Io Sono Prigioniera - second part
Io Sono Prigioniera
By: Memory Dragon
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who, nor do I make any claim to.
Warnings: NC17 for explicit sex. Also, the Master gets a little violent in the beginning bits, but it doesn't stay that way for long, I promise. I'd recommend reading the original fic first though, if this one is to make any sense, and that one does have dub-consent warnings on it, so keep that in mind. This fic also deals with that dubious consent sex scene and the Master's reactions to it, so it's another thing to keep in mind.
Notes: First part found here.
~
The next day, he got up to make some lunch. He was leaving plans to torment the Doctor until after dinner, giving him more time to fiddle with the collar, but lunch for now. More Italian, because the last recipe really had been good and it saved him the effort of finding another cookbook out of the Heinlein, Dickens, and Asimov that had somehow gotten mixed in. He was just cleaning up when the Doctor limped in, his shoulders stiffening as the Doctor looked him over.
"Do you want me to leave?" the Doctor asked.
The Master flushed, leaving the dishes in the sink and not caring if the room was left dirty. He didn't need to be tip-toed around like he was a piece of glass. "I was just leaving," he snapped, starting to walk towards the door. Unfortunately, that meant walking past the Doctor as well.
No matter. The Doctor wasn't hogging the doorway, so he could slide by without touching him. Except the Doctor never played by the rules as far as personal space went. He reached out to the Master, grabbing him by the arm. "Let go of me," the Master said with a glare.
"Master, just wait, please..." It was the pleading in the Doctor's voice that gave him pause. He didn't try to break out of the Doctor's grip, though he didn't let up on the glare either. The Doctor shifted uncomfortably, his grip on the Master's arm becoming more of a caress. "I just wanted to say thank you for what you did."
"I didn't do it for you," the Master said flatly, not succeeding in putting more venom in his voice. "I couldn't exactly escape if you died."
The Doctor smiled, rubbing his hand up and down the Master's arm in a slow manner that sent shivers down the Master's spine. "Regardless of your reasons... Thank you."
The Master just nodded, knowing he should pull away and leave, yet unable to willingly move away from that touch. It was infuriating, the effect the Doctor had on him.
The Doctor was looking at him, really looking at him now, for the first time since he'd collapsed in the TARDIS. The smile changed to a grin as he pulled away and left the Master completely baffled... and then started to laugh hysterically. "What?" the Master asked, feeling like he was left out of a joke and not liking the sensation at all.
"You..." the Doctor gasped, nearly falling over as he leaned the wrong way against the cane the Master had found for him. The Master felt his cheeks flush as he realized the Doctor was laughing at him. That hurt almost more than he could bear and frightened him even more than that. Before he could snap a defensive reply, the Doctor continued. "My old cricket outfit, Master?"
Oh.
While the Master's hearts were still beating rapidly, it was at least understandable. That didn't stop the blush from creeping up his cheeks at what the Doctor was implying, however. He hadn't worn it just to have something to remind him of the Doctor, anything but. "Your TARDIS wouldn't give me anything else to wear," he said through grit teeth. His hands fisted as he stood there, fury and anxiety almost overwhelming him.
He didn't look up as he heard the Doctor hobble closer, still laughing though trying to stifle it. The Master felt his eyes widen, however, as the Doctor's lips brushed against his forehead. "Sorry," the Doctor said, managing to control his laughter finally. "It's not very funny, not really. I'll see what I can do about that."
The Master was still strung up, almost hyper-aware of how close the Doctor was to him, of the Doctor's hand on his arm and the smell of blood on the bandages. Worst of all, the drums pounding over everything, including his own hearts beating.
"Master, are you alright?" the Doctor asked, moving his hand up to the Master's cheek. The Master leaned into the caress, closing his eyes as the Doctor's fingers gently traced his cheek bone. His knees felt weak and his breathing uneven as he tried to concentrate but found himself even more lost to the scent of tea and sorrow that made up this regeneration of the Doctor. "Master..."
His eyes flew open as the Doctor spoke, and he slapped the Doctor's hand away as he took a step back, breathing heavily. Rassilon, what was he turning into? It terrified him almost as much as the Doctor's laughing had. "Stop it!" he yelled as he took another halting step back.
The Doctor half reached out to him again, but stopped as the Master shied away. "Stop what?" he asked instead, confusion in his voice as he held back from stepping closer.
"Stop controlling me!" The Master balled his fists, shoulders rising as fury coursed through him. And the Doctor had the gall to look stunned by the accusation. "I'm the Master, not you. I'm not going to sit around and let you do this to me."
"I'm not trying to control you," the Doctor said uncertainly, brown eyes searching the Master's face as if the answer he sought was there. "I'd never-"
"You wouldn't?" The Master laughed mirthlessly, sanity slipping away as the drums escalated. He took a step forward and smiled as it was the Doctor who limped back this time. "I suppose this collar is just for decoration then?" The Master clicked his tongue as he pursed his lips together, frowning comically. "'And quite fetching it is too', was that what you said, Doctor? Do you make a fashion of subjugating people now or is it just a passing fad?"
The Doctor closed his eyes, and the Master exalted in every second that lovely expression of grief stayed intact. "Master, that's because of your crimes. It's not to control you, other than to make sure you don't escape or try to hurt people. You are a prisoner."
"And that's not controlling? Taking away my freedom to do as I like?"
"I can't let you hurt anyone else," the Doctor said simply, barely controlling the anguish in his tone.
The Master smiled. He was going to win this round and he was back in control. It was a heady feeling, a feeling that was right and this was exactly how things should be. "Oh, but that's not even the worst of it, is it Doctor? No, the collar wasn't enough for you to play at being 'Lord and Master,' was it?"
Opening his eyes, the Doctor watched him wearily. They were back at the game of hurting each other as much as possible and the Master fed on the tension, on the Doctor's careful words. He was practically gleeful at how this would end, at the victory his words would grant him. "I don't know what you're talking about," the Doctor said finally, back to a stony countenance as he tried to guess what angle the Master would attack from.
Oh, but he wouldn't see this one coming. "Don't you? Those small touches, the kisses aimed to disable me, calm me down? Are you saying it wasn't manipulative to pleasure me until I was forced to beg for what you did to me?"
The Doctor's eyes widened as he gasped. "I didn't... Master's that's not why-"
"Isn't it?" The Master asked, his eyes hardening as he advanced on the Doctor who took another limping step back until he ran into the kitchen counter. The sheer domesticity of the setting didn't fail to annoy the Master, but he wasn't about to stop now because the irony offended him. "You never used them before, not once in all the centuries I've known you. You never tried to use this sort of control, not during the Year or before that. Now that you're in charge, everything changes. You ignored me for weeks, making me come to you. Or is that necessary to keep me from hurting people too?"
