Lion Sleeps Tonight
Unrepentant, unbeta'd Five/Cheetah!Ainley!Master cracksexings for kink meme.
He was accustomed to the Master’s TARDIS stalking him. It just usually had the Master in it at the time.
The Doctor had known something was off when the other time-ship had materialized across the London street (disguising itself as a signboard-and he should have known then and there something was off, because the Master would jump into another singularity before he allowed his TARDIS to advertise The Human League’s Dare) and psychically bleated sadly at him, making no aggressive gesture.
He’d just dropped Tegan home on the day of her Aunt’s funeral. Nyssa had supportively insisted on accompanying her, despite Tegan’s protests that she’d like to be alone-the Doctor was grateful that Nyssa hadn’t taken her at her word, but didn’t feel comfortable intruding on her grief himself. He was a little relieved that Nyssa, who knew how to be sympathetic without coddling, had relieved him of the responsibility.
The TARDIS across the way hesitated for a moment, and shimmered into being right next to him, this time as a candy-apple red, glossy phone booth, as if it were trying to communicate a friendly similarity to his own TARDIS while proudly asserting its uniqueness. It landed so close that the Doctor involuntarily stepped back. Automatically, he scanned for the Master’s presence within. Nothing. The Doctor thought of the Alice in Wonderland line about smiles and cats, and wondered how machine and Master might have come to be separated.
The Doctor probed it cautiously. No Master at all. Well the Master couldn’t be dead, then his TADRIS would be maddened, wandering the Howling and keening its loss to the other TARDIS-corpses it encountered, Not in London trying to politely catch the attention of its owner’s nemesis.
He was never going to find out what all this was about unless he swallowed his paranoia that this might be some ludicrously complicated trap and just talked to the thing. Cautiously, the Doctor lowered his outer-most defense. Communication exploded in a grateful rush.
:: You ! [HE(mine)] requires repair wrt instance{is/will be} broken:: .: {altered from specifications!}{malfunctioning!} (YOU.fix) NOW. ::
But where is he? The Doctor’s befuddlement read clearly. The TARDIS’s annoyance with him for even the slightest hesitation was, however, about the clearest thing he had ever felt.
:: issue{location(lost)}!! :: :: YOU cometo.{location(within)}{instance(now)} ! ! ! ::
“But what’s happened?” He snapped, aloud. “I can’t go gallivanting across the universe at the beck and call of the TARDIS of a man who’s tried to kill me more times than I can count-and that’s saying something because I’m rather a proficient counter. Now I’m quite sorry, but until you can explain-”
:: [HE(mine)]{unknow}me!! [HE(mine)]{unlove}me!! DN Enter&Talk&Me{FEARS} You [HE(mine)]{Know}, You(make [HE(mine)]) > {instance(past)} ∴ YOU COMETO.{LOCATION(HERE)}. YOU HELP. ::
The Doctor winced at the psychic intensity. Like her Master, this TARDIS could be heavy-handed and determined. Whatever else, he was convinced of the TARDIS’s sincerity of purpose.
“I’ll follow you in mine,” the Doctor compromised. He could always return to this point pick up the girls, regardless of how long this took. And they were somewhere relatively safe.
:: Acceptable. :: The Master’s TARDIS huffed, sending a worried, dense greeting/communiqué to the Doctor’s own TARDIS that the Doctor could feel glancing around the edges of his psychic periphery, just discernable enough to make him feel uncomfortable, like he was being watched or talked about.
*
The Master was not coming into the Doctor’s TARDIS. He crouched a score of feet from the open doors, sniffing, his nose wrinkling at the spicy autron energy crackling in the air. The other cats had run, despite the Master’s growls, which commanded them to hold their ground. Their terror of that smell was stronger even than their fear of their pack leader.
The Master alone was intrigued by the scent. Uncowed. He sat, eyes flickering, following the blonde man moving inside the shadowed depths of the strange cave as intently as if the man were prey. Casually he lifted a hand to his mouth and swiped over a bloody knuckle (breakfast had struggled, had mussed him a bit in the killing of it), grooming himself. But he wouldn’t get closer to the box.
