A Day of Love and Peace
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: #094 - Celebrate
Claim: The Time War
Table: Here
Spoilers: End of Season 3
Warning: Non-con, violence
Pairing: Simm!Master/Doctor (10)
Summary: Christmas on the Valiant has the Master broadcasting his own private party.
Note: This is totally eryaforsthye 's fault! If not for the 'Dear Santa' post in her journal I would never have gotten this rather cracky idea. Therefore this story is dedicated to her, weather she likes it or not.
Anyway, I don't know what to make of this. It's too dark to be cracky. Actually, I think it's rather sick. Well, a christmas fic in November usually is. Still, when inspiration strikes...
Extra Note: This story just plain sucks. Sorry.
Everyone is here now. Martha’s family in their servant clothes, Jack in his dirty rags and cuffs. A dozen soldiers, their weapons ready. Lucy is wearing make up and a tight, green dress.
The Doctor is wearing nothing. Standing in the middle of the room he does his best to keep his head up and his face blank. His legs are trembling with the effort of keeping him upright - he is young again but has been here for hours, chains keeping his hands above his head, with only his heartbeats for company. The others have only just arrived, one after the other. No-one is speaking.
The Master is arriving late, as is his right and obligation as the star of the show. As usually his entrance is preceded by music, the loudspeakers thundering Jingle Bells at deafening volume but no-one dares to even flinch. Maybe Jack does, but Jack is behind him where the Doctor can not see him. He is glad about that.
Then the Master comes, dances into the room as he so much enjoys to do. The Doctor sees him out of the corner of his eye, since he is facing the other way and refuses to turn and look. For once the ruler of Earth has abandoned his black suit for a red coat with fluffy white trimmings. On his head he wears a long, flopping red cap. In one hand he holds a bag made of jute, in the other hand a rod. Santa has arrived.
The Doctor knows this is not the time for hysterical, desperate laughter. He swallows instead and closes his eyes for a second, then pulls himself together. Clenches his teeth and straightens his shoulders. He is on telly, after all.
“Hello down there!” the Master sing-songs after the volume of the music is turned down. He grins at the cameras. “Santa here! Oh, you humans have some very nice traditions. A day of love and peace! Think about it! And that after you spent the whole year trying to kill each other. I must say, and I mean this from the hearts:“ He gives his audience down on Earth his best innocent-boy-look. “I love you all!” Having said that he spins around to pull Lucy close for a deep kiss. She smiles her sweet smile of shyness and insanity into the camera.
“My own planet had a lot of traditions as well,” the Master goes on and the Doctor knows where this is leading. “None about love, mind you. Most traditions on my homeworld were just plain stupid.” He shrugs. “Well, it doesn’t matter anymore, because someone blew it up.”
Another whirl and he’s beside the Doctor, caressing his face. “Why did they do that, I wonder?”
“What is this about?” the Doctor wants to know, keeping his voice low so the microphones won’t pick it up, and the Master leans in and licks his cheek.
“Fun,” he whispers back.
Turning back to the cameras he winks and then looks at the audience in the room.
“Christmas is a day for giving presents,” he says. “But presents are only for good children. Do you know what happens to the bad ones?” The Doctor can not see their reaction. The Master does. And he nods approvingly and says:
“That’s right.” Then he’s speaking to the cameras again. “Look at this man!” he orders, pointing at the Doctor. “Do you think he’s been a good boy the last, oh, one-hundred years?” He walks around the chained man, coming to stand behind him. “How did you behave?” His voice sounds very close and the Doctor can feel the breath on his bare skin. “And remember, every genocide brings a hell of a lot of negative points.” He takes a step backwards. “Now, Doctor. Have you been naughty?”
The Doctor swallows dryly. He isn’t in a room full of people anymore, watched by the decimated population of Earth.
His lips barely move.
“Very,” he whispers.
“I thoughts so,” comes the Master’s satisfies reply. “I think you deserve a spanking.”
The Doctor bites his lip and keeps his face down as the Master strikes him, the stinging pain caused by the thin rod worse than he expected. The Master strikes his arse and than his back and his arse again and the back of his thighs while the loudspeakers are thundering Christmas songs into the room. The Doctor doesn’t make a sound. He doesn’t count.
