DW fic: Communication
I wrote another fanfic and I don't like it. But maybe I'll write a sequel because it definitely isn't finished there.
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-15
Pairing: Master/Doctor (10)
Summary: Sometimes you don't need words to speak. Some time after the Master's death they meet again.
Note: This is not Simm!Master. This is "Hi, I survived somehow and stole another unsuspecting human's body because my own is dead"!Master. Because we all know that's eventually going to happen.
He didn’t resist, even parted his lips for a tongue to invade his mouth, noting the heat, the alien taste. Clear blue eyes kept staring into his, captivating his gaze and yet he still saw the people gaping, heard the noise of the fountain he was pressed against. Stray drops of water falling on hands lying on the edge of the basin. It wasn’t a kiss. It was a way of communicating, the hands grapping his face, the tongue in his mouth saying I’m back, I’m back for you, I’ll always be back for you, You’ll never be free of me. I’ll never let you go. He felt the lips of a stranger he would never meet move against his own and didn’t close his eyes.
Without you I’m lost.
He’d recognised him the moment he’d stepped onto the place, a tall man in a worn jeans jacket, utterly unremarkable. They had looked at each other across the place and the man had smiled, a faint, arrogant smile, so full of affection. He’d never seen him before. He’d felt nothing. He was still alone and yet knew he wasn’t. All the strength left his body then, flowed into the ground beneath his feet and disappeared, dissolved to nothing. His hearts racing, filled with shame and guilt, because he knew he was looking at the latest victim of a murderer and all he felt was relief.
Not one thought was wasted on the How when the man came over, cupped his face and kissed him hard, not just with his lips but with his mind he couldn’t feel, with everything he was, a claim of ownership. He felt the hot tongue wrestling against his own, tasted human salvia and wondered how he could at the same time feel such desperation and such terrible bliss.
His entire being was rooted to the spot, focused on the man that held him and the fact that he was there and alive, but he still heard the mumbling of the bystanders turning into shouts. They where gathering now, more and more people coming to look, their voices ranging from disgusted to angry. The sunlight was warm and white and this wasn’t even Earth, a colony in the fortieth century and they were not known for their tolerating of what they considered crimes against nature.
The Master broke the kiss, threw back his head and laughed. He let go of the Doctor and turned to look at the policemen moving towards them, a relaxed smile on his face, and the Doctor knew there would be bloodshed. Without thinking he took the Master’s hand and ran back to the alley where the TARDIS was parked. Half the population of a city running after them and all he cared about were the warm, human fingers wrapped firmly around his own.
-
They never spoke, not in words, ever. What they had to say they said in touches and glances. They touched a lot.
Every so often the Master would pull the Doctor close for another kiss and the Doctor would let him. The Master was never gentle, never tender, he held him, but is was no embrace; and the Doctor refused to cling to him like the frightened little boy he was, just let it all happen, saying Do whatever you want, just don’t go.
The moment they’d entered the TARDIS that first day the Master had pushed him onto the couch in the console room and taken him, while outside the angry mob was banging on the door. He’d laughed when he came and the Doctor had taken hold of his arms and wished the other man would stay there forever, inside him, because that hurt, but it was as close as they could get.
He travelled on after that, as always, only now there was another Time Lord with him, one in a human body, a stolen body, but a Time Lord none the less. When he thought about it he was sad and grieved for the young man who had been murdered so another could use his corpse. He didn’t know that man but felt that he’d have deserved to live, more than the Master did. Only his hearts would not be convinced.
There were no words for these things in this new language of theirs. No way of asking, no Who was he? or How did you do it? Only I need you, Don’t leave me and I’m yours, always. One day he’d apologised with a slight touch to the Master’s shoulder. The Master had chuckled and shook his head - he didn’t care. All that mattered were the two of them.
Nothing had changed.
Sometimes the Doctor wondered if the Master wanted to let him know all the things his touch told him, or if they slipped through unintended in this purer way of communication that allowed no lies. The way he held him down, the roughness of his palms against his skin spoke of a need just as deep as his own, of possessiveness and despair. Only you, it said. Only you.
