Title: Waiting Game
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/The Master
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: NC-17
Table: 5
Prompt: 37, Whip
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 leaned against the cool tiled wall, clenching his hands into fists. He didn't know just when the Master had managed to graft those metal hooks onto the wall of the Tardis, or why she had let him do it. But he should have known that the Master would come up with some insidious new way to restrain him.

He tried to flex his shoulder muscles, to keep his arms from aching in their stretched position. His wrists were bound to the metal hooks that extended from the wall, pulled slightly above his head on either side of him, his ankles anchored to similar hooks at floor level. He was turned towards the wall, his cheek resting against the tiled surface, his body forced into a kind of intimate physical contact with his ship.

Only she wasn't his ship any more. She belonged to the Master now; somehow, the other man had managed to twist her into something that the Doctor shrank away from. That care and love that she'd always felt for him wasn't there any more -- now, he could only feel malevolence emanating from the surface his body was pressed against.

When had her need to protect him and care for him been turned into a desire to dominate and hurt? When had the Master managed to take control of her? He knew the answer to his question -- when he'd lay on his bed, struggling against the mental and physical bonds the Master had placed on him. He'd been unable to help the Tardis -- or to help himself.

What did the Master have planned for him this time? The Doctor was almost afraid to ask. This somehow felt different from the other times he'd been stripped naked and bound for the Master's pleasure -- possibly because he wasn't completely nude. The flowing black shirt he was wearing was short, only reaching slightly past his waist, leaving his ass and crotch exposed. He couldn't help but wonder just why the Master wanted him partially clothed.

The Doctor twisted his wrists, struggling ineffectually against the rough ropes. He winced as the cords cut into his skin, leaning against the wall and resting his forehead there. Whatever the Master intended to do to him, he hoped that it would be over quickly -- though he knew from experience that he wouldn't have much of a chance to tend to his wounds before the Master would use him again. It was a never-ending cycle.

He tried to look around when he heard the slow, measured footfalls that meant the Master had entered the room. He couldn't see the other man, but he could sense the change in the air, the barely contained malevolence that always surrounded the Master. And, of course, the Doctor could also sense the sexual charge that seemed to spring to life whenever his captor looked at him.

The Time Lord didn't move, didn't make a sound. Whatever it was that the Master wanted him to do, he wasn't going to give the bastard the satisfaction of complying with his wishes right away. He might be the helpless victim in this scenario, but that didn't mean that he had to play right into the Master's hands at the outset.

The other man was standing behind him now, a fingertip running down his spine. The Doctor couldn't help shivering at that touch; there was something very sensual about that finger trailing down his back, even if it was the Master doing it. For what felt like the hundredth time, he cursed the male body's inability to hide arousal.

"Quite a lovely view, Doctor," the Master whispered into his ear, his breath hot against the Doctor's skin. "Such a beautiful body you've regenerated into this time. Such perfect soft skin," he murmured, that finger trailing down the cleft of the Doctor's ass. "Such perfect unmarred skin. Not a mark on you, is there?"

"I'm assuming that your intention is to change that," the Doctor retorted, gasping when the Master's finger slipped between his cheeks to stroke over his entrance. He should have expected that, he told himself, trying to clench his muscles in a vain attempt to keep from being penetrated. The Master clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

"Now, Doctor, you know that isn't acceptable behaviour." His finger slid inside the Doctor, probing, searching for the Time Lord's prostate. There was another soft gasp when he found it, his features breaking into a saturnine smile as he studied the Doctor's face. "That's better, much better. Resist me all you like, Doctor. You know that I'm going to have my way in the end. It's inevitable. It always has been."

"Only through brute strength," the Doctor muttered, his hands clenching, trying not to gasp aloud when a second finger entered him, the two digits stroking and probing him. He hated that the Master could arouse him like this, hated that he couldn't hide not only his body's reaction to the sexual stimulation, but also his thoughts.

