Doctor Who fic: Powerplay
Powerplay
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: Doctor/Master
Disclaimer: I have nothing to do with the series. If I did, things like this would have happened on screen.
Summary: A post Voyage of the Damned powerplay between the Doctor and the Master.
Spoilers: Voyage of the Damned and season three of Doctor Who.
Author's Note: This is my first Doctor Who fic, and being as I’m not British, I’m sure I’ve messed up with some of the wording. If I have, please tell me and I’ll change it. Also, this is unbeta’ed, because my beta isn’t in the Doctor Who fandom. Shame on her! XD
After the events of the Titanic, the Doctor made his way back into the TARDIS, looking only slightly worse for wear. His bowtie was undone; the white rubber on his trainers looked slightly scuffed in places and his hair was sticking up even more haphazardly then normal, if such a thing was possible.
The Master didn’t even look up as the door opened. He was sitting in the control chair, fingers drumming idly against the TARDIS’s control panel. Tap-tap-tap-tap. There wasn’t much else he could do. The Doctor had set the isomorphic controls on the TARDIS, leaving the Master pretty much helpless in regards to controlling the ship.
“Nice of you to finally show up, Doctor.” His voice was full of derision as he finally glanced at the other man. “Though you’d come running back after your heap of junk decided to crash to Earth.”
The Doctor easily ignored the jab about the TARDIS, and shrugged, hands sliding into his pockets. “I was rather busy. The ship that crashed into us was taken over. It nearly crashed again, into earth. Would have wiped out the entire population.” The Doctor rubbed his jaw contemplatively, “Not a good year for the Titanic.”
“So you saved all the little humans from certain death once again. How touching,” The Master rolled his eyes, fingers still flying across the control panel, lightly tapping out the beat of the drums. “For a race you regard as so intelligent, they certainly do need saving a lot, don’t they?”
“They are intelligent,” The Doctor replied back, “Brilliant really, and brave. Oh, they’re exceptionally brave. Weren’t human this time though. Stoans, from the planet Sto. Never been there, actually, but I hear they have amazing food.” He paused before adding softly, “Those Stoans were pretty brave, too.” Something flitted across his face then that looked a lot like regret before he swallowed it down and smiled for the Master, changing the subject. “It’s Christmas day out there. We should have got a tree, exchanged gifts. Ever been to Earth during Christmas, Master?” Even as he prattled on, it was clear that his smile didn’t reach his eyes. His mind was on something else entirely.
The Master finally ceased the quiet drumming of his fingers when he saw the Doctor’s smile. Oh, he knew that smile. “Still thinking about the ship, Doctor?” he asked, voice like velvet. “Thinking about all those lives you saved. Did they chant your name too? Ooh, I’ll bet you would have liked that, Doctor. Don’t you ever tire of saving pathetic races that can’t even seem to save themselves?” This last bit was snarled and the Master was on his feet in a moment, eyes shining. He was ready for a fight.
To his disappointment, the Doctor didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, his shoulders sagged ever so slightly and he replied in a voice barely about a whisper. “Couldn’t save everyone this time. Not even close.”
That was what the Master had been waiting for. He could build upon that, tug and poke at the psychological wound until it was bright red and gaping.
“And what’d you do then, Doctor? Watch them die? Did you stand by while your lovely little Stoans perished?” His eyes narrowed as he watched the Doctor, waiting for some sign that his words rang true.
He didn’t have to wait long. The Doctor stopped fidgeting about and stood stock still, “I didn’t stand there,” he replied, voice low yet unmistakably edged. “I tried to save them. I tried. Some of them I just…couldn’t.” He thought of Astrid falling into that burning chasm, turning to stardust and floating away. His voice rose a bit higher, “Some of them saved each other. They gave their lives, their only lives, to save each other, and that, Master, is why they’re amazing.”
The Master actually giggled then, at the fury in the Doctor’s voice. Oh, he made it so easy some times. “Amazingly stupid, Doctor,” he replied, tone soft and mocking. He stood up and took a few confident strides over to the other Time Lord, “All that screaming, the chaos, let me feel it.”
He stared into the Doctor’s eyes as he suddenly brought up an index finger, pressing it to the Doctor’s temple, instantly making a connection. The second he was in the Doctor’s mind, all he felt was the Doctor’s guilt. It was nearly overwhelming, all the guilt and grief. The Master could taste it, acrid, on the back of his tongue.
The Doctor flinched when he felt those fingers at his temples, probing into his mind. He threw up as many mental barriers as he could, effectively shutting the door of his mind in the Master’s face…but not before the Master had had the chance to glance around.
“Stop it,” the Doctor snapped, grabbing the Master’s wrists, pulling them away.
After a moment, the Master roughly shook the Doctor’s hands off him, though he didn’t take a step back. They were still face to face, separated by mere inches.
“What’s the matter, Doctor? Afraid I’d see something you wanted to hide?” He gave the other Time Lord and pout, tilting his head to the side for a moment in faux-sympathy before turning impossibly smug. “Oh, I saw it alright. The reason for all of the guilt you feel,” he smiled, reaching up to straighten out the untied bowtie still hanging around the Doctor’s neck. “You promised them they’d live; they died right in front of you. They died looking into your eyes, knowing the good Doctor is a liar.”
