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ficcerspam · 6 months ago

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It's getting a little steamy now guys!! 😏😏😏

Week 3: Hickeys

===

Tim is working late at Wayne Enterprises tonight. His nightlife has required more of his attention lately, the Gentlemen’s Club that Stray led them to being a much bigger organization than any of them had anticipated.

It gave Catwoman and Stray more chances to play while the Bats were away so-to-speak, and that, too, was a point of frustration. Hearing about them, getting glimpses of his Cat and not being able to do anything about it made Tim a little grumpy, if Steph was to be believed.

“All work and no play makes Timmy a dull boy, you know.” Tim’s heart races—get some of that red on his lips—though he keeps his appearance calm at the familiar voice. Push and pull, it’s always a game for them.

“Lovely to see you too, Mr. Pot.” Tim finishes marking up the documents in front of him, focused purely on putting the papers away neatly into stacks. Most of his things are digital, so it wasn’t much, but it was enough for him to catch his breath and keep his cool.

“I knew you were trying to dig into my real identity, with affection of course, but I did not expect you to be that off, loverboy.” Tim finally allowed himself to look towards his much anticipated guest, getting up to lean against the side of his desk to get his fill.

The rogue is in his usual digs now, long white hair up in its signature ponytail, tight black cat suit in fine form as they lounged against the open window sill.

“It just seemed fitting, since you assumed my name was kettle. Didn’t know you had trouble reading, Stray.” Tim smiles, reaching over to turn his nameplate towards the rogue and tapping it twice. He does not miss the slow scan Stray takes of him as he stretches back to do so, and it makes his smile a little more cocky.

“I read just fine, Mr. Drake-Wayne.” Stray’s lips are yet again bright red against black and white, a beacon that Tim wastes no time affixing his eyes onto. "And don’t I play with you all the time?"

“You’ve had several warnings regarding your overtime hours, haven’t you?” Tim licks his lips as he finally drags his eyes down Stray’s sleek form, tail swishing back and forth and ears pricked up to attention at the first mention of Tim possibly knowing his real identity.

“That would be telling, wouldn’t it?” The rogue slinks his way towards him, smiling as he places a claw gently on Tim’s chest to fiddle with the knot on his already loosened tie. It comes undone with a little flick, before the claw traces an invisible line towards the rest of his shirt buttons.

“Well now you’re just being a tease,” Tim’s voice is steady, but breathless. Still, he has enough wits about him to reach up and push off the rogue’s goggles, revealing those glowing green eyes, a pure kind of neon that almost hurts to look at. He places the goggles gently on the desk behind him as he feels some of the buttons on his shirt seemingly disappear.

“It’s not a tease if I deliver…” Stray whispers, bright neon eyes dimming but no less predatory, leaning in and caging Tim against his desk. It’s much easier to look him in the eyes now, which Tim appreciates. He’s still not sure if he likes this dangerous green more, or if those diamond blues that glitter in his dreams are more alluring. He thinks maybe he likes both equally.

He thinks maybe he just likes Stray no matter what color his eyes are.

“Maybe I need a little more motivation, something to remember you by?” Tim whispers back, despite the fact that they are alone here. It feels like a fragile moment, even though it’s part of the game. It feels private. Close.

“Well why didn’t you just say so? Cats love to leave little…gifts.” Stray smiles that Cheshire smile, and Tim is man enough to admit he’s lost. Stray can take the victory this round, if he delivers on all the promises the rogue's eyes are making to him now.

There’s a clawed hand trailing its way up Tim’s back, making his eyes flutter closed, following up into his hair to grip gently and tilt his head back. He feels lips trailing along his neck, making him shiver, just before the sharp sting of teeth dig into his shoulder. Hard enough to feel each tooth, not hard enough to break skin.

It should have been painful, should have made him tense up and push Stray away.

And it is, but he doesn’t—he melts against the rogue instead, arching up to get more. More skin-to-skin contact, more bites, just more.

