STORY (DW) - Midnight
Title: Midnight
Author: von_gelmini
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: Doctor/Master
Rating: NC-18
WordCount: 3650
Warnings: BDSM, dub-con?
Written for Day #26 of MMoM
Also for 50_darkfics prompt #66: Midnight
Also for sound_of_drums prompt #31: Control
Midnight
Humans spent so much of their lives asleep. No wonder they were so easy to manipulate. One third of their entire lives was spent unconscious. A Time Lord slept maybe once, twice a week and then for only a few hours. Just long enough to dream and to recharge his body’s functions. So at midnight the Master’s footfalls could often be heard along the corridors of the Valiant. Of course an aged Time Lord required much more sleep than the Master’s young, vital self.
The Lazarus effect made him old. It made him young. It made him ancient. The Master could precisely control the age of his plaything whenever he wished. Most of the time he left him as an old man. He was easier to manage that way. He took less attention when the Master needed his mind on his plans. Besides, it didn’t matter what the Doctor’s appearance, the Master would always know him. He did have to admit, this younger body of the Doctor’s did have its appeal.
The Doctor woke to the violent tremors wracking his body from the Lazarus effect. When at last it was done, his body was itself again, young again. The Master sat cross-legged outside the flap of his tent. “Master,” he said. A statement, not a question, for who else could it be?
“Awake Doctor?” the Master asked, grinning. “They’re all asleep. Well, most of them. Guards outside of course, and Jack. I imagine he’s still awake, that is if he’s still alive.”
“What do you want?” The Doctor crawled out of the tent and sat next to the Master.
“I’m bored,” he said petulantly. He checked off on his fingers. “Conquering the Earth, done. Torturing the Freak, done. Fucking Lucy into the mattress, done.” He smiled at the last one. “Bet you didn’t think I’d do that one.”
The Doctor shrugged. “She is your wife.”
“Yes. It’s sort of like being married to a sheep. About as much brain there. In fact, I think the sheep would be smarter. Certainly couldn’t be a worse fuck.” He laughed. “Not at all like you. Now that was a fuck for the ages. Your ass was always so tight no matter how hard I fucked it.”
The Doctor looked away. Don’t, he thought to himself. Not here. Not now. Not that memory. Not that time.
The Master reached out and grabbed his chin, turning the Doctor’s face to his. “Come now, Doctor, you must remember screaming my name and begging me to fuck you harder?” The Master smirked and pushed the Doctor’s head away. “Do you let the Freak fuck you? He’s got a rather nice cock, don’t you think? Well, did have, but don’t worry. It’ll grow back just like the rest of him.”
The Doctor winced. He hadn’t seen Jack since he’d been taken below decks. He could well imagine the perversely ‘creative’ things the Master could come up with for someone with an immortal body, as well as someone with Jack’s looks. The Master did have a fondness for the beautiful. And for destroying it.
“Do you think the Freak would forgive you if he knew?” the master said softly. He ran is hand lightly along the Doctor’s back, feeling him shudder under the touch. “If he knew how you crawled to me?” His fingers ran through the Doctor’s hair. He turned the Doctor’s face to him again. “If he knew how you would beg me, ‘Please Master let me suck your cock’?” The Master ran his finger along the Doctor’s lips. “Have you shown him just how talented that mouth is?”
The Doctor closed his eyes. Almost imperceptibly he shook his head.
“No?” The master preened. “What about Ms. Jones? The others? Did you fuck any of them? Anyone? No?” He laughed uproariously. “How sweet. You’ve saved yourself for me all these years.”
“You know we don’t have to... A Time Lord’s body doesn’t need...”
“Of course we don’t need to. But it is so much fun. Poor Doctor. Denying yourself all this time. Wallowing in your self-pity. You do that so well. Suffer.” The Master continued to gently touch the Doctor. “You loved it when I made you suffer.” The shudder was small, but it was there; as was the small, quick intake of breath.
The Doctor shook his head. “Too much since then... Too many worlds. Too many lives. I don’t...”
“Of course you do, Doctor. You always do. It’s why you can’t kill me. Even now, with your precious humans dying by the thousands, with your special pets suffering at my hand, you still do.”
The Doctor bit his lip. “Please,” was all he could manage.
“Please what, Doctor?”
“Please Master.”
The master laughed, getting up with almost a leap. “I do so love to hear you say that.”
