Fic: Kill Me Romantically
Title: Kill Me Romantically
Author: lindest
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1455
Characters and pairings: Ainley!Master/Peri/Five
Warnings: PWP, darkfic, mentions of sexual abuse
Spoilers: set, somehow, between The Planet of Fire and The Caves of Androzani
Disclaimer: Doctor Who is the intellectual property of the BBC. No infringement on that right is meant by this fan work.
Author's Note: Takes an aspect of the novel Shell Shock by Simon Forward as canon. Title and interludes taken from the song "Love Me Dead" by Ludo.
Summary: The Master knows Peri better than the Doctor does.
She moves through moonbeams slowly / She knows just how to hold me / And when her edges soften
Her body is my coffin / I know she drains me slowly / She wears me down to bones in bed
Must be the sign on my head that says, "Oh... Love me dead! Love me dead!"
------
She lies on silken sheets, eyes dark and wide with lust, bare breasts cradled by her small hands. She is watching them, watching them bite and grapple with each other, their parody of foreplay. Go down fighting and they keep their pride, each straining to break the other.
This version of the Doctor is just soft enough, sweet faced and vulnerable and greedy for his Master’s attention. He sinks on the bed, wrapping his lips and tongue around the other’s cock. Eager, here, no matter what face he puts on outside. Such an attractive picture that the Master can hardly tear his eyes away.
But they have an audience now, Peri’s mouth round and slack in a soft ‘o’. Close enough that the Master can touch her, flicking his thumb against her rosy nipple. She doesn’t flinch, but he catches the flicker in her eyes. He presses his hand against her temple to see.
And there it is, the scars, her stepfather’s coy and cloying voice in her ear as he fucks her. The rage, barely muted over time, the need to flee. Suddenly he knows it all, understands how they have come to this moment. She is desperate for escape. Does the Doctor know? Can he comprehend the darkness of a split soul? No, no more than he can understand the Master’s needs. Ignorance and a blinding sense of self-righteousness shield him.
“My dear Miss Brown,” he murmurs with warmth, his voice equal parts oil and honey, and sticks two fingers between her parted lips. She sucks obediently, a porcelain doll with a wet and slurping tongue, head bobbing in counter time to the Doctor.
The Doctor groans, watching them and pulling at himself erratically. The Master strings their minds together like glass beads. He is the conduit, sparking with the power of their sharing. Peri cannot give pleasure but she can accept it, hungrily dragging their consciousness to hers. Her untamed mindscape is stormy blue, swirling like the Vortex, human but utterly twisted. The Master feels his pulse pounding in his skull- boom boom boom boom- and embraces it.
He can feel the crest of the wave rising in him, the Doctor’s mouth finding the right spots now and dragging him towards his climax. He kisses her, unable to decide whether it’s because he needs to or wants to, one hand buried in her coffee brown hair, the other kneading her pert breast. Their tongues clash. She surges against him, and then he is coming, deep in the Doctor’s throat.
The Doctor pulls away coughing, pearly trails fluttering down from the edges of his lips. He’s pink and dishevelled, vest rumpled up to reveal several inches of pale stomach above his taut member, his dignity abandoned for the sake of lust. But the sea change is there, under his skin now, eyes more than the usual lustful daze. He’s looking at them, taking in the way the Master’s lips come away from kisses blood-dark, staring at the way Peri’s locks are tangled in the Master’s fist.
The air around them seems to smoulder.
The Doctor moves, light and fast as a cat, to claim his companion from his enemy. The intention is clear, the possessive if unspoken “mine” hanging between them. The Master laughs to himself, catching Peri’s expression. She is prettily pleased, curling her hot human skin against the Doctor’s cooler body. Sweat is beading at her hairline and between her breasts as she strokes herself.
The Master watches them touching themselves and touching each other. Peri’s fingers come up slick after each rub, and he imagines driving into her wet heat. Would it be better than the Doctor’s mouth? “Fuck her,” he commands, drawing the sheet up about him, a hint not at modesty but at the coolness the air in the TARDIS.
The Doctor meets his eyes, asking for confirmation and earning it as the Master leans forward and massages his fingers against the Doctor’s temples. For that first blind second of sinking in, they are as one, not Doctor and Master (Theta and Koshei) but a nameless entity, a sum greater than the parts.
For a moment, their consciousnesses writhe against each other, souls lost in a joined ecstasy. The Master takes control, plucking the strings of sensation in the Doctor’s mindscape, sending the harmony skittering in vibrations to every last nerve. And when the Doctor is lost, enflamed by the Master’s touch, he hardly recognises the moment when he is guided into Peri’s tight flesh.
Sloppy desperate thrusts, the slap of flesh to the rhythm of five hearts, the Master pushing them both to the edge. “Master, Master, Master,” exhales the Doctor with each pulse of pleasure. Even Peri screams out his name as climax is ripped from her. There is no escaping the wrench of sensation in his own cock when he hears them coming for him, and he lets himself get swept away in the backlash of psychic euphoria.
-----
Love me cancerously / How's your new boy? / Does he know about me?