And Stray is good to Tim, spoils him, because he does—he gives him more.

Tim can feel himself slipping away, just a little, into a hazy fog of pleasure as Stray makes paths along Tim’s exposed shoulders, his neck, biting and sucking at random intervals. Tim took the opportunity to claw at the rogue’s broad back, hook his arms around his neck, lift a leg to bring him closer.

Stray’s hands grip at Tim’s waist, keeping him just a little off the ground, enough for Tim to need to tiptoe. Not that it mattered much, with the way Tim is basically riding the rogue’s leg where it’s braced between his.

He can feel Stray’s claws, just there, creeping along under the hem of his shirt. And there is something to be said about how delicious it is—how the rogue is in full Stray regalia and Tim is just in a halfway undone button down shirt and too tight suit slacks. His tie is…somewhere, he’s sure, but it’s getting harder to think through the fog. All he can do is hold on.

They haven’t even kissed yet. Tim needs to fix that, immediately.

Tim manages to unwind his arms around Stray’s neck, grabbing the rogue's face and angling him up from where he was working on a mark on Tim’s pec, breathing and panting in each other’s space.

“Can I kiss you?” It feels absurd to ask, considering their current position, but Tim can’t help it. Hickeys aside, the thought of actually kissing Stray feels a little different. More intimate.

Stray smiles that fanged smile—and gods, his lips are cherry red and smeared to all hell. It looks like blood, and it makes his blood boil in lust. His torso must be a veritable crime scene. “Handsome guy like you? I’d be a fool not to let you.”

Tim slides his fingers through Stray’s ponytail, letting it down and feeling wild with desperation, “You are hardly a fool, Danny Nightingale.”

Tim’s voice is a breath between them as he leans down, almost tasting the beaming smile on Stray’s face. The need to bite at it—get some of that red on his lips—surges through him, only for Stray to suddenly perk up, eyes wide and ears alert.

Seconds later, an alarm blares out around them, the public one for Gas attacks.

Tim is slowly set down, Stray’s hand cupping his and taking back his hair tie. “Rain check on that, Red. Duty calls, doesn’t it?”

The rogue winked, putting his goggles back on and jumping back out the window he came in from. His hair flutters behind him, loose and silky, tail flicking a bit like a little wave.

Tim unwillingly follows, looking out the window after him despite knowing he wouldn’t see where the rogue went. He’s right—but he does feel another caress to his cheek, though that could just be wishful thinking, more likely to be the wind.

Tim sighs, closing the window and heading for the secret compartment under his desk where he kept the Red Robin suit at WE.

“Red Robin, Report.” Batman’s voice echoes through the comms once he’s all suited up.

“I’m at WE, fully suited up. Where do you need me?” Tim was going to take out all his aggression on Crane, that’s for sure.

He can feel the little pinpricks of soreness each and every hickey caused as they rub against the suit, and can only be grateful the Red Robin suit covered them all up, lest he have to contend with nosy siblings.

Not that it saves him much when he takes a nick to the shoulder, causing Alfred to side-eye him as he unwillingly reveals his newly spotted neckline (smeared lipstick and all) to his entire family.

Worth it.

Kitten Kisses

DCxDP : Dead Tired, Stray!Danny Phantom, love square identity shenanigans (sort of)

Week 1: Indirect Kiss

===

There is a security camera set up at Tim’s desk.

It’s mostly to ensure that Tim actually leaves his desk, nowadays, but the genuine concern was something nobody really thought could qualify as a necessity.

Tim is young, but it’s undeniable that he’s a genius. Sadly, that did not mean certain visitors or members of the board didn’t take his age as carte blanche to just rummage around in his desk for no reason.

After the 5th time Tim noticed his things had been moved (they would have found nothing, Tim was very meticulous regarding Wayne Enterprises documents) something had to give.

So. Security camera.

After the first month of its implementation, nobody was fool enough to get caught over some useless files and a surprisingly thoroughly encrypted computer system. Nobody important, at least.

