Fanfic: Dip 2/2
damnated.livejournal.com/17174.html Part One
----
He was in the process of setting the table for himself - digging through boxes of unopened tableware and countless other utensils that probably hadn’t ever been used before… namely that golden fork from who knows where - when the Master walked in, casually sitting on one of the chairs and stuffing a hand in one of the bags. There was curiosity and there was curiosity, and then there was the Doctor and the Master.
“You saved their world,” The Master started, waving the chopstick on his hand, back and forth against the table: tap tap tap.“And they couldn’t even hand you a free food voucher? Classy.”
He spoke as if the Slenarians ever remembered the Doctor’s intervention, as if the other Time Lord could have done more, taunting him, as usual.
“Oh look at that!” The doctor cried upon looking at what the Master had found, ignoring the other’s sarcasm, “Chopsticks! These are really chopsticks!” He waved one of the slim wooden sticks around. “Probably from that encounter between ancient civilizations on earth and the old Slenarians. I was there, did you know? Pity that all those tablets were erased by a mistranslation… Though, isn’t it wonderful?
“Oh yes, that’s such a magnificent finding, Doctor.” He rolled his eyes, “Right among the discovery of the sonic technology and surpassing even time travelling.” Idiot. The Master snapped the chopstick in two, and strode over to where the other was standing, idly poking his shoulder with one of the sharp edges. “See? Incredibly useful.”
“Ow,” The Doctor yelped, “Why did you do that?”
“Because.” came the reply, followed by insistent tapping. “All that stubbornness, Doctor. It’s cute.” The master picked up another chopstick by the side of a plate and waved it - maestro like. “I have to admit; fun.”
“Fun…” the Doctor was wide eyed; usually insisting on something with the Master didn’t offer anything but pain and an occasional headache. This was something new. They played a brand new game.
The Master picked up one of the chopsticks and stuffed it in his jacket, unforgotten.
---
“I wasn’t aware they offered drinks.”
“Uh?” he snapped out of it, glancing at the glass bottle the Master seemed to have found inside one of the bags, his mind working on the problem as soon as his eyes set over it. “They don’t.”
“And I am certainly not blind.” The Master uncorked it, grinning widely “Alcohol.” Oh-oh, this was bound to be an interesting afternoon. “I didn’t know you kept this kind of drink around, Doctor.”
“I don’t…”
“What’s it for? Relaxing after a little rough trip to a slave pen?” He commented snidely, “I never guessed the Doctor - the mighty Doctor - would need to drink after saving another planet.”
“Stop that.” The Doctor moved to snatch the bottle right from the other’s hands, not counting that at that precise moment, as the Master was about to pull away, the TARDIS decided to snort. An amused snort which sent the boxes of tableware colliding, breaking and making an utter mess of the kitchen.
And which made two cups fly from one of the clustered shelves and fall atop the table soundly.
“Oh look, we can drink.”
“No.”
“Doctor.”
“You don’t even know what it is! It certainly isn’t the whisky you got used to back then, for all we know; it could be some sort of poison. And with two vascular systems… it would spread too fast, you-”
“Is that care?” The Master countered, silencing the Doctor’s words. “No.” he raised a finger, “Spare me the speech. Gallifrey is gone, we’re the only two left and fortunately I’m not nearly the imbecile you are, to understand this is perfectly harmless.” The Master didn’t fail in adding an acid tone to his voice, one which almost made the other Time Lord wince.
Otherwise, why would the Doctor even keep the bottle around? If it weren’t some sort of merchant tradition to offer free booze to random costumers, back there in Slena. Unless, someone had wanted and had planned for this to happen - which was perfectly impossible, of course.
Food forgotten, the Master smiled wickedly.
“I suppose.”
Three taps, a couple glares, and then there was dark golden liquid rolling into the cups as the TARDIS churned, seemingly entertained by this new dance and the way the both of them moved around each other with - previously nonexistent - care.
---
In a way, he had never done something this awkward.
Hissing, the Doctor shifted against the wall, pressing his back against it and reaching between their bodies, shoving a hand on his pocket.
“Screwdriver?” The Master groaned against the other’s neck, “Put that aside, Doctor.”
“But-“he complained, fiddling with the buttons of the Master’s jacket. Roughly plucking them out as fast as possible, as desperately as he felt, and reaching a hand to caress the bare flesh of the other’s chest. “We can’t.”
The Master was dancing, swaying slightly on his feet - either to the drink or the rhythm inside his head - and pressing down on the Doctor. “We’re,” he pressed a kiss on the side of the other’s neck, “the only survivors.” another one, this time way up, closer to his earlobe and reaching upwards. “You want me.”