It was so tempting to claim that gaping mouth with a punishing kiss. He moved closer, relishing the Doctor's quickening pulse as he leaned in. The Doctor bit back a small gasp of pain as he accidentally pressed back against one of the many bruises he had sustained. "Is it, Doctor?" the Master asked again. "What's wrong, cat got your tongue? Or are you trying to resist the urge to kiss me to shut me up and prove me right?"
"I left you alone since that night because I thought you didn't want to see me. And before that, I just didn't..." the Doctor said finally, shaking his head and swallowing. "Master, I'm not trying to manipulate you."
"Then why start now?" the Master yelled, causing the Doctor to wince at the sound. He lowered his voice to an angry hiss. His fury was above even shouting. "What's so different about now that you'll touch me and fuck me senseless, if it's not a power trip?"
"I thought you were dead, after the war," the Doctor whispered, a tremor of emotion under his voice that couldn't be hidden. "I never realized how much I would miss you."
The Master took a hesitant step back as he processed what the Doctor had said. That wasn't part of the plan, not how this argument was supposed to go. He was losing control of it and he had to get back to hurting the Doctor somehow... Yet all he could do was stand there and act stunned. "What do you mean?" he demanded shakily, trying to buy time to think of how to use the earlier admission against the Doctor.
"I mean you and the rest of the Time Lords were dead," the Doctor said flatly, straightening up with a wince and shifting off his bad foot. "And I thought about you... You know, it's funny. All that time I was half convinced you were invincible. Koschei the Deathless, refusing to accept your own mortality. Then you were gone, you and all the others. It was me that survived the longest, but you weren't supposed to be gone!"
The Master started to tremble, though he tried to hide the fact as much as possible. He'd never expected the accusation in the Doctor's voice. He hadn't expected the sheer amount of grief in the Doctor's eyes either, and he stood there numbly as the Doctor went on, the terrible storm building and raging on. "All that time, I thought you were dead and I realized that I'd never held you, never kissed you, and I regretted that. Master, I regretted that so much."
The drums were pounding in his head incessantly, making it nigh impossible to think. He struggled to grab onto a thought, to keep hold of the conversation. "You didn't... You didn't try it before though. You had that whole Year."
"Master, you were killing people and hurting my friends. I couldn't, not while you were destroying everything." The Doctor limped forward and the Master steeled himself. He refused to retreat from this, refused to back down from the drums screaming in his head.
"Master-"
"So you're saying this can only be on your terms?" the Master asked, putting as much venom into his voice as he could manage while still reeling. "What about my terms? My desires? What if I say I can't live with your way of doing things any more than you can live with mine?"
The Doctor stopped moving, lowering the hand he was reaching out with to touch the Master. It fell back to his side and through the screaming of the drums the Master could see the heartbreak on the Doctor's face. That should have been a triumph, but the Master couldn't muster up a feeling of success. "Then I'm sorry, but you're still my responsibility," the Doctor said sadly. "It's my duty to keep you from hurting anyone."
The Master was cruelly reminded of the fact that the Doctor could and did live without him. However much the Doctor said that he'd missed him, it was the same. The Doctor could and did refuse his terms, but the Master wasn't so sure he could do the same, not now that he'd had this.
The drums weren't going away either, the silence spurring them on as reality crumbled around him. He heard the Doctor call his name, but he could barely register the Doctor's voice over the pounding, much less formulate a reply. The Master swayed in place, not entirely sure how he managed to stay upright at all. "Can't you hear them? The drums?" he asked, almost pleading.
When the Doctor's arms wrapped around him, leading him to the kitchen table, it was like the sound barrier had been broken. He could hear the Doctor's words over the drums and could finally understand them. "-so sorry, but I can't. Master, it's just the noise in your head. It's not real. Just let me help you..."
The last time he'd heard those words, he'd been defeated, about to be shot and brought back to life against his wishes. He'd still tried to fight them, falling on a back-up plan of a back-up plan that the Doctor had smashed out of his hand. This time the pounding was worse, and all he could do was lean against the Doctor for support. Somehow, he managed to end up in one of the kitchen chairs with the Doctor beside him, holding him close.
The drums usually weren't this bad before. They'd gotten worse since the Time War ended and once he'd regained himself in Malcassairo. Now they sometimes overwhelmed him to the point of collapsing. The Master made sure no one saw him during those times, however, not even Lucy. This was twice now in the past couple of days that all he could do was feebly clutch at the Doctor as the drums took his control away. The fact that the Doctor was here and how much the Master needed him...
He hated every second of it, yet couldn't bear to tear himself away.
The Doctor babbled on about the War, about how he would help the Master, about the places they could go. He only half paid attention to the Doctor's words as the four hellish beats took over his consciousness. Three words kept coming up, however. Three words the Doctor kept repeating over and over again with almost the same repetitive resonance of the drums. Not 'I'm so sorry', or 'Let me help', though the Doctor did say those two phrases plenty of times as well. No, these three words the Mater had only dreamed the Doctor would say in his wildest fantasies and darkest nightmares. The Master still didn't know if he believed them, but he clung to the words regardless.
"I hate you," the Master said weakly in response, pressing flurried kisses to the Doctor's neck as the drums demanded more. He started to loosen the Doctor's tie and undo the buttons that had been hidden underneath. It was terrible, because he had no more control over his body than he had that first night on the TARDIS, yet he couldn't stop. He couldn't really hate it either, no matter what he'd said.
The Doctor caught his hands again, gently this time though. "Are you sure you want this?" he asked, searching the Master's hazel eyes.
Did he want this? Yes-Yes-Yes-Yes. No-No-No-No. Four drum beats screaming at him to go on, four heart beats too frightened to continue. He didn't want these terms of engagement, didn't want to give in and say yes to what the Doctor was asking of him for even a second, not when the Doctor could refuse his in return. At the same time, he did desperately want this, wanted the Doctor's love for as long as he could have it.
This affair was ever a fleeting thing, as anything involving the Doctor ended up being. Inevitably, they would end up fighting again, but right now he could have the Doctor's hands running along his body even as he was allowed to touch the Doctor in return. He could bask in those three words just for a short time, even if the Doctor could never meant them in the way the Master wanted him to.
The Master closed his eyes, the Doctor staying perfectly still as he waited for the Master's answer. He didn't give the Master an excuse to say he'd been forced into the decision this time, and the Master spent equal beats cursing and blessing him for it. He needed the control, but he didn't want to have to make this choice. In the end, it came down to one simple thing.
Better to have this now than never at all.
"Yes," he said finally as he opened his eyes. Wincing at how weak his voice sounded, the Master swallowed before trying again. "I do want this. I want..."
The Doctor leaned down, kissing away his doubts until he was delirious with sensation. He moaned into the Doctor's mouth as the lanky man stroked him through those ridiculously striped trousers. The Master's own hands were fumbling with shirt buttons, increasingly frustrated as he couldn't remember how to work them properly. His memory was not helped by the Doctor's other hand squeezing his arse, either, but he was damned if he would stop kissing the Doctor long enough to tell him that.