Babs likes to hack into it, sometimes, to make sure Tim is home on time and not working late. Bruce sometimes hacks in just to check in, watch him work or eat because he was a creep, but Tim can hardly throw such large rocks from his glass house. For the most part, it’s more decoration than anything.

Until tonight, that is. Tim gets a little ping! signaling movement at his WE desk. He’s just gotten home from patrol, mask already off and cape halfway unclipped with hastily ungloved hands.

Perplexed by the midnight alert, Tim pulls up the feed onto his set up at home. There’s hardly anything worth hacking into, considering the computer there is more of a remote in type of system, rather than an actual computer to be used like the one at the Nest.

And yet still. There they are. Tim would recognize that silhouette anywhere: Stray.

He watches as, at first, only that skin tight black suit with white accents entered the screen, the rogue thief’s toned torso curved alluringly, signature white clawed gloves lightly scraping along the desk as he travels from one end to the other—not hard enough to leave any trace, but enough for the skrrrrch rasp out.

There’s a tap of a claw, before the screen fills as Stray bends over, and gods, what a sight that is to see. Stray has an almost prehensile cat’s tail, and it swayed and curled over itself in a way that seemed hypnotic. Long glowing white hair that falls over his shoulder with two black tufted cat ears that seems to actually move, eyes barely visible behind bright neon green goggles—but most importantly a new addition: blood red lipstick.

Tim stares as those red, red lips curve into a smile, whispering a soft “Hey, Red. Miss me?”

Tim can feel his pulse jump, because he did. He really did.

They’ve been dancing around each other, ever since the vigilante figured out Stray’s M.O.

The rogue was only stealing paranormal artifacts, or objects that were stolen via grave robbing. None of the other Bats had figured it out until Tim had told them, considering Stray’s first few hits were on a handful of Rich People. The items were so scattered, and had nothing of real importance that could connect them.

But the Rich were angry, and though that was hardly anything to be alerted by, it made for an ornery work environment. The Bats hadn’t stepped up, hadn’t felt the need to, until certain museums were getting hit too. A couple civilians even, here or there, until finally something was stolen from Batman himself—something they had kept at Wayne Enterprises to be handed over to Constantine for analysis.

Selina was no help either, simply stating that every cat’s got to have their secrets—all but confirming that the new rogue on the scene was Selina’s.

Red Robin had cornered Stray, or rather, Stray had let him, and they almost—there was a moment…But then Catwoman had come, urgent, saying something about a sister.

And then Stray hadn’t been seen in weeks.

Tim shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts from the fog those cherry red lips cast over him. Still, he can’t help but say yes. Even if only in his mind.

“I missed you, dolled myself up and everything,” those sinful red lips do a little pout as a delicate claw twirls a strand of that silky hair, conjuring up so many images that Tim involuntarily stands up, as if to immediately leave. “Doesn’t red look so good on me?”

Fuck, but it does. And then it clicks. Hastily, Tim taps a couple buttons, reclipping his cape and putting his mask back on. Once his gloves are back on he pulls up the feed onto his phone, grappling his way over to his office as if being chased.

Because if Stray was at Tim Wayne’s desk, calling him Red through the feed, that meant—that meant he knew.

“Sadly, I can’t stay.” Red Robin vaults out the Nest, keeping half an eye on the feed as those pouty lips talk to him, watching as Stray perches himself delicately on the desk. There’s a sly smile now, though Tim can’t help but follow the long lines of the rogue’s body instead, with his legs crossed, leaning on one delicately clawed hand, head tilted coquettishly.

“But I’ve got a present for you, loverboy.” Red is almost there, just a couple blocks away, as Stray pulls out what looked like a business card with the hand he isn’t leaning on, bringing it up to those distracting red lips.

“I heard you like games!” Stray bares his teeth in a fanged smile, “Find me, and it’s a date.”