Those were the master’s orders.
“Yes,” was the breathless reply; yes, yes, yes. The Doctor wanted him - in a way he didn’t think he had ever wanted something or someone before - for there was desire, his craving to see people saved, the steady and relentless yearn for closure, and there was this lust which burned like a wildfire.
Almost gently - carefully, since he wasn’t ever kind - the Master nodded again and licked a path down from the ear he’d been nipping at, to the other Time Lord’s collarbone, smiling mischievously against the salty skin when the Doctor shuddered.
“Come on.” the pressure suddenly disappeared, and he was pulled to stand up, flush against the Master’s chest; so close and yet not close enough. “You can take us to the bedroom.”
Us - the Doctor froze on his step.
Despite having his mind slightly clouded by the alcohol’s haze, he was perfectly aware of the wording chosen. The consequences of this little tryst with the Master unfolded on his mind and he faltered. But then, the other Time Lord was there by his side… and it scared him to think about the Master’s plan for this particular dance. It had to be important, or else the Master wouldn’t have acted this careful.
“Doctor” there was a hand on his shoulder. Do you remember? He brushed a few ghost taps over the Doctor’s skin.
They didn’t need to walk - or in both their cases, stumble - towards the main bedroom for long; thankfully the small living room they’d used for drinking was only a corridor away from it and the Doctor hadn’t left the screwdriver behind as ordered - it just didn’t work like that; simply unlocking their path in.
---
Practically naked and defenseless - that was how the Doctor felt upon being straddled by the Master, at the same time a lonely thought jolted through his mind: They hadn’t even kissed properly, and how he longed for that - almost ever since having seen the Master and his wife (!!) light years before. Not that he’d ever acknowledge it.
The room itself was large, not extravagantly so, but more than enough for a single Time Lord. A single window - artificially created to resemble some barren moon’s exterior - adorned the walls and the king bed was placed right in the exact middle, its size occupying most the space left.
The Master nuzzled the Doctor’s neck again, appreciating the sight of the other’s body now that his long coat and shirt underneath had been discarded away to a growing pile of clothes nearby. Sighing appreciatively, he pulled their bodies together once again and grinded his hips slowly against the Doctor’s. The sounds produced by him, these little moans and pleads were so fascinating; they certainly made it worth it.
This sort of intimate contact between two Time Lords wasn’t unusual at all back in Gallifrey, but, as pointed out before by the Master - they were the two last remnants of the specie - and that made it all more arousing.
“Master,” the Doctor gasped, running a hand through the other’s back and trying to recover some semblance of control over the whole situation. “Getting old?” He racked his nails over the skin there, tentatively following the bone lower, satisfied with the Master’s hiss and the quick bite on his chest - right next to one of his nipples.
“Oh,” the Master tilted his head back for a moment, “I would hope not, if I were you.” And then he was back on, kissing his way down the Doctor’s body, leaving no spots untouched but not lingering anywhere - to the a very flustered Doctor’s annoyance.
None of them faltered. While the Master pulled down the Doctor’s boxers - “Pink stripes? That’s more tasteless than a Klomyse swamp dog dressed in a tuxedo.” - He got a hold of the other’s ass, even through his pants, and squeezed. Oh yes.
While trying to make his partner feel the best possible wasn’t a game the Master was used to playing, it really wasn’t one he would lose at either. If this there were anything but the Doctor, he would have simply took what he wanted, without mercy, without noticing how broken the other would’ve been left after he was gone, however this was different - nothing alike to the previous songs.
He placed a hand on the Doctor’s inner thigh, gleeful over making the other this excited. “Who is the one getting old, Doctor?” he teased, his hot breath caressing the Doctor’s erection, just not quite touching it.
The Doctor tried to squirm closer, rolling his hips up to meet the Master’s mouth; all to no avail, because, as he promptly found out, the hand was pressing down against his flesh quite firmly. In a rather desperate manner, he opened his mouth to speak, willed his throat to work - and then it was all gone.
The hand and the body over his were jerking away from him.
“What are you doing?” The Doctor whined, trying to tip his head up in order to see why exactly the Master had moved away.
“Isn’t that a tad nothing obvious?” he snarled; rushing through the pile of clothes by the bed’s side.
“I don’t…”
“I know, Doctor!” aha- found it, the Master grinned successfully, retreating something from the back pocket of his jacket. “Did you really think I would make it any easier on you?”
