“Please,” the Master hissed.
The Doctor smiled, but the quirk of his lips was neither particularly affable nor particularly generous. “Mmm, that’s not quite what I wanted, is it?”
The Master glared up at him and said nothing. His eyes were blacker than ever, pupils so dilated with lust that the dark rims of his irises were barely visible. The sheen of sweat that had coated his naked body over the past half hour gleamed in the low light of the TARDIS bedroom. His hands – the left handcuffed to the headboard, the right trapped against the bed in the Doctor’s iron-hard grip – twisted weakly in the sheets. When the Doctor ghosted a touch over the length of his cock, the barest hint of a caress against overstimulated flesh, his knuckles went white. He was having trouble keeping his breathing even.
“You know how to make me do what you want,” the Doctor said. His bruising grip on the Master’s wrist belied the light tone, the pleasant cast to his expression. He smoothed a hand along the Master’s quivering inner thigh and the Master couldn’t hold back a groan. “Come, now, don’t be unreasonable.”
“Doctor, have some – ahh!” The Doctor rolled his balls in one hand, the sensation just shy of painful with his dry hands, then trailed a fingertip along the vein on underside of his cock. Like so many of the Doctor’s precious touches this afternoon, it was suggestive, erotic, and mind-blowingly, frustratingly, impossibly inadequate. “Have some decency and let me –” and then he broke off again as the Doctor’s hand fisted around him and slid. Liquid pleasure, bright and hot, shuddered through him in what felt like an unstoppable rush, and for a moment, for a moment he thought he might be able to escape this without –
Then the Doctor’s hand closed, punishingly tight, around the base of his cock, and the Master thrashed against the sheets. He’d long since given up on controlling his bodily reactions, and he closed his eyes with the shame of it as he ground his head against the pillow. The dry drag of the Doctor’s hand against the most sensitive part of his anatomy was painful in its intensity; moisture sprang to the Master’s eyes, and he closed his eyes even tighter to prevent its escape. That, at least, seemed one humiliation too far.
The Doctor tsked. “That looks like it hurts, doesn’t it? You know, if you’d just let me cuff your other hand, I’d be able to retrieve the tin of lubricant.”
Eyes still closed, the Master shook his head, the cotton of the pillow catching on his damp hair. He couldn’t remember why now, but there was a reason, there was a reason he wasn’t supposed to –
The Doctor’s fingers fondling the crown of his cock shattered his thoughts, blew them to smithereens until all that was left was deep, animal lust. His breath escaped in a long, low moan and his fingers spasmed, clenching uselessly at the sheets.
“Don’t be ridiculous, now.” The Doctor’s voice was calm, even as the Mater shook in his grip. “Here. I’m going to release your hand in a second, and then you’re going to be good and bring it up to let me cuff it.”
Two more short strokes left the Master’s mind spinning, heady with overstimulation. Then the Doctor simultaneously pinched one of his nipples hard and, as the Master reeled with the sharp, sweet pain of it, released his wrist.
Almost without intending it, the Master raised his right hand over his head, letting it settle, with a sharp finality, against his bound wrist. The Doctor let out a sharp hiss of breath, but he wasted no time in fixing the handcuffs – unlocking the empty cuff, sliding it through the headboard’s bars, and locking the Master’s other wrist firmly in place. Through it all, the Master remained motionless, his body tight with tension. Once he’d been secured, he tugged on the cuffs and then, when they failed to give, sagged against the sheets. He opened his eyes just in time to see the Doctor’s expression sharpen from something slack and faintly stunned back to its determined cast, shuddered as those eyes fixed on his.
The tin of lubricant had fallen off the bed an age ago, back when the Master had still been too pleased that they’d proceeded past a quick fumble in the back of a UNIT lab to care about keeping track of such things. The Doctor reached down to retrieve it without breaking eye contact, and the Master cursed mentally when he realized it had been close enough for the Doctor to retrieve one-handed. But now both of the Master’s hands were secure, and both of the Doctor’s were free. That pair of thoughts – of the Doctor’s cleverness in tricking him and of his own helplessness – made something unpleasantly like lust coil in his belly. He didn’t find the Doctor’s dominance attractive and he wasn’t going to lose this game …
The Doctor shifted further down the bed, knelt over him. His hands were cold when he touched him again, and briefly, the Master registered displeasure that – typical of the Doctor – he must have been too impatient to let his body heat warm the lubricant. But then long fingers, slick and soothingly cool, slid firmly along his aching length and Master’s hips bucked up, accompanied by a wordless shout. At that, the Doctor smiled, a hint of indulgence tucked in the corner of his lips, but he pressed the Master back down to the bed, arm firm against his hips. A hand came down to toy with his balls, and one fingertip trailed teasingly down, stroking against his perineum before curling around towards his entrance.
