More Master/Doctor/Jack!
It is apparently fandom_me's birthday! In celebration of this illustrious event (well, only sortof--was already working on it, didn't know your birthday was coming up, but if I know anyone to dedicate this sort of fic to, it's you), have Vicodin-induced porn.
The sequel I wasn't planning to write to A Brief Lecture on the Appeal of Constants. Master/Doctor/Jack, very NC-17, very PWP, heavy BDSM, sensory deprivation, hypnotism, telepathy, other fun stuff. One of the kinkier things I've written, um, ever. Aiii. Still of course in slashfic la-la-land outside of continuity; still character spoilers for Utopia and Sound of Drums.
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Notes on the Ease of Hypnotizing Time Agents
"On your knees," I say pleasantly, and point. "Back against the railing. Spread your arms."
Jack has gotten to be off his knees just long enough for me to find the right bit of railing in the TARDIS control room and the right sort of tape from under the console.
He obeys me with a sort of nervous grin. He obeys me. I won't be getting over that for a while. I run up beside him, vault the railing with the roll of tape looped over my wrist, and tugs his arms into the exact position I want, spread cruciform, leaving him halfway between kneeling up and kneeling down. Horribly uncomfortable that'll be, in the long run, not that I mind.
I tug off a strip of tape with that zzzip that the sticky cloth sort makes and set to work, winding up each arm to the railing from wrist to shoulder, crinkling up the loose folds of his shirt, nice and snug. He shouldn't be getting free without a pair of scissors, I expect, but still good to check.
"Getting out of that any time soon?" I ask cheerfully, ruffling his hair and tossing the tape away with a clatter.
He shakes it out of his face with a sort of boyish annoyance and strains. Strains harder. Strains until sweat pops on his forehead.
"No," he pants.
"No what?" I ask brightly, tugging his head back by the hair.
"No, Master."
"Ha-ha!" I let his head go. "There we go. Doctor?" I ask as he trails in after us, dark eyes solemn--how uncharacteristic, especially for this extra-silly regeneration. "He's waiting for you..."
My Doctor stares off into space in a pondering sort of way for a while. I perch on the railing beside Jack, tickle the crook of his elbow between stripes of tape, let him grumble, and wait. Wait for the coldness to set in to my Doctor's eyes.
At last he comes up, TARDIS toolkit in his hand, hanging level with Jack's face. Jack looks at it, takes a deep breath, lets it out, slowly, then rolls his head back against the railing and looks up at me without a word.
I rummage in the kit--delightful mess in there, a lot of low tech--for a straight blade. Unsheathe it, rest it against Jack's cheek, and smile. He meets my gaze with bright blue eyes, anticipation, fear.
We cut his clothes off, leaving just his boots, bits of his shirtsleeves dangling from the tape and shreds of his trousers stuck beneath his knees, and I blindfold him with a long strip of his undershirt, let him hang there for a while. I'm behind him now, our Doctor in front; we lean over him and kiss, slowly, ravishing each other over his head.
Middle finger of my left hand, drumming. Drumming on the back of Jack's head, right at the point to resonate through the architecture of the human skull. He squirms a little.
"Master--"
"Silence," I say flatly, pulling myself away, reluctant, from my Doctor's sweet, hungry mouth, making a note to myself to take advantage of that oral fixation later. "Or, more accurately, not a word. Feel free to scream all you like, but not a word. Now, listen to me. Concentrate."
I bend, so close my breath tickles his ear, and pitch my voice to a faint, almost inaudible whisper. "You are mine," I murmur. "You are his." His head is cocked a little, trying to puzzle it out. "You will give yourself to us." The Doctor's frowning down at me with those expressive eyebrows lowered and stormy. "You will obey us without hesitation."
"What are you, hypnotizing him?"
"Oh, please, Doctor," I murmur, closing my hand over the back of Jack's neck--taking advantage of that old human prey reflex. "Now you've gone and made it harder. All that Time Agent training--he's a tough pull anyway, for a human..."