Inside the TARDIS, unwilling to expose himself to whatever atmospheric components had deranged the Master, the Doctor rocked back and forth on his plimsoles. It seemed the Master had been less affected by whatever this viral agent was than the other victims-teeth and claws and altered behavior, but he’d not suffered the full on transformation some of the others had been sporting. Time Lord geneticists who waxed poetic on innate Gallifreyan biological superiority would just /love/ this. The Doctor resolved never to tell them about it.
“Here, kitty kitty,” he tried, lamely, dangling a bit of wire from the console enticingly and blushing a bit. In a supremely feline gesture that was not at all a product of biological alteration, the Master arched a curious eyebrow, as if amused by the display.
The Master’s TARDIS hung back in the void, unwilling to jeopardize the Healing she was convinced the Doctor could lay on her owner.
The Doctor sighed in frustration, running a hand through his blonde hair. It wasn’t as if he had a giant slab of meat on board he could tempt the Master with-though he supposed he could pop off to the butchers back on Earth and get one. But there had to be a more direct solution-what did cats like? String failed. So mittens? Or was that just kittens? Cream? He had the makings of a cream tea lying about, he knew that much-oh, or catnip! And he had a full greenhouse, somewhere in the ship! Somewhere in there he had to have some representative of genus Nepeta!
“One second,” The Doctor held up a finger to an uncomprehending Master before whirling away, cricket coat flapping. In his absence, the Master growled, low and dangerous, at the sudden disappearance of his deeply familiar, pretty gold toy. His hackles smoothed back down when the smallish, golden animal came back and started whacking at some leaves and stems with a mortal and pestle.
The Master smiled indulgently, watching the creature work so busily, pale lips fixed in determined concentration, sticking his bright little tongue out the side of his mouth as he concentrated. The Master purred in approval when the other discarded his jacket and worked in shirtsleeves and braces. If he’d had a proper tail, it would have been flicking back and forth. Idly, the Master adjusted the cuffs of the somewhat tattered remnants of his suit as the animal crammed the yield into a vial, jabbering on about an ‘atomizer.’
“Here!” the creature pronounced, spraying his wrists and neck with the substance and flicking something on the central console. “It follows the same principle as police glass. Atoms can get out, so you can detect the attractant, but contaminants can’t get through the shield--like what the sound waves are doing right now. Come on, Master-can’t you smell it? It mimics a feline pheromone-between that and whatever you can remember of Gallifreyan scent, putting some on my skin might just be enough to make you-oh, and here you come!”
The Doctor seemed delighted with himself as the Master started to pad towards the TARDIS, sniffing cautiously. His grin took on a more panicked edge as the Master, gathering speed, charged at the door. The Doctor flicked the barrier into a position that would permit the Master’s entry and stepped out of the way as the Master slammed into the console room, eyes wide, nose twitching, hair free of its normal gelled neatness.
“Hello,” the Doctor tried in a soothing voice, backing up as the Master, dark eyes, stalked him back into the rondell-covered wall, “Er, good kitty. I’m going to walk you to the med bay. I think-”
The Master rubbed his nose against the Doctor’s neck, where he’s sprayed the substance like perfume, and purred. The Doctor’s breath caught.
“Perhaps you don’t properly remember,” he tried, “What an, er, private area that is for-gah!” The Master was licking it off his neck, warm and wet, rough tongue scraping against the delicate skin.
“Perhaps spraying myself with the nepeta wasn’t my wisest-”
The Master shoved the Doctor down with hands on his shoulders, following him, licking at his wrists to get more of the chemical, forcing the Doctor completely to the floor, pawing at his and rolling his weight on top of his caught prey.