Last time, the Master's inability to stop had been his sole focus under the beat of the drums. Now though, once he had gotten those blasted buttons of the Doctor's shirt undone, he could focus on the Doctor. He ran his hands down that skinny torso under the Doctor's shirt before pinching the Doctor's nipples, making sure to be careful of the bruises that were visible on the Doctor's shoulders. The Doctor had been careful of his wounds last time, despite everything else, always gentle with his shoulder. As much as the Master liked seeing the Doctor in pain, he was far more rewarded by watching the Doctor gasp in pleasure as he tightened his grip around the Master's cock.
That was... Oh, that was impossibly good, feeling the Doctor getting harder because of what he'd done. The Master stopped kissing him long enough to move his mouth down to gently suck and bite at the Doctor's chest. Those short gasps and long moans were his new addiction and the Master greedily pulled the Doctor's hips closer.
He wasn't sure how, but one second he was half crawling into the Doctor's lap, the next he was being pressed up against the table with the Doctor making short work of the Rassilon-forsaken striped trousers. The Master kicked the rest of them off, his bare feet pushing them to the side as he desperately tried to rub against the table for more friction.
Then the Doctor turned him around and was biting down on his neck - again - and as the Doctor sucked at the spot the Master no longer thought. Control was slipping away from him again as his hips bucked up against the Doctor. For a moment, the sick fear came back. He clutched at the Doctor, desperately caught between pleasure and terror. Every other time he'd had intimate encounters with others, he'd never lost control of himself, even in his pleasure. He'd had sex with Lucy regularly after they'd been married, but he was always in control of how he hurt her, of how he allowed her to pleasure him. But all those people, they had never been the Doctor. The Doctor drove him mad in a way that even the drums couldn't and his hard-fought concentration was spiraling out of control.
It terrified him.
"Sh..." the Doctor said into his ear, lips brushing against his skin and sending shivers down the Master's spine. No, those weren't shivers. The Master was trembling. He flushed with shame as the Doctor held him against his chest, hand stilling on the Master's cock completely and moving away.
"It's okay," the Doctor said gently, eyes closed in concentration as he focused on restraint. "I'll stop this time, if that's what you want. Do you want to stop?"
The Master didn't think. He just turned to kiss the Doctor, careful of the bruise he'd left when he'd hit the Doctor. But the Doctor pulled him back even as the Master whimpered at the loss. "Master, listen to me. You need to actually make this choice. Do you want to stop?"
The Master's eyes came into focus as he sat there breathlessly. Blessedly, control seeped back to him as he realized what the Doctor was doing. It was a form of control, to agree to give it up willingly. If he said he wanted to go further, he would lose himself but he wouldn't be lost like he had last time. The Doctor was giving him this, the control to want to lose himself. Part of him hated the Doctor for needing him to give it, but a larger part was just grateful for the chance to get his head above the water to keep from drowning.
The Master forced himself to take a deep breath, grasping at the control the Doctor offered. Did he want this? Well, it was rather obvious that his body did, with every second the Doctor's hands were absent from him a constant reminder of what the Master was missing. His body apparently had no problem letting the Doctor do whatever the hell he wanted to it.
The Master's mind, on the other hand... He didn't want to lose any more control than he already had. His fear was nearly to a tipping point, overflowing to drown him if he weren't careful. While he wasn't adverse to showing weakness or fear if the occasion called for it (generally in pleading for his life, which he was never above doing), he didn't like being controlled by it any more than he liked his body responding on its own accord to the Doctor. Which meant... if he could control the fear, did he want this?
Rassilon, yes.
He could feel the Doctor's growing concern as the Master's breath hitched, but he didn't want the Doctor's concern. He wanted the Doctor's hands on his body, the Doctor's mouth on his and lust driving away every thought except for the Master from the Doctor's mind. It was his right to have it, because the Doctor's submission was his.
The Master let go of his control, this time willingly putting his head under the water. He kissed the Doctor, raising his hips off the table to press against the Doctor's still maddeningly covered erection.
"I'll take that as a yes then?" the Doctor asked cheerfully as the Master was forced to gasp for breath when the Doctor's hands started moving again. The Master started to pull that bloody jumper over his head, but he got distracted when the Doctor's hand-
"Doctor!" he gasped, grabbing the Doctor's wrist and only sparing a second to wonder where in Rassilon's name the Doctor had gotten the lube from. Or when he'd managed to put it on his fingers, for that matter. He would realize later that the Doctor's coat was half-falling off the chair he'd folded it on earlier, as if someone had been fumbling through the pockets blindly while waiting for the Master to make up his mind. Right now he had more pressing things to worry about, literally pressing against him, waiting to spread him open.
The Doctor grinned, running his other hand down the Master's thighs lightly and to his shame his legs opened automatically. "You liked it last time," the Doctor said, kissing the Master's neck again. The Master whimpered, trying to stop himself from sliding down the table to meet the Doctor's fingers. He found his grip on the Doctor's wrist relaxing despite his best efforts to the contrary. The Doctor's lips were moving upward to his ear, pausing for just a second as the Master shuddered against him. "Please let me, Master," the Doctor whispered, lips brushing against the Master's ear.
"You manipulative bast-Yes! Oh... Doctor, you're... I really hate you... Ah, more, please..." The Doctor was biting down and sucking on his ear, his fingers stretching the Master open the second he let go of the bastard's wrist. The Master got harder every time the Doctor asked, each time using his name. The Doctor gave him the chance to refuse, knowing full well he couldn't have said no if he wanted to. At the same time, it was the illusion of control that the Master clung to, that the Doctor had to ask his permission to add a second and third finger, to kiss his shoulder and to be called Master between every kiss. It was an infuriating-glorious-terrifying-euphoric ecstasy that grew with every beat of the drums.
"You'll build a resistance to this, I'm sure," the Doctor said with a damnable smirk as the Master barely managed a glare. "Which means I need to take advantage of this while I can." Quite honestly, the Master wasn't sure he'd ever be able to build up a resistance if the Doctor was going to be so hellishly good at this, but he wasn't allowed much of a chance to even consider it as the Doctor's fingers curled inside him.
When the Doctor pulled his fingers out, the Master whimpered, his hips bucking at the loss. The Doctor didn't have to ask to enter him. He was already begging for it. The Master was flipped over onto his stomach, still wearing the long forgotten jumper and straining against the table as the Doctor leaned over him and asked anyway. "May I enter you, Master?"
The Master practically screamed yes as the Doctor rubbed his erection over the Master's arse and he gasped and moaned as the Doctor finally pushed in. How the Doctor was managing to do all this standing when the Master knew for a fact how bad the wound on his leg had been, the Master didn't know. Himself, he was barely able to keep his legs from buckling under him even as he used the table for support.
The Doctor, bastard that he was, took his time about it. He'd work both of them up nearly to the brink before stopping short and teasingly pulling out completely. Then he'd touch the Master mentally and start the whole process again until the Master could barely remember his own name. All he knew was the Doctor.
