Title: Darkened Soul
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/The Master
Fandom: Doctor Who
Prompt: 45, Lust
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 flexed his muscles, pulling against the leather thongs that bound him to the four-posted bed. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten here; the Master had used some sort of gas to render him unconscious, and he didn't know exactly where he was.
They weren't on the Tardis, he knew that for sure. They were somewhere on Earth, the planet that they both knew so well. And even though he had friends here, there was no one around who could help him out of this situation. No one knew that the was here with the Master.
And no one knew that he was prisoner, held captive by his most ancient enemy. The Doctor tugged at the restraints again; there was no way he could free himself. The Master had made sure of that; he had always been good at tying knots.
How was he going to get out of this? There didn't seem to be a way, the Doctor told himself, wincing at the inner words. He would simply have to try to endure whatever the Master had planned for him -- and he had no doubt as to what those plans would be.
The fact that he was lying stark naked on a bed, his wrists and ankles bound to the four corners, a gag in his mouth, told him just what the Master intended to do with him. He was going to be a sacrificial lamb on the altar of his enemy's lust.
If only he wasn't in such an embarrassing position! The Doctor tried to shift his body, to at least close his legs, but he was bound too tightly; he could barely move at all, and then only to shift his body slightly. He could do nothing but lie here and wait for his tormentor to return.
He didn't hear anyone else in the room, at least not yet. He was sure that the Master had deliberately left him to regain consciousness bound and gagged like this to heighten his tension; he'd always liked having the Doctor at as much of a disadvantage as possible.
This was as much of a disadvantage as he could imagine, the Doctor thought wryly, flexing his wrists again. He knew exactly what was going to be done to him; it wasn't as though it hadn't happened before. The Master simply wanted him to think about it.
That in itself was a slow torture, just as much as the sexual torture that was going to be inflicted on him. The Doctor's muscles tightened as he heard a footstep outside of the room; no doubt that was the Master coming back, to gloat over this part of his victory.
"Ah, Doctor." The Master's voice, speaking from a few feet away, sounding smug and content. If the Doctor had been able to turn his head to look at his nemesis, he was sure that the Master's face would wear the expression of a cat crouching over a bowl of cream.
"I thought that I'd leave you alone when you woke up, so you could think about what's to come," the Master continued, saying exactly what the Doctor had thought he would. If he hadn't been gagged, the Time Lord would have snorted.
But he was determined not to make a sound; even when the Master was inside him, which the Doctor knew he would be in a matter of minutes, he wasn't going to give the bastard any indication of what he was feeling. He would withhold that satisfaction from his enemy.
He could hear the unmistakable sounds of fabric shifting, probably sliding to the floor; a zipper, and then the slithering of fabric over skin. He tried to keep his body relaxed, even though he knew that the Master would be kneeling on the bed over him within seconds.
It only took a few seconds to know that he'd been right about that; the bed dipped as the Master's weight was added to it. He moved to kneel between the Doctor's spread thighs, a soft laugh coming from his throat as he surveyed his captive.
"You really do have a beautiful body this time around, Doctor," he murmured, placing his hands on the Doctor's ass and cupping the firm, rounded cheeks. "It's to be hoped that you keep it for a while. It's so much better than any others you've had in the past."
The Doctor almost wanted to nod his head in agreement, but he held himself rigid, his muscles taut, alert for any nuance in the Master's voice that might tell him what was coming next. He knew what was going to happen, of course, but it was best to be prepared.
"You can try all you want to hide your desire from me, Doctor," the Master said, his voice soft, his tone insinuating. "But I know that you want this just as much as I do. Try to hide it, try to deny it -- but you know that your body will betray your lust."
The Doctor couldn't struggle, couldn't speak to refute the other man's words. All that he could do was lie there, with the Master's hands moving over his body, and know in his hearts that the other man was right. His physical needs would override his good sense.
He didn't want this. He didn't want the Master's touch, didn't want this man inside him. But somehow, when it came down to this, to the purely physical interaction between the two of them, his body always betrayed him. And it always would.
It wasn't something that he was proud of; it wasn't something he wanted to feel. But it was there, no matter how much he tried to hide it or deny it. His shameful lust for the sensations that only the Master had ever been able to give him, in any of their bodies.
As much as he consciously didn't want this, his body did. And there was nothing he could do to stop that instinctive reaction, that feeling that he was where he belonged when the Master was thrusting into him, giving him a forbidden pleasure that he didn't want to need.
The Doctor whimpered against his gag as two fingers thrust inside him, twisting, probing, preparing him for what was to come. He knew that this wouldn't last long; the Master never took much time in preparation when he was eager for consummation.
The bed shifted again as those probing fingers pulled out of him; the Master couldn't lift his hips much, but the Doctor knew that the inevitable hard thrust was coming. He closed his eyes, hoping that he wouldn't fee lthe need to whimper again.
The thrust, when it came, felt as though it was ripping him apart. He'd known that there wasn't enough preparation to alleviate the inevitable pain, but he hadn't expected it to hurt this badly; it had been far too long since he'd been with a man like this.
Still, he managed not to whimper -- until one hand moved under him, to wrap long, cool fingers around his cock and stroke in time with the rhythmic thrusts that filled him over and over again. Then, he couldn't hold back his moan of pleasure, even muffled as it was by the gag.
He was transported back to their days at the Academy, when they'd both been younger than boys just discovering their sexuality should be; days when he'd trailed after the Master, forever in his shadow, hungry for attention and affection.
He had thought then that they were friends -- and that they could be something more. It had been a painful lesson for him to learn that the Master didn't want his affection, that he wanted nothing but the Doctor's body -- and possibly his soul along with it.
That had been where the Doctor had drawn the line. He'd given his body, albeit reluctantly; but he hadn't wanted to fall into the dark, empty place that the Master had always seemed to inhabit. He'd instinctively drawn away from it -- and drawn away from the Master, as well.
And since then, the two of them had chased each other across the universe, galaxy after galaxy, through time and space. One would win in their never-ending battle, and then the other. But it was always a stalemate at the end of the day.
The only time they were ever joined together was through their lust -- even though the Doctor would never give the Master the satisfaction of admitting that deep in the secret, dark part of his soul, this sensation, this release, was something that he craved and needed.
In his secret heart, he needed this roughness, this complete domination. It was his penance for being the destroyer of his world, the punishment he deserved for letting his people die -- and for being the one to effectively sign their death warrant.
He would never say it aloud. But he deserved this. He knew it, and the Master knew it, even though it would never be said in so many words. But every thrust, every groan, every gasping breath told the truth far more loudly and clearly than any words could have done.
He didn't want this, he thought as the Master thrust into him again and he tried to hold back his moans. Not consciously. His mind didn't want this -- but his body did. And his body, the lust it created and carried, would always win out in the end.
All that he could do was lie here and endure this, and hope that the Master didn't guess what he was thinking in the darkened places of his soul. Because if he did, then this battle was already lost before it had begun -- and the Doctor might never be able to win any of these battles again.