His fingers still brushed over the fabric of the bowtie as they started beating out the drums softly against the Doctor’s chest. Tap-tap-tap-tap. He looked impossibly pleased with himself. “What would the people on Earth think? How would they feel know their magical Doctor is a liar? Well, in the end, your word is no better than mine, is it?”
The Doctor looked away, taking a deep breath and pushing down all of his anger. He pushed it down, down, down until he was certain it wouldn’t overflow and he wouldn’t do something he’d regret. It didn’t happen the way the Master had said. It didn’t.
With effort, he ignored the Master’s questions and looked down at those fingers still tapping out a rhythm against his chest, right over his hearts. “Are the drums bad tonight?”
“They’re always bad,” the Master replied, barely concealed rage flashing in his eyes. Nothing he was saying seemed to make much difference to the Doctor. What did he have to do to make the other Time Lord fight back?
Again, the Doctor caught the Master’s hands in his own, this time gently closing over them to stop the drumming. He gave the other man a look of concern as his thumbs brushed soft circles on top of the Master’s skin. “If I let you in, would it help?”
The Master stared at the Doctor’s hands on his, and didn’t pull away as he nodded, adding dully, “Maybe.” It wouldn’t help at all, not with the Doctor’s pathetic sympathy and guilt clouding every memory, but it was still the closest thing to a war he’d have witnessed in a while. Closest thing he’d be able to witness for an undeterminable amount of time, so he decided that it was better than nothing.
“Okay,” the Doctor’s voice was whisper-soft and he let the Master’s hand go before he brushed soft fingertips against his temple, opening up the mental connection.
It took only a second for the Master to realize that the Doctor chose to start at the beginning-when he walked out of the TARDIS-rather then when all of the death and destruction swelled to its peak.
He tried to push past those dull memories, almost like a mental fast-forward button, but he could feel the Doctor’s mind right there, firm, guiding him and making him watch and feel what he wanted.
It wasn’t long before things start happening anyway, for which the Master was grateful. He probably would have snapped the Doctor’s neck, had he been forced to endure too much more of the Doctor eating with the locals and charming nearly everyone he came into contact with. It was disgusting, especially when the maid girl kissed him with such…adoration in her eyes.
Then, things started happening-the robot angels and people screaming. “Yesss,” he hissed, unsure if he’d spoken aloud or only in his mind. The Doctor’s memories were good, vivid.
Just as he was marveling at the chaos around him, in his mind’s eye, he felt the Doctor start to speed up the process, felt him trying to skip over things, purposely not remember parts. Did the Doctor think he really wouldn’t notice that? It was an insult to his intelligence!
The Master reached out more forcefully with the tendrils of his mind, digging down to grab hold of those memories the Doctor was trying to forget. He followed the trail through the Doctor’s mind, smirking outwardly when he grasped the memory the Doctor was trying to desperately to push away. Pulling it up, the Master saw it through the Doctor’s eyes, that useless Stoan maid-‘Astrid’ the Doctor reminded him sharply through their link-kneeling down next to the Doctor, asking shyly if she could join him on his travels.
Reveling in the vulnerable look on Astrid’s face, the Master waited for the Doctor to shoot her down…only, he didn’t. He gave her a smile, a genuine one, and told her he’d like that.
The Master froze at that, letting the link between them sputter slightly and almost fade away. “My my, Doctor, how much you must trust me. You were going to allow her to travel with us. Didn’t you think of what I’d do to her?” he spoke the words aloud, mouth feeling dry. He didn’t trust the truth of his own words, but he faked the bravado all the same.
The Doctor shook his head ever so slightly, scratching the back of his neck, brow furrowed. ‘I didn’t,’ he admitted, through the link, voice sounding soft and far away as the Master allowed the link to start fading, and the Doctor made no move to stop it. ‘I wasn’t-I just didn’t think about-I’m so sorry.’
He didn’t finish his thought, and he didn’t have to. The Master could fill in the blanks easily enough; fill in the Doctor’s half finished thoughts. It wasn’t that the Doctor wasn’t thinking; it was that the Doctor wasn’t thinking of him. The Master never even crossed his mind when he’d left the TARDIS that evening, save for a brief flash of concern for him, when he saw the TARDIS get sucked out of the Titanic.
The Master squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth against the knowledge. His hands were balled into fists at his sides as he tried very hard to control his anger, his hurt, and give nothing away to the Doctor.
A moment later when he opened his eyes, the pupils were slightly dilated, filled with fire and disgust and rage. With a snarl, he surged toward the Doctor, nearly tackling him, as he pressed him back against the console of the TARDIS. He grabbed the back of the Doctor’s neck, nails digging into his skin as he pressed their foreheads together, letting the link burst open and flow between them like rushing water after a dam breaking.
Stunned, the Doctor let the link open and let himself be shoved backwards, back wrenching painfully as his spine hit a metal lever on the console. He gave a little gasp, fingers curling around the Master’s forearms, torn between pushing him back and pulling him closer.