"Master..." the Doctor whispered in his ear after several long kisses to his shoulder. The lust in the Doctor's voice was driving him mad, and the Master arched back against the Doctor's body greedily, whimpering as he still didn't get the release he craved. The Doctor, however, came inside him, calling out the Master's name. After a few more thrusts, the Doctor leaned back over to the Master's ear breathlessly. "Master, may I make you come?"
"Yes!" the Master practically sobbed. It only took a few strokes before the Master was released, falling limply against the Doctor who pulled out of him and managed to drag both of their weary bodies back over to one of the chairs. The Doctor was still stroking him through the aftershocks as the Master curled up against him. It was the last thing he remembered before dropping off to sleep.
He awoke sometime later, surprised to find himself sans the rest of his clothes and tucked away in the Doctor's bed. He wasn't even going to try and contemplate how the Doctor had managed this feat when he couldn't put any weight on his left leg. Instead, he blinked wearily and pressed closer against the Doctor who was just as naked and curled up around him. The drums were still present - always present - but were quiet, simply part of the never-ending background noise in his head.
The Master hadn't felt this good in ages, in spite of how sore his body was. He didn't let himself think about anything other than his euphoria of having the Doctor at this moment. How he had dreamed of this, ever since their days in the academy, to wake up sated with the Doctor in his arms. His happiness was only a passing illusion that would be gone the second he grounded himself back in the reality of their circumstances, but one he willingly let himself be lost to while the Doctor still slept.
He soon fell asleep again in the Doctor's arms, dreaming of the Doctor willingly being this close to him. A dream he didn't want to wake up from to return to the fighting and hurting each other. Even as he thought that, however, the dream turned into a nightmare as the collar cut into his throat and the Doctor watched mercilessly. The collar choked him and tortured him with shocks that sent immense pain through his body, but not killing him as the Doctor laughed. This sort of nightmare always used to end with his death, but now it kept going in an eternal hell.
Before his terror could wake him up, however, he felt the Doctor's mind unobtrusively enter his, sending thoughts of warmth and comfort that the Master had never imagined possible. Without looking at the dream, the Doctor eased it out of the Master's thoughts and memory. He gave the Master a fond mental caress before leaving him once again for a more restful sleep.
A few hours later, he woke to the Doctor's fingers rubbing against his cheek lightly. It was a movement that was so light it was obviously aimed not to wake him, as if the Doctor simply needed to touch the Master to remind himself this was real. He let the Doctor continue to think he was asleep for a while, simply relishing in the small touch and the warmth of the Doctor's body against his.
Finally, the Master mustered up enough willpower to open his eyes and glare at the Doctor. The look earned him a raised eyebrow, but he didn't let up on the gaze. "That wasn't what I meant when I said I wanted it," the Master explained. The harshness of his voice due to sleep thankfully covered most of the sulking tone that had crept up on him.
The Doctor smiled, kissing him on the forehead. "I know. I'm sorry. I promise, next time I'll behave a bit better."
The words 'next time' sent a pleasant shiver down the Master's spine as he let the Doctor coax him out of the glare. "I'm sorry about..." the Doctor started lightly, pulling the Master closer before he continued. "I'm sorry you thought I was ignoring you, too. I did check on you, but... Well, I thought you didn't want to see me, so I stayed out of your way."
The Master didn't respond to that, though he accepted the logic. It still hurt, those four weeks of longing, but learning that the Doctor had checked on him eased some of it. "I'm still going to escape," the Master said sometime later, resting his head against the Doctor's neck. He could pretend that he was happy right now, but that's all it was, pretending. So long as he was a prisoner with this collar around his neck, the Master would continue to be miserable.
The Doctor merely nodded, his fingers nearly tracing down to the collar before pulling away hastily. "I know," he said, arms tightening fractionally around the Master. "I'm sorry. I am sorry, Master. But I can't let you go, not after all you've done. I'll try to make things more bearable for-"
"Don't," the Master growled, his shoulders tensing as he ducked his head. He didn't want to see the Doctor's eyes right now. "Don't start. I don't want to hear it! I'm sick of your apologies and 'making things more bearable' when I still have this slave collar around my neck. Apologies won't change things. I still won't forgive you."
The Doctor stilled at this and for awhile neither of them spoke. As much as he wanted to, the Master couldn't quite bring himself to pull away. Slowly the Doctor's hands started to massage the tension out of his shoulders. When he spoke again, it wasn't with apologies. "I'm glad you stayed this time."
Looking up in surprise, the Master didn't respond. He did arch into the Doctor's hands though, pressing a light kiss to the Doctor's collarbone. It was wrong for him to stay like this, and the Master knew it. His pride was wounded enough that he couldn't afford to remain or not use this as part of his escape, but the Master couldn't bring himself to care just yet. He wanted to be close to the Doctor, circumstances and all, and that desire was currently overriding his tattered pride.
"Where do we go from here?" the Master heard himself ask. He frowned at how weak his voice sounded, coughing experimentally as he tried to figure out how that had happened.
The Doctor shook his head, mussed fringe falling into his eyes. "I don't know," he said. The Master absently drummed against the Doctor's chest, the constant beat reminding him of just how much was unknown between them. It frightened him a little, not knowing what to expect or what to plan from here.
The Doctor continued speaking, a hand reaching out to cover the Master's but not stopping him from drumming. "Hadn't really planned on much... Just been winging it, for the most part. Always worked for me in the past. Do you want a plan?"
He did, actually, but the Master shook his head in response. He could come up with something on his own when he could think clearly, probably far better than any attempt at a plan he could discuss with this particular regeneration of the Doctor. Besides, then the Doctor wouldn't know his full hand.
The Doctor grinned lazily down at him, kissing his forehead again. The Master found he was beginning not to mind the gesture so much, despite how condescending it was. "Brilliant," the Doctor said, ruffling the Master's hair. That he did mind, and the Master scowled up at the Doctor as he went on. "That really is just brilliant. Look at us. Over 900 years we've known each other, and we're trying something new. A new adventure! Allons-y!"
The Master glared as the Doctor made enthusiastic movements with his hands, jostling them both. Once he'd stopped, the Master settled back against him. He was a prisoner to his feelings more than he was ever a prisoner to the Doctor. He knew he could eventually escape the Doctor himself, but as for the contentment of curling up with the Doctor... The Master leaned into the Doctor's caress and didn't know if it were possible to escape it.
If he even wanted to.
~FINI~
Memory: Well, there you have it. Like I said, I wouldn't count on more. That depends entirely how interesting I think the next part would be and it's not looking too good right now. Plus, I've got other things lined up to write, so it'd take a while even if I did write it. Still, I hope you enjoyed the sequel for what it's worth. I don't think it quite measures up to the original, but that's just me. Anyway, I think the Master has at least five of the seven causes in the quote of the fic. Chance is debatable and reason is right out, but the others, definitely. <3
Quote of the Fic:
"All human actions have one or more of these seven causes: chance, nature, compulsion, habit, reason, passion, and desire."
