Title: Living Doll
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/The Master
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: NC-17
Table: 1, 50ficlets
Prompt: 26, Frozen
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.


The Doctor lay bound on the Master's bed, his eyes wide, his body unmoving. He couldn't say a word, though he was conscious of everything going on around him.

His speechlessness wasn't due to the gag in his mouth; whatever the Master had forced down his throat had paralyzed not only his body, but his vocal cords as well. The only part of himself he still had any sort of control over were his eyes.

He could blink, but that was all. Even if he hadn't been gagged, speech would have been impossible. He could manage a weak whimper, a soft moan, but that was the only sound that would come from hhis constricted throat.

The Master hadn't needed to restrain his wrists and ankles, but he'd done so. The Doctor wasn't sure if the other man feared that the effects of whatever he'd been given would wear off too soon -- or if he merely enjoyed seeing his captive rendered helpless.

It must be the latter, he thought to himself, his eyes following the Master's movements. He was undressing, slowly, glancing over towards the Doctor every few moments.

The Time Lord wished that he could clench his fists, that there was some way for him to physically manifest the anger he felt -- not only at the Master, but at himself. How had he let himself be caught like this? He was an amateur.

No, he wasn't. t was just that he hadn't expected to be grabbed and pushed into this room -- and he certainly hadn't expected the Master to force his mouth open and pour a foul-tasting liquid down his throat within a few seconds of seeing him.

His body had become numb within just a few seconds; he could still feel everything, the slightest touch, the merest breath of air against his bare skin. But he couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't do anything to defend himself.

He knew what the Master intended to do with him; there was no doubt of that. Every time they squared off against each other while he'd been in this body, it had come down to this whenever he'd been temporarily on the losing side of the battle.

The Master enjoyed this; he knew that, too. Even if the other man hadn't had a satisfied smirk on his face, his whole demeanor was that of a contented cat lapping at a bowl of cream.

The Doctor could do nothing but watch the Master, waiting for whatever the other man might decide to do to him. He was frozen, trapped inside his own unresponsive body -- though his senses were heightened to razor sharpness.

If only he was well and truly frozen, the Doctor thought, wishing that he could move his wrists to struggle against his bonds. But his limbs remained stubbornly still, resisting his entreaty to break out of their forced stasis.

But the Master wouldn't let him escape that easily; oh, no, he'd probably been planning this for a while. Luring his enemy here had only taken a few moments, and his capture had all been too well-executed for it not to have been scripted well in advance.

The Doctor's breath drew into his lungs with a slight hissing sound as the Master approached the bed, throwing one leg over his supine body and straddling him. The other man looked down on him, that smirk still curving his thin lips.

"You didn't expect this, did you, Doctor?" The Master's voice was silky in his ear as he bent over to whisper his words. "My very own living sex doll. I'm going to enjoy taking you, Doctor, looking into your eyes and knowing you loathe every second of what I'm doing to you."

The Doctor closed his eyes, wishing that he could block out the feel of those hands on his body, the sound of the Master's voice.

Those hands were moving down his body, spreading his thighs; a finger thrust inside him, quickly followed by another. The Doctor wanted to cry out, to struggle away from the intrusion, but hs was forced to lie still, trapped within his own flesh.

"How does that feel, Doctor?" the Master whispered, his voice starting to sound a bit unsteady. "How does it feel to know that you're completely helpless, that I can do whatever I wish to you and all you can do is .... take it? Hmmm?"

He couldn't answer, couldn't protest. The fingers were replaced by the Master's cock, thrusting hard and deep into him, eliciting a pained whimper from his throat, the only sound that his frozen vocal cords could manage.

"So tight," the Master panted, his hands sliding under the Doctor's thighs to lift his legs. "So pretty. So .... obedient. Isn't that right, Doctor? Right where you should be. Obedient, subservient -- the perfect little slave."

The Master threw his head back and laughed, looking down into his captive's face as he thrust into the Doctor harder and faster.

The Time Lord gazed up at his tormentor, trying to close his mind off to what was happening and to formulate some kind of escape plan. Even if his body was frozen in place, his mind wasn't -- and that would ultimately be his surprise weapon.