Much more often than him the Master would go off to sleep, his human body demanding rest, and the Doctor could tell this bothered him - being trapped in a body that aged, grew tired so fast, had so little strength and needed so much food (but he was used to it. Sometimes the Doctor would watch him sleep and think of the father of a friend, the loveable old man from another planet he couldn’t save.)
Eventually the Master would leave. They both knew it. One day he would get off the TARDIS and try to take over the galaxy, just so the Doctor would have to stop him. Or he would steal the TARDIS and strand the Doctor on an unpleasant planet so see how he would get it back. Or he would attack him in his sleep, keep him as his prisoner, to torture and humiliate him whenever he felt like it. The day would come, inevitably. For the first time in ages the Doctor slept peacefully.
-
When he left the TARDIS the Master would accompany him. The first time the Doctor had thought he’d stay behind, but a few minutes later he was standing beside him. The lack of a telepathic link unnerved him.
The other Time Lord never caused trouble, contrary to the Doctor’s expectations. He just stayed nearby, watched him, didn’t help and didn’t speak. As if he had to make sure the Doctor would not disappear the moment he looked away.
Sometimes tough the Master would go and keep himself busy elsewhere. The Doctor never knew what he did then but he always was with him when he got back to the TARDIS and there was no room for questions in the way they spoke.
Then the world ended.
It was only a small world, somewhere at the edge of M87. There was a terrible war going on and people were dying. Through the open doors they could hear their screams, see the flames, hear shooting and explosions. Something had to be done and this time the Master held him back when the Doctor made his way for the door. Let them die, he said. The Doctor got out of his grip without effort, without thinking. That body was broad shouldered and strong, but it was only human. You can only hold me down because I let you. It was an unintended message and he didn’t even notice it but the Master did.
This time the Master did not follow him. There was only death waiting for them beyond the door but the Doctor had to go anyway. When he pulled the door closed he caught one last glimpse of the man standing inside, his stony face, his hands clenched at his side, not reaching out for him because he couldn’t hold him back. Helpless, a man knowing he was about to lose everything. And the Doctor stepped back inside and for the first time it was him who pressed his lips against the Master’s, a quick, chaste kiss, a promise. Then he closed the door and disappeared into the smoke and the fire, thinking that the Master deserved the agony of being left behind and for the first time in forever he wanted to live.
August 14, 2007
NEXT
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-15
Pairing: Master/Doctor (10)
Summary: Sometimes you don't need words to speak. Some time after the Master's death they meet again.
Note: This is not Simm!Master. This is "Hi, I survived somehow and stole another unsuspecting human's body because my own is dead"!Master. Because we all know that's eventually going to happen.
He didn’t resist, even parted his lips for a tongue to invade his mouth, noting the heat, the alien taste. Clear blue eyes kept staring into his, captivating his gaze and yet he still saw the people gaping, heard the noise of the fountain he was pressed against. Stray drops of water falling on hands lying on the edge of the basin. It wasn’t a kiss. It was a way of communicating, the hands grapping his face, the tongue in his mouth saying I’m back, I’m back for you, I’ll always be back for you, You’ll never be free of me. I’ll never let you go. He felt the lips of a stranger he would never meet move against his own and didn’t close his eyes.
Without you I’m lost.
He’d recognised him the moment he’d stepped onto the place, a tall man in a worn jeans jacket, utterly unremarkable. They had looked at each other across the place and the man had smiled, a faint, arrogant smile, so full of affection. He’d never seen him before. He’d felt nothing. He was still alone and yet knew he wasn’t. All the strength left his body then, flowed into the ground beneath his feet and disappeared, dissolved to nothing. His hearts racing, filled with shame and guilt, because he knew he was looking at the latest victim of a murderer and all he felt was relief.
Not one thought was wasted on the How when the man came over, cupped his face and kissed him hard, not just with his lips but with his mind he couldn’t feel, with everything he was, a claim of ownership. He felt the hot tongue wrestling against his own, tasted human salvia and wondered how he could at the same time feel such desperation and such terrible bliss.
His entire being was rooted to the spot, focused on the man that held him and the fact that he was there and alive, but he still heard the mumbling of the bystanders turning into shouts. They where gathering now, more and more people coming to look, their voices ranging from disgusted to angry. The sunlight was warm and white and this wasn’t even Earth, a colony in the fortieth century and they were not known for their tolerating of what they considered crimes against nature.
