Title: Misfit
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/The Master
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: NC-17
Table: 50_darkfics
Prompt: 38, Outcast
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 stared straight ahead of him as the Master circled him, trying to ignore the hungry look in the other man's eyes. He knew what was coming, and he wanted to hold it off as long as possible, even if it meant prolonging the tension.

He also had to ignore the fact that his wrists were bound above his head, his ankles chained to circular metal outcroppings on the floor -- and that the Master had ordered him to strip naked before he'd been bound. That was a sure sign of what was coming.

The Time Lord swallowed hard, cursing himself for doing so a few seconds later. He didn't want to show any kind of weakness; if the Master could sense that he was afraid of what was going to happen, he'd go out of his way to make it worse than it had to be.

Like being taken against his will could possibly be much worse, that voice in the back of the Doctor's mind snorted. It had happened far too often, especially since he'd been in this body -- the body that the Master lusted after more than any other.

But it wasn't only his body that attracted the other man, the Doctor told himself, trying not to shift his shoulders to relieve the strain on his arms. It was the control that he knew he could wield, the feeling of helplessness he could engender.

He wasn't going to give the Master that kind of satisfaction, he vowed, his hands curling into fists within the leather restraints. He wouldn't break down and beg for mercy, no matter how his nemesis might taunt him. Even if he did, he knew better than to think any mercy was forthcoming.

"Well, well, Doctor," the Master whispered, his voice close to the Doctor's ear. The Time Lord couldn't hold back his wince; he'd been lost in his own thoughts for a moment, forgetting that the Master was in such close physical proximity.

"When will you learn?" the Master said, moving to stand in front of the Doctor and shaking his head in mock regret. "You shouldn't have tried to stand up against me, Doctor. It's only going to get you into trouble -- and cause you more pain than you should have to bear."

"It couldn't possibly cause me any more pain than I've already had to endure from you in the past," the Doctor snapped, before clamping his lips shut. He shouldn't have said anything, shouldn't have let the Master goad him in any way.

"Oh, I wouldn't bet on that, Doctor." The other man's voice was soft, but there was an undertone of steel in his words that grated on the Time Lord's ears. "I've gotten quite good at finding your tender spots -- in so many different ways."

A shiver went through the Doctor's thin body as he heard the unmistakable sound of fabric sliding over skin; it was more than obvious that the Master was removing his clothes. The thought was confirmed by the feel of a warm body pressing against his own from behind only a few seconds later.

"Why do you struggle so hard against me, Doctor?" the Master whispered, his breath hot against the shell of the Time Lord's ear. "You know that it won't get you anywhere, no more than it did when you were an outcast so long ago on Gallifrey."

The Doctor had to swallow hard again; the Master's words brought back memories of Gallifrey, and how he'd felt when it seemed that everyone was turning against him. Those memories cut deep -- just as the Master had intended that they should.

The other man's body was pressed against him now, the Master's cock hard and throbbing against the curve of his ass. The Doctor shuddered, knowing what was coming; he could only hope that the Master would at least take him quickly and get it over with.

"You were a misfit then, Doctor, and you still are," the Master whispered, his hand moving down the Time Lord's stomach to slip between his legs. "Even your precious Jack knew that you weren't worth staying with, that this is all the outcast is fit for."

The Doctor held back a retort, knowing that giving in to the angry denials inside him wouldn't do him any good. No, all that he could do was let the Master have his way, and try not to let the taunts that the other man hurled his way break him.

The Master's hand started to move on his cock, deceptively gentle at first. The Doctor wanted to cry out in protest, to struggle, to somehow remove that hand from his body. But he couldn't; he had to suffer the degradation of hardening beneath the Master's unwanted touch.

"You've always been a misfit, Doctor. Even when we were children. There was a reason that the others didn't want to be friends with you, wasn't there?" That voice was starting to grate, but he wasn't going to let the Master know that his nerves were being torn to ribbons.

The Doctor cried out as the Master thrust into him, roughly, with no warning and no preparation. Another sharp thrust, and another. He had to grit his teeth to keep from screaming; he hadn't expected this. The Master was usually more patient, more thorough.

"This is what you were intended for, Doctor," the other man growled in his captive's ear as his hips thrust forward yet again. "To be subservient to me. To be nothing more than a naked, helpless receptacle. That's what you were always meant to be."

The Doctor's teeth sank into his lower lip; he squeezed his eyes shut, wishing that he could diminish those words along with the depletion of sight. "You were born to be my slave. Admit it, Doctor. You've always been an outcast. This is the only place you belong."

He couldn't keep himself from whimpering with each thrust; he didn't want to make a sound, didn't want to give the Master the satisfaction of knowing he was in pain. But he couldn't stay completely quiet, no matter how hard he tried.

"Tell me that you belong to me, Doctor," the Master demanded as he thrust his hips forward again. He twined his fingers through the Doctor's hair, pulling the other man's head back, his breath almost burning the Doctor's throat. "Tell me. Tell me you're a misfit."

The Doctor clenched his teeth, determined not to let another sound out. He wasn't going to give the Master what he wanted; he could still hold back his mind, if not his body. That was the one thing he could still control, the one thing that the Master couldn't take over.

The Master could take his body over and over, as many times as he wanted to. But that bastard wasn't going to take his mind; he wasn't going to break down, beg for mercy, or say the words that his nemesis wanted so desperately to hear.

The relentless thrusting continued, the Master's breath still hot against his skin, the other man's hand pumping his cock in rhythm with each thrust. He almost cried out when he felt the hot rush of the Master's climax; his own orgasm tore through his body only a few seconds later.

He was relieved when the Master pulled out of him without speaking; he could hear the rustle of fabric behind him as the other man pulled his clothes back on before coming to stand in front of the Doctor. He reached to place a finger under the Time Lord's chin, raising his face to look into his eyes.

"You're still a misfit, Doctor," the Master snarled, the anger seething within him apparent in the tone of his voice. "You're still that outcast that I knew so long ago. You were destined to be exactly where you are now. And sooner or later, you'll be only too willing to admit that."

With those parting words, he turned and strode from the room, leaving the Doctor without a backward glance. The Time Lord slumped in his bonds, flexing his fingers to relieve their numbness and feeling grateful that the Master hadn't done more to him.

Of course, what he had done was painful enough, he thought, wincing as he tried to shift his weight to a more comfortable position. Did the Master intend to leave him here until he decided to use him again? he wondered. That seemed like a reasonable conclusion.

He might have been a misfit when the two of them were children on Gallifrey, but he was more than capable of dealing with the Master now. All he had to do was find a way to free himself, and he would be more than a match for his adversary.

But at the moment, it didn't look as though escape was going to happen any time soon. Looking up at his bound hands, the Doctor let a wave of desolation sweep over him. Even here, in the clutches of his greatest enemy, he was an outcast.

There was no one looking for him; help wouldn't come from any quarter. Maybe the Master was right; he was still apart from everyone else in the world, and the man who was his nemesis was the only one who could possibly understand who and what he was.

No. He couldn't let himself think like that, or it would become self-fulfilling prophecy. The Doctor closed his eyes, trying to focus on some way of freeing himself. A way that would prove to the Master that he wasn't the misfit the other man thought him -- as well as proving it to himself.