Fic: A Little Understanding (5/AM)
Jul. 10th, 2008 05:38 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
oh-my-words.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
best_enemiesHello! My name is Paul. It's nice to meet this little community. :) Here's my first offering:
Title: A Little Understanding
Author:![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
oh_my_words
Pairing: 5/AM
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,828
A/N: Many thanks to my good friend and betaokky_who.
Summary: The Master holds the Doctor captive, porn ensues.
Warnings: Very light BDSM, if you squint.
Title: A Little Understanding
Author:
oh_my_wordsPairing: 5/AM
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,828
A/N: Many thanks to my good friend and beta
okky_who.Summary: The Master holds the Doctor captive, porn ensues.
Warnings: Very light BDSM, if you squint.
The hours crept endlessly by and still the Doctor remained kneeling in the empty room. His shoulders were beginning to protest the hours he had spent in this position with his hands bound behind him, but by far the worst ache radiated between elbow and wrist on his right arm from where the Master had twisted it roughly behind him. Of course it had been foolish to even attempt tampering with the console in the Master's TARDIS, but there had been a universe to save and all, and people had needed rescuing or some such thing, and for the love of Time he could really use a cool glass of water about now. The light around him shone unbearable, hot and bright and if he could just reach his handkerchief he could clear away the uncomfortable dampness at his hairline. Still, he remained unmoving, concentrating on equations; calculating the surface area of the room's interior, the circumferences of the roundels on the wall, the number of roundels which could be placed in the floor without touching each other....
Eventually, the door opened and the Master stepped through. The Doctor was neither surprised nor distracted; the Master had visited several times during the Doctor's imprisonment, staying an indeterminate length of time, and each time doing something else incomprehensible. Once, he simply pulled up a chair facing the wall and appeared to read a novel for about an hour. Another time he simply sat and stared past the Doctor, his expression blank. He never spoke during the visits other than to announce how many hours had passed since he had been imprisoned, never made eye contact, never truly acknowledged the Doctor's presence, and the Doctor had long since stopped caring to acknowledge his. This time, however, the Master made straight for the Doctor, looked down at him and smiled. The Doctor stirred slightly from his haze.
"30 hours, Doctor," the Master smiled.
"So it seems," the Doctor answered conversationally, his voice dry.
"30 hours, and, I must say, you're not looking very well."
The Doctor merely glared up at him. "Why are you keeping me here?"
The Master suddenly looked furious. He advanced menacingly and in an instant had forced the Doctor's chin upward so their eyes might meet. "And here all this time I've thought you were so brilliant."
The Doctor, not in the mood for baiting, sighed heavily and averted his eyes.
The Master smiled, apparently pleased by the Doctor's submission. "The light is very bright, is it not? Coming at you from all corners. You can feel it, can't you? The light, the heat, exposing you, trapping you in your skin, sapping your life from you, bit--" he drew his thumb across the Doctor's damp forehead-- "by bit."
The Doctor sweltered in his multilayered clothing and said nothing.
The Master revelled for a moment, and then pulled a flask of water from his shirt pocket. "And here, by some strange coincidence, is just what you need to replenish that life." He immediately folded his hands behind his back. "I'm sure you're familiar with the Troch, that pathetic little race of people unfortunate enough to inhabit a massive desert continent where rainfall is practically unheard of." He held the flask up to the light. "Imagine," he drawled laughingly, "living a life of-- constant thirst. Desperately having to squeeze every last drop from every source imaginable," his voice dropped to a whisper, "never knowing what it is to be satisfied." He turned his attention back to the Doctor.
The Master then produced a knife, and the Doctor felt his hearts jump at the sight of it. But the Master merely smirked, walked behind him, and cut his bonds, placing the flask in the Doctor's hand. Preoccupied though he was trying to work the life back into his stiff limbs, The Doctor could not help but fix his enemy with an expression of utmost surprise.
The Master sneered at the unspoken question. "I have no desire to feed nourishment to you like an infant," he spat by way of explanation.