The distance between them now made it easier for the Doctor. He let the corners of his mouth turn up. “You were always easy to manipulate.” The slap came hard and fast, knocking him flat to the floor.
The Master crouched over him, pinning him down. “You were easier.” He kissed the Doctor roughly on the lips. He ground his body down onto his. He grabbed a handful of the Doctor’s hair and bent his head back, forcing him to yield to the kiss. The Doctor’s lips parted and, despite himself, he kissed back. The Master quickly pushed him away again, slamming his head into the floor. He stood, looming over the Doctor. He gave him a look of disgust. “Look at yourself.”
The Doctor didn’t need to see. He could feel his body had betrayed him. His back arched up to the Master. His fingers grasped for purchase on the smooth floor. His lips were parted. His cock was erect in his trousers. “Koschei,” he breathed.
“No!” the Master shouted, turned and paced away. “We are not children anymore. You know who I am.” He spun on his heel and locked the Doctor’s eyes with his. “Call. My. Name!” He dropped down on top of the Doctor again, grabbing his hair.
“Master!” the Doctor cried out before he could think not to. His cheeks reddened at the fact he could be so easily commanded.
The Master smiled at his victory. “Easier.” He kissed the Doctor again. “I know who you are, Doctor. I know what you are. No human pet can. Ever.”
The Doctor wanted to turn away, to deny that what the Master said, but he could not. He didn’t think of his companions as pets, but they were human. Oh so human. Brilliantly human, but it didn’t matter. The Master was a piece of himself. He wrapped his arms around him and kissed him with centuries of denied passion. He felt his cheeks dampen and they fell to kissing as if time had never happened to them. The Doctor could have gone on like that forever, but he felt the Master’s back tighten. He let his arms fall to his side and slackened his kiss, hoping that his passivity would let the Master stay with him, but the moment was gone.
The Master stood up and sat on the edge of the conference table, looking down at the Doctor. “Strip,” he ordered. The Doctor started to get up to undress. “I didn’t tell you that you could get off the floor.”
“No, Master.” The Doctor twisted around on the floor until he’d removed his clothes, leaving them in a pile.
“Crawl over here and undress me.”
He crawled. Never rising off his knees, instead reaching up with his arms, he undressed the Master. He folded the clothes neatly and sat them on the table. It both excited and disgusted him how easily he fell into the pattern again. The Master sat in his chair. Without quite knowing how he got there, the Doctor found he was in the position to which the Master had trained him: kneeling on his haunches, hands on his thighs, head down, lips slightly parted, eyes raised to look up at the Master - his Master - in supplication. He reddened with shame while his cock hardened with anticipation. This body that had never known the Master’s touch knew how to obey.
It had begun as a game, being like this together. In the beginning sex between them was as one might expect between two lovers. But more and more that faded and the game had become the only reality for each of them. It was no surprise that the Master chose his name as he did. The Doctor gave it to him. And the Master had given him his. When they were together like this, they were quiet, the drums. It healed him. So the Doctor and the Master were born together from what had been Koschei and Theta Sigma, friends and lovers.
The Doctor’s mind warred with itself. The fate of the world was at stake, his friends’ lives were at stake, yet so easily the Master had pulled him back down to him. It wasn’t like that in his other regenerations. He fought the Master with no regrets. However, since the Time War, he was a fractured shell waiting for the slightest touch to make him fall to pieces. The one before this had his rage to hold him together. That rage mostly passed with this regeneration. It made him more vulnerable. And here was the Master, offering him the solace that came with submission. Too much time. Too many worlds. Too many lives. How could he forget? This Master, at the same time his yet not his, was more broken than the Doctor had ever seen him. Perhaps broken beyond even his ability to heal him. Perhaps not. It was possible that this would help him. It had before. If the drums could be quieted often enough, if the Master could feel in control of the chaos that swirled around him, then perhaps the madness would stop.
Beneath his mental games, his intellectualizations, his justifications, the Doctor knew. Knew that it was he who needed this. He who wanted this. He who ached for this. Even though after what he’d done to their people, to Gallifrey, he didn’t deserve it, the Master was ready to give it to him.
The Master sat quietly and let the Doctor work his way into submission. The Doctor’s gaze lowered, held there a beat, and then raised again. It was their old signal that he was ready. This was more than the Master had hoped for. The Doctor was there, at his feet, giving himself to him. No threats, no coercion, just giving. The drum beat told him that it was a trick. The Doctor was only doing this to save his pets and his pet planet. The Doctor hadn’t been his for centuries.
