Title: Lost Along the Way
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/The Master
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: NC-17
Table: 50_smutlets
Prompt: 1, Hate
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 hate every moment of this, don't you, Doctor?" the Master whispered, his voice hissing in the Time Lord's ear. His fingers twined in the other man's hair, pulling the Doctor's head back; the Gallifreyan had to clench his teeth to keep from crying out.

He was on his hands and knees, supporting himself by keeping his legs spread and his bound hands pressed to the mattress in front of him. The bed shifted under the Master's weight as the other man knelt behind him, moving a hand down his bare back.

Those long, thin fingers were trailing down the cleft of his ass, slipping between his thighs to cup his balls. The Doctor couldn't repress a shudder; he did indeed hate being touched by this man, even while his body was aroused by the fondling.

"You know what's going to happen, Doctor. It's inevitable," the Master whispered as he rolled the Time Lord's testicles between his fingers, self-satisfaction filling his voice. "Your body wants me, even if your stubborn mind tells you otherwise."

"I don't want you," the Doctor ground out between clenched teeth. The words were followed by a gasp as a finger stroked over his entrance before pushing inside him, quickly joined by a second, both fingers twisting and scissoring to open him.

"Ah, yes you do," the Master insisted, his voice calm and modulated. His fingers kept working inside the Time Lord, patiently stretching him until the other man had to bite down savagely on his lower lip to keep from crying out. "Your body can't resist me."

The Doctor struggled not to react to the Master's touch, but the other man's words were true, as much as he hated to admit them. His body did want what the Master was doing to him; he was pushing his hips back against those searching fingers before he realized what he was doing.

"You see, Doctor?" The Master's tone was smug; he almost laughed as he spoke. "Your body knows what you want, even if your mind doesn't. And I intend to give you what you want, Doctor, even if you tell me to stop. I know you don't really want me to stop."

Abruptly, those twisting fingers pulled out of the Doctor with a suddenness that made him gasp; a moment later, they were replaced by the thick, blunt head of the Master's cock pressing against his opening but not entering him just yet.

"You hate this," the Master breathed into his ear, his hips pushing forward. "Yet you want it so much, too, don't you? No need to deny that, Doctor. I can tell you do. Your cock is hard, your nipples are hard, you're breathing heavily -- I know you want me."

The Doctor didn't have time to deny the other man's words; the sudden sharp thrust took him by surprise, making him cry out, his muscles tightening in protest. His hips jerked forward, his breath coming in gasps as he struggled not to make another sound.

His eyes squeezed tightly shut as the Master began to thrust into him in a slow, steady rhythm, one hand moving to grasp the Doctor's cock. His hips jerked forward again as the other man's thumb stroked across the tender tip, that voice in his ear again.

"You may think that you hate this, Doctor -- but you want it. You want it so much that you can't put that desire into words. But I feel it, you know. I can tell from the way your body responds that this is what you really want." The words were soft, triumphant.

The Doctor didn't open his eyes, didn't acknowledge that he'd even heard what the Master had said. If he did, then he would start to believe those words -- he might possibly start to doubt himself, and fall into the trap that the other man was trying to set for him.

The Master was cleverly manipulating him into making an admission that he didn't mean; the Doctor knew that. And he'd chosen the perfect moment to do it -- when the Doctor was at his most vulnerable, his senses whirling, unable to think clearly.

He wasn't going to admit that he wanted this. He didn't want it, the Time Lord told himself, that inner voice sounding more uncertain the more the words were repeated in his mind. He hated this. He didn't ask for it; the Master was fooling himself if he believed otherwise.

Yes, he hated being touched by this man. But there was a part of him that found it exciting -- the uncertainty, the questions that formed in his mind, the aspect of the unknown. That part of him was inexorably drawn to the Master, even as his mind repulsed that attraction.

Another deep thrust brought a groan from his throat; he was torn out of his musings and back into the here and now of what was happening. He didn't want this. There was nothing that the Master could say to convince him of that.

Maybe, if there had been any kind of love between them, any sort of kindness in the Master, the two of them could have had something at one time. But even when they had been friends, the Master had always been cold, ruthless and calculating.

The Doctor didn't want to think of those days, so long ago now, the time when he could say that this man was his friend. Even then, he'd always wondered about that friendship -- if it was just an expediency for the Master, or if he'd truly considered the Doctor a friend.

He'd always had that insatiable need to dominate and control -- the need that had driven him further and further from sanity as the years, and then the centuries, passed. That need had been twisted and warped, until any good that was left in this man had been long since buried.

And now .... now, there was nothing between them but a hatred that went beyond mere enmity. It was ingrained in each of them over the course of their lives -- though the Master's hatred was mixed with a desire that he was no longer able to contain.

He only wanted the Doctor because he wanted to exert control over him, the Time Lord told himself, trying to keep his mind working even as his body succumbed to the Master's control. His world was one of hatred and violence, a world that the Doctor didn't want to be a part of.

The Master had no emotional connection to him; what was happening between them now was only a result of his warped desires, nothing more. The friendship that had existed between them so long ago was long gone, that childish love replaced by hate.

This man could take his body, the Doctor told himself, but his mind couldn't be warped. The Master might be able to control his physical desires, but he could never reach into the Doctor's mind and take what he wanted. Their ongoing battle hadn't come to that. Not yet.

He could only hope that it wouldn't. Because if the Master enter his mind, he might find things there that neither of them expected -- and that the Doctor didn't want to know. It was better to hang onto the hatred, and hope that it could never be replaced by a need that he couldn't control.

The Doctor kept his eyes closed, trying to close his mind as well. The Master might be able to take him physically -- but he would hold a part of himself apart from this monster, the part that he didn't want the Master to be able to reach.

He would make it through this, he told himself, his fists clenching in their bonds. He didn't know how he would get himself out of this situation, but he'd manage it somehow -- and he wouldn't allow himself to become lost in the Master's world of hatred and violence along the way.