Fic: Mask of Indifference
Title: Mask of Indifference
Prompt: 16. I can't allow this to become another one of those times that I'm left in the cold, dead from set2music
Characters/Pairing: Nine/Master
Rating: PG13
Genre: Angst, slash
Spoilers: Series 3 finale
Summary: Whilst waiting for the Doctor to arrive, the Master meets his previous incarnation.
A/N: The pairing that wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. Set just after the Time War for Nine and between Utopia and SoD for the Master.
The Doctor doesn’t react, not outwardly. He’s become rather good a showing no emotion.
Cool blue eyes regard impish brown ones, he shows no expression as the Master grins roguishly at him.
“You’re not supposed to see me, yet,” the Master reprimands, eyes sparkling. The Doctor nods, looking him up and down, looking for a sign, any sign, that the figure before him isn’t real. It’s not that he wants him to be his imagination or a ghost or an illusion, he just doesn’t want to get his hopes up again, only to have them crushed.
Inside he is delirious with joy, manic in a way he hasn’t been for a long time.
But his face shows none of it.
The Master knows. He always knows. And he’s standing there, grinning like an idiot, arms folded in his arrogant way. And the Doctor wants nothing more than to kiss that arrogant smirk off his face.
“You’re not supposed to know about me until you’ve regenerated into a pretty boy who says my name so, so beautifully,” the Master closes his eyes, as though relishing the thought.
The Doctor says nothing, just watches him with interest, taking in the new appearance of his oldest friend and enemy. He notes the smart politicians suit, the absence of the beard, the madness in his eyes that was never half as pronounced as it is now.
The Doctor knows that if he looked into his own eyes, he would see the same madness reflected there. War does that to people, even the two of them, who have seen more death and destruction than the average Time Lord.
Except the Master left him to face it alone. Left him to push the button alone, destroy their home planet alone.
And yet he’s still alive. The proof is standing here before him, smirking at him, mocking him.
The Doctor is in no mood to be mocked.
So he pushes the Master against the wall, crushing his lips against his and just taking.
He wants the Master to understand, wants him to see what he has become. Show him how much he’s changed. His kisses are bruising, and as the Master’s hands come up to hold him, he pins them to the wall.
“No,” he says roughly, before sliding his tongue inside the Master’s mouth; possessive, forceful. And it’s never been like this, never before. The Master’s always been the strong one, the dominant one.
Not this time.
The Doctor takes and takes and the Master moans into his mouth but he doesn’t care, because this isn’t about him; this is about long years fighting alone, of far too many deaths on his conscience and the emptiness inside his head. And he wants him, the small glimmer of hope, the single presence in his mind, and he wants him completely.
At the moment, the Master seems more than happy to give. He moans and struggles half-heartedly, and the Doctor smiles, tightens his grip on his wrists, pushes himself against the shorter man, enjoying the feeling of the squirming body against him.
He loses himself in the moment, but he knows it can’t last. It is a future version of him that meets the Master first, and he isn’t supposed to know.
Feeling the soft skin beneath his mouth, he considers just allowing the paradox. Forget the timelines, forget everything except the only other member of his species.
It’s his sense of duty that makes him pull back, whatever has happened to him, he’s still the Doctor, and he’s not so irresponsible that he would let the Universe implode because of his own impatience.
He steps back from the Master, pleased to see he’s looking dishevelled, staring at him wide-eyed, with flushed lips and cheeks. He tries to compose himself but fails magnificently.
The Doctor smiles.
“You know,” he say conversationally, almost cheerfully, “it’s a pity I’m going to have to forget this. You look just perfect like this, you know that?”
He grins manically, turns and walks away.
He’s let himself feel for the first time in years, and it wasn’t half bad. Maybe he should start travelling again, maybe he should get his life back on track, pick up a companion or two, see the Universe again.
It’ll never be the same as it used to be. Not now, not after all he’s been through. He’ll never see anything in the same way. But he’ll always hope, because he knows he’ll see the Master again. And he makes a promise he won’t even remember; tells himself that this time, it’s going to be different.
A/N: First time at writing Nine and I think my characterisation of him is way off. However, this is set just after the Time War while he's still really messed up, so I'm forgiven Y/N? I just really wanted to write this pairing, and it's my first attempt...