The Master didn’t even notice the Doctor’s hands on him; he was so intent on rifling through the Doctor’s memories. Haphazardly, he pulled out the events on the Titanic as fast as he could, letting the violence flow around him before shooting it back out in stereo to the Doctor. The fear, the guilt, the regret the Doctor had felt at the time was magnified as the Master sent it back into the Doctor’s mind. He let it mingle with his own vindictive glee, laughing manically in their heads. He made the memories as vivid as he could, panoramic, spinning around the both of them, until it was through. In their mind’s eye, the Doctor saved the day again and the Master abruptly severed the link between them, before the Doctor had a chance to relax.
Stepping back, the Master opened his eyes, chest heaving with the effort with what he’d just done.
Slowly, the Doctor opened his eyes as well, feeling sick and disoriented. He was panting, chest rising and falling just as rapidly as the Master’s. “What?” he asked breathlessly, straightening up, back still aching. It took him a moment for the pounding headache the Master had given him to recede a little, so his mind could comprehend what had just taken place. “What?!”
The Master just watched him with narrowed eyes, catching his breath. “Wasn’t it good, Doctor? Didn’t you have a good time without me?” He spoke viciously, feeling something wet on his lower lip and darted his tongue out to lick it, tasting the metallic tang of blood. He must have bitten it when he was in the link. Funny, he hadn’t even noticed.
Impatiently, he wiped his lip with the back of his hand, glaring with distaste as the crisp white sleeve of his dress shirt brushed against it. A few small drops of blood blossomed on the sleeve, marring its impeccable colour.
He stalked toward the Doctor again, still looking predatory. “Do you see what happens when you leave me here, Doctor? When you go off on your own?” his voice grew louder, echoing against the metal walls of the TARDIS. He sounded slightly hysterical as he all but shouted the words, “Doctor, do you see?!”
“I’m sorry,” the Doctor said again, making slow steps towards him, cautiously, as if the Master were a skittish animal. “I’m so sorry.” He reached out a hand, “You’re bleeding, let me help you.” He frowned with concern.
The Master took another step back, sliding to the side, making as if he were going to start circling the Doctor. “So you’ve decided to start caring again?” He laughed, shoulders shaking with mirth before he suddenly stopped and became serious. “Don’t try to fix me. I don’t want to be fixed.”
The Doctor watched him helplessly for a moment, looking as if he was trying to make up his mind about something, before he made a decision. Striding forward, he came face to face with the Master again, “Tell me what I can do.”
He looked so truly guilty, so truly sorry that it only made the Master hate him more. He’d rather have indifference then all of this heart-wrenching emotion, and he briefly contemplated spitting in the Doctor’s face. Instead, he locked his eyes on the Doctor’s, hissing “This,” and he crushed his lips against the other Time Lord’s.
It wasn’t a gentle kiss, not even close to loving. It was all teeth and tongues and rage. The Master took Doctor’s lower lip between his and bit down until he could feel the Doctor’s blood mixing with his own in their mouths. Swallowing it down, the Master smiled against the Doctor’s lips.
The Doctor’s eyes fluttered shut when he was bitten. He groaned softly, knowing he’d hate himself later-hating himself already, because this wasn’t going to help either of them, even if the Doctor felt like he needed it-and thrust his tongue into the Master’s mouth. His hand ran through the Master’s cropped hair, too short to hold onto and settled for clasping a hand around the back of his neck as the Master had done to him earlier. He pressed himself flush against the Master, feeling press of the Master’s erection against his hip.
The Master pressed back against him, taking the power back easily. His fingers closed around the Doctor’s hair and he tugged his head back, ducking his own to nip at the skin of the Doctor’s neck, which was now exposed. Without warning, he pushed the Doctor, causing him to stumble backward as he walked him toward the wall, hand fisted in his hair, pulling him up painfully, so he wouldn’t fall.
The Doctor’s head slammed back hard against the wall of the TARDIS and he winced, hissing through his teeth at the not entirely unwelcome pain.
The second the Doctor’s back hit the TARDIS’s wall, the Master dropped to his knees, giving the Doctor a sneer as he noticed the tent in his trousers. Without hesitation, he leaned forward, mouthing the Doctor through the thin material.
The Doctor swallowed thickly, murmuring the Master’s name. His hips gave a shallow thrust when he felt the Master’s mouth on him, heat from it radiating through his slacks.
The Master impatiently opened the Doctor’s shirt, tearing at the buttons before placing his hands on the Doctor’s skin. His fingers dug into the Doctor’s hips, holding him in place, making him unable to thrust.
After he was sure the Doctor wouldn’t move, he took a hand off of the Doctor’s hip, reveling in the finger-shaped bruises that were already blossoming against the Doctor’s pale skin. He unzipped the Time Lord’s slacks and took him out.
The Doctor whimpered as the cold air hit his cock, and couldn’t help rolling his hips a little, desperate for some sort of contact.
“Patience, Doctor,” the Master replied cloyingly, fingers tap-tap-tap-taping against the Doctor’s hip as his other hand popped the button on his trousers. He then used both hands to impatiently pull down the Doctor’s trousers and boxers.
He leaned in, tongue poking out between his lips, licking a stripe down the Doctor’s cock before looking up at the Doctor, “Move and this stops right now,” he said, a hard edge present in his voice. His breath caressed the Doctor’s cock and the Master saw with satisfaction that he still didn’t move, though his jaw did flex deliciously with the effort to stay still.
