Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Day 1 - Masturbation / Orgasm Control - Doctor/Master

Day 2 - Kidnapping - Clara/Missy

Day 3 - Threesome - Doctor/Master/Jack Harkness

Day 4 - Voyeurism / Hypnosis - Doctor/Master/Jack Harkness

Day 5 - Finger Sucking / Dacryphilia - Eighth Doctor/Roberts!Master

Day 6 - Outdoor Sex / Intoxication - Tenth Doctor/Martha Jones

Day 7 - Blindfolds / Bloodplay - Eighth Doctor/Roberts!Master

Day 8 - Cages - John Smith/Professor Yana

Day 9 - Exhibitionism / Shibari - Jack Harkness/The Master

Day 10 - Oral Sex / Punishment / CNC - Doctor/Master

Day 11 - "Come Licking" / Handcuffs - Doctor/Jack Harkness

Day 12 - Kneeling - Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler ("Bad Wolf")

Day 13 - Dildos / Dom Bottom/Sub Top - Doctor/Master

Day 14 - Omegaverse / Possessive Sex - Academy Era Doctor/Master ("Theta" and "Koschei")

Day 15 - Sex Pollen - Tenth Doctor/Martha Jones

Day 16 - High Protocol - Twelfth Doctor/Simm!Master ("Silver" version)

Day 17 - Messy Sex / Service Kink - Simm!Master (Saxon) x Reader

Following table of contents and days will be available in part 2!

Chapter Text

“Well, I won’t stop you.”

The Doctor made a sound in the back of their throat, as their hand moved, back and forth, consistent as the ocean waves. They didn’t do much to muffle it; they stayed closed off when having time like this, as well as they could, anyway, and they were only imagining the other figure behind them. A husky, familiar old voice in their ear, maybe his hand on their thigh, that glimmer in his eye as his gaze darted between their working hand and the expression on their face.

“But you want me to stop you, don’t you?” The husky voice chuckled, and they let out a soft groan as they imagined a gentle squeeze of his hand over their skin. “Ohh, you love it when I make you wait. When I tell you no, not yet, because it can be even better. And you know I’m right, don’t you, Doctor?” Maybe the other hand in their hair, or on their throat, now. “So don’t stop touching. Come on, more, I know you can wait.”

They tilted back their head slightly, into the hypothetical hold, groaning low and loud as they thrust into their own hand. They could see his sly, smug grin, the lavishing of the power that was always so him. “Master,” they said.

“Oh, I love it when you say that.” His hands would tighten if they did, and so they thrust faster, squeezing, tense. “Say it again.”

“Master!”

“Good. Good, Doctor, you’re so good. Keep going, maybe I’ll let you come if you keep being so good.”

“Master, yes, please!”

Squeezing hands, breaths against their neck, sinister chuckles in their ear, maybe little nips, brushes over their nipples and ghosting along their own moving hands, everything, more, more, closer, the tension mounting, the need doubling and tripling and–!

“Not yet, Doctor, not until I say so. Be good for me.” As if it was the easiest thing in the world. Smug bastard. Smug, sly, minxy, handsome, gorgeous–!

“Master!”

“Yes…”

“Masterrrr… stars, please…!”

“So close, just one more time for me–!”

“Doctor?”

Feeling a cold shock through their body, the Doctor came starkly back to reality, blinking and pausing with their hand still between their legs. Shyly, they looked over at the door–it had been closed before, but had now swung open–to see the Master standing there in his usual dark colors, staring in at them. It only took a few seconds for the realization to dawn on his face, a smile spreading across his face like melting butter. “Having some fun, are you?” He chuckled, meeting their eyes with a gleeful coyness. “Well, I won’t stop you.”

Chapter Text

“Well, you can’t really blame me, dear, can you?”

Based on the scowl on Clara’s face, it was quite clear that she could, and did, blame Missy for the current predicament.

“Listen, you can’t blame me for wondering,” the Time Lady justified, circling Clara where she still sat on the bed (where she’d woken up, so confused and rattled, poor dear, although at least every material was nice). “I’m ever so curious what the Doctor sees in you little things, and you’re the most available one that I’ve been able to tolerate.”

“So you snatch me!?”

“Yes, of course! Last I checked he didn’t nail you down, he practically handed you to me.” Missy was quite satisfied with her own humor, although the human, of course, still had that grumpy look on her face. “Oh, don’t be like that. Think of it as another change in scenery. Just another wondrous adventure blooming from being a companion of the great and incredible Doctor!”

“Yeah, and I’d much rather be back with him, thanks.”

The Time Lady paused for a moment, resting her hands on her hips as she thought. Then, slowly, she approached the bed. Even when Clara skittered away from her uncertainly (hm, Missy hadn’t taken her for a nervous creature), she stayed calm and smooth, sitting on the very edge of it.

With the utmost care, she removed her brooch from her collar, placing it very delicately on the floor beside her feet. This was her TARDIS; it would take good care. “It would be kind if you could give me a chance, you know. The Doctor did.”

Clara scoffed, staying turned away. “Well, I doubt you ever kidnapped him.”

“Oh, plenty of times! And I was much harsher than this, you know, full tables and leather restraints…”

“Sounds a bit James Bond.”

“Darling, who do you think inspired such homoeroticism? Why do you think the villain in the first movie is a Doctor?”

Clara laughed, but then cut off, as if the consideration really set in. Missy had to suppress a snort. There was a long quiet moment, wherein there was only the sound of shifting fabric.

Clara turned to look over her shoulder. “Well, too bad for you, I’m not as into– ah!”

Missy’s jacket had been discarded, leaving her sitting calmly on the bed in a smart, shaped white blouse. “What,” she nudged with a smile and a shrug. “Can’t a lady get comfortable in her own TARDIS?”

Clara, silly and stubborn little Clara who was never content to be quiet, scrunched her face immediately. “Do you think you can just get away with this?! Just bringing me along like some kind of luggage for a holiday?”

As she made her demands, Missy calmly pulled a few tight bobby pins and dark ribbons, shaking her hair out of its tamed, prim and proper style. Meeting those big, dark, youthful eyes, without blinking, Missy shrugged a shoulder, foxy smile still snug on her face. “I think I can, yeah,” she answered in a low voice, and saw a twitch of interest on the human’s face. “You’ll grow used to me, dear. Trust me. I’m a bit more…” She winked and clicked her teeth, resisting a giggle at Clara’s surprised blink. “Adventerous, I suppose, than the Doctor would let you be.” Raising her hand and seeing the human tense, she hovered it a few centimeters from her cheek (warm, but not warm enough. Always cold in comparison, always). “I think that would suit us both better… don’t you?”

Despite herself, there was a spark of intrigue in Clara’s eyes, a touch of rebellion just past what the Doctor would allow. She loved humans that had that, far and few as they were. It was something she could grab onto with both hands, yank them along by, tie them up in until she could press the right buttons with just a few words. Oh, she could almost imagine it now, her Clara, calling after her, screaming, begging, moaning, crying, clinging to her dress, glaring at her in pure rage and cursing her name. It would never be as thrilling as the original, of course, but it would be enough. Just enough.

Clara finally scoffed. “I’m not interested in suiting you."

Sweet lies. Missy smiled, staring her right in the eyes, watching her struggle not to look away, to hide the fear. If only she knew. Fear was the biggest turn-on since leather. “We’ll see, dear,” she said, and just ghosted her hand along the human’s cheek as she stood. She pretended not to see the shudder out of the corner of her eye.

She’d grow used to it, the darling.

Chapter Text

“You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about it, Doctor.”

The Doctor laughed breathlessly. The Master wasn’t wrong, but still, it wasn’t the kind of thing they actually thought would happen. Not soon, anyway.

“Probably not this soon,” Jack guessed with a smile and a laugh. Unsurprising; Jack often knew the Doctor better than both of them thought. Always so casually, too; he said this with a grin while running his hands over their stomach, waist snug between their legs. “I mean, just yesterday we were ready to kill each other.”

“And we’ll be ready again tomorrow,” the Master added, caressing the Doctor’s neck with one hand, laying more at their side. “But today… well, maybe we wanted to do something special for you.”

As if they’d rehearsed it, on the word ‘special’, Jack softly prodded at the Doctor’s underwear, making them gasp in surprise. The Master, ever the opportunist, tugged their lip down further with his thumb. He watched their expression eagerly, hand firm on their neck to keep them facing him as Jack’s lips pressed in the middle of their chest, below their ribline, above their belly button, pushing down, down…

“Just for you,” the Master went on in that smooth, honeylike voice of his. Creeping closer, until his smirking mouth almost touched the Doctor’s lips, open in gasps as Jack eagerly mouthed at them through the underwear. “For being so kind to us both. So helpful. So– a-AH! Ahhh…”

The Doctor smirked, feeling the Master’s words melt, as they’d managed to slip their hand between his legs as well. They rubbed, slowly but firmly, without mercy; just as the pair had descended upon him.

