Chapter Text
She bit down on his lower lip - hard - and he swallowed a groan. “Come here,” the Master gasped, sliding his mouth down her jaw and panting against her throat. It sounded just close enough to a plea that the Doctor climbed into his lap and straddled him, even as he pulled at her, both hands on her lower back, dragging her closer, closer.
It was far too easy to settle back into the familiar battle - predating any other - of trying to make the other react, crack and break and beg. Admit to the greater need, the greater weakness.
The Doctor couldn’t quite keep from hooking one of her legs round the back of the chair, pressing them properly together, the awareness of the Master’s mind against hers intensifying almost to the point of drowning out everything else. It was so hard not to react to him against her at last, to not moan or cry out or make any other sound of pleasure, as unnatural as not gasping at the shock of cold water on her skin.
The Master laughed a little breathlessly against her skin and bit the tendon at the side of her neck, making the Doctor shudder and grind forward, bracing her hands on his shoulders so she could rock against him. The Master’s hands were warm on her hip and back, helping her move, and his pleasure, his need was mingling with hers with each roll of her hips, and she - she couldn’t - the Doctor leant down and pressed her face into the curve of his neck, rubbing her cheek against his skin, trying to settle herself a little, get some control back.
Unfortunately, the Master was swiftly relearning her, identifying which of the old tricks still worked, his lips moving down her neck, searching out the spot which always made her gasp. The Master found it, used his teeth, and the Doctor writhed against him, turning her head to try and catch his mouth so that he couldn’t send her over the edge too quickly.
“Ah-ah,” the Master said into her mouth, dragging her back by her hair so he could bite and suck on her throat again, rocking up into her as he did so.
The Master was pressing his lust, his bright-hot pleasure into her; her outer shields were almost non-existent at this point, everything bleeding together - the Doctor could feel him enjoying her, and it was glorious, too much, shoved her into climax after barely a minute’s contact.
The Doctor’s fingernails dug into his shoulders almost hard enough to draw blood as she rode it out, gasping out what felt almost more like relief than pleasure - the final culmination of the day’s tension and plotting.
A bit quick off the mark, aren’t you? The Master sent, grinning into her neck as the Doctor flopped over him bonelessly, panting. The scent of smoke was stronger now - it must be coming off his hair, not his clothes.
Hair trigger this time around? Or is it just me? The smugness coming off him was almost unbearable.
“Shut up,” the Doctor gasped, still vibrating slightly.
“No, no, I remember some fine talk,” the Master said, voice low and amused, “about who was more desperate, do you-?“
“Shut up!” The Doctor snarled, digging her hands into his hair and pulling roughly, tipping his head back so she could kiss him again. It was horrifyingly good, as usual; she couldn’t help wishing that the Master was a little less ridiculously satisfying. Then she might be able to scrape together enough willpower to stop doing this sort of thing.
There were still little shudders going through the Master as they kissed, and she realised - he hadn’t come yet; she was feeling him ache with the weight and heat of her, feeling it - him - starting to send her up again almost before she’d had a chance to come down. The Doctor shifted her weight, beginning to move against him again, trying to soothe that dreadful ache - when the Master lurched to his feet without warning, shoving her onto the desk and sending folders clattering to the ground around her.
“Hey!” The Doctor yelped, grabbing hold of the Master to stabilise herself - and realising that he was still wearing his shirt. That he was, in fact, still entirely and appallingly clothed. “Get this off,” she said, reaching out, fully intending to tear it off him.
“Don’t you dare,” the Master snapped, fending off her hands and stepping back. “I’ll do it.”
“Get your trousers off too, then,” the Doctor said, scrabbling at her fly. He rolled his eyes and ignored her, though she was relieved to see at least the shirt gone by the time she’d finished yanking her remaining clothes off, mutual impatience crackling between them all the while.
Stepping in close to her again, the Master slid his hands slowly up her legs, before shoving the Doctor’s thighs apart with an eagerness bordering on violence, forcing them obscenely wide - and going to his knees before her.
“Oh,” the Doctor said, a little shocked, as he leant forward and pressed his lips to the crease of her thigh, stubble scraping the fine skin there. She hadn’t expected this.
“That is my-“
“Not the name joke again,” the Doctor said darkly, “it’s more than worn out it’s wel-ah!” - the Master sank his teeth into her inner thigh - “Come!”
