Doctor Who fic, Master/Doctor, in the year that never was. The Master has some fun playing with the doctor, rated M for twisted torture and abuse. Will write more chapters if told to. Please Review, reviews are brain candy.
BBC owns these two, not me.
I wake slowly, my mind not wanting to leave this comfortable haze. His arm are around me. He's snoring. I'm free. I could run, I should run, I'll run, I'll go I'll go now and I'll be free. I gently remove his warm arms from around me, squirming out of bed, the floor cold against my feet. I consider for a second grabbing a discarded sheet from the floor... I settle instead for Saxon's abandoned pants. It feels good to have clothes. Pants and socks, no time for anything else. I start to tiptoe to freedom. I'll free Jack. Jack will get us out. Yes, this is a plan, it's forming, it's a baby, but it's on the way and it will grow to be big and strong and it will save us all.
"Where do you think you're going, little love? The bed grows so cold when you leave it...."
I freeze, swearing under my breath as I hazard a glance over my shoulder. He's not talking in his sleep. He's staring at me through the artificial twilight, his eyes glimmering with an unnatural glint, his insanity on the surface. I don't dare say anything, I'm caught like a deer in hypnotic headlights. He's going to abort the baby that is my idea, if I let him.
"You're not going anywhere. Come here, now. Be a good boy." He beckons with a long finger.
I stubbornly shake my head. I'm in his pants. If he chases after me, he'll be nude where it counts. Will he care? I don't know...but I certainly have an advantage. I take another step towards the door, afraid of what wrath I may incur, but hopeful for total freedom if I can just get out of this room, down the halls, to Jack.
"Theta... don't make me punish you."
I feel a heavy weight in the pit of my stomach, panic in my throat and trilling along my spine. Adrenaline is in my veins. The second he moves, I'll make a break for it. Our eyes are locked, and he is not pleased with the defiance he sees in me, I can tell, he's getting angry. Abruptly he throws off what minimal covering he had and stands. That's my cue, and I run as hard as I possibly can, socked feet silent on the floor of the valiant. I don't make it far. How could I expect myself to? Two hot meals and a nap does not a Time Lord restore. The floor comes up fast as he tackles into my back, my jaw hitting the floor hard as my arms are pinned to my sides, his clasped hands hitting the ground and digging into my stomach, a horizontal half-Heimlich. I taste blood and see stars, before I am crawling back to the bedroom, being led by my hair. Despite the failure, I know it was a noble attempt.
"That was very stupid of you, pet."
I don't dignify him with a response, earning another tug on my hair. I am triumphant. I got away, for however brief it was, I made him run. I won there, a tiny battle. He doesn't always have complete control. He lets his guard down and makes mistakes. Mistakes I'm going to pay for. He pushes me onto the bed, and secures me face up, stripping me of his pants and underwear in the process. My limbs are spread just past the angle of comfort, the stretching is mildly painful, but I don't give him the satisfaction of hearing me complain. I just glare.
"I don't have to play nice, you know. I could really damage you. I could just kill you, if you aren't going to be fun."
"You wouldn't." Despite all he's done to me, there is a silent understanding that we are the last. I cannot kill him, he cannot kill me. We are the last. We may hurt each other, we may tortured and perhaps he has it in himself to rape, but we are the final Time Lords. We cannot face the utter loneliness that comes with the removal of the other. Despite all he has put me through, I cannot believe that he would kill me, there is a line, he has to save me if I am being put through too much, if the risk becomes too high. "You wouldn't, you can't. You won't."
"Don't try me, Theta. If I am not kept pleased, if you do not obey me like a good little slave, then you will be killed. If you obey me than you shall be granted privileges, freedoms, symbols of equality and friendship. Continue to cross me and you will be beaten and killed. I'll hurt you, Theta. I'll break you into tiny pieces."
"I don't believe you." I continue with my defiant glare, earning myself a slap across the face, then a punch, then it's raining punches, he's hurting me everywhere. The pain is more than superficial, he's hurting me.
"Believe me! Believe me now?!" He adds more venom to his attack, enraged. Pain, such pain, ribs snapping under his fists, against his feet as he stands to kick me. I'm afraid. He's going to kill me. He's going to -kill- me unless I comply to his demands. The fear just grows as I realize he's not going to stop. I find myself making peace with my Gods, sobbing hysterically, clinging to my life, clinging to my continued existence. Everything hurts so much, but the pain is vital, I need it.
"Please, stop! I'll be good, I'll be good!" I'm sobbing the words, I doubt they are clear enough to be understood.... he pauses and undoes one of my hands.
"Prove that you'll obey me. Take those tears, make them useful, put them between your legs. You'll want some form of lubrication before I have my way with you."
It just makes me cry harder, this humiliation, this pain. "I'd rather you kill me!" I shout. I don't want him, I don't want this mockery of intimacy, this caricature of love. I don't want him to take his enjoyment with my body, not while my soul still trapped inside it.
"Do you mean that, Theta?" He grips my throat, slams my skull off the headboard. My eyes cross from the impact, my ears ring. He does it again, and again. I find my free hand clawing at his wrist, I don't have any conscious part in my lips forming the word 'no'.
