The Sixteenth Move (1/1, Adult)
Dec. 30th, 2020 02:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nonelvisTitle: The Sixteenth Move
Characters/Pairing(s): River Song/Dhawan!Master
Rating: Adult
Word count: 2,544
Spoilers: none
Contains: pegging
Summary: "I assure you," River said, draping herself over the Master's back so she could nip at his earlobe, "the Doctor isn't involved in this in any way. And he definitely doesn't know I'm here, or he'd probably be here, too, trying to stop me from doing something he'd call 'foolish and dangerous.' Spoilsport."
Author's Notes: I wanted to write one more fic this year, and looks like there's no River/Dhawan!Master. Shame on you, fandom! Fortunately, this is a fixable problem.
::xposted to![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
dwfiction and ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
dwfiction, and archived at A Teaspoon And An Open Mind and AO3
The Master liked Las Vegas. It showcased humanity at its worst, greediest, most indulgent and therefore truest self. It also provided steady access to a stream of high rollers, human and occasionally otherwise, in need of the particular services the Master was forced to supply now that he had to support himself.
Those services – obtaining that which could not normally be obtained, persuading those who could not normally be persuaded, removing obstacles with gun or poison or preferably, plastic daffodil – were not how he'd planned to spend his time stuck on Earth, but it wasn't like he'd had a choice about that, and the flats, sportscars, and weapons collection weren't paying for themselves. Besides, recreational murder was a relaxing way to fill the off-hours while plotting extravagant revenge on the Doctor for these years in purgatory.
Casino management knew to allow only potential clients a seat at the Master's private table overlooking the gaming floor. There had been some delicate negotiations about that, since the casino's owners turned out to be every bit as ruthless as the Master, albeit less wily. Still, the Master liked his limbs intact, and his patrons at the casino enjoyed the business he brought them, so they'd worked out an arrangement after a minimal number of hospitalisations on both sides.
So when a blonde slithered onto the chair across from him, gold lamé barely clinging to a pleasingly ample bosom, he assumed she was there on purpose, no matter how much she looked like she was on the prowl here in 1977, one of the prowliest eras the Master had ever seen on this benighted world. Hair coiled in a thousand corkscrews that had no doubt cost her three figures at the hotel salon; half a pound of thin gold chains ringing her neck and coming to rest between the fabric drapes that weren't even trying to feign modesty. She brought a glass of whiskey along with her attitude, and settled into her seat as if she planned to keep the Master company for quite some time.
There was nothing quite like knowing you were sitting opposite another predator to get the blood moving, and as wealthy and connected as the Master's clientele was, they usually didn't set off those inner sensors warning danger, actual danger, handle with care. This carefully accessorised woman in her fashionable gold scraps of clothing was setting off alerts he didn't even know he had.
"I hear you may have acquired the Royal Liphonian thermoweapon control," she said. "Is that true?"
If there were anything more attractive than this level of peril wrapped up in this particular packaging and likely about to offer him an absurd amount of money for the most dangerous object in his collection, he didn't know it. He shifted in his seat and stifled a giggle. Play it cool; there was plenty of time to work out her next fifteen moves before she even knew she was going to make them.
"All sorts of things could be true right now. Whether that particular one is depends on who's asking and how much they're offering," he said.
The woman reached inside the numerous folds of that ridiculous dress bodice and neatly placed a credit chip beside her whiskey glass. "Five million dollars from my buyer. Scan it if you like."
Without his TARDIS, he'd eventually had to wire a scanner from a transistor radio, a tin aeroplane toy, and a pack of Bazooka gum, but it did the trick. Five million dollars on the chip, buyer name unknown, but anyone who could put that amount on an interstellar card would have no trouble initiating a wire transfer with banking systems a hundred years too old for a direct connection.
"Five million is an offer worth discussing," he said. "But I'd like to know with whom."
The woman smiled, a curve of her lips that didn't fully match the narrowing of her eyes. "Dr. River Song," she said. "And you are ...? My buyer didn't have a name, only a description."
"Call me 'John Smith,'" he said. "It's as good a name as any."
"Funny. I know someone else by that name."
"I'm sure it's just coincidence."
Song nodded slightly. It was so much more convenient when both parties agreed to the same lies.
"Coincidence or not, your reputation precedes you, Mr. Smith. My buyer was most impressed with your work in Glasgow last year. A bit messy, but one can't eliminate one's rivals without breaking a few eggs, can one?"