“What you’re doing won’t save them,” the Master said, sneering.
“I know, Master.”
“Do you?” he said, contemptuously.
“Yes, Master,” he said and repeated: “What I am doing won’t save them.”
“Good.” Quiet, quiet, quiet! The Master closed his eyes and tried to keep the war within him from showing. One two three four. One two three four. “Bring me my belt,” he ordered with more force than he intended. QUIET!
The Doctor crawled back to the table, reached up and took the belt. He brought it back to the Master, putting himself back into position, offering it up to him with both hands.
“Curl!” the Master ordered.
The Doctor quickly turned around and curled into a ball, presenting his back to the Master.
The buckle, the buckle, the drums said. The Master took the belt’s leather end and prepared to swing full force the buckle end onto the Doctor’s back. That back, arched there so willing, so waiting for whatever the Master decided to do to it. The Doctor accepting whatever pain he gave. The Master folded the belt, holding it by both leather and buckle ends and brought the loop down as hard as he could across the Doctor’s back.
The Doctor screamed. He jerked his head up and tears ran full down his face. His back flinched up unbidden. He felt himself start to roll out of the way, seeking escape. Then he stopped. He froze for a moment before slowly returning to his position. Curling himself up again. Offering his back again.
Once again in position, the Master saw the muscles of the Doctor’s back relax. He brought the belt down in three more rapid strokes, hard but not as hard as the first, crisscrossing them as he did so. The Doctor cried out again. The Master liked to hear him scream and doing so made it easier to bear. The Doctor couldn’t control the tensing and twitching of his back as the blows landed, but never after the first time did he break position. The Master stood above him, beating him with the belt, not pausing for him to catch his breath, settling into a steady rhythm of hard and softer blows. He covered the Doctor’s back with pink-red welts, edged with small blood blisters where the sides of the belt had hit. The welts went white where the blows crossed before raising and turning even redder. The Master sat in his chair again, still landing blows on the Doctor’s back, but now softer, thudding strikes. He heard the Doctor’s cries turn to moans.
Instead of flinching away, the Doctor arched his back higher, pushing into the beating. His cock was getting hard again but the position didn’t allow much room. He heard the Master breathing heavily from the exertion of the beating. But also he heard the signs of the Master’s own excitement. The beating would end soon and the Doctor surrendered himself to the last of it, neither moving away or towards, just accepting what his Master had deigned to give. When the beating stopped he began to cry, great wracking sobs of release.
The only sound in the Master’s ears was the Doctor crying. He watched his back rise and fall with the depth of it. It was beautiful. He had brought this man, a being as powerful as him, down. Not broken, the Doctor never broke, but laid low. His cock was hard and dripping pre-come as he looked at the Doctor’s welted back. A low groan escaped him.
The Doctor heard the sign. It amazed him that after all this time, after everything that happened between them, he still knew the Master so well. Still curled, he turned around, his head at the Master’s feet.
“Kiss them, Doctor,” he said quietly and felt the Doctor begin. “Know that they have waded in blood to the knees, they have trod entire civilizations into the dirt. They have marched across a thousand worlds, carrying me on to this inevitable outcome.”
The words stung worse than any blow the Master had landed. Still, he tenderly kissed the Master’s feet.
“Position.”
The Doctor rose up as ordered and lifted his eyes to meet his Master’s. Despite the cruel words from before, there was a change in the Master’s eyes. Probably impossible for anyone to notice except him. He had seen it so often long ago. Though he could never hear them, no matter how hard the Master tried, he knew the drums had quieted. It wouldn’t last, it never did. But at least the Master had a few blessed moments of peace. He had given that to him and the thought of that filled his hearts with something of which he never, ever spoke.
“Do you want it, Doctor?”
“Yes, Master.” The Doctor looked at the Master’s cock. The Master’s body was quite wonderful this time around. “Please let me suck your cock, Master. It’s been so long.” He heard desperation creep into his voice. At that moment he truly wanted nothing in the universe more than to give the Master pleasure and to keep the drums at bay for him. “Let me please you, Master.” Nothing more in the world.
“Do you remember how?” the Master asked.
The Doctor wasn’t sure his body knew, but his mind remembered the techniques that best pleased the Master. He nodded.