"That feels good, doesn't it, Doctor?" The Master's voice was silky, a little husky; the Doctor could tell that his actions were arousing him just as much as his victim. For some reason, he'd chosen to ignore the Time Lord's words; no matter. The Master always had a way of only hearing what he chose to hear, no matter what he said or how many times he said it. And in the situation he was in, it would be best if he tried to keep his mouth shut.

He didn't answer, keeping resolutely quiet. But it was impossible to stay quiet when those fingers were moving inside him, causing all sorts of delicious sensations to spread throughout his body. He couldn't hold back a soft moan, couldn't keep himself from pushing his hips back against the fingers probing into him.

"Ah, it's good to see that you're so receptive, Doctor." The Master's voice was closer to his ear now, the words soft and sibilant, each one punctuated by a thrust of those fingers into his ass. The Doctor had to grit his teeth to keep from moaning again; he didn't want the Master to think he was enjoying this too much.

"You know that I always like to mingle pain with pleasure," the Master said, withdrawing his fingers from the Doctor's body and stepping back from the Time Lord. "You've had a bit of pleasure, Doctor. Now, it's time for me to get a bit of what I want. Namely, seeing you squirm and hearing you scream."

The Doctor's muscles clenched at the words, his body going tense and taut. He had no idea what the Master planned to do to him, but he had no doubt that it wouldn't be something he'd enjoy. He'd long since learned to expect the unexpected in his encounters with this man; nothing was forbidden, and any kind of humiliation was possible.

He could tell that the Master had stepped away from him, and he wondered what that could mean. Was he reaching for some implement to torture his captive with, or just admiring his handiwork? The Doctor had no doubt that he made a rather pleasing picture for the Master, helpless as he was, his body exposed below the waist.

The Time Lord didn't expect the sudden quick sting of a whiplash across his ass; he cried out in surprise, his muscles clenching from the sudden burst of pain. The first strike was followed by another, and yet another, the blows falling so quickly that he didn't have time to recover from one before the next one cut across his buttocks.

The blows moved lower, raining across the soft skin of his thighs, then back up to his ass again, falling harder and faster each second. The Doctor squirmed against the wall, inadvertently grinding his crotch against the tiled surface; behind him, the Master laughed, a low, delighted sound from the back of his throat. His voice, when it came, was breathless, his arousal heightened by the Doctor's pain.

"She loves that, Doctor, can't you tell? She loves feeling your body writhing against her, knowing that you're helpless to satisfy yourself. She loves feeling you, Doctor. Soon, very soon, she'll be allowed to have what she wants. But she'll have to wait until I've done with you before she'll have her turn."

He was crying, sobbing, his eyes squeezed shut, his cheek pressed against the tiles. He couldn't stop the tears, couldn't stop the cries that left him with every blow. His ass muscles clenched each time the whip cracked against his flesh, his fists clenching at the same time, his entire body trying to curl up into a formless knot to escape the pain.

Abruptly, the blows stopped. The Doctor whimpered softly, resting his forehead against the wall of the Tardis, not noticing that the tiles were no longer cool under his flesh -- no, they were hot, as though the ship was aroused by his helplessness. He cautiously let his muscles relax, expecting another blow to crack across his reddened, tender ass at any moment.

The Master was behind him again, so close that the Doctor could feel the heat of the other man's body radiating against his own. His fingers stroked across the Doctor's ass, over the abraded skin, making the Time Lord whimper again even as he tried to stop the sound from leaving his lips. He didn't want to give the Master the satisfaction of knowing that he was in pain, though it was probably fairly obvious.

The Doctor screamed as those fingers that had pressed into him a short while ago parted his cheeks, handling him roughly, any pressure against the raised red welts sending a dull, throbbing pain throughout his body. He screamed again when something large and thick was pushed inside him, thrusting hard and deep, held there by a steady hand.

It took the Doctor a few moments to realize that the Master was fucking him with the handle of the whip he'd just used to tear at his flesh. The thick whip handle slid almost out of him, then back in again, more deeply this time, the Master twisting his wrist and thrusting forward as hard as he could, smiling when the Doctor screamed again.

