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neveralarchI was nearly done with these reposts and then the anonmemeabration happened. So I'm not nearly done anymore. But I do have two fics today - the first isn't even 200 words, so I posted it to my comment fic collection on Teaspoon. It's Seven/Ainley!Master, adult and silly, and here. (Originally posted here, second fill.)
This is the main fic, though:
Regarding the Complex
Doctor Who, Shalka webcast.
Rating: NC-17
(explicit sex, BDSM themes, swearing, some kink shaming in the beginning)
Characters: Doctor/Master
Wordcount: 1,200ish
Summary: Pain does different things to different bodies
A/N: Originally posted here. Part XI of the unanoning mission!
The Doctor staggered back, clutching his cheek. The Master stood for a moment, staring at his hand, and then pressed his advantage.
"How dare you talk to me like that?" He stalked closer to the Doctor. "You think I'm your servant? Your butler?"
The Doctor was sneering, but he seemed at a loss for words. He kept backing away, but his back hit the wall and he was forced to stop. The Master halted a step away from him.
"I take care of you because your death would be harmful to me," enunciated the Master clearly. "Not out of some sort of subservience to my captor." He pressed even nearer, disregarding personal space in his effort to physically push understanding into the Doctor's skull. "Did you really think- Oh, you're getting off on this. Lovely."
"Leave it," said the Doctor, finally finding his words. "It's no concern of yours."
"I rather think it is," said the Master. "Would you like me to slap you again? Should I berate you some more? Perhaps you have visions of whips and chains and-"
"Stop," snarled the Doctor, and pushed the Master away. The Master went, though he needn't have.
They stared at each other across the gap between them. The Doctor was breathing hard; the Master would have liked to have been.
"This isn't a game," said the Master, harshly. "You take my anger and my unhappiness and you turn them into arousal? You're disgusting."
"I can't control my body as easily as you," said the Doctor. "Some of us are still graced with an actually automatic autonomic system. I recognize that your complaints are," he groped for conciliatory words, the kind he usually didn't employ, "valid and important."
The Master walked out.
The Doctor stood for a very long time, feeling the light bruise forming on his cheek.
---
Of course the Master could have left it there. He was in the right.
There was no reason why, when the Doctor came in, shaking and covered in bruises from other beings' hands and claws, why the Master's hands should tighten into what would be white-knuckled fists, if his skin was thin enough to show his metal bones.
There was no sexual jealousy. There were no sexual encounters to be jealous of; the Doctor was simply having adventures, while the Master waited in the TARDIS.
His only anger should be that he was trapped here. He should direct his energy at regaining control of his own situation.
But he heard the Doctor in the shower, the hissing sound as he fingered his bruises and jerked himself off, and the Master seethed that someone else was responsible for his pain and his pleasure.
---
When the Doctor came in after a long day's revolution, the Master was waiting for him. Well, the Master was always waiting for him. Sometimes the Master was pretending not to be waiting; sometimes the Master would even go so far as to be not-waiting where the Doctor couldn't find him.
But this was the first time the Master had ever waited for him without any clothes on.
"Given up on subtle seduction, have you?" asked the Doctor. He closed the TARDIS doors unhurriedly.
"I'd like to resolve certain things quickly," said the Master. He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging perfectly arranged strands into a messy chaos that the Doctor had always found appealing. "I haven't time for dancing around our insecurities."
"I see," said the Doctor. He began to undo his tie, thinking about it.
They hadn't slept together since the little revelation about this body's proclivities. The Doctor hadn't slept with anyone else, either, through a (probably misplaced) sense of loyalty and a (definitely not misplaced at all) sense that the Master would find a way to murder any other lovers.
Basically, the Doctor was gagging for it. And there was a burn on the back of his neck and a livid set of welts on his shins that were stinging pleasantly. The Master wouldn't need to indulge him.
"Bedroom, then," said the Doctor, and the Master led the way.
The Doctor shed clothing as they went. The TARDIS or the Master would pick it up later. The Master didn't even complain.
"Any plans?" the Doctor asked. The Master always had plans. But if not, oh, the Doctor could supply some ideas. The Master in him, pushing in before he was really ready, the sharp burn of the stretch, the Master forcing him to take it-
"I'd like you to fuck me," said the Master, shattering the fantasy. "That is, if it's not too much trouble."
