Notes
In the Lesbiverse, several male Doctor Who characters are female-bodied, including the Doctor, the Master, and Jack Harkness. They have not switched gender at any point. That's just how they are. For past examples in this universe, please read my other Doctor Who stories. Chapter 1The Master collapsed theatrically into the chair at the head of the long conference table. She swung her legs up onto the conference table and tipped two Vicodin into her mouth, followed by a swig of cognac.
"I swear human sedatives couldn't calm an Arcadian tumblefly," she sighed, glancing at the dingy tent that served as the Doctor's bedroom aboard the Valiant.
"Bad day?" the Doctor sneered. The Master had left her for three days, alone save a few guards, a couple of Toclafane, and Martha's doe-eyed mother. She'd determined, in what was to her the equivalent of solitary confinement, that she'd return the favor with impudence and sarcasm.
"You would think, you would just think that humans might get it right. They don't call you 'Doctoress', do they? So why call me 'Mistress'? It's insulting," the Master said, still hardly looking at the Doctor.
"It's not the first time it's happened." The Doctor dragged herself closer to the Master, not daring to rise to her feet. She wanted to bring her hands within touching distance of her legs curved like a milk glass vase, even if she knew she couldn't touch until given permission.
"No, it isn't. The Toclafane are trained to take out anyone who says it. There have been a few... mistakes, of course. But people keep doing it." She swung her legs off the table, flashing the Doctor a bit of her black panties between the dagged edges of her skirt. "So you know what I did?"
"What?"
The Master stood, staring out over the room as if addressing her cabinet. "I made an example."
She smiled and dropped a hand roughly on the Doctor's head.
"Oh, these humans have remarkable ideas for doing away with one another. Nothing like the Time Lords just dissolving you into atoms in some secret chamber."
Yes, humans certainly had put a lot of thought into judicial "offing", thought the Doctor. Having almost been a victim of it enough times, the Doctor couldn't recommend it.
"So like any good scholar of the universe," the Master said, winding her hand deeper into the Doctor's hair, "I had to try it myself."
She yanked the Doctor's head back and leaned down to meet her eyes. "I found it good." She let go, but the Doctor felt the pain linger and fade, as if running down her hair from the roots. After a pause, the Master continued: "But it could have been far better."
The Master rolled her neck and rubbed a hand down her spine before she lowered herself again into the chair, this time with her legs splayed.
"Well, Doctor?" she said impatiently.
The Doctor placed her hands on the Master's knees and nudged the Master's skirt with her nose.
"Ah-ah," the Master said as if following a script.
The Doctor had forgotten, as she often did after the Master had left her a while. "May I?"
"May you what?"
"May I touch you with my hands?" the Doctor panted. She'd forgotten as well her vow of impudence. "May I touch you with my mouth? May I touch you with my tongue?"
"Yes, Doctor. You may. Now stop wasting time." The Master settled back into her chair, lifting her hips so that the Doctor could remove her panties. She felt the Doctor's mouth on her almost immediately, and she wriggled a bit, causing the Doctor to move with her. She jerked again, purposely, and the Doctor tried to follow. She used her hands to lift herself up in the chair, and the Doctor tilted her head up like a puppet on strings. The Master continued her subtle movements, leading the Doctor in a complicated dance. That man had danced, though not as long as the Master would have liked. When they'd cut him down, the disgusting sod had a stiff pecker. The Doctor's canvas shoes kicked out behind her as she scrambled to keep up with the Master, and the Master imagined them, for a moment, kicking at nothing but air. She froze. The Doctor's tongue curled around her, and she sighed, relaxed far more than any sedative could provide.
"Good girl," the Master cooed, pulling the Doctor off her by the hair.