His fingers pressed with bruising pressure against the Doctor’s hips again, as the Master licked another slow stripe down the Doctor’s cock before sucking the head of it into his mouth.
The Doctor made another soft whimpering noise in the back of his throat as he looked down, watching the Master. He wasn’t quite sure how they’d gotten here from arguing earlier, but he should be used to this. Fighting and fucking weren’t too different in the Master’s eyes. In the end, they were both just plays for power, though the Doctor had always found that to be high irrational.
Then again, all rational thought had already flown out the window the second the Master had dropped to his knees. The Doctor closed his eyes again, basking in the sensations and stopped thinking altogether.
The Master smirked inwardly, taking all of the Doctor’s cock in his mouth. This was just how he liked the Doctor-submissive and, save for a few swallowed whimpers, completely silent.
He swallowed around the Doctor, letting a hand trail slowly down the Doctor’s thigh, massaging it briefly before letting it drop and grinding the heel of his hand against his own erection. He unzipped his trousers and took himself out; giving his cock a few languid strokes in time with the teasingly slow way he was sucking the Doctor’s.
‘Please,’ the Doctor thought, sounding breathless even in his head, as his mind reached out, trying to connect with the Master’s.
Without even pausing in his actions, the Master threw up a mental block. ‘No.’ He wasn’t going to let the Doctor in. He didn’t want the Doctor to have any idea what he was thinking right now. The Doctor looked like he was about to argue or ask why, so the Master trained his eyes on the Doctor again, as he swallowed him down particularly deep, feeling the Doctor’s cock bump against the back of his throat.
It did the trick, distracting the Doctor from his questions quite nicely.
The Doctor let his head fall back against the wall of the TARDIS with a dull thud, fingers scrabbling against the wall, trying to find something to hold onto. He gave a strangled moan that sounded an awful lot like “Master, please.”
The Master sat back on his heels, working his hand faster on his own cock as he let the Doctor’s slide from his mouth with a pop. “Mm, love it when you beg, Doctor,” he told the other Time Lord, his voice tight, as much from the Doctor’s words as from the actions of his own hand.
After a moment, he leaned forward again, teeth scraping down the Doctor’s hip just a bit too hard before placing a bite on his thigh, causing the Doctor to hiss through his teeth.
“Say my name again, Doctor,” he added, looking up at him with heavily-lidded eyes, “Beg me to let you come.” He exhaled sharply as his own thumb brushed over the head of his cock.
He watched the Doctor, noticing the pink flush on his face that was spreading down his chest. He noticed the way the Doctor’s hands alternately balled into fists and pressed flat against the TARDIS walls, still trying to find something to grip onto, his long fingers flexing. He still wasn’t moving his hips, wasn’t thrusting even as the Master leaned forward again, sucking the head of his cock into his mouth.
Oh, the Master just loved this obedient Doctor. He was so pliable, so willing to take in instructions and obey.
The Master’s tongue dipped into the slit of the Doctor’s cock, tasting the salty precome and hummed with satisfaction when he noticed the Doctor’s legs were starting to shake with the effort of standing upright.
The Master’s hand tightened on his own cock, as he realized he was stroking it in time with the drums pounding through his head. His flicked his wrist a bit on every fourth beat, sending little tremors of pleasure throughout his body. He didn’t know whether to be amused or furious that even now he couldn’t escape the beat of those damnable drums pulsing through him.
He could tell the Doctor was getting close, and pulled back slightly, letting the Doctor’s cock fall from his mouth. “You can move your hips now,” he said, his voice gravelly with lust.
The Doctor barely had time to moan in frustration from the loss of contact before his cock was once again surrounded by the tight, wet heat of the Master’s mouth.
The Master swallowed around him again, his bottom teeth scraping the underside of the Doctor’s cock a bit too hard to be entirely pleasurable.
That was all it took-that little sting of pain cutting through the pleasure and two thrusts later; the Doctor came gasping the Master’s name.
It was hearing his name that pushed the Master over the edge. Seconds after the Doctor was spilling down his throat, the Master came with a growled moan and a jumble of words-not the Doctor’s name, he’d never admit to moaning the Doctor’ name-and spilled hotly into his own hand.
He gave the Doctor’s hip one more rough squeeze before taking his hand off the other man. He looked satisfied as the Doctor’s legs gave out and he slid to the floor, chest heaving.
They sat in silence for a few moments, save for the sound of harshly exhaled air as they both tried to catch their breath.
The Master recovered first and looked over at the Doctor with derision when he saw the stupid, sated smile on his face. He sneered and leaned over, wiping the come from his hand on the Doctor’s jacket before standing. He tucked himself back in his trousers and zipped up, pausing to straighten his tie as well.
Beside the light sheen of sweat on his brow and the faintest flush in his cheeks, he looked entirely put together, as if he were still Harold Saxon, fresh from a business meeting.
He looked down at the other Time Lord and cleared his throat authoritatively, “You won’t forget about me again.” He waited for the realization of why this had just happened to hit the Doctor. Then, he turned on his heel and walked away, his fingers against the leg of his trousers, forever tapping out the sound of the drums.