“…What is that?” the Doctor questioned; the pressure and warmth of the Master was back on his body, and it was fairly quieting to know the other hadn’t just left.
“Don’t be an idiot just now. Just a little while ago you were telling me how wonderful these things were,” and then it came into view, the… chopstick. “And I plan on testing your theory… Don’t tell me I’m not good.”
Torn between laughing his hearts out at the inadequacy of it all and the sheer fear he felt upon hearing the Master’s insane words, the Doctor was unable of thinking of a comeback at all.
---
“Kiss me,” it was a command, an order the Master would have never obeyed before; “Do it,” but there was also the heat, the sweat rolling off their joint bodies as they moved together, and the tiny neat sparks of pleasure bubbling up his mind, along with the sound of blood rushing through his body, to which the drums were mere whispers. More than any of that: despite all the plans and the complicated moves - it all converged into this and it somehow felt right.
Just as they were about to reach the peak -- the climax of their actions - the Master leant over, nuzzled the Doctor’s neck for a brief moment, and pressed their mouths together. Starlight. It felt better than it honestly should have, warm, soothing and yet possessive, demanding in a way only he was able to and the Doctor replied to it by digging his nails on his shoulder blades and eagerly kissing back.
“Hmmm,” the Master hummed against the Doctor’s lips, seemingly content.
The taste of a Time Lord was always distinct and the Doctor tasted particularly good - bittersweet - especially while the Master was buried deep inside him.
He plunged forward again, fingers clawing blindly at the inside of the other’s thighs. And that was their undoing; the Master came with a quiet gasp, quickly followed by the Doctor - who moaned a silent word into the Master’s mouth over and over again, his back arching before falling back on the bed, exhausted.
Neither of them moved for a long time. Even the uncomfortable ache between his legs and the thick liquid rolling down his hips weren’t enough to make the Doctor push away. He was starting to feel sleep, blissful sleep, overcoming his senses, and at that moment there was nothing the Time Lord wanted more than to rest - with the Master by his side. And with the tiny hopeful feeling that maybe, somehow he’d managed to help.
Someone pulled one of the blankets over their bodies and suddenly it was just too much.
“Sleep.” They spoke groggily.
And then he was out.
---
Afterwards, a lonely chopstick laid on the floor - covered in interesting bodily fluids.
----
He was in the process of setting the table for himself - digging through boxes of unopened tableware and countless other utensils that probably hadn’t ever been used before… namely that golden fork from who knows where - when the Master walked in, casually sitting on one of the chairs and stuffing a hand in one of the bags. There was curiosity and there was curiosity, and then there was the Doctor and the Master.
“You saved their world,” The Master started, waving the chopstick on his hand, back and forth against the table: tap tap tap.“And they couldn’t even hand you a free food voucher? Classy.”
He spoke as if the Slenarians ever remembered the Doctor’s intervention, as if the other Time Lord could have done more, taunting him, as usual.
“Oh look at that!” The doctor cried upon looking at what the Master had found, ignoring the other’s sarcasm, “Chopsticks! These are really chopsticks!” He waved one of the slim wooden sticks around. “Probably from that encounter between ancient civilizations on earth and the old Slenarians. I was there, did you know? Pity that all those tablets were erased by a mistranslation… Though, isn’t it wonderful?
“Oh yes, that’s such a magnificent finding, Doctor.” He rolled his eyes, “Right among the discovery of the sonic technology and surpassing even time travelling.” Idiot. The Master snapped the chopstick in two, and strode over to where the other was standing, idly poking his shoulder with one of the sharp edges. “See? Incredibly useful.”
“Ow,” The Doctor yelped, “Why did you do that?”
“Because.” came the reply, followed by insistent tapping. “All that stubbornness, Doctor. It’s cute.” The master picked up another chopstick by the side of a plate and waved it - maestro like. “I have to admit; fun.”
“Fun…” the Doctor was wide eyed; usually insisting on something with the Master didn’t offer anything but pain and an occasional headache. This was something new. They played a brand new game.
The Master picked up one of the chopsticks and stuffed it in his jacket, unforgotten.
---
“I wasn’t aware they offered drinks.”
“Uh?” he snapped out of it, glancing at the glass bottle the Master seemed to have found inside one of the bags, his mind working on the problem as soon as his eyes set over it. “They don’t.”
“And I am certainly not blind.” The Master uncorked it, grinning widely “Alcohol.” Oh-oh, this was bound to be an interesting afternoon. “I didn’t know you kept this kind of drink around, Doctor.”
