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Racing The Clock

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They’ve got half an hour to fix this machine and then it destroys the city around it. Very much the sort of situation where you need to focus on the task at hand. Not the sort of thing you want to be distracted from for any reason.

The Doctor is not, entirely, focussed on the task at hand. Neither is the Master, and knowing why they’re distracted doesn’t help in any way.

“Stupid sexy gravity,” she mutters.

Because the local gravity in the room is a bit arousing. This would be fine on it’s own, but a lot of odd environmental factors are appealing to Time Lords, and quite a few of them can be found in this factory. The lighting. The airflow. The low vibrations that run through the floor. The -

She shakes her head, tries to pay attention to her work.

“I’ve been thinking,” says the Master, suddenly at her side.

So has she. She’s been thinking about him and about the sorts of things they could be doing to each other if they weren’t having to fix this machine that he broke before he realised what it might do. This is all his fault, so it’s at least quite appropriate that it’s him distracting her thoughts from the emergency repair work.

“I’m busy,” she says, “and you should be busy too.” She points towards the other end of the machine. “Go and be busy.”

“I can’t focus on anything,” he complains. “At least, not on anything important. Just you.”

She looks at him. “You don’t think I’m important?” she asks, more hurt than she’d like to admit.

“You know what I mean,” he says, dismissive. “We need to clear our heads,” he goes on, “and the way to do that is fairly obvious.”

It is obvious. But, “We don’t have time,” she says, turning back to the machine. “Just concentrate on getting this thing fixed and then we can -”

“That’s the point,” he says, “we can’t concentrate on getting this thing fixed.”

“Maybe you can’t, but -”

“Doctor, you’ve been working on that same circuit board for the past fifteen minutes.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, surprised. She checks on the sonic screwdriver – he’s right.

“So if we could just shag now and -”

“No time,” she says, again.

“It won’t take long,” he says.

The Doctor turns from her work to look at him. “Did you really just say that?” she asks, eyebrows raised. “It’s not exactly a tempting offer.”

He steps closer. “I know you, Doctor,” he says, and then his mouth is at her ear. “I know you.” His voice is low and quiet. “Do you think I’d leave you wanting?” His hand his on her hip now, drawing her even closer.

“You would and you have,” she reminds both him and herself.

“Only because it was fun,” he says. He whispers in her ear again: “If I want to make you come then you will.”

Despite the oppressive heat of the factory she shivers. Damn him. Apparently her lack of retort is an invitation, because now he’s pushing her hair back so he can nuzzle at her neck.

They only have half an hour to fix this stupid machine, and every minute spent doing something else is a risk. Such as, she reasons with herself, minutes spent hesitating about how to clear their heads. And then his tongue is on the shell of her ear and any other solution to the problem evaporates from her mind entirely.

Again, damn him.

“Okay,” she says, with a sigh that isn’t irritation, “but if anyone dies because of this -”

“They won’t,” he says. “Cross my hearts.”

And what are his promises usually worth? But she lets him back her up against the machine, lets his hands wander.

He presses his forehead against hers. “Let me in,” he says, mouth centimetres from hers, “it’s always easier.”

She opens her mind and he steps inside – contact. He offers her his own distractions, and for a dizzying moment she’s staring down at herself from someone else’s memory, seeing herself flushed and willing, hair splayed across a pillow she doesn’t even recognise. She blinks it away, because she’s confused enough as it is right now, but his arousal adds to her own and she feels herself getting hotter and wetter.

“That’s cheating,” she says.

He shrugs. “Worked, didn’t it?” He slips a hand down past the waistband of her trousers, watching her closely as he touches her cunt. “You’re soaking,” he breathes, and then he kisses her, his hand still exploring.

She moans into his mouth as he slides his fingers along her slit and then presses them inside her. He catches her lip between his teeth and bites down just enough to excite her. She fists a hand in his hair and – partly because they’re in a hurry and partly just because she’s eager – she moves her other hand to touch him through his trousers. She isn’t surprised to find him already hard, or by the low groan that escapes him when she presses against it.

He withdraws his hand and pulls away from her mouth. “Take your trousers off,” he says, sharing his thoughts about what he intends to do with that erection – him lifting her up against the machine, pressing into her quickly and taking her until she screams.

“It’d be easier if -” She sends him an image of her with her hands on the machine, him behind her.

He shakes his head. “I hate not seeing your face when you come.”

She raises her eyebrows, because that’s new – he’s never minded before, in other bodies. “Fine,” she says, and bends down to untie her boots so she can get her trousers off. “If you weren’t being so picky -” she begins.

“If you weren’t wasting so much time arguing,” he replies. He tuts as she fumbles with her laces. “More haste, less speed. Take your time.”

She glowers up at him but she does what she’s told for once and soon enough her boots are off and her trousers and pants are lying next to them on the floor of the factory.

There’s a ledge on the machine at just the right height, and she hops up onto it as he unfastens his own trousers. From this angle she can see a clock in another part of the factory, through a window on the other side of the room, and that’s exactly what she doesn’t need taunting her. She looks away from it, turns her attention to the Master as he steps into place between her legs. His pupils are wide with need, soft brown eyes fixed on hers. He kisses her again, quickly, then watches her expression as he slides his cock into her cunt.

“You’re beautiful,” he tells her, and somehow that’s the thing that makes her blush. He bites at her earlobe, thrusting into her again as his mind reaches into hers to share the feeling.

She cries out, grabs at his shoulder, runs her other hand through his hair. The ledge beneath her is narrow and she’s already halfway off it, her best enemy pushing deeper inside her as she shifts position. Between her own sensations and the reflection of his it really isn’t going to take long – he was right about that too.

She looks over his shoulder, sees the clock still ticking away in that other room – hardly any time at all, and yet already too much. Selfishly, she hopes the sex doesn’t end as soon as it’ll have to. She looks away again, tries not to continue counting in her head with the clock, imagines time ticking away with each movement of her body.

The Master speaks again: “I hope you’re nearly there,” he says, almost breathless. He’s getting close, she can feel it through the mental connection.

She nods. “Left a bit,” she suggests, and cries out again as he changes the angle and it’s suddenly perfect. “Fuck,” she breathes.

“Yeah,” he manages, “already doing that.” He smirks at her for a moment before his eyelids flutter closed. “I’d hurry up if I were you.” He thinks at her, sends her memories and fantasies and promises, and it’s enough to make her to lose herself and come around him. He follows her, loud and unrestrained.

They don’t have time for much of an afterglow, and they part reluctantly but satisfied – at least they can think clearly again. He helps her down off the ledge, kisses her forehead. “Told you it wouldn’t take long,” he says.

“And I told you that’s a terrible line. No wonder nobody else will sleep with you if you go around saying things like that.” She dresses quickly, looks around to see where she left the sonic screwdriver.

“Who says I want anyone else to sleep with me?”

The Doctor’s hearts skip one beat each. “Are you saying I’m the only one you want?” she asks. She touches her chest, only half mocking. “That’s very sweet.”

“Shut up,” he says, without much bite to the words.

She points towards the machine. “Get back to work.” She thinks about the clock, hopes they haven’t lost too much time. Most likely they haven’t, but the worry will persist until the repairs are finished, and she knows that. He moves away from her and she returns to the task at hand.