Silencing the Drums

The tension between them came to a head later that evening. The Doctor had locked the Master in for the night and retired to his room for the evening, worn out by the events of the past few days and in dire need of sleep. Even Time Lords needed time to recharge.

He’d locked his door, twice. Though he had both the collar monitor and the lead’s remote control close at hand, he didn’t trust the Master not to cause trouble, especially with how well-behaved he’d been recently. Still, he trusted his door locks, and felt safe enough to undress and relax a little. First the shoes, tossed haphazardly to one side; next the jacket, hung over one endpost of his bed; then the bowtie and shirt, tossed atop his shoes. His room was warm and inviting, the walls a gentle, coppery paisley pattern lit with the same orange glow that filled the main control room. It was a comfortable temperature for bare skin, and soon enough the Doctor was bare to his boxers, standing thoughtfully in the middle of the room. He took a moment to admire his spare surroundings: a simple double bed, four-poster and covered in warm blue quilts; a rich mahogany bedside table stacked with books he hadn’t finished; a bureau that stood mostly empty. The place was too new to have much else for decoration, but he didn’t mind. It was soothing to have a space so empty to rest in at the end of the day.

He stretched out on the bed and plucked a book off the top of the stack on his bedside table. American Gods – a fascinating read, though he found he couldn’t much focus on it this evening. Restless, he flipped through a chapter, tapping his right foot against his ankle. Comfortable though his nest of blankets was, he couldn’t seem to lay still. His mind still buzzed by at a million miles an hour, and tired though he was, he couldn’t seem to calm it.

Keyed up though he was, he didn’t notice the locator on the table going off until it was much too late. He jumped up when his door banged open, but the Master was on him before he could get to his feet. The Doctor noticed two things right away – first, the Master had somehow fashioned a sonic screwdriver for himself. Second, the briefs he wore in addition to his nightshirt seemed barely adequate.

“I’m going to start tying you up at night,” the Doctor said, and thrust his shoulders hard against the Master’s restraining hands. “Didn’t we have a little chat about personal space?”

“Yes, and boundaries,” the Master grinned, throwing his weight into holding the Doctor down. “I’ve just decided to ignore that part. You didn’t mean it, anyway.”

The Doctor relaxed a moment, assessing his position, focusing on each little shift in the Master’s posture. “How did you manage a screwdriver in so little time?”

“This thing?” He shrugged and tossed it to the floor. “Child’s play. You’re lucky I didn’t have enough time for lasers.”

As the Master set his hand against his shoulder again, the Doctor made his move. He jerked the opposite side of his body up against the Master and managed to wrench his hand free. The Master snatched at his wrist, but the Doctor had already snagged the dangling end of the lead.

“You slippery little bastard,” the Master laughed, rearing back against the pull of the lead. “That’s not fair at all!”

The Doctor wrapped his hand in the lead a few times to strengthen his grip and lunged upright, wrapping his free hand around the Master’s waist. “Neither is ambush,” he retorted, a wild grin springing, unbidden and unexpected, to his lips. “You’ve thrown your screwdriver away – I’m guessing this is supposed to be some kind of social call.”

The Master tangled his hands in the Doctor’s hair and pulled him closer, tearing a kiss from him. At first, the Doctor resisted, straining against the Master’s grip, but he was suddenly aware of his own heartbeats and forgot himself for a moment – the few seconds necessary to lose himself completely. He jerked savagely on the lead and captured the Master’s mouth with his own, snagging his lip in his teeth, thrusting his tongue inside, savaging him until neither of them could breathe. They broke apart, gasped in a few lungfulls of air, then came together again in desperation, each seeking the upper hand.

The Doctor won, and surprised himself with it. Lightheaded though he was with the taste of the Master, he still caught a slight shift in balance and used it. He thrust his knee between the Master’s thighs and was rewarded with a gasp and a moment of distraction; he had his adversary on his back in an instant. Now, knees locked against the Master’s sides, one hand fixed firmly on the lead, he had him under his complete control. It was quite a rush.

“Gotcha,” he said, breathless and elated. “This isn’t going quite according to your plan, is it?”

The Master was silent a moment, panting and glaring up at his captor, fingers locked tight against his thighs. He opened his mouth to snap a reply, but the Doctor was waiting for this and rolled his hips firmly against his captive’s; the Master’s retort turned to a strangled moan and he arched, digging his nails into the Doctor’s skin.

“No. No, this time I have the upper hand,” the Doctor said, tugging hard on the leash and bringing his face down close to the Master’s. “And I’m going to enjoy it, too.” He rose up on his knees and shifted back, still pulling on the leash, forcing the Master to sit up on his knees as well. The Master clawed at his wrists, attempting to pull the leash free, but the Doctor gripped his hair and yanked his head backwards in return. The Master hissed and loosed his grip, clenching and unclenching his fists in helpless fury.

