Title: Winning the War
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/The Master
Fandom: Doctor Who
Table: 1, 50ficlets
Prompt: 23, Whimper
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.
***"Come now, Doctor." The Master's voice betrayed just a touch of irritation. "You know what I want to hear. Give me what I want, and I'll stop hurting you."
The Doctor pressed his lips together, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He hadn't planned on giving the Master what he wanted even before the other man had tried to goad him into it; now, he definitely wouldn't, no matter what it cost him.
He had to force himself to stand still, not to flinch away from what he knew was coming. It wasn't as though he could move away; his hands were bound to a hook in the ceiling, his legs spread and his ankles bound to similar ones on the floor, holding him immobile.
He heard the whip slice through the air before he felt the lash; it cracked across his bare ass, raising a welt that he could almost feel before the braided leather had even touched him.
His teeth sank savagely into his lower lip; it hurt, it burned like fire, but he wasn't going to give the Master the satisfaction of hearing him scream. He wasn't going to give in. Not this time. He'd done it too often before.
The Master stepped back, studying the marks that he'd already made on the Doctor's naked body. He walked around his bound captive, surveying the Doctor with raised eyebrows, as though he meant to ask a question but was holding himself back.
But not for long. With an amused tilt of his head, he moved forward to take the Doctor's chin in his hand, forcing the Time Lord to look directly at him.
"You know what I want you to do, Doctor," he whispered, his voice soft, but with a darkly menacing undertone to the words. "All you have to give me is a scream. Just one. That's all. Then I'll stop this. But until I get what I want -- you're going to suffer."
He brought the whip up to stroke the oiled leather against the Doctor's cheek, his eyes not leaving his captive's face. "Wouldn't it be much easier to break down and scream for me than to endure this? I can keep it up indefinitely, you know."
The Doctor stared back at him, wishing that he could force himself to smile, to throw the Master's words back at him, to mock the other man. But he couldn't. He was too close to the breaking point, too near to giving in to what his nemesis wanted from him.
He stood stock-still, forcing himself not to flinch as the leather that had bitten into his flesh touched his cheek, the sensation unpleasant and almost obscene.
"It's not that hard to break down, Doctor," the Master continued, his voice slipping into a husky tone, his words ingratiating. "No one will know but me. There's no one else here -- and I promise there aren't any hidden cameras."
"No," the Doctor said before he could stop the words from coming out. "Not a sound. Not even a whimper. I'm not going to give you the satisfaction. Whatever you want from me, you'll have to force it -- because I won't give it to you willingly."
The Master raised his brows again, a smirk settling onto his lips. "Are you so sure of that, Doctor?" he asked, the words seeming like a challenge. "Not a whimper, you say? Oh, I think I can force you to do much more than that."
The Master took several steps away from him, backing up until he was ten feet or so in front of the Doctor, his hands resting on his hips, still smiling.
"You may regret challenging me, Doctor." His voice was silky-smooth, his tone that of a purring, contented cat, as though he'd already gotten what he wanted. "Remember, you drove me to this. You gave me no choice. You have only yourself to blame."
Before he knew what the other man intended, the whip lashed out, cracking across his stomach and leaving an angry red welt. He had to bite his tongue to hold back a cry -- a cry that he didn't intend to let come out at any cost.
The next whiplash took him by surprise, landing between his legs, snapping against his balls; but he still managed to keep himself from crying out, though just barely.
The third lash finally wrung a cry from him; more than a whimper, it was a full-blown scream that came from the depths of his lungs as the whip curled around his half-hard cock, the blow landing with full force against the tender tip.
With a satisfied smile, the Master dropped the whip, moving forward to stand in front of the Doctor and moving a hand down between the Time Lord's legs to cup his aching genitals.
His breath was hot against the Doctor's ear as he spoke; those words lingered in the Time Lord's brain, but his only response was a soft whimper when the Master walked calmly away from him, heading for the door without a backward glance.
"I win, Doctor. I win."