Fic: Doing It Both Ways Chapter 6
Title: Doing It Both Ways 6/? written with jadedgothchild
Rating: NC 17
Pairing: Tennant/Simm; Doctor/Master
Disclaimer: We don't know the actors and we don't own the characters. Just having some dirty fun with them, no harm intended.
Warning: This is a work of RPS and FPS, don't like, don't read. Also, happens to be totally AU.
Summary: David and John film new scenes and live them by accident, the Doctor and the Master live them on purpose and only film it accidentally.
Crack!Disclaimer: ***We'd like to note at this juncture that this is pretty cracky. Dr Who does not film porn. We do. Dr Who does not take three days to film two scenes. We do. John Simm is married. We like to pretend he's not. David Tennant is also in a heterosexual relationship. Bollocks to that.
In conclusion: Abandon reality all ye who enter here.***
“Good Morning, Doctor." The Master greets him in the most sing songy voice the Doctor had ever heard from his lips.
The Doctor, looking anywhere now but at his former lover, stumbles over his words. "Yes, well...I guess....Good Mo...I'm sorry, but what are you doing?"
"Well, you see" The Master sits halfway up, weight of his body supported by his elbows as he squints his eyes at the Doctor and continues "this light here would be a heat lamp, this underneath me here would be a towel and well, these here are bathing trunks." The Master lies back down upon the towel, grabbing the sunglasses next to the heat lamp and putting them on before adding, "Though honestly," He gestures with his hand towards the tight fitting suit, "they don't leave much to the imagination, do they?"
"Have you gone mad?" The Doctor looks at the Master, sizing him up if he was honest. The shorts really didn't leave much to the imagination. "And where, pray tell, did you get this...this stuff?"
"Mad? No, no I don't think I have. In fact," the Master lifts his sunglasses from his eyes enough to get his point across, "I think you are the one who looks a little mad here." He lowers his sunglasses and grabs a bottle of some oily substance, holding out to the Doctor. "Would you mind?"
"Mind what? What is it?" The Doctor asks.
"This? I'm not sure really, found it in your private quarters." He opens the bottle and sniffs, an exaggerated sigh leaving his throat as he does so. "It smells divine. Like sex itself. I must admit, I was a little surprised to find such an item at first, what with you being celibate and all."
"What were you doing in my private quarters? And you still didn't tell me where the rest of this ridiculousness came from and...I am not celibate." The Doctor runs his hands through his hair, frustrated.
The Master stands up, one hand holding the bottle, the other pulling the sunglasses from his face. "That's right, not completely celibate. You did, after all, let me have a taste..." He says as he advances on the Doctor and with one hand slides the sunglasses into the Doctor's hair then brings his hand down slowly to caress his cheek.
The Doctor flinches at the gesture. "Don't", he says quietly.
"Oh, look at you, so tense. You know, I found all this stuff here on your ship, in your wardrobe room. I'm sure we can find you something...appropriate to wear. You used to love this, do you remember?" He circles the Doctor, slipping the loose tie off of his neck. "We would spend hours lounging around, nearly nude and oily from this sort of stuff." He shakes the bottle in his hand. "We would tease each other and you...Oh you were the worst." The Master stands behind the Doctor, leans in with rough, lust induced words in his ear. "You would slick yourself up; cover yourself from limb to long limb, always leaving a little extra on your hands..."
The Doctor swallows, eyes closed, "Did I?"
"You would take those hands, those incredible fingers and slip them into your trunks, right there in front of me, in front of anyone who might glance our way. You would tease yourself, stroking back and forth with those oiled fingers. You would get in my head then, always then, making each stroke...Like your hands were on me." The Master pressed himself against the Doctor, skin singing as he felt the once familiar intrusion of the Doctor's mind. He opens himself up to it, allows the Doctor to see and hear and feel it all, every fiber of his being, the hatred, the lust, the anger, the power; bared naked, stripped to the core for him for one brief moment before shutting back down to him, forcing him out and pushing him away, figuratively and literally.
"Pathetic." The Master looks at the Doctor, reveling in that look of confusion and hurt he sees. "Did you really think I would let you in? Let you, what, bring a blankie and curl up with my thoughts like you would with one of your silly human books?"
"No, I just thought...I..." The Doctor walks towards the console and busies his hands with buttons and levers.
"You thought I was your pet. You thought wrong, Doctor." He spits out. “For so long I wanted you, craved you. I ached for this, for us, alone at last. But not like this, not amongst mud ponds and glistening lakes and your Tardis that lies dormant, cowering in the corner while the universe carries on. We should be living like kings, don’t you see? We could be living like royalty atop the highest mountain, debauchery ruling our lives while our kingdom crumbles and burns beneath our feet. But you cast me aside, every time, every way. I have offered you my world, over and over again, for hundreds of years. Don’t you see? Are you so thick that you can’t see it?”
The Doctor is angry now, hands tightly gripped on the machine in front of him. He feels the anger welling inside of him. “You offer me a life I can never live. You offer me nothing more than destruction.”
The Master comes nearer to the Doctor now, the smell of fear, desperation and hatred turning him on even more than the sheer lust. This is what he wants, this is what he needs. “Is it the destruction of the universe that you are afraid of? Or is it your own destruction that scares you so?” The Master is once again behind the Doctor, who tenses in reaction. The Master grips the Doctor’s fists with his own, effectively wrapping himself around the Doctor, grinding his hips against him blindly, urgently.
