Before Sunset (2/?)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: R
Pairing: AU!Master/Doctor (10)
Summary: Two Time Lords in serious need of therapy. Nearly a year after the first chapter the two of them are travelling the universe again, because the Doctor needs to remind himself of what he is fighting for. The Master plays the part of his nurse. With benefits.
A giant crowd had assembled, thousands and thousands of people, all laughing and crying and talking and hugging and being all together ridiculously happy. In fact it was it was one of the happiest masses of people the Master had ever seen - maybe because he avoided those in general. Beside him the Doctor was looking down on them with a wide grin, occasionally beaming at him in a way that said Isn’t it wonderful?
It certainly was. Only, the Master couldn’t care less.
They were currently on the planet Aakaare, in the year 2202 of this world’s calculation of time. It would also be the year 0 of its new calculation of time, but no-one here knew that yet. Two days ago a war between Aakaare and its neighbouring planet, an old colony, that had been going on for more than five decades had finally ended and the separated worlds had been reunited. Families that had been torn apart, friends living on different worlds, unable to meet, all of them could come together now. Prisoners could finally come home, and meet their children who’d grown up while they were gone. A lot of tears flowed this day down there on the endless field of the spaceport. Centuries from here the descendants of these people would look back on this point in history with pride.
To the Master it was all rather annoying.
The Time Lords were standing on one of the towers, looking down on the crowd, observing everything without being part of it. The Doctor had insisted on coming here without explaining why. There was no obvious reason. There was nothing to be done here, no evil to be fought, nothing at all happening, aside from a million people being loud. A few days before they had been to the opening ceremony of the Olympic games on Earth, somewhere in the fourth millennium, the first Olympic games after the whole earth had been united. It had been a terribly sappy event where everyone had been equally happy. That time there had been no explanation as well, other than that the Doctor wanted to go there.
The Master knew why. In the end it wasn’t terribly hard to guess. He knew his Doctor after all.
He’d seen his reaction to being responsible for another planet’s destruction. It had been necessary, but the Doctor hated himself for it. And it hadn’t been the first time he’d had to do something like that. Wherever he went he was confronted with decisions that tore him apart. This silly journey from one happy event to another was simply an attempt to convince himself that this universe was still worth saving. He needed to see what he was fighting for.
In the Master’s eyes saving the universe in particular and doing good in general was a waste of time. But at the same time he wanted the Doctor to keep fighting. He needed something to live for.
Below them, lost in and ignored by the crowd stood the TARDIS in all its phone box glory. The Master eyed it longingly - the sun was burning down on him and he was bored - and thought it would be hard to get back there through all the people.
“Seen enough yet?” he wanted to know. The Doctor grinned at him.
“Let’s have ice-cream!” he said happily. The Master rolled his eyes, but followed him as he made his way down the tower and through the spaceport, towards the city.
-
It took some effort but eventually they managed to get a ride to town. It wasn’t very far but the Doctor tired easily and running around for more than a few minutes left him exhausted beyond belief. He was in a good mood today, seeming healthy and energetic, but the Master knew it was an illusion. He could tell every time a wave of sickness, a stab of pain came over his friend, by the way his breath caught in his throat, he stopped talking for just a second, or suddenly went pale and quiet. The Doctor never complained, covered it with the enthusiasm that kept him going but the Master knew he would have to pay for it later.
Months had passed since the Doctor had been hurt. He had recovered slowly, looking better one day and close to dying the next. It had been many weeks before he could get out of bed, even more before he could walk on his own. Infections and internal injuries had nearly killed him every time it had seemed like he was finally recovering. The Master had done his best to help him, caring like a nurse - or a wife. The thought still made him grimace.
Even now the Doctor was far from fine. That didn’t stop him from hopping through the cosmos again, practically asking for the pain and the sickness that inevitably came the following day. It didn’t matter. The exercise wasn’t threatening his recovery, because there was no recovery to be threatened. The Doctor was a fine as he would get. He would never again be any better than he was now. His body was too damaged.