Jack’s mouth lifted as he laughed. “Hah! Wow, I wish I could shut him up that eas–”

His smile fell and eyes widened when the Doctor’s other hand darted down to tangle in his hair. When their eyes met, both of their pupils were dilated, and Jack felt his breath shorten. “Don’t you dare stop,” the Doctor breathed in a husky voice, sending a shiver down Jack’s spine. With a renewed appetite, the human dove back down, hands eagerly sliding up the Doctor’s sides.

Breathlessly, the Doctor laughed. Their favorite Time Lord and oldest friend whorishly grinded against his hand, as their favorite human eagerly worshipped between their legs. What more could they ever want?

Chapter Text

“John?”

Of all the reasons Jack thought Harry might’ve called him over so quickly, and been so grumpy when he arrived, John’s presence was not on his list.

There was a moment of silence between the trio, with Jack staring at John, Harry off to the side (funny, considering they were in his bedroom), and John looking… sad. Oddly sad, with those big eyes and constant dearness.

Every other time they’d seen each other, it’d been a happy occasion, even if John did get that far-off melancholy look sometimes. This, combined with Harry’s insistence over the phone, and a general gut feeling, had Jack shifting his weight back towards the door. “What is this,” he asked cautiously.

“I told him,” Harry said coldly, and the words sucked every bit of air out of the room. “Everything. Who you are, who you work for, why you’re here.”

“Stop scaring him,” John whispered harshly, but it was too late for that. Jack had felt his heart drop, and it sat like a cold stone in his stomach as he took a physical step back.

“John, I can explain,” he insisted.

“Jack–” John turned with the same sharpness he addressed Harry with, but softened as soon as their eyes met. “Jack, you don’t have to explain anything, I promise.”

Jack’s doubt must have shown clear in his eyes; the other two could see it, at least, the fight or flight instinct debating in his head, the wolf about to dark into the trees or run back to the pack for help, howling all the way.

John crossed the space between them, took Jack’s head in his hands, and kissed him.

It was intense, at first, overwhelming in the contrast of uncertainty or fear. It only took a moment, though, to lessen into softness, and then a type of warmth. Jack wasn’t sure how, but it felt reassuring. Slow. Gentle. It wasn’t angry or disappointed or betrayed, nothing; it was calm, content assurance, like the grace of an angel. It almost made him want to laugh.

And it was such a relief. God, he’d been so scared. So terrified of another secret getting out, another comfort being destroyed. It had happened so many times now, the fear felt normal, a part of it, a part of life. How soothing it was to realize he didn’t have to worry, that it was okay, that he still wanted him, that he was safe now.

He could relax.

It felt good to relax.

“I hate how good you are at that.”

The Doctor’s brow furrowed as they exhaled, glancing at the Master for just a moment. “Perhaps it’s because I don’t go the brute force route like you do.”

The other creature scoffed, half-smirking. “My route works fine. Here, give him to me, I’ll show you he thinks it’s fine–”

The Doctor wrapped their arms around the human’s figure, softened like an overripening fruit. Half-caught in trance, Jack’s eyes fluttered shut, and he leaned quietly into the touch. “No,” the Doctor said.

The Master scowled. “What do you mean, ‘no’.”

“No! You had your chance, and you were cruel to him. You scared him. Now you don’t get him. You get to stand there and watch.”

“Oh, don’t be like that! I was only having some fun.”

“And now, I get to have some. If you don’t like it, you shouldn’t have done that. Go on, find a chair.”

The Master groaned, but did so, glancing around until he found something close enough, a velvet stool that sat by the vanity. He dragged it over as the Doctor situated Jack on the bed, murmuring sweet nothings all the way.

“This’ll feel good, I promise,” they were saying, holding Jack’s sweet face with one hand, unbuttoning his shirt with the other. “I’ll make you feel so good.”

“Is this really necessary?” The Master complained, putting his head in his hand. “Just erase his memory, or turn him into a blank slate, or whatever boring other thing you want to do.”

The Doctor gave a withering glance over their shoulder, but then, something sparked in their eye, and they turned back. “Seems someone isn’t having a good time,” they sighed, almost mocking; the Master could imagine the pouty lip. “And feels the need to whine about it. Come here, Jack, turn this way– that’s it, perfect, following my hands. Good boy. Feels good to follow along, and get your praise.”

The Master rolled his eyes, keeping his gaze starkly away.

“Why don’t you and I give him something to look at, if he wants to be like that about it?”

“I’m not being like that, I just don’t understand why we’re wasting time–!”

As he turned back to look, the Master’s words died as if they’d hit a brick wall.

Jack sat on his knees, shirt unbuttoned and nearly, but not quite, falling off his arms. His chest and scars on full display, his jeans unbuttoned and pushed down enough to expose the waistline of his boxers. Most scandalous of all, that expression on his face; the glazed-over eyes of one beneath a powerful being’s influence, but the body language and smile of one who couldn’t help but be enjoying it. Filthy, lustful humans. So easy to touch things in their brains and make them malleable. Still, were they any better, putting him on display like this? Could they blame a doll for the way it was posed?

Jack’s smile twitched into a smirk, and as he breathed, his arms shifted, the shirt sleeves falling down to expose his strong forearms.

“Veeeerrrry good, Jack,” the Doctor drawled, emerging from the shadows behind him to hang on his shoulder and whisper in his ear. The human visibly shivered, his breath trembling as it left. “Very pretty.”

It was the helplessness, that was it, the whorish submission that the fool had to give in to. That was what the Master hated, that was what he couldn’t understand, what he glared at with fascinated eyes as sweat gathered on his neck. A toy that the Doctor refused to play with. Oh, how he wanted to grab it with both hands, squeeze it around the neck, be rid of all that softness! Bend him, break him, then watch him whimper when the burning touch pulled away. Make him yearn, beg, and if he ever resisted, feed him little touches of that softness until he was lured back in. Push, pull, grab, dig the fingernails in, be cruel, be kind, be cruel again, again, again.

He needed it.

The Master stared at the human’s eyes. It wasn’t hard; they were so wonderfully blank, after all. Why don’t you look at me, now, he hissed into the human’s head. That’s it, stare just like that into the pretty colors…

“Stop it,” the Doctor hissed, covering the human’s eyes (he made a soft sound of confusion, poor thing). “Don’t yank him back and forth, it’ll confuse him.”

“Not if we agree, my dear,” the Master retorted, standing up and reaching to touch his fingertips to the soft underside of the human’s chin. “Not if we’re both telling him he feels so good, so soft and sweet for us, doesn’t he? Good boy, precious thing, weak little human…”

The whore, of course, made a pathetic sound in the back of his throat, the covers of the bed tightening as he grasped onto them.

“Come on,” the Master prodded, gazing at his paramour with his signature grin and tilt of his head. “We can both share some fun, can’t we?”

The Doctor hesitated, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “You’d have to be nice to him.”

“I can be nice.” As if to prove it, the Master turned back, pulling Jack closer with a light flex of his hand. “I can be very nice. Soak into the cracks of your head, sweetheart, push on all the parts that make you feel so good. Feeling such pleasure, pleasure as sweet as you are, honey, flooding over your skin, over your brain, until it’s all you can think about—“

“Master,” the Doctor warned.

But the blank startled weakness in the human’s eyes was addicting, that trembling, needy lip, the soft sounds getting caught in that throat. Giddiness only sweetened the Master’s tone. “That’s right, Jack, human, darling, no more thoughts in that silly little head, you don’t need them! You just let us do everything for you, tell you everything you need to know. No more thoughts.”

“Master!”

“No more willpower.”

“Stop—!”

“Just obedience.” He was holding Jack’s head in his hands now, forcing the human to look at him, when had that happened? Not that the pretty thing looked upset in the slightest, no, he was breathing heavy, staring with a gorgeous half-lidded gaze, flushed, relaxed but needing. “Surrender yourself, it would feel so good to give in to me completely. My sweet, obedient pet. It’s all you can think about. It’s all you need. Giving in, human, giving in to me, yes, say it, say my name, say who’s making you feel so good, so deep in your head.”

“Master.”

“Yes.”