“But how can I,” the Master responded, feigning misunderstanding - and the Doctor could feel him smirking against her quickly-bruising skin, the bastard, why did she like it so much - “with this relentless criticism? This ceaseless heckling? Must you,” he spread her open with his thumbs, turned his head to put his mouth on her, to speak against her, “ruin all my pleasure?” The Doctor made a faint sound and grabbed onto his shoulders, fingers digging in.
‘Yes, because your pleasures are usually awful,' is what the Doctor wanted to say, but all she could manage was an utterly humiliating noise when he licked from her entrance to her clit in a smooth stroke.
Clearly determined to have the last word, the Master set himself to learning her as if planning to write a thesis on the topic - finding out what she liked, how best to work on her, and generally going about the thing with what (the Doctor felt) was a truly gratuitous degree of enthusiasm.
It would be maddeningly good by itself - but the Doctor could feel his reactions, too, how much it was affecting him, his sincere enjoyment of what he was doing, and the heat of the Master’s triumph at what it was doing to her. The bridge of his nose was pressing into her, she realised hazily - and when had both her hands ended up twisted in his hair?
The Doctor’s muscles were trembling, her thighs clenched on his shoulders as she tried to restrain the need to squirm, to grind against him, to-. A small moan escaped her, and she bit her tongue, hard, so as not to make any more noise, not to come far too soon - the Doctor wanted to savour this; make it last.
Unfortunately, the Master apparently had other ideas. He pressed a finger into her, rubbing firmly back and forth inside her, and the Doctor came on a quick, hot, infuriatingly unsatisfying burn of pleasure, curled over him, biting down on her palm to muffle her cries.
“You really are desperate, aren’t you. I’ve never known you to have such little stamina,” the Master goaded, voice breathy and excited; as if he’d left her any choice, as if he hadn’t basically insisted on her coming.
“You don’t - need to hold off - when you can - keep doing it,” the Doctor panted, voice wavering with aftershocks, hearts pounding so hard she could feel her pulse in her fingertips, as the Master dragged his mouth over the new bruise on her thigh. “That’s real stamina.”
Sitting back on his heels, the Master looked up at her and grinned, wide and sharp and entirely too pleased with himself, and the Doctor had to shut her eyes against it, against him, against the old familiar pain of ‘We could have this, all the time, why won’t you just-’ She shoved the thought away.
When the Doctor opened her eyes and met his gaze, the Master’s expression had dimmed and grown strange, oddly serious. She thought of the look on his face when she’d asked him what he wanted at the Exposition, and considered asking him - what? What question could she possibly ask that would do any good, or that he would answer honestly? No. She was finished with reaching out to the Master. Finished with wasting her energy, always hoping for some improvement that never came.
So instead of trying to talk, the Doctor settled herself more firmly on the desk and tugged on his hair, trying to pull him up against her, breathing in that smell of smoke.
“I might have known,” - the Master said, speaking as he stood - “that you would get multiple orgasms before I did. You always have all the luck.”
The Doctor rolled her eyes at his griping, while her hands dealt with his buttons and shoved his trousers and pants down, hooking a leg behind him and pulling him closer - never mind about getting the Master properly undressed, she wanted him now.
One of the Master’s hands wound itself in her hair as he settled himself against her, the other finding her hip and stroking it slowly. He leant forward and looked down at her intently, making a dull throb form in her nipples, between her legs. The Doctor closed her eyes for a moment, trying to hide from his expression. It was an entirely futile attempt: they were still entwined, her awareness of him inescapable - all that intense, furious attention that the Doctor always tried not to think of, because she wanted it too much.
The Doctor ran her hands down his back and drew him a little closer, wrapping her legs around him. And there the Master was at last, where he belonged, the perfect fit, and she couldn’t restrain a low, pleased moan.
Where I belong? I didn’t know you were so sentimental, love.
The Doctor hissed in irritation (not to mention embarrassment), trying to eject him from her thoughts - only to be interrupted when the Master started to push inside her, causing a brief stab of pain that made him hesitate.
“Hurry up,” she said, and rocked forward impatiently, wanting him inside her, but he held back. “Don’t you want to go a little slower?” The Master asked, voice mocking. “You clearly haven’t been doing too much of this yet - I’m not sure you can take it.” ‘You delicate little flower', his implication hung, unspoken, in the air. What nonsense.
The Doctor glared, tightened her legs around him for leverage, and shoved her hips forward, forcing him the rest of the way into her. Her fingernails dug savagely hard into the Master’s arms at the combined wave of her sharp, pinching pain and their hot, pressing pleasure, her eyes closing and head tipping back despite the Doctor’s best efforts.