He releases me, backing up to watch my sobbing bruising body tremble as I cough and try to set my bearings, everything spinning, a blur. I can distantly hear my whimpering voice, pathetic and weak, begging and promising.
"I'll be good, I'll do it, I swear, I swear that I'll be good please don't kill me, please don't kill me, I love you, you want me to love you, I'll do whatever you want just please don't hurt me anymore, don't kill me, please don't kill me, I don't want to die, I don't want anymore pain, I don't want to be alone..." All drivel, spewing past my lips. I'm not really here. I'm in the light fixture above the bed. He doesn't care or notice, I'm safe here, just staring at it and letting my mind shrink away from my body. It looks like a painting, the way the shadows and brightness play on it. It can't be real, nothing that's real can look like that, can be that impartial and safe and serene.
He guides my fingers to my soaked cheeks, then pulls my wrist down. I touch without feeling, prepare myself without thought or effort. I'm numb, I'm accepting, this is simply being done, it's going to be okay because I'm not -really- here. He leans over me, kissing away spare tears before hitting me across the face hard, telling me that I'm not allowed to cry anymore, that it's not proper to be bawling while having someone make love to you.
I obey, I blink away tears before they fall even as I hear and feel him enter me, as I feel myself being torn, broken. He plays with me, going slow enough, demanding that I enjoy myself. I force enthusiasm, surprise myself at the softness in my voice as I stutter out his name. I don't know what I am anymore, a time lord, a whore, an empty space up on these sheets, I just know that I don't want to be afraid anymore, I don't want to be in pain.
"Cum for me, Theta... God, you're so fucking tight...Cum on, I want you to. I order you...ah...yes, your hips, just like that..."
"I c-can't...M-Master, I j-just c-can't..." I reach up to stroke his face, but his iron grip closes around my wrist, guiding my hand to my member.
"Just -do- it."
So I do. I writhe under him, hot and panting, touching myself in new, strange ways, making my breath hitch. But I cannot take myself to that peak of pleasure, not like this. Not with this kind of pain all over, with snapped ribs and blackening eyes. It is enough though, enough that he fills me with liquid and pulls away, panting. I stop touching, assuming that I get a reprise with his orgasm. I think wrong. He glances at me and I see the anger in his eyes.
"I...I'm sorry. I'm s-so sorry." I'm cowering, I don't even know what I've done. "Please don't hurt me."
He grasps my chin, forcing my eyes to his. The anger is replaced with a parental tenderness, a 'tough love' face. He's holding the gun again. Tears stream from my wide eyes."Theta. Theta Theta Theta... what -will- I do with you?" He sounds so exasperated, so disappointed. I feel so shamed, so scared.
"Please don't... don't hurt me... Please, M'sorry..."
"Relax...you're always so -Tense-, Theta..." He runs the gun along my thigh, leaving a line of filth and dried blood over the hand shaped bruises. I may be sick.
"M'trying, Master, I really am, I just -can't-."
"Relax...there are ways to make you, Theta. Ways to make you better, ways to make you perfect. You're mine, aren't you? My little toy to play with as I please?"
"Of c-course, Master."
"Then I can fix you as I see fit..." He presses the gun against my stomach, poking at my navel. The fear of it going off is an amazing distraction, Master is already uo to the second knuckle before I notice his intrusion, his seed and my blood a morbid and disgusting lubrication that works well, considering. He's reaching for something, past that small button of pleasure, ignoring it. His nails are long, painful, scratching my inner walls. HE finds what he wants, and starts taping out his rhythm, making me squirm in discomfort, pressing up against the gun. The weapon stops me from being able to move too far away from his strumming fingers. "Amazing the way the body works, isn't it Theta. Seminal vesicles can be milked, sperm harvested, there's no real need for pleasure and intimacy to have anything to do with it."
I whimper out what could be taken as an agreement if that is what he's looking for, staring down in morbid fascination as I leak out whiteness, not spurting like the pleasurable and hazy experience of last time, just painful and ... bad feeling. Just bad. But it satisfies Master. That's what matters.
He removes his fingers and wipes the semen on the gun, admiring the drying globs of white with a twisted look. He opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted. Three Toclofane burst into the room. Funny, the Toclofane are supposed to be the boogie men of Gallifrey. These orbs aren't as scary as they should be, they aren't nearly as scary as the Master is. He's the real Toclofane, not these metal creatures.
"Master, Master!" The childish sounding one is their current spokesperson. I almost find it within myself to smile. They fly in a chipper formation, jumpy as they hover. The Master is annoyed, he throws a sheet over my form and pulls on a robe, pocketing the gun.
"Yes? What the bloody hell is it?"
"We have the Doctor!"
They what? Those words ring in my head as I'm taken to go by chained to a wall, near Jack, my playtime with the Master suddenly finished. It must be early morning, now, the day after Otherstide... I shake my head, ignoring Jack's questions and concern. They have the Doctor...what do they mean?I'm a discarded doll now, with so many questions that I know won't be answered... I curl up as best I can, back against the wall, arms above my head, and try to sleep.