It didn’t matter if the Doctor shoved them apart. The Master cackled, giggled, really, at the feeling of a human’s small head in his hand, able to be stroked and punished and changed at will. Such a threat before, made into a precious, darling pet. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Doctor. Isn’t this what you wanted? To find a humane solution?”

The Doctor huffed, resting a gentle hand on Jack’s side. The human leaned back against the Doctor, but his loyal gaze was still fixed on the Master, waiting to be told what to think, how to feel. Such handsome obedience, it always looked the best on the fiery ones. “This isn’t humane, Master. You’re erasing them.”

“And they love it when I do.” He smiled at Jack as he said it, and the helpless human whimpered at the tug on the invisible string.

“That’s enough. Let go of him, now.”

The two stared intensely at each other for a long moment, a quiet battle of wills. Then the Master chuckled, opened his arms, and watched in delight as the Doctor physically pulled Jack back from falling into them.

“Looks like you’ll have to make me, Doctor.”

Chapter Text

“I already agreed you were right, Master, please!”

The figure standing there considered, his sunglasses making his expression painfully hard to read. The Doctor was grasping onto his jacket, almost white-knuckling the leather between their fingers, red eyes darting frantically between the other man’s face and neck. The Master was thinking, and taking his time doing it. He knew the Doctor’s ‘agreement’ was only out of desperation, a condition they’d inflicted upon themselves quite foolishly. If they were in their right mind–if they’d eaten, the fool–they’d still be pouting at him, insisting on rejecting anything he offered. It felt cruel, but… perhaps this was a chance to teach them, to finally get them to take care of themself, properly. If it was going to be a lesson, though, he’d have to have no inhibitions about making sure they remembered it.

Well, he thought as a wicked smile bloomed over his face. The Doctor could do with a firmer hand every now and then. Especially if it was for their benefit.

“Oh, Doctor,” he crooned, stroking their soft, waving hair. “Of course, of course. I’ve been so mean to you. Of course I’ll help you.”

They laughed, almost fell into him in relief, and he held their weight for a moment before easing them back down into the velvet chair they’d been sitting in. Running his hand over their face one more time to soothe them, he smiled almost like an angel… before bringing his free thumb to his hand, and piercing it with a single fang.

The Doctor’s relieved smile dropped, a look of suspicious confusion crossing their face. “Master, what are you–”

“Shush,” he demanded immediately, pressing the bloody thumb to their lips. He took just a half a second to enjoy the way their pupils dilated. “You need to learn, Doctor.”

Bottom lip trembling, he could see them fighting not to snap, the strain making tears well up in their eyes. “I… I already s-said…”

“I know, I know,” he sang, still nudging teasingly. “And I’m feeding you now, aren’t I? Go on. Go on, open up, come on.”

Still shuddering like a flower in the autumn breeze, the Doctor stared up for a long moment before slowly parting their lips. The moment the sweet blood touched their tongue, their resolve snapped, and they eagerly pressed their tongue against the wound. After a mere few seconds, when that wasn’t enough, when it felt the blood might lessen even a little, they desperately changed tactics, trying to pull as much sweetness from him as they could. The Master smiled in triumph as they grasped at him, pulling his pointer finger into their mouth, suckling the soft flesh. He caressed their hair, encouraging, whispering soft things they could barely register in their desperation. Go on, go on, go on.

And finally, the masterpiece bursting into beauty. Their adorable teeth pierced the soft pads of his fingers, just a nip, just enough to get it flowing. Humming like a cat, a kitten who had never fed before, they drank the saltiness from his skin.

The Master all but beamed, a smile cracking his face in two. Happy tears dripped down the Doctor’s face, filling the other’s chest with warmth. Yes. Tear and cry, relish in the pleasure that I can give you, that I will lead you to conquer on this cold, dark planet.

He nudged his fingers down their throat, and basked in the sobbed needing sound.

Chapter Text

It was a beautiful night, the kind where it seemed as if the stars had banished every cloud only to flaunt their own beauty, where the moon lit up the sky almost as clear as if it was day, casting everything caught by its light in a silvery glow. Down in the city, the lights glimmered, especially in the highest tower, where a dinner party had just been hosted. Even on the highest balconies, in a place like that, the stars couldn’t be seen. However, a very long walk away, where the city became miniature and rolling hills were given back to soft grass and wildflowers, two figures laughed, slightly loosened by the drinks from the party far below.

They had spent a short while making fun of pretentiousness and glamor, but had dimmed into memory, conversation of favorite times and remember whens. She was laying atop him with her head on his chest, the Doctor’s pants unbuttoned, his shirt long since parted and slipped down his shoulders to enjoy the cool moonbeams. He stared at Martha’s body on his for a long time, the sequins of her maroon dress glimmering in the silver light.

“My favorite memory with us is when you decided to come with me.”

She laughed, the sound ringing just as divinely as the sight of the perfect moon above them.

“What? I’m being serious!”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am!”

“You’re just trying to flatter me.” Her smile was so beautiful, he thought, as entertained as it was. Eyes gleaming, dark and alluring. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get in my pants.”

She laughed at her own dramatization, and he giggled along with her, throwing his head back to release the sound to the sky. “Hahaha, I’m not, Martha, I’m really not. I mean, if anything, I’d be–haha–happy to get you in my pants, y’know?”

It was a dumb joke, but he wasn’t expecting her to stop laughing. Suddenly worried, the Doctor nearly felt one of his hearts stop as he turned his head to see her face. She was looking at him, not insult on her face, but something wide-eyed like a curious kitten. They stared at each other for a long moment.

Slowly, experimentally, Martha sat up. Her knees pressed into the dirt on either side of his hips, and she sat there, heels long discarded somewhere at the bottom of the hill. When the Doctor gave no protest, she ran her hands softly over his chest, short red nails faintly brushing his nipples and making him gasp sharply. The flush in their cheeks shifted, subtly, to something more strange and new. Just like that, as if the Time Lord’s psychic power had clicked into place, they were both on the same page.

Maybe it was the fuzziness of the celebratory drinks dashing their inhibitions away, or maybe it had simply been long enough. They worked together to get his pants off, but Martha only had to shift her dress a certain way, tying it up and back behind her. When he began to sit up, she stopped him with no words, just a hand on his chest to push him back down.

“Martha?”

She smiled, like some unknown goddess, and lifted herself up. Her hand caressed her hip, and hers his face, as she slowly lowered herself onto him.

“Martha.”

“Doctor.”

Chapter Text

“Of course I’m sure, dear. Have I ever led you astray before?”

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know,” the Doctor reminded the stranger leading them along. They were struggling a little to keep up, for he was moving quite fast, and one hand was holding tight to his as the other struggled to keep the sheet around them. “Bad memory, if you’ll remember. Oh, that’s a bit of an ironic comment, isn’t it.”

“Ah, that’s right,” he mused. “Forgive me. But if you had your memory, you’d know I’ve never brought you the wrong way. There’s nothing more certain, dear, you can trust me.”

The Doctor had a strange feeling, but the entire night had been full of those. They were beginning to think the strange was quite normal.

“Where are you taking me, again? Apologies if you told me, I may have forgotten.”

He paused for a beat. “I did tell you,” he said, even though they had been quite sure he hadn’t. “I’m bringing you to one of the more comfortable hospital rooms. To get your bearings. I’ve even gotten you some food, your favorite.”

“I have a favorite?”

“Yes, of course. And I’ve gotten you plenty, just to make sure you recover well from this whole ordeal.”

“Quite the ordeal, yes,” they agreed, eyes still roaming the flickering-lighted hallways. “A brush with death… does it usually leave one a bit thirsty?”

“That’s common, yes,” their strange friend chuckled. “Ah, here we are.” He turned to a door suddenly, making them jolt a little, and opened it for them.

They met his eyes–or tried to, past the sunglasses. “Thank you… I-I’m so sorry, you did tell me your name. Did it start with an N?”

His face twitched. “Close. I’m the Master.”

Their eyes widened, for finally, something sounded familiar. “Master,” they echoed, almost giddily. “We’ve known each other a long time, haven’t we?”

He smiled, almost wickedly. “Why, yes.”

They spent a few seconds staring at him, trying to bring the memory back by mere force of will. Finding only frustration, they turned away with a scoff. “Oh, it’s like it’s just behind the curtain! It’ll come back to me any moment, I’m sure of it.”

“I look forward to it.” He gently ushered them in, a warm hand coaxing along their back.

The room was small and comfortable, but cold, with only a cot, an old storage locker, some unplugged machines, and… something in the corner…

“Don’t look at that,” the Master instructed as he brushed by, gently turning their shoulders towards the bed. “That was a little snack for me. You can have some of the scraps, if you want, but you usually don’t like that sort of thing.”