“This a perfectly normal reaction to catnip,” the Doctor assured himself in a quavering voice as the Master mewled and nuzzled his neck, willing himself to ignore the stiff heaviness pressing at him through the Master’s suit. “One I should have anticipated. It’s quite all right. I won’t take it personally. Cats typically loose interest in a few minutes, and then there’s a refractory period of a few hours before it’s effective again. You may attack me then, and while I’m certain you can outrun me on open ground, the TARDIS will arrange her corridors in a loop if I ask her to. You’ll run yourself down to docile exhaustion while I see about a cure.”
The Master rightly ignored the Doctor’s attempts to share The Plan, scooting down the Doctor’s body.
“What are you-” The Doctor gasped and sputtered as the nuzzling zeroed in on the erection he’d been desperately struggling to suppress.
“You need to stop,” he told the Master sternly. “Listen to me,” he applied a bit of psychic pressure in his tone. Grudgingly, the Master looked up, though as usual his obedience was only half correct-he ran a lazy, free hand over the length of the Doctor’s trapped, swollen erection even as he listened. “Listen, if I let you do this you’d be ashamed of yourself afterwards, and you’d be none too pleased with me, either. This isn’t-you don’t feel this way about me, trust me on that, and you’d never-” The Doctor cut off abruptly as he considered it. No. No, the Master didn’t even-and yet-and there was the time-and the thing with the Autons-and all the fencing-and the Master never did manage to properly kill him-my god, and the valeriana-well, none of it signified, because he couldn’t have missed something that obvious, could-
The Master managed to smirk around fangs. The Doctor swallowed. “Or perhaps you’d be perfectly fine with it,” he allowed, “But that’s still no reason-excuse me, I quite liked those!” The Doctor’s period of moral indecision over, the Master was perfectly content to shred his trousers to ribbons, pushing his weight down on the Doctor when the blond struggled, suckling his neck to show the blond that he was safe, that it was all right, that this wasn’t an attack. He nudged the Doctor over onto his stomach, and hissed and dragged him back when the Doctor attempted to crawl out of his reach.
“Wait,” the Doctor panted, “Wait just a second. If we’re going to go through with this insanity, we’re going to need something, I’m going to have to have something,” he squirmed around so he could face the Master again, “Alright?” He psychically reinforced how trustworthy he was, how willing. “If I stay in your sight, will you let me fetch it?”
Slowly, he Master nodded, and the Doctor, severely disheveled, trying to gather the remains of his trousers about him, stumbled up and away, cautiously, over to the botanical sampler kit he’d used to make his fateful nepeta spray. He rummaged in it for a salve, absently swirling in a bit more of the crushed plant essence with a finger before noticing how very close to the door he was. If he could make it past the threshold, the TARDIS would take care of the rest, and fight free of the moral black hole of having taken advantage of the Master’s highly questionable state. Didn’t he have some responsibility to run from this encounter if he possibly-
A low growl sounded right behind him, the Master shoved him back to the ground, grabbing him by the neck with his teeth. Ah. He’d forgotten to close that telepathic connection entirely, and the Master could still parse ‘thinking about leaving.’
“Wait!” With a desperate flail the Doctor reached behind him before the Master could shove himself in, glopping the salve onto any skin he could reach, the Master purring as he liberally, blindly coated the base and the shaft before his fingers reached of peculiarly-shaped, almost barbed sort of head.
“Oh my god,” the Doctor’s eyes widened, “Oh you have got to be jok-” The word got lost in a strangled scream as, eager to get on with it, the Master shoved himself in.
“Of all the feline traits, you just had to pick up a serrated, barbed-oh god,” the Doctor panted as the Master raked up inside him, squirmed under the onslaught, “Actually that feels-ngh!” The Doctor dropped slack as the long, exquisitely painful drag of the organ inside him ended in a sharp jab at his prostate. He whimpered, and above him the Master managed a full, proper chuckle.