She was distantly aware of the Master using his tight grip on her hair to tilt her face towards him, watching her changing expression avidly, but was far too distracted to bother fighting him on it.
The Master’s warm fingers stroked down her throat and came to rest on her shoulder, thumb rubbing her collarbone slowly as the Doctor adjusted, muscles relaxing. Then he pulled out and slammed back into her, hard enough that she uttered a pained cry as she was shoved several inches across the desk, the distant sound of objects hitting the floor forming a counterpoint to the thump of the Doctor’s fist as it slammed into his shoulder.
“Ouch!” The Master said, not slowing.
“What - ah! - d’you expect to - mm - get when you - do something - like that! ” The Doctor ground out, panting, gripping the edge of the desk to hold herself in place as the friction burned gloriously through her.
“And here I thought you wanted it rough,” the Master retorted, but he reduced his pace to something slightly more reasonable all the same, the buzz of their mutual pleasure building even quicker for the faint bite of pain.
Moving his hand from her hip, the Master trailed his fingers slowly down her body, making her shudder, before settling over her mound. When the Doctor felt him press against her clit she tried to hide her face in his shoulder, not trusting her expression; but he only twisted the hand in her hair and pulled her backwards, hard enough that her back arched a little, sending pleasure jolting down her spine.
“I want to see you,” the Master said, voice shaking a little as she lifted up to meet his thrusts.
“Tough,” the Doctor answered, turning her head firmly away and feeling the crackle of the Master’s frustration at being denied. It only sharpened the sensations of him moving inside her, the relentless rubbing of his thumb on her clit, the urgency of their shared desire, bringing her closer and closer.
The Doctor pressed up, grinding against him, trying to finish herself off. Letting out a desperate sound, the Master kissed her, quickening his pace until she came around him, crying out despite the need to keep quiet, his unsatisfied need rolling over her in a tsunami - almost unbearable - as the Master groaned into her mouth.
“Come on,” the Doctor said, voice wrecked, temporarily beyond embarrassment, “come!”
“Such eloquence! How could I disobey?” The Master laughed breathlessly. “Oh, wait. I am capable of self-control.” His voice wavered noticeably, belying his words.
Somehow the Doctor still wasn’t satisfied, already squirming impatiently on his hardness and urging him back into motion - even though she thought if anything touched her clit right then she’d scream, and not from pleasure. The Master took her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, occasionally pinching in a way that had the Doctor trying to shove herself further up against him despite the increasing wobbliness of her limbs.
“Stop - mm! Making that noise, I can’t - too much - ” the Master muttered in he ear.
“M’not,” the Doctor gritted out, “making a noise.” Her breath was coming harsh in her own ears - she was still pressing herself tighter against him, wanting to touch every inch of him; he felt so good against her, mind and body.
The Master nudged his auditory processing at her, showing her the little begging whines she was making whenever he pulled away even slightly - openly desperate, utterly humiliating. The Doctor flushed hotly, trying to get herself back under control.
The Master’s hand slid back between them, pinching her clit gently but unavoidably, rolling it gently back and forth. The Doctor tensed with a mixture of lust and wariness, grabbing his wrist warningly. This was not an area where she would welcome rough handling.
But her fears proved unfounded - the Master just kept up the same movement, slow and unbearable, as he fucked into her; winding her up like clockwork, tighter and tighter, closer and closer to exploding at last.
As the Doctor’s mind grew narrow and hazy with pleasure, she caught a glimpse of one of the Master’s thoughts - that no-one, not even her own self, knew what she liked as well as he did. He was horrifyingly correct, and she hated herself a little for it.
The Master buried his face in her neck, letting out a small noise, and the Doctor gave herself over to it entirely, clenching down on him and feeling him tremble. He moved his fingers a little faster, and she climaxed on him again, screaming his name into his skin, entirely devoid of restraint.
The Doctor was shivering as she came down, the Master’s want still burning her from the inside out…hang on. He should’ve come at least once by now, surely. She dragged the Master up by his hair, seeing his dazed, pleasure-drunk expression, meeting his lust-blackened eyes.
You cheat! You’re stopping yourself from coming! The Doctor was far too breathless to speak aloud.
Obviously! You can, as we have just established, orgasm far more times than I can. It’s to everybody’s benefit .
Going on about self control, the Doctor sent darkly, you’ve never had any real self control in your life! Don’t know how I fell for - “Ah!” The Master ground into her again, the feeling of him moving inside her instantly overwhelming, making her dizzy with pleasure.