Red Robin is on the WE building now, scaling down to break into the usual window, silently prowling his way quickly through the halls. He watches as Stray winks, giving the card a little kiss. When he grins Red could see the rouge was smeared a little, and somehow that made it so much more enticing. Stray places the card back on the desk before smoothly getting up and exiting stage left just as the vigilante skids to an arrival in front of his office door.

He burst into the office, only to find it empty. He immediately went to the nearest window, trying to spot the rogue, but as always Stray is quick to disappear without a trace. RR suspects that Stray is some kind of meta, but hasn't gathered enough evidence yet.

Out of leads, he swiftly makes his way to his desk, where the business card lay innocently, face down. On the back of it, a tantalizing red lip mark.

Red picks it up, turning it over to see a time and place typed onto it—an invitation, then, not a business card at all. He stares for a second, feeling a smile grow on his face, before he flips the card over again to stare at the kiss mark.

He brings the card to his lips, softly kissing it, eyes closed and content. He can almost feel the warmth left over, feel a hand caress his neck along his spine. Soon.

He tucks the card into one of the pockets on his belt, feeling excited and suddenly rejuvenated.

Maybe he could do another loop—maybe a couple, he doesn’t care—before getting back to the Nest to research.

He has a date to score, and research is so much easier when he doesn’t have to deal with euphoria.

#silly billies skip a few steps back and forth don't they?#i had so much fun writing their dynamic #next week is the finale!#dcxdp #dead tired #danny phantom #red robin #tim drake #batman #dcu #augkiss 2024 #brain dead #stray!danny #dpxdc

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clarionglass · 9 months ago

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here we go :) part one of three, updates to be released weekly!

---

sam says 4 (game master cinematic universe, part 3)

Ruby was at her mum's for a family dinner she couldn't miss on pain of death, apparently, and the Doctor was many things, but a family dinner kind of guy wasn't one of them—particularly when Carla had already slapped him once in the short time he'd known her. He thought he'd broken his streak of bad luck with mums, but… well, seemingly not. So he was companionless for a few hours, and while he could wait for her to get back, maybe catch up on his reading—what was the point of waiting when you had a time machine?

He ran his hands over the TARDIS console, marvelling at her clean lines and metallic flourishes, the way that even now she felt brand new but familiar, and paused. He’d just pop off for a quick adventure, nothing too dangerous, but—where to go?

He could scan for a distress call nearby, and pitch in to help. He could drop in on Donna and Shaun and Rose, beautiful Rose, and see how they were all doing. Or he could just hit the randomiser button, and jump in feet first wherever he ended up.

He remembered a conversation from a long time ago, when he wore a different face, and his gorgeous TARDIS wore a face too, for the first and only time.

“You didn't always take me where I wanted to go.”

“No, but I always took you where you needed to go.”

He grinned. Who could resist an offer like that? He pressed the button and whooped as the time rotor spun into action, ready to see where the universe would take him.

---

Apparently, he was needed pretty close to where he already was. Earth, 2024. Huh. Same planet, same time—within a few months of where he’d left Ruby, even. The main thing that had changed was the location: he was now in the good old US of A. California, to be more specific, and Los Angeles to be more specific still. And to really narrow it down, the Doctor discovered as he poked his head out of the TARDIS doors, he was in… a broom closet. Not bad, as a parking spot—a bit squeezy, but out of the way. And as he poked his head out of that door, he could finally see he was in the backstage corridors of a studio of some kind. Film or TV, if he was to hazard a guess, it was a different vibe from Abbey Road.

With a shrug, he decided to go exploring.

It couldn’t have been more than a minute before a young woman wearing the full-black outfit, headset, and permanently stressed expression of a production assistant came running up to him.

“Are you the fill-in Sam organised?” she asked breathlessly, and honestly, seeing the look on her face, the Doctor didn’t have the heart(s) to tell her no. And really, what was the Doctor, if not a professional fill-in? This, this was why he had a randomiser button on the control panel, because whatever he was about to get himself into was going to be fun.

“Sure!”