The Doctor looked up at her, a satisfied smile beneath eyes rimmed red with fatigue. That was funny, the Master thought. For a week, the Doctor had been left pretty much alone. Good time to catch up on sleep, and yet…
She lowered the Doctor's lips to her thigh and let her suspicions fade into the warm kisses. The Doctor traveled up, unbuttoning her rumpled shirt, pushing aside the cups of her bra. Her breath spilled like blood over the Master's skin. A hundred wounds in front of a ten thousand people, and the Master imagined she had carved each one. She groaned and felt herself swelling again, aching for the Doctor's fingers in her this time. She took two of them roughly into her mouth, licking the rough knuckles before drawing them out again. The Doctor knew the rest. She opened her slowly, driving her fingers inside up to the wet knuckles.
The last wound, though, that would be the finale, the blade sliding between the cartilage of the Doctor's neck, the blood of a Time Lord on the Master's hands.
She finished with a throaty scream. Fuck, she couldn't wait for the next Earthling to commit a capital offense.
They trudged into the room like the most dismal of parades. Five women, mud-smeared orange jumpsuits closed at the cuffs with manacles, stopped in front of the Doctor's blanket fort of a hovel. The Master brought up the rear, beaming wildly and spinning her laser screwdriver like a baton.
"Doctor, Doctor!" she shouted, rattling the chains that bound the women to one another. "Here, Doctor, Doctor!"
The Doctor had heard her coming and chose to ignore the cacophony. The sheet opened around her.
"Oops!" said the Master. She dragged the Doctor to a chair by the back of her shirt. "Now, Doctor, you come when I call," she growled.
The Doctor resisted, letting the Master struggle against her dead weight to get her into the chair. A sickening suspicion about the Master's plan rose in her throat.
"There," the Master said once the Doctor sat obstinately in the chair, "the guest of honor."
"I'm decidedly honored," the Doctor said wryly.
Five women in varying states of shock and terror stood before her. The second on the right looked hardly older than a schoolgirl and, the Doctor noticed, painfully like Rose Tyler.
"Well, Doctor," the Master said, "pick one."
"For what?"
"Can't you see the jumpsuits? What do you think?"
"Parole?"
The Master laughed, and one of the women covered a small sob. The Master lifted a section of the woman's dark hair and twisted it into a rope.
"What are you afraid of?" the Master asked her. She drew the rope of hair across the woman's throat like a coiling snake and looped it around her neck. "Oh… that's it, isn't it? You grew up in a world where murderers get to rot in prison. Not in my world, cheesecake."
"Stop it," the Doctor said. The woman wept now, biting her lip to no avail.
"She's a good choice, don't you think, Doctor?" the Master said.
"No."
"How about her?" The Master pinned the Rose woman's arms to her sides. "Hot enough for the flames, she is."
"No."
"Oh, Doctor. I'm not selling you a flat. They're all going to die, you know."
"If I don't choose?"
"You always ask that."
"If I don't choose?" the Doctor repeated through gritted teeth.
"Then we'll throw a bit of a gala, and the Toclafane will have four less victims. You have ten seconds."
The Doctor tried to focus on the women's worn fabric shoes. In the months the Master had ruled Earth, she had kept the Doctor cloistered far above most of the bloodshed, a fact the Doctor had not fully appreciated until this moment. The Doctor knew what destruction had been wrought upon the planet. The Master told her in murmurs and gasps and psychic transfers, and the Doctor preferred her seclusion. It helped her concentrate on Archangel… and on the Master. The Master was giving her an entire year, as she savaged every natural resource she could out of the planet. The longest they'd been together since the day they'd left Gallifrey, and the Doctor had relished it. Hundreds of years of need tethered her tightly to the Master's will. She drank memories of their lost planet from the other Time Lord's skin and felt absolved of her own guilt.
The Master hummed a sharp line of game show music, patting each woman roughly on the head as if playing a perverse game of "Duck Duck Goose".
"Five seconds… and… three… two… one. What'll it be?"
The Doctor lifted her gaze only as high as the women's chests. She closed her eyes and pointed. She heard a choked "Hrrrrrrngh" noise, and the Master laughed again.
"You saw her," the Master snapped at the guards. "Have the Toclafane dispose of the other four. Now Doctor, why don't you grow up a little and open your eyes?"