-Aristotle
By: Memory Dragon
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who, nor do I make any claim to.
Warnings: NC17 for explicit sex. Also, the Master gets a little violent in the beginning bits, but it doesn't stay that way for long, I promise. I'd recommend reading the original fic first though, if this one is to make any sense, and that one does have dub-consent warnings on it, so keep that in mind. This fic also deals with that dubious consent sex scene and the Master's reactions to it, so it's another thing to keep in mind.
Notes: First part found here.
~
The next day, he got up to make some lunch. He was leaving plans to torment the Doctor until after dinner, giving him more time to fiddle with the collar, but lunch for now. More Italian, because the last recipe really had been good and it saved him the effort of finding another cookbook out of the Heinlein, Dickens, and Asimov that had somehow gotten mixed in. He was just cleaning up when the Doctor limped in, his shoulders stiffening as the Doctor looked him over.
"Do you want me to leave?" the Doctor asked.
The Master flushed, leaving the dishes in the sink and not caring if the room was left dirty. He didn't need to be tip-toed around like he was a piece of glass. "I was just leaving," he snapped, starting to walk towards the door. Unfortunately, that meant walking past the Doctor as well.
No matter. The Doctor wasn't hogging the doorway, so he could slide by without touching him. Except the Doctor never played by the rules as far as personal space went. He reached out to the Master, grabbing him by the arm. "Let go of me," the Master said with a glare.
"Master, just wait, please..." It was the pleading in the Doctor's voice that gave him pause. He didn't try to break out of the Doctor's grip, though he didn't let up on the glare either. The Doctor shifted uncomfortably, his grip on the Master's arm becoming more of a caress. "I just wanted to say thank you for what you did."
"I didn't do it for you," the Master said flatly, not succeeding in putting more venom in his voice. "I couldn't exactly escape if you died."
The Doctor smiled, rubbing his hand up and down the Master's arm in a slow manner that sent shivers down the Master's spine. "Regardless of your reasons... Thank you."
The Master just nodded, knowing he should pull away and leave, yet unable to willingly move away from that touch. It was infuriating, the effect the Doctor had on him.
The Doctor was looking at him, really looking at him now, for the first time since he'd collapsed in the TARDIS. The smile changed to a grin as he pulled away and left the Master completely baffled... and then started to laugh hysterically. "What?" the Master asked, feeling like he was left out of a joke and not liking the sensation at all.
"You..." the Doctor gasped, nearly falling over as he leaned the wrong way against the cane the Master had found for him. The Master felt his cheeks flush as he realized the Doctor was laughing at him. That hurt almost more than he could bear and frightened him even more than that. Before he could snap a defensive reply, the Doctor continued. "My old cricket outfit, Master?"
Oh.
While the Master's hearts were still beating rapidly, it was at least understandable. That didn't stop the blush from creeping up his cheeks at what the Doctor was implying, however. He hadn't worn it just to have something to remind him of the Doctor, anything but. "Your TARDIS wouldn't give me anything else to wear," he said through grit teeth. His hands fisted as he stood there, fury and anxiety almost overwhelming him.
He didn't look up as he heard the Doctor hobble closer, still laughing though trying to stifle it. The Master felt his eyes widen, however, as the Doctor's lips brushed against his forehead. "Sorry," the Doctor said, managing to control his laughter finally. "It's not very funny, not really. I'll see what I can do about that."
The Master was still strung up, almost hyper-aware of how close the Doctor was to him, of the Doctor's hand on his arm and the smell of blood on the bandages. Worst of all, the drums pounding over everything, including his own hearts beating.
"Master, are you alright?" the Doctor asked, moving his hand up to the Master's cheek. The Master leaned into the caress, closing his eyes as the Doctor's fingers gently traced his cheek bone. His knees felt weak and his breathing uneven as he tried to concentrate but found himself even more lost to the scent of tea and sorrow that made up this regeneration of the Doctor. "Master..."
His eyes flew open as the Doctor spoke, and he slapped the Doctor's hand away as he took a step back, breathing heavily. Rassilon, what was he turning into? It terrified him almost as much as the Doctor's laughing had. "Stop it!" he yelled as he took another halting step back.
The Doctor half reached out to him again, but stopped as the Master shied away. "Stop what?" he asked instead, confusion in his voice as he held back from stepping closer.
"Stop controlling me!" The Master balled his fists, shoulders rising as fury coursed through him. And the Doctor had the gall to look stunned by the accusation. "I'm the Master, not you. I'm not going to sit around and let you do this to me."
"I'm not trying to control you," the Doctor said uncertainly, brown eyes searching the Master's face as if the answer he sought was there. "I'd never-"
"You wouldn't?" The Master laughed mirthlessly, sanity slipping away as the drums escalated. He took a step forward and smiled as it was the Doctor who limped back this time. "I suppose this collar is just for decoration then?" The Master clicked his tongue as he pursed his lips together, frowning comically. "'And quite fetching it is too', was that what you said, Doctor? Do you make a fashion of subjugating people now or is it just a passing fad?"
The Doctor closed his eyes, and the Master exalted in every second that lovely expression of grief stayed intact. "Master, that's because of your crimes. It's not to control you, other than to make sure you don't escape or try to hurt people. You are a prisoner."
"And that's not controlling? Taking away my freedom to do as I like?"
"I can't let you hurt anyone else," the Doctor said simply, barely controlling the anguish in his tone.
The Master smiled. He was going to win this round and he was back in control. It was a heady feeling, a feeling that was right and this was exactly how things should be. "Oh, but that's not even the worst of it, is it Doctor? No, the collar wasn't enough for you to play at being 'Lord and Master,' was it?"
Opening his eyes, the Doctor watched him wearily. They were back at the game of hurting each other as much as possible and the Master fed on the tension, on the Doctor's careful words. He was practically gleeful at how this would end, at the victory his words would grant him. "I don't know what you're talking about," the Doctor said finally, back to a stony countenance as he tried to guess what angle the Master would attack from.
Oh, but he wouldn't see this one coming. "Don't you? Those small touches, the kisses aimed to disable me, calm me down? Are you saying it wasn't manipulative to pleasure me until I was forced to beg for what you did to me?"
The Doctor's eyes widened as he gasped. "I didn't... Master's that's not why-"
"Isn't it?" The Master asked, his eyes hardening as he advanced on the Doctor who took another limping step back until he ran into the kitchen counter. The sheer domesticity of the setting didn't fail to annoy the Master, but he wasn't about to stop now because the irony offended him. "You never used them before, not once in all the centuries I've known you. You never tried to use this sort of control, not during the Year or before that. Now that you're in charge, everything changes. You ignored me for weeks, making me come to you. Or is that necessary to keep me from hurting people too?"
It was so tempting to claim that gaping mouth with a punishing kiss. He moved closer, relishing the Doctor's quickening pulse as he leaned in. The Doctor bit back a small gasp of pain as he accidentally pressed back against one of the many bruises he had sustained. "Is it, Doctor?" the Master asked again. "What's wrong, cat got your tongue? Or are you trying to resist the urge to kiss me to shut me up and prove me right?"