They let him turn them away, making their way over to the bed. “No, I… I don’t think I do, either.” They noticed that, despite the thinness of the cot itself, there were quite a few warm blankets piled on the edge of it, and they eagerly tucked their freezing-cold feet beneath them. “Where’s the food for me, then?”

“Right here, just a minute.” The Master went to the storage locker, and they didn’t follow his movement, as it would force their eyes over the something again. There was the sound of the metal locker door creaking open, then a deep breath and… a sound. It took them a moment to place it, and by the time they had, he was returning to them. The sound of slicing flesh.

“Master?”

He knelt in front of them, tucking a switch knife into a belt loop. Opening his hand, blood emerged from the slice he’d made on his palm, tracing the lines of his hand like rivers and streams off the ocean.

And for a moment, it felt wrong, but what was worse was they understood. The scent filled the space, and a kind of horror filled them, a realization. Humans didn’t drink blood. They hadn’t thought they were human, had they? Humans didn’t think blood smelled good. Humans didn’t kill things to feed each other. Wait, they did do that, but not like this. The smell was making it hard to think, it was thick, metallic, shoving its way into their nostrils, and something in them was starving.

He cupped his hand to keep the blood in, but it wouldn’t take long to start leaking between his fingers. “It’s alright, Doctor,” he said in a smooth voice, lifting it slightly towards them. “I know it must be strange, if you don’t remember it. It’s alright, just a small taste, it’ll make you feel better.”

He looked… they didn’t know how to feel about it. There was a certain prettiness about it, that a part of them recognized, him in this position, trying to be… kind. Their hands ghosted along his.

“I-I don’t know,” they breathed.

He smiled, a kind of softness in it, and reached up with his other hand to cup the back of their head, the curls. A few rebel droplets stained the sheet they were wrapped in, rushing for escape. He tilted his head down as he stroked their hair, meeting their eyes over the top of his glasses.

“It’s alright, Doctor,” he assured them, voice almost… more melodious now, flowing like an old song. “I promise. You can trust me.” 

Their chest felt strange, heart…hearts thumping a bit more heavily, as if to a certain steady beat. It didn’t hurt, it just felt heavy, resonating. They didn’t know if it was in fear, excitement, or anything in between. He was their… friend, right? 

Their lip still trembled in uncertainty, but they let him coax their head down as he lifted his hand. Using both hands to keep the sheet around them, they lapped the pooling blood from his hand awkwardly, although he didn’t seem to mind.

“Mmmmph-!”

It tasted… strong. Very strong, although a bit silly to expect otherwise, wasn’t it? There was something familiar, they did not doubt they’d eaten it before. But it was different, something had shifted, a new tongue, new teeth.

What had not shifted was the hunger. They realized what he meant, that he’d been right, they were so hungry, parched, as if everything in their stomach had been burned. Tasting his blood was like drinking water after not realizing one hadn’t, and the need came surging over to gulp it down, mouthful by mouthful, until it could soothe their throat and forgetful, troubled mind.

Their hands forgot the sheets, rushing instead to grab his wrist and shoulder, yanking him closer. He lurched forward with a shocked grunt, then a laugh, watching them messily bury their lips and teeth in the pooled blood, scraping the lines of his hand with both, the red liquid staining their chin and the very tip of their nose. When the sheet slipped down, he used his spare hand to pull it back up one shoulder, but could not catch the other; and so it hung over their body like a toga, like a statue from Classical times. Before the idiot doctors and artificial florescents. They’d fit in there, he thought, elegant and gorgeous, divine but flawed. Perhaps, if they stayed in this state for much longer, he’d take them there. Leading them around with a hand over their eyes, his blood still ripe in their mouth.

“Doctor,” he said fondly, just to say it, to see their eyes flick up as his sacrifice dripped off their mouth as if they’d taken it themself. Violently. Righteously. He wished. But they’d get there. When they remembered, when they realized and inevitably, reasonably, lashed out. Oh, he couldn’t wait. The thought made him shiver with excitement.

For now, though, he watched them eat from his palms, looking forward to stroking their hair, telling them they loved him, and receiving a wide, innocent smile in return.

Chapter Text

Professor Yana and Professor Smith worked in close approximation to each other. If you asked either of them, they would eagerly sing the others praises, happy to muse about how pleasant it was to have each other’s company. They would not let slip a word about the late nights, the long glances, or the strange conversations they’d have. Over a glass of brandy, each had once admitted their strange fascination with the other’s heartbeat. With such ease, they existed with each other, despite the circumstances of their lives, so muddied as silt stirred up in a river, making bloom in the clearness an ominous cloud of gray.

There had not been such thing as a professor for a thousand years, but they so enjoyed calling each other such things no one had the heart to correct them. “The last two professors in the universe,” Smith would say, and Yana would softly chuckle and fondly shake his head.

It was a joke only between the two of them, though, and they were very particular. Once, somebody made a comment about the pair as professors being a dying species, and they both silently levelled the person with such a look that the visitor was advised not to come to the labs again any time soon.

Most could not stand working with them for long. Even Chantho, gentle as she was about it, grew tired of their discussions, of which everyone around them always felt a step behind, if they weren’t compliments being thrown back and forth– “You’re brilliant.” “No, you’re brilliant.” Chuckles and bashfulness like they were teenagers, even if they both felt so old.

“I’ve had longer to deteriorate,” the white-haired old man laughed.

“I’m not as young as I look,” the other retorted, and they both had the sense it was true.

Once or twice, when something stumped them, they talked about the strange emotions the end of the universe could invoke in humanity.

“Such strange dreams,” one would say.

“Of other worlds,” the other would agree.

“Do you ever get the sense that we’re meant to be somewhere else?”

“Perhaps… in another life. But these are the cards that’ve been dealt, I’m afraid.”

“It feels… awful. Stuffy and awful.”

“I know.”

“Do you suppose… no, never mind.”

“Tell me.”

“Do you suppose we’ll ever… get out there? Escape the cosmic cage?”

“Haha, you have such ways of saying things. …It’s a nice thought.”

“But you don’t think we will.”

“I never said that.”

“...”

“...”

“Suppose… it just means we should take advantage of what we have here, then. You know, just in case.”

“Do you suppose so?”

“Oh, yes.”

“...Would you…”

“Yes?”

“...get me another glass of brandy?”

“Sure. Of course.”

The hand tilted the old bottle, and poured into a waiting hand with an empty cup. Stopping at just the amount he liked to be served. 

“Thank you, John.”

“Of course.”

When he started turning away… a slightly colder hand clasped around his wrist.

“Yana?”

“...you’re very kind, did you know that?”

“Haha, you’ve told me.”

Oh, that smile, they both thought of each other.

“John, o-one more thing…”

“Mhm?”

“Would you… like to… would you consider spending the night in the lab? With me?”

“...Yana…”

“You can say no.”

“I-I know! I don’t… I wasn’t… going to.”

“Are you certain?”

“Of course I am, I…”

A pause. The bottle being set down, and the glass, and John easing down until he was nearly sitting in the other’s lap, just so that they were close enough to…

As the two kissed, awkward but not unhappy about it, acclimating to each other like memories emerging from a shadow, their matching pocket watches sat on a desk nearby, silent but screaming.

Chapter Text

“Ngghff–! Fuck, that’s tight–! Goddammit, do you have to do this?”

The Master rolled his eyes, pulling the slack rope tight enough to almost cut off circulation at the wrists. Even then, he narrowed his eyes at his work, and took the rope in his teeth to pull even tighter. “Yes,” he answered on his own time, casually as anything. “If I’m going to have something as freakish as you exposed to the public, I’ll at least do them the decency of having you tied up prettily.”

Jack swallowed, trying to test the give, and finding the complex knots would barely budge in any direction. “And… you have to show me to the public why?”

“Just a matter of control, freak,” the Master singsonged, brushing his hand along the back of Jack’s hair in a strangely soft way that made him shiver. “I mean, I only have a few possible martyrs to suppress. With all the rumors going around, the upstir… well, I figure it’s about time I remind them of exactly where one of their beloved leaders had ended up.”

“I wouldn’t say beloved,” Jack managed to snark, his grin clear in his voice even with the Master still stationed behind him. “I mean, even just within Torchwood, I’m more of a rising sta– Ah!”

He cut off as the Master painfully grabbed his hair and yanked back, making him hiss in pain. Holding him there for a moment, the Time Lord reached around with his other hand to threateningly stroke his thumb down the line of Jack’s windpipe. “You know, you really could be a bit pretty if you shut up.”