Some days he was almost okay, other days he spent lying on his bed, nearly overdosing on painkillers. One of his hearts was beating only irregularly at some times, stopping completely at others. Even now infections threatened to take his life every now and then if they weren’t careful. And even now walking hurt, because each of his legs had been broken in at least five places.
He was fragile. The Master knew that any day he could lose him.
Right now he looked like he had before, happily munching his ice-cream, and despite knowing better the Master found himself thinking that maybe he would be feeling just as fine tomorrow.
They were sitting in a small café that was almost empty since everyone else was at the spaceport, celebrating the making of history. The Master was silently devouring his own ice-cream and he had to admit it was the best damn ice-cream he’d ever had.
At least the day wasn’t totally wasted.
In the window he could see their reflection: The Doctor tall and skinny in his dark blue suit, not wearing a tie this time and only two layers of shirts, himself in his new body he’d worn for almost an Earth year now: The Doctor’s height, not quite as broad shouldered as the last one but still a lot stronger than the other Time Lord. Dark hair and beard. When he’d first stolen this form both of those had been long and wild, but he trimmed them neatly and now looked quite gentlemanly in his dark suit. A look of satisfaction showed on his face. A woman on a neighbouring table glanced over at them and he gave her his most charming smile. She blushed. Yepp, still got it.
He’d had plans back then, before all this happened. He’d wanted to leave the Doctor once they reached a promising location, and the next time they met he would have taken over part of the galaxy, giving his dearest enemy a run for his money. He couldn’t go that way anymore. If he left now the Doctor would die; he needed someone to take care of him.
Of course that could be anyone. There was a whole planet full of stupid apes that would do anything for him. But if he was absolutely honest to himself, the Master had to admit that he was scared. If he left, if he let the Doctor out of is sight, he would never know if he was still alive or not. He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t feel it.
And he would always wonder.
Sitting with his ice-cream in the last warm light of the dying day he was aware of the frailty of the situation. Him and the Doctor, together - it couldn’t work. They were meant to be opponents, enemies. In the same place but on different sides. The Master planned something, the Doctor tried to stop him. They met, the Master did his best to make the Doctor’s life hell. That was the way it had to be, the way it was meant to be. They complemented each other, because they had nothing in common. Them on the same side, one caring for the other was unnatural. They couldn’t exist like this for much longer, he knew. It couldn’t work. It was too fragile.
The Doctor was looking into the sunset, relaxed, content. His mood was infecting. Sourly the Master thought: ‘When did I become your companion?’
“Can we go back now?” He didn’t even try not to sound like an impatient child.
The Doctor smiled at him when he rose from his chair, a quiet and honest smile that reached his eyes.
They didn’t speak as they slowly made their way back to the street. Since today was so special and everyone was happy they had gotten their ice-cream for free. Lucky them - they had nothing to pay with anyway.
While the Master tried to stop one of the cars passing by to take them back to the spaceport the Doctor sat down on a bench. He hadn’t said a word for half an hour, and while the Master was well used to silence between them he could tell something was wrong by the way his shoulders slumped and he rested his head on his hands.
The Master wouldn’t think of doing something like laying a hand on the Doctor’s forehead to check his temperature - it would seem too caring. Walking over, he grabbed one of the Doctor’s thin wrists instead. The skin was cool under his touch, but not as cool as it should have been.
By the time they got to the spaceport it was dark. There were still a lot of people about, but not nearly as many as a few hours before. The path to the TARDIS was clear.
Walking over the endless field the Doctor’s steps became slow and unsteady until he couldn’t keep up with the Master anymore. He was pale and trembling, his eyes gleaming feverishly in the twilight. When the Master stopped to look at him he grinned back, somewhat embarrassed, almost shyly. The Master was overcome by an unexpected feeling of affection.
He also suddenly felt the need to fuck him, basic and raw, a feeling he concentrated on because he could deal with it. He imagined taking him right here, in front of the remaining crowd, showing everyone that he was the master of this creature. The idea had a certain appeal, but wasn’t very realistic. With a sigh he went back to the Doctor and simply lifted him off the ground like a child. He was like a paper doll in his arms, weightless, frail. And protesting, which a doll usually did not, but it was only a show of his embarrassment.