End.
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: Doctor/Master
Disclaimer: I have nothing to do with the series. If I did, things like this would have happened on screen.
Summary: A post Voyage of the Damned powerplay between the Doctor and the Master.
Spoilers: Voyage of the Damned and season three of Doctor Who.
Author's Note: This is my first Doctor Who fic, and being as I’m not British, I’m sure I’ve messed up with some of the wording. If I have, please tell me and I’ll change it. Also, this is unbeta’ed, because my beta isn’t in the Doctor Who fandom. Shame on her! XD
After the events of the Titanic, the Doctor made his way back into the TARDIS, looking only slightly worse for wear. His bowtie was undone; the white rubber on his trainers looked slightly scuffed in places and his hair was sticking up even more haphazardly then normal, if such a thing was possible.
The Master didn’t even look up as the door opened. He was sitting in the control chair, fingers drumming idly against the TARDIS’s control panel. Tap-tap-tap-tap. There wasn’t much else he could do. The Doctor had set the isomorphic controls on the TARDIS, leaving the Master pretty much helpless in regards to controlling the ship.
“Nice of you to finally show up, Doctor.” His voice was full of derision as he finally glanced at the other man. “Though you’d come running back after your heap of junk decided to crash to Earth.”
The Doctor easily ignored the jab about the TARDIS, and shrugged, hands sliding into his pockets. “I was rather busy. The ship that crashed into us was taken over. It nearly crashed again, into earth. Would have wiped out the entire population.” The Doctor rubbed his jaw contemplatively, “Not a good year for the Titanic.”
“So you saved all the little humans from certain death once again. How touching,” The Master rolled his eyes, fingers still flying across the control panel, lightly tapping out the beat of the drums. “For a race you regard as so intelligent, they certainly do need saving a lot, don’t they?”
“They are intelligent,” The Doctor replied back, “Brilliant really, and brave. Oh, they’re exceptionally brave. Weren’t human this time though. Stoans, from the planet Sto. Never been there, actually, but I hear they have amazing food.” He paused before adding softly, “Those Stoans were pretty brave, too.” Something flitted across his face then that looked a lot like regret before he swallowed it down and smiled for the Master, changing the subject. “It’s Christmas day out there. We should have got a tree, exchanged gifts. Ever been to Earth during Christmas, Master?” Even as he prattled on, it was clear that his smile didn’t reach his eyes. His mind was on something else entirely.
The Master finally ceased the quiet drumming of his fingers when he saw the Doctor’s smile. Oh, he knew that smile. “Still thinking about the ship, Doctor?” he asked, voice like velvet. “Thinking about all those lives you saved. Did they chant your name too? Ooh, I’ll bet you would have liked that, Doctor. Don’t you ever tire of saving pathetic races that can’t even seem to save themselves?” This last bit was snarled and the Master was on his feet in a moment, eyes shining. He was ready for a fight.
To his disappointment, the Doctor didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, his shoulders sagged ever so slightly and he replied in a voice barely about a whisper. “Couldn’t save everyone this time. Not even close.”
That was what the Master had been waiting for. He could build upon that, tug and poke at the psychological wound until it was bright red and gaping.
“And what’d you do then, Doctor? Watch them die? Did you stand by while your lovely little Stoans perished?” His eyes narrowed as he watched the Doctor, waiting for some sign that his words rang true.
He didn’t have to wait long. The Doctor stopped fidgeting about and stood stock still, “I didn’t stand there,” he replied, voice low yet unmistakably edged. “I tried to save them. I tried. Some of them I just…couldn’t.” He thought of Astrid falling into that burning chasm, turning to stardust and floating away. His voice rose a bit higher, “Some of them saved each other. They gave their lives, their only lives, to save each other, and that, Master, is why they’re amazing.”
The Master actually giggled then, at the fury in the Doctor’s voice. Oh, he made it so easy some times. “Amazingly stupid, Doctor,” he replied, tone soft and mocking. He stood up and took a few confident strides over to the other Time Lord, “All that screaming, the chaos, let me feel it.”
He stared into the Doctor’s eyes as he suddenly brought up an index finger, pressing it to the Doctor’s temple, instantly making a connection. The second he was in the Doctor’s mind, all he felt was the Doctor’s guilt. It was nearly overwhelming, all the guilt and grief. The Master could taste it, acrid, on the back of his tongue.
The Doctor flinched when he felt those fingers at his temples, probing into his mind. He threw up as many mental barriers as he could, effectively shutting the door of his mind in the Master’s face…but not before the Master had had the chance to glance around.
“Stop it,” the Doctor snapped, grabbing the Master’s wrists, pulling them away.
After a moment, the Master roughly shook the Doctor’s hands off him, though he didn’t take a step back. They were still face to face, separated by mere inches.
“What’s the matter, Doctor? Afraid I’d see something you wanted to hide?” He gave the other Time Lord and pout, tilting his head to the side for a moment in faux-sympathy before turning impossibly smug. “Oh, I saw it alright. The reason for all of the guilt you feel,” he smiled, reaching up to straighten out the untied bowtie still hanging around the Doctor’s neck. “You promised them they’d live; they died right in front of you. They died looking into your eyes, knowing the good Doctor is a liar.”