When Jack swallowed, the Master’s thumb shifted with the movement.

“You’re going to look very pretty tied up for all those people,” he went up, moving his hand from his throat to grasp his chin, forcing the human’s gaze up to meet his. “Aren’t you?”

Jack’s face twitched in disdain, his brows furrowing and jaw clenching in unspoken anger. A growl attempted to permeate the air, made brittle by the way his neck was craned, accentuated by the knots and ties forcing his back to arch and knees to stay bent. Prone, weakened, helpless. But still always so angry.

The Master wouldn’t have it any other way. Chuckling, he let go of the freak’s throat, and the hand on his hair moved down to yank him by the highest knot. “Along we go, freak,” the Master hummed, ignoring the grunts and kicks of protest. “I can’t wait for everyone to see my good work.”

Chapter Text

“Come on. Take it more, darling, I know you can.”

The Master tightened his grip on the Doctor’s hair, attempting to pull their head back, get them in the right position, to push more of his cock down their throat.

It didn’t help that the Doctor was resisting so much, angry tears welling in their eyes as they thrashed any way they could, refusing to take more than the head. With their hands tied behind their back and being forced to their knees, it was impressive they managed that much. Still, it nearly made the Master pause and reconsider.

“You mean you’re asking me to… do that to you?”

Holding his hands against their face, they’d nodded, looking at him with those sweet eyes. “I’ve… thought about it a few times,” they confessed. “I guess… I don’t know.”

It had felt like a strange thing to discuss, beneath dark space and stars, as if something greater could be listening. Perhaps that was part of why they’d chosen now to ask about it; it felt utterly cruel to even consider denying them.

“Perhaps I feel I’ve avoided comeuppance,” they guessed. “For what I did to you.”

He processed for a beat. “Doctor, I’ve told you, it–”

“I know,” they interrupted. “And, in a way, a lot of what we’ve become is… you know, my fault… it’s not as if I’ve avoided all consequences. But… I can’t shake the thought that if you were to… lash out at me… it’d give me some relief.”

The Master had thought about it, then nodded, stroking their cheek with his thumb, and pressing a peck against their forehead. “Let me think about it.”

“Of course.”

Now, of course, he’d had time to get comfortable with the idea. Still, though, the sight of them looking so desperate, so teary and almost in pain, gave him half a moment of pause. Not for long; they always knew him better than he’d like, and leaned their head into his hand for a second. Just long enough to remind him they were okay. The Master bit down hard on his own lip and toughened, tightening his hand and sliding back into the mindset of enjoying their beautiful suffering.

“Take it, my dear,” he hissed, yanking their head again and pushing his hips forward. “Such a small pleasure, even a pathetic one like you should be able to fulfill it.”

A couple of tears managed to slip down the Doctor’s face, small and imperfect like pearls. Giving in to a knee-jerk urge, the Master leaned down to kitten-lick one off of their face. It didn’t taste as salty as the ones from genuine emotional pain, more… balanced, something like refreshing, even. Relieved.

The Master looked down at them with half-lidded eyes, feeling an underlying wave of affection as he thought of every cruel thing they’d ever done to him.

“You’re going to pay, my dear Doctor,” he mused, finally getting their head at the right angle. “And I won’t let you run away this time.”

And, it was only because he knew them the best in all the universe, that he saw the glint in their eyes, that selfish glint they got when there was something they should deny themself, but couldn’t want more. I will hold you down, so that you have an excuse not to escape.

The Master shoved his cock down their throat, and felt the Doctor sing.

Chapter Text

“I didn’t think you’d like it this much,” the Doctor giggled, both out of amusement and the tickling feeling of Jack’s tongue against his neck.

The human was clearly enjoying himself. His hands had been kept behind his back by cuffs all night, and even now, when he was so worked up he could barely think, he didn’t ask for them off. He just strained and enjoyed, digging his teeth and tongue into the Doctor’s neck until they spoke. 

“Mmm…” He finished his lapping at the Doctor’s warm skin before replying with his mouth still inches from their throat. “Yeah. Old guilty pleasures die hard.”

“Yeah,” they echoed, elongating the word slightly. They hooked the chain between the cuffs with their finger and tugged lightly, chuckling at the soft sound from Jack’s throat. His thighs were opened just enough for the Doctor’s knee to press in, keeping the pressure, just stimulating enough to keep him on the edge as aftershocks of other activities took turns pulsing over his skin. “Go on, Jack, I didn’t say stop.”

He made another sound at the soft command, and went back to lapping at their skin, grip tightening when they shifted their knee a bit.

“There you go,” they mused, voice sweet and sexy as they tugged on the cuffs again, forcing Jack to push his hips forward while his shoulders were dragged back by the wrists. He whined at the struggle. “I can tell, you’re almost there, aren’t you? Go on, go on…”

Eager and needing, Jack moved faster, rubbing desperately on the Doctor’s leg. When that wasn’t enough, when the whines against their shoulder became long and frustrated, they quickly replaced it with their hand, and hummed in pleasure at the immediate re-quickening. They moved with him, stroking, rubbing, whispering sweet nothings until he was ready. They talked him up, up, up, more, more, more, closer, yes, now–

When he came, his face was buried in the Doctor’s neck, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in gasps, and his tongue pressed to their precious flesh.

Chapter Text

What was the difference between being a goddess and being akin to one? Did it make someone a goddess if a lord knelt at her feet?

She looked glorious. It was difficult to look at her, it made tears well in his eyes, like staring at the sun. But he couldn’t help but want to, who wouldn’t want to?

Rose held the power inside her, and it suited her, and he hated that. He hated how beautiful her glowing eyes were, how much he wanted them fixed on him. It felt deeply right to kneel in front of her, letting her cradle his head and murmur, “It’s alright, Doctor, I’ve got you now.”

That wasn’t the problem, it wasn’t alright… something had happened, something terrible, and yet here she was comforting him. Trying to gather himself, he pressed a brief kiss into her leg, first at the knee, then up to her thigh. Her skin was warmer, now, almost burning hot, but he pressed his cheek against it, feeling it soothe like running water. 

“Doctor,” she mused, “My Doctor.”

It had stopped hurting, she said, a while ago. But she still felt divine, faintly not her. Rose Tyler was not supposed to be able to feel the turn of every second, in every universe, through past and present and future. The Doctor was not supposed to feel his hearts ache, yearning to cling to someone he adored so much, finally understanding what it was like.

He was supposed to protect her.

“It’s alright, Doctor… come here…”

And what was he if he didn’t? Only a priest to a goddess.

She pulled him closer, always closer. No matter what, no matter how many times they clashed or shoved each other away… they always found their way back.

She let him kneel between her legs, and he’d damn himself if he didn’t worship.

Chapter Text

“Oh, look at you, you’re gorgeous.”

The Master groaned at the tone of the Doctor’s voice. Confident, slightly growly, and perfectly relaxed–almost insultingly so, considering how lazy they looked, laying back against the cushions while he did all the work. “Shhh… shut up.”

He sounded pathetic in his breathlessness, even he had to admit that. The Doctor cooed, hands ghosting over the Master’s hips as he pushed against the silicone shaft sitting between their thighs. “How could I,” they asked in a sweet, romantic voice that wriggled against his ear on the way in, making him involuntarily shudder. “I mean it. You look so gorgeous, desperate at just the idea of me being inside of you…”

The Master groaned, and the Doctor chuckled.

“My legs are tired,” he complained.

“Not too tired, though,” the Doctor commented, squeezing a little to feel the strain in the muscle. “Not yet.”

“But Doctor–!”

“You’ll come for me first,” they said, the decision already made, although they did do the generosity of helping encourage his movements with their hands. Occasionally, they brushed their fingertips over his nipples, or the soft flesh of his neck, scratching under his chin or caressing his jawline. “And then, if you do well… maybe you can put it inside of me, yeah? How’s that sound?”

The Master was whining before they were through, but he knew what the Doctor was planning. They’d never let him make a sub out of them after this; the control was in their hands, held tight and secure. They were only teasing, dangling a treat that looked better than it tasted, but hell did he want it anyway. For them, in this much pleasure, how could he ever say no?

“Glad you’re excited,” they chuckled, patting his thigh fondly. “Now, keep going, Master, I know you can. My gorgeous, brilliant Master.”

He squeezed his thighs, as if trying to choke their praise, or at least the way it made tears well in his eyes, before starting to move again. The pleasure made it so much easier to willfully blind himself to how truly terrifying it was to have the Doctor so deep inside.