“Bedroom or infirmary?” the Master asked, once they were inside.
“Bedroom”, the Doctor mumbled and the Master smirked. He never said infirmary, not matter how ill he was. He hated being there, and which sane person didn’t?
When it was really bad the Master simply didn’t ask.
The other man was breathing hard and irregular by the time the Master reached his room and placed him on the large bed. The Master was rather angry. The Doctor had known it would come to this but no! he had to get out and run around the entire day, on a planet much too warm for him.
The air inside the TARIDS was nearly freezing today. The Master could see his own breath in front of his face.
His irritation grew when he bent down to take off the Doctor’s shoes, cursing the fate that had left him in this pathetic and unfitting role.
Another pained gasp from the man on the bed. His body was punishing him for having been careless and the Master wholeheartedly agreed. He would give him something for the pain later. Not yet. He had to earn it first, the Master decided as he sat down beside the Doctor and began to remove the rest of his clothes.
-
The sex was different now, although it hadn’t changed. Whenever he felt like it the Master would take him, never asking, and the Doctor never protested. The other Time Lord wasn’t tender or loving, he handled the act with some kind of single-minded determination, never showing anything like affection, as if he had to prove to the world that he didn’t care for the Doctor at all, that he was merely a tool to satisfy his need.
Most of the time the Doctor didn’t mind. Most of the time he didn’t need to be loved.
(Except he was almost constantly sick now and his hearts broke easily.)
It was this body of the Master’s. Much like a human, constantly driven by its urges and desires. Still, the Master could have suppressed them without effort. He simply didn’t want to. (And why would he?)
When he’d woken up in this wreck of a body the Doctor had seen the unfamiliar face at his side and recognized it immediately as the Master. In fact it had taken his dazed and confused mind a few days to realise that it was different from before. In the state he’d been in then the sadness that came with that realisation nearly broke him.
When he thought about it realistically, it hadn’t made much difference for the man who had had to die for the Master to live. His planet had blown up shortly after, so he would have died anyway.
The Doctor didn’t know if he tried to justify the Master’s actions or his own, forgiving him again and again.
He didn’t think of that while the Master fucked him (he didn’t like the word but there was no other way to describe it). Not too hard but with a certain carelessness that hurt more than the shock that went through his fevered body with every thrust or the stinging pain in his head.
It was different now. The change was subtle.
Before, the Doctor had been stronger than the Master in his human body. He had never done it, but if he’d wanted to he could have stopped him, pushed him away, reversed their roles. He could have. The possibility had always been there. If he wanted to, he could get away.
But he’d never regained that strength. Now he sometimes was too weak to even stand on his own, to sit upright, to lift his head. Now the Master easily overpowered him. If the Doctor ever wanted to stop him he wouldn’t be able to. And the Master knew it. He was the one in power, and maybe he needed to demonstrate it. He called himself ‘Master’, after all. It said a lot about his ego.
It was all about power.
If the Doctor asked him to stop, would he leave him alone? He never tried to find out, not ready to deal with the possibility that no, he wouldn’t.
And the truth was the Doctor needed it. He needed to feel him. When the Master wasn’t there, when he couldn’t see him, he could never tell if he even existed. Only when the Doctor could touch him, felt him deep inside his own body he was real.
It was only natural for the Master to cause him pain.
The Doctor lost every sense of time, slipping into a dazed haze. He barely noticed the Master pulling out, but suddenly he wished more than anything that he would stay with him. Even inside him if he wanted, the Doctor didn’t care, if only the Master would stay just for a moment and take him in his arms.
A few seconds later he felt a prick when the other man injected something into his arm before covering him with a blanket. He was too exhausted to open his eyes, but he heard the rustling of clothes, then footsteps and the closing of a door.
Moments later the Doctor fell asleep, and he dreamed of burning worlds and of being alone.