“Put your mouth to good use for a change,” the Master said, giving a slight signal with his hand. It surprised him that he still knew it. And surprised him even more that he’d bothered to use it instead of just taking what he wanted.
The signal told the Doctor what the Master expected of him this time. It was comforting to know, so that he could do his best for his Master.
It was a slow beginning. Starting with the Master’s balls, he sucked first one then the other. He tongued the sac, and took the shaft of the Master’s cock in his hand. He stroked it, being careful to avoid the more sensitive spots yet. The Master canted his hips in the chair and the Doctor knew to work his mouth down under the balls to lick his perineum. He wanted to lick the Master’s ass, but in that position it wasn’t possible. Besides, if the Master had wanted that, he would’ve moved more. Instead he let his tongue lick harder, applying gentle pressure on the sensitive place. He felt the Master’s right ring finger touch his shoulder ever so lightly and the Doctor moved his attentions back to the Master’s testicles. Another touch and his mouth moved to lick the head, tongue darting along the slit, eagerly lapping the salty pre-come. He’d forgotten how much he liked the little signals they’d worked out between them. He remembered how intimate they made him feel, and how... used. He wasn’t sucking the Master’s cock for his own enjoyment, but for the Master’s, being told exactly where and how to please him. The thought made him moan as he swallowed more of the Master’s cock. His own was hard and insistent between his legs, but he hadn’t received permission or the signal to touch himself.
The Master let himself fall into the sensations that the Doctor’s mouth was giving him. He didn’t realize he was still giving the signaling touches, but when the Doctor seemed to have an uncanny knowledge of exactly what he wanted when, he knew he’d been doing it. He considered stopping the signals. It was too much like so very, very long ago. But it felt so damn good. And it was control. Absolute and total control. If he wanted left, he signaled left, right, he signaled right. The Doctor was completely at his command. Even if it brought memories he’d rather leave buried, the feeling of power was worth it. He guided the Doctor more deliberately, building himself to the edge of his self-control. He hadn’t wanted to give the next signal. He wanted the Doctor unprepared. He wanted him to hurt. But his fingers betrayed him and the Doctor was able to ready himself as the Master thrust deep into his throat.
The Master’s hands grabbed the back of the Doctor’s head and pulled him onto his shaft. The dynamic shifted from cocksucking to what he knew the Master loved so much, fucking his face. Between the a Time Lord’s lack of a gag reflex and respiratory bypass system, the Doctor was able to let the Master abuse him as much as he desired. It hurt, of course, but had he done this to a human, it would have killed him. The Doctor tried to tell himself that he was only doing this for the Master’s pleasure, that being hurt like this didn’t do anything for him, but his cock told him otherwise. He felt the Master’s come fill his throat and heard the deep growling call of his name, the Doctor couldn’t hold himself back any longer. Permission or no, he came. When the Master’s cock had stopped its throbbing pulse in his mouth, he slid his off of it carefully, knowing how sensitive it would be, not wanting to cause the Master any discomfort. He placed himself back into position and waited.
He kept the Doctor kneeling there a long time. He just sat in his chair, saying nothing, listening to the quite hum of the ship, listening to the Doctor’s breathing, listening to the passage of time. Listening to anything but the drums. They were so quiet now, so blissfully quiet. It lasted for nearly an hour, the quiet, before he heard the sound first rise above the ship’s hum and then drown out the sound of their breaths and then drown out the very sound of their heartsbeats. He winced and fought back tears. That wouldn’t do at all. To let the Doctor, of all people, see him cry? He stood up and started to dress, leaving the Doctor still in position. He watched the Doctor kneeling like that, his eyes half-closed, drifting in the pleasure of his submission.
The feelings it brought back became overwhelming and he gave the Doctor a hard kick to his side, knocking him over, breaking his reverie. “Position!” he ordered once more and the Doctor scrambled to get himself up. “Stay exactly like that,” the Master said with an unpleasant grin. He took his laser screwdriver out of his pocket and pointed it at the Doctor. Delicious fear filled the Doctor’s eyes.
“Please!” The Doctor begged, raw panic in his voice.
The Master laughed. “Do. Not. Move.” This, of course, was an impossible command, given the side effects of the Lazarus procedure. When at last the Doctor was an old man again, lying on the floor, tears in his eyes, the Master felt complete. “Get dressed, Doctor, and back to your hidey-hole. I think you’ll like what I have in plan for today.” The Master would have to figure out something that would hurt the Doctor so much. Yes, so very, very much.