Chapter Text

Time was running out for the future Time Lord.

For years, he’d been able to hide it. As the halls of the Academy grew, as the children matured, an undercurrent began to surface of whispered accusations and giggles around corners. Little by little, things began to emerge, just scandalous rumors at first, then inside jokes, the shoulders bumping in the hallway. Open secrets. On the surface, nobody was to be punished, it wasn’t something anybody could help, after all, but changes were happening in a number of ways.

The black-haired one wasn’t sure why his family was keeping such a close eye on him until it happened, until the secondary traits showed for the first time, thankfully while he was at home. Crying and confining himself to his room, everyone came to understand, and, once he’d emerged a few days later, explained.

It was good, then, to have the house he had. Such things were said not to be a source of shame, of course, they were more cultured and civilized than that. However, there was nothing said when suppressants started appearing in the bathroom cabinet, and nothing needed to be; it took him no time at all to understand. They’d do the same if it was the other way, he thought.

And so, as the years kept going on, he kept it under wraps. Just a late bloomer, he claimed at first, handling curious prods with poise and dignity, and after a while it became another part of life. He learned how to ignore the smells, let the urges pass like waves against sand, and let the whispers continue behind his back of how he must be neutral, beta; not too common, but not uncommon enough to be suspicious. It was almost better that way, to simply slip into the background of such conversations and become invisible. As time wore on, he became comfortable in it. How easy it was to become nothing at all.

(And if there were nights he curled up in the nest he’d made of his sheets, a shameful thing he’d have to correct before the servants came in in the morning, wondering what it would be like to have the tempting warmth surround him instead of being shoved down into his stomach and suffocated like a candle flame… nobody would have to know.)

There was one, of course, that it was hardest to keep from.

Of course it was. They had no honor or reputation to defend. And that made him dig his fingernails into the heels of his hands, when, so easily, they came into their own.

He came to know the signs. He watched them make jokes about it, watched the sweat bead on their neck in class for just a little longer than would be comfortable before making an excuse to leave with them. And it wasn’t that there weren’t rumors, but they weren’t as bad as they could be. Instead of being a bitch, he was just shameless, and he could live with that.

“You don’t have to help me every time, you know,” they said with a strained laugh when he got them back to the dorm. “I can control myself.”

And he’d look down at them for just one long moment, and wonder. If he pressed his throat close enough to their mouth, would they be able to smell it? Past the suppressants and the perfume, if he pressed his skin to theirs, held onto them and made a sound in their ear… would they be so confident they could control themself then?

He blinked.

“It’s no problem,” he said. “Do you need anything?”

They smiled, they had such a nice smile. “Just a few hours to myself, thanks. And if you could knock when you come back?”

“Of course.”

And as he went to the door, he heard. “Stars, you’re lucky you don’t have to deal with this.”

His jaw tightened, and those thoughts flashed through his head all over again. How easy it would be to take advantage, get them worked up (or let them do it themself) and then hold them back, torture them, take all that might that alphas were supposed to have and–

“I’ll see you later,” he said, and vanished out the door.

Such thoughts were doomed to compound.

They came, and he pushed them all to the same place the heat went; into his stomach to be extinguished, leaving a faint burning behind. Burning like acid in his guts, in his ribs, in his hearts, taking longer and longer to fade each time until it was a dull roar joining the usual sound in the back of his ears.

He became irritable. Every meal was a sacrifice to the acid, and did nothing to satiate his true hunger. Every word he couldn’t make out was about him, an insult, a giggle, something, and he couldn’t stand it. It came to the point that he demanded a room to himself one night, and desperately attempted anything he could; riding a pillow, touching himself, fantasizing. But like sparks on damp wood, none of it took, and every attempt left him almost screaming into his pillows with frustration.

How did anybody live like this?

The idea didn’t come like a lightbulb, but more as a figure that had been slowly soaking through layers of fabric, finally becoming clear in its shape. Like an eternal storm that roamed the deserts, he made his way to the bathroom, slow but destructive. What had offended him was thrown like soldiers onto a battlefield, and crushed underfoot just as easily.

A moment after his tantrum was done, and he stood in the dust of the silent rage he’d done, he felt a momentary flash of fear, almost paralyzing. What now? His parents would be furious if they learned; suppressants this effective were bought discreetly, and they wouldn’t be happy having to suddenly replace… how much had that been? It was a big bottle. Three months worth? Shit.

However, after another moment, he found the fear fading away into acceptance. Well, it was done now, wasn’t it? And he didn’t know exactly what that’d entail. He only had faint memories of experiencing it, that first time, as barely a teenager. If he’d handled it then, surely it wouldn’t be that bad.

Right?

The white-haired one kicked open the door to their room with such force, that despite all of the precious metals everything in the damn place was made of, it almost hit the opposite wall. The pair collapsed on the bed together once the door was slammed shut behind them, but they didn’t stay down for long.

“What the hell were you thinking?!”

The demand made him tense–not shrink back, he never shrunk back under volume anymore–and glower in a way that was usually reserved for those who deserved his mental daggers.

“Walking into that group pre-heat? What did you think was gonna happen?”

“I didn’t walk into them,” he snapped back, “They pulled me aside! A-And how was I supposed to know they could smell it?! You didn’t!”

For a moment, their nostrils flared, and he prepared to shove, to tussle like they did sometimes. Then, with effort, they sighed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” they managed. “It’s… it’s not your fault. I-I shouldn’t make it sound like it is. But seriously, you know those guys are jerks.”

He felt his face warm–it had been doing that frustratingly easily, for the past couple of days–and raised his arm to block it from view. “I, well… I didn’t realize they could smell it. This soon, I mean.”

“Yeah, I’ve never been able to smell it on you before… I mean, I thought… and you… didn’t know…”

The words died, and he nervously watched the gears turn in their head.

“Nova, have you been… taking suppressants… this entire time?”

He looked down.

“How… how long?”

“Since it showed,” he laughed breathily. “Um… think I was about thirteen, the first time, during a vacation. I’ve been taking them since then.”

They sat back on their legs. “You’ve been on suppressants… for ten years.” They paused. “That can’t be healthy.”

The comment actually made him snort. “Pff, who gives a shit if they’re healthy, Starlight, they did what they needed to do. I-I’ve been fine. I’ve been able to pass as a beta, that’s better for me. You know it is. Keeps the drama away.”

“But…” Their lip stuck out a little, stars, they were still so much a child. “But it’s not who you are.”

His eyes darted away again. “Mmm.”

They sat in awkward silence for a long moment.

“But you’re… you’re off them now? The suppressants?”

“For a couple of months, yeah. I… got frustrated.”

He didn’t have to explain further; they nodded, they understood. …and their eyes drifted.

They moved slowly, and he let them, to gently tuck his hair back, letting it fall off his shoulder… away from his neck. A quick glance, so fast he almost didn’t catch it, but did enough to meet their eyes. “Could I…” they hesitated, eyes darting there and back again. “Do you mind if I…?”

It took him a few seconds. “Oh. Um… sure.”

They came closer, both of them sitting on their knees like they were kids all over again. Despite his permission, they hesitated, rocking forward and back nervously until he nodded. Slowly, they leaned in, tucked their face into the curve of his neck, and gently but deeply inhaled.

A shiver went up his spine, although he didn’t know why.

“You’re close,” they murmured, voice almost an octave lower than he was used to; it almost made him jump. “Very close. I can’t imagine it starting later than tomorrow. It’s getting strong. No wonder they could smell it. You’re… really not feeling it yet?”

He struggled slightly to swallow, feeling the hair on his neck raise. “N-Not yet, really, although… I don’t really know… maybe the s-suppressants are still wearing off. What does it usually feel like?”

They were still breathing against his neck, although they’d drifted closer; their lips brushed it occasionally, now. Every time, he had the urge to shudder–or worse, close the space. “Similar to ruts for us, from what I’ve heard,” they replied, a noticeable strain in their voice, now. “A sort of… slow, steady building, urge… it’s… you can usually tell… and then it’s either triggered, or it just kind of… becomes a lot, until you can’t–”

They paused like they’d lost their train of thought, then all but threw themself back from him, which made him fall back, too. Both of them stared at each other, wide-eyed, flushed and startled.

They ran their hand over their face, as if washing it of something. “Stars, I’m sorry,” they groaned. “I-I got carried away.”

Subconsciously, his hand brushed over his neck, trying to keep the warmth of their last exhale against it.

“I’m probably close to my rut, too,” they rushed to explain. “I-I can control myself, I promise. Sorry. I won’t be…” They cleared their throat, and let the sentiment sit.