“Well you’re chipper, aren’t you?” The Doctor rolled his eyes, both wincing and sucking in a moan at another deep thrust-he didn’t typically like to mix sex and pain-a side effect, perhaps, of being tied up and tortured too often by people who seriously meant it to find it diverting in play-but he had to admit, this hurt very good. It made him think inappropriate things, like how good at this the Master must be when he was in full possession of his right mind. “Can you say anything, or has speech entirely deserted you?”
“Doctorrrrrr,” the Master purred, obligingly-not like he always purred, but so strongly his entire body vibrated behind and inside the Doctor’s. He reached a hand around and seized the Doctor’s cock, stroking it evenly, in disjointed rhythm, out of time with his thrusts, so that the Doctor quaked in a wild, messy deluge of feeling.
“Ah,” the Doctor gasped, “Well, at least you know who I am? I’d hate to think I could have been just anyone.”
Another rumbling chuckle from the Master, and then a series of frantic thrusts from the Master, who came roughly biting the Doctor’s sensitive neck and pulled out, making the Doctor suck air hard through his teeth, with an audible pop, before the Doctor had quite finished.
The Doctor frowned and was about to make some remark about how that was just typical of him-all planning and build up, with a completely botched conclusion, when the Master turned him rightside up with some authority and started to lick the Doctor’s cock with that rough tongue, methodical and slow, as if he were cleaning it. Grooming him. The Doctor gasped and twitched and fisted his hand in the Master’s dark, disheveled hair.
“Oh,” he shivered, “Oh that’s, that’s, oh Master!” And the other man sucked down his entire length, running a sharp, exposed claw from the Doctor’s neck to his navel, and then down his right thigh, not drawing blood-simply suggesting his ability to do so. The Doctor arched his back and came into his mouth, and the Master, smiling smugly at the recovering Doctor, licked it off his lips, exactly like a cat with cream.
The Master fastidiously licked the side of the Doctor’s face, nuzzling at his hair and then batting the bright strands with sated glee-apparently it was social grooming hour.
“What am I going to do with you?” The Doctor sighed, stretching his achingly weary body. Well, he should feed the Master, for a start. Then they could get to work on that cure, now that the other man was satisfied enough to be calm for it. He scratched absently behind the Master’s ears, smiling to himself at the pleased rumble from the other man. He stroked the Master’s back in lazy pets before standing and leaving, ignoring the warning growl when he did so, soothing the Master with an open phsychic link and returning from the kitchen with what he had on hand-a big bowl of cream.
He set it down before the Master and then, cross legged, sat down on the floor across from him. The Master unashamedly lapped, then seemed to consider. He sat back up and trailed a finger through the thick, viscous cream. He grabbed the bowl in both hands.
“Oh, you can still manipulate tools!” The Doctor enthused. “Fantastic! Well now I’m sure we can get you back to better in-wait, what are you doing?”
The Master slammed the Doctor to the floor with one hand and poured some cream over his stomach with the other. He sat the bowl back down and contentedly lapped at the Doctor’s chest, raking his rough tongue across the abdominal muscles to catch every drop.
“I’ve not properly planned for the fact that cats expect to mate again within five to thirty minutes, with as many as thirty matings in a heat cycle, have I?” The Doctor winced. The Master just continued on with his treat. The Doctor sighed and scritched behind his ears again. “Good kitty. Could I be on top this time?”
The Master cocked his head to one side and gave him an interrogative look, a finger slipping down to the Doctor’s entrance with lazy authority.
“Apparently not.” The Doctor concluded, letting the Master finish the cream before twisting to sit up. “I’ve an idea.” With the judicious application of a little more salve, he guided an amused, tolerant Master to lying down. He slipped onto the Master’s erect cock, gingerly riding him, letting the barbs scrape only slightly as he worked himself on the shaft. The Master seemed perfectly amenable to this arrangement, using his claws to knead the Doctor’s ass.
“We’re going to get you cured soon enough,” the Doctor promised, “And back to your TARDIS. And at least once, dammit, I’m going to do this when you’re fully self-aware and have normal sexual organs, do you hear me?”