"I'm honoured. But I'd like to learn more about you and your buyer, Dr. Song. Who precisely do you represent?"
"I'm not authorised to divulge that until I've inspected the control personally to confirm its authenticity. Surely you understand."
"Of course," he said. "Suite 1202. Ten minutes. Knock three times, then once. And bring the chip; I don't like waiting."
River sipped at her whiskey and slipped the chip back between her breasts. "No one does, Mr. Smith. But I assure you, I'm worth the wait."
* * *
"The Royal Liphonian thermoweapon control," the Master said, unlocking the suite's bedroom safe and handing Dr. Song a clear glass rod streaked with fine metallic lines on its interior, capped with a green gemstone the size of a walnut. "The key to launching every thermal weapon in the Liphonian arsenal, with lightspeed capability and a maximum range of 15 light-years. The person who sold it to me tells me the queen's extremely unhappy it's no longer in her possession. I say she should consider upgrading her security."
Song held the rod up to the light, skimmed it with her fingernails, squinted at the filigreed circuit imprints. "It looks real enough. But I'm going to need confirmation. Short of launching hundreds of thermonuclear missiles, that is."
"And here I assumed you were a woman who liked to live on the edge, Dr. Song."
She ran the control rod slowly down his cheek, across the strip of skin above his tuxedo's collar and bow tie, down his chest, pausing at his waistband. "I am. I simply draw the line at planetary destruction on a whim." The rod dipped slightly lower, an infuriatingly light touch. "And call me River, won't you? 'Dr. Song' seems so formal considering the best way to confirm this device's authenticity."
Fifteen moves ahead. And somehow, he'd failed to consider the sixteenth.
"What ... what exactly did you have in mind?" The control rod, pressing against – well, his own; River, close enough now that he could see her dress had almost entirely given up on trying to contain her bosom. She tilted her head towards him, breath warm on his neck.
"It needs to be held at body temperature to charge. The queen simply slides it inside her gelatinous exolayer to keep it warm. When it's ready, the activation gem glows. So if it doesn't, I'll know it's a fake."
River tugged at the Master's bow tie with one hand, let her other one wander across the front of his trousers alongside the control rod. Move seventeen, dammit. Perhaps he should consider regrouping mentally while River worked on whatever delights she had planned for number eighteen. After all, she clearly just needed his body and not his brain – though the drawback to his regrouping plan was that his brain wasn't going to be any use at all, considering where River had just slid her hand, leaving him stumbling backwards against the bedroom bureau, his eyes fluttering shut.
"You seem like the sort of man who isn't afraid of anything," she said. "Turn around. Help me warm this up." She drew the control rod into her mouth, licked it lavishly. "What are you waiting for?"
Ah, one functioning brain cell left. "I need to know you're not just going to stick that up my arse – and believe me, I would very much like you to do that – and run away with it. Because you, my dear" – he grabbed the wrist at his waist, much as it pained him to make River stop stroking him – "owe me five million dollars before you get to walk out of here with that."
"A reasonable request." She extracted the credit chip from one of the lamé folds still clinging to a nipple, placed her thumb on the chip, and put it on the bureau behind the Master. "Here. I've preauthorised it for you. Now if I walk away with the rod, you still get paid."
The Master removed his bow tie and jacket. He unzipped his trousers and stepped out of them and his pants. And he turned around, bracing both hands on the bureau, one on top of the credit chip. "Let's get testing, then," he said.
* * *
Of all the many indulgences Las Vegas – and Earth in general – had to offer, the Master had primarily availed himself of his usual vices. Fine foods. Vintage wines. Illegally imported hand-rolled Cuban cigars. But rarely, given the incredibly easy availability of sexual services, had he bothered to seek out that sort of company. Humans were simply too uninteresting most of the time, and his corresponding level of attraction to them too low, unless he had something obvious to gain from the liaison.
River, on the other hand: his body hummed with energy wherever she touched him. Her careful initial thrusts with the lubricated control rod, getting him used to the sensation; a hand on his chest to sense his breathing patterns and figure out the rhythm he liked, exploring connections between his heartbeats and her timing; sliding that hand down to grip the Master's cock, River's thumb lightly brushing the tip. There were surely other humans capable of anticipating what he liked, but he'd yet to encounter one until now.