He was not quite content. It wasn’t clear why, but… well, he’d always been one to push, just with them. “What if they’d gotten further,” he asked.

Their eyes widened immediately.

“No, no, not like that,” he said quickly. “Not, like… that’s not what I meant.” He gave them a moment to sigh and catch their breath. “I mean, like… from what I’ve heard… it gets a bit instinctual. What if I’d been further along, and… wanted it?”

“I would’ve done the same thing,” they said without much hesitation. “Gotten in the middle of it. You-You wouldn’t be in your right mind, it wouldn’t count.”

“Oh?” He inched closer, just shifting his weight.

“Y-Yeah. You would’ve regretted it later, y’know?”

“Would you want it to be you, then?” He asked slyly, now visibly leaning towards them.

They were flushed, and he knew he was, too. It was a warmth, entirely different than the one in his gut for the past few years—this was kinder, softer, more like a fireplace flame, licking across his skin like a shy pet. “I don’t know what you mean,” they lied.

How sweet. He appreciated the sentimentality of it, of course, but reached over to brush his fingers along their warm face. Tracing the patterns of their freckles with his very fingertips.

It’s alright, my dear. We don’t have to pretend. We’ve always known we were the same, that we, in a way, belong to each other. It’s alright if you enjoy the thought of it. A flash of an idea; their putting an arm around him and yanking him away from that group, although, in his head it was all a bit exaggerated. Their mouth crushing into his, hands roaming down his body. Would you have liked to have shown them? That you know me best, that you could treat me better than they ever could?

“Nova–”

“Shh,” he murmured, all but crawling into their lap as his hand danced to the other side of their face. “Let me finish counting.”

You and I. Through it all. Silly Starlight, you know I was only kidding. You’re the only one I’d want, too.

Finally, their face rested a little in his hands, a familiar want sparking in their eyes. Glancing away, but leaning towards him, they murmured. “...again?”

“What’s that?”

“Could you… say that again?”

He smiled, chuckled a little, feeling strangely giddy. Lifting their face to meet his eyes, he repeated. “You’re the one I want, Starlight.”

He was holding them, so they couldn’t hide it this time–a certain type of excitement flitting across their face.

“Do you like that?” He pulled them closer, and shifted closer himself, their knees pressed against each other, now, one hand on their face and the other on their shoulder. “Ohh, do you like hearing that?” He lowered his voice, listening to their sweet breath quicken. “I want you and only you, dear. It’s us, Starlight, it always has been. You’re mine, and I’m your– ah!”

That was the straw, apparently. They threw their weight against him, pinning him to the covers and eliciting a breathless laugh. Their face buried in his neck again as he chuckled, wrapping his arms around them. “So you did like- ah! Haha! Ha… ahh… haaaahh…”

Their warm tongue eagerly pressed to the curves of his neck, as if they wanted to soak the scent right out of his skin. Occasionally, he felt their teeth brushing along, as if resisting the urge to nip. Something like a soft growl came from the back of their throat, but it was audibly muffled, held back until it was suppressed into a whimper and a little kitten lick.

The dark-haired one took a moment to breathe, or try to. The warmth was a focused thing, now, circling in his ribs and between his thighs, and in his head, making it slightly fuzzier than usual. Not uncomfortably, never, just… difficult to resist. “Yours,” he whispered experimentally.

They whined, pressing their nose and squeezed-shut eyes into his neck and shoulder. “Nnnn… Nova…”

“You like that, don’t you? On some level,” he giggled, used to the warmth flushing his face, now, and finding it comforting when their skin was just as hot. “Ohh, pretty alpha, getting so excited at the idea of having their beloved like this…”

“Quit teasing, or-or–”

“Or what?” He ran a hand through their hair as they hid their face, strands that had spilled out of the braid splayed over the red of his uniform. “Or you’ll… make pretty sounds? Or you’ll… nip me? Like one of your little Earth animals? Or– ah! Ahh- mmmm…!”

He muffled his loud moan into a closed-mouth hum as they pressed their knee firmly between his legs, causing a wave of pleasure through his body like he’d never had. They’d done things similar to this, yes, they’d had sex before… but there’d always been that silent barrier that only he knew about, the quiet awareness, the possibility of thoughts becoming too loud that they never seemed to have to worry about. He understood, now. The heat that rushed to his head was deep, all-encompassing, almost animalistic… but he couldn’t find it in himself to mind, crooning sweet sounds as they pushed their knee at just the right angle with just the right pressure.

“Oh, that’s better,” they murmured, a familiar growl in their undertone. “Stars, listen to you. Taste of your own medicine. Teasing so much, so confident and sure of yourself…” They leaned their weight forward, making him grab onto their sides as a high moan pierced his lips. “Now look at you. So easy. I bet I could trigger your heat right now… well, if I haven’t already. Let’s see…”

They slowly pulled their knee away, and immediately, he grasped onto them, hands frantically searching their body as if there was a magic spot that would put them back. “Wait– Wait, no! Starlight, please!”

They shushed his broken cries of their nickname, the furious writhing of his hips. “Shh, shh… I just need to check. Behave.”

“Please, Starlight, please, I’ll be so good for you, please…”

Letting their fingertips dance over his desperate lips, they tucked their nose under his head again, taking a deep, careful breath… stars, his pheromones were addictive. They’d caught other scents in passing, and his was so new, so fresh, but still so, so him. Just a breath of it made them want to… no, no, focus. They took another deep inhale, and… yes, there it was. There wasn’t any one thing they could point to, it was just a shift from the pre-heat scent, a little more… a little more comparable to the smell between his legs.

“Ple-ease, I’ll-I’ll… I’ll…”

They exhaled hot air over his throat, pulling away to look at his flushed face. Stars, only a moment of pressure, and he looked more helpless than they’d ever seen him. Pupils dilated, eyes wide, mouth trembling and bitten–they tugged on his bottom lip until he stopped.

“I know,” they cooed, stroking some hair out of his face. “You just want to be good, right, Nova?” He was nodding feverishly before they finished the sentence. “You wanna be good for me. Because you’re mine, is that it? My good omega?”

A twitch passed across his face, a momentary furrow of the brow, an uncertainty, a thought. No time for those.

“You don’t like that,” they acknowledged. “How about a good boy, then? My good boy?”

His face smoothed back out with a soft desperate sound.

“Perfect. There we go, that’s better.” They carded their fingers through his hair, scratching gently at his scalp until his writhing calmed. “There you go. You’re my good boy. I know, it’s new.”

Their other hand slid down his body until it could reach the loose cloth on his waist and thighs, and they began tugging it down, until they could slip their fingers under and over his skin. Wow, it was hot; they were used to him being a bit cooler during sex, both in mind and body temperature. It definitely suited him, though, the desperation, the sweetness.

“But I’m here. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Slowly, they began pulling the fabrics of his uniform apart, and when he realized, his own hands darted down to help. 

Like unveiling statues at a museum, they revealed each other, running hands over every curve to ensure it was real. The dark-haired one occasionally let slip a soft plea, and the other would kiss him, or giggle, or nuzzle, or, if he was very lucky, shift their knee back into place for just a moment.

Eventually, though, they let their hand drift, and he jolted as they gasped in delight.

“Wow, I’ve never felt that on you before… oh, sweet boy, so wet just for me.” Excitement buzzed through their body, and they shifted back to look as the other shyly but obediently opened his legs to assist. The smell probably would’ve been overwhelming to anyone else, but to the two of them, it was like vaporized nectar. They ran two fingers through and along the folds, feeling him writhe, attempting (and failing) to muffle his sounds with his elbow. “I adore that. How are you feeling, Nova? How’s my sweet boy?”

Despite the tone, it was a genuine question, and he knew that. He took a deep breath to answer. “It’s… it’s a lot. B-But I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I-It’s hard to, um… think.”

They giggled, hands stroking slowly down his thighs. “That happens. The more times it happens, the more you get used to it. Gets a bit easier.”

“It’s not fair that-that you can think.”

They hummed in consideration, leaning down to kiss his chest, cheek ghosting over his curves. “Only barely. With lots of practice. Should go away after round three.”

“Round what?”

They giggled, speckled cheek drifting down to rest on his stomach, warmth against warmth. “Teasing. Only if you’re up for it. First heat tends to be a toss up, don’t know how much… stamina you’ll have.”

For a moment, his signature smirk tugged at his mouth. “Well, better find out, then, shouldn’t we?”

They met his eyes, then half laughed as they pushed their clothes aside, letting them fall off the bed. “Smartass.”