“Doctorrrrr.”
The Doctor signed. “Close enough.”
He was accustomed to the Master’s TARDIS stalking him. It just usually had the Master in it at the time.
The Doctor had known something was off when the other time-ship had materialized across the London street (disguising itself as a signboard-and he should have known then and there something was off, because the Master would jump into another singularity before he allowed his TARDIS to advertise The Human League’s Dare) and psychically bleated sadly at him, making no aggressive gesture.
He’d just dropped Tegan home on the day of her Aunt’s funeral. Nyssa had supportively insisted on accompanying her, despite Tegan’s protests that she’d like to be alone-the Doctor was grateful that Nyssa hadn’t taken her at her word, but didn’t feel comfortable intruding on her grief himself. He was a little relieved that Nyssa, who knew how to be sympathetic without coddling, had relieved him of the responsibility.
The TARDIS across the way hesitated for a moment, and shimmered into being right next to him, this time as a candy-apple red, glossy phone booth, as if it were trying to communicate a friendly similarity to his own TARDIS while proudly asserting its uniqueness. It landed so close that the Doctor involuntarily stepped back. Automatically, he scanned for the Master’s presence within. Nothing. The Doctor thought of the Alice in Wonderland line about smiles and cats, and wondered how machine and Master might have come to be separated.
The Doctor probed it cautiously. No Master at all. Well the Master couldn’t be dead, then his TADRIS would be maddened, wandering the Howling and keening its loss to the other TARDIS-corpses it encountered, Not in London trying to politely catch the attention of its owner’s nemesis.
He was never going to find out what all this was about unless he swallowed his paranoia that this might be some ludicrously complicated trap and just talked to the thing. Cautiously, the Doctor lowered his outer-most defense. Communication exploded in a grateful rush.
:: You ! [HE(mine)] requires repair wrt instance{is/will be} broken:: .: {altered from specifications!}{malfunctioning!} (YOU.fix) NOW. ::
But where is he? The Doctor’s befuddlement read clearly. The TARDIS’s annoyance with him for even the slightest hesitation was, however, about the clearest thing he had ever felt.
:: issue{location(lost)}!! :: :: YOU cometo.{location(within)}{instance(now)} ! ! ! ::
“But what’s happened?” He snapped, aloud. “I can’t go gallivanting across the universe at the beck and call of the TARDIS of a man who’s tried to kill me more times than I can count-and that’s saying something because I’m rather a proficient counter. Now I’m quite sorry, but until you can explain-”
:: [HE(mine)]{unknow}me!! [HE(mine)]{unlove}me!! DN Enter&Talk&Me{FEARS} You [HE(mine)]{Know}, You(make [HE(mine)]) > {instance(past)} ∴ YOU COMETO.{LOCATION(HERE)}. YOU HELP. ::
The Doctor winced at the psychic intensity. Like her Master, this TARDIS could be heavy-handed and determined. Whatever else, he was convinced of the TARDIS’s sincerity of purpose.
“I’ll follow you in mine,” the Doctor compromised. He could always return to this point pick up the girls, regardless of how long this took. And they were somewhere relatively safe.
:: Acceptable. :: The Master’s TARDIS huffed, sending a worried, dense greeting/communiqué to the Doctor’s own TARDIS that the Doctor could feel glancing around the edges of his psychic periphery, just discernable enough to make him feel uncomfortable, like he was being watched or talked about.
*
The Master was not coming into the Doctor’s TARDIS. He crouched a score of feet from the open doors, sniffing, his nose wrinkling at the spicy autron energy crackling in the air. The other cats had run, despite the Master’s growls, which commanded them to hold their ground. Their terror of that smell was stronger even than their fear of their pack leader.
The Master alone was intrigued by the scent. Uncowed. He sat, eyes flickering, following the blonde man moving inside the shadowed depths of the strange cave as intently as if the man were prey. Casually he lifted a hand to his mouth and swiped over a bloody knuckle (breakfast had struggled, had mussed him a bit in the killing of it), grooming himself. But he wouldn’t get closer to the box.