- tbc
September 18, 2007
NEXT
Part 1
Rating: R
Pairing: AU!Master/Doctor (10)
Summary: Two Time Lords in serious need of therapy. Nearly a year after the first chapter the two of them are travelling the universe again, because the Doctor needs to remind himself of what he is fighting for. The Master plays the part of his nurse. With benefits.
A giant crowd had assembled, thousands and thousands of people, all laughing and crying and talking and hugging and being all together ridiculously happy. In fact it was it was one of the happiest masses of people the Master had ever seen - maybe because he avoided those in general. Beside him the Doctor was looking down on them with a wide grin, occasionally beaming at him in a way that said Isn’t it wonderful?
It certainly was. Only, the Master couldn’t care less.
They were currently on the planet Aakaare, in the year 2202 of this world’s calculation of time. It would also be the year 0 of its new calculation of time, but no-one here knew that yet. Two days ago a war between Aakaare and its neighbouring planet, an old colony, that had been going on for more than five decades had finally ended and the separated worlds had been reunited. Families that had been torn apart, friends living on different worlds, unable to meet, all of them could come together now. Prisoners could finally come home, and meet their children who’d grown up while they were gone. A lot of tears flowed this day down there on the endless field of the spaceport. Centuries from here the descendants of these people would look back on this point in history with pride.
To the Master it was all rather annoying.
The Time Lords were standing on one of the towers, looking down on the crowd, observing everything without being part of it. The Doctor had insisted on coming here without explaining why. There was no obvious reason. There was nothing to be done here, no evil to be fought, nothing at all happening, aside from a million people being loud. A few days before they had been to the opening ceremony of the Olympic games on Earth, somewhere in the fourth millennium, the first Olympic games after the whole earth had been united. It had been a terribly sappy event where everyone had been equally happy. That time there had been no explanation as well, other than that the Doctor wanted to go there.
The Master knew why. In the end it wasn’t terribly hard to guess. He knew his Doctor after all.
He’d seen his reaction to being responsible for another planet’s destruction. It had been necessary, but the Doctor hated himself for it. And it hadn’t been the first time he’d had to do something like that. Wherever he went he was confronted with decisions that tore him apart. This silly journey from one happy event to another was simply an attempt to convince himself that this universe was still worth saving. He needed to see what he was fighting for.
In the Master’s eyes saving the universe in particular and doing good in general was a waste of time. But at the same time he wanted the Doctor to keep fighting. He needed something to live for.
Below them, lost in and ignored by the crowd stood the TARDIS in all its phone box glory. The Master eyed it longingly - the sun was burning down on him and he was bored - and thought it would be hard to get back there through all the people.
“Seen enough yet?” he wanted to know. The Doctor grinned at him.
“Let’s have ice-cream!” he said happily. The Master rolled his eyes, but followed him as he made his way down the tower and through the spaceport, towards the city.
-
It took some effort but eventually they managed to get a ride to town. It wasn’t very far but the Doctor tired easily and running around for more than a few minutes left him exhausted beyond belief. He was in a good mood today, seeming healthy and energetic, but the Master knew it was an illusion. He could tell every time a wave of sickness, a stab of pain came over his friend, by the way his breath caught in his throat, he stopped talking for just a second, or suddenly went pale and quiet. The Doctor never complained, covered it with the enthusiasm that kept him going but the Master knew he would have to pay for it later.
Months had passed since the Doctor had been hurt. He had recovered slowly, looking better one day and close to dying the next. It had been many weeks before he could get out of bed, even more before he could walk on his own. Infections and internal injuries had nearly killed him every time it had seemed like he was finally recovering. The Master had done his best to help him, caring like a nurse - or a wife. The thought still made him grimace.
Even now the Doctor was far from fine. That didn’t stop him from hopping through the cosmos again, practically asking for the pain and the sickness that inevitably came the following day. It didn’t matter. The exercise wasn’t threatening his recovery, because there was no recovery to be threatened. The Doctor was a fine as he would get. He would never again be any better than he was now. His body was too damaged.