“I don’t want this.” The Doctor tells him through gritted teeth. “I don’t want you.”
“Oh, you may not want this” the Master whispers low in the Doctor’s ear, releasing one hand off of his grip to grope between the Doctor’s legs, “but you do want me. Ah, see, right there, hot and hard beneath my touch.” The Doctor doesn’t move into the touch or away from it, he is still and quiet until the Master releases his grip, feigning a pout as he does so. “Pity you don’t want to play. We could have so much fun.”
The Master backs away slightly, allowing the Doctor room to move away from him, to squeeze by and walk away.
**
The next morning things are only a touch awkward, and by the time they've finished showering together things are not awkward at all. John leaves first and stops to pick up some coffee, letting David arrive before him. Unfortunately Barrowman has the same idea, and one look tells him he's been well and truly busted completing a form of the walk of shame.
"You're looking well rested," John tells him with an emphatically dirty smirk, "Good night?"
He can't help the grin that leaps onto his face, "Yeah, you could definitely put it that way."
"Care to confirm or deny certain names people might have been called?" John looks genuinely jealous for the briefest of moments and he bristles.
"Well I'm still walking," he says with a perverse kind of pleasure, revelling in the thought that he could have what the other man wanted; an animalistic pride in having conquered a coveted prize.
John's eyes widen theatrically, flicking between his arse and his face in disbelief.
"What? Didn't think poor little straight boys like it up the arse?" They reach the counter and the barista raises an eyebrow at him, looking him over appreciatively. He coughs and looks away for a moment before ordering.
John offers him a ride the short distance in, and he nods gratefully, even though it means continuing the conversation.
"Little bit of a limp you've got there," John says slyly as he starts the car, "I'm actually kind of impressed. Or have you been holding out on me?"
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," He sniffs, posh voice firmly in place, "Gentlemen never tell."
Barrowman laughs and drops the subject, surely planning on grilling David next. John smothers a twinge of something hot and angry that the other John thought he was entitled to this information. What he and David did together shouldn't be any of his business, even if he was the Gay Sex Fairy.
**
The Doctor retreats to his private quarters, where he uncharacteristically flops onto his admittedly less than comfortable bed.
It really is uncomfortable. Part of the self punishment I suppose.
“Wonderful.” He says aloud to no one. “I’m thinking like him.”
You always have.
“No, no I haven’t. He wants death and destruction. He wants lust and power. I don’t want these things. I want...” the Doctor continues talking to himself.
You want him.
“No, I don’t. I can’t. “He continues as he sits up on the bed.
You want out.
“I made a promise. I made it to them, all of them, all of those people he tortured on that ship, a promise to me...” The Doctor stopped as the Master entered his room in grand fashion, swimming trunks still on and towel slung over his shoulder.
“Here you are my pet. What a bad boy you are, running away from your Master like that.” The Master drops his towel to the floor and rustles his fingers in the Doctor’s hair as he walks by, petting him. “Bad boys need punishing, of course.” He smiles and makes his way towards the bathroom, stripping off his trunks at the door. He looks at the Doctor, “Take the suit off, I can’t have you ruining more clothes.”
The Doctor looks down at his clothes and back to the Master. “Ruined?”
“In the shower of course. You’ll be joining me.” He steps into the bathroom.
**
When John gets to the set he's ushered into make up just as David's leaving.
"You're sunbathing bit's up first... You did warn Nicki about that, right?" David asks him with a smirk, taking it upon himself to name John's fake girlfriend. Only fair really, since she was him.
"You know how she is. If she wants something, she takes it. Apparently I’m only allowed to look healthy and normal for a few days before she gets bitey," he replies, giving David a quick look before turning apologetically to the make up staff, "Sorry. We'll need a bit more cover up than last time..."
They frown and David laughs and wanders away, cover story safely established. He suffers their inquiries with as much grace as he can and is almost relieved to be sent out onto set in his underpants.
Meanwhile, David finds himself cornered by the Gay Sex Fairy.
"So," John chirps, "Rumour has it you've been a naughty boy."
David grins and offers him a little shrug.
"Did you really make him arrive after you?" He asks a little disbelievingly, leaning against the wall as people bustle past, raising an eyebrow at him.
Again David shrugs, "It just kind of... I don't fancy being that guy, the one who shags all his co-stars."
John snorts, "No fear of that happening, I mean, I'm right here and you've never so much as groped me!"
"Awww John. You know I would. I just... Never got around to it," David says, "Don't pout."
John does, playing it up for the crew around who are pretending not to watch, "You don't think I'm pretty. That's it, isn't it?"
David fights down laughter, and shakes his head, "Of course not, you know I think you're beautiful." He strokes John's face in an attempt to placate the brewing tantrum.
"You never kiss me in public though," John sniffs, and David rolls his eyes, committed to the joke now that it's started. He catches John's shoulder and steps close, kissing him full and firm, sliding his hand up into his Captain Jack hair. He barely registers the catcalls of the crew, distracted by John's tongue curling over his.
Finally they part and he clears his throat, "There. Feel better?"
John smirks and wanders back to where he's actually supposed to be.
** Click Here for Chapter Seven