Author: von_gelmini
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: Doctor/Master
Rating: NC-18
WordCount: 3650
Warnings: BDSM, dub-con?
Written for Day #26 of MMoM
Also for 50_darkfics prompt #66: Midnight
Also for sound_of_drums prompt #31: Control
Midnight
Humans spent so much of their lives asleep. No wonder they were so easy to manipulate. One third of their entire lives was spent unconscious. A Time Lord slept maybe once, twice a week and then for only a few hours. Just long enough to dream and to recharge his body’s functions. So at midnight the Master’s footfalls could often be heard along the corridors of the Valiant. Of course an aged Time Lord required much more sleep than the Master’s young, vital self.
The Lazarus effect made him old. It made him young. It made him ancient. The Master could precisely control the age of his plaything whenever he wished. Most of the time he left him as an old man. He was easier to manage that way. He took less attention when the Master needed his mind on his plans. Besides, it didn’t matter what the Doctor’s appearance, the Master would always know him. He did have to admit, this younger body of the Doctor’s did have its appeal.
The Doctor woke to the violent tremors wracking his body from the Lazarus effect. When at last it was done, his body was itself again, young again. The Master sat cross-legged outside the flap of his tent. “Master,” he said. A statement, not a question, for who else could it be?
“Awake Doctor?” the Master asked, grinning. “They’re all asleep. Well, most of them. Guards outside of course, and Jack. I imagine he’s still awake, that is if he’s still alive.”
“What do you want?” The Doctor crawled out of the tent and sat next to the Master.
“I’m bored,” he said petulantly. He checked off on his fingers. “Conquering the Earth, done. Torturing the Freak, done. Fucking Lucy into the mattress, done.” He smiled at the last one. “Bet you didn’t think I’d do that one.”
The Doctor shrugged. “She is your wife.”
“Yes. It’s sort of like being married to a sheep. About as much brain there. In fact, I think the sheep would be smarter. Certainly couldn’t be a worse fuck.” He laughed. “Not at all like you. Now that was a fuck for the ages. Your ass was always so tight no matter how hard I fucked it.”
The Doctor looked away. Don’t, he thought to himself. Not here. Not now. Not that memory. Not that time.
The Master reached out and grabbed his chin, turning the Doctor’s face to his. “Come now, Doctor, you must remember screaming my name and begging me to fuck you harder?” The Master smirked and pushed the Doctor’s head away. “Do you let the Freak fuck you? He’s got a rather nice cock, don’t you think? Well, did have, but don’t worry. It’ll grow back just like the rest of him.”
The Doctor winced. He hadn’t seen Jack since he’d been taken below decks. He could well imagine the perversely ‘creative’ things the Master could come up with for someone with an immortal body, as well as someone with Jack’s looks. The Master did have a fondness for the beautiful. And for destroying it.
“Do you think the Freak would forgive you if he knew?” the master said softly. He ran is hand lightly along the Doctor’s back, feeling him shudder under the touch. “If he knew how you crawled to me?” His fingers ran through the Doctor’s hair. He turned the Doctor’s face to him again. “If he knew how you would beg me, ‘Please Master let me suck your cock’?” The Master ran his finger along the Doctor’s lips. “Have you shown him just how talented that mouth is?”
The Doctor closed his eyes. Almost imperceptibly he shook his head.
“No?” The master preened. “What about Ms. Jones? The others? Did you fuck any of them? Anyone? No?” He laughed uproariously. “How sweet. You’ve saved yourself for me all these years.”
“You know we don’t have to... A Time Lord’s body doesn’t need...”
“Of course we don’t need to. But it is so much fun. Poor Doctor. Denying yourself all this time. Wallowing in your self-pity. You do that so well. Suffer.” The Master continued to gently touch the Doctor. “You loved it when I made you suffer.” The shudder was small, but it was there; as was the small, quick intake of breath.
The Doctor shook his head. “Too much since then... Too many worlds. Too many lives. I don’t...”
“Of course you do, Doctor. You always do. It’s why you can’t kill me. Even now, with your precious humans dying by the thousands, with your special pets suffering at my hand, you still do.”
The Doctor bit his lip. “Please,” was all he could manage.
“Please what, Doctor?”
“Please Master.”
The master laughed, getting up with almost a leap. “I do so love to hear you say that.”