"Hardly," said the Doctor, knowing sharp eyes would catch his disappointment. He pushed the Master down on to the bed, knelt between his legs, and set about preparing them.
The Master took the Doctor's fingers and then his cock without comment. He seemed to be waiting for something. The Doctor just hitched his legs up and pulled him a little closer to. The Master sat up onto him, bracing his legs against the bed and rocking himself as he gripped the Doctor's shoulders, and it was all very nice-
The Master's hands fell from the Doctor's shoulders, and his nails raked the Doctor's back. The Doctor arched into the pain, a moan escaping his lips as he thrust harder. The Master smiled and did it again.
"You bastard," swore the Doctor.
The Master leant forward more, putting all his weight on the Doctor, crushing the welts on his shins into the bedclothes. He caught the Doctor's mouth and kissed him hard, bit until the Doctor was helplessly coming, tasting blood.
The Master dropped away from the Doctor's mouth and spoke into his ear.
"This is ours, do you understand? When you hurt, you think of me."
"You're unhinged," said the Doctor, and pushed the Master gently away. The movement stretched the new scores on his back, and he hissed.
"You like it," said the Master, and the Doctor wasn't quite sure what he was referring to. Everything, probably.
"My body does," said the Doctor. He touched his lip, feeling the blood smear and the sting intensify. "That doesn't mean I think it's wise."
The Master was still hard, the same programs which allowed him to feel arousal keeping him waiting for release.
"Let me help you with that," said the Doctor.
"You needn't," said the Master, but the Doctor stroked him and he twitched, his watchful eyes going half-lidded.
"That's it," said the Doctor, and "there," and the Master came all over the Doctor's hand, biting his own lip to keep from crying out.
---
The Master fell into hibernation mode easily, his point made, the tension resolved. The Doctor stayed awake rather longer, staring into a mirror at his split lip. His eyes grew more troubled as he looked over his shoulder at the red marks along his spine.
"Pain is not to be toyed with," he told himself sternly. "Torture is something to be withstood, not welcomed. The Master shouldn't be encouraged, shouldn't be allowed-" he looked out of the bathroom, following the path of light into the dark of the bedroom, where the Master lay sleeping.
"Hell with it," said the Doctor, and went to join him.
This is the main fic, though:
Regarding the Complex
Doctor Who, Shalka webcast.
Rating: NC-17
(explicit sex, BDSM themes, swearing, some kink shaming in the beginning)
Characters: Doctor/Master
Wordcount: 1,200ish
Summary: Pain does different things to different bodies
A/N: Originally posted here. Part XI of the unanoning mission!
The Doctor staggered back, clutching his cheek. The Master stood for a moment, staring at his hand, and then pressed his advantage.
"How dare you talk to me like that?" He stalked closer to the Doctor. "You think I'm your servant? Your butler?"
The Doctor was sneering, but he seemed at a loss for words. He kept backing away, but his back hit the wall and he was forced to stop. The Master halted a step away from him.
"I take care of you because your death would be harmful to me," enunciated the Master clearly. "Not out of some sort of subservience to my captor." He pressed even nearer, disregarding personal space in his effort to physically push understanding into the Doctor's skull. "Did you really think- Oh, you're getting off on this. Lovely."
"Leave it," said the Doctor, finally finding his words. "It's no concern of yours."
"I rather think it is," said the Master. "Would you like me to slap you again? Should I berate you some more? Perhaps you have visions of whips and chains and-"
"Stop," snarled the Doctor, and pushed the Master away. The Master went, though he needn't have.
They stared at each other across the gap between them. The Doctor was breathing hard; the Master would have liked to have been.
"This isn't a game," said the Master, harshly. "You take my anger and my unhappiness and you turn them into arousal? You're disgusting."
"I can't control my body as easily as you," said the Doctor. "Some of us are still graced with an actually automatic autonomic system. I recognize that your complaints are," he groped for conciliatory words, the kind he usually didn't employ, "valid and important."
The Master walked out.
The Doctor stood for a very long time, feeling the light bruise forming on his cheek.
---
Of course the Master could have left it there. He was in the right.
There was no reason why, when the Doctor came in, shaking and covered in bruises from other beings' hands and claws, why the Master's hands should tighten into what would be white-knuckled fists, if his skin was thin enough to show his metal bones.
