn't one for her to watch.

A soft "ooh" falls from his lips as he is roughly pushed up against the wall, breath knocked out of him. She pulls back to look at him, grinning, teeth bared. She manages to relieve his chest of his shirt, tugging at it sharply in one motion and sending the shiny black buttons scattering across the floor. She at least has the decency to look ashamed, dragging her bottom lip slowly through her teeth. But it's just for show. It's all for show. It's a show the Doctor is glad he has a ticket to.

His long fingers are much more gentle, but no less desperate. They're quickly working through the task of undoing her buttons. Her coat, her shirt; there are so many buttons. Oh so many buttons! Her hips grind into his, reminding him of her urgency. He manages to borrow a hand from the momentous button task to reach behind him and find the door handle. He stumbles backwards as the door opens. Missy's with him all the way, hands never leaving him and beginning to find their way over his hipbones and back below the waistband of his pants, sliding them down.

He pulls the remains of his shirt off as if it's suffocating him and he needs the air on his bare chest to live. The sleeves get caught on his arms and he pulls it off like a desperate man, tossing it to the floor. His breathing is heavy. The second his pants form a silken puddle at his feet, (courtesy of the Mistress) she pounces on him. He falls back onto the bed, but she's still with him, climbing on top of him and straddling him. Her lips latch onto his again and he completely forgets to breathe.

When she pulls away, after doing positively sinful things with her tongue, he's alerted to the clothing inequality situation that's going on. Whilst he's lying there naked and pliant beneath her hands, she's still fully clothed and looking relatively spruce. Although, to be fair, he was at a disadvantage from the start.

She stands, acknowledging the disappointed look in his eyes with a pout of her own. Her coat comes off, carefully placing it on the back of the chair near his bed. She gives him an exasperated look as she slowly undoes the buttons on her cuffs and then the buttons on her blouse. Too slow. 'Hurry,' he wants to say, but he's captivated by her and knows that if he speaks she'll just take longer. She has a way of always giving him what he wants but denying him what he asks.

The blouse is folded and placed on the chair. Next she steps out of her shoes and tuts as the Doctor's hands twitch, eager to help divest her of her clothes.

"Patience."

Once her long skirt is removed, it joins her jacket on the back of the chair. By some grace, her undergarments come off quickly. The last article of clothing to be removed is her hat, which is placed neatly atop the pile of clothing. But she's not done yet. As she walks back towards him, she pulls pins out of her hair, letting them fall to the ground where they may.

By the time she reaches him, her hair is falling down in luxurious curls. She climbs back atop him and kisses him tenderly. Funny, he didn't think she could be tender. Her hand slides down his thigh and then back up.

The Doctor places his hands on her hips, rolling them over so he's on top. Surprisingly, she allows this, sighing as his hand finds its way between her legs. She's willing and receptive beneath him, and vocalising a myriad of sounds that only serve to encourage him further.

When he enters her, he hears his name fall from her lips, or feels it rather, as her lips are pressed against his skin, softly. Not 'Doctor': his Gallifreyan name.

...

The Doctor lies in bed, the cool air kissing his bare chest. A light sheet lies over his lower body and his right side is warmed by the body of the female Time Lord. She's lying on her side and curled up into him, head resting in the crook of his neck. His arm is around her naked form, holding her to him. She subconsciously taps out a four beat rhythm on his chest. He wonders if she ever still hears the drums.

He lies there looking at the Gallifreyan constellations on his ceiling. They're animate, and the nearest thing to the real deal he's seen in centuries. It's the closest he has felt to home in years. He feels Missy turn her head to look up at them too. He doesn't have to tell her that he misses it, just as she doesn't have to tell him. For the first time in his life, he feels like he truly understands her.

Just two lonely Time Lords in love.

"I want to go back there."

She gently strokes his hair.