Title: Persuasion
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/The Master
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: NC-17
Table: 50_smutlets
Prompt: 3, Begging
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.


"You know what I expect from you, Doctor." The Master's voice was soft in his ear, insinuating. "Just give me what I want, and this will stop."

"No." The Doctor's voice was resolute, though it was far from firm. He hated himself for that trembling note in the single word; he was close to breaking, but he was going to hang on as long as he could before he would let the Master have the upper hand.

The other man stepped back from him; the Doctor closed his eyes, tensing his muscles even though he knew that would only cause more pain. He couldn't help it; the sound of the whip whistling through the air couldn't fail to make him react.

He couldn't show the Master how badly this hurt. He had to stay impassive, emotionless.

That wouldn't be possible for very long, he thought to himself, trying not to squirm, not to struggle against the ropes that held his arms above his head. But he'd hold out as long as he could, just to keep from giving the Master the satisfaction of seeing him break.

A cry was torn from his throat when the whip landed between his shoulder blades; he could feel the sting trailing down his back, spreading throughout his body.

"How much more of this are you going to make yourself take, Doctor?" The Master's voice actually held a hint of curiosity, as if he wondered why the Doctor wasn't groveling at his feet already. "You have nothing to prove to me, you know."

He shook his head as he moved to stand in front of the bound Time Lord, reaching out to take the Doctor's chin in his hand, forcing the other man to look at him. "I know that I'll eventually break you. Holding out against me won't do you any good at all."

"You won't make me beg," the Doctor ground out through gritted teeth. "Do your worst. I'm not going to give you what you want this time, Master. Not a chance." He only hoped that his words would make the other man back down, though he doubted they would.

"Brave words, Doctor." The Master raised an eyebrow, almost looking pleased. "I wonder how long it would take me to reduce you to begging and make you regret those words?"

The Doctor's only response was to close his eyes, mentally steeling himself for another blow.

"Now, what makes you think that I'd keep resorting to pain?" The Master's voice was silky, almost soft in his ear as the other man moved around to stand behind him. "There are other ways to make you beg, Doctor -- and I think we'd both enjoy them more."

The Time Lord gasped, his eyes widening as the Master unzipped his trousers and slipped a hand inside, those long, cool fingers sliding between his legs to cup his balls and stroke along the length of his cock.

Of all the things he'd expected, this certainly hadn't been one of them. He'd expected pain, not .... pleasure.

If anything could make him beg, this could -- and the Master was all too aware of it. He'd never used this kind of persuasion before, but it had always been hovering in the background; now, it was taking the enmity between them to a whole new level.

He might not want to remember this later -- but his body would. And he would hate himself for it.

No. He didn't want to equate the Master with anything that made him feel good. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, wishing that the other man would back away, even that he could feel the bite of the whip on his bare flesh again.

But the Master didn't back away; his hand kept working at the Doctor's cock, sliding down the shaft, then rubbing his thumb rhythmically across the tender tip. The Doctor squirmed against the body behind him, shaking his head, tugging at his bonds.

He could hear soft moans in the still air; it came as a shock to realize that those sounds came from his own lips -- and that he couldn't make himself hold them back.

"You see, Doctor," the Master whispered, his breath hot against the Time Lord's skin, "there are so many ways to reduce you to begging. This one is much more satisfying than using that whip on you -- so much more personal."

The Doctor rocked his hips forward when he felt the Master's hand easing out of his trousers; he needed that touch, that warmth. He didn't want this to stop; it was too soon. The Master couldn't be so cruel as to leave him like this.

Oh yes, he could, a voice in the back of his head stated. He knew all too well just how cruel the other man could be -- though he'd never expected something like this.

The Master's lips were on his throat again; he almost expected the other man to bite down, but he merely planted a kiss there, one that seemed to burn through the Doctor's skin. He wished that he could raise a hand to wipe the feeling away, eradicate it from his body.

"You know what I want to hear, Doctor. Just say one word." The Master's voice was barely a whisper; he was standing so close that the Time Lord could almost feel those hands on his body again, those fingers touching him, stroking him ....

He struggled to keep the word from coming out. He didn't want to say it. If he did, then the Master would win; but he had to. He couldn't hold back.

He'd been reduced to a seething mass of need; he needed that touch, needed it as much as he loathed and dreaded it. There was a part of him that was already begging, already on his knees before the word was out of his mouth.

Closing his eyes, he surrendered to that need, hoping that he'd be able to forgive himself for doing so.