There was no sexual jealousy. There were no sexual encounters to be jealous of; the Doctor was simply having adventures, while the Master waited in the TARDIS.
His only anger should be that he was trapped here. He should direct his energy at regaining control of his own situation.
But he heard the Doctor in the shower, the hissing sound as he fingered his bruises and jerked himself off, and the Master seethed that someone else was responsible for his pain and his pleasure.
---
When the Doctor came in after a long day's revolution, the Master was waiting for him. Well, the Master was always waiting for him. Sometimes the Master was pretending not to be waiting; sometimes the Master would even go so far as to be not-waiting where the Doctor couldn't find him.
But this was the first time the Master had ever waited for him without any clothes on.
"Given up on subtle seduction, have you?" asked the Doctor. He closed the TARDIS doors unhurriedly.
"I'd like to resolve certain things quickly," said the Master. He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging perfectly arranged strands into a messy chaos that the Doctor had always found appealing. "I haven't time for dancing around our insecurities."
"I see," said the Doctor. He began to undo his tie, thinking about it.
They hadn't slept together since the little revelation about this body's proclivities. The Doctor hadn't slept with anyone else, either, through a (probably misplaced) sense of loyalty and a (definitely not misplaced at all) sense that the Master would find a way to murder any other lovers.
Basically, the Doctor was gagging for it. And there was a burn on the back of his neck and a livid set of welts on his shins that were stinging pleasantly. The Master wouldn't need to indulge him.
"Bedroom, then," said the Doctor, and the Master led the way.
The Doctor shed clothing as they went. The TARDIS or the Master would pick it up later. The Master didn't even complain.
"Any plans?" the Doctor asked. The Master always had plans. But if not, oh, the Doctor could supply some ideas. The Master in him, pushing in before he was really ready, the sharp burn of the stretch, the Master forcing him to take it-
"I'd like you to fuck me," said the Master, shattering the fantasy. "That is, if it's not too much trouble."
"Hardly," said the Doctor, knowing sharp eyes would catch his disappointment. He pushed the Master down on to the bed, knelt between his legs, and set about preparing them.
The Master took the Doctor's fingers and then his cock without comment. He seemed to be waiting for something. The Doctor just hitched his legs up and pulled him a little closer to. The Master sat up onto him, bracing his legs against the bed and rocking himself as he gripped the Doctor's shoulders, and it was all very nice-
The Master's hands fell from the Doctor's shoulders, and his nails raked the Doctor's back. The Doctor arched into the pain, a moan escaping his lips as he thrust harder. The Master smiled and did it again.
"You bastard," swore the Doctor.
The Master leant forward more, putting all his weight on the Doctor, crushing the welts on his shins into the bedclothes. He caught the Doctor's mouth and kissed him hard, bit until the Doctor was helplessly coming, tasting blood.
The Master dropped away from the Doctor's mouth and spoke into his ear.
"This is ours, do you understand? When you hurt, you think of me."
"You're unhinged," said the Doctor, and pushed the Master gently away. The movement stretched the new scores on his back, and he hissed.
"You like it," said the Master, and the Doctor wasn't quite sure what he was referring to. Everything, probably.
"My body does," said the Doctor. He touched his lip, feeling the blood smear and the sting intensify. "That doesn't mean I think it's wise."
The Master was still hard, the same programs which allowed him to feel arousal keeping him waiting for release.
"Let me help you with that," said the Doctor.
"You needn't," said the Master, but the Doctor stroked him and he twitched, his watchful eyes going half-lidded.
"That's it," said the Doctor, and "there," and the Master came all over the Doctor's hand, biting his own lip to keep from crying out.
---
The Master fell into hibernation mode easily, his point made, the tension resolved. The Doctor stayed awake rather longer, staring into a mirror at his split lip. His eyes grew more troubled as he looked over his shoulder at the red marks along his spine.
"Pain is not to be toyed with," he told himself sternly. "Torture is something to be withstood, not welcomed. The Master shouldn't be encouraged, shouldn't be allowed-" he looked out of the bathroom, following the path of light into the dark of the bedroom, where the Master lay sleeping.
"Hell with it," said the Doctor, and went to join him.