Inside the TARDIS, unwilling to expose himself to whatever atmospheric components had deranged the Master, the Doctor rocked back and forth on his plimsoles. It seemed the Master had been less affected by whatever this viral agent was than the other victims-teeth and claws and altered behavior, but he’d not suffered the full on transformation some of the others had been sporting. Time Lord geneticists who waxed poetic on innate Gallifreyan biological superiority would just /love/ this. The Doctor resolved never to tell them about it.
“Here, kitty kitty,” he tried, lamely, dangling a bit of wire from the console enticingly and blushing a bit. In a supremely feline gesture that was not at all a product of biological alteration, the Master arched a curious eyebrow, as if amused by the display.
The Master’s TARDIS hung back in the void, unwilling to jeopardize the Healing she was convinced the Doctor could lay on her owner.
The Doctor sighed in frustration, running a hand through his blonde hair. It wasn’t as if he had a giant slab of meat on board he could tempt the Master with-though he supposed he could pop off to the butchers back on Earth and get one. But there had to be a more direct solution-what did cats like? String failed. So mittens? Or was that just kittens? Cream? He had the makings of a cream tea lying about, he knew that much-oh, or catnip! And he had a full greenhouse, somewhere in the ship! Somewhere in there he had to have some representative of genus Nepeta!
“One second,” The Doctor held up a finger to an uncomprehending Master before whirling away, cricket coat flapping. In his absence, the Master growled, low and dangerous, at the sudden disappearance of his deeply familiar, pretty gold toy. His hackles smoothed back down when the smallish, golden animal came back and started whacking at some leaves and stems with a mortal and pestle.
The Master smiled indulgently, watching the creature work so busily, pale lips fixed in determined concentration, sticking his bright little tongue out the side of his mouth as he concentrated. The Master purred in approval when the other discarded his jacket and worked in shirtsleeves and braces. If he’d had a proper tail, it would have been flicking back and forth. Idly, the Master adjusted the cuffs of the somewhat tattered remnants of his suit as the animal crammed the yield into a vial, jabbering on about an ‘atomizer.’
“Here!” the creature pronounced, spraying his wrists and neck with the substance and flicking something on the central console. “It follows the same principle as police glass. Atoms can get out, so you can detect the attractant, but contaminants can’t get through the shield--like what the sound waves are doing right now. Come on, Master-can’t you smell it? It mimics a feline pheromone-between that and whatever you can remember of Gallifreyan scent, putting some on my skin might just be enough to make you-oh, and here you come!”
The Doctor seemed delighted with himself as the Master started to pad towards the TARDIS, sniffing cautiously. His grin took on a more panicked edge as the Master, gathering speed, charged at the door. The Doctor flicked the barrier into a position that would permit the Master’s entry and stepped out of the way as the Master slammed into the console room, eyes wide, nose twitching, hair free of its normal gelled neatness.
“Hello,” the Doctor tried in a soothing voice, backing up as the Master, dark eyes, stalked him back into the rondell-covered wall, “Er, good kitty. I’m going to walk you to the med bay. I think-”
The Master rubbed his nose against the Doctor’s neck, where he’s sprayed the substance like perfume, and purred. The Doctor’s breath caught.
“Perhaps you don’t properly remember,” he tried, “What an, er, private area that is for-gah!” The Master was licking it off his neck, warm and wet, rough tongue scraping against the delicate skin.
“Perhaps spraying myself with the nepeta wasn’t my wisest-”
The Master shoved the Doctor down with hands on his shoulders, following him, licking at his wrists to get more of the chemical, forcing the Doctor completely to the floor, pawing at his and rolling his weight on top of his caught prey.
