WARNING: Sexual abuse, hinted domestic violence, sexual circumstances and events, rape(depending on your definition)
Also, I forgot to mention last chapter that I will be naming each update after a Florence and the Machine song, since the fic itself was inspired by the song Strangeness and Charm. I suggest looking up the songs because 1. They're amazing and 2. They probably have some symbolism to do with their respective chapter! Thanks for reading, guys :3
"It's reported that they're starting to take refuge in their flats. Six, maybe seven families per household, and that's just in Britain. They're practically sleeping atop one anoth-"
The Doctor wheeled in seemingly inconspicuously, but the moment his wheelchair breached the threshold The Master had silenced his crony with a flick of the wrist. "Leave me," the Time Lord demanded, hard eyes adding substance to his words. The well-dressed concomitant nodded in reply and turned on his heel to leave, reducing the room's population to three. The Master stood, his shined shoes tapping against the smooth floor as he approached Lucy, who delicately sported a wine glass and a black eye. "Why don't you head off to bed, Mrs. Saxon? I've got some business to attend to with my old pal here, and it could run a little late."
Lucy, blissfully ignorant in her state of near hypnosis, quirked her red lips into a smile and agreed silently. Her heels clicked with each flighty step, growing louder as the approached The Doctor, who sat patiently awaiting his fate. Her nose upturned at the dreary sight of him, and she passed through his vapid aura unphased by its oppressiveness. He watched her with concern, his eyes fixed upon the purplish bruise staining her lids. With little energy he hardly had the physical capability to help her, but his pity radiated like blistering fire.
"Doctor."
The tyrannical Time Lord was not awarded the glory of a verbal response. He got a striking look, intended to wound, and though he wouldn't admit it aloud, the crackling hate in those brown hues had cut him.
"Oh, don't be such a prat. Come, I have something to show you," The Master quirked two svelte digits in beckoning, to which The Doctor responded by wheeling toward the other, who was now making his way casually into the hallway.
It was evening, as was obvious by the dim light outside each small window. The moon was high and full, but skiddish and hidden by the blanket of slow-travelling clouds. Besides the whir of the engine, the muffled tap of dress shoes and the noise of wheels gliding over tile, the ship was pin-drop silent. At the end of the corridor stood a door, the polished metal of its knob seemingly untouched. Though the ship itself was fresh, almost brand-new, this particular area seemed specifically neglected by activity. Everything else appeared to have been used, or visited at very least. But, just like stale contradiction, there laid the most ineffably abandoned, far-off place on the entire vessel right in front of them. There was a surreal presence about it, and although exhaustion weighed on The Doctor in a physical sense, he felt impatient and anxious to see what was behind that door.
Alas, he had not to wait much longer, for The Master withdrew a set of keys to jumble the silence and unlocked the mysterious barrier to what lay beyond.
Unfortunately, what lay beyond was not as blissfully surreal as The Doctor had initially expected. The overhead light cast a minimal glow on the space inside, and whatever remaining light poured in from the window to the left, which splayed a bluish and iridescent blanket over the small amount of furniture inside. A table was pushed against the farthest wall, and upon rest a series of what appeared to be torture devices, though by the looks of the bed nearby and shackles chained to the right wall, something suggested an intended eroticism of it all. The Doctor tried to roll himself backward and out of the doorway, but a quick hand was soon to catch and stop him.
"What do you think, hm? I haven't been awarded the pleasure of using any of this quite yet. I was hoping you would change that," suggested a coquettish voice, the sticky sweet weight to the words sending a paranoid chill down The Doctor's spine. He heard a rustling, and craned his neck to discover that The Master was pointing his lazer screwdriver directly at him, a nimble digit poised over the button and a look of malice in his hazel eye. "So, what do you say? Will you help me?"
The Doctor hadn't a chance to respond before his body was thrown into convulsive, sporadic episodes. He could physically detect the returning of his youth with each passing moment, just as he could feel it being drained from him only a day before, but the rapid movement of his thrashing limbs seemed to thieve the joy of mobility straight out of his muscles. It was only seconds before his body lay still once more, but it felt like 100 years all over again. Shakily, with nearly tangible hesitation, he lifted a few outstretched fingers to graze his cheek. The wrinkles were gone, and his skin felt as taut over his cheekbones as it had before. Looking at his hands, young and capable once more, he felt a rush of ecstasy, like the liberation of long-awaited freedom. Without a second thought as to the consequences, The Doctor moved to stand as casually as if he were alone in the room, making his desire to depart frankly evident.