The Doctor hesitated only for moment, then drank. "Thank you," he breathed as he felt his hunger abate slightly and realised there must have been nutrients synthesized into the liquid as well.
"Not at all, my dear Doctor," the Master replied pleasantly. He took the flask and the severed rope, retied the Doctor's wrists, and pointed an instrument at the ceiling which turned off the lights.
The Master then left without saying another word.
The Doctor's breathing echoed in the dark as the room began to cool.
The Doctor wished his hands were free so he might turn up his collar. His shivering had become constant now; he should have expected the cooling down he'd experienced after the lights were deactivated not to hold at room temperature. It had been almost twenty hours since the Master had left, and he had not returned, and still the room's temperature slowly fell. The Doctor allowed himself to feel truly miserable for a moment. The Master's prolonged toying with him did not bode well, and yet he could not for the life of him work out what his enemy's plans might be.
A faint mechanical groan came from the wall and he turned instinctively toward it. The darkness had begun to unnerve him a few hours ago, and he had begun to hear the tiniest little sounds, on occasion, from deep within the walls. After the noise, however, there came such an oppressive silence that he felt even his own voice would not be able to dispel it. His pulses quickened at the thought. The dark had begun to feel thick around him, a tangible, suffocating presence, and he wanted desperately to thrust his arm into it as if he might somehow sweep it aside.
He heard the door open once more, then heard footsteps approach and begin to circle slowly around him. And around, and around and around. The Doctor's breathing quickened in nervous anticipation, he protested, he struggled, and still the Master prowled wordlessly around him.
Finally, he spoke. "So utterly powerless," he observed, a smile in his voice. "How does that feel, Doctor? Hm?" He leaned in close; the Doctor shuddered, his senses oversensitive in his blindness. The Master continued. "How does it feel to be unable to trust your eyes, your ears, your mind? Even for a moment, to experience that uncertainty?"
The lights suddenly flared back into their full brightness. The Doctor screwed his eyes shut against it, felt himself beckoned to his feet, and soon felt his bonds being removed again, this time by hand. "Please tell me what you're doing."
"I'm untying your wrists," the Master replied, sounding bored.
The Doctor blinked as his vision finally adjusted, and tried to bring up a hand to shield his eyes. Quick as a flash, the Master had captured his arm, turning it behind him again just enough to produce pain. The Doctor gasped as the Master bent him backward just enough to whisper in his ear. "50 hours, Doctor. Tell me how you feel."
"Feel like my arm's breaking," the Doctor quipped, his voice strained.
The Master quickly spun him and shoved him viciously toward the wall, where the Doctor was pinned as the Master's other arm pressed hard across his shoulderblades. "Don't tempt me, my dear Doctor," the Master growled, his grip on the Doctor's arm tightening; the Doctor grit his teeth against it.
"I really hate to disappoint," the Doctor ground out, "but whatever it is you want from me-- ahh!" he gave a small cry as another spasm of pain shot through his arm, "you're going to have to try quite a bit harder."
The Master laughed. "Do you know, I find I quite like this regeneration," he said, and released his grip.
The Doctor let out a breath in relief as the Master eased off. "And why is that?" he asked conversationally, partly to buy himself some time as he massaged his abused wrist.
"So arrogant as always, of course, but this time, so-- willing," the Master explained, sinister as always, but with something like barely-contained glee. At the Doctor's baffled look, he added, "Let me ask you this, Doctor: All these hours I've had you bound on your knees, you never once sought to find yourself a more comfortable position?"
The Doctor's jaw jutted in obstinacy as he tried to marshal an argument more impressive than a simple reminder that the Master had commanded him to remain there. "Now, look--"
"Ah, yes, I'm sure you're going to tell me it's something to do with dignity or defiance or some such thing. But the fact remains, Doctor, you never moved from that position until I bade you stand."
The Doctor swallowed dryly as the Master began to advance on him.
"And you forget, Doctor-- I know you." The Master was much too close; the Doctor refused to back away. "I know what you are. I know what you want." They were practically touching.
