Title: Walk A Thin Line
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/The Master
Fandom: Doctor Who
Prompt: 21, Whisper
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 buried his face in the pillow, desperately trying to block out the sights around him and wishing that he could block out the sounds, too. But that was impossible; when he deprived himself of sight, his other senses became much more acute.
That was unfortunate, given where he was. It was bad enough that the Master was behind him, thrusting into him with such force that his hips were pushed forward with every movement. But that feeling was made all the more sharp and painful by cutting off his sight.
At least the other man was behind him, the Doctor told himself, holding back a gasp as the Master's hips snapped forward again. He didn't have to see the gloating expression of victory that he was sure would be written all over his rival's face.
But the Master being behind him only gave the other man more of a chance to pour words into his ear, words that he didn't want to hear. He had to strain to push them away, not to let himself fall into their seductive grasp and give up all hope.
"This is what you want, Doctor. What you need .What you've always needed. Give in to it, Doctor. Tell me that you belong to me."
No. He was never going to do that. No matter how seductive those whispers might sound, no matter how badly he wanted this torment to end, he wasn't going to do what the Master demanded of him. That would be the end, the extinguishing of who and what he was.
if he gave in to the Master, then he would be resigning his right to be a Time Lord. He would have let himself cross over the thin line that separated him from the Master; he'd willingly fall into the same darkness that had engulfed the other man.
He wasn't going to let himself do that. He was walking a thin line; he'd known that for a long time. Ever since their centuries-old battle had begun, he'd known that it would be all too easy for him to take a wrong step and tumble into that yawning chasm.
Only one small step to one side or the other, and his precarious balance on that tightrope would be disturbed. Then it would be child's play for the Master to send him plunging into the blackness of despair, to strip him of everything that he was.
That had been the other man's goal for as long as he could remember. And each time the Doctor was in this sort of situation, he came ever closer to falling off that edge, tumbling head first into a stygian darkness that he'd never escape from.
"Let yourself go, Doctor. Give me what I want -- because you know that it's what you want, too. You can't deny that. Stop trying to pretend that this isn't where you belong."
That insinuating whisper in his ear, those words that taunted him and somehow seemed to draw him ever further into the Master's world. That voice was almost hypnotic, just as it had been when he was a child and the Master had drawn him into trouble.
He'd walked close to a fire that he'd known was too hot for him to withstand then, and he'd had the presence of mind to back away from it before he was burnt. He'd have to steel himself even more, hold on to that resolve to push the seductive darkness away.
But it wasn't easy. The Doctor gasped again, the muscles of his bound arms tightening as the Master thrust into him again. His body was weakening, wanting to give in to the Master's demands, wanting nothing more than what the other man could give him.
He wasn't going to let that happen, no matter how hard it was to hold out. What could the Master really give him, other than an orgasmic pleasure that would soon be gone? The pain he would feel afterwards would never be worth the momentary rush.
"You're mine, Doctor. You may not admit it now, but your soul knows it. You can hide from the reality, but it will always be there in your mind."
No. No. He didn't belong to the Master. He never would. He was his own man; he'd been able to break away from the control the Master tried to exert over him a long time ago. He'd never be controlled, manipulated; he'd never be the Master's puppet.
The Doctor gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes closed as he buried his face further into the pillow. The Master might have control of his body now, but the other man would never control his mind. That was the one thing still left to him.
He still had free will, and he'd exert it for as long as it took to get free of this situation and defeat the Master. That insinuating whisper wasn't going to convince him of anything other than the fact that he had to hold out against temptation.
Resolutely, the Doctor tried to steel himself as the next thrust came, tearing through his body and drawing an agonized cry from his throat. At least when he was screaming, he couldn't hear those whispered words leading him along a sure path to destruction.