Controlling hands pushed him down in to his seat quicker than he could comprehend. In a matter of milliseconds he was cuffed by the wrists and roped by the ankles to his wheelchair prison cell. Flaming hazel eyes met curious and shocked brown ones, igniting the sting of ice. "Ah ah ah," The Master taunted, a finger wagging in bemused disapproval, "Haven't you learned not to defy your master?"
"You don't have to do this."
"So now he speaks! What a relief, I was afraid you'd gone mute. How dull is that?"
The Doctor struggled, trying to lift his arms despite their obvious metal restraint. He knew it to be of no use, but he jangled the clanging silver cuffs regardless, his distress growing visibly with each passing moment. "Let me go," he pleaded, his voice calm and persuasive despite the circumstances, "You don't need to do this."
"Ah, but that's where you falter, dearest Doctor. You see, I want to do this," a slithering finger, which had once been cradling and angled chin in means of observation, now toggled with the zipper at the crotch of The Doctor's dress pants, "And I'm quite content with getting what I want."
Despite his obvious objection to the advance, The Doctor could detect a telltale stirring in his loins. He directed an animal-like growl at the nimble digit snaking its way into his trousers, hoping despite the preposterous thought of it all that the guttural sound would ward off his assailant. Of course, to his expectations, it had not, and the button holding the last fragile string of his privacy was pulled out of its respective socket. "Master," The Doctor hissed, his body in turmoil and tangling with his mind, "Stop," a throat of sandpaper didn't prove to be as convincing as he intended. He swallowed dryly, wincing, and tried again, "just let me be. We can forget this. I won't tell Lucy, okay? It's our secret."
Out of all the reactions The Doctor was expecting, thunderous laughter was the lowest on the list, and yet within moments the air filled with whimsical cackles. "You think I care what Lucy thinks? Oh Doctor, you're a clever one, but sometimes you can be so utterly daft. I've got her wrapped around my finger tighter than a boa. She's practically a puppet. I'm not worried about her at all," The Master crooned, his nefarious eyes devouring the petrified expression on his fellow Time Lord's face. A mock smile pulled onto his lips, creating a look of pseudo-sympathy to which he directed at the cuffed Doctor beneath him. His hands, now momentarily free, moved to undo his own pants, which he did with agonizing lag. Reveling in the visual response he had influenced, he pulled off his trousers rather absent-mindedly, tossing them aside with haste. "Oh, but I do apologize. It's quite compromising to be in a situation like this, isn't it? Here, allow me to assist," he purred, the corners of his lips curling into malicious coils. The Doctor twisted at the waist, trying with all his confined might to tear his body away from inevitability. The Master had crawled unto his lap regardless of his protests and straddled his hips with relative ease. The suffocating lack of room on the chair had made The Doctor claustrophobic, and although there was the weight of another body now pressed unto his thighs, he struggled on. Ignoring the incessant thrashing, The Master had reached inside his victim's pants and withdrew a relatively flaccid organ.
A gasp escaped The Doctor's throat when delicate fingers traced the underside of his exposed penis. He opened his mouth in yet another verbal protest, but before a single syllable exited his lips he was choking on the silky fabric of his tie. The gag caught him off guard, and he coughed in surprise while the ends were being tied behind his head. Inhaling sharply through his nose, he tried to maneuver the ribbon to a position where he could speak, but it was no use. The material dug in to the corners of his mouth, and his tongue went dry as he tried to swallow. Yet again a hand grasped him, but due to being smothered by his own necktie, the only response he could use was of a physical one: his head jerked to the side, a muffled "stop" coming from behind the barrier of cloth. Disregarding the complaint, The Master began to, albeit gently despite his former roughness, tend to the protrusion in his palm. Vengeful eyes met misted hues in a deafeningly silent battle.