“Doctor,” the Master growled. “Stop wasting time and just –”
The Doctor stilled, and for a glorious second the Master thought he might finally give in, but instead of pushing in further, he withdrew and returned to those frustrating, tantalizing strokes.
“You know how to get what you want,” the Doctor said cheerfully. “You’re the one making things hard on yourself.”
Snarling inarticulately, the Master tugged hard against the headboard, but his bonds held.
The Doctor’s eyes softened. “If you ask for it, I’ll open you up. I won’t let you finish, of course – not yet – but if you ask for it, I’ll start.”
The silence was punctuated only by the Master’s gasps and the Doctor’s own slightly-ragged breathing. Then, his voice rough, the Master said, “Fine. Do it, then.” And as the Doctor opened his mouth, “Please. Please, Doctor.”
The Doctor’s lips closed and, though he didn’t look entirely satisfied, he reached for the lube, coated his hand liberally, and worked his first finger into the Master. The Master felt – full, in a way he hadn’t felt in quite a while; it had been several bodies and several centuries, give or take a dozen years, since the last time they’d had the freedom to do this properly. He tried to grind down onto the digit immediately, and the Doctor shook his head. “Not quite yet,” he murmured, shoving the Master’s hips back down with one forearm, but he pushed in the next finger more quickly, almost before the Master was ready. It burned, just a bit painful and still not enough. A droplet of sweat slithered between the Master’s shoulder blades and down his spine, the sensation hyper-real to his heightened senses. The Doctor scissored his fingers within him, then stabbed deep into him, searching, and – a wrecked sound escaped the Master as the Doctor found the spot he was looking for.
The Doctor’s lips twitched in response, and he curled his fingers within the Master, the sensation so pleasurable it hurt. “Right there, then?” he said, and he stroked against that spot again, fingers unbearably careful and precise. Unable to maintain eye contact, the Master’s eyes slid down to the Doctor’s sweat-slick chest, eyes tracing the whorls of his fine body hair. It wasn’t a good enough distraction, though; he choked off another cry as the Doctor mercilessly pressed against the bundle of nerves he’d found.
“Ahh, that’s right. That’s how you like it this time around, isn’t it?” the Doctor said, and the Master could hear the smug smile on his face, even if he wasn’t looking at it. Waves of pleasure rolled through him, violent in their intensity, each radiating out through his body before he had a chance to settle down from the last, as the Doctor’s clever fingers teased him just where they knew he couldn’t bear it. He wasn’t even able to make a sound, choking on air as if he couldn’t even get enough oxygen into his lungs. His hips bucked up – but that just drove him into the Doctor’s tight, slick grip, which was a torture of another kind. Then the Doctor began to stroke him, the way he knew would reduce the Master to a helpless wreck, and the two sensations built into each other, higher and higher and higher into a blinding, overwhelming pulse of pleasure. He was going to come, he really was going to come –
The Doctor’s fingers closed like a makeshift cock ring around him once more and the Master actually yelled. He pulled against the handcuffs so hard the headboard rattled.
“You know exactly how to end this,” the Doctor said, and then he bent down so that his lips were right over the Master’s cock. Eyes open so wide they hurt, the Master stared as the Doctor came so close he could feel the heat from his mouth. He couldn’t have looked away if he’d tried, if he’d wanted to. His muscles strained helplessly. His ears were roaring so loudly he could barely hear the jangle of metal as he tugged at the cuffs. He would do anything, he could do anything –
The Doctor looked up. “Come on, now,” he said, just a hint of irritation in his tone, and then he licked a long, thin, ruthless stripe up the Master’s cock and the Master sobbed.
“Please,” he begged. And then, in a rush, “Master, please. Please, Master.”