It’s not just Gallifrey that’s burning before his eyes.
The Master stops only when the Doctor’s legs give out and he hangs helplessly in his chains. He stands beside his prisoner and pats his head like one would pat a little dog.
“People of Earth,” he starts again. “I hope you made your children watch, for this is what happens when you don’t behave. But,” He opens the bag he put down earlier. “only bad children get punished. For the good ones there are toys.”
The Doctor closes his eyes, not wanting to see.
His other senses tell him that the Master is standing behind him again, and then his legs are kicked apart and he feels the rod that has left bloody marks on his body move up and down his thighs in mock tenderness.
From far away he hears Jack’s voice, shouting, followed by a gunshot and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor.
The Master sighs.
“Some people just don’t know how to behave,” he says sadly. “Maybe I’ll have to punish him as well…”
“Don’t!” the Doctor begs, grinds his teeth when something large, hard and scratchy is pushed inside him and forces the next words out none the less. “You’ve done enough to him already to last a lifetime.”
“Yeah, but his lifetimes are so very short,” the Master chuckles into his ears and forces whatever he’s holding in deeper. “Tell me, Doctor, does that hurt.”
“Yes,” the Doctor gasps, biting back a scream.
“And do you deserve it?”
The Doctor doesn’t want to answer.
“Yes,” he breathes.
“And is this pain enough to make up for your sins?”
“No.”
The Master is licking the tears off the Doctor’s cheek and behind them Jack comes alive again.
“Tell him, and I might leave him alone,” the Master offers when the human begins cursing him again.
“Jack!” the Doctor calls without hesitation. “It’s alright.” And after his friend has fallen silent he adds, for all to hear: “I deserve it.”
“Bullshit!” Jack calls back, and one moment later there is another gunshot and another thud.
“He never fails to amuse me,” the Master states. “Now, let’s celebrate!” He twists his hand and pushes and his floppy cap brushes over the broken skin of the Doctor’s back as the Master makes him scream.
The others are watching in silence.
Somewhere on Earth it’s probably snowing.
November 16, 2007
Prompt: #094 - Celebrate
Claim: The Time War
Table: Here
Spoilers: End of Season 3
Warning: Non-con, violence
Pairing: Simm!Master/Doctor (10)
Summary: Christmas on the Valiant has the Master broadcasting his own private party.
Note: This is totally eryaforsthye 's fault! If not for the 'Dear Santa' post in her journal I would never have gotten this rather cracky idea. Therefore this story is dedicated to her, weather she likes it or not.
Anyway, I don't know what to make of this. It's too dark to be cracky. Actually, I think it's rather sick. Well, a christmas fic in November usually is. Still, when inspiration strikes...
Extra Note: This story just plain sucks. Sorry.
Everyone is here now. Martha’s family in their servant clothes, Jack in his dirty rags and cuffs. A dozen soldiers, their weapons ready. Lucy is wearing make up and a tight, green dress.
The Doctor is wearing nothing. Standing in the middle of the room he does his best to keep his head up and his face blank. His legs are trembling with the effort of keeping him upright - he is young again but has been here for hours, chains keeping his hands above his head, with only his heartbeats for company. The others have only just arrived, one after the other. No-one is speaking.
The Master is arriving late, as is his right and obligation as the star of the show. As usually his entrance is preceded by music, the loudspeakers thundering Jingle Bells at deafening volume but no-one dares to even flinch. Maybe Jack does, but Jack is behind him where the Doctor can not see him. He is glad about that.
Then the Master comes, dances into the room as he so much enjoys to do. The Doctor sees him out of the corner of his eye, since he is facing the other way and refuses to turn and look. For once the ruler of Earth has abandoned his black suit for a red coat with fluffy white trimmings. On his head he wears a long, flopping red cap. In one hand he holds a bag made of jute, in the other hand a rod. Santa has arrived.
The Doctor knows this is not the time for hysterical, desperate laughter. He swallows instead and closes his eyes for a second, then pulls himself together. Clenches his teeth and straightens his shoulders. He is on telly, after all.
