Title: Breaking Point
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/The Master
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: R
Table: 50_smutlets
Prompt: 30, Restraints
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 gritted his teeth, his small fists clenching in the handcuffs. He wanted to yank at the restraints, to see if he might be able to somehow loosen them, but that would only bring that hated smirk to the Master's face.

He wasn't in the best of positions at the moment -- naked, helpless, bound spread-eagled to the four corners of this bed, awaiting the Master's pleasure. And whatever would give the other man pleasure was sure to be painful for him.

And that fiend was standing there, staring down at him, letting his eyes roam over the Doctor's nude body as though he was devouring him with those cold, calculating eyes.

He wanted to swallow down the lump of fear that was forming in his throat, but he didn't dare. If he did, the Master would surely see it, or at least sense how he was feeling -- and that would only lead to more taunting that would unnerve him.

He'd been in worse positions before. He had to keep reminding himself of that, keep the thought in his head that he could get out of this with his mind and body intact. He'd been able to do it before -- he could do it again.

But the Master wasn't going to make it easy for him. He knew that; the other man would never make anything simple. No, he would always play his cat-and-mouse games, trying to wear the Doctor down until he eventually broke from the pressure.

He wouldn't break, he vowed silently, no matter what the Master did. He wasn't a doll, a toy to be played with and then thrown away on a whim. The Master might see him as nothing but a little plaything, but he was much more than that.

The trouble was, there were times when he was in this man's clutches, helpless as he was now, when it was hard to see himself in any other way than as the Master intended.

"How do you feel, Doctor?" the Master purred, leaning over the bed and running a single finger down the center of the Time Lord's chest. "How does it feel to know that you can't escape from me until I decide to let you go -- if I ever do?"

"You can't keep me tied up here forever," the Doctor retorted, his small fists clenching again. At the moment, he wanted nothing more than to break free from these restraints and plant one of those fists squarely into that smirk on the Master's face.

"Oh, really?" The Master raised an eyebrow, still smiling. "We'll see about that, Doctor. I believe that I can keep you here for as long as I please -- and do anything to you that I choose. You don't have much choice in the matter, now do you?"

As though to punctuate his words, the single finger circled around one tender pink nipple, drawing an involuntary gasp from the Doctor's lips. The Master laughed, a soft, throaty, almost menacing sound, full of pleasure.

"You don't have to answer that," he continued, his eyes meeting the Doctor's and holding the other man's gaze. "The answer is really quite obvious."

He moved his finger to the other nipple, circling the small bud, teasing it to erection before he took it between his thumb and forefinger and began to wind it slowly, watching the Doctor's face intently as he did so.

"You've always been aroused by having your nipples played with, Doctor, at least since you've been in this body," he said, his tone almost conversational. "I wonder just how much of that kind of stimulation you can take?"

The Doctor tried not to let his apprehension show in his expression; if the Master guessed that he was afraid of what might be done to him, then he would make the torture much worse, reveling in the Doctor's fear along with the pain he would undoubtedly feel.

"Hmmm." The Master released the Doctor's nipple, moving his hand down the other man's stomach, his fingers caressing the Time Lord's soft skin. "I wonder ...."

The Doctor knew that the Master could feel the involuntary tensing of his muscles; that was more than likely why his hand was on his stomach, so he could feel for himself what the Doctor wouldn't show him outwardly on his face.

That hand moved lower, stroking his inner thigh before those long, cool fingers curled around his cock. The Master didn't stroke him; he merely held the Doctor's penis in his hand, as though he was somehow gauging him, weighing him.

This wasn't going to be pleasant, whatever the Master might have in mind. The Doctor could feel the fear rising in throat, choking him. He had to struggle not to make a sound, not to let the Master know what he was feeling.

It would be a losing battle at some point, he knew. But he would hold out as long as he could, no matter what toll it might take on him.

The Master let him go with a soft chuckle, moving to the other side of the room and kneeling in front of an open box. The Doctor closed his eyes; he was sure that he didn't want to see whatever was in there.

He would know what it was soon enough. There was no doubt that the Master intended to inflict some sort of sexual torture on him; that was why he was stripped and bound, held captive in such a compromising position.

He couldn't help but struggle helplessly against the restraints as the other man stood up again and turned back to his captive with that smirk back on his features. It seemed that he might reach the breaking point much sooner than he'd thought he would.