fic! How To Get Sex... (Doctor/Master)
Title: How To Get Sex From Your Non-Evil Ex-Boyfriend Who Isn't Anywhere Near As Pretty As He Thinks He Is
Pairing: Ten/Simm!Master
Rating: R for all sorts of things.
Warnings: Sexual stuff, swearing, a brief homoerotic fight, and the Master doesn't actually get his non-con on but he does consider it for about a sentence.
Summary: In which the Master really really wants to have sex.
There were many things about the Doctor that the Master utterly despised, and currently leading the list was his stubborn refusal to put out on a regular basis. Living together on the TARDIS might be a bit less unspeakably awful if he could at least get a decent shag out of it. The Master wasn't asking for much, two or three times a day would be perfectly sufficient, but the Doctor for some reason believed that having sex with someone on the far end of the evil spectrum was somehow morally wrong.
It had happened, of course. They'd had sex on precisely two occasions, but they'd been parked in the vortex together for four months now and it simply wasn't enough.
The first - and best - shag had been in the first week. The Master had started by mocking the Doctor's infamous fetish for Humans and had finished with an extremely graphic and entirely fictional account of having sex with President Romana. The Doctor had nobly defended the honour of his late ex-girlfriend by punching the Master in the face.
This had led to a physical confrontation, partly because the Master didn't enjoy pain outside the bedroom and partly because he wanted to see how far the Doctor would go. There was an inevitable homoeroticism to all that sweating and swearing and rolling about on top of each other, and so they fought until they fucked.
The Master had ruled out a repeat of that performance because it had led to the Doctor disappearing for almost a week after realising what he'd done, and there weren't enough episodes of Teletubbies to stave off the boredom that had entailed.
Then there was the time that the Doctor stupidly decided to seek some sort of emotional comfort from his prisoner and the Master took advantage of the situation. There had been a certain evil thrill to kicking the Doctor out of the room immediately after he'd finished with him, but he'd been left with the nagging feeling that he'd done something beneath himself and then the Doctor wouldn't talk to him for three days. So that was out as well.
He sat with his feet on the console and glared at the Doctor, who was spitefully pretending not to notice. If he really cared about the Master then surely he'd take care of all his needs? But no, he just wandered about in that annoyingly fuckable body like some sort of born-again virgin.
Certainly he'd thought about just taking him by force, but those fantasies climaxed with the Doctor wanting him and begging him and that sort of thing simply didn't happen outside bad erotica. Mind control had similar problems and he knew he wouldn't be able to convince himself that the Doctor really wanted it.
The Master glanced around the room and caught the Doctor staring at him. He looked away almost immediately, but not before the Master realised that he'd been biting his own thumb, and wasn't that interesting? He raised an eyebrow and smirked. Oh, Doctor. Silly, pathetic, obvious Doctor.
He moved his legs a bit further apart and replaced his thumb with two fingers. Feeling certain the Doctor was watching from the corner of his eye, he set about making it glaringly obvious what he wanted to do to him. The Doctor completely failed to take the hint, so he loosened his tie and reached to undo his trousers.
"You're not doing that here," said the Doctor, finally looking up at him.
"Doing what here?" he asked ever-so-innocently.
"You're not wanking in my console room. You're just not."
"I wouldn't need to if you'd show enough consideration to let me fuck you once in a while."
The Doctor stared up at the ceiling. "Not this again." He turned his attention back to the Master. "No, I am not going to have sex with you."
The Master jumped to his feet and walked towards the only other Time Lord in the universe. "Two shags, Doctor. Two shags in four months and you expect me to believe that's enough for you? Hormones everywhere, me as sexy as ever, this ship stinks of sexual frustration and it's not just me. And yet for some reason -"
"Three reasons, actually. One, you're evil. Two, you're evil. Three - and this is the most important reason - you're evil."
"That's one reason repeated three times," said the Master with a roll of his eyes. He leaned in. "If you really intend to keep us locked in this TARDIS for the rest of eternity, then I'm your only possible sexual partner. No one could judge you for that, and anyway who's ever going to know?"
"I'd know!"