“Oh, thank god,” sighed the production assistant, relief dawning across her face. “When Ally tested positive this morning, I thought we were sunk for the record, because we called around and we couldn’t get a hold of anyone. But then Sam said he could get someone in, and, you know, here you are, and just in time, so—ah, yeah, if you could follow me this way?”

Smiling all the way, the Doctor followed his guide through to hair and makeup, looking around as they went. The studio seemed to belong to a company called Dropout, according to the branding scattered around, and things seemed, at least on the surface, to be… well. Fine. He couldn't tell why he'd been brought here yet, which meant that when he found the reason, it was going to be particularly tangled. He couldn't wait!

And then he looked back at his guide, still engulfed in a miasma of anxiety, and realised he'd been too busy looking for clues to notice the person right in front of him.

“Hey, it's cool, you've found me,” he started with a gentle smile. “You can relax. Hi, I'm the Doctor. What's your name?”

“Oh!” she said, startled. “The Doctor, yeah, of course. Um, hi, I'm Kaylin. Look, sorry, it's just that I've been so busy this morning, I'm so distracted… Shit, and I would've completely forgotten to get your details too. There's paperwork to fill in, but you can do that later. Um, just for now, though, can I get your pronouns?”

The Doctor thought for a moment. “He/him, for now.”

Kaylin nodded, making a note on her phone. “Okay, cool! And do you have any socials?”

“Not me, babes,” he replied. “I'm hardly sitting down long enough to be able to update, you know?”

“On a day like this, I know exactly what you mean,” she said. “That's okay, Lou didn't have socials either for the longest time. Right, so if you go through there, the team will get you sorted, and once you're done, someone will take you up to the greenroom. All good?”

“All great,” the Doctor replied. Kaylin flashed him a quick, relieved smile, then hurried off.

Hair and makeup was a fairly quick process, the sound mixer fitted him with a microphone, and before too long, Kaylin was back to take him upstairs.

“This is the greenroom,” she said, pushing the door open. “The rest of the cast for the episode are already here—they’re great guys, and they’ve both been on the show a lot, so they’ll be able to help if you’ve got questions. And if you need anything else, just come find me or any of the other PAs, okay?”

The Doctor nodded, beamed at Kaylin, and walked in.

---

The greenroom was small but comfortable, and its occupants, two men around the same age as the Doctor appeared, looked up as he entered.

“Oh, you’re new,” the taller of the pair said, clearly giving him the once-over.

The other sighed with a mixture of fondness and exasperation, just as clearly used to his friend’s antics.

“Hey, I’m Brennan,” he said, levering himself up to standing from his perch on a chair arm, and holding out a hand. “That’s Grant.”

The Doctor took it warmly. “The Doctor. Just passing through, and happy to help.”

Grant’s eyebrows quirked. “Doctor… something?” he prompted.

“Or is it just ‘the Doctor’?” Brennan asked.

“Just ‘the Doctor’,” the Time Lord confirmed cheerfully. “You’ll get used to it, everyone does.”

Grant didn’t look convinced, but—

“Copy that,” Brennan shrugged, and settled back on the arm of the chair, returning his gaze to the door.

Grant, in turn, looked at the Doctor and rolled his eyes in a clear expression of ‘no, I don’t know why he’s like this, either’.

“Okay,” the Doctor said after a moment of watching the watching. “I wasn’t going to ask, but now I think I have to. What’s up with the door?”

Brennan huffed a laugh. “Well, the last time there was one of those up—” he pointed to the Out of Order sign stuck to the bathroom door, “—we got locked in here for the game.”

“He’s paranoid,” Grant interjected.

“Well, yeah, maybe,” Brennan retorted. “Or just cautious. Because Sam’s been acting weird lately, and we’re coming up to the last few records of the season, so he’s probably planning something way out of the box for the finale. And the original cast was you, me and Beardsley, so…”

He shrugged one shoulder meaningfully, and Grant nodded, conceding both the point and the potential for chaos.

“So if Sam comes in to give us the briefing, rather than waiting til we’re on set,” Brennan continued, “or there’s anything else weird going on, I’m gonna know about it right from the beginning.”