The distance between them now made it easier for the Doctor. He let the corners of his mouth turn up. “You were always easy to manipulate.” The slap came hard and fast, knocking him flat to the floor.
The Master crouched over him, pinning him down. “You were easier.” He kissed the Doctor roughly on the lips. He ground his body down onto his. He grabbed a handful of the Doctor’s hair and bent his head back, forcing him to yield to the kiss. The Doctor’s lips parted and, despite himself, he kissed back. The Master quickly pushed him away again, slamming his head into the floor. He stood, looming over the Doctor. He gave him a look of disgust. “Look at yourself.”
The Doctor didn’t need to see. He could feel his body had betrayed him. His back arched up to the Master. His fingers grasped for purchase on the smooth floor. His lips were parted. His cock was erect in his trousers. “Koschei,” he breathed.
“No!” the Master shouted, turned and paced away. “We are not children anymore. You know who I am.” He spun on his heel and locked the Doctor’s eyes with his. “Call. My. Name!” He dropped down on top of the Doctor again, grabbing his hair.
“Master!” the Doctor cried out before he could think not to. His cheeks reddened at the fact he could be so easily commanded.
The Master smiled at his victory. “Easier.” He kissed the Doctor again. “I know who you are, Doctor. I know what you are. No human pet can. Ever.”
The Doctor wanted to turn away, to deny that what the Master said, but he could not. He didn’t think of his companions as pets, but they were human. Oh so human. Brilliantly human, but it didn’t matter. The Master was a piece of himself. He wrapped his arms around him and kissed him with centuries of denied passion. He felt his cheeks dampen and they fell to kissing as if time had never happened to them. The Doctor could have gone on like that forever, but he felt the Master’s back tighten. He let his arms fall to his side and slackened his kiss, hoping that his passivity would let the Master stay with him, but the moment was gone.
The Master stood up and sat on the edge of the conference table, looking down at the Doctor. “Strip,” he ordered. The Doctor started to get up to undress. “I didn’t tell you that you could get off the floor.”
“No, Master.” The Doctor twisted around on the floor until he’d removed his clothes, leaving them in a pile.
“Crawl over here and undress me.”
He crawled. Never rising off his knees, instead reaching up with his arms, he undressed the Master. He folded the clothes neatly and sat them on the table. It both excited and disgusted him how easily he fell into the pattern again. The Master sat in his chair. Without quite knowing how he got there, the Doctor found he was in the position to which the Master had trained him: kneeling on his haunches, hands on his thighs, head down, lips slightly parted, eyes raised to look up at the Master - his Master - in supplication. He reddened with shame while his cock hardened with anticipation. This body that had never known the Master’s touch knew how to obey.
It had begun as a game, being like this together. In the beginning sex between them was as one might expect between two lovers. But more and more that faded and the game had become the only reality for each of them. It was no surprise that the Master chose his name as he did. The Doctor gave it to him. And the Master had given him his. When they were together like this, they were quiet, the drums. It healed him. So the Doctor and the Master were born together from what had been Koschei and Theta Sigma, friends and lovers.
The Doctor’s mind warred with itself. The fate of the world was at stake, his friends’ lives were at stake, yet so easily the Master had pulled him back down to him. It wasn’t like that in his other regenerations. He fought the Master with no regrets. However, since the Time War, he was a fractured shell waiting for the slightest touch to make him fall to pieces. The one before this had his rage to hold him together. That rage mostly passed with this regeneration. It made him more vulnerable. And here was the Master, offering him the solace that came with submission. Too much time. Too many worlds. Too many lives. How could he forget? This Master, at the same time his yet not his, was more broken than the Doctor had ever seen him. Perhaps broken beyond even his ability to heal him. Perhaps not. It was possible that this would help him. It had before. If the drums could be quieted often enough, if the Master could feel in control of the chaos that swirled around him, then perhaps the madness would stop.
Beneath his mental games, his intellectualizations, his justifications, the Doctor knew. Knew that it was he who needed this. He who wanted this. He who ached for this. Even though after what he’d done to their people, to Gallifrey, he didn’t deserve it, the Master was ready to give it to him.
The Master sat quietly and let the Doctor work his way into submission. The Doctor’s gaze lowered, held there a beat, and then raised again. It was their old signal that he was ready. This was more than the Master had hoped for. The Doctor was there, at his feet, giving himself to him. No threats, no coercion, just giving. The drum beat told him that it was a trick. The Doctor was only doing this to save his pets and his pet planet. The Doctor hadn’t been his for centuries.