"And what is that?" the Doctor asked despite himself, clearing his throat as his voice failed him.
The Master actually kissed him then. "You want to give in," he stated. The kiss was empty. It was nothing but a blatant mockery of the time they had spent together in their youth; the Doctor was surprised by how much it affected him.
There followed an excruciating moment wherein the Doctor searched his mind desperately for some reason to refuse, and found nothing.
The Master, as though sensing this conclusion, finally spoke. "Now," he said, clapping his hands together and walking lazily around the Doctor to stand behind him. "Kneel."
The Doctor felt a hand on his shoulder then, forcing him downward, while a sharp kick to the back of the leg buckled his knee. He was now kneeling, just as the Master ordered. "You still won't find whatever it is you're looking for," he said, knowing it was a vague promise, but simply wanting to direct some of his helplessness onto the Master.
It worked like a charm. The Master snarled and grabbed a fistful of the Doctor's hair, yanking his head backward, looming over him. "You simply invite punishment, don't you, Doctor?" he raged.
"I believe that was--" the Doctor was breathing heavily now-- "what you were getting at earlier."
The Master seemed to consider this. "Yes," he conceded, giving the Doctor's hair one final tug before letting go by way of a good shove to the Doctor's neck.
The Doctor had put out a hand to steady himself, and had not yet regained his balance when the Master grabbed him by the jacket collar and hoisted him to his feet.
"I thought you wanted me kneeling," the Doctor smirked, then immediately brought a hand to his cheek; he had not expected the slap the Master had administered, and had certainly not expected the effect it would have on him.
"You," the Master ordered evenly, replacing his glove, "will keep your mouth-- shut," he finished as he lifted the Doctor's jaw closed where it had fallen open in surprise, "unless I say otherwise."
The Doctor's cheek burned, but it was not much different than how the rest of his skin felt; the Master had been correct in his assessment of this regeneration, it seemed. The hours kneeling, waiting in anticipation, and now this.... While it was true each regeneration had its... preferences, these seemed to be remarkably effective at warming his blood. Again, he felt much too warm in his clothes; he knew a blush was creeping into his cheeks.
This didn't escape the Master's notice; he smiled at the Doctor's discomfort. "You know, it's strange," he began conversationally. He paced lazily around his prey, running a gloved finger beneath the Doctor's chin, eliciting a tiny shiver. "I find that most people believe that losing a battle is some..." he pulled hard at the collar of the Doctor's jacket, then spun him until they faced each other, and abruptly he brought their bodies together. "cataclysmic event."
The Master continued. "They think it occurs with--" he placed his thigh between the Doctor's legs, and the Doctor moaned-- "fire and--" he gripped the Doctor's arms just below the shoulders, almost hard enough to bruise-- "explosions and catastrophe." He then fastened one hand to the back of his adversary's neck, just under the skull, and spun the Doctor again, shoving him savagely against the wall.
"It's as though they believe a battle--" The Master took the Doctor's wrists and placed his hands against the wall over his head-- "is all about..." he trailed off, his ministrations becoming more mental. "They believe a battle is about..."
The Doctor felt a ghost of the Master in him, his essence twining organically around the Doctor's tongue, speaking through him and with him. "The climax," the Doctor's voice finished for him, high and breathy, voice breaking on a cry as the Master suddenly gripped his erection through the fabric of his trousers. The Master seemed impatient with this and soon, the Doctor's trousers were lost as well and he stood exposed; the anticipation was becoming unbearable.
Suddenly the physical contact was lost, but the Master's telepathic presence was stronger than ever. "But it's not the climax, is it, Doctor?"
The Doctor stayed where he was through tremendous effort, his breath laboured and his eyelids heavy, gazing over his shoulder at the Master as though in a fugue.
"No, losing a battle--" the Master approached him again, almost faltering as he took in the sight of the Doctor, panting, his teeth bared, his eyes dilated, almost animal. "Losing a battle," he repeated, leaning in close so his breath warmed the Doctor's neck, "is a very subtle affair." He placed a hand on the Doctor's hip, his fingers less than an inch from where the Doctor wanted them to be.