But he especially hadn't encountered any who, after placing their hand on his chest, had said, "Ah. I thought so."
"Thought what?" he said through panting breaths. River's fingernails were lightly scraping his cock and balls and he was twitching, thrusting harder towards the bureau, increasingly desperate for a firmer touch.
"Two hearts. Well. My buyer did suspect it was you, Master."
The hum in his body fizzled out. The Master slammed a hand on top of the bureau. "Stop," he said. "I need to know who your buyer is. Is it the Doctor? I'll never sell to her! If she wants it that badly, she can come here and get it herself."
"'She'? Ooh, no more spoilers, please. I want something to look forward to." River gave the rod a twist as she thrust it deeper inside the Master, and he gasped in return. "I assure you," she said, draping herself over his back so she could nip at his earlobe, "the Doctor isn't involved in this in any way. And he definitely doesn't know I'm here, or he'd probably be here, too, trying to stop me from doing something he'd call 'foolish and dangerous.' Spoilsport."
The Master turned his head to look at River. There was that wicked smile again, this time fully across her face.
He grabbed her by the back of the head and kissed her. It was a bad angle; noses bumped together and he found her lower lip first, all the better to bite it and relish her yelp and throaty giggle. Her tongue swept across his teeth, and she dug her fingers into his hair and pulled, hard, until he whimpered in return.
"Foolish," he said, licking blood from River's lip. "Dangerous."
"That's how I like it," she said, and gripped his cock again, suddenly moving faster than he'd expected, and oh, he was going to tip over sooner than he'd thought, never mind whether the control rod had proven its authenticity by now; he wanted this to go on forever.
The rod twisted and thrust inside him in time with River's motions, his skin vibrating at the same frequency. Three, four more strokes, and he'd come, and he considered slapping River's hand away and replacing it with his own to get the release he craved that much more quickly. Instead, he let her take her time.
One: her hand sliding along the shaft.
Two: her fingers slipping behind his balls.
Three: her hand, shifting forwards, finger just kissing the tip of him, and he groaned and gasped and fell against the bureau as he came. Which frankly jammed his cock into the mahogany veneer, but his Ow! Fuck! dissipated in the spinning, fuzzy-edged ecstasy in the rest of him.
River let go of him, wiping her hand on his shirt-tails. The Master fell onto his forearms and breathed deeply, the sort of breathing they'd taught him as relaxation at the Academy but probably not with this particular purpose in mind, until River slid out the control rod.
"I hope you're satisfied with the control's authenticity," he said.
"The glow is rather impressive," she replied, showing it to him. The gem was filled with a green light so pure it hurt his eyes. "I'll be back in a moment," she said. "Just need to give this a quick wash."
He rested on the bureau while he waited for his breathing to fully return to normal. Whatever else happened with this woman, there was deep satisfaction in knowing that letting her fuck him would annoy the Doctor. What sort of relationship River must have with her – well, a previous or future version, clearly – intrigued him. Was River the sort of friend whose slow torture would wound the Doctor as much as it would wound River? But there was surely time to work that out.
His speculation had gotten as far as "wife ... ex-wife ... disturbingly sexy daughter" when he realised that it had been some time since he'd heard water splashing in the bathroom. Which, he discovered, was empty, with towels scattered all over the floor and a cherry-red lipstick heart left on the gilt-edged mirror.
Con woman suddenly poked its way into his speculation. The chip. The chip. At least five million dollars was waiting for him, assuming River hadn't pulled one last disappearing act.
He thumbed the chip to transfer the funds. Instead, a holographic River appeared before him.
"Hello, Master," the hologram said. "So sorry, but I had to run, you know how it is. The Liphonian queen insisted on the immediate return of her control rod. She's my buyer, by the way. Well, I say "buyer," but that implies she paid you anything at all. Which she didn't, because I switched the chips.
"I'm sure we had a lovely and/or thrillingly educational and/or exceedingly violent time. This message is being recorded in advance, so pick whichever one feels appropriate.
"Toodles! Maybe we'll meet again someday. I've got all sorts of ideas for what to do to you next time."
The hologram blew him a kiss, then vanished.
The hotel received several complaints that evening about yelling and crashing noises coming from the vicinity of the twelfth floor, and was forced to comp numerous rooms.
The Master reimbursed the hotel, grudgingly, with a tally kept on hotel stationery by his bedside. Someday, literally, he'd make River pay.
