Title: Bitter Pill
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/The Master
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: NC-17
Table: 50_smutlets
Prompt: 14, Submissive
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.


"I love you when you're like this, Doctor," the Master purred, twining his fingers through the Time Lord's hair and forcing his head back until their eyes met. "So helpless. So .... submissive."

The Doctor didn't speak; he couldn't, considering that there was a cloth gag lodged firmly in his mouth. The Master seemed to take great delight in robbing him of the power to speak, to make his subjugation as complete as possible.

He was kneeling on the floor in front of the other man -- naked, as he always seemed to be whenever he was in a situation like this. Not for the first time, he cursed the fact that this body seemed to make him even more attractive to the Master.

His head was pulled back until he wanted to groan, but he didn't dare. He wasn't going to show any kind of weakness; he might be entirely at the Master's mercy, but that didn't mean he had to break down and give him the satisfaction of knowing it.

"It's such a pity you won't come to me willingly, Doctor," the Master said, his voice silky. "This would be so much more fun if you would."

The hand tightened momentarily before the Master let his hair go with a suddenness that was almost startling. The Doctor didn't move or make a sound; he merely knelt there, his hands bound behind his back, eyes focused on the floor.

He was waiting for whatever his captor might decide to do next; really, he had no choice in that matter. He'd had to turn himself over to the Master to ensure Earth's continued survival, and he couldn't regret making that decision.

After all, a planet full of innocent people was more important than he was. Whatever the Master did to him, he could at least have the knowledge that he'd saved them.

Or had he? His muscles tightened at the thought, his small fists clenching in their bonds. Would the Master actually keep to the bargain they'd made? The Doctor didn't believe him for a moment when he said that he would.

If there was one thing he'd learned over the long centuries, it was that the Master couldn't be trusted in any way. He'd once thought the man had at least a small bit of honor, some sense of decency, however buried it might be. But he'd since come to realize that he was wrong.

Trusting the Master was only likely to result in disaster. But this time, he'd had no choice. He'd had to give in, as a desperate last measure.

And now, he was in no position to help anyone, least of all himself. Naked and bound in the other man's lair, helpless to thwart whatever plans the renegade Time Lord might have .... he'd surely been in worse positions, but it was hard to recall them.

"You really hate giving in to me, don't you?" the Master asked, his low, sibilant laughter ringing in the still air. The Doctor didn't move; he didn't want to give the Master the satisfaction of knowing that every word grated on his ears.

A finger trailed down his spine, making him shiver despite his resolution not to show his emotions outwardly. He could feel the Master bending down behind him, the finger moving lower, slipping between his cheeks.

The Doctor swallowed convulsively when the Master's finger rubbed against his opening; his pulse leaped, his hearts speeding up in his chest.

"You're going to submit, whether you want to or not, Doctor," the Master breathed into his ear, that stroking finger speeding up its rhythm. "Your body wants me, even if your stubborn mind doesn't want to admit it. And I'll have you -- any way I want you."

He was horrified to realize that he was moving his hips against that hand; his body was responding to that insidious touch. He had to muffle a moan as the finger pressed inside him, his muscles tightening around the intrusion.

"That's what you want, isn't it, Doctor?" the Master whispered. "To be entered, filled .... to be fucked. No matter who's doing it."

The Doctor shook his head before he realized that by giving any kind of answer, he was giving the Master exactly what he wanted. That was submission, in a way -- letting his tormentor know that he was affected by his words and actions.

But he couldn't help it; it had been far too long since he'd been touched. He didn't want the Master's hands on him, but his body had other ideas; just like the other man said, there was a part of him that wanted to give in.

He was slipping, breaking, giving in. As much as he might struggle against doing so, he couldn't hold out forever. The Doctor could feel tears coming to his eyes, tears for himself, his failure, and the future of the Earth if he couldn't hold out.

The Time Lord closed his eyes, a shudder going through his body. His submission had been a foregone conclusion -- and the Master had known it all along.

But he hadn't. And that knowledge was a very bitter pill for him to swallow.