“What you’re doing won’t save them,” the Master said, sneering.
“I know, Master.”
“Do you?” he said, contemptuously.
“Yes, Master,” he said and repeated: “What I am doing won’t save them.”
“Good.” Quiet, quiet, quiet! The Master closed his eyes and tried to keep the war within him from showing. One two three four. One two three four. “Bring me my belt,” he ordered with more force than he intended. QUIET!
The Doctor crawled back to the table, reached up and took the belt. He brought it back to the Master, putting himself back into position, offering it up to him with both hands.
“Curl!” the Master ordered.
The Doctor quickly turned around and curled into a ball, presenting his back to the Master.
The buckle, the buckle, the drums said. The Master took the belt’s leather end and prepared to swing full force the buckle end onto the Doctor’s back. That back, arched there so willing, so waiting for whatever the Master decided to do to it. The Doctor accepting whatever pain he gave. The Master folded the belt, holding it by both leather and buckle ends and brought the loop down as hard as he could across the Doctor’s back.
The Doctor screamed. He jerked his head up and tears ran full down his face. His back flinched up unbidden. He felt himself start to roll out of the way, seeking escape. Then he stopped. He froze for a moment before slowly returning to his position. Curling himself up again. Offering his back again.
Once again in position, the Master saw the muscles of the Doctor’s back relax. He brought the belt down in three more rapid strokes, hard but not as hard as the first, crisscrossing them as he did so. The Doctor cried out again. The Master liked to hear him scream and doing so made it easier to bear. The Doctor couldn’t control the tensing and twitching of his back as the blows landed, but never after the first time did he break position. The Master stood above him, beating him with the belt, not pausing for him to catch his breath, settling into a steady rhythm of hard and softer blows. He covered the Doctor’s back with pink-red welts, edged with small blood blisters where the sides of the belt had hit. The welts went white where the blows crossed before raising and turning even redder. The Master sat in his chair again, still landing blows on the Doctor’s back, but now softer, thudding strikes. He heard the Doctor’s cries turn to moans.
Instead of flinching away, the Doctor arched his back higher, pushing into the beating. His cock was getting hard again but the position didn’t allow much room. He heard the Master breathing heavily from the exertion of the beating. But also he heard the signs of the Master’s own excitement. The beating would end soon and the Doctor surrendered himself to the last of it, neither moving away or towards, just accepting what his Master had deigned to give. When the beating stopped he began to cry, great wracking sobs of release.
The only sound in the Master’s ears was the Doctor crying. He watched his back rise and fall with the depth of it. It was beautiful. He had brought this man, a being as powerful as him, down. Not broken, the Doctor never broke, but laid low. His cock was hard and dripping pre-come as he looked at the Doctor’s welted back. A low groan escaped him.
The Doctor heard the sign. It amazed him that after all this time, after everything that happened between them, he still knew the Master so well. Still curled, he turned around, his head at the Master’s feet.
“Kiss them, Doctor,” he said quietly and felt the Doctor begin. “Know that they have waded in blood to the knees, they have trod entire civilizations into the dirt. They have marched across a thousand worlds, carrying me on to this inevitable outcome.”
The words stung worse than any blow the Master had landed. Still, he tenderly kissed the Master’s feet.
“Position.”
The Doctor rose up as ordered and lifted his eyes to meet his Master’s. Despite the cruel words from before, there was a change in the Master’s eyes. Probably impossible for anyone to notice except him. He had seen it so often long ago. Though he could never hear them, no matter how hard the Master tried, he knew the drums had quieted. It wouldn’t last, it never did. But at least the Master had a few blessed moments of peace. He had given that to him and the thought of that filled his hearts with something of which he never, ever spoke.
“Do you want it, Doctor?”
“Yes, Master.” The Doctor looked at the Master’s cock. The Master’s body was quite wonderful this time around. “Please let me suck your cock, Master. It’s been so long.” He heard desperation creep into his voice. At that moment he truly wanted nothing in the universe more than to give the Master pleasure and to keep the drums at bay for him. “Let me please you, Master.” Nothing more in the world.
“Do you remember how?” the Master asked.
The Doctor wasn’t sure his body knew, but his mind remembered the techniques that best pleased the Master. He nodded.
“Put your mouth to good use for a change,” the Master said, giving a slight signal with his hand. It surprised him that he still knew it. And surprised him even more that he’d bothered to use it instead of just taking what he wanted.