Nothing as blatant as mind control anyway. No, just a nudge in the right direction. Very subtle. It's a good possibility he couldn't even consciously make out the words--they're simple nonsense anyway--but subconsciously, pitched at the right levels, it'll worm its way into his head, carried by the rhythm, the rhythm of the drums I beat upon him, for it's keyed to that.
I make an exaggerated shushing gesture at my Doctor, repeat the mantra, and again, and again, softer each time. He's gone very still and quiet, relaxing a little in his bonds, lips parted slightly--but he's being good and not saying a thing.
I never stop drumming. I do shift the beat to my thumb so I can cover his ears with my palms. I jerk my head at the Doctor's breast pocket. "There a setting on that thing that can cause temporary deafness in humans? Not shutting down the cranial nerve, just buffering."
He stares at me with huge eyes and his lip dragged down. "Four sixty-nine, I think, four sixty-nine point three, should wear off in about an hour, but why?"
"Oh fuck no," I hear from Jack. "No, please..."
Something he's frightened of--what wonderful luck! His Doctor looks down at him in concern. I just chuckle--his hearing's better than I'd expected. "Begging already, Captain?" I ask pleasantly. "But I said not a word." I slap his cheek lightly. "Disobedient. I'll be gagging you later for that."
"Fuck," Jack barely whispers, with a sort of what-have-I-gotten-myself-into whimper. "I'm sorry. Master."
I almost consider taking off the blindfold so he can see my smile.
The Doctor crouches, pets him gently, murmurs, "Jack," very soft, but with a bite of utter command. I feel his attention shift; if he were a dog, I think his ears would've gone forward.
"Doctor?" he whispers.
"It'll be fine. Trust me."
He takes his face in his hands and kisses him, slow and tender. "Awww," I say, pursing my lips at them. "You're so sweet."
They ignore me. I tap harder on Jack's skull.
"Do you consent to this?" the Doctor murmurs when he breaks the kiss, brushing the screwdriver over Jack's cheek. There's a long bit of silence as he breathes deep, works through fear.
"Yes, Sir," Jack says, soft and throaty. No human should sound that beautiful in submission.
"Good boy," I purr. Jack lolls his head back against the railing, lets me stroke his jaw.
"And stop talking," the Doctor says, casual again. "You don't want to piss him off."
"Too late for that," I chuckle.
"Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir."
"Hush," I say sharply, then pitch my voice again to the subliminal whisper. "You are mine. You are his. You will give yourself to us. You will obey us without hesitation..."
I give the Doctor a thumbs-up, not breaking rhythm.
The last thing Jack hears is the mantra. Two pulses of the screwdriver, and the only sound left in his world is my fingers drumming on the back of his skull, the internal creaks and rhythms of his own body, his whimpers echoing in his sinuses.
"Unzip those skinny trousers, Doctor," I murmur pleasantly, "and gag him."
He hesitates, but not for long, then stands, empties the toolbox with a loud clatter and nudges it over so he's at just the right height. Jack nuzzles questioningly at the head of his Doctor's cock, wraps his lips round of his own accord, moans as the Doctor nudges his jaw up and sinks home.
I nudge him too, nudge my will up against his, and sightless, soundless, robbed of communication, desperate for contact, partially hypnotized--his mind opens like a flower, defenseless. I engulf him easily, drag him up into my vast chambers to wander, lost, in a widening gyre. Time to blast his empty senses with an image of the Doctor, eyes half-lidded in pleasure, just to make sure he knows whose cock is down his throat--he'll never bite his Doctor, after all--then shut down the images just as cruelly fast, no warning.
He's wriggling against my legs, hands in white-knuckled fists, making simply indescribable noises. Fear and disorientation crackle through him--no doubt he's only accustomed to surface mental contact during sex, like most of the psychically gifted or trained lesser races. I could take him to pieces; I could shatter his few remaining defenses, rewrite his reality, penetrate his soul, torture him without lifting a finger. I could make him forget his own name, never mind how to do anything but worship me.