-----
The royal purple dressing gown is draped around her arms loosely, leaving her shoulders bare and wisp thin. "You won’t tell him," Peri says softly, her eyes staring at a spot on the wall. Somewhere in the TARDIS, the Doctor is showering, believing his lovers to still be safely tucked away in his bed.
"No, I don’t think I will," the Master agrees. He places a hand on her waist, and now she shudders, recoiling. Very well. He releases her, not smiling anymore. "You should."
"No." Her voice lacks her usual volatility and emotion. "No one is supposed to know."
The faint echoes of future possibilities are buzzing through the air. Things to come, things he can see for her, and none of them good. He steps back from her, extracting his gloves from a deep pocket and elegantly gliding them on. He turns to leave for his own TARDIS, following the pattern of quiet escape that is his routine after encounters like these. No sabotage, no scheming, just calculated retreat.
"How do you do it? Love him even when you hate him?"
Her human words are shallow, nearly devoid of meaning most of the time. But there is no Gallifreyan equivalent to these words- love and hate- which encompasses an equal emotion. They have many words, added together with the tenses of the fourth and fifth dimensions, and over a lifetime they become something close to a truth.
"Because it always was, and always will be."
Peri turns to face him, white as a sheet. The Master finds himself catching small details about her, as though she is in more focus than the rest of the room. Her hair is curling around her ears. There is an eyelash glued to her cheekbone, and a bruise blooming on the crest of her bosom. "Is it enough?"
"No."
She takes a deep breath. "You go on pretending, fighting across the stars. But you should tell him."
"It is not pretend, Peri." He finds himself using her name, and why not? Surely that intimacy is allowed after so many others shared between them. He knows her secret, but she knows nothing of him. "You have been allowed just a glimpse of what we are," he reminds.
She smiles at him, thin, but a genuine one; the first he’s seen from her all evening. "I guess you want me to thank you now."
"A simple good night would suffice, Peri."
She parrots it back to him, tightening her clothes about her. "Good night, Master."
He cups her chin in his hand, studying her face for just a moment, stroking her abused lips with his thumb. She looks puzzled for a second but allows it, her smile brightening to one of knowing affection.
He taps into her mind so gently she doesn’t even feel it, and wipes this night from her memory. Every longing kiss, every healing touch- restoring her to the raw creature that nearly drowned trying to escape her stepfather in Lanzarote. Then he plucks the taut string of her consciousness. Peri’s eyes roll back; she collapses in a faint in his arms.
He lets her slump to the floor. The Doctor would have done a hatchet job on her mind. It’s better this way.
The Master gives the TARDIS console a hard kick before leaving.
Author: lindest
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1455
Characters and pairings: Ainley!Master/Peri/Five
Warnings: PWP, darkfic, mentions of sexual abuse
Spoilers: set, somehow, between The Planet of Fire and The Caves of Androzani
Disclaimer: Doctor Who is the intellectual property of the BBC. No infringement on that right is meant by this fan work.
Author's Note: Takes an aspect of the novel Shell Shock by Simon Forward as canon. Title and interludes taken from the song "Love Me Dead" by Ludo.
Summary: The Master knows Peri better than the Doctor does.
She moves through moonbeams slowly / She knows just how to hold me / And when her edges soften
Her body is my coffin / I know she drains me slowly / She wears me down to bones in bed
Must be the sign on my head that says, "Oh... Love me dead! Love me dead!"
------
She lies on silken sheets, eyes dark and wide with lust, bare breasts cradled by her small hands. She is watching them, watching them bite and grapple with each other, their parody of foreplay. Go down fighting and they keep their pride, each straining to break the other.
This version of the Doctor is just soft enough, sweet faced and vulnerable and greedy for his Master’s attention. He sinks on the bed, wrapping his lips and tongue around the other’s cock. Eager, here, no matter what face he puts on outside. Such an attractive picture that the Master can hardly tear his eyes away.
But they have an audience now, Peri’s mouth round and slack in a soft ‘o’. Close enough that the Master can touch her, flicking his thumb against her rosy nipple. She doesn’t flinch, but he catches the flicker in her eyes. He presses his hand against her temple to see.
And there it is, the scars, her stepfather’s coy and cloying voice in her ear as he fucks her. The rage, barely muted over time, the need to flee. Suddenly he knows it all, understands how they have come to this moment. She is desperate for escape. Does the Doctor know? Can he comprehend the darkness of a split soul? No, no more than he can understand the Master’s needs. Ignorance and a blinding sense of self-righteousness shield him.
“My dear Miss Brown,” he murmurs with warmth, his voice equal parts oil and honey, and sticks two fingers between her parted lips. She sucks obediently, a porcelain doll with a wet and slurping tongue, head bobbing in counter time to the Doctor.
The Doctor groans, watching them and pulling at himself erratically. The Master strings their minds together like glass beads. He is the conduit, sparking with the power of their sharing. Peri cannot give pleasure but she can accept it, hungrily dragging their consciousness to hers. Her untamed mindscape is stormy blue, swirling like the Vortex, human but utterly twisted. The Master feels his pulse pounding in his skull- boom boom boom boom- and embraces it.
