Dress Up, Ten/Simm!Master, R (Games)
Pairing: Ten/Simm!Master
Challenge: 65 Games
Rating: R
Warnings: AU for finale, PWP ... ish.
Spoilers: Up to and Including “Last of the Time Lords” (AU)
Dress Up
It was supposedly nothing more than a game. The Master found something to stave off the boredom of his imprisonment, and the Doctor was simply glad that it didn’t involve any harm coming to a star system or space vessel. He’d blindly accepted to participate while the Master led him into the wardrobe, then literally became blinded when the Master tied a piece of fabric over the Doctor’s eyes. He asked the Master, of course, what he had planned, but he was shushed and told that it would ruin the surprise. The Master took him by the shoulders and pressed him down on to a plush ottoman. “Wait here,” he said. Patience was not something the Doctor excelled at, however. He tried twice to remove the blindfold after hearing suspicious rustling, but the Master batted his hands away and told him to stop trying to cheat.
“It’s not cheating if I don’t know the rules,” the Doctor defended himself.
“They’re my rules and I will tell you them as they become necessary to know. Rule number one: no peeking. Rule number two: no fidgeting,” he clasped one hand over the Doctor’s shaking knees. “I haven’t even finished setting up the game yet, Doctor. Don’t ruin this before it’s even begun.”
The Doctor frowned with disapproval, but remembered that this would get it all out of the Master’s system for a time. No more whining. No more prodding at the console and “accidentally” crash landing them in Vega III. No more monologues about all he’d love to do to the lovely Miss Jones the next time he saw her. The Master loved monologues, especially in this regeneration. He had the voice for it, the Doctor supposed. But just because he sounded nice didn’t mean he had nice things to say. The Doctor would highly rather lock him in a room in the interior of the ship and visit him every mealtime or so. With earplugs. Unfortunately, that would not have been very polite of him, and seeing as how they were the only two Time Lords left in existence, he didn’t want to be rude. He had to set an example for the Master, be kind, patient, giving, and -
“What are you doing!” The Doctor stood up, hands reaching for the blindfold after a large crash and resounding “oops” sounded from the Master’s direction. Just like before, the Master’s hands were covering his own before he’d even lifted the fabric a tiny bit.
“Hush now,” the Master purred, hand sliding across the Doctor’s cheek “Almost there.”
When the Doctor grasped the Master’s wrist, intent on pushing it away from him, his fingers caught the edge of Master’s sleeve. It was not the black suit jacket, nor was it the white linen cuff of the shirt underneath. This was a wholly different material, something cooler, smoother, and alien in its familiarity. The Doctor froze.
The Master’s fingers closed over his own, and uncurled them from their grip. “No cheating, Doctor,” the Doctor could hear the Master smile. He stepped away, leaving the Doctor standing in the middle of the room. “Almost. Just,” the Master paused, still staring at the Doctor. He could feel the Master’s gaze on him. “Just look at you, Doctor,” the Master whispered. “I believe that I am going to enjoy this game very much.”
The Doctor called out, but he could feel that the Master had already moved towards the back of the room. He found the ottoman again and sat down. “If this takes any longer,” he commented after a while, “I’m going to forfeit and let you win.”
The Master chuckled right behind him. The Doctor didn’t flinch, but he turned his head. “Doctor, I hadn’t planned on losing.” The Master spun him around and began tugging on the Doctor’s tie. The Doctor had made to protest, but once again the Master batted his hands away.
“Don’t you trust me, Doctor?”
Beneath the blindfold, the Doctor opened his eyes, having shut them instinctively as soon as the cloth had covered them. “That is a loaded question.” The Doctor brought his hands up once more, covering the Master’s still poised against the knot of his tie. They were silent, breathing just shy of calmly. It was just a game. An innocent game, he reminded himself. He listened for the TARDIS’s call, but she, too, was silent. She would’ve warned him if anything foul had been afoot. The Doctor nodded, but stepped back. “Fine, but I’ll do it myself.”
He could hear the Master pout. “You’re no fun.” The hands at his neck dropped away. “But I suppose you may indulge yourself. I want you comfortable. Take off that wretched tie. And the jacket, too.”
The Doctor hesitated for a breath before slowly moving to comply.
“The top buttons,” the Master murmured after the Doctor had folded his suit jacket over his arm. The Doctor loosened his shirt collar, and the Master hummed approvingly and took the jacket and tie from him. “Shoes,” the Master ordered. The Doctor sighed and pulled them off. Before the Master could say more, he took his socks off, as well. “Very good,” the Master smiled. “I believe you’re beginning the understand. But not quite yet.”
The hands at his eyes dropped to his wrists, brought them forward to the Master’s chest with surprising speed. The Doctor pulled his hands back on instinct. They were pressed back just as quickly. The cool fabric felt like silk or metal, woven into a simple textured pattern. The Doctor knew exactly what the Master had done upon his first touch: He’d donned a jacket that had hung in the very deepest parts of the wardrobe for nearly a millennium. It was an article of clothing he’d never wanted to see again. “What are you planning?” The Doctor asked, completely serious.