He chuckled, watching them kiss a trail to the line of his hips, fingers still occasionally prodding at the slick–that was the word for it, right–making him so ready for them. His laughter faded into soft moans and whimpers, until their fingertips slipped in, and then it was a long, needy whine.

But… what?

It didn’t feel like enough.

A confused sound came out of him, and they hummed back. “Hmm? Oh, silly. I know, I know. Sweet boys get needy during heat, it’s okay.” A third finger slipped in, and he would’ve been impressed with how easily if he had the awareness; instead, he was wriggling and arching his back, trying to get them to go in deeper, curl their fingers, something, more. When they paused for even a second, he tried to grasp at them, pleas flying to his lips embarrassingly fast.

“Starlight, please. Please, I need–!”

Because it did feel like a need, so, so much. Like water, like he was holding his breath, and he’d suffocate on his own need if they kept holding it from him…! How did anybody stand this?! His hands brushed their hair and shoulders and face, trying to show them the urges, the magnitude of his want, how it felt like it pumped through his body like blood, let me show you how much I need you, beloved, please, please…!

It swelled like the waves, and then, finally…

“Mmmm… hhhaaah… ahhhh…”

His eyelids fluttered open, finally feeling something like contentment. He’d been lost in it, and when he opened his eyes, their face was close to his, half-lidded and heavy-breathing as himself.

They were inside of him, completing him, like something he didn’t realize he was missing. The pleasure of it was strangely soothing, as they moved together, like floating. Harmonious, even. They were melting into one, always meant to be one, like this. How could he have deprived himself of it for so long? Finally, finally. Peace. Yes, here they were, and he would’ve been content to stay in it forever.

He lost track of the time and the movements, who was above and below, where their hands were. It didn’t really matter anymore, did it? Together.

Eventually, they ended up beside each other, surrounded by each other’s warmth and scents. It was pure exhaustion, for they were both still, in a way, mortal. The dark-haired one let out involuntary whines for a short while, but only that long. With how tightly they held to each other, he had little doubt they’d be there when he awoke. And no matter what that entailed, he’d be something like okay.

The white-haired one woke slowly to sounds so soft, it reminded them of mice scampering through the fields.

Their limbs still felt like lead, exhausted from holding themself up, or holding him down, or moving with his hips as he eagerly moved atop them, looking so gorgeous. Both of them would probably be aching for a while, but it didn’t stop them from rolling over to see what the noise was.

As quietly as possible, Nova moved around the bed, rolling up and smushing down their covers and blankets. On occasion, he leaned over the side to grab an article of the Fawn’s clothing that they’d thrown to the floor, and added it.

Upon glancing, they found messy, shallow fabric walls around the pair of them. A nest, extremely messy, like one a child might make, but a nest nonetheless.

They processed, then beamed, and turned back to watch him for a while. He hadn’t noticed them awake, and so unashamedly pulled every piece of their clothing to his mouth to inhale deeply before deciding where it would sit. He’d put it down, assess, maybe move it to one side or the other, then push it down with the heels of his hands like a kneading earth cat until he was satisfied, and then move to the next. 

Eventually, he would notice their eyes open, and flush and throw the fabric out of his hands as if it was burning. He’d murmur excuses, offer to smooth everything back out, rushing to explain it was just an urge, he hadn’t been thinking about it, he was sor- and they’d shut him up, pull him into their arms, cuddle and nuzzle and kiss until he was giggling. “Okay, okay, I get it, you don’t mind– oKAY!”

For now, though, they watched the adorable display with a warm, buzzing contentment, certain they’d never want for anything more.

Chapter Text

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this blushy!”

The Doctor giggled, feeling oddly giddy at the tingling feeling he got from Martha’s hands holding his face. “Well, that’s what it does,” he managed between light laughs.

Martha fawned a little, running her hands lightly over his flushed neck and shoulders. She sat on her knees as he sat against the wall of the greenhouse, watching her breathe easily; every breath of his sent a gentle wave of heat across his body. “You’re so warm… you’re sure this is alright for you?”

“Yes!” His insistence came with a laugh as he unbuttoned a few more buttons of his collared shirt (just because he was hot, of course). “Yes, it’s just… I mean, I told you, you know already.”

“It’s different to see it,” she insisted, helping him shrug the shirt off his shoulders. He didn’t doubt it; she had that fascinated light in her eyes as they roamed over him, taking it all in, with just as much wonder as she looked at other planets. With a slow care, she rested her hands over each side of his chest, feeling his hearts thrum beneath. “More… real to feel it, y’know.”

He rested his hands over hers. They felt very comfortably cool against his burning palms. “I know,” he echoed softly.

She looked so gorgeous here and now, he thought. Every touch a relief, a gentle soothing to the underlying burning. He wanted to press every part of her against him, curl up and let her sweet humanness run over him like a blessing, like a warm shower after an aching day. Like something simple and sweet. Like everything he’d ever wanted.

“Martha,” he breathed, fingers grasping at her wrists. She’d been feeling his heartbeat, watching his chest rise and fall, but moved her gaze to his desperate eyes. “Please.”

Usually, the soft plea would catch her off guard, and she’d make sure a dozen times he was okay before agreeing to anything. However, he’d told her what this was, what would happen, what he’d need. She knew, but still found herself a little more than endeared by the utter sweetness in his voice, the almost innocent helplessness of it. Resisting the urge to coo, she helped him get his shirt the rest of the way off, and pulled him into her arms, encouraging him to nuzzle into her exposed skin.

She could give what he needed, after all.

Chapter Text

A little higher.

The Doctor was not one to be backed into a corner, especially not in this form. The Doctor was not one to lose, so perhaps he should have felt ashamed in the position he was in, staring down at the man he’d claimed to hate. The Master pushed in and out to a slow, silent rhythm, like an old waltz. It wouldn’t stay that way for long, they were only just getting started. However, when the Master raised his eyes to meet the Doctor’s blue ones, there was almost a silent appreciation for the starting pace.

Eye contact.

He looked… not soft, now, the Master was never soft. Harsh in a different way. Beard trimmed with not a hair out of place, spiky and painful like pine tree needles whenever the Doctor had tried to touch it. The lines beside his features, the wrinkles that finally showed the lives behind what had regenerated as a youthful face, looked carved, especially when he focused. As if they were cut from stone, forcibly etched in with every scream, every flinch, every too-long thought. The Doctor realized he was looking around his eyes, not at him, and quickly fixed the mistake.

The Master’s face turned sour and narrow, and he cut the time between thrusts in half.

Faster.

The Doctor struggled not to let much past his lips, aside from the occasional soft grunt. One of his legs was folded up, and it wasn’t starting to ache yet, but it would eventually. He wasn’t sure what he’d do after that–cross the bridge when he came to it. For now, he tried to find his way back to his train of thought. For a moment, he had the strange urge to ask the Master, as if he’d been speaking aloud and had simply gone on a tangent. But no, they’d agreed not a verbal word, with moaned names as an exception. Well… ‘they’. 

The Master was almost glaring at him.

Eye contact. Right.

How lovely the Master looked in the moonlight, silver-bathed and powerful, like some ancient king. It suited him, really, it did, all of it. The age, the drumless head, the nostalgic sense of style and cruelty. His hands, acting so certain, firmly pressing into the Doctor’s thigh and hip. His movements, precise yet in a way effortless, as if he had practice; that focus between his brows wasn’t too intense, only enough that it seemed he was trying to hit the right spot, the one that would make the Doctor throw his head back and moan. Of course, what suited him the most of all, the very best, was the black tie as a makeshift collar around his neck, double knotted and currently hanging lame.

It hadn’t been needed, yet. Silently, the Master was following every rule, and the Doctor suspected it was only so he could pretend he wasn’t, so he did not have to be reminded. The hand placement, the speed controlled through the Doctor’s touch on the back of his thigh-holding palm, he was even managing eye contact; to be honest, the Doctor thought he’d put up much more of a fight on that one, but what could he say.

Still, the peace would not last long. The Doctor would not let him go so gently into all of this; that quite ruined the point. He’d find an excuse to grab the tie and twist it around his hand, demanding in a harsh, low voice. The Master would struggle, of course, baring his teeth and flashing fire. The Doctor would tug, on the tie and his body and his feelings he tried so hard to bury, until he stepped into his neat lines again, as the Doctor knew he could do. He didn’t control the Master’s empathies yet; by day, everything was the same. It was in small ways, little by little behavioral corrections, that he would get what he wanted, what he knew the Master buried deep inside. Obedience.

The Doctor was not one to be controlled, and it would stay that way.