But that would be no fun for my Doctor. I smile up at him and just mantle my mind around Jack's, surround him with the black flame of my presence.
"Don't worry," I murmur. "Go deeper. It's not like he needs to breathe."
My Doctor looks like he wants to argue, but I just smile sweetly, and he runs hands over Jack's jaw, through his hair, possessive, and eases his hips forward until Jack's nose is buried in thick brown curls, and I feel little twitches run through him as he struggles to breathe, works to take him full length without choking.
"I think," the Doctor murmurs, "I think, oh my, he can almost..."
"He's probably sucked more cock in his life than every political intern in Downing Street put together--of course he can take it." Not that he can give it his full attention; I can taste his mind, and he's trying to please his Doctor, trying to work his throat properly around him, but he can hardly concentrate, drowning in the sensory deprivation and the hypnotic beat. He's so ungrounded, disoriented, that there's a full-body spasm and a strangled, muffled yowl as I dig nails into his back without warning, drag ragged pink trails through that fine pale skin. He pants round the Doctor's cock, tries to ease off, and I shove a little with the hand that's drumming, holding his head in place.
"Ooooh," whispers my Doctor, an adorably intrigued look on his face. "Do that again..."
I smile brightly at him. "Vibrations? Putting his screams to good use, am I?"
"Yes, Master, you're very clever." He really shouldn't be able to sound sarcastic with Jack's mouth round his cock. But hearing my name from those lips--that will never grow old. "Come on, do it again."
"Aww. Say please?"
Our eyes lock. His are a little too wide, no matter how flippant he sounds. Almost to that edge I sent Jack plummeting over.
"Please. Master."
I smile sweetly. "And since you ask so nicely, yes, I'll keep hurting him." I dig nails in under Jack's shoulder blade and twist; he wails and bucks, and my Doctor closes his eyes with a shudder of pleasure.
When that gets old--well, not that hurting Jack is likely to get old any time soon, but there's far more I'd like to do--I reach into his delicate human mind and give him an order, direct delivery. Simple words, branded upon every level of his consciousness, inescapable, no way even the most headblind human could fail to notice.
Make him come.
I ease up on the nails, pet him about the shoulders instead as he gathers himself, curls and uncurls his hands, tries to concentrate, goes to work in earnest. I watch him for only a moment, watch the muscles working in his throat, drool sliding wet between his lips and the Doctor's cock, wonder if his eyes are watering yet behind his blindfold; then I shift my attention to my Doctor, ignoring Jack entirely, even the ragged grunts as the Doctor loses control for a bit and starts fucking his mouth.
My Doctor. Eyes widening, then closing against my scrutiny. One nimble hand fisted white-knuckled by his side, the other twined into his pet's hair, head flung back with his lovely throat bared. Face contorting--such an expressive face this time, with those wayward lips parting, yelping aloud in pleasure. Babbling obscenities in one language after another, thin body shaking with pure joy.
Even with a new voice, though, I know exactly the long, falling cry that means he's coming. I've known it for centuries.
Those brown eyes flutter open to exactly the same fascinated stare they'd been hiding from. He looks away, pants, shakes himself, looks down at his pet.
Jack, I think absently, noticing him again, must have swallowed. Good boy, I imprint upon his mind as the Doctor eases out from between his swollen lips, and reach down to pinch his nipples, one, then the other, roll and tug, and I can feel sweet, welcome pain shooting through him. I lay my finger upon his lips for a moment as he moans--this is no time for him to be talking--and look at my Doctor where he lolls for a bit, sinking to his knees himself, trousers still open.
"This new face of yours," I murmur. "Very pretty when you come."
He flushes--he actually flushes. I smile with glee and yank hard on Jack's nipple. Onwards!
"Those clamps I saw in there," I ask my Doctor brightly, "the forceps--I suppose you'd use them for wiring? Got two pair?"
"Yes, of course, more like five or six, terribly handy when you're working alone...oh."