Perhaps it was in that moment, upon gazing at the determination and- though it was almost unbelievable- admiration in those hazel orbs, that The Doctor had more or less accepted his fate. Perhaps, he thought, it was time to stop fighting. Perhaps this was one of those rare times where he could pull through simply by sitting aside and letting what was to happen just... happen. Regardless of his initial reluctance, the idea of simply allowing events to take place was next to relieving for him. He still felt a twinge of unwillingness, but with little to no options left on how to get out, for the first time in a long time he simply settled with his lack of control.
That, of course, was when he started enjoying it. Little by little his resolve melted away until all that remained was a raw sense of bliss. The terror in his eyes had faded until it was left as only a sliver; one could never be too careful around such an unpredictable character after all, and his old habit of being precise and diligent was obviously one to die hard.
The Master had obviously caught on to the other Time Lord's submission and disapproved, because he was quick to pinch the very tip of the now half-erect protuberance. The Doctor squirmed, a stifled yelp sinking through the saliva-coated tie in his mouth. He was awarded a sly smirk in return, to which he winced at the dagger behind it appropriately. The Master, clearly aroused as was obvious by the shape outlined in his boxers, tore at his bottom lip with ravenous teeth and pulled out his own pulsating organ. With a look of unadulterated hunger in his eye, he pressed their throbbing and moistened shafts together, wrapped a hand around their conjoined lengths, and began a slow rocking of his hips.
The friction dug a fussed exclamation out of The Doctor's quivering diaphragm. The vibration of his throat against the gag cased the material to ravish the corners of his mouth even further, turning the skin raw and irritated in a matter of seconds. In discordance with his opposition, the head of his currently fully-erect protrusion swelled, emitting a thick line of pre-cum. This brought out a muted whimper, to which The Master licked his dried lips and squeezed their twitching erections generously.
"It's such a shame," he hummed, his voice hot with desire, "I was hoping to use some of this equipment. You shouldn't have tried to run," a breathy tone seemed to purr more than it did speak, and the warm air of it touching The Doctor's ear in a delicate fashion made him twitch involuntarily. He stifled a moan, allowing for a sharp exhale through his nose. "Mm. What should I do with you?" The Master crooned, his hips now crashing violently against the other's, the threat of tipping over becoming more and more prominent with each thrust, "Ah! I've got it!" with relative quickness he stood, vacating The Doctor's lap, "you look so ravishing in a suit, let's see if you can spoil it without any help~"
Panic struck The Doctor like a poison arrow. Belittling eyes condescended him with nothing but a glare, and that paired with the uncomfortable sensation of being completely aroused and entirely helpless as to how to treat it made him squirm. His brows pulled together in disbelief and frustration, and his hips, desperate for some sort of relief, thrashed mindlessly. Muted words poured through his silk gag regardless of the physical consequences, but The Master chose to ignore them and simply tended to his own arousal, treating it with insistent gentleness.
The Doctor thrust his hips in thoughtless hope to derive some sort of pleasure from the air around him. The lack of the friction which he desired infuriated him, and his toes curled with disgruntlement. Lean fingers coiled and spread outward in a helpless attempt to break free and nurse his own throbbing erection, but his efforts proved to no avail. In his distraction he had hardly noticed that The Master had approached his side and was now pumping his own length dangerously close to The Doctor's chest. Within moments a sticky white essence soiled the blazer which clung to his body with cold sweat. Even in the heat of his orgasm The Master had remained mysteriously quiet, the only affect seeming to be his shortened breath and glazed eyes. Milking himself over his fellow Time Lord's heaving chest seemed effortless in retrospect, and he seemed to recover surprisingly quickly, a trait that was relatively new even to himself. This regeneration seemed to retain a large amount of stamina.
He tucked himself back into his undergarment and pulled on his dress pants. The Doctor's eyes shot daggers at him in a panic. The terror in his eyes was almost tangible, and to that The Master merely smirked. "Well, I suppose I'll check back up on you later then. I'll see you soon, I trust."
An indistinct scream ripped through the air. He nodded, as if in knowing and empathy, and approached the door. One hand went up in a goodbye salute, the other twisting the metal knob to freedom.
"Until then, Doctor."