His fingers still brushed over the fabric of the bowtie as they started beating out the drums softly against the Doctor’s chest. Tap-tap-tap-tap. He looked impossibly pleased with himself. “What would the people on Earth think? How would they feel know their magical Doctor is a liar? Well, in the end, your word is no better than mine, is it?”
The Doctor looked away, taking a deep breath and pushing down all of his anger. He pushed it down, down, down until he was certain it wouldn’t overflow and he wouldn’t do something he’d regret. It didn’t happen the way the Master had said. It didn’t.
With effort, he ignored the Master’s questions and looked down at those fingers still tapping out a rhythm against his chest, right over his hearts. “Are the drums bad tonight?”
“They’re always bad,” the Master replied, barely concealed rage flashing in his eyes. Nothing he was saying seemed to make much difference to the Doctor. What did he have to do to make the other Time Lord fight back?
Again, the Doctor caught the Master’s hands in his own, this time gently closing over them to stop the drumming. He gave the other man a look of concern as his thumbs brushed soft circles on top of the Master’s skin. “If I let you in, would it help?”
The Master stared at the Doctor’s hands on his, and didn’t pull away as he nodded, adding dully, “Maybe.” It wouldn’t help at all, not with the Doctor’s pathetic sympathy and guilt clouding every memory, but it was still the closest thing to a war he’d have witnessed in a while. Closest thing he’d be able to witness for an undeterminable amount of time, so he decided that it was better than nothing.
“Okay,” the Doctor’s voice was whisper-soft and he let the Master’s hand go before he brushed soft fingertips against his temple, opening up the mental connection.
It took only a second for the Master to realize that the Doctor chose to start at the beginning-when he walked out of the TARDIS-rather then when all of the death and destruction swelled to its peak.
He tried to push past those dull memories, almost like a mental fast-forward button, but he could feel the Doctor’s mind right there, firm, guiding him and making him watch and feel what he wanted.
It wasn’t long before things start happening anyway, for which the Master was grateful. He probably would have snapped the Doctor’s neck, had he been forced to endure too much more of the Doctor eating with the locals and charming nearly everyone he came into contact with. It was disgusting, especially when the maid girl kissed him with such…adoration in her eyes.
Then, things started happening-the robot angels and people screaming. “Yesss,” he hissed, unsure if he’d spoken aloud or only in his mind. The Doctor’s memories were good, vivid.
Just as he was marveling at the chaos around him, in his mind’s eye, he felt the Doctor start to speed up the process, felt him trying to skip over things, purposely not remember parts. Did the Doctor think he really wouldn’t notice that? It was an insult to his intelligence!
The Master reached out more forcefully with the tendrils of his mind, digging down to grab hold of those memories the Doctor was trying to forget. He followed the trail through the Doctor’s mind, smirking outwardly when he grasped the memory the Doctor was trying to desperately to push away. Pulling it up, the Master saw it through the Doctor’s eyes, that useless Stoan maid-‘Astrid’ the Doctor reminded him sharply through their link-kneeling down next to the Doctor, asking shyly if she could join him on his travels.
Reveling in the vulnerable look on Astrid’s face, the Master waited for the Doctor to shoot her down…only, he didn’t. He gave her a smile, a genuine one, and told her he’d like that.
The Master froze at that, letting the link between them sputter slightly and almost fade away. “My my, Doctor, how much you must trust me. You were going to allow her to travel with us. Didn’t you think of what I’d do to her?” he spoke the words aloud, mouth feeling dry. He didn’t trust the truth of his own words, but he faked the bravado all the same.
The Doctor shook his head ever so slightly, scratching the back of his neck, brow furrowed. ‘I didn’t,’ he admitted, through the link, voice sounding soft and far away as the Master allowed the link to start fading, and the Doctor made no move to stop it. ‘I wasn’t-I just didn’t think about-I’m so sorry.’
He didn’t finish his thought, and he didn’t have to. The Master could fill in the blanks easily enough; fill in the Doctor’s half finished thoughts. It wasn’t that the Doctor wasn’t thinking; it was that the Doctor wasn’t thinking of him. The Master never even crossed his mind when he’d left the TARDIS that evening, save for a brief flash of concern for him, when he saw the TARDIS get sucked out of the Titanic.
The Master squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth against the knowledge. His hands were balled into fists at his sides as he tried very hard to control his anger, his hurt, and give nothing away to the Doctor.
A moment later when he opened his eyes, the pupils were slightly dilated, filled with fire and disgust and rage. With a snarl, he surged toward the Doctor, nearly tackling him, as he pressed him back against the console of the TARDIS. He grabbed the back of the Doctor’s neck, nails digging into his skin as he pressed their foreheads together, letting the link burst open and flow between them like rushing water after a dam breaking.
Stunned, the Doctor let the link open and let himself be shoved backwards, back wrenching painfully as his spine hit a metal lever on the console. He gave a little gasp, fingers curling around the Master’s forearms, torn between pushing him back and pulling him closer.