"Yes indeed. Get them, will you?"
He rummages through the heap of tools, comes up with one, then the other. I keep one hand drumming, always drumming, and pinch one nipple up in readiness. Jack groans a little, no clue what's coming, then a sharp gasp of realization as the Doctor settles the smooth, cold jaws of the forcep round his nipple and ratchets it closed.
"Mmm," I say, fingering the sensitive, imprisoned flesh as Jack bites his lip, no doubt against a desperate curse of protest. "Two notches tighter, how about?"
Two notches tighter makes Jack yelp, and then there's a long, delicious growl of sheer pain as the Doctor slowly uncurls his fingers from the handle and Jack's nipple takes the full weight of the forcep.
I pinch up the other, hear Jack grit his teeth, and just close my eyes and savor all his noises, the straining of his helpless body against his bonds, as my Doctor sets the second forcep in place, perfectly symmetrical.
"Doctor," I murmur when he's done, and hold out my free hand. "Come here."
He stands. We lock eyes; I brush my hand down the side of his face; we touch minds, ever so faintly.
He's still hiding from me. But he can't hide his lust. He can't hide how much he'd enjoyed fucking his human pet's helpless throat; he can't hide the cruel spark in his eyes as he'd clamped his nipples.
"I love bringing this out in you," I whisper.
He shakes his head, looks away in wordless protest. I grab the back of his head, turn him back to me, kiss him.
Jack's panting with pain between our legs. More than just a little pinch, those forceps.
I deepen the kiss, slide my hand through my Doctor's thick, scruffy hair, make it last long, long minutes, feeling the double-beat of his heart--so long since either of us have heard that in another--speeding as I slide palms under his shirt, his suit in disarray. Make it last and last and last while Jack waits helpless, nothing to do but feel the pain growing in his nipples. We're Time Lords; we used to make love for days at a time, under suns now extinguished. That fast-burning human mind of his, patience of a mayfly, could never keep up with us, not really, no matter how abominably long he lives.
My Doctor melts in my arms, legs pressed against Jack; Jack is whimpering with every breath now, high, thin, bitten-back whines of agony.
I let my Doctor go--he staggers, weak-kneed, eyes drowning huge--and find the tough little rubbery shell of Jack's mind and squeeze. Just that, squeeze, bearing down upon him with my will--and, just as I thought he might, he comes, hard, with two pumps of his hips in empty air and a long growling scream as the pain from his nipples feeds his orgasm.
Jack sags, panting. My Doctor stares at me, looking a little impressed despite himself, then wipes the spatter from his trousers as best he can--with that adorable expression of annoyance--and feeds it to Jack.
I watch my Doctor intently as Jack cleans his hand, diligently as he can as he shakes a little with pain and exhaustion.
"You were lovers long before this, weren't you?" I ask quietly.
"None of your business, that," the Doctor mutters. Stubborn boy. He might as well have said yes; it's written all over his face as he looks down at the human sucking his fingertips like a cat. But he still finds it necessary to defy me.
When the Doctor's hand is thoroughly clean, I grin at him and make shooing motions until he gets out of my way, then grab a bit of shredded, discarded clothing, to improvise another gag, though Jack sounds like he's so close to begging me not to. "I'm finding," I say conversationally as I pack it into Jack's mouth, "that I quite enjoy the effect of the stifled scream." I tie another length over his lips--nice trick to know, making knots one-handed--so he can't spit it out. "Straining to give voice, but never quite succeeding. Mmm. Doctor." I take his hand, lay it on Jack's head; take his mind, guide it to Jack's. "Feel that."
I tweak one purplish-crimson nipple in its clamp, listen to Jack scream muffled and the Doctor gasp in surprise. His nipples are aflame; his nipples are in agony; the brief pleasure of orgasm did nothing much to help. I can feel the sensation like two tiny suns roiling through his mind even as I share it with the Doctor, and it's making me aching hard in my trousers.