“This a perfectly normal reaction to catnip,” the Doctor assured himself in a quavering voice as the Master mewled and nuzzled his neck, willing himself to ignore the stiff heaviness pressing at him through the Master’s suit. “One I should have anticipated. It’s quite all right. I won’t take it personally. Cats typically loose interest in a few minutes, and then there’s a refractory period of a few hours before it’s effective again. You may attack me then, and while I’m certain you can outrun me on open ground, the TARDIS will arrange her corridors in a loop if I ask her to. You’ll run yourself down to docile exhaustion while I see about a cure.”
The Master rightly ignored the Doctor’s attempts to share The Plan, scooting down the Doctor’s body.
“What are you-” The Doctor gasped and sputtered as the nuzzling zeroed in on the erection he’d been desperately struggling to suppress.
“You need to stop,” he told the Master sternly. “Listen to me,” he applied a bit of psychic pressure in his tone. Grudgingly, the Master looked up, though as usual his obedience was only half correct-he ran a lazy, free hand over the length of the Doctor’s trapped, swollen erection even as he listened. “Listen, if I let you do this you’d be ashamed of yourself afterwards, and you’d be none too pleased with me, either. This isn’t-you don’t feel this way about me, trust me on that, and you’d never-” The Doctor cut off abruptly as he considered it. No. No, the Master didn’t even-and yet-and there was the time-and the thing with the Autons-and all the fencing-and the Master never did manage to properly kill him-my god, and the valeriana-well, none of it signified, because he couldn’t have missed something that obvious, could-
The Master managed to smirk around fangs. The Doctor swallowed. “Or perhaps you’d be perfectly fine with it,” he allowed, “But that’s still no reason-excuse me, I quite liked those!” The Doctor’s period of moral indecision over, the Master was perfectly content to shred his trousers to ribbons, pushing his weight down on the Doctor when the blond struggled, suckling his neck to show the blond that he was safe, that it was all right, that this wasn’t an attack. He nudged the Doctor over onto his stomach, and hissed and dragged him back when the Doctor attempted to crawl out of his reach.
“Wait,” the Doctor panted, “Wait just a second. If we’re going to go through with this insanity, we’re going to need something, I’m going to have to have something,” he squirmed around so he could face the Master again, “Alright?” He psychically reinforced how trustworthy he was, how willing. “If I stay in your sight, will you let me fetch it?”
Slowly, he Master nodded, and the Doctor, severely disheveled, trying to gather the remains of his trousers about him, stumbled up and away, cautiously, over to the botanical sampler kit he’d used to make his fateful nepeta spray. He rummaged in it for a salve, absently swirling in a bit more of the crushed plant essence with a finger before noticing how very close to the door he was. If he could make it past the threshold, the TARDIS would take care of the rest, and fight free of the moral black hole of having taken advantage of the Master’s highly questionable state. Didn’t he have some responsibility to run from this encounter if he possibly-
A low growl sounded right behind him, the Master shoved him back to the ground, grabbing him by the neck with his teeth. Ah. He’d forgotten to close that telepathic connection entirely, and the Master could still parse ‘thinking about leaving.’
“Wait!” With a desperate flail the Doctor reached behind him before the Master could shove himself in, glopping the salve onto any skin he could reach, the Master purring as he liberally, blindly coated the base and the shaft before his fingers reached of peculiarly-shaped, almost barbed sort of head.
“Oh my god,” the Doctor’s eyes widened, “Oh you have got to be jok-” The word got lost in a strangled scream as, eager to get on with it, the Master shoved himself in.
“Of all the feline traits, you just had to pick up a serrated, barbed-oh god,” the Doctor panted as the Master raked up inside him, squirmed under the onslaught, “Actually that feels-ngh!” The Doctor dropped slack as the long, exquisitely painful drag of the organ inside him ended in a sharp jab at his prostate. He whimpered, and above him the Master managed a full, proper chuckle.
“Well you’re chipper, aren’t you?” The Doctor rolled his eyes, both wincing and sucking in a moan at another deep thrust-he didn’t typically like to mix sex and pain-a side effect, perhaps, of being tied up and tortured too often by people who seriously meant it to find it diverting in play-but he had to admit, this hurt very good. It made him think inappropriate things, like how good at this the Master must be when he was in full possession of his right mind. “Can you say anything, or has speech entirely deserted you?”