The Doctor looked directly up at him, the triumph in his gaze unmistakable, and, charitable with victory, he leaned down to engulf him fully. The wet heat should have been enough to send him over the edge immediately, but there was a sick, off-balance sensation in the Master’s stomach, and he felt dizzy and lightheaded at the same time, and –
“Carbon,” he gasped out, the word springing to his lips without conscious thought. “Carbon.”
Centuries had passed since he’d even thought of it; he hadn’t been the one who demanded a safeword in the first place, had never felt they would need one. It had been the Doctor’s idea more than his, back when the Doctor was Theta Sigma, and he wasn’t even sure whether the Doctor would remember, wasn’t sure what he was doing, only that he felt like he was going to come and he felt like he couldn’t breathe and he didn’t want either sensation, and he needed to stop, he needed this to stop –
The Doctor froze. He drew his fingers out of the Master so abruptly that the Master was left reeling again from their loss and he almost sobbed again. Clumsy with haste, the Doctor scrambled up the bed towards the headboard, his knee knocking roughly against the Master’s ribs. Oddly enough, the touch – brief and non-sexual as it was – helped ground the Master, helped him catch his breath as the Doctor cursed, fumbling around for the key on the bedside table.
“I’m terribly sorry – I shouldn’t have – damn,” the Doctor said, his fingers slipping as he tried to unlock the cuffs. “I didn’t even think this would be – Rassilon, I’m sorry.” The instant his hands were free, the Master sat up, backing himself against the headboard. The cool wood against his back was a welcome change from the mussed sheets. He looked down at his palms, stroking one hand over a sore wrist without registering what he was doing.
All right. He was all right. This was embarrassing and awful on many, many levels, and he’d had no plans for this sort of thing – he’d come here for a quick liaison and been surprised to find the Doctor amenable to anything more – and he was still desperately hard and this was – not insurmountable. It was not insurmountable. He pushed a strand of sweaty hair back in place and took a few deep breaths. Control. He had a respiratory bypass system, for goodness’ sake; this shouldn’t be hard at all.
He looked up, to find the Doctor perched cautiously on the edge of the bed. After a moment, he realized, with a brief flare of surprise, the other Time Lord was waiting for him; when he nodded, the Doctor spoke. “I’m so sorry, old chap. I just thought it’d be – well, a bit more exciting than usual, that’s all. I should have realized making you call me – realized that it would have affected you like that.”
The Master lips tightened. “No. Don’t be ridiculous, Doctor; I was the one who laughed when you suggested it, said I doubted you were up to the challenge. If I didn’t anticipate this, there’s no way you could have.”
“Still, on the principle of the thing, I apologize.”
The silence had grown long enough to be awkward when the Master said, at last, “Indeed. At least we can both be glad you remembered what I meant. Thanks Rassilon for small mercies.”
Something shifted in the Doctor’s expression as he realized – “You didn’t know that would stop me,” he said, softly. And then, “Oh, Master, you –” and he edged over so that he was sitting next to the Master, arm against arm. Without thinking, he leaned forward to run a hand along the Master’s shoulders, then stopped immediately when he recognized what he was doing.
“Is this all –”
“Yes, of course it is,” the Master snapped, just enough of a bite to it for the Doctor to understand. The Doctor nodded and let his arm settle around him.
It wasn’t unpleasant, the Master reflected. There were worse things than sitting here, in the Doctor’s TARDIS, in bed with the other Time Lord, skin against naked skin. Their breathing fell into sync without either really noticing. The soft whir of a living TARDIS in the background was soothing. The Doctor’s fingers stroked idly along smooth skin of his bicep, and the Master sighed. He might never admit it, and the way they’d gotten here might be one of the most embarrassing experiences of his life, but this was all right. He was all right; they were all right. They could just never speak of this again, and he could enjoy this part for now.
Eventually, the Master moved to get up – and then hissed as the sheets rubbed against his still over-sensitive cock. The Doctor looked down, saw his problem, and frowned.
“It seems you’re still –”
“Yes,” the Master ground out, “please state the obvious, Doctor.”
“I was going to say in need of a hand,” the Doctor said, his words edged with faint reproach.