Some days he was almost okay, other days he spent lying on his bed, nearly overdosing on painkillers. One of his hearts was beating only irregularly at some times, stopping completely at others. Even now infections threatened to take his life every now and then if they weren’t careful. And even now walking hurt, because each of his legs had been broken in at least five places.
He was fragile. The Master knew that any day he could lose him.
Right now he looked like he had before, happily munching his ice-cream, and despite knowing better the Master found himself thinking that maybe he would be feeling just as fine tomorrow.
They were sitting in a small café that was almost empty since everyone else was at the spaceport, celebrating the making of history. The Master was silently devouring his own ice-cream and he had to admit it was the best damn ice-cream he’d ever had.
At least the day wasn’t totally wasted.
In the window he could see their reflection: The Doctor tall and skinny in his dark blue suit, not wearing a tie this time and only two layers of shirts, himself in his new body he’d worn for almost an Earth year now: The Doctor’s height, not quite as broad shouldered as the last one but still a lot stronger than the other Time Lord. Dark hair and beard. When he’d first stolen this form both of those had been long and wild, but he trimmed them neatly and now looked quite gentlemanly in his dark suit. A look of satisfaction showed on his face. A woman on a neighbouring table glanced over at them and he gave her his most charming smile. She blushed. Yepp, still got it.
He’d had plans back then, before all this happened. He’d wanted to leave the Doctor once they reached a promising location, and the next time they met he would have taken over part of the galaxy, giving his dearest enemy a run for his money. He couldn’t go that way anymore. If he left now the Doctor would die; he needed someone to take care of him.
Of course that could be anyone. There was a whole planet full of stupid apes that would do anything for him. But if he was absolutely honest to himself, the Master had to admit that he was scared. If he left, if he let the Doctor out of is sight, he would never know if he was still alive or not. He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t feel it.
And he would always wonder.
Sitting with his ice-cream in the last warm light of the dying day he was aware of the frailty of the situation. Him and the Doctor, together - it couldn’t work. They were meant to be opponents, enemies. In the same place but on different sides. The Master planned something, the Doctor tried to stop him. They met, the Master did his best to make the Doctor’s life hell. That was the way it had to be, the way it was meant to be. They complemented each other, because they had nothing in common. Them on the same side, one caring for the other was unnatural. They couldn’t exist like this for much longer, he knew. It couldn’t work. It was too fragile.
The Doctor was looking into the sunset, relaxed, content. His mood was infecting. Sourly the Master thought: ‘When did I become your companion?’
“Can we go back now?” He didn’t even try not to sound like an impatient child.
The Doctor smiled at him when he rose from his chair, a quiet and honest smile that reached his eyes.
They didn’t speak as they slowly made their way back to the street. Since today was so special and everyone was happy they had gotten their ice-cream for free. Lucky them - they had nothing to pay with anyway.
While the Master tried to stop one of the cars passing by to take them back to the spaceport the Doctor sat down on a bench. He hadn’t said a word for half an hour, and while the Master was well used to silence between them he could tell something was wrong by the way his shoulders slumped and he rested his head on his hands.
The Master wouldn’t think of doing something like laying a hand on the Doctor’s forehead to check his temperature - it would seem too caring. Walking over, he grabbed one of the Doctor’s thin wrists instead. The skin was cool under his touch, but not as cool as it should have been.
By the time they got to the spaceport it was dark. There were still a lot of people about, but not nearly as many as a few hours before. The path to the TARDIS was clear.
Walking over the endless field the Doctor’s steps became slow and unsteady until he couldn’t keep up with the Master anymore. He was pale and trembling, his eyes gleaming feverishly in the twilight. When the Master stopped to look at him he grinned back, somewhat embarrassed, almost shyly. The Master was overcome by an unexpected feeling of affection.
He also suddenly felt the need to fuck him, basic and raw, a feeling he concentrated on because he could deal with it. He imagined taking him right here, in front of the remaining crowd, showing everyone that he was the master of this creature. The idea had a certain appeal, but wasn’t very realistic. With a sigh he went back to the Doctor and simply lifted him off the ground like a child. He was like a paper doll in his arms, weightless, frail. And protesting, which a doll usually did not, but it was only a show of his embarrassment.