Time for another, don’t you think? The Master sent cheerfully, and pressed her down against the desk, adjusting the angle of his thrusts until he Doctor was gasping and clutching at him. Even so she held out, desperately hanging on to her focus - until it was clear he was suitably distracted . Then she struck.
Freezing, he glared down at her. “You-!“
“Turnabout’s fair play,” the Doctor retorted, grinning smugly as the psychic block finished unraveling in her grip. The Master moaned, shuddering against her, a dull flush creeping up his neck.
Oh, I’m going to ruin you for that. The thought was faint enough that the Doctor couldn’t be sure if he’d meant her to hear it.
The Master fucked into her, deliberately hard, and this was why the Doctor hadn’t been able to get enough - it wasn’t her dissatisfaction. She’d had to keep going because he needed it. Now he was dragging her along after him, effortlessly pulling another orgasm out of her as if on a hook.
It was hideously good - he’d held out so long that the Doctor could feel he was intensely oversensitive, every move jolting his nerve endings with electricity, making her writhe in an entirely embarrassing way.
The Doctor was still shaking from her last climax, but it was clear the Master was going to make her come too-quickly again anyway. At least he was now so desperate for her he couldn’t hold back any more : no mocking remarks, no grandstanding, just the Master making overwhelmed noises into her skin as he fucked her - she thought he was trying to muffle them against her throat, but she could still hear him - his fragmenting thoughts spilling over into her head, adding to the overstimulation.
Nothing as good as this, as us - can’t take any more - the look on her face - completely undone, ruined - the last chance - got to make the most of it - far too much -
They came together, the Master biting down on he Doctor’s shoulder to muffle his scream - gloriously hard - pressing his weight down into her like he wanted to sink through her skin, fuse them together and live inside her. Knees giving out, he collapsed on top of her.
The Doctor could feel the moment gravity took hold, the inevitable slide off the desk beginning, and resigned herself to a hard landing. She was entirely too high on pleasure to bother trying something difficult like standing up.
They ended up in an undignified heap on the floor. Due to a quick grab at the desk the last minute, the Doctor ended up on top, which was at least a change. “Oof!” The Master huffed, wincing, as she smacked into him.
They lay together for a little while, hearts gradually slowing, the Master’s breath tickling her neck. The thought that she should probably leave now started to niggle at the Doctor, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to get up yet.
As ever, the Master was annoyingly quick to recover. What position next? He asked, sliding his hand between her legs to press inside her; bizarrely the Doctor was still aroused, grinding forward on to his fingers and making a keening noise.
I take it all back - your stamina is phenomenal. How many times can you come?
I don’t know! Another finger slid into her, and the Doctor gasped.
You mean you didn’t immediately check? She could feel the Master’s bafflement.
No! Why would I? How much free time does he think she has?
You have no respect for scientific enquiry - luckily I’m here to help!
NO.
The Doctor felt a little panicked at the thought - her arousal just seemed to keep going , it might be hours before she…maybe not that panicked…
I think you’ll find the correct response is ‘Yes, please, Master, how generous of you to donate your efforts to making me come’.
Pulling her awareness away from the Master’s irritably - enough to dull the mingled superciliousness and arousal coming off him down to almost nothing (how had she let them get so entangled, she would be feeling him all over her the aftereffects of this for months) - the Doctor snapped aloud, “In your dreams.”
“Often,” the Master agreed insinuatingly, briskly rearranging them so the Doctor could sink down onto him again, which she did with a little sound of satisfaction, already missing feeling his reactions in counterpoint to her own.
Gazing down at him, the Doctor braced her hands on his chest. “I’m not sure if I can ride you - my legs are still shaking.”
“Nonsense, you’ve always had strong legs - it’s all that unnecessary running around. Anyway, it’s my turn to lie here and be serviced. I’ve been doing all the work for your - considerable - benefit, after all.” The Master folded his arms behind his head, making a show of getting comfortable under her.
The Doctor rolled her eyes, but her legs were recovering now - and it would make it easier to get her own back, even if the Master was being tiresome; so she started to move, slowly working out a good rhythm - before stilling again, an excellent idea occurring.
“Move!” The Master demanded, eyes satisfyingly glazed.
“Not until you say please.”
“You must be joking.” the Master’s hands grabbed her hips as he wrapped his will around hers, trying to drown her in sensation, burn her up, get her to give in.