“Is that so.” The Master paused, considered it, and looked over into the Doctor’s eyes. That was what he’d come for in the first place, wasn’t it? No reason to give up now, just because things had gone a bit off-script. “Yes, I suppose I –”
“Good,” the Doctor said, and he reached over and fisted one hand around the Master. With a few long, languorous strokes, he had the Master moaning once more. The Master leaned back against his chest, and the Doctor turned his head to the side to lick his neck, and oh that felt wonderful. The Doctor’s heartbeats against his ear were steady and grounding. A few more slow strokes, so good that they almost hurt, and the Master came with a shout as the Doctor bit his neck.
He let himself catch his breath for a moment, and then he made to roll over and – but the Doctor’s arm around him arrested the movement. “I was going to –”
“It’s hardly fair if I’m the only one to reach orgasm, Doctor.”
“Ahh – it turns out,” and here the Doctor looked faintly embarrassed; had one of his hands not been currently occupied by holding the Master in place and the other sticky and wet, the Master was sure he would have rubbed at the back of his neck in that frustrating manner of his, “your performance was affecting enough that it won’t be a problem.”
The Master turned his head, bringing his face so close to the Doctor’s that they were sharing the same air. He raised an eyebrow, smirked as the Doctor colored slightly.
“Yes, well, there’s no reason to go and act like the cat that caught the canary,” the Doctor grumbled, and then he shook his head and, natural as breathing, leaned in to kiss the smugness off the Master’s face.
For a moment, the air caught in the Master’s throat, but after all, this afternoon had already been all about finding out which boundaries could be safely transgressed, hadn’t it? So he kissed him back, tongue curling against his, the kiss slow and warm and wet. The Doctor broke away soon, seeming to know exactly how much intimacy the Master could tolerate; he gently tugged at the Master’s bottom lip with his teeth as he pulled back before then letting him go entirely.
The Doctor leaned back with a happy sigh, and the smile on his face was so content that something almost ached in the Master’s chest at seeing it. He lowered himself back onto the pillows and then, because you couldn’t give the Doctor an inch without his taking a mile and the Master had encouraged him by kissing back, patted the bed next to him. His smile curved into something that seemed to dare his companion to object.
The Master’s lips tightened minutely; he made to get up once more, but the Doctor’s arm shot out and grasped his shoulder. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, and he tugged lightly on the Master’s bicep. “Come to bed, my dear fellow.”
“It’s barely four in the afternoon,” the Master said, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to say “no.” “Hardly time for lazing about in bed, Doctor, although if you keep these hours, perhaps it explains why UNIT has accomplished so very little lately.”
“Mmm, I seem to recall that only one of us missed every single module of chronospatial engineering because class started at nine.”
“Only one of us passed that exam with a perfect score, too,” the Master said, smugly, just to be perverse.
The Doctor frowned, then shook his head in a clear refusal to be distracted. “Besides, we’re in a time machine. A brief post-coital nap can’t hurt anyone.”
The Master arched one eyebrow, but when the Doctor tugged on his arm again, he refrained from pointing out that it was a non-functioning time machine and instead let himself be pulled back into bed. The Doctor always had been disturbingly clingy after sex, this regeneration even more so than most, and indulging him could only make him more amenable to similar ventures in the future, after all. It was simply strategic. For a brief moment, he considered giving into the impulse to allow the Doctor to draw him in to his chest, but then, his control steel, forced himself to roll over and lie face-to-face with his best enemy instead. The Doctor smiled fondly, smoothed a strand of the Master’s dark hair back into place, and let his hand drift down to land, gently, against the Master’s naked flank. Then his eyes closed and his breath began to even out.
For a few minutes, the Master lay there, in the Doctor’s TARDIS, in the Doctor’s bedroom, watching over the Doctor as he slipped into sleep. Eventually, all the adrenaline of the last hour or so slowly began taking its toll, and as his heart rates slowed, he, too, let his eyes fall closed. The Doctor would still be there when he woke up, and he trusted they could devise something suitably interesting to occupy their time then. And if the Doctor’s UNIT overlords were annoyed at him for sleeping the afternoon away, well, that meant that this basically qualified as an evil scheme. With that happy thought, and with the certainty, reaffirmed by the events of the afternoon, that nothing he didn’t want would befall him here, the Master drifted off to sleep in the bed of his best enemy.