He turned to the Doctor. “The only reason I'm not quizzing you is because I know for a fact Beardsley was genuinely scheduled for this, so you can't be a plant by the production team. No offence.”

“None taken,” the Doctor smiled. “That sort of thing happen often, does it?”

Grant and Brennan exchanged a look.

“More than you'd think,” Grant answered with a grimace.

“Alright,” the Doctor said slowly, then brightened. “So what is it we're actually doing?”

Grant gave him a disbelieving glance. “You don't know—?”

“Very last minute fill-in,” the Doctor said breezily. “But don't worry, I'm a quick study.”

“Well, you're not that much worse off than the rest of us,” Brennan said encouragingly. “You know about Game Changer, obviously, if you know Sam, and we only find out the rules of the game once we get on set. Hopefully,” he added, with a dark look back at the Out of Order sign.

The Doctor nodded. No, he didn't know Sam, and he didn't know Game Changer, but he could work out the situation from context clues. This was a game show. And with the Toymaker banished, and Satellite Five not coming into existence for another 198000 years, give or take, he found himself smiling. Maybe third time would be the charm.

“Mmm, hopefully they aren't going to throw you in the deep end,” Grant said. “Because Brennan might seem lovely now, but as soon as we get out there, he's a whore for points. He'll stab you in the back and won't even blink.”

Brennan barked with laughter. “Yeah, and you wouldn't?”

“Excuse you, I'm always a goddamn delight,” Grant replied, the very picture of injured dignity.

“Oh, absolutely!” agreed a new voice. The Doctor turned to the now-open door to see a bearded man in a pinstriped suit smiling broadly. “That's why we keep inviting you back!”

Grant bowed sarcastically. “Why, thank you, Sam. Good to know I'm appreciated by someone here.”

“Always,” Sam replied, gently but firmly ending that particular path of the conversation. He scanned the room, and his eyes lit up when they landed on the Doctor.

“Ah, you must be the Doctor!” he said with obvious delight, walking over with his hand outstretched. “I'm Sam—thanks for filling in for us, you've made sure we're going to have a good show. Seriously, it's a pleasure to have you here.”

“Aw, cheers!” the Doctor smiled, shaking the offered hand. “Glad I could help out, I'm really looking forward to this!”

“Well, great!” Sam exclaimed, then took a step back, regarding all three players in turn. “Now, folks, I'm just letting you know that we're just about ready to start the record, so if you can start heading down, that'd be great.”

Grant and Brennan nodded—Brennan, the Doctor noticed, with relief.

“See you down there,” Sam said, smiling. “Have a great show, and—”

His eyes caught on the Doctor's for a second, twinkling.

“Good luck.”

---

Backstage, the Doctor, Brennan and Grant were marshalled into podium order and given a final briefing from the crew. And then, with a thumbs-up from Kaylin, that was it.

Showtime.

“Get ready for a Game Changer!” came Sam's voice from onstage. “Tonight’s guests: he can shoot off a monologue with laser accuracy; it’s Brennan Lee Mulligan!”

Brennan, his back to the camera as the curtains opened, spun on his heel and, with a stone-cold expression, pointed finger guns straight down the barrel, before letting the facade crack open. “Hi!” he exclaimed, and walked over to the leftmost podium.

“It’s his first appearance, but he’s already on fire; it’s the Doctor!”

The Doctor leant against the archway to the stage and flashed a broad smile towards the camera, then in a few skipping steps, had bounded over to the next free podium. What the hell, why not make an entrance?

“And even in the toughest of mazes, you’ll always be able to find him; it’s Grant O’Brien!”

Grant dipped his lanky frame into an approximation of a curtsey, spreading his arms wide, then sauntered over to the closest podium with a grin.

“And your host, me!” Sam announced, a ring of manic white showing around his irises as he beamed down the barrel of the camera. “I’ve been here the whole time!”