In response, the Doctor strengthened her shields, leant back a little and rubbed her clit, shutting her eyes in concentration - and came satisfyingly fast, listening to the Master’s bitten-off moan change into a sharp sound of frustration as she started to move her fingers again.
Fighting the Master was always such an excellent source of stimulation, the thought of denying him more than making up for not being able to feel more than a flicker of his sensations - and on a purely physical level, it really was so much more satisfying to have something to clench around. She’d have to remember that in future.
“You do realise that I was only just doing this to myself on purpose?” The Master asked. “I don’t- ah!” - the Doctor tightened her muscles around him, grinning at the Master’s response - “I don’t think this is as effective a punishment as you think it is.”
“I’m denying you control, not orgasms. You’re not going to be able to hold out for five minutes,” the Doctor said cheerfully, opening her eyes again. The mixture of desire and anger on the Master’s face was truly inspiring.
When the Doctor came the second time - only to begin again, smiling down at him - the Master’s grasp on her hips became vicelike, fingers digging deep into her flesh. That’s going to bruise, she thought happily.
“Any time you want to start moving, feel free,” the Master said through gritted teeth.
“Say please.”
“Oh, come on! ” The Master glared.
“This is payback, you know.”
“Oh? What did I do ? Make you bend the knee? Beg for mercy? Actually say my damn name for a change?” He watched her closely. “Humiliated you in some way, clearly! Well done future me.” The Master smirked. “Did you like it?”
“What?”
“Did you enjoy,” he said, drawing it out, “me humiliating you?”
“No!” The Doctor’s face felt hot.
The Master laughed. “Thought so!”
The Doctor narrowed her eyes and clenched down deliberately hard, rocking a little on him, moaning in deliberate provocation.
“Doctor! ”
“Not what I asked for.”
The Master braced his hands on the floor, pushing up as if to try and roll her under him, but the Doctor slammed him back down again, pinning him in place.
Naturally, he only looked utterly delighted, squirming under her. “Playing rough?”
“Say it.”
“Never.” The Master twisted his arms, testing her grip.
This time around, the Master was solid where the Doctor was wiry, which made holding him still a little more of a challenge than usual - she had to lean far forward, hanging over him, using her weight to hold him down properly.
He glared, sides heaving, and tried to rock up into her. The Doctor could feel him relishing the pressure of her hands, even so. The Master always liked losing more than he ever wanted to admit. Or perhaps he just enjoyed provoking her into using physical force; getting her to impose her will on him so crudely.
“Who’s enjoying it now?” She asked. At his lack of response, the Doctor added, “Say it.”
“Fine! ” The Master’s mouth twisted sourly. “Please.” It was ridiculously overacted, but the Doctor had asked for the word, not sincerity. And she wasn’t him , to insist on belabouring the point.
Shifting her grip so she could move and still keep him pinned, the Doctor started to ride him, and he moaned in satisfaction, eyes fluttering shut. She moved slowly, deliberately dragging it out, until the Master opened his eyes, glaring at her irritably for a moment, before smirking and saying “Come on love, put your back into it - fuck yourself harder! I want to see at least three more orgasms this evening!”
“How are you so annoying no matter what we’re doing?” The Doctor replied, speeding up a little despite herself.
In her distraction, the Doctor had forgotten to try and maintain a psychic distance, and they were twining together again already, the Master’s pleasure going from a faint burn at the edge of her mind to an overwhelming conflagration, combusting her every nerve, her willpower curling up and flaking away like burning paper - until she forgot to hold him down, to keep things slow, anything but chasing their shared pleasure until they burnt up together at last.
The Doctor flopped forward, body limp. Luckily, the Master caught her before their heads could slam together, his palms pressing against her shoulders, holding her up, her hair hanging round his face. Leaning down, she kissed him again, lingering over it; she was humming with enough pleasure, their minds so close, that it almost deceived her into feeling affectionate towards him again.
When she pulled away, the Master had that strange look in his eye again - the dazed pleasure that had been radiating off him disturbed by whatever lay beneath…something that the Doctor couldn’t quite see - the way you could detect movement far below you in deep water by the cold currents it stirred up. She breathed in, tasting smoke on her tongue - harsh and acrid, with an odd metallic undertone.
"The old offer still stands, you know,” the Master said softly “we rule, half the universe for you, half for me, to do with as we please.” He slid his hand over her mouth before she could reply. “Your half can have the Earth.” There was a dreadful smile on his face. “And mine can have Gallifrey. No - don’t answer me yet.”