After, of course, whatever she had in mind for him.
Characters/Pairing(s): River Song/Dhawan!Master
Rating: Adult
Word count: 2,544
Spoilers: none
Contains: pegging
Summary: "I assure you," River said, draping herself over the Master's back so she could nip at his earlobe, "the Doctor isn't involved in this in any way. And he definitely doesn't know I'm here, or he'd probably be here, too, trying to stop me from doing something he'd call 'foolish and dangerous.' Spoilsport."
Author's Notes: I wanted to write one more fic this year, and looks like there's no River/Dhawan!Master. Shame on you, fandom! Fortunately, this is a fixable problem.
::xposted to
dwfiction and dwfiction, and archived at A Teaspoon And An Open Mind and AO3The Master liked Las Vegas. It showcased humanity at its worst, greediest, most indulgent and therefore truest self. It also provided steady access to a stream of high rollers, human and occasionally otherwise, in need of the particular services the Master was forced to supply now that he had to support himself.
Those services – obtaining that which could not normally be obtained, persuading those who could not normally be persuaded, removing obstacles with gun or poison or preferably, plastic daffodil – were not how he'd planned to spend his time stuck on Earth, but it wasn't like he'd had a choice about that, and the flats, sportscars, and weapons collection weren't paying for themselves. Besides, recreational murder was a relaxing way to fill the off-hours while plotting extravagant revenge on the Doctor for these years in purgatory.
Casino management knew to allow only potential clients a seat at the Master's private table overlooking the gaming floor. There had been some delicate negotiations about that, since the casino's owners turned out to be every bit as ruthless as the Master, albeit less wily. Still, the Master liked his limbs intact, and his patrons at the casino enjoyed the business he brought them, so they'd worked out an arrangement after a minimal number of hospitalisations on both sides.
So when a blonde slithered onto the chair across from him, gold lamé barely clinging to a pleasingly ample bosom, he assumed she was there on purpose, no matter how much she looked like she was on the prowl here in 1977, one of the prowliest eras the Master had ever seen on this benighted world. Hair coiled in a thousand corkscrews that had no doubt cost her three figures at the hotel salon; half a pound of thin gold chains ringing her neck and coming to rest between the fabric drapes that weren't even trying to feign modesty. She brought a glass of whiskey along with her attitude, and settled into her seat as if she planned to keep the Master company for quite some time.
There was nothing quite like knowing you were sitting opposite another predator to get the blood moving, and as wealthy and connected as the Master's clientele was, they usually didn't set off those inner sensors warning danger, actual danger, handle with care. This carefully accessorised woman in her fashionable gold scraps of clothing was setting off alerts he didn't even know he had.
"I hear you may have acquired the Royal Liphonian thermoweapon control," she said. "Is that true?"
If there were anything more attractive than this level of peril wrapped up in this particular packaging and likely about to offer him an absurd amount of money for the most dangerous object in his collection, he didn't know it. He shifted in his seat and stifled a giggle. Play it cool; there was plenty of time to work out her next fifteen moves before she even knew she was going to make them.
"All sorts of things could be true right now. Whether that particular one is depends on who's asking and how much they're offering," he said.
The woman reached inside the numerous folds of that ridiculous dress bodice and neatly placed a credit chip beside her whiskey glass. "Five million dollars from my buyer. Scan it if you like."
Without his TARDIS, he'd eventually had to wire a scanner from a transistor radio, a tin aeroplane toy, and a pack of Bazooka gum, but it did the trick. Five million dollars on the chip, buyer name unknown, but anyone who could put that amount on an interstellar card would have no trouble initiating a wire transfer with banking systems a hundred years too old for a direct connection.
"Five million is an offer worth discussing," he said. "But I'd like to know with whom."
The woman smiled, a curve of her lips that didn't fully match the narrowing of her eyes. "Dr. River Song," she said. "And you are ...? My buyer didn't have a name, only a description."
"Call me 'John Smith,'" he said. "It's as good a name as any."
"Funny. I know someone else by that name."
"I'm sure it's just coincidence."
Song nodded slightly. It was so much more convenient when both parties agreed to the same lies.
"Coincidence or not, your reputation precedes you, Mr. Smith. My buyer was most impressed with your work in Glasgow last year. A bit messy, but one can't eliminate one's rivals without breaking a few eggs, can one?"