"I left you alone since that night because I thought you didn't want to see me. And before that, I just didn't..." the Doctor said finally, shaking his head and swallowing. "Master, I'm not trying to manipulate you."
"Then why start now?" the Master yelled, causing the Doctor to wince at the sound. He lowered his voice to an angry hiss. His fury was above even shouting. "What's so different about now that you'll touch me and fuck me senseless, if it's not a power trip?"
"I thought you were dead, after the war," the Doctor whispered, a tremor of emotion under his voice that couldn't be hidden. "I never realized how much I would miss you."
The Master took a hesitant step back as he processed what the Doctor had said. That wasn't part of the plan, not how this argument was supposed to go. He was losing control of it and he had to get back to hurting the Doctor somehow... Yet all he could do was stand there and act stunned. "What do you mean?" he demanded shakily, trying to buy time to think of how to use the earlier admission against the Doctor.
"I mean you and the rest of the Time Lords were dead," the Doctor said flatly, straightening up with a wince and shifting off his bad foot. "And I thought about you... You know, it's funny. All that time I was half convinced you were invincible. Koschei the Deathless, refusing to accept your own mortality. Then you were gone, you and all the others. It was me that survived the longest, but you weren't supposed to be gone!"
The Master started to tremble, though he tried to hide the fact as much as possible. He'd never expected the accusation in the Doctor's voice. He hadn't expected the sheer amount of grief in the Doctor's eyes either, and he stood there numbly as the Doctor went on, the terrible storm building and raging on. "All that time, I thought you were dead and I realized that I'd never held you, never kissed you, and I regretted that. Master, I regretted that so much."
The drums were pounding in his head incessantly, making it nigh impossible to think. He struggled to grab onto a thought, to keep hold of the conversation. "You didn't... You didn't try it before though. You had that whole Year."
"Master, you were killing people and hurting my friends. I couldn't, not while you were destroying everything." The Doctor limped forward and the Master steeled himself. He refused to retreat from this, refused to back down from the drums screaming in his head.
"Master-"
"So you're saying this can only be on your terms?" the Master asked, putting as much venom into his voice as he could manage while still reeling. "What about my terms? My desires? What if I say I can't live with your way of doing things any more than you can live with mine?"
The Doctor stopped moving, lowering the hand he was reaching out with to touch the Master. It fell back to his side and through the screaming of the drums the Master could see the heartbreak on the Doctor's face. That should have been a triumph, but the Master couldn't muster up a feeling of success. "Then I'm sorry, but you're still my responsibility," the Doctor said sadly. "It's my duty to keep you from hurting anyone."
The Master was cruelly reminded of the fact that the Doctor could and did live without him. However much the Doctor said that he'd missed him, it was the same. The Doctor could and did refuse his terms, but the Master wasn't so sure he could do the same, not now that he'd had this.
The drums weren't going away either, the silence spurring them on as reality crumbled around him. He heard the Doctor call his name, but he could barely register the Doctor's voice over the pounding, much less formulate a reply. The Master swayed in place, not entirely sure how he managed to stay upright at all. "Can't you hear them? The drums?" he asked, almost pleading.
When the Doctor's arms wrapped around him, leading him to the kitchen table, it was like the sound barrier had been broken. He could hear the Doctor's words over the drums and could finally understand them. "-so sorry, but I can't. Master, it's just the noise in your head. It's not real. Just let me help you..."
The last time he'd heard those words, he'd been defeated, about to be shot and brought back to life against his wishes. He'd still tried to fight them, falling on a back-up plan of a back-up plan that the Doctor had smashed out of his hand. This time the pounding was worse, and all he could do was lean against the Doctor for support. Somehow, he managed to end up in one of the kitchen chairs with the Doctor beside him, holding him close.
The drums usually weren't this bad before. They'd gotten worse since the Time War ended and once he'd regained himself in Malcassairo. Now they sometimes overwhelmed him to the point of collapsing. The Master made sure no one saw him during those times, however, not even Lucy. This was twice now in the past couple of days that all he could do was feebly clutch at the Doctor as the drums took his control away. The fact that the Doctor was here and how much the Master needed him...
He hated every second of it, yet couldn't bear to tear himself away.
The Doctor babbled on about the War, about how he would help the Master, about the places they could go. He only half paid attention to the Doctor's words as the four hellish beats took over his consciousness. Three words kept coming up, however. Three words the Doctor kept repeating over and over again with almost the same repetitive resonance of the drums. Not 'I'm so sorry', or 'Let me help', though the Doctor did say those two phrases plenty of times as well. No, these three words the Mater had only dreamed the Doctor would say in his wildest fantasies and darkest nightmares. The Master still didn't know if he believed them, but he clung to the words regardless.
"I hate you," the Master said weakly in response, pressing flurried kisses to the Doctor's neck as the drums demanded more. He started to loosen the Doctor's tie and undo the buttons that had been hidden underneath. It was terrible, because he had no more control over his body than he had that first night on the TARDIS, yet he couldn't stop. He couldn't really hate it either, no matter what he'd said.
The Doctor caught his hands again, gently this time though. "Are you sure you want this?" he asked, searching the Master's hazel eyes.
Did he want this? Yes-Yes-Yes-Yes. No-No-No-No. Four drum beats screaming at him to go on, four heart beats too frightened to continue. He didn't want these terms of engagement, didn't want to give in and say yes to what the Doctor was asking of him for even a second, not when the Doctor could refuse his in return. At the same time, he did desperately want this, wanted the Doctor's love for as long as he could have it.
This affair was ever a fleeting thing, as anything involving the Doctor ended up being. Inevitably, they would end up fighting again, but right now he could have the Doctor's hands running along his body even as he was allowed to touch the Doctor in return. He could bask in those three words just for a short time, even if the Doctor could never meant them in the way the Master wanted him to.
The Master closed his eyes, the Doctor staying perfectly still as he waited for the Master's answer. He didn't give the Master an excuse to say he'd been forced into the decision this time, and the Master spent equal beats cursing and blessing him for it. He needed the control, but he didn't want to have to make this choice. In the end, it came down to one simple thing.
Better to have this now than never at all.
"Yes," he said finally as he opened his eyes. Wincing at how weak his voice sounded, the Master swallowed before trying again. "I do want this. I want..."
The Doctor leaned down, kissing away his doubts until he was delirious with sensation. He moaned into the Doctor's mouth as the lanky man stroked him through those ridiculously striped trousers. The Master's own hands were fumbling with shirt buttons, increasingly frustrated as he couldn't remember how to work them properly. His memory was not helped by the Doctor's other hand squeezing his arse, either, but he was damned if he would stop kissing the Doctor long enough to tell him that.