The Doctor shook her head, his hand slipping from her face. The smell of smoke had grown so strong that she wondered for a mad second if he was on fire.
“When-“
“You’ll know when.”
“How do you know,” the Doctor said, “the time you’re thinking of isn’t in my past?”
The Master studied her face. “It isn’t. Don’t ask me how I know,” he added.
What had provoked this? It had been…rather more than a thousand years since he’d last made her that offer. (‘Our home, razed to the ground,’ he’d said earlier.)
“You haven’t found some other horrifying super-weapon, have you?” The Doctor tried for a smile, but knew it couldn’t be much better than his.
The Master sighed, closing his eyes. “Not exactly.”
That was ominous.
“Master…” The Doctor trailed off, unsure of what to say, feeling a fine tremor go through him.
“No point discussing it further now,” the Master said, “just…remember.”
She had the sense of the Master shoving something away, forcing it down; he grinned suddenly, mood changing like a flipped switch. The Doctor let out a small squeak of surprise when he twisted their bodies, rolling her onto her back.
“Now!” The Master said, tone falsely bright, kissing her sternum in-between her hearts and sliding down her body, “let’s find out the answer to this pesky multiple orgasm question!”
The Doctor tensed, about to protest the change of subject, before realising that she was actually about to start arguing him out of giving her orgasms - talk about cutting off her nose to spite her face. The Master was clearly bound and determined not to give her any useful information; if he was so keen to get her off, why not take advantage?
This resolution was immediately strengthened by the sensation of his mouth revisiting the mark he’d made on her thigh, the pleasure-pain making her squirm a little. She slid her hand slowly up the back of his neck, feeling the smooth prickle of the fine hair there against her fingers.
The Master kissed the curls between her legs, and she shuddered at the feel of his breath on her. Curling both hands into his hair, she dropped her head back against the floor and let him work.
“Enjoying yourself?” The Doctor asked, pointedly, after a few moments.
She knew he was, could feel the Master’s gratification at her pleasure - which intensified it - which intensified his satisfaction - recursion upon recursion, going round and round.
She just wanted to hear him say it.
Stop fishing for compliments, the Master replied, thought rich with amusement, and did something that made the Doctor gasp and arch off the floor, kissing her until she came again, shockingly fast.
And apparently he wasn’t stopping.
Why would I? He asked. You seem to have misunderstood the nature of the experiment we are running. The Master’s hands tightened pleasurably on her thighs. It is, however, important to try several variables.
I really must congratulate you on this spectacular new talent of yours; I am enjoying it immensely. By the way, I think that must be at least twenty in my favour now.
You cheated - I declare the results invalid. And it would be twenty-three of mine to four of yours, anyway, so it would only be nineteen - stop laughing!
In that case, I must insist on once more.
What? No!
No, no. I want my nice round twenty points. The Master removed his mouth from her neck, and leant down to take her nipple between his teeth once more; she moaned quietly, her fingernails digging pleasurably into his back.
We’re going to have to change the system anyway, she told him, squirming a little, it's now weighted in your favour to a ridiculous degree.
You say that like it’s a problem, the Master retorted, and pulled her up against him, kissing her studiously, slowly working her up with fingers and mouth until she came again at last.
It left her limp on the floor, trembling in every limb. “I don’t think I can move,” the Doctor sighed, letting her head drop back onto the floor with a dull thud.
“Don’t worry,” the Master said, settling his weight over her, hitching her leg over his hip as he slid back into her, “your participation is not currently required.”
The Doctor could feel the Master enjoying how spent she was, enough so that he only had to expend a little effort to keep her pinned exactly the way he liked her. It felt…really good, actually - almost relaxing, in a way their encounters usually weren’t.
The Doctor struggled a little against his grasp, purely for the principle of the thing, before going blissfully limp under him and letting the Master fuck her exactly the way he wanted to - relishing the way it sent a shiver of excitement and satisfaction rolling through him when he felt her give in.
He kept kissing her and kissing her, looking directly into her eyes, his hands running all over her skin, invasively thorough - seeming as impatient to caress the back of her knee or trace the line of her shoulder blade as to touch anywhere more conventionally erotic.
The familiar sensation soothed the Doctor further; the Master was always eager to get his hands on her again after she regenerated (she had always strongly suspected the existence of some sort of creepy mental map of her various proportions over the years).
I’ve missed this, the Doctor thought, too hazy from satisfaction - both physical and mental - to prevent the Master hearing her.