The Master's voice was soft and insistent in his ear. "You need this, Doctor. You need to be dominated, even if you won't admit it. Look at yourself. You're such a little whore, aren't you? Hungry for it, even as you deny your own desires. Sooner or later, you'll have to face up to what you are, Doctor."

A hand gripping his chin, turning his face to the side, the Master's voice growing louder and stronger, each thrust pushing more of the whip handle inside him, deeper and harder each time. "You're my whore, Doctor. No one else's. I'm the one you need, the one you'll always spread your legs for. Whether you'll admit it or not, you're mine."

He opened his eyes, looking into the Master's face, seeing the smile on those features and wanting to lash out at it. But all he could do was gasp and moan, more tears streaming down his face with each hard thrust. His cock was rigid, throbbing between his legs, a mute testimony to his humiliating arousal. Proof that the Master was right.

"Come for me, Doctor." That voice, smooth and silky, a cool hand reaching between his legs to wrap long fingers around his straining erection. "Come for us both. Your beloved Tardis wants to watch you come as much as I do. You're her whore too, you know, in a way. At least .... you will be, before we're finished with you."

Those fingers tightened on his cock, the thick intrusion slid deep inside him again -- and he couldn't hold himself back, screaming as he came. The Doctor shuddered, his limbs trembling with the violence of his orgasm, his throat dry and raw from sobbing and screaming. He slumped in his bonds, not caring if the Master was going to untie him or not. He probably wouldn't be able to stand on his own two feet, anyway.

The Master released his cock with a sigh of satisfaction, though the whip handle stayed inside him while the Master stroked a hand over his stomach, then up to his chest to tweak his tender nipples. "Well done, Doctor. You're learning to obey me, aren't you? You'll make such an exquisite little pet, if I can train you."

He turned his head to glare at the Master, too exhausted to manage words. But the hatred in his eyes must have said everything that he couldn't articulate; the Master threw back his head and laughed, then stepped close to the Doctor and traced a fingertip over his lips. "You never fail to amuse me, Doctor. You always think that you can escape your fate, don't you? Keep trying. It only makes my victory that much sweeter."

Mercifully, the whip slipped out of him, leaving him feeling sore and violated. The Master bent to loosen the ropes around the Doctor's ankles, then reached up to free his hands. The Doctor slid down the wall when he was untied, unable to stay on his feet. He looked up at the Master mutely, not moving, his dark eyes still defiant in spite of his weakened condition.

"Go take a shower, bathe, whatever you want to do." The Master shrugged, as though he didn't care how the Doctor managed to follow his orders. "Don't think about trying to escape, Doctor. Remember, the Tardis is on my side now. If you try any tricks, she'll stop you. You have no choice but to obey me, like it or not."

He turned and sauntered towards the doorway, turning to survey the Doctor. His lips curved in a smile, his voice still soft, though now it carried a taunting note. "You're such a lovely little whore, Doctor. It's going to be such a pleasure to use you. Now, you have an hour. You might want to use that time to your advantage and clean yourself up."

With that, he left the room, humming a little tune as he walked away. The Doctor pulled his legs up to his chest, resting his forehead on his knees and letting the tears come. An hour. An hour before .... what? Another round of being abused, his body pushed to the breaking point, his inner walls being torn down bit by bit until he was utterly defenseless.

The Doctor finally struggled to his feet, leaning against the wall for support. If only there was some way he could hide, stay away from the Master until he could formulate some sort of plan. But that was impossible; the Tardis was the Master's creature now. No matter where he hid, she would lead the other man to him. And he had no doubt that the torture he would suffer then would make everything else seem like child's play.

He had no choice. There was nowhere to run, no one to turn to. He was helpless, trapped for however long the Master chose to play this little game -- this waiting game that tore at his nerves as well as at his body. And at the moment, there was no end in sight.