The Doctor made a pleading noise somewhere between a sigh and a sob.
"It takes time, my dear Doctor," he said, drawing his finger up and down the length of the Doctor's erection. The Doctor made a positively wanton noise. "A long time," he said, this time drawing two fingers down both sides. "It's those--" he drew the pad of his thumb across the head, collecting the fluid there to lubricate his palm, "little things. Those little things that erode the stamina--" he closed that hand around the Doctor's cock, working up and down at a steady rhythm-- "that slowly steal that precious soundness of the mind." With his other hand he brought up two fingers, seeking entrance to the Doctor's mouth. The Doctor obediently complied, and the Master explored his tongue, the surfaces of his teeth, while the Doctor periodically licked and sucked at the Master's fingers.
"Too much heat, too much cold," the Master removed his fingers, now thoroughly lubricated, and placed them at the Doctor's entrance. "Not enough dark, not enough light," he continued; the Doctor whimpered and bucked his hips backward, urging the Master inside, "either alone, or surrounded by unfathomable behaviour." The Master slowly entered, then let all his ministrations fall perfectly, agonizingly still.
"It wears at you, you know," the Master continued, still unmoving, over the Doctor's high gasps. The Doctor felt indescribable; out of his mind. "Driving you closer--" the Master said, and began to move again, almost imperceptibly-- "closer..."
To madness, the Doctor heard the words in his mind, but couldn't be sure who had spoken them. Madness, it echoed insistently, and in the moment the idea of descending into it seemed unspeakably pleasurable.
"every second, every minute--"
"Every hour," the Doctor's voice spoke the Master's words again, the sensation of it almost pushing him over the edge.
"Of every day," the Master finally began thrusting into the Doctor, who gave a series of frantic moans. "Until finally..." the Master, his other hand still working in front, gave his fingers a twist inside the Doctor, "you want to simply--" he knew he'd struck the proverbial bull's-eye as the Doctor took in a ragged gasp-- "give in."
The Master watched as the Doctor came undone, arrogance forgotten, propriety evident only in the feeble attempts at keeping his voice under control. A few moments later, the Master let him crumple to the ground. He quite liked this regeneration, particularly the guilt now suffusing his features. The Master threw him his jacket. "You thought losing the battle would satisfy you, did you?"
The miserable expression on the Doctor's face answered for him.
The Master chuckled. On his way out of the room, he paused briefly in the doorway to address his captive over his shoulder. "You know something, Doctor? I have been alive for..." the Master averted his eyes, doing a quick calculation, "exactly 6,867,840 hours."
It would be a full four regenerations before the Doctor truly understood what the Master had meant.
Eventually, the door opened and the Master stepped through. The Doctor was neither surprised nor distracted; the Master had visited several times during the Doctor's imprisonment, staying an indeterminate length of time, and each time doing something else incomprehensible. Once, he simply pulled up a chair facing the wall and appeared to read a novel for about an hour. Another time he simply sat and stared past the Doctor, his expression blank. He never spoke during the visits other than to announce how many hours had passed since he had been imprisoned, never made eye contact, never truly acknowledged the Doctor's presence, and the Doctor had long since stopped caring to acknowledge his. This time, however, the Master made straight for the Doctor, looked down at him and smiled. The Doctor stirred slightly from his haze.
"30 hours, Doctor," the Master smiled.
"So it seems," the Doctor answered conversationally, his voice dry.
"30 hours, and, I must say, you're not looking very well."
The Doctor merely glared up at him. "Why are you keeping me here?"
The Master suddenly looked furious. He advanced menacingly and in an instant had forced the Doctor's chin upward so their eyes might meet. "And here all this time I've thought you were so brilliant."
The Doctor, not in the mood for baiting, sighed heavily and averted his eyes.