An odd look slid onto his face, twisting it, and he hastily leant down to kiss her collarbone, shaking a little. The Doctor pressed a little deeper into the Master’s mind, curious, and his satisfaction and pleasure abruptly cracked under her touch, revealing the deep, sick, exhausted misery underneath it, despair to the point of unreason.
That was...different. Worrying. She felt wetness on the skin of her neck. Was he crying? Digging further, (a violation of privacy, but-) the Doctor only discovered more of the same, and started to cast about for the cause. The question slipped out without her meaning to.
What’s wrong?
Instantly, the Doctor kicked herself - no more sympathy. Not for him.
But the Master flinched minutely against her, mind and body (she wouldn’t have been able to tell if they hadn’t been so close to one another, almost fusing) and jerked away, painfully fast, snapping his inner shields back up before she could see why .
The Doctor grabbed him just before he could pull out of reach, staring, baffled, at the Master’s ripped-open expression. It was as if she had expected to dig her fingers into whole flesh and had instead found herself tearing at a gaping wound. It was…unsettling. She didn’t like hurting him by accident. She wanted all her hurts to be deliberate, wanted to be able to give them proper thought beforehand. Not that she usually got the chance with him; she got far too caught up in the fight.
That awful smell of smoke was back again as they stared at each other, frozen; strong enough to make her cough a little, and the Doctor suddenly realised: it couldn’t be a real smell. It must be coming from him - a sense-memory so intense it was bleeding through their connection, muddling her senses with phantom odours. Yet another strangeness to add to the list, then.
Really, she should just…leave, ignoring whatever this was, (force down her weak partiality, her dangerous propensity toward offering him far, far more than he deserved) but the look on his face…
“Master, I…” The Doctor hesitated, considering. “Come back here,” she said at last, pulling him back down against her, his muscles rigid under her hands, not-quite resisting. The Master settled on top of her, letting his full weight press her into the floor, crushingly heavy, his expression now unsettlingly blank.
The Doctor kissed him again, careful, and the facade cracked almost immediately, a look of misery briefly stark on his face. He screwed his eyes shut for a moment, breathing shaky, smoothing his face back to detached amusement, as if nothing had happened.
A little relieved noise came out of the Doctor when he returned to fucking her - the Master being so careful with her at first that it was almost off-putting; but when she kissed him harder, determined, he broke quickly, grinding her down against the floor harder and harder with each thrust, forcing her breath out in soft huffs, kissing her devouringly, before pulling back to look at her.
“Now,” the Master ground out, a demand so harsh it twisted into a plea. “Come again for me now.” Holding the Doctor’s hips with shaking hands, moving her with him insistently, eyes burning into her, watching, waiting for her to break.
“I - I can’t-“ She was worn out, for goodness’s sake, he couldn’t expect-
“Yes, you can! Come on!” The Master pressed raw sensation down the Doctor’s nerves - deliberately too much, enough so that it was a little painful.
Embarrassingly, his insistence worked where mere physical stimulation would have failed, and she came, arching against him and crying out his name, muscles trembling with fatigue, listening to him whimper quietly against her throat. The Master followed her quickly, murmuring her name into her skin in an almost pleading tone.
Judging from his expression when he leant up over her a few minutes later, he was either steadier now or capable of convincingly faking being so - which the Doctor supposed was almost the same thing, at least as far as the Master was concerned.
The floor was really starting to dig into the Doctor’s back, and she was opening her mouth to say something along the lines of ‘Well, this was nice, but I must be going,’ when the Master kissed her, persuasively enough that she settled again, relaxing into him despite her better judgement.
“Definitely worth putting up with all that nonsense earlier,” the Master said, at last.
The Doctor laughed quietly, stretching a little. “Why did they rush off like that?”
“Ah, you weren’t listening - as usual. You have only yourself to blame,” he said, watching her. It sometimes seemed to the Master that he was forever watching the Doctor; she was the war he could never win, and he couldn’t seem to stay away.
The Doctor was warm and open and relaxed against him (smiling even!), and the Master was caught between wanting to bask in the warmth of her attention while he still could, and being unable to endure it any longer. Because she wouldn’t allow him this, if she knew what he had done - if she knew what he now knew.
And because it was false, and always had been, even if unknowingly. (And even the thought of her having always known the truth, and never told him - of that being the real source of her endless claims to superior understanding-)
The only hope he had left was that when the Doctor did know, she would feel the same anger he had….powerful enough to consider his offer. To want vengeance. To finally shatter her endless bloody virtue enough to come around to his way of approaching the world. He’d tried hers, after all. (And look how well that had gone.)