"I'm honoured. But I'd like to learn more about you and your buyer, Dr. Song. Who precisely do you represent?"
"I'm not authorised to divulge that until I've inspected the control personally to confirm its authenticity. Surely you understand."
"Of course," he said. "Suite 1202. Ten minutes. Knock three times, then once. And bring the chip; I don't like waiting."
River sipped at her whiskey and slipped the chip back between her breasts. "No one does, Mr. Smith. But I assure you, I'm worth the wait."
"The Royal Liphonian thermoweapon control," the Master said, unlocking the suite's bedroom safe and handing Dr. Song a clear glass rod streaked with fine metallic lines on its interior, capped with a green gemstone the size of a walnut. "The key to launching every thermal weapon in the Liphonian arsenal, with lightspeed capability and a maximum range of 15 light-years. The person who sold it to me tells me the queen's extremely unhappy it's no longer in her possession. I say she should consider upgrading her security."
Song held the rod up to the light, skimmed it with her fingernails, squinted at the filigreed circuit imprints. "It looks real enough. But I'm going to need confirmation. Short of launching hundreds of thermonuclear missiles, that is."
"And here I assumed you were a woman who liked to live on the edge, Dr. Song."
She ran the control rod slowly down his cheek, across the strip of skin above his tuxedo's collar and bow tie, down his chest, pausing at his waistband. "I am. I simply draw the line at planetary destruction on a whim." The rod dipped slightly lower, an infuriatingly light touch. "And call me River, won't you? 'Dr. Song' seems so formal considering the best way to confirm this device's authenticity."
Fifteen moves ahead. And somehow, he'd failed to consider the sixteenth.
"What ... what exactly did you have in mind?" The control rod, pressing against – well, his own; River, close enough now that he could see her dress had almost entirely given up on trying to contain her bosom. She tilted her head towards him, breath warm on his neck.
"It needs to be held at body temperature to charge. The queen simply slides it inside her gelatinous exolayer to keep it warm. When it's ready, the activation gem glows. So if it doesn't, I'll know it's a fake."
River tugged at the Master's bow tie with one hand, let her other one wander across the front of his trousers alongside the control rod. Move seventeen, dammit. Perhaps he should consider regrouping mentally while River worked on whatever delights she had planned for number eighteen. After all, she clearly just needed his body and not his brain – though the drawback to his regrouping plan was that his brain wasn't going to be any use at all, considering where River had just slid her hand, leaving him stumbling backwards against the bedroom bureau, his eyes fluttering shut.
"You seem like the sort of man who isn't afraid of anything," she said. "Turn around. Help me warm this up." She drew the control rod into her mouth, licked it lavishly. "What are you waiting for?"
Ah, one functioning brain cell left. "I need to know you're not just going to stick that up my arse – and believe me, I would very much like you to do that – and run away with it. Because you, my dear" – he grabbed the wrist at his waist, much as it pained him to make River stop stroking him – "owe me five million dollars before you get to walk out of here with that."
"A reasonable request." She extracted the credit chip from one of the lamé folds still clinging to a nipple, placed her thumb on the chip, and put it on the bureau behind the Master. "Here. I've preauthorised it for you. Now if I walk away with the rod, you still get paid."
The Master removed his bow tie and jacket. He unzipped his trousers and stepped out of them and his pants. And he turned around, bracing both hands on the bureau, one on top of the credit chip. "Let's get testing, then," he said.
Of all the many indulgences Las Vegas – and Earth in general – had to offer, the Master had primarily availed himself of his usual vices. Fine foods. Vintage wines. Illegally imported hand-rolled Cuban cigars. But rarely, given the incredibly easy availability of sexual services, had he bothered to seek out that sort of company. Humans were simply too uninteresting most of the time, and his corresponding level of attraction to them too low, unless he had something obvious to gain from the liaison.
River, on the other hand: his body hummed with energy wherever she touched him. Her careful initial thrusts with the lubricated control rod, getting him used to the sensation; a hand on his chest to sense his breathing patterns and figure out the rhythm he liked, exploring connections between his heartbeats and her timing; sliding that hand down to grip the Master's cock, River's thumb lightly brushing the tip. There were surely other humans capable of anticipating what he liked, but he'd yet to encounter one until now.
But he especially hadn't encountered any who, after placing their hand on his chest, had said, "Ah. I thought so."