The Master smiled, apparently pleased by the Doctor's submission. "The light is very bright, is it not? Coming at you from all corners. You can feel it, can't you? The light, the heat, exposing you, trapping you in your skin, sapping your life from you, bit--" he drew his thumb across the Doctor's damp forehead-- "by bit."
The Doctor sweltered in his multilayered clothing and said nothing.
The Master revelled for a moment, and then pulled a flask of water from his shirt pocket. "And here, by some strange coincidence, is just what you need to replenish that life." He immediately folded his hands behind his back. "I'm sure you're familiar with the Troch, that pathetic little race of people unfortunate enough to inhabit a massive desert continent where rainfall is practically unheard of." He held the flask up to the light. "Imagine," he drawled laughingly, "living a life of-- constant thirst. Desperately having to squeeze every last drop from every source imaginable," his voice dropped to a whisper, "never knowing what it is to be satisfied." He turned his attention back to the Doctor.
The Master then produced a knife, and the Doctor felt his hearts jump at the sight of it. But the Master merely smirked, walked behind him, and cut his bonds, placing the flask in the Doctor's hand. Preoccupied though he was trying to work the life back into his stiff limbs, The Doctor could not help but fix his enemy with an expression of utmost surprise.
The Master sneered at the unspoken question. "I have no desire to feed nourishment to you like an infant," he spat by way of explanation.
The Doctor hesitated only for moment, then drank. "Thank you," he breathed as he felt his hunger abate slightly and realised there must have been nutrients synthesized into the liquid as well.
"Not at all, my dear Doctor," the Master replied pleasantly. He took the flask and the severed rope, retied the Doctor's wrists, and pointed an instrument at the ceiling which turned off the lights.
The Master then left without saying another word.
The Doctor's breathing echoed in the dark as the room began to cool.
The Doctor wished his hands were free so he might turn up his collar. His shivering had become constant now; he should have expected the cooling down he'd experienced after the lights were deactivated not to hold at room temperature. It had been almost twenty hours since the Master had left, and he had not returned, and still the room's temperature slowly fell. The Doctor allowed himself to feel truly miserable for a moment. The Master's prolonged toying with him did not bode well, and yet he could not for the life of him work out what his enemy's plans might be.
A faint mechanical groan came from the wall and he turned instinctively toward it. The darkness had begun to unnerve him a few hours ago, and he had begun to hear the tiniest little sounds, on occasion, from deep within the walls. After the noise, however, there came such an oppressive silence that he felt even his own voice would not be able to dispel it. His pulses quickened at the thought. The dark had begun to feel thick around him, a tangible, suffocating presence, and he wanted desperately to thrust his arm into it as if he might somehow sweep it aside.
He heard the door open once more, then heard footsteps approach and begin to circle slowly around him. And around, and around and around. The Doctor's breathing quickened in nervous anticipation, he protested, he struggled, and still the Master prowled wordlessly around him.
Finally, he spoke. "So utterly powerless," he observed, a smile in his voice. "How does that feel, Doctor? Hm?" He leaned in close; the Doctor shuddered, his senses oversensitive in his blindness. The Master continued. "How does it feel to be unable to trust your eyes, your ears, your mind? Even for a moment, to experience that uncertainty?"
The lights suddenly flared back into their full brightness. The Doctor screwed his eyes shut against it, felt himself beckoned to his feet, and soon felt his bonds being removed again, this time by hand. "Please tell me what you're doing."
"I'm untying your wrists," the Master replied, sounding bored.
The Doctor blinked as his vision finally adjusted, and tried to bring up a hand to shield his eyes. Quick as a flash, the Master had captured his arm, turning it behind him again just enough to produce pain. The Doctor gasped as the Master bent him backward just enough to whisper in his ear. "50 hours, Doctor. Tell me how you feel."
"Feel like my arm's breaking," the Doctor quipped, his voice strained.
The Master quickly spun him and shoved him viciously toward the wall, where the Doctor was pinned as the Master's other arm pressed hard across his shoulderblades. "Don't tempt me, my dear Doctor," the Master growled, his grip on the Doctor's arm tightening; the Doctor grit his teeth against it.