The Doctor pinched his arm lightly, clearly annoyed at his abstraction.
“Tell me,” she demanded.
The way forward was suddenly completely clear. He was going to enjoy this.
Probably.
“Oh, I cut the connection to MI6 for a few agents - probably only forty or fifty dead as a result. Barely worth it, really.” The Doctor recoiled, which was the goal, and not in the least upsetting.
“Forty-“
“Or fifty!” The Master watched the horror on her face, smiling faintly, “You did ask me to get rid of him…and don’t worry! Their technology is hideously primitive - they’ll never know it was me!”
“I’m surprised you didn’t ‘get rid of him' earlier then - if it was so damn easy.” The Doctor snapped, rolling to her feet and grabbing for her clothes.
He laughed, getting to his feet more slowly, pulling on his trousers. “So you could shout at me and and leave, keeping up the pretence that you didn’t come here wanting anything else - as per usual? I think this worked out much better for the both of us, don’t you?” The Master asked, raising his voice slightly as she moved away from him, shoving her feet into her boots as she went.
The Doctor - fastest dresser in the galaxy, ever eager to leave - sonic'd the door open and stormed out without answering. The Master yanked his shirt on and pursued her.
She turned to face him, and they glared at each other, breathing hard. The Master leant forward slightly, hand coming up to -. The Doctor glanced over his shoulder, whirled round, and sprinted down the corridor. He stared after her in surprise.
“Ahem.” The cough was instantly familiar. He shut his eyes and breathed in and out slowly, trying to rein in his temper, before he turned to face C.
C took in his disheveled appearance, then his eyes slid over to his office door, looking at the disarray of his office. The Master could almost hear the gears grinding, very slowly, as the head of MI6 finally managed to connect his current state with his odd behaviour earlier and, unfortunately, came to the correct conclusion.
“O! Was that a woman?”
The degree of astonishment that the concept of any woman willingly associating with him apparently caused C was really quite offensive.
Can’t kill him yet, can’t kill him yet…
“With that degree of perspicacity I’m honestly surprised you survive,” the Master retorted, not in the mood to keep up the charade.
He watched the ill-disguised pleasure on C’s face at the thought of finally being able to get rid of this thorn in his side. C had wanted to give him the boot for years, but the Master had always been careful not to give him any excuses that would stand up to scrutiny. Humanity had tied itself up with far too many rules saying you were not allowed to fire people just because they annoyed you personally - and the Master had gleefully exploited them all.
“O, this is a serious matter! Who…”
The Master tuned him out, wondering if the death he had planned for C was painful enough. A bit too quick, really. He’d have to rearrange everything else to change it, though. Decisions, decisions…
“…Might have seriously compromised….”
He couldn’t believe the Doctor had managed to get him sacked (again) - and for what was, essentially, workplace misconduct. He was going to have to make sure she never, ever, found out about this. (The plan didn’t come into it. The Doctor was not going to know.)
“…I regret to say we will have to let you go.” C finished, tone entirely devoid of regret.
The Master turned to walk away.
“Wait, man! I’m trying to talk to you.”
“And here I thought I was fired,” the Master replied over his shoulder - and left, ignoring C’s spluttering.
Lucky that he’d already made copies of all the files he thought might be useful for his research on the Doctor’s origins. The Master made a mental note to wipe any traces of her visit from MI6’s charming attempts at surveillance equipment, as well as backing up the video recordings from his own security devices in his office. You never really knew who was spying on you, after all.
It wasn’t until the Doctor was setting the controls for Gallifrey, (just another one of his games, of course, but he’d been so…she had to check) that she realised what had felt so wrong about their earlier encounter. It had felt like a last time: too final - like he was trying to get his fill of her; drink her in before she was lost to him. It was an unsettling thought; he generally acted like the only end to their contesting would be him killing her - which he never seemed able to actually follow through on.
But she wouldn’t think of him any more, it wasn’t worth it: she would check on Gallifrey to…to make sure - and return to her Fam. The Master would surely remain trapped in the Kassavin realm for a little bit. It would be safe to cast him from her thoughts for a while, settle and recentre herself before she had to face him again. He always did seem to manage to throw her off-kilter, get under her skin in ways she wasn't proud of - despite her very best intentions.
The Doctor opened the Tardis doors, and smelled smoke.