“This,” he continued, pushing his microphone shut and stowing it in his jacket pocket, “is Game Changer, the only game show where the game changes every show. I am your host, Sam Reich!”

As he said his name, he looked at his hands, front and back, as if he was pleasantly surprised to be himself, then gestured towards the three podiums.

“I am joined today by these three lovely contestants! Now, you understand how the game works.”

“Of course not,” Grant started. “You know we don't.”

“We can't, Sam, that's the whole point of the theatre you've set up here,” Brennan said over him.

“Not yet,” was all the Doctor said, anticipation starting to drum a tattoo of excitement against the inside of his ribcage.

“That’s right!” Sam said brightly, shooting finger guns at the camera. “Our players have no idea what game it is they’re about to play. The only way to learn is by playing. The only way to win is by learning, and the only way to begin is by beginning! So without further ado, let’s begin by giving each of our players fifty points.”

The Doctor, biding his time, watched the reactions of his fellow contestants. Grant looked at the front of his podium, checking the point total, and nodding approvingly when he saw that yes, it was sitting at a round fifty. Brennan, on the other hand, was starting to frown.

“Players, Sam says: touch your nose,” Sam began, and Brennan sighed the sigh of someone who wasn’t happy to be proved right.

“Oh, no,” he groaned. “Oh, you son of a bitch. Wasn’t one this season enough?”

He touched his nose anyway, as did the others, and Sam smiled encouragingly. “Sam says: touch your ear.”

When they all did, Sam nodded. “Touch your other ear.”

Everybody held still, fingers on the ears they had originally touched.

Sam beamed. “Easy, players, right?”

“You say that now,” Brennan said darkly. “Which makes it worse, because all you're doing is setting us up for failure.”

Sam gasped, pretending offence. “Would I do that?”

“Yes,” Brennan and Grant replied in unison, which drew a grin from the Doctor and set Sam off chuckling.

“And I'm not having it,” Brennan continued, leaning his elbows against his podium and pointing at Sam with the hand not touching his ear. “You better watch yourself, because I know how this game works, and you're not going to get one over on me.”

“Strong words, Brennan!” Sam said, clearly delighted by this response. “Okay, then, let's start making things a bit more interesting!”

The game continued as per Sam Says usual, some rounds done as a group and some individual. Points were won, sure, but lost slightly more frequently, and even the Doctor found he was having to concentrate to avoid getting caught in the host's traps.

It was fun. Genuinely, it was like playing a game with friends, and the Doctor felt himself leaning into it. There wasn't any sign of danger—maybe there wasn't a mystery to solve at all, and the TARDIS just decided he needed a total break.

Well, probably not. But the way things were going, he was able to let himself hope.

“Alright, players,” Sam said a good few rounds in, just as pleasantly as he would start any other question, and the screen behind him dinged as a new prompt popped up. “Survive the death beam.”

For a second, everything was frozen perfectly still.

And then came the crash, the explosive noise of heavy machinery moving relentlessly through a drywall set.

The Doctor was already moving. “Everyone down!”

“Duck!” Brennan yelled at the same time.

The two of them hit the ground within milliseconds of each other, but Grant was still paralysed in the face of the giant, science-fiction type laser cannon that had just ploughed through the wall.

It whined ominously, screaming its way to fever pitch. And then a sharp pain in Grant’s ankle made him stagger, pitching forwards onto the carpet behind the podiums as the Doctor rolled away to avoid getting pinned.

“Sorry, babes,” the Doctor whispered. “But it was either kick you to get you down, or—”

A hideous metallic screech ripped through the air, and all three of them could feel the crackle of ozone as a beam of energy swept across what had, moments ago, been neck height.

“…Or that,” the Doctor finished with a grimace.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Grant breathed, suddenly very conscious of every inch of his 6’9 frame. “Thanks.”

“Well done, players!” Sam exclaimed delightedly from above them. “But… sorry, I didn’t say ‘Sam says’, so that’s a point off for everyone.”

“What the fuck!” Brennan snapped.