Last time, the Master's inability to stop had been his sole focus under the beat of the drums. Now though, once he had gotten those blasted buttons of the Doctor's shirt undone, he could focus on the Doctor. He ran his hands down that skinny torso under the Doctor's shirt before pinching the Doctor's nipples, making sure to be careful of the bruises that were visible on the Doctor's shoulders. The Doctor had been careful of his wounds last time, despite everything else, always gentle with his shoulder. As much as the Master liked seeing the Doctor in pain, he was far more rewarded by watching the Doctor gasp in pleasure as he tightened his grip around the Master's cock.
That was... Oh, that was impossibly good, feeling the Doctor getting harder because of what he'd done. The Master stopped kissing him long enough to move his mouth down to gently suck and bite at the Doctor's chest. Those short gasps and long moans were his new addiction and the Master greedily pulled the Doctor's hips closer.
He wasn't sure how, but one second he was half crawling into the Doctor's lap, the next he was being pressed up against the table with the Doctor making short work of the Rassilon-forsaken striped trousers. The Master kicked the rest of them off, his bare feet pushing them to the side as he desperately tried to rub against the table for more friction.
Then the Doctor turned him around and was biting down on his neck - again - and as the Doctor sucked at the spot the Master no longer thought. Control was slipping away from him again as his hips bucked up against the Doctor. For a moment, the sick fear came back. He clutched at the Doctor, desperately caught between pleasure and terror. Every other time he'd had intimate encounters with others, he'd never lost control of himself, even in his pleasure. He'd had sex with Lucy regularly after they'd been married, but he was always in control of how he hurt her, of how he allowed her to pleasure him. But all those people, they had never been the Doctor. The Doctor drove him mad in a way that even the drums couldn't and his hard-fought concentration was spiraling out of control.
It terrified him.
"Sh..." the Doctor said into his ear, lips brushing against his skin and sending shivers down the Master's spine. No, those weren't shivers. The Master was trembling. He flushed with shame as the Doctor held him against his chest, hand stilling on the Master's cock completely and moving away.
"It's okay," the Doctor said gently, eyes closed in concentration as he focused on restraint. "I'll stop this time, if that's what you want. Do you want to stop?"
The Master didn't think. He just turned to kiss the Doctor, careful of the bruise he'd left when he'd hit the Doctor. But the Doctor pulled him back even as the Master whimpered at the loss. "Master, listen to me. You need to actually make this choice. Do you want to stop?"
The Master's eyes came into focus as he sat there breathlessly. Blessedly, control seeped back to him as he realized what the Doctor was doing. It was a form of control, to agree to give it up willingly. If he said he wanted to go further, he would lose himself but he wouldn't be lost like he had last time. The Doctor was giving him this, the control to want to lose himself. Part of him hated the Doctor for needing him to give it, but a larger part was just grateful for the chance to get his head above the water to keep from drowning.
The Master forced himself to take a deep breath, grasping at the control the Doctor offered. Did he want this? Well, it was rather obvious that his body did, with every second the Doctor's hands were absent from him a constant reminder of what the Master was missing. His body apparently had no problem letting the Doctor do whatever the hell he wanted to it.
The Master's mind, on the other hand... He didn't want to lose any more control than he already had. His fear was nearly to a tipping point, overflowing to drown him if he weren't careful. While he wasn't adverse to showing weakness or fear if the occasion called for it (generally in pleading for his life, which he was never above doing), he didn't like being controlled by it any more than he liked his body responding on its own accord to the Doctor. Which meant... if he could control the fear, did he want this?
Rassilon, yes.
He could feel the Doctor's growing concern as the Master's breath hitched, but he didn't want the Doctor's concern. He wanted the Doctor's hands on his body, the Doctor's mouth on his and lust driving away every thought except for the Master from the Doctor's mind. It was his right to have it, because the Doctor's submission was his.
The Master let go of his control, this time willingly putting his head under the water. He kissed the Doctor, raising his hips off the table to press against the Doctor's still maddeningly covered erection.
"I'll take that as a yes then?" the Doctor asked cheerfully as the Master was forced to gasp for breath when the Doctor's hands started moving again. The Master started to pull that bloody jumper over his head, but he got distracted when the Doctor's hand-
"Doctor!" he gasped, grabbing the Doctor's wrist and only sparing a second to wonder where in Rassilon's name the Doctor had gotten the lube from. Or when he'd managed to put it on his fingers, for that matter. He would realize later that the Doctor's coat was half-falling off the chair he'd folded it on earlier, as if someone had been fumbling through the pockets blindly while waiting for the Master to make up his mind. Right now he had more pressing things to worry about, literally pressing against him, waiting to spread him open.
The Doctor grinned, running his other hand down the Master's thighs lightly and to his shame his legs opened automatically. "You liked it last time," the Doctor said, kissing the Master's neck again. The Master whimpered, trying to stop himself from sliding down the table to meet the Doctor's fingers. He found his grip on the Doctor's wrist relaxing despite his best efforts to the contrary. The Doctor's lips were moving upward to his ear, pausing for just a second as the Master shuddered against him. "Please let me, Master," the Doctor whispered, lips brushing against the Master's ear.
"You manipulative bast-Yes! Oh... Doctor, you're... I really hate you... Ah, more, please..." The Doctor was biting down and sucking on his ear, his fingers stretching the Master open the second he let go of the bastard's wrist. The Master got harder every time the Doctor asked, each time using his name. The Doctor gave him the chance to refuse, knowing full well he couldn't have said no if he wanted to. At the same time, it was the illusion of control that the Master clung to, that the Doctor had to ask his permission to add a second and third finger, to kiss his shoulder and to be called Master between every kiss. It was an infuriating-glorious-terrifying-euphoric ecstasy that grew with every beat of the drums.
"You'll build a resistance to this, I'm sure," the Doctor said with a damnable smirk as the Master barely managed a glare. "Which means I need to take advantage of this while I can." Quite honestly, the Master wasn't sure he'd ever be able to build up a resistance if the Doctor was going to be so hellishly good at this, but he wasn't allowed much of a chance to even consider it as the Doctor's fingers curled inside him.
When the Doctor pulled his fingers out, the Master whimpered, his hips bucking at the loss. The Doctor didn't have to ask to enter him. He was already begging for it. The Master was flipped over onto his stomach, still wearing the long forgotten jumper and straining against the table as the Doctor leaned over him and asked anyway. "May I enter you, Master?"
The Master practically screamed yes as the Doctor rubbed his erection over the Master's arse and he gasped and moaned as the Doctor finally pushed in. How the Doctor was managing to do all this standing when the Master knew for a fact how bad the wound on his leg had been, the Master didn't know. Himself, he was barely able to keep his legs from buckling under him even as he used the table for support.
The Doctor, bastard that he was, took his time about it. He'd work both of them up nearly to the brink before stopping short and teasingly pulling out completely. Then he'd touch the Master mentally and start the whole process again until the Master could barely remember his own name. All he knew was the Doctor.