“You brought this on yourself,” the Doctor murmured, pressing his lips to the straining column of the Master’s throat. “You can’t just barge into someone’s bedroom and expect things to go well for you. Now… behave yourself, and I promise you won’t regret it.”

He released the Master’s hair and drew him closer by the lead until at last his adversary’s cheek lay against his chest. The Master still trembled with pent-up outrage, but there was a small, secret part of him that loved this, wanted every moment of this.

“Much better,” the Doctor murmured, his voice soothing. Carefully, being certain not to let the Master loose, he relieved him of his nightshirt. His free hand slipped between them, caressing the Master’s thin body as he re-familiarized himself with every part of him. The Master’s hearts thrummed as fast as a frightened animal’s, and though he tried to trap his voice between his teeth, he couldn’t entirely stop his small noises of pleasure and want. When the Doctor’s searching fingers finally found his erection, trapped and straining against his briefs, he let out a startled yelp and thrust his hips against the Doctor’s palm. The Doctor laughed and pulled his hand away.

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you want. But first, I think you owe me something for barging in here.” He swung his legs off the bed and stood, bringing the Master with him, walking him backwards until they were both standing at the center of the room. The Master clutched at his sides and bucked his hips against the Doctor’s, groaning deep in his throat at the delightful friction, but the Doctor put a swift stop to that. He thrust down against the Master’s shoulders, forcing him to his knees.

Once there, desire mingling with humiliation in a heady cocktail of pleasure, he needed no further instruction. He thrust his face against the Doctor’s cloth-clad erection, rubbing his cheek against him like a kitten, tugging at the waistband of his boxers as if asking permission to continue. For a moment, the Doctor couldn’t think of what he ought to do next, and his breath came in swift gasps. Then he remembered that he was standing over his greatest adversary, and he took a firm hold of the Master’s hair.

“I knew this was what you wanted all along,” he crooned, rolling his hips against the Master’s face. “Go on – go to it.”

The Master needed no second bidding. He yanked the Doctor’s boxers down and nearly purred with delight at the feast presented to him. He took the base of the Doctor’s substantial cock in one hand and slowly, very slowly drew his tongue up the underside of it, savoring every inch of him. The Doctor gave a shuddering moan and struggled to keep his hips still, jerked the leash slightly.

“Don’t play around,” he groaned, watching the spectacle before him with eyes full of need. “Come on – I know you’re hungry.”

The Master chuckled, a low and throaty sound, and kissed the tip of the Doctor’s erection. “So impatient. But you’re right – I’m starving.” With that he wrapped his lips around the Doctor’s cock and drew him in, eyes closed in bliss. The taste of him never changed – sweet and salty at once, musky and intoxicating, touched with the complexity of his long, long life. It was like honey and wine to him.

His Doctor’s preferences never changed, either. The Master knew just what buttons to press, where to thrust his tongue against his cock, when to tease him. The Doctor was undeniably in control of the situation, but it was the work of moments for the Master to unhinge him. His own erection pulsed almost painfully against his stomach, but he ignored it for the moment, more desperate to hear and feel the Doctor come than to relieve his own need.

The pleasure was so intense, so overwhelming, the Doctor thought he might go blind with the force of it. It’d been too long since they’d come together willingly, but now that he had him back, had the glorious heat of his mouth on him again, he never wanted to let him go. Time Lords had great stamina, but he didn’t want the long, drawn-out, teasing road to climax – he wanted it now, wanted the overpowering rush, wanted to feed the Master what it was he so desired. He let the pressure build, held back as long as he was able, then tightened his hold in the Master’s hair and began to thrust, filling his mouth and throat mercilessly. The Master choked around him at first, but soon grew used to the pace and swallowed him down with abandon, moaning and purring against the flesh that filled him. He gripped the Doctor’s ankles, bracing himself, spurring him on-

~*~

Jack woke up with a bellowing gasp, soaked in sweat, his cock pressing painfully against the pajama pants he’d borrowed from the Doctor. For a moment he didn’t realize were he was, and when he did he fell back with a frustrated groan, clutching at his forehead. What in the seven hells was that? How could he be having wet dreams about the Master? The Doctor, he could understand – he’d wanted to tap that for a very long time.

Disgusted though he was with himself, it was impossible to ignore his raging, persistent hard-on. He gripped his cock and failed miserably to think of something besides his extremely vivid dream, and bit his lip as he came, hard.

He would have some difficulty looking the Doctor in the eye in the morning.