The Master broke the kiss, threw back his head and laughed. He let go of the Doctor and turned to look at the policemen moving towards them, a relaxed smile on his face, and the Doctor knew there would be bloodshed. Without thinking he took the Master’s hand and ran back to the alley where the TARDIS was parked. Half the population of a city running after them and all he cared about were the warm, human fingers wrapped firmly around his own.
-
They never spoke, not in words, ever. What they had to say they said in touches and glances. They touched a lot.
Every so often the Master would pull the Doctor close for another kiss and the Doctor would let him. The Master was never gentle, never tender, he held him, but is was no embrace; and the Doctor refused to cling to him like the frightened little boy he was, just let it all happen, saying Do whatever you want, just don’t go.
The moment they’d entered the TARDIS that first day the Master had pushed him onto the couch in the console room and taken him, while outside the angry mob was banging on the door. He’d laughed when he came and the Doctor had taken hold of his arms and wished the other man would stay there forever, inside him, because that hurt, but it was as close as they could get.
He travelled on after that, as always, only now there was another Time Lord with him, one in a human body, a stolen body, but a Time Lord none the less. When he thought about it he was sad and grieved for the young man who had been murdered so another could use his corpse. He didn’t know that man but felt that he’d have deserved to live, more than the Master did. Only his hearts would not be convinced.
There were no words for these things in this new language of theirs. No way of asking, no Who was he? or How did you do it? Only I need you, Don’t leave me and I’m yours, always. One day he’d apologised with a slight touch to the Master’s shoulder. The Master had chuckled and shook his head - he didn’t care. All that mattered were the two of them.
Nothing had changed.
Sometimes the Doctor wondered if the Master wanted to let him know all the things his touch told him, or if they slipped through unintended in this purer way of communication that allowed no lies. The way he held him down, the roughness of his palms against his skin spoke of a need just as deep as his own, of possessiveness and despair. Only you, it said. Only you.
Much more often than him the Master would go off to sleep, his human body demanding rest, and the Doctor could tell this bothered him - being trapped in a body that aged, grew tired so fast, had so little strength and needed so much food (but he was used to it. Sometimes the Doctor would watch him sleep and think of the father of a friend, the loveable old man from another planet he couldn’t save.)
Eventually the Master would leave. They both knew it. One day he would get off the TARDIS and try to take over the galaxy, just so the Doctor would have to stop him. Or he would steal the TARDIS and strand the Doctor on an unpleasant planet so see how he would get it back. Or he would attack him in his sleep, keep him as his prisoner, to torture and humiliate him whenever he felt like it. The day would come, inevitably. For the first time in ages the Doctor slept peacefully.
-
When he left the TARDIS the Master would accompany him. The first time the Doctor had thought he’d stay behind, but a few minutes later he was standing beside him. The lack of a telepathic link unnerved him.
The other Time Lord never caused trouble, contrary to the Doctor’s expectations. He just stayed nearby, watched him, didn’t help and didn’t speak. As if he had to make sure the Doctor would not disappear the moment he looked away.
Sometimes tough the Master would go and keep himself busy elsewhere. The Doctor never knew what he did then but he always was with him when he got back to the TARDIS and there was no room for questions in the way they spoke.
Then the world ended.
It was only a small world, somewhere at the edge of M87. There was a terrible war going on and people were dying. Through the open doors they could hear their screams, see the flames, hear shooting and explosions. Something had to be done and this time the Master held him back when the Doctor made his way for the door. Let them die, he said. The Doctor got out of his grip without effort, without thinking. That body was broad shouldered and strong, but it was only human. You can only hold me down because I let you. It was an unintended message and he didn’t even notice it but the Master did.
This time the Master did not follow him. There was only death waiting for them beyond the door but the Doctor had to go anyway. When he pulled the door closed he caught one last glimpse of the man standing inside, his stony face, his hands clenched at his side, not reaching out for him because he couldn’t hold him back. Helpless, a man knowing he was about to lose everything. And the Doctor stepped back inside and for the first time it was him who pressed his lips against the Master’s, a quick, chaste kiss, a promise. Then he closed the door and disappeared into the smoke and the fire, thinking that the Master deserved the agony of being left behind and for the first time in forever he wanted to live.
August 14, 2007
NEXT