“I don’t…”
“What’s it for? Relaxing after a little rough trip to a slave pen?” He commented snidely, “I never guessed the Doctor - the mighty Doctor - would need to drink after saving another planet.”
“Stop that.” The Doctor moved to snatch the bottle right from the other’s hands, not counting that at that precise moment, as the Master was about to pull away, the TARDIS decided to snort. An amused snort which sent the boxes of tableware colliding, breaking and making an utter mess of the kitchen.
And which made two cups fly from one of the clustered shelves and fall atop the table soundly.
“Oh look, we can drink.”
“No.”
“Doctor.”
“You don’t even know what it is! It certainly isn’t the whisky you got used to back then, for all we know; it could be some sort of poison. And with two vascular systems… it would spread too fast, you-”
“Is that care?” The Master countered, silencing the Doctor’s words. “No.” he raised a finger, “Spare me the speech. Gallifrey is gone, we’re the only two left and fortunately I’m not nearly the imbecile you are, to understand this is perfectly harmless.” The Master didn’t fail in adding an acid tone to his voice, one which almost made the other Time Lord wince.
Otherwise, why would the Doctor even keep the bottle around? If it weren’t some sort of merchant tradition to offer free booze to random costumers, back there in Slena. Unless, someone had wanted and had planned for this to happen - which was perfectly impossible, of course.
Food forgotten, the Master smiled wickedly.
“I suppose.”
Three taps, a couple glares, and then there was dark golden liquid rolling into the cups as the TARDIS churned, seemingly entertained by this new dance and the way the both of them moved around each other with - previously nonexistent - care.
---
In a way, he had never done something this awkward.
Hissing, the Doctor shifted against the wall, pressing his back against it and reaching between their bodies, shoving a hand on his pocket.
“Screwdriver?” The Master groaned against the other’s neck, “Put that aside, Doctor.”
“But-“he complained, fiddling with the buttons of the Master’s jacket. Roughly plucking them out as fast as possible, as desperately as he felt, and reaching a hand to caress the bare flesh of the other’s chest. “We can’t.”
The Master was dancing, swaying slightly on his feet - either to the drink or the rhythm inside his head - and pressing down on the Doctor. “We’re,” he pressed a kiss on the side of the other’s neck, “the only survivors.” another one, this time way up, closer to his earlobe and reaching upwards. “You want me.”
Those were the master’s orders.
“Yes,” was the breathless reply; yes, yes, yes. The Doctor wanted him - in a way he didn’t think he had ever wanted something or someone before - for there was desire, his craving to see people saved, the steady and relentless yearn for closure, and there was this lust which burned like a wildfire.
Almost gently - carefully, since he wasn’t ever kind - the Master nodded again and licked a path down from the ear he’d been nipping at, to the other Time Lord’s collarbone, smiling mischievously against the salty skin when the Doctor shuddered.
“Come on.” the pressure suddenly disappeared, and he was pulled to stand up, flush against the Master’s chest; so close and yet not close enough. “You can take us to the bedroom.”
Us - the Doctor froze on his step.
Despite having his mind slightly clouded by the alcohol’s haze, he was perfectly aware of the wording chosen. The consequences of this little tryst with the Master unfolded on his mind and he faltered. But then, the other Time Lord was there by his side… and it scared him to think about the Master’s plan for this particular dance. It had to be important, or else the Master wouldn’t have acted this careful.
“Doctor” there was a hand on his shoulder. Do you remember? He brushed a few ghost taps over the Doctor’s skin.
They didn’t need to walk - or in both their cases, stumble - towards the main bedroom for long; thankfully the small living room they’d used for drinking was only a corridor away from it and the Doctor hadn’t left the screwdriver behind as ordered - it just didn’t work like that; simply unlocking their path in.
---
Practically naked and defenseless - that was how the Doctor felt upon being straddled by the Master, at the same time a lonely thought jolted through his mind: They hadn’t even kissed properly, and how he longed for that - almost ever since having seen the Master and his wife (!!) light years before. Not that he’d ever acknowledge it.
The room itself was large, not extravagantly so, but more than enough for a single Time Lord. A single window - artificially created to resemble some barren moon’s exterior - adorned the walls and the king bed was placed right in the exact middle, its size occupying most the space left.
The Master nuzzled the Doctor’s neck again, appreciating the sight of the other’s body now that his long coat and shirt underneath had been discarded away to a growing pile of clothes nearby. Sighing appreciatively, he pulled their bodies together once again and grinded his hips slowly against the Doctor’s. The sounds produced by him, these little moans and pleads were so fascinating; they certainly made it worth it.