Prompt: 16. I can't allow this to become another one of those times that I'm left in the cold, dead from set2music
Characters/Pairing: Nine/Master
Rating: PG13
Genre: Angst, slash
Spoilers: Series 3 finale
Summary: Whilst waiting for the Doctor to arrive, the Master meets his previous incarnation.
A/N: The pairing that wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. Set just after the Time War for Nine and between Utopia and SoD for the Master.
The Doctor doesn’t react, not outwardly. He’s become rather good a showing no emotion.
Cool blue eyes regard impish brown ones, he shows no expression as the Master grins roguishly at him.
“You’re not supposed to see me, yet,” the Master reprimands, eyes sparkling. The Doctor nods, looking him up and down, looking for a sign, any sign, that the figure before him isn’t real. It’s not that he wants him to be his imagination or a ghost or an illusion, he just doesn’t want to get his hopes up again, only to have them crushed.
Inside he is delirious with joy, manic in a way he hasn’t been for a long time.
But his face shows none of it.
The Master knows. He always knows. And he’s standing there, grinning like an idiot, arms folded in his arrogant way. And the Doctor wants nothing more than to kiss that arrogant smirk off his face.
“You’re not supposed to know about me until you’ve regenerated into a pretty boy who says my name so, so beautifully,” the Master closes his eyes, as though relishing the thought.
The Doctor says nothing, just watches him with interest, taking in the new appearance of his oldest friend and enemy. He notes the smart politicians suit, the absence of the beard, the madness in his eyes that was never half as pronounced as it is now.
The Doctor knows that if he looked into his own eyes, he would see the same madness reflected there. War does that to people, even the two of them, who have seen more death and destruction than the average Time Lord.
Except the Master left him to face it alone. Left him to push the button alone, destroy their home planet alone.
And yet he’s still alive. The proof is standing here before him, smirking at him, mocking him.
The Doctor is in no mood to be mocked.
So he pushes the Master against the wall, crushing his lips against his and just taking.
He wants the Master to understand, wants him to see what he has become. Show him how much he’s changed. His kisses are bruising, and as the Master’s hands come up to hold him, he pins them to the wall.
“No,” he says roughly, before sliding his tongue inside the Master’s mouth; possessive, forceful. And it’s never been like this, never before. The Master’s always been the strong one, the dominant one.
Not this time.
The Doctor takes and takes and the Master moans into his mouth but he doesn’t care, because this isn’t about him; this is about long years fighting alone, of far too many deaths on his conscience and the emptiness inside his head. And he wants him, the small glimmer of hope, the single presence in his mind, and he wants him completely.
At the moment, the Master seems more than happy to give. He moans and struggles half-heartedly, and the Doctor smiles, tightens his grip on his wrists, pushes himself against the shorter man, enjoying the feeling of the squirming body against him.
He loses himself in the moment, but he knows it can’t last. It is a future version of him that meets the Master first, and he isn’t supposed to know.
Feeling the soft skin beneath his mouth, he considers just allowing the paradox. Forget the timelines, forget everything except the only other member of his species.
It’s his sense of duty that makes him pull back, whatever has happened to him, he’s still the Doctor, and he’s not so irresponsible that he would let the Universe implode because of his own impatience.
He steps back from the Master, pleased to see he’s looking dishevelled, staring at him wide-eyed, with flushed lips and cheeks. He tries to compose himself but fails magnificently.
The Doctor smiles.
“You know,” he say conversationally, almost cheerfully, “it’s a pity I’m going to have to forget this. You look just perfect like this, you know that?”
He grins manically, turns and walks away.
He’s let himself feel for the first time in years, and it wasn’t half bad. Maybe he should start travelling again, maybe he should get his life back on track, pick up a companion or two, see the Universe again.
It’ll never be the same as it used to be. Not now, not after all he’s been through. He’ll never see anything in the same way. But he’ll always hope, because he knows he’ll see the Master again. And he makes a promise he won’t even remember; tells himself that this time, it’s going to be different.
A/N: First time at writing Nine and I think my characterisation of him is way off. However, this is set just after the Time War while he's still really messed up, so I'm forgiven Y/N? I just really wanted to write this pairing, and it's my first attempt...