"I really hate to disappoint," the Doctor ground out, "but whatever it is you want from me-- ahh!" he gave a small cry as another spasm of pain shot through his arm, "you're going to have to try quite a bit harder."
The Master laughed. "Do you know, I find I quite like this regeneration," he said, and released his grip.
The Doctor let out a breath in relief as the Master eased off. "And why is that?" he asked conversationally, partly to buy himself some time as he massaged his abused wrist.
"So arrogant as always, of course, but this time, so-- willing," the Master explained, sinister as always, but with something like barely-contained glee. At the Doctor's baffled look, he added, "Let me ask you this, Doctor: All these hours I've had you bound on your knees, you never once sought to find yourself a more comfortable position?"
The Doctor's jaw jutted in obstinacy as he tried to marshal an argument more impressive than a simple reminder that the Master had commanded him to remain there. "Now, look--"
"Ah, yes, I'm sure you're going to tell me it's something to do with dignity or defiance or some such thing. But the fact remains, Doctor, you never moved from that position until I bade you stand."
The Doctor swallowed dryly as the Master began to advance on him.
"And you forget, Doctor-- I know you." The Master was much too close; the Doctor refused to back away. "I know what you are. I know what you want." They were practically touching.
"And what is that?" the Doctor asked despite himself, clearing his throat as his voice failed him.
The Master actually kissed him then. "You want to give in," he stated. The kiss was empty. It was nothing but a blatant mockery of the time they had spent together in their youth; the Doctor was surprised by how much it affected him.
There followed an excruciating moment wherein the Doctor searched his mind desperately for some reason to refuse, and found nothing.
The Master, as though sensing this conclusion, finally spoke. "Now," he said, clapping his hands together and walking lazily around the Doctor to stand behind him. "Kneel."
The Doctor felt a hand on his shoulder then, forcing him downward, while a sharp kick to the back of the leg buckled his knee. He was now kneeling, just as the Master ordered. "You still won't find whatever it is you're looking for," he said, knowing it was a vague promise, but simply wanting to direct some of his helplessness onto the Master.
It worked like a charm. The Master snarled and grabbed a fistful of the Doctor's hair, yanking his head backward, looming over him. "You simply invite punishment, don't you, Doctor?" he raged.
"I believe that was--" the Doctor was breathing heavily now-- "what you were getting at earlier."
The Master seemed to consider this. "Yes," he conceded, giving the Doctor's hair one final tug before letting go by way of a good shove to the Doctor's neck.
The Doctor had put out a hand to steady himself, and had not yet regained his balance when the Master grabbed him by the jacket collar and hoisted him to his feet.
"I thought you wanted me kneeling," the Doctor smirked, then immediately brought a hand to his cheek; he had not expected the slap the Master had administered, and had certainly not expected the effect it would have on him.
"You," the Master ordered evenly, replacing his glove, "will keep your mouth-- shut," he finished as he lifted the Doctor's jaw closed where it had fallen open in surprise, "unless I say otherwise."
The Doctor's cheek burned, but it was not much different than how the rest of his skin felt; the Master had been correct in his assessment of this regeneration, it seemed. The hours kneeling, waiting in anticipation, and now this.... While it was true each regeneration had its... preferences, these seemed to be remarkably effective at warming his blood. Again, he felt much too warm in his clothes; he knew a blush was creeping into his cheeks.
This didn't escape the Master's notice; he smiled at the Doctor's discomfort. "You know, it's strange," he began conversationally. He paced lazily around his prey, running a gloved finger beneath the Doctor's chin, eliciting a tiny shiver. "I find that most people believe that losing a battle is some..." he pulled hard at the collar of the Doctor's jacket, then spun him until they faced each other, and abruptly he brought their bodies together. "cataclysmic event."
The Master continued. "They think it occurs with--" he placed his thigh between the Doctor's legs, and the Doctor moaned-- "fire and--" he gripped the Doctor's arms just below the shoulders, almost hard enough to bruise-- "explosions and catastrophe." He then fastened one hand to the back of his adversary's neck, just under the skull, and spun the Doctor again, shoving him savagely against the wall.