The signal told the Doctor what the Master expected of him this time. It was comforting to know, so that he could do his best for his Master.
It was a slow beginning. Starting with the Master’s balls, he sucked first one then the other. He tongued the sac, and took the shaft of the Master’s cock in his hand. He stroked it, being careful to avoid the more sensitive spots yet. The Master canted his hips in the chair and the Doctor knew to work his mouth down under the balls to lick his perineum. He wanted to lick the Master’s ass, but in that position it wasn’t possible. Besides, if the Master had wanted that, he would’ve moved more. Instead he let his tongue lick harder, applying gentle pressure on the sensitive place. He felt the Master’s right ring finger touch his shoulder ever so lightly and the Doctor moved his attentions back to the Master’s testicles. Another touch and his mouth moved to lick the head, tongue darting along the slit, eagerly lapping the salty pre-come. He’d forgotten how much he liked the little signals they’d worked out between them. He remembered how intimate they made him feel, and how... used. He wasn’t sucking the Master’s cock for his own enjoyment, but for the Master’s, being told exactly where and how to please him. The thought made him moan as he swallowed more of the Master’s cock. His own was hard and insistent between his legs, but he hadn’t received permission or the signal to touch himself.
The Master let himself fall into the sensations that the Doctor’s mouth was giving him. He didn’t realize he was still giving the signaling touches, but when the Doctor seemed to have an uncanny knowledge of exactly what he wanted when, he knew he’d been doing it. He considered stopping the signals. It was too much like so very, very long ago. But it felt so damn good. And it was control. Absolute and total control. If he wanted left, he signaled left, right, he signaled right. The Doctor was completely at his command. Even if it brought memories he’d rather leave buried, the feeling of power was worth it. He guided the Doctor more deliberately, building himself to the edge of his self-control. He hadn’t wanted to give the next signal. He wanted the Doctor unprepared. He wanted him to hurt. But his fingers betrayed him and the Doctor was able to ready himself as the Master thrust deep into his throat.
The Master’s hands grabbed the back of the Doctor’s head and pulled him onto his shaft. The dynamic shifted from cocksucking to what he knew the Master loved so much, fucking his face. Between the a Time Lord’s lack of a gag reflex and respiratory bypass system, the Doctor was able to let the Master abuse him as much as he desired. It hurt, of course, but had he done this to a human, it would have killed him. The Doctor tried to tell himself that he was only doing this for the Master’s pleasure, that being hurt like this didn’t do anything for him, but his cock told him otherwise. He felt the Master’s come fill his throat and heard the deep growling call of his name, the Doctor couldn’t hold himself back any longer. Permission or no, he came. When the Master’s cock had stopped its throbbing pulse in his mouth, he slid his off of it carefully, knowing how sensitive it would be, not wanting to cause the Master any discomfort. He placed himself back into position and waited.
He kept the Doctor kneeling there a long time. He just sat in his chair, saying nothing, listening to the quite hum of the ship, listening to the Doctor’s breathing, listening to the passage of time. Listening to anything but the drums. They were so quiet now, so blissfully quiet. It lasted for nearly an hour, the quiet, before he heard the sound first rise above the ship’s hum and then drown out the sound of their breaths and then drown out the very sound of their heartsbeats. He winced and fought back tears. That wouldn’t do at all. To let the Doctor, of all people, see him cry? He stood up and started to dress, leaving the Doctor still in position. He watched the Doctor kneeling like that, his eyes half-closed, drifting in the pleasure of his submission.
The feelings it brought back became overwhelming and he gave the Doctor a hard kick to his side, knocking him over, breaking his reverie. “Position!” he ordered once more and the Doctor scrambled to get himself up. “Stay exactly like that,” the Master said with an unpleasant grin. He took his laser screwdriver out of his pocket and pointed it at the Doctor. Delicious fear filled the Doctor’s eyes.
“Please!” The Doctor begged, raw panic in his voice.
The Master laughed. “Do. Not. Move.” This, of course, was an impossible command, given the side effects of the Lazarus procedure. When at last the Doctor was an old man again, lying on the floor, tears in his eyes, the Master felt complete. “Get dressed, Doctor, and back to your hidey-hole. I think you’ll like what I have in plan for today.” The Master would have to figure out something that would hurt the Doctor so much. Yes, so very, very much.