The Master didn’t even notice the Doctor’s hands on him; he was so intent on rifling through the Doctor’s memories. Haphazardly, he pulled out the events on the Titanic as fast as he could, letting the violence flow around him before shooting it back out in stereo to the Doctor. The fear, the guilt, the regret the Doctor had felt at the time was magnified as the Master sent it back into the Doctor’s mind. He let it mingle with his own vindictive glee, laughing manically in their heads. He made the memories as vivid as he could, panoramic, spinning around the both of them, until it was through. In their mind’s eye, the Doctor saved the day again and the Master abruptly severed the link between them, before the Doctor had a chance to relax.
Stepping back, the Master opened his eyes, chest heaving with the effort with what he’d just done.
Slowly, the Doctor opened his eyes as well, feeling sick and disoriented. He was panting, chest rising and falling just as rapidly as the Master’s. “What?” he asked breathlessly, straightening up, back still aching. It took him a moment for the pounding headache the Master had given him to recede a little, so his mind could comprehend what had just taken place. “What?!”
The Master just watched him with narrowed eyes, catching his breath. “Wasn’t it good, Doctor? Didn’t you have a good time without me?” He spoke viciously, feeling something wet on his lower lip and darted his tongue out to lick it, tasting the metallic tang of blood. He must have bitten it when he was in the link. Funny, he hadn’t even noticed.
Impatiently, he wiped his lip with the back of his hand, glaring with distaste as the crisp white sleeve of his dress shirt brushed against it. A few small drops of blood blossomed on the sleeve, marring its impeccable colour.
He stalked toward the Doctor again, still looking predatory. “Do you see what happens when you leave me here, Doctor? When you go off on your own?” his voice grew louder, echoing against the metal walls of the TARDIS. He sounded slightly hysterical as he all but shouted the words, “Doctor, do you see?!”
“I’m sorry,” the Doctor said again, making slow steps towards him, cautiously, as if the Master were a skittish animal. “I’m so sorry.” He reached out a hand, “You’re bleeding, let me help you.” He frowned with concern.
The Master took another step back, sliding to the side, making as if he were going to start circling the Doctor. “So you’ve decided to start caring again?” He laughed, shoulders shaking with mirth before he suddenly stopped and became serious. “Don’t try to fix me. I don’t want to be fixed.”
The Doctor watched him helplessly for a moment, looking as if he was trying to make up his mind about something, before he made a decision. Striding forward, he came face to face with the Master again, “Tell me what I can do.”
He looked so truly guilty, so truly sorry that it only made the Master hate him more. He’d rather have indifference then all of this heart-wrenching emotion, and he briefly contemplated spitting in the Doctor’s face. Instead, he locked his eyes on the Doctor’s, hissing “This,” and he crushed his lips against the other Time Lord’s.
It wasn’t a gentle kiss, not even close to loving. It was all teeth and tongues and rage. The Master took Doctor’s lower lip between his and bit down until he could feel the Doctor’s blood mixing with his own in their mouths. Swallowing it down, the Master smiled against the Doctor’s lips.
The Doctor’s eyes fluttered shut when he was bitten. He groaned softly, knowing he’d hate himself later-hating himself already, because this wasn’t going to help either of them, even if the Doctor felt like he needed it-and thrust his tongue into the Master’s mouth. His hand ran through the Master’s cropped hair, too short to hold onto and settled for clasping a hand around the back of his neck as the Master had done to him earlier. He pressed himself flush against the Master, feeling press of the Master’s erection against his hip.
The Master pressed back against him, taking the power back easily. His fingers closed around the Doctor’s hair and he tugged his head back, ducking his own to nip at the skin of the Doctor’s neck, which was now exposed. Without warning, he pushed the Doctor, causing him to stumble backward as he walked him toward the wall, hand fisted in his hair, pulling him up painfully, so he wouldn’t fall.
The Doctor’s head slammed back hard against the wall of the TARDIS and he winced, hissing through his teeth at the not entirely unwelcome pain.
The second the Doctor’s back hit the TARDIS’s wall, the Master dropped to his knees, giving the Doctor a sneer as he noticed the tent in his trousers. Without hesitation, he leaned forward, mouthing the Doctor through the thin material.
The Doctor swallowed thickly, murmuring the Master’s name. His hips gave a shallow thrust when he felt the Master’s mouth on him, heat from it radiating through his slacks.
The Master impatiently opened the Doctor’s shirt, tearing at the buttons before placing his hands on the Doctor’s skin. His fingers dug into the Doctor’s hips, holding him in place, making him unable to thrust.
After he was sure the Doctor wouldn’t move, he took a hand off of the Doctor’s hip, reveling in the finger-shaped bruises that were already blossoming against the Doctor’s pale skin. He unzipped the Time Lord’s slacks and took him out.
The Doctor whimpered as the cold air hit his cock, and couldn’t help rolling his hips a little, desperate for some sort of contact.
“Patience, Doctor,” the Master replied cloyingly, fingers tap-tap-tap-taping against the Doctor’s hip as his other hand popped the button on his trousers. He then used both hands to impatiently pull down the Doctor’s trousers and boxers.
He leaned in, tongue poking out between his lips, licking a stripe down the Doctor’s cock before looking up at the Doctor, “Move and this stops right now,” he said, a hard edge present in his voice. His breath caressed the Doctor’s cock and the Master saw with satisfaction that he still didn’t move, though his jaw did flex deliciously with the effort to stay still.