"It's as though they believe a battle--" The Master took the Doctor's wrists and placed his hands against the wall over his head-- "is all about..." he trailed off, his ministrations becoming more mental. "They believe a battle is about..."
The Doctor felt a ghost of the Master in him, his essence twining organically around the Doctor's tongue, speaking through him and with him. "The climax," the Doctor's voice finished for him, high and breathy, voice breaking on a cry as the Master suddenly gripped his erection through the fabric of his trousers. The Master seemed impatient with this and soon, the Doctor's trousers were lost as well and he stood exposed; the anticipation was becoming unbearable.
Suddenly the physical contact was lost, but the Master's telepathic presence was stronger than ever. "But it's not the climax, is it, Doctor?"
The Doctor stayed where he was through tremendous effort, his breath laboured and his eyelids heavy, gazing over his shoulder at the Master as though in a fugue.
"No, losing a battle--" the Master approached him again, almost faltering as he took in the sight of the Doctor, panting, his teeth bared, his eyes dilated, almost animal. "Losing a battle," he repeated, leaning in close so his breath warmed the Doctor's neck, "is a very subtle affair." He placed a hand on the Doctor's hip, his fingers less than an inch from where the Doctor wanted them to be.
The Doctor made a pleading noise somewhere between a sigh and a sob.
"It takes time, my dear Doctor," he said, drawing his finger up and down the length of the Doctor's erection. The Doctor made a positively wanton noise. "A long time," he said, this time drawing two fingers down both sides. "It's those--" he drew the pad of his thumb across the head, collecting the fluid there to lubricate his palm, "little things. Those little things that erode the stamina--" he closed that hand around the Doctor's cock, working up and down at a steady rhythm-- "that slowly steal that precious soundness of the mind." With his other hand he brought up two fingers, seeking entrance to the Doctor's mouth. The Doctor obediently complied, and the Master explored his tongue, the surfaces of his teeth, while the Doctor periodically licked and sucked at the Master's fingers.
"Too much heat, too much cold," the Master removed his fingers, now thoroughly lubricated, and placed them at the Doctor's entrance. "Not enough dark, not enough light," he continued; the Doctor whimpered and bucked his hips backward, urging the Master inside, "either alone, or surrounded by unfathomable behaviour." The Master slowly entered, then let all his ministrations fall perfectly, agonizingly still.
"It wears at you, you know," the Master continued, still unmoving, over the Doctor's high gasps. The Doctor felt indescribable; out of his mind. "Driving you closer--" the Master said, and began to move again, almost imperceptibly-- "closer..."
To madness, the Doctor heard the words in his mind, but couldn't be sure who had spoken them. Madness, it echoed insistently, and in the moment the idea of descending into it seemed unspeakably pleasurable.
"every second, every minute--"
"Every hour," the Doctor's voice spoke the Master's words again, the sensation of it almost pushing him over the edge.
"Of every day," the Master finally began thrusting into the Doctor, who gave a series of frantic moans. "Until finally..." the Master, his other hand still working in front, gave his fingers a twist inside the Doctor, "you want to simply--" he knew he'd struck the proverbial bull's-eye as the Doctor took in a ragged gasp-- "give in."
The Master watched as the Doctor came undone, arrogance forgotten, propriety evident only in the feeble attempts at keeping his voice under control. A few moments later, the Master let him crumple to the ground. He quite liked this regeneration, particularly the guilt now suffusing his features. The Master threw him his jacket. "You thought losing the battle would satisfy you, did you?"
The miserable expression on the Doctor's face answered for him.
The Master chuckled. On his way out of the room, he paused briefly in the doorway to address his captive over his shoulder. "You know something, Doctor? I have been alive for..." the Master averted his eyes, doing a quick calculation, "exactly 6,867,840 hours."
It would be a full four regenerations before the Doctor truly understood what the Master had meant.