This sort of intimate contact between two Time Lords wasn’t unusual at all back in Gallifrey, but, as pointed out before by the Master - they were the two last remnants of the specie - and that made it all more arousing.
“Master,” the Doctor gasped, running a hand through the other’s back and trying to recover some semblance of control over the whole situation. “Getting old?” He racked his nails over the skin there, tentatively following the bone lower, satisfied with the Master’s hiss and the quick bite on his chest - right next to one of his nipples.
“Oh,” the Master tilted his head back for a moment, “I would hope not, if I were you.” And then he was back on, kissing his way down the Doctor’s body, leaving no spots untouched but not lingering anywhere - to the a very flustered Doctor’s annoyance.
None of them faltered. While the Master pulled down the Doctor’s boxers - “Pink stripes? That’s more tasteless than a Klomyse swamp dog dressed in a tuxedo.” - He got a hold of the other’s ass, even through his pants, and squeezed. Oh yes.
While trying to make his partner feel the best possible wasn’t a game the Master was used to playing, it really wasn’t one he would lose at either. If this there were anything but the Doctor, he would have simply took what he wanted, without mercy, without noticing how broken the other would’ve been left after he was gone, however this was different - nothing alike to the previous songs.
He placed a hand on the Doctor’s inner thigh, gleeful over making the other this excited. “Who is the one getting old, Doctor?” he teased, his hot breath caressing the Doctor’s erection, just not quite touching it.
The Doctor tried to squirm closer, rolling his hips up to meet the Master’s mouth; all to no avail, because, as he promptly found out, the hand was pressing down against his flesh quite firmly. In a rather desperate manner, he opened his mouth to speak, willed his throat to work - and then it was all gone.
The hand and the body over his were jerking away from him.
“What are you doing?” The Doctor whined, trying to tip his head up in order to see why exactly the Master had moved away.
“Isn’t that a tad nothing obvious?” he snarled; rushing through the pile of clothes by the bed’s side.
“I don’t…”
“I know, Doctor!” aha- found it, the Master grinned successfully, retreating something from the back pocket of his jacket. “Did you really think I would make it any easier on you?”
“…What is that?” the Doctor questioned; the pressure and warmth of the Master was back on his body, and it was fairly quieting to know the other hadn’t just left.
“Don’t be an idiot just now. Just a little while ago you were telling me how wonderful these things were,” and then it came into view, the… chopstick. “And I plan on testing your theory… Don’t tell me I’m not good.”
Torn between laughing his hearts out at the inadequacy of it all and the sheer fear he felt upon hearing the Master’s insane words, the Doctor was unable of thinking of a comeback at all.
---
“Kiss me,” it was a command, an order the Master would have never obeyed before; “Do it,” but there was also the heat, the sweat rolling off their joint bodies as they moved together, and the tiny neat sparks of pleasure bubbling up his mind, along with the sound of blood rushing through his body, to which the drums were mere whispers. More than any of that: despite all the plans and the complicated moves - it all converged into this and it somehow felt right.
Just as they were about to reach the peak -- the climax of their actions - the Master leant over, nuzzled the Doctor’s neck for a brief moment, and pressed their mouths together. Starlight. It felt better than it honestly should have, warm, soothing and yet possessive, demanding in a way only he was able to and the Doctor replied to it by digging his nails on his shoulder blades and eagerly kissing back.
“Hmmm,” the Master hummed against the Doctor’s lips, seemingly content.
The taste of a Time Lord was always distinct and the Doctor tasted particularly good - bittersweet - especially while the Master was buried deep inside him.
He plunged forward again, fingers clawing blindly at the inside of the other’s thighs. And that was their undoing; the Master came with a quiet gasp, quickly followed by the Doctor - who moaned a silent word into the Master’s mouth over and over again, his back arching before falling back on the bed, exhausted.
Neither of them moved for a long time. Even the uncomfortable ache between his legs and the thick liquid rolling down his hips weren’t enough to make the Doctor push away. He was starting to feel sleep, blissful sleep, overcoming his senses, and at that moment there was nothing the Time Lord wanted more than to rest - with the Master by his side. And with the tiny hopeful feeling that maybe, somehow he’d managed to help.
Someone pulled one of the blankets over their bodies and suddenly it was just too much.
“Sleep.” They spoke groggily.
And then he was out.
---
Afterwards, a lonely chopstick laid on the floor - covered in interesting bodily fluids.