“Doctorrrrrr,” the Master purred, obligingly-not like he always purred, but so strongly his entire body vibrated behind and inside the Doctor’s. He reached a hand around and seized the Doctor’s cock, stroking it evenly, in disjointed rhythm, out of time with his thrusts, so that the Doctor quaked in a wild, messy deluge of feeling.
“Ah,” the Doctor gasped, “Well, at least you know who I am? I’d hate to think I could have been just anyone.”
Another rumbling chuckle from the Master, and then a series of frantic thrusts from the Master, who came roughly biting the Doctor’s sensitive neck and pulled out, making the Doctor suck air hard through his teeth, with an audible pop, before the Doctor had quite finished.
The Doctor frowned and was about to make some remark about how that was just typical of him-all planning and build up, with a completely botched conclusion, when the Master turned him rightside up with some authority and started to lick the Doctor’s cock with that rough tongue, methodical and slow, as if he were cleaning it. Grooming him. The Doctor gasped and twitched and fisted his hand in the Master’s dark, disheveled hair.
“Oh,” he shivered, “Oh that’s, that’s, oh Master!” And the other man sucked down his entire length, running a sharp, exposed claw from the Doctor’s neck to his navel, and then down his right thigh, not drawing blood-simply suggesting his ability to do so. The Doctor arched his back and came into his mouth, and the Master, smiling smugly at the recovering Doctor, licked it off his lips, exactly like a cat with cream.
The Master fastidiously licked the side of the Doctor’s face, nuzzling at his hair and then batting the bright strands with sated glee-apparently it was social grooming hour.
“What am I going to do with you?” The Doctor sighed, stretching his achingly weary body. Well, he should feed the Master, for a start. Then they could get to work on that cure, now that the other man was satisfied enough to be calm for it. He scratched absently behind the Master’s ears, smiling to himself at the pleased rumble from the other man. He stroked the Master’s back in lazy pets before standing and leaving, ignoring the warning growl when he did so, soothing the Master with an open phsychic link and returning from the kitchen with what he had on hand-a big bowl of cream.
He set it down before the Master and then, cross legged, sat down on the floor across from him. The Master unashamedly lapped, then seemed to consider. He sat back up and trailed a finger through the thick, viscous cream. He grabbed the bowl in both hands.
“Oh, you can still manipulate tools!” The Doctor enthused. “Fantastic! Well now I’m sure we can get you back to better in-wait, what are you doing?”
The Master slammed the Doctor to the floor with one hand and poured some cream over his stomach with the other. He sat the bowl back down and contentedly lapped at the Doctor’s chest, raking his rough tongue across the abdominal muscles to catch every drop.
“I’ve not properly planned for the fact that cats expect to mate again within five to thirty minutes, with as many as thirty matings in a heat cycle, have I?” The Doctor winced. The Master just continued on with his treat. The Doctor sighed and scritched behind his ears again. “Good kitty. Could I be on top this time?”
The Master cocked his head to one side and gave him an interrogative look, a finger slipping down to the Doctor’s entrance with lazy authority.
“Apparently not.” The Doctor concluded, letting the Master finish the cream before twisting to sit up. “I’ve an idea.” With the judicious application of a little more salve, he guided an amused, tolerant Master to lying down. He slipped onto the Master’s erect cock, gingerly riding him, letting the barbs scrape only slightly as he worked himself on the shaft. The Master seemed perfectly amenable to this arrangement, using his claws to knead the Doctor’s ass.
“We’re going to get you cured soon enough,” the Doctor promised, “And back to your TARDIS. And at least once, dammit, I’m going to do this when you’re fully self-aware and have normal sexual organs, do you hear me?”
“Doctorrrrr.”
The Doctor signed. “Close enough.”