Acting on a sudden certainty the Master spun the Doctor round from the console and glanced down. He looked up again with a satisfied smirk. "Why, Doctor, I'm hardly an expert, but I do believe that's an erection."
"That's just an automatic response, it doesn't mean anything."
The Master pressed against him. "I've got one too," he said. "We're a matched pair." He rocked his hips against the Doctor. "Let's have a bit of a sword-fight, eh? Ages since we had one of those."
The Doctor was flushed and perfectly still. "I don't remember agreeing to this."
"And yet you haven't pushed me away. Interesting." It wasn't not quite what he'd had in mind, but the friction was extremely pleasant and he'd take what he could get at this point. He grabbed the Doctor's head and kissed him, was rewarded with the sanctimonious slut starting to move with him. The Doctor leaned back a bit on the console and gazed at him, love-struck.
And, yes, he was going to come in his trousers, which he usually hated, but the Doctor was going to do exactly the same thing and there seemed to be a fairly good chance that this would lead to the Master getting a proper shag from him at least occasionally.
Which meant he couldn't say anything especially evil right now, but that was fine, he was quite enjoying watching the Doctor writhing and begging for him. Then he came suddenly and the Master saw no reason not to just finish up immediately himself.
If the Doctor ran off to flagellate in a corner somewhere, the Master might actually kill him.
Well, no, he wouldn't actually kill him. But he'd be very angry and would refuse to make any more tea ever again. Sanctions tended to be rather limited these days.
The Doctor was almost certainly about to say something flowery and emotional and the Master couldn't really be bothered with all that right now. He stepped back a bit, trying to ignore the wetness in his trousers. "Bedroom," he said.
The Doctor looked dazed. "What?"
"Bedroom. A room with a bed in it. Commonly used for sleeping and sex. I could fuck you on the floor if you'd prefer, but a bed really would be more comfortable."
After some excruciating wavering, the Doctor grinned at him and grabbed his hand to pull him to their destination. The Master was willing to put up with the hand-porn on this occasion, but it absolutely would not be happening again.
He smiled to himself. He could fake the odd bit of affection if it meant he'd get to have sex. He might even write some hilariously bad love letters to amuse himself and make the idiot smile.
Life was good.
Pairing: Ten/Simm!Master
Rating: R for all sorts of things.
Warnings: Sexual stuff, swearing, a brief homoerotic fight, and the Master doesn't actually get his non-con on but he does consider it for about a sentence.
Summary: In which the Master really really wants to have sex.
There were many things about the Doctor that the Master utterly despised, and currently leading the list was his stubborn refusal to put out on a regular basis. Living together on the TARDIS might be a bit less unspeakably awful if he could at least get a decent shag out of it. The Master wasn't asking for much, two or three times a day would be perfectly sufficient, but the Doctor for some reason believed that having sex with someone on the far end of the evil spectrum was somehow morally wrong.
It had happened, of course. They'd had sex on precisely two occasions, but they'd been parked in the vortex together for four months now and it simply wasn't enough.
The first - and best - shag had been in the first week. The Master had started by mocking the Doctor's infamous fetish for Humans and had finished with an extremely graphic and entirely fictional account of having sex with President Romana. The Doctor had nobly defended the honour of his late ex-girlfriend by punching the Master in the face.
This had led to a physical confrontation, partly because the Master didn't enjoy pain outside the bedroom and partly because he wanted to see how far the Doctor would go. There was an inevitable homoeroticism to all that sweating and swearing and rolling about on top of each other, and so they fought until they fucked.
The Master had ruled out a repeat of that performance because it had led to the Doctor disappearing for almost a week after realising what he'd done, and there weren't enough episodes of Teletubbies to stave off the boredom that had entailed.
Then there was the time that the Doctor stupidly decided to seek some sort of emotional comfort from his prisoner and the Master took advantage of the situation. There had been a certain evil thrill to kicking the Doctor out of the room immediately after he'd finished with him, but he'd been left with the nagging feeling that he'd done something beneath himself and then the Doctor wouldn't talk to him for three days. So that was out as well.