"Master..." the Doctor whispered in his ear after several long kisses to his shoulder. The lust in the Doctor's voice was driving him mad, and the Master arched back against the Doctor's body greedily, whimpering as he still didn't get the release he craved. The Doctor, however, came inside him, calling out the Master's name. After a few more thrusts, the Doctor leaned back over to the Master's ear breathlessly. "Master, may I make you come?"
"Yes!" the Master practically sobbed. It only took a few strokes before the Master was released, falling limply against the Doctor who pulled out of him and managed to drag both of their weary bodies back over to one of the chairs. The Doctor was still stroking him through the aftershocks as the Master curled up against him. It was the last thing he remembered before dropping off to sleep.
He awoke sometime later, surprised to find himself sans the rest of his clothes and tucked away in the Doctor's bed. He wasn't even going to try and contemplate how the Doctor had managed this feat when he couldn't put any weight on his left leg. Instead, he blinked wearily and pressed closer against the Doctor who was just as naked and curled up around him. The drums were still present - always present - but were quiet, simply part of the never-ending background noise in his head.
The Master hadn't felt this good in ages, in spite of how sore his body was. He didn't let himself think about anything other than his euphoria of having the Doctor at this moment. How he had dreamed of this, ever since their days in the academy, to wake up sated with the Doctor in his arms. His happiness was only a passing illusion that would be gone the second he grounded himself back in the reality of their circumstances, but one he willingly let himself be lost to while the Doctor still slept.
He soon fell asleep again in the Doctor's arms, dreaming of the Doctor willingly being this close to him. A dream he didn't want to wake up from to return to the fighting and hurting each other. Even as he thought that, however, the dream turned into a nightmare as the collar cut into his throat and the Doctor watched mercilessly. The collar choked him and tortured him with shocks that sent immense pain through his body, but not killing him as the Doctor laughed. This sort of nightmare always used to end with his death, but now it kept going in an eternal hell.
Before his terror could wake him up, however, he felt the Doctor's mind unobtrusively enter his, sending thoughts of warmth and comfort that the Master had never imagined possible. Without looking at the dream, the Doctor eased it out of the Master's thoughts and memory. He gave the Master a fond mental caress before leaving him once again for a more restful sleep.
A few hours later, he woke to the Doctor's fingers rubbing against his cheek lightly. It was a movement that was so light it was obviously aimed not to wake him, as if the Doctor simply needed to touch the Master to remind himself this was real. He let the Doctor continue to think he was asleep for a while, simply relishing in the small touch and the warmth of the Doctor's body against his.
Finally, the Master mustered up enough willpower to open his eyes and glare at the Doctor. The look earned him a raised eyebrow, but he didn't let up on the gaze. "That wasn't what I meant when I said I wanted it," the Master explained. The harshness of his voice due to sleep thankfully covered most of the sulking tone that had crept up on him.
The Doctor smiled, kissing him on the forehead. "I know. I'm sorry. I promise, next time I'll behave a bit better."
The words 'next time' sent a pleasant shiver down the Master's spine as he let the Doctor coax him out of the glare. "I'm sorry about..." the Doctor started lightly, pulling the Master closer before he continued. "I'm sorry you thought I was ignoring you, too. I did check on you, but... Well, I thought you didn't want to see me, so I stayed out of your way."
The Master didn't respond to that, though he accepted the logic. It still hurt, those four weeks of longing, but learning that the Doctor had checked on him eased some of it. "I'm still going to escape," the Master said sometime later, resting his head against the Doctor's neck. He could pretend that he was happy right now, but that's all it was, pretending. So long as he was a prisoner with this collar around his neck, the Master would continue to be miserable.
The Doctor merely nodded, his fingers nearly tracing down to the collar before pulling away hastily. "I know," he said, arms tightening fractionally around the Master. "I'm sorry. I am sorry, Master. But I can't let you go, not after all you've done. I'll try to make things more bearable for-"
"Don't," the Master growled, his shoulders tensing as he ducked his head. He didn't want to see the Doctor's eyes right now. "Don't start. I don't want to hear it! I'm sick of your apologies and 'making things more bearable' when I still have this slave collar around my neck. Apologies won't change things. I still won't forgive you."
The Doctor stilled at this and for awhile neither of them spoke. As much as he wanted to, the Master couldn't quite bring himself to pull away. Slowly the Doctor's hands started to massage the tension out of his shoulders. When he spoke again, it wasn't with apologies. "I'm glad you stayed this time."
Looking up in surprise, the Master didn't respond. He did arch into the Doctor's hands though, pressing a light kiss to the Doctor's collarbone. It was wrong for him to stay like this, and the Master knew it. His pride was wounded enough that he couldn't afford to remain or not use this as part of his escape, but the Master couldn't bring himself to care just yet. He wanted to be close to the Doctor, circumstances and all, and that desire was currently overriding his tattered pride.
"Where do we go from here?" the Master heard himself ask. He frowned at how weak his voice sounded, coughing experimentally as he tried to figure out how that had happened.
The Doctor shook his head, mussed fringe falling into his eyes. "I don't know," he said. The Master absently drummed against the Doctor's chest, the constant beat reminding him of just how much was unknown between them. It frightened him a little, not knowing what to expect or what to plan from here.
The Doctor continued speaking, a hand reaching out to cover the Master's but not stopping him from drumming. "Hadn't really planned on much... Just been winging it, for the most part. Always worked for me in the past. Do you want a plan?"
He did, actually, but the Master shook his head in response. He could come up with something on his own when he could think clearly, probably far better than any attempt at a plan he could discuss with this particular regeneration of the Doctor. Besides, then the Doctor wouldn't know his full hand.
The Doctor grinned lazily down at him, kissing his forehead again. The Master found he was beginning not to mind the gesture so much, despite how condescending it was. "Brilliant," the Doctor said, ruffling the Master's hair. That he did mind, and the Master scowled up at the Doctor as he went on. "That really is just brilliant. Look at us. Over 900 years we've known each other, and we're trying something new. A new adventure! Allons-y!"
The Master glared as the Doctor made enthusiastic movements with his hands, jostling them both. Once he'd stopped, the Master settled back against him. He was a prisoner to his feelings more than he was ever a prisoner to the Doctor. He knew he could eventually escape the Doctor himself, but as for the contentment of curling up with the Doctor... The Master leaned into the Doctor's caress and didn't know if it were possible to escape it.
If he even wanted to.
~FINI~
Memory: Well, there you have it. Like I said, I wouldn't count on more. That depends entirely how interesting I think the next part would be and it's not looking too good right now. Plus, I've got other things lined up to write, so it'd take a while even if I did write it. Still, I hope you enjoyed the sequel for what it's worth. I don't think it quite measures up to the original, but that's just me. Anyway, I think the Master has at least five of the seven causes in the quote of the fic. Chance is debatable and reason is right out, but the others, definitely. <3
Quote of the Fic:
"All human actions have one or more of these seven causes: chance, nature, compulsion, habit, reason, passion, and desire."
-Aristotle