“Just a game, Doctor. Just a simple game.” The Master took one of the Doctor’s hands and slipped it underneath the opening of the jacket front. He felt the coarser fabric of the casual undershirt, and the same silky, metallic material of the trouser’s waistband beneath his little finger. “I was shocked to find it still fit. I suppose there are perks to having a younger body than I’d not yet discovered. Do you like it?” The Master asked as he guided the Doctor’s hands further up his chest. “Feeling this again?”
“I do not,” the Doctor answered quickly, perhaps too quickly if the Master’s laughter was an indication of anything.
“As soon as I found this little gem folded in a pathetic heap in the back, I knew I wanted to play a little game with you. It’s hard to live with you again and not think about the past, don’t you think? So many things haven’t changed, but it appears as if we’ve reversed our roles. You, the ever duteous Doctor, tending to his ship, helping lesser worlds, reading books and acting noble. Me, the impatient one, the childish one, as you would think, always trying to get you up to some mischief with me.” As the Master spoke, he began to guide the Doctor backwards towards another corner of the room. The Doctor dug his fingers into the loose fabric at the Master’s hips, not comfortable with walking backwards blindly.
“Quite the opposite from our school days, hm? I was so serious hunched over at that desk, studying all the time. You’d always scold me, claim how bored you were.” He turned the Doctor forty degrees to the left and walked on. “You especially hated this bloody uniform. You cart about in those wretched Earth clothes, even to class when you would bother to show. Always the rebel, Doctor. I was too, I suppose. But I rather liked the uniforms, especially once we got out of those silly robes. The casual suits always felt so luxurious to me.”
The Doctor gripped the Master’s sides when he almost lost balance as his shins hit the back of what the Doctor assumed to be a sofa. He was almost certain he had a sofa in the room. Or perhaps it was a fainting couch? “I think, though,” the Master began again in a lower tone as he pressed the Doctor down on the settee. “What I liked best about them,” he maneuvered the Doctor so that he was lying across the cushioned seat. “Was how they felt,” the Doctor felt the Master lean up over him, his fingers grasping at the blindfold, “when you stripped them off of me.”
With a small tug, the blindfold came free and the Doctor was met with the full, shocking sight of the Master in an old Gallifreyan uniform. His words were still ringing in the Doctor’s ear, begging to be processed fully, and perhaps repeated. But the Master did not repeat himself. Instead, he leaned closer. “So what say you, Doctor,” the Master grinned over his prone form as he moved to straddle the Doctor’s hips, “Do you want to play with me?”
Challenge: 65 Games
Rating: R
Warnings: AU for finale, PWP ... ish.
Spoilers: Up to and Including “Last of the Time Lords” (AU)
Dress Up
It was supposedly nothing more than a game. The Master found something to stave off the boredom of his imprisonment, and the Doctor was simply glad that it didn’t involve any harm coming to a star system or space vessel. He’d blindly accepted to participate while the Master led him into the wardrobe, then literally became blinded when the Master tied a piece of fabric over the Doctor’s eyes. He asked the Master, of course, what he had planned, but he was shushed and told that it would ruin the surprise. The Master took him by the shoulders and pressed him down on to a plush ottoman. “Wait here,” he said. Patience was not something the Doctor excelled at, however. He tried twice to remove the blindfold after hearing suspicious rustling, but the Master batted his hands away and told him to stop trying to cheat.
“It’s not cheating if I don’t know the rules,” the Doctor defended himself.
“They’re my rules and I will tell you them as they become necessary to know. Rule number one: no peeking. Rule number two: no fidgeting,” he clasped one hand over the Doctor’s shaking knees. “I haven’t even finished setting up the game yet, Doctor. Don’t ruin this before it’s even begun.”
The Doctor frowned with disapproval, but remembered that this would get it all out of the Master’s system for a time. No more whining. No more prodding at the console and “accidentally” crash landing them in Vega III. No more monologues about all he’d love to do to the lovely Miss Jones the next time he saw her. The Master loved monologues, especially in this regeneration. He had the voice for it, the Doctor supposed. But just because he sounded nice didn’t mean he had nice things to say. The Doctor would highly rather lock him in a room in the interior of the ship and visit him every mealtime or so. With earplugs. Unfortunately, that would not have been very polite of him, and seeing as how they were the only two Time Lords left in existence, he didn’t want to be rude. He had to set an example for the Master, be kind, patient, giving, and -
“What are you doing!” The Doctor stood up, hands reaching for the blindfold after a large crash and resounding “oops” sounded from the Master’s direction. Just like before, the Master’s hands were covering his own before he’d even lifted the fabric a tiny bit.
“Hush now,” the Master purred, hand sliding across the Doctor’s cheek “Almost there.”
When the Doctor grasped the Master’s wrist, intent on pushing it away from him, his fingers caught the edge of Master’s sleeve. It was not the black suit jacket, nor was it the white linen cuff of the shirt underneath. This was a wholly different material, something cooler, smoother, and alien in its familiarity. The Doctor froze.