He sat with his feet on the console and glared at the Doctor, who was spitefully pretending not to notice. If he really cared about the Master then surely he'd take care of all his needs? But no, he just wandered about in that annoyingly fuckable body like some sort of born-again virgin.
Certainly he'd thought about just taking him by force, but those fantasies climaxed with the Doctor wanting him and begging him and that sort of thing simply didn't happen outside bad erotica. Mind control had similar problems and he knew he wouldn't be able to convince himself that the Doctor really wanted it.
The Master glanced around the room and caught the Doctor staring at him. He looked away almost immediately, but not before the Master realised that he'd been biting his own thumb, and wasn't that interesting? He raised an eyebrow and smirked. Oh, Doctor. Silly, pathetic, obvious Doctor.
He moved his legs a bit further apart and replaced his thumb with two fingers. Feeling certain the Doctor was watching from the corner of his eye, he set about making it glaringly obvious what he wanted to do to him. The Doctor completely failed to take the hint, so he loosened his tie and reached to undo his trousers.
"You're not doing that here," said the Doctor, finally looking up at him.
"Doing what here?" he asked ever-so-innocently.
"You're not wanking in my console room. You're just not."
"I wouldn't need to if you'd show enough consideration to let me fuck you once in a while."
The Doctor stared up at the ceiling. "Not this again." He turned his attention back to the Master. "No, I am not going to have sex with you."
The Master jumped to his feet and walked towards the only other Time Lord in the universe. "Two shags, Doctor. Two shags in four months and you expect me to believe that's enough for you? Hormones everywhere, me as sexy as ever, this ship stinks of sexual frustration and it's not just me. And yet for some reason -"
"Three reasons, actually. One, you're evil. Two, you're evil. Three - and this is the most important reason - you're evil."
"That's one reason repeated three times," said the Master with a roll of his eyes. He leaned in. "If you really intend to keep us locked in this TARDIS for the rest of eternity, then I'm your only possible sexual partner. No one could judge you for that, and anyway who's ever going to know?"
"I'd know!"
Acting on a sudden certainty the Master spun the Doctor round from the console and glanced down. He looked up again with a satisfied smirk. "Why, Doctor, I'm hardly an expert, but I do believe that's an erection."
"That's just an automatic response, it doesn't mean anything."
The Master pressed against him. "I've got one too," he said. "We're a matched pair." He rocked his hips against the Doctor. "Let's have a bit of a sword-fight, eh? Ages since we had one of those."
The Doctor was flushed and perfectly still. "I don't remember agreeing to this."
"And yet you haven't pushed me away. Interesting." It wasn't not quite what he'd had in mind, but the friction was extremely pleasant and he'd take what he could get at this point. He grabbed the Doctor's head and kissed him, was rewarded with the sanctimonious slut starting to move with him. The Doctor leaned back a bit on the console and gazed at him, love-struck.
And, yes, he was going to come in his trousers, which he usually hated, but the Doctor was going to do exactly the same thing and there seemed to be a fairly good chance that this would lead to the Master getting a proper shag from him at least occasionally.
Which meant he couldn't say anything especially evil right now, but that was fine, he was quite enjoying watching the Doctor writhing and begging for him. Then he came suddenly and the Master saw no reason not to just finish up immediately himself.
If the Doctor ran off to flagellate in a corner somewhere, the Master might actually kill him.
Well, no, he wouldn't actually kill him. But he'd be very angry and would refuse to make any more tea ever again. Sanctions tended to be rather limited these days.
The Doctor was almost certainly about to say something flowery and emotional and the Master couldn't really be bothered with all that right now. He stepped back a bit, trying to ignore the wetness in his trousers. "Bedroom," he said.
The Doctor looked dazed. "What?"
"Bedroom. A room with a bed in it. Commonly used for sleeping and sex. I could fuck you on the floor if you'd prefer, but a bed really would be more comfortable."
After some excruciating wavering, the Doctor grinned at him and grabbed his hand to pull him to their destination. The Master was willing to put up with the hand-porn on this occasion, but it absolutely would not be happening again.
He smiled to himself. He could fake the odd bit of affection if it meant he'd get to have sex. He might even write some hilariously bad love letters to amuse himself and make the idiot smile.
Life was good.