The Doctor forced her eyelids open in just enough time to see the Rose woman being led away with three others. She felt relieved and then immediately guilty. The remaining woman looked about 35 and fairly defiant. She looked at the Doctor with pity that the Doctor knew she didn't deserve.
"Poor choice, Doctor," said the Master. "The one on the other end committed high treason. You've got a thief."
"Prepare her," the Master said to the last two human guards. "Tomorrow, dawn, you know the drill."
The woman marched between them from the room, eyes forward and head tilted slightly up. When they were gone, the Master draped herself across the Doctor and smiled up at her.
The Doctor didn't smile back. "The drill?"
"Why yes. It's not everyone, you know. But the Toclafane just weren't cutting it."
The Doctor stood suddenly, and the Master dropped to the floor, landing on her toes.
"You're sick," the Doctor said. The Master stared up at her, attractive as ever in a fitted suit and short, slicked hair, and the Doctor wanted her with a peculiar intensity.
"Drop the nobility act." She laid her head on the Doctor's chest, breathing deeply between her breasts. "I know what's in that spiky little head of yours."
She reached beneath the Doctor's untucked shirt and pulled her close enough to rub against her hip bone.
"Against the wall," she rasped, and the Doctor hardly pushed back as the Master's hands compelled her to a set of round windows.
"First I'll strip you," the Master went on, unzipping the Doctor's trousers.
When the Doctor stood with her naked back to the window, the Master said, "That's when I'll tie you up."
She turned the Doctor to face the world below, buzzing with industry like the tiniest model train set. The Master bound the Doctor's wrists together up to her elbows, tight enough that her fingertips numbed almost immediately.
"Let's see you," the Master said, turning her again and grinning. "Yes, then I'd read the sentence again, for their benefit, you see."
Now the Doctor knew what the Master was doing, and she caught a shallow breath.
"Ladies and gentlemen of Earth," the Master said, presenting the Doctor with a flourish to the empty room. "The Doctor, convicted for hiding her true identity and stealing a TARDIS."
"The Time Lords already got me on that one," the Doctor murmured.
"They didn't finish the job, did they?" the Master said, digging her fingernails into the side of the Doctor's neck and dragging them down her chest. "As I was saying. Utterly guilty. Really horrible person, that Doctor. We'd be best off without her."
"Reprehensible," the Doctor added.
"She has been sentenced to death."
"Of course."
"Will you just let me speak?" The Master slapped her across the face. "She has been sentenced to…"
The Master dropped to one knee in front of the Doctor and spread the Doctor's legs apart. "Death," she said, plunging a finger into the Doctor, making the other Time Lord groan.
"Ooh, good reaction there, Doctor." She pushed in further. "By firing squad."
With her other hand, the Master pulled her own trousers down to her thighs and ground her body against the Doctor's, bending the Doctor over her shoulder as they both breathed heavy and long.
"And then the drums begin," the Master said, and the Doctor felt the thunder of drums in her chest, four beats with the emphasis on the last. "And they're lining up their shots." The Doctor tasted gritty sand in her mouth and thought she almost heard a voice shout "Ready!"
The Master pushed the Doctor upright again and lowered her lips to the Doctor's stomach. "The first shot hits you here."
She bit, and pain far greater than what the Doctor should have felt radiated from the spot.
"Then another here." The Master bit the top of her right breast, and the Doctor heard the distant report of a musket.
The Master bit her arm. "This one's not a very good shot."
"Ah," the Master said, nudging the Doctor's left breast up with her nose, "this one's spot on." She bit over the Doctor's left heart, and the Doctor fell back against the windows involuntarily. The sensation of pouring blood ran over her skin. The Doctor panted as her lungs seemed to lose capacity. Yet she knew she wasn't dying. She tried to grip the Master who was pulling away, but the sensation left with the Master's touch. The Doctor slumped to the floor.
"Where did you…," the Doctor panted. "Where did you learn that?"
"Did it work?" the Master asked.
"Yes. Yes, it worked," was all the Doctor could manage.