Saving that for my Doctor and his eager mouth, I think. I can wait.
"Well," says my Doctor, a little wide-eyed.
"I think he likes it," I say sweetly.
"I," says my Doctor, holding up one finger and cocking his head. "Yes, yes I think I'd like to..."
He scuttles off.
"Like to what, my dear Doctor?"
He makes a noncommittal noise as he bangs about, then returns after a moment with the nearest thing that could pass for lube, wastes no time in slicking his fingers. I grin and force Jack's thighs apart with my feet; he grunts behind the gag, and I smack him full force on the ass by way of reward. The forceps jiggle with the blow, and I can only imagine how grateful he is to have a gag he can bite now, a little something to help him with the pain.
"Funny angle," the Doctor mutters, crouching, finger right up the ass with no warning, and Jack groans wonderfully.
"Where are you planning to go with that?" I ask offhand, easing out of his way a little and leaning down to tighten the forceps, one by one, another two notches, coaxing more desperate moans out of him.
My Doctor, still staring intensely, near as I can tell, at Jack's hip, lifts his free hand in a loose fist.
I smile blissfully. "Oh, perfect!"
"Thought you might approve, yes," he mutters.
"Oh, but this isn't about me, Doctor, this is about him. And you were lovers back in the day, you know, otherwise how could you be so sure he could take this?"
"Because he's Captain Jack Harkness?"
"Ohh," I say sweetly, pursing my lips, "you might as well admit it."
"I fail to see how this is about him."
"Ah, well then, let me explain. Hold on a moment though--no, keep doing that..."
We've barely started, I tell Jack, patting his cheek, and get a tremulous little whine for my trouble.
"Don't touch him," I murmur to my Doctor, once he's got four fingers in and sliding up to the knuckles. "Don't touch him except for that hand."
I ruffle Jack's hair and shut down our mental contact, all at once with no warning. His body jerks, there's a frightened sort of noise, and then there's nothing for him, nothing at all but darkness and silence, the hand inexorably working its way inside him, the fire in his nipples, the rhythm in his skull. Even without touching his mind, though, I can feel him, could feel the terror and lust and surrender radiating off him from ten yards away.
He's breathing in rhythm with the beat now. Deep through his nose, a little too fast, trying to ease the trembling as the Doctor fills him to bursting. Head sagging to his chest. Half hard again already.
I smile down at my Doctor where he kneels, working with slow, intense focus, with all that huge spiraling Time Lord mind bent in easing his hand into a human without hurting him.
"We've barely started. You know, Doctor, there are so many things I want to do right now. Grab some of that wire, for example, strip it, file the ends to points, and loop it through his nipples--leaving them clamped, of course. There won't be too much blood, and I can twist them--the wires, that is--into jewelry and see how he thrashes if I run a current through them. And the funny thing is? He'd love it. Or! Or I'd like to pull off his boots--in fact, I should do that anyway at some point, he should be more naked--and see just how much pain he can take to the soles of his feet. Just that, the soles of his feet--they're amazingly sensitive in humans. Or grab that bit of rubber hose and beat his ass and thighs until the bruises come up all over." I shrug. "Simple, but satisfying, and he'd beg me for more if he could. Because you can feel it in him, can't you? He needs pain right now. He'd probably even like it if I threaded some of that wire through the head of his cock. Improvised dressing-ring, perhaps?" I laugh. "He could probably get hard and come again just from being beaten. Like I said, he needs pain. And I'm sure you sympathize--I know you sympathize, because I've seen it in you, too, on both ends. Giving and receiving. But do you know what I'm going to do instead?"
My Doctor stares at me, bottom corner of his lip dragging down. I think I've finally gotten him speechless.
"I'll take over that." I waggle my fingers at his hand. "I'll be the one to give him pleasure--I'm sure you'd approve. But pleasure isn't what he needs right now. You," and I retrieve his screwdriver from the railing, pick a setting which will agonize human flesh like strong static electricity, no damage, and press it into his free hand. "You are going to help him."