“Hello down there!” the Master sing-songs after the volume of the music is turned down. He grins at the cameras. “Santa here! Oh, you humans have some very nice traditions. A day of love and peace! Think about it! And that after you spent the whole year trying to kill each other. I must say, and I mean this from the hearts:“ He gives his audience down on Earth his best innocent-boy-look. “I love you all!” Having said that he spins around to pull Lucy close for a deep kiss. She smiles her sweet smile of shyness and insanity into the camera.
“My own planet had a lot of traditions as well,” the Master goes on and the Doctor knows where this is leading. “None about love, mind you. Most traditions on my homeworld were just plain stupid.” He shrugs. “Well, it doesn’t matter anymore, because someone blew it up.”
Another whirl and he’s beside the Doctor, caressing his face. “Why did they do that, I wonder?”
“What is this about?” the Doctor wants to know, keeping his voice low so the microphones won’t pick it up, and the Master leans in and licks his cheek.
“Fun,” he whispers back.
Turning back to the cameras he winks and then looks at the audience in the room.
“Christmas is a day for giving presents,” he says. “But presents are only for good children. Do you know what happens to the bad ones?” The Doctor can not see their reaction. The Master does. And he nods approvingly and says:
“That’s right.” Then he’s speaking to the cameras again. “Look at this man!” he orders, pointing at the Doctor. “Do you think he’s been a good boy the last, oh, one-hundred years?” He walks around the chained man, coming to stand behind him. “How did you behave?” His voice sounds very close and the Doctor can feel the breath on his bare skin. “And remember, every genocide brings a hell of a lot of negative points.” He takes a step backwards. “Now, Doctor. Have you been naughty?”
The Doctor swallows dryly. He isn’t in a room full of people anymore, watched by the decimated population of Earth.
His lips barely move.
“Very,” he whispers.
“I thoughts so,” comes the Master’s satisfies reply. “I think you deserve a spanking.”
The Doctor bites his lip and keeps his face down as the Master strikes him, the stinging pain caused by the thin rod worse than he expected. The Master strikes his arse and than his back and his arse again and the back of his thighs while the loudspeakers are thundering Christmas songs into the room. The Doctor doesn’t make a sound. He doesn’t count.
It’s not just Gallifrey that’s burning before his eyes.
The Master stops only when the Doctor’s legs give out and he hangs helplessly in his chains. He stands beside his prisoner and pats his head like one would pat a little dog.
“People of Earth,” he starts again. “I hope you made your children watch, for this is what happens when you don’t behave. But,” He opens the bag he put down earlier. “only bad children get punished. For the good ones there are toys.”
The Doctor closes his eyes, not wanting to see.
His other senses tell him that the Master is standing behind him again, and then his legs are kicked apart and he feels the rod that has left bloody marks on his body move up and down his thighs in mock tenderness.
From far away he hears Jack’s voice, shouting, followed by a gunshot and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor.
The Master sighs.
“Some people just don’t know how to behave,” he says sadly. “Maybe I’ll have to punish him as well…”
“Don’t!” the Doctor begs, grinds his teeth when something large, hard and scratchy is pushed inside him and forces the next words out none the less. “You’ve done enough to him already to last a lifetime.”
“Yeah, but his lifetimes are so very short,” the Master chuckles into his ears and forces whatever he’s holding in deeper. “Tell me, Doctor, does that hurt.”
“Yes,” the Doctor gasps, biting back a scream.
“And do you deserve it?”
The Doctor doesn’t want to answer.
“Yes,” he breathes.
“And is this pain enough to make up for your sins?”
“No.”
The Master is licking the tears off the Doctor’s cheek and behind them Jack comes alive again.
“Tell him, and I might leave him alone,” the Master offers when the human begins cursing him again.
“Jack!” the Doctor calls without hesitation. “It’s alright.” And after his friend has fallen silent he adds, for all to hear: “I deserve it.”
“Bullshit!” Jack calls back, and one moment later there is another gunshot and another thud.
“He never fails to amuse me,” the Master states. “Now, let’s celebrate!” He twists his hand and pushes and his floppy cap brushes over the broken skin of the Doctor’s back as the Master makes him scream.
The others are watching in silence.
Somewhere on Earth it’s probably snowing.
November 16, 2007