Title: Dance Along the Edge
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/The Master
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: NC-17
Table: 50_darkfics
Prompt: 36, Never
Warnings: non-con
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the Tenth Doctor or the Master. Please do not sue.


"Say you want me, Doctor," the Master ordered, moving to the side of the bed where the Doctor lay. The Time Lord's muscles tightened visibly as the Master reached out to cup his chin in hard, unyielding fingers. "You can't keep denying it forever."

"Never," the Doctor hissed between his teeth, his dark eyes defiant. He might be bound to the Master's bed, a helpless captive of whatever whim might take the renegade Time Lord's fancy, but he wasn't going to degrade himself by saying those words.

"Never is a very long time, Doctor." The Master smiled down at him, the hand that had been holding his chin trailing down to his chest as the Master circled a fingertip around one small pink nipple. The Doctor's breath hissed through his teeth again, for a very different reason this time.

"How long do you think you can resist what your body wants?" the Master continued, the smile still on his face. "We both know you want me physically, Doctor. And I'm sure that a part of you wants me in more than just a primitive animalistic way."

"My body only wants you because of physical sensations that I can't control," the Doctor snapped, unable to hold his tongue any longer. "I don't want you in any other way than that. I'm disgusted by the idea of you touching me."

"Oh, really?" The Master shook his head, his finger tracing a pattern of Gallifreyan letters down the Time Lord's stomach before swirling around his navel. The Doctor had to think to put together the letters of that word; when he realized what it was, anger rose in him.

Slut. That was the word traced across his bare skin; that was what the Master saw him as. He really shouldn't be surprised at that; the Master had never seen him as anything other than someone to be used and then thrown away when his usefulness was at an end.

Even when they were younger, children and then teenagers, and they'd considered themselves friends, he'd still known in the back of his mind that the Master was incapable of true friendship with anyone. He would always be kind of person who used others for what he could get out of them.

Had they ever really had a friendship? The Doctor didn't think so. That "friendship" had been all in his mind; he'd tried to reach out to the Master, and he'd thought that he had succeeded a few times. But that friendship had never been solid or real.

And now .... they had come to this. Chasing each other across the galaxy, forever enemies, at each other's throats until one of them struck the decisive blow that would end the centuries-long battle that they'd waged across the stars.

"From the look on your face, I suppose you know what I've written," the Master said, a pleased look on his face. "Thats' what I think of you, Doctor. What I've always thought about you, truth be told. You've always been a slut to anyone who could give you what you need."

"And you've never known what I needed," the Doctor shot back, regretting the words the moment they were out of his mouth. He was in no position to anger the Master; he really should learn to think before he spoke when he was dealing with this man.

"What is it that you think you need, Doctor?" the Master asked, leaning over the bed, his face close to the Time Lord's, so close that he could feel the other man's warm breath on his skin. He wanted to recoil, but his bonds didn't allow him freedom of movement.

"Tenderness? Gentleness? Love?" the Master sneered, making a gesture as though to sweep those emotions aside along with his words. "You're fooling yourself if you think any of those things could ever satisfy the real needs you have within yourself."

"And just what are my 'real' needs, if you'd be so kind as to tell me?" the Doctor asked, trying to keep his voice even and emotionless. He probably shouldn't be playing this verbal game, but if he was going to suffer, he might as well try to dig into the other man's mind.

"You need to be dominated. You need to give yourself completely to someone who can take you over in every possible way." The Master leaned close to him, his gaze riveted on the Doctor's face. "No one else can give you that, Doctor. You know they can't."

"You're wrong," the Doctor whispered, feeling shaken in spite of himself. Was the Master right? Was there some hidden inner part of him that really did want to be taken over and controlled? Had he been denying that part of who he was for all these centuries?

"Oh, I don't believe that you'll be saying that after you've been under me for a while, Doctor," the Master whispered, his hand continuing on its downward trek again. The Doctor's stomach muscles tightened; he knew exactly where that searching hand was going.

"Don't touch me," he whispered before he realized that the words had been spoken aloud. The Master didn't reply; he only smiled, as though he'd expected the Doctor to say something like that and had no intention of honoring the request.

"You won't be saying that once you've had a taste of what I can give you, Doctor," the renegade Time Lord whispered as his hand moved lower, his long fingers curling around the Doctor's cock. "You'll be begging for my touch -- and for more than that."

"Never," the Doctor managed to gasp, trying to keep his voice steady. His body felt like a coiled spring, just waiting for whatever the Master would do next. He knew that he was poised on a fine line, ready to fall into an abyss of sensation that was already reaching for him.

"What do you want, Doctor? What do you really want?" The Master was leaning close to him again, that hand on his cock not moving. No, the Master was simply holding him, teasing him, dragging out the anticipation as long as he could.

"I want you to stop touching me and let me go," the Doctor ground out through clenched teeth. Those words would probably bring the Master's wrath down on him, but somehow, it felt good to say them, to let the other man see his defiance.

He was dancing along the edge of a precipice that he could fall away from at any moment; he knew that it was dangerous to taunt the Master, especially when he was in the sort of position he was in now. But he couldn't keep himself from pushing the boundaries.

"You know that I'm not going to do that, Doctor." The Master's voice was suave, sliding over him like warm velvet. The Doctor had to struggle to remember that this man was his enemy; he couldn't let himself give in to the insinuations in his voice or his words.

"Do what you want to me." The Doctor managed to keep the trembling note out of his voice; he sounded calm and collected, as though what the Master was doing to his body had no effect on him. "You can only take my body. Not anything more."

"You may think that, Doctor," the Master sneered, leaning over him. "But I can make you want me -- and I intend to do that. It's easy to make your body want me. But the real conquest is making your mind follow your body. And I'll accomplish that -- no matter what I have to do."

The Doctor could feel a cold chill of fear trickle down his spine as the Master's hand started to move slowly up and down the shaft of his already hardening cock; as much as he didn't want to respond, he knew that he wouldn't be able to stop himself.

It was all very well and good to say that he would never give in; maybe the Master was right, and he knew what was in the Doctor's soul even better than he himself did. It was certainly starting to look as though his words had indeed been correct.

His body was already giving in; the slow dance along the edge of that precipice had started in earnest now. He could only balance on that tightrope for so long before he would lose his balance and fall into that black abyss of sensation, screaming as he plummeted downwards.