“Bedroom or infirmary?” the Master asked, once they were inside.
“Bedroom”, the Doctor mumbled and the Master smirked. He never said infirmary, not matter how ill he was. He hated being there, and which sane person didn’t?
When it was really bad the Master simply didn’t ask.
The other man was breathing hard and irregular by the time the Master reached his room and placed him on the large bed. The Master was rather angry. The Doctor had known it would come to this but no! he had to get out and run around the entire day, on a planet much too warm for him.
The air inside the TARIDS was nearly freezing today. The Master could see his own breath in front of his face.
His irritation grew when he bent down to take off the Doctor’s shoes, cursing the fate that had left him in this pathetic and unfitting role.
Another pained gasp from the man on the bed. His body was punishing him for having been careless and the Master wholeheartedly agreed. He would give him something for the pain later. Not yet. He had to earn it first, the Master decided as he sat down beside the Doctor and began to remove the rest of his clothes.
-
The sex was different now, although it hadn’t changed. Whenever he felt like it the Master would take him, never asking, and the Doctor never protested. The other Time Lord wasn’t tender or loving, he handled the act with some kind of single-minded determination, never showing anything like affection, as if he had to prove to the world that he didn’t care for the Doctor at all, that he was merely a tool to satisfy his need.
Most of the time the Doctor didn’t mind. Most of the time he didn’t need to be loved.
(Except he was almost constantly sick now and his hearts broke easily.)
It was this body of the Master’s. Much like a human, constantly driven by its urges and desires. Still, the Master could have suppressed them without effort. He simply didn’t want to. (And why would he?)
When he’d woken up in this wreck of a body the Doctor had seen the unfamiliar face at his side and recognized it immediately as the Master. In fact it had taken his dazed and confused mind a few days to realise that it was different from before. In the state he’d been in then the sadness that came with that realisation nearly broke him.
When he thought about it realistically, it hadn’t made much difference for the man who had had to die for the Master to live. His planet had blown up shortly after, so he would have died anyway.
The Doctor didn’t know if he tried to justify the Master’s actions or his own, forgiving him again and again.
He didn’t think of that while the Master fucked him (he didn’t like the word but there was no other way to describe it). Not too hard but with a certain carelessness that hurt more than the shock that went through his fevered body with every thrust or the stinging pain in his head.
It was different now. The change was subtle.
Before, the Doctor had been stronger than the Master in his human body. He had never done it, but if he’d wanted to he could have stopped him, pushed him away, reversed their roles. He could have. The possibility had always been there. If he wanted to, he could get away.
But he’d never regained that strength. Now he sometimes was too weak to even stand on his own, to sit upright, to lift his head. Now the Master easily overpowered him. If the Doctor ever wanted to stop him he wouldn’t be able to. And the Master knew it. He was the one in power, and maybe he needed to demonstrate it. He called himself ‘Master’, after all. It said a lot about his ego.
It was all about power.
If the Doctor asked him to stop, would he leave him alone? He never tried to find out, not ready to deal with the possibility that no, he wouldn’t.
And the truth was the Doctor needed it. He needed to feel him. When the Master wasn’t there, when he couldn’t see him, he could never tell if he even existed. Only when the Doctor could touch him, felt him deep inside his own body he was real.
It was only natural for the Master to cause him pain.
The Doctor lost every sense of time, slipping into a dazed haze. He barely noticed the Master pulling out, but suddenly he wished more than anything that he would stay with him. Even inside him if he wanted, the Doctor didn’t care, if only the Master would stay just for a moment and take him in his arms.
A few seconds later he felt a prick when the other man injected something into his arm before covering him with a blanket. He was too exhausted to open his eyes, but he heard the rustling of clothes, then footsteps and the closing of a door.
Moments later the Doctor fell asleep, and he dreamed of burning worlds and of being alone.
- tbc
September 18, 2007
NEXT
Part 1