The Master’s fingers closed over his own, and uncurled them from their grip. “No cheating, Doctor,” the Doctor could hear the Master smile. He stepped away, leaving the Doctor standing in the middle of the room. “Almost. Just,” the Master paused, still staring at the Doctor. He could feel the Master’s gaze on him. “Just look at you, Doctor,” the Master whispered. “I believe that I am going to enjoy this game very much.”
The Doctor called out, but he could feel that the Master had already moved towards the back of the room. He found the ottoman again and sat down. “If this takes any longer,” he commented after a while, “I’m going to forfeit and let you win.”
The Master chuckled right behind him. The Doctor didn’t flinch, but he turned his head. “Doctor, I hadn’t planned on losing.” The Master spun him around and began tugging on the Doctor’s tie. The Doctor had made to protest, but once again the Master batted his hands away.
“Don’t you trust me, Doctor?”
Beneath the blindfold, the Doctor opened his eyes, having shut them instinctively as soon as the cloth had covered them. “That is a loaded question.” The Doctor brought his hands up once more, covering the Master’s still poised against the knot of his tie. They were silent, breathing just shy of calmly. It was just a game. An innocent game, he reminded himself. He listened for the TARDIS’s call, but she, too, was silent. She would’ve warned him if anything foul had been afoot. The Doctor nodded, but stepped back. “Fine, but I’ll do it myself.”
He could hear the Master pout. “You’re no fun.” The hands at his neck dropped away. “But I suppose you may indulge yourself. I want you comfortable. Take off that wretched tie. And the jacket, too.”
The Doctor hesitated for a breath before slowly moving to comply.
“The top buttons,” the Master murmured after the Doctor had folded his suit jacket over his arm. The Doctor loosened his shirt collar, and the Master hummed approvingly and took the jacket and tie from him. “Shoes,” the Master ordered. The Doctor sighed and pulled them off. Before the Master could say more, he took his socks off, as well. “Very good,” the Master smiled. “I believe you’re beginning the understand. But not quite yet.”
The hands at his eyes dropped to his wrists, brought them forward to the Master’s chest with surprising speed. The Doctor pulled his hands back on instinct. They were pressed back just as quickly. The cool fabric felt like silk or metal, woven into a simple textured pattern. The Doctor knew exactly what the Master had done upon his first touch: He’d donned a jacket that had hung in the very deepest parts of the wardrobe for nearly a millennium. It was an article of clothing he’d never wanted to see again. “What are you planning?” The Doctor asked, completely serious.
“Just a game, Doctor. Just a simple game.” The Master took one of the Doctor’s hands and slipped it underneath the opening of the jacket front. He felt the coarser fabric of the casual undershirt, and the same silky, metallic material of the trouser’s waistband beneath his little finger. “I was shocked to find it still fit. I suppose there are perks to having a younger body than I’d not yet discovered. Do you like it?” The Master asked as he guided the Doctor’s hands further up his chest. “Feeling this again?”
“I do not,” the Doctor answered quickly, perhaps too quickly if the Master’s laughter was an indication of anything.
“As soon as I found this little gem folded in a pathetic heap in the back, I knew I wanted to play a little game with you. It’s hard to live with you again and not think about the past, don’t you think? So many things haven’t changed, but it appears as if we’ve reversed our roles. You, the ever duteous Doctor, tending to his ship, helping lesser worlds, reading books and acting noble. Me, the impatient one, the childish one, as you would think, always trying to get you up to some mischief with me.” As the Master spoke, he began to guide the Doctor backwards towards another corner of the room. The Doctor dug his fingers into the loose fabric at the Master’s hips, not comfortable with walking backwards blindly.
“Quite the opposite from our school days, hm? I was so serious hunched over at that desk, studying all the time. You’d always scold me, claim how bored you were.” He turned the Doctor forty degrees to the left and walked on. “You especially hated this bloody uniform. You cart about in those wretched Earth clothes, even to class when you would bother to show. Always the rebel, Doctor. I was too, I suppose. But I rather liked the uniforms, especially once we got out of those silly robes. The casual suits always felt so luxurious to me.”
The Doctor gripped the Master’s sides when he almost lost balance as his shins hit the back of what the Doctor assumed to be a sofa. He was almost certain he had a sofa in the room. Or perhaps it was a fainting couch? “I think, though,” the Master began again in a lower tone as he pressed the Doctor down on the settee. “What I liked best about them,” he maneuvered the Doctor so that he was lying across the cushioned seat. “Was how they felt,” the Doctor felt the Master lean up over him, his fingers grasping at the blindfold, “when you stripped them off of me.”
With a small tug, the blindfold came free and the Doctor was met with the full, shocking sight of the Master in an old Gallifreyan uniform. His words were still ringing in the Doctor’s ear, begging to be processed fully, and perhaps repeated. But the Master did not repeat himself. Instead, he leaned closer. “So what say you, Doctor,” the Master grinned over his prone form as he moved to straddle the Doctor’s hips, “Do you want to play with me?”