“Are you actually insane?” Grant demanded at the same time, his voice overlapping with Brennan’s.

In response, Sam just wheezed with laughter. “You can come back to your podiums,” he said, cheerfully ignoring them.

Nobody moved.

“Very good!” he acknowledged, and even without seeing his face, the grin was obvious in his voice. “Okay, Sam says: come back to your podiums.”

Although the words were innocuous, and his tone was just as light and breezy as usual, there was nevertheless an edge hiding just underneath the surface. And while the death beam loomed large in the minds of all three players, it was impossible to consider disobedience as an option.

Slowly, they stood, returning to their places. Now they had the time to look at it properly, the death beam was even more sinister, and Brennan and Grant both kept flicking nervous glances its way, ready to move if it looked like it was charging up again.

The Doctor, however, was focused purely on the man standing in front of them. Unbothered, Sam met his gaze like a challenge, a mischievous smile playing about his lips.

“Oh, you’ll love this one,” he said, and the screen changed. “Sam says, starting with Grant: say my name.”

Grant frowned in confusion, but answered quickly nonetheless. “Sam Reich?”

The man himself shrugged tolerantly, moving on. “Brennan?”

Brennan just stared at him coolly. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“Well caught, Brennan!” Sam said happily. “Sam says: say my name.”

“Sam,” Brennan replied, suspicion clear in his voice. “Samuel Dalton Reich.”

He nodded, still with a hint of indifference. “And lastly, Doctor.” His smile broadened. “Sam says: say my name.”

It was easy. Too easy. And as the Doctor looked into the eyes of the man calling himself Sam Reich, he felt his hearts stutter in recognition, because something had changed. He wasn’t hiding himself anymore, and while the face was different yet again, the Doctor would know the shape of that soul anywhere. It was impossible. It was inevitable.

“You can’t be,” he breathed.

Sam smirked, leaning in across his podium. “Oh, but Doctor… I’ve been here the whole time,” he stage-whispered with a wink.

“He said you lost,” the Doctor said, shaking his head, looking wrong-footed for the first time that Brennan and Grant could recall. “You lost, and he trapped you.”

The other two watched, uncomprehending, but Sam just smiled, drumming his fingers against the podium with an audible beat, fast but distinct. Four taps, four taps, four taps. “I’m waiting.”

The Doctor took a slow, deep breath. Set his jaw.

“Master.”

---

missed an installment of the game master cinematic universe?

original idea by @ace-whovian-neuroscientist: x

art by @northernfireart concept: x scissor sisters sketch: x sam and his doppelganger: x

writing by me (!) part one (escape the greenroom): x part two (deja vu): x part three (sam says 4): you are here!

#game master #sam reich!master #doctor who #dw #dropout #game changer #you know what let's chuck some character tags in here #15th doctor #the master #sam reich #brennan lee mulligan #grant o'brien #kaylin mahoney #clari speaks #clari writes #ah darlings i'm putting my chat down here rather than in the post body for once #so i've thought of this whole saga as 'part three' but i will be a) titling them all and b) just keeping on numbering the parts sequentiall #rather than 'part three part one' etc #otherwise we're getting into homestuck act titling territory and that is ground i do not wish to tread #also fuck i hope i've got the time zones right #i'm planning to post this when an episode of game changer would ordinarily be released. to plug the gap. to tide us over.#(the finale trailer is so delightfully unhinged and i cannot wait til next week)#anyway gang this one was wild #the slight but significant genre shift from 'game changer with doctor who elements' to 'doctor who with game changer elements'#it was fun to write! and hopefully fun to read :)#also i MUST say that eugene northernfireart has a baller comic in the works that this entire thing is based on #this is thousands of words of setup and continuation because the sketch idea was so good it possessed me #and we decided that it had to be a proper dw episode #(hey rtd hire me pls)#anyway eugene is on hiatus bc of life so in the meantime go give him love and be Fuckin Hyped for the comic when it appears bc i know i am

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