His fingers pressed with bruising pressure against the Doctor’s hips again, as the Master licked another slow stripe down the Doctor’s cock before sucking the head of it into his mouth.
The Doctor made another soft whimpering noise in the back of his throat as he looked down, watching the Master. He wasn’t quite sure how they’d gotten here from arguing earlier, but he should be used to this. Fighting and fucking weren’t too different in the Master’s eyes. In the end, they were both just plays for power, though the Doctor had always found that to be high irrational.
Then again, all rational thought had already flown out the window the second the Master had dropped to his knees. The Doctor closed his eyes again, basking in the sensations and stopped thinking altogether.
The Master smirked inwardly, taking all of the Doctor’s cock in his mouth. This was just how he liked the Doctor-submissive and, save for a few swallowed whimpers, completely silent.
He swallowed around the Doctor, letting a hand trail slowly down the Doctor’s thigh, massaging it briefly before letting it drop and grinding the heel of his hand against his own erection. He unzipped his trousers and took himself out; giving his cock a few languid strokes in time with the teasingly slow way he was sucking the Doctor’s.
‘Please,’ the Doctor thought, sounding breathless even in his head, as his mind reached out, trying to connect with the Master’s.
Without even pausing in his actions, the Master threw up a mental block. ‘No.’ He wasn’t going to let the Doctor in. He didn’t want the Doctor to have any idea what he was thinking right now. The Doctor looked like he was about to argue or ask why, so the Master trained his eyes on the Doctor again, as he swallowed him down particularly deep, feeling the Doctor’s cock bump against the back of his throat.
It did the trick, distracting the Doctor from his questions quite nicely.
The Doctor let his head fall back against the wall of the TARDIS with a dull thud, fingers scrabbling against the wall, trying to find something to hold onto. He gave a strangled moan that sounded an awful lot like “Master, please.”
The Master sat back on his heels, working his hand faster on his own cock as he let the Doctor’s slide from his mouth with a pop. “Mm, love it when you beg, Doctor,” he told the other Time Lord, his voice tight, as much from the Doctor’s words as from the actions of his own hand.
After a moment, he leaned forward again, teeth scraping down the Doctor’s hip just a bit too hard before placing a bite on his thigh, causing the Doctor to hiss through his teeth.
“Say my name again, Doctor,” he added, looking up at him with heavily-lidded eyes, “Beg me to let you come.” He exhaled sharply as his own thumb brushed over the head of his cock.
He watched the Doctor, noticing the pink flush on his face that was spreading down his chest. He noticed the way the Doctor’s hands alternately balled into fists and pressed flat against the TARDIS walls, still trying to find something to grip onto, his long fingers flexing. He still wasn’t moving his hips, wasn’t thrusting even as the Master leaned forward again, sucking the head of his cock into his mouth.
Oh, the Master just loved this obedient Doctor. He was so pliable, so willing to take in instructions and obey.
The Master’s tongue dipped into the slit of the Doctor’s cock, tasting the salty precome and hummed with satisfaction when he noticed the Doctor’s legs were starting to shake with the effort of standing upright.
The Master’s hand tightened on his own cock, as he realized he was stroking it in time with the drums pounding through his head. His flicked his wrist a bit on every fourth beat, sending little tremors of pleasure throughout his body. He didn’t know whether to be amused or furious that even now he couldn’t escape the beat of those damnable drums pulsing through him.
He could tell the Doctor was getting close, and pulled back slightly, letting the Doctor’s cock fall from his mouth. “You can move your hips now,” he said, his voice gravelly with lust.
The Doctor barely had time to moan in frustration from the loss of contact before his cock was once again surrounded by the tight, wet heat of the Master’s mouth.
The Master swallowed around him again, his bottom teeth scraping the underside of the Doctor’s cock a bit too hard to be entirely pleasurable.
That was all it took-that little sting of pain cutting through the pleasure and two thrusts later; the Doctor came gasping the Master’s name.
It was hearing his name that pushed the Master over the edge. Seconds after the Doctor was spilling down his throat, the Master came with a growled moan and a jumble of words-not the Doctor’s name, he’d never admit to moaning the Doctor’ name-and spilled hotly into his own hand.
He gave the Doctor’s hip one more rough squeeze before taking his hand off the other man. He looked satisfied as the Doctor’s legs gave out and he slid to the floor, chest heaving.
They sat in silence for a few moments, save for the sound of harshly exhaled air as they both tried to catch their breath.
The Master recovered first and looked over at the Doctor with derision when he saw the stupid, sated smile on his face. He sneered and leaned over, wiping the come from his hand on the Doctor’s jacket before standing. He tucked himself back in his trousers and zipped up, pausing to straighten his tie as well.
Beside the light sheen of sweat on his brow and the faintest flush in his cheeks, he looked entirely put together, as if he were still Harold Saxon, fresh from a business meeting.
He looked down at the other Time Lord and cleared his throat authoritatively, “You won’t forget about me again.” He waited for the realization of why this had just happened to hit the Doctor. Then, he turned on his heel and walked away, his fingers against the leg of his trousers, forever tapping out the sound of the drums.
End.