He can feel the crest of the wave rising in him, the Doctor’s mouth finding the right spots now and dragging him towards his climax. He kisses her, unable to decide whether it’s because he needs to or wants to, one hand buried in her coffee brown hair, the other kneading her pert breast. Their tongues clash. She surges against him, and then he is coming, deep in the Doctor’s throat.
The Doctor pulls away coughing, pearly trails fluttering down from the edges of his lips. He’s pink and dishevelled, vest rumpled up to reveal several inches of pale stomach above his taut member, his dignity abandoned for the sake of lust. But the sea change is there, under his skin now, eyes more than the usual lustful daze. He’s looking at them, taking in the way the Master’s lips come away from kisses blood-dark, staring at the way Peri’s locks are tangled in the Master’s fist.
The air around them seems to smoulder.
The Doctor moves, light and fast as a cat, to claim his companion from his enemy. The intention is clear, the possessive if unspoken “mine” hanging between them. The Master laughs to himself, catching Peri’s expression. She is prettily pleased, curling her hot human skin against the Doctor’s cooler body. Sweat is beading at her hairline and between her breasts as she strokes herself.
The Master watches them touching themselves and touching each other. Peri’s fingers come up slick after each rub, and he imagines driving into her wet heat. Would it be better than the Doctor’s mouth? “Fuck her,” he commands, drawing the sheet up about him, a hint not at modesty but at the coolness the air in the TARDIS.
The Doctor meets his eyes, asking for confirmation and earning it as the Master leans forward and massages his fingers against the Doctor’s temples. For that first blind second of sinking in, they are as one, not Doctor and Master (Theta and Koshei) but a nameless entity, a sum greater than the parts.
For a moment, their consciousnesses writhe against each other, souls lost in a joined ecstasy. The Master takes control, plucking the strings of sensation in the Doctor’s mindscape, sending the harmony skittering in vibrations to every last nerve. And when the Doctor is lost, enflamed by the Master’s touch, he hardly recognises the moment when he is guided into Peri’s tight flesh.
Sloppy desperate thrusts, the slap of flesh to the rhythm of five hearts, the Master pushing them both to the edge. “Master, Master, Master,” exhales the Doctor with each pulse of pleasure. Even Peri screams out his name as climax is ripped from her. There is no escaping the wrench of sensation in his own cock when he hears them coming for him, and he lets himself get swept away in the backlash of psychic euphoria.
-----
Love me cancerously / How's your new boy? / Does he know about me?
-----
The royal purple dressing gown is draped around her arms loosely, leaving her shoulders bare and wisp thin. "You won’t tell him," Peri says softly, her eyes staring at a spot on the wall. Somewhere in the TARDIS, the Doctor is showering, believing his lovers to still be safely tucked away in his bed.
"No, I don’t think I will," the Master agrees. He places a hand on her waist, and now she shudders, recoiling. Very well. He releases her, not smiling anymore. "You should."
"No." Her voice lacks her usual volatility and emotion. "No one is supposed to know."
The faint echoes of future possibilities are buzzing through the air. Things to come, things he can see for her, and none of them good. He steps back from her, extracting his gloves from a deep pocket and elegantly gliding them on. He turns to leave for his own TARDIS, following the pattern of quiet escape that is his routine after encounters like these. No sabotage, no scheming, just calculated retreat.
"How do you do it? Love him even when you hate him?"
Her human words are shallow, nearly devoid of meaning most of the time. But there is no Gallifreyan equivalent to these words- love and hate- which encompasses an equal emotion. They have many words, added together with the tenses of the fourth and fifth dimensions, and over a lifetime they become something close to a truth.
"Because it always was, and always will be."
Peri turns to face him, white as a sheet. The Master finds himself catching small details about her, as though she is in more focus than the rest of the room. Her hair is curling around her ears. There is an eyelash glued to her cheekbone, and a bruise blooming on the crest of her bosom. "Is it enough?"
"No."
She takes a deep breath. "You go on pretending, fighting across the stars. But you should tell him."
"It is not pretend, Peri." He finds himself using her name, and why not? Surely that intimacy is allowed after so many others shared between them. He knows her secret, but she knows nothing of him. "You have been allowed just a glimpse of what we are," he reminds.
She smiles at him, thin, but a genuine one; the first he’s seen from her all evening. "I guess you want me to thank you now."
"A simple good night would suffice, Peri."
She parrots it back to him, tightening her clothes about her. "Good night, Master."
He cups her chin in his hand, studying her face for just a moment, stroking her abused lips with his thumb. She looks puzzled for a second but allows it, her smile brightening to one of knowing affection.
He taps into her mind so gently she doesn’t even feel it, and wipes this night from her memory. Every longing kiss, every healing touch- restoring her to the raw creature that nearly drowned trying to escape her stepfather in Lanzarote. Then he plucks the taut string of her consciousness. Peri’s eyes roll back; she collapses in a faint in his arms.
He lets her slump to the floor. The Doctor would have done a hatchet job on her mind. It’s better this way.
The Master gives the TARDIS console a hard kick before leaving.