"Thought what?" he said through panting breaths. River's fingernails were lightly scraping his cock and balls and he was twitching, thrusting harder towards the bureau, increasingly desperate for a firmer touch.
"Two hearts. Well. My buyer did suspect it was you, Master."
The hum in his body fizzled out. The Master slammed a hand on top of the bureau. "Stop," he said. "I need to know who your buyer is. Is it the Doctor? I'll never sell to her! If she wants it that badly, she can come here and get it herself."
"'She'? Ooh, no more spoilers, please. I want something to look forward to." River gave the rod a twist as she thrust it deeper inside the Master, and he gasped in return. "I assure you," she said, draping herself over his back so she could nip at his earlobe, "the Doctor isn't involved in this in any way. And he definitely doesn't know I'm here, or he'd probably be here, too, trying to stop me from doing something he'd call 'foolish and dangerous.' Spoilsport."
The Master turned his head to look at River. There was that wicked smile again, this time fully across her face.
He grabbed her by the back of the head and kissed her. It was a bad angle; noses bumped together and he found her lower lip first, all the better to bite it and relish her yelp and throaty giggle. Her tongue swept across his teeth, and she dug her fingers into his hair and pulled, hard, until he whimpered in return.
"Foolish," he said, licking blood from River's lip. "Dangerous."
"That's how I like it," she said, and gripped his cock again, suddenly moving faster than he'd expected, and oh, he was going to tip over sooner than he'd thought, never mind whether the control rod had proven its authenticity by now; he wanted this to go on forever.
The rod twisted and thrust inside him in time with River's motions, his skin vibrating at the same frequency. Three, four more strokes, and he'd come, and he considered slapping River's hand away and replacing it with his own to get the release he craved that much more quickly. Instead, he let her take her time.
One: her hand sliding along the shaft.
Two: her fingers slipping behind his balls.
Three: her hand, shifting forwards, finger just kissing the tip of him, and he groaned and gasped and fell against the bureau as he came. Which frankly jammed his cock into the mahogany veneer, but his Ow! Fuck! dissipated in the spinning, fuzzy-edged ecstasy in the rest of him.
River let go of him, wiping her hand on his shirt-tails. The Master fell onto his forearms and breathed deeply, the sort of breathing they'd taught him as relaxation at the Academy but probably not with this particular purpose in mind, until River slid out the control rod.
"I hope you're satisfied with the control's authenticity," he said.
"The glow is rather impressive," she replied, showing it to him. The gem was filled with a green light so pure it hurt his eyes. "I'll be back in a moment," she said. "Just need to give this a quick wash."
He rested on the bureau while he waited for his breathing to fully return to normal. Whatever else happened with this woman, there was deep satisfaction in knowing that letting her fuck him would annoy the Doctor. What sort of relationship River must have with her – well, a previous or future version, clearly – intrigued him. Was River the sort of friend whose slow torture would wound the Doctor as much as it would wound River? But there was surely time to work that out.
His speculation had gotten as far as "wife ... ex-wife ... disturbingly sexy daughter" when he realised that it had been some time since he'd heard water splashing in the bathroom. Which, he discovered, was empty, with towels scattered all over the floor and a cherry-red lipstick heart left on the gilt-edged mirror.
Con woman suddenly poked its way into his speculation. The chip. The chip. At least five million dollars was waiting for him, assuming River hadn't pulled one last disappearing act.
He thumbed the chip to transfer the funds. Instead, a holographic River appeared before him.
"Hello, Master," the hologram said. "So sorry, but I had to run, you know how it is. The Liphonian queen insisted on the immediate return of her control rod. She's my buyer, by the way. Well, I say "buyer," but that implies she paid you anything at all. Which she didn't, because I switched the chips.
"I'm sure we had a lovely and/or thrillingly educational and/or exceedingly violent time. This message is being recorded in advance, so pick whichever one feels appropriate.
"Toodles! Maybe we'll meet again someday. I've got all sorts of ideas for what to do to you next time."
The hologram blew him a kiss, then vanished.
The hotel received several complaints that evening about yelling and crashing noises coming from the vicinity of the twelfth floor, and was forced to comp numerous rooms.
The Master reimbursed the hotel, grudgingly, with a tally kept on hotel stationery by his bedside. Someday, literally, he'd make River pay.
After, of course, whatever she had in mind for him.