briodenebuliser

Identity Theft Part 4 , NC-17, 10/Rose

2008-07-19T04:58:17Z

Title: Identity Theft Part 4
author: briodenebuliser
rated: NC-17 for lots of sex
characters: 10/Rose
Word count: 883
disclaimer: BBC owns these characters
summary: Jumping into her universe with the intention of wiring Rose's house with a protective barrier against alien intruders, he is unwittingly seduced by a drunk Rose, who assumed he's the Clone 10. Not wanting her to suspect otherwise, he goes along with the game, feeling both guilty for deceiving her while comforting himself with the fact that, at any second, aliens could come and hurt her, so in a sense he should stick around to protect her while she's home alone.

Unzipping his fly, she got down on her knees and began to pump his cock in her hand. Her lips, only a few inches away, smiled knowingly, filled with small white teeth.

Don't put it in your mouth, don't put it in your mouth, he thought, his cock growing steadily harder and darker, though at the same time
imagining how her tongue would feel. She licked her lips, though never motioning to open them.

Pushing him down to the cold floor, she straddled his aching cock, slicking it up with her cunt. Her head fell back with the pleasure
of this friction, grinding against him gently but insistently. "Doncha want to come back to bed?" she said, her face flushed.

All the time they'd been together back on the ship, and she had to ask that now? In an ordinary house, when anyone could walk in?

She felt amazing against him, and he imagined what she would feel like inside, where her muscles roiled to feel his hardness, feel the satisfaction that only a cock could give her. She leaned a hand on the nearby sink, moving wetly against him, lost in abstraction, and he thought he would come all over himself if she didn't stop.

He closed his eyes and thought as rationally as could be expected with a nymphet's ripe breasts dangling in his face. She was pretty
close to orgasm, all things considering, he could probably get away with ten, twenty seconds tops, of penetration to get her off.

After all, she thought he was someone else. He didn't have the right to her.

A tree limb clicked against the window, and he started, thinking it was a burglar. "Yes, let's head back to the bedroom." he said.

She lept onto the bed, tearing her shirt off onto the floor, her arms open to accept him. On the television screen, hundreds of
scantily clad Greek soldiers were bravely dying in battle, horses screaming as the pikemen felled them.

What kind of Faustian bargain had he made to deserve this? Can you stick your hand in a blender and walk away from it?

He took off his pants, sliding onto the sheets next to her. Placing a hand on each of her knees, he lay his head next to hers, and tried
to enter her.

As wet as she was, she was so small that he had to go very slowly, first placing the tip in, and slowly pushing the rest an inch at a
time. He would have continued this slow pace had her hands not grabbed his buttocks and forced him to go faster.

"Ah FINALLY." she said, her teeth gleaming. He closed his eyes and counted ten strokes, completely oblivious to whether or not this was
enough for her, and pulled out. She gave him a look.

"What's this? Back you go!" she said, grabbing his cock and forcing it back inside. This time he counted to twenty before attempting to
pull out, but she would have none of that, her legs wrapping around him like vines on a trellis.

A car drove past the window, had his clone come home already? How much noise were they making anyway?

"Why won't you stay?" she hissed, her tongue beneath her teeth, "It's waaaaaaaarm inside."

She squeezed down on him, and he cried out, for it felt fantastic and painful at the same time. Throwing all chivalry to the wind, he
gave up and began to screw her as hard as he could, kissing her, biting her, lapping her sweat like a dying man in the desert.

He no longer cared, he no longer thought about the future or the consquences, only the sweetness wrapped around his cock that begged to be fed.

She scratched his back, overjoyed at the sudden attention. "Yes yes, twist it you bastard!" she cried, as he pushed her thighs apart
to hit even deeper. "Yes, harder, harder, ooooh I need this!" she said.

Grabbing her hands, he thrust them against the headboard, their fingers intertwined, their hips slamming together, forgetting that
she was someone else's entirely.

Her cunt was exquisite, and judging by the way her face blushed, they would climax together, they would scream their pleasure together, and afterwards, they would do it all over again, on the bed, on the floor, making sweaty body patterns against the wall, he didn't have to sleep, he could screw her brains out, and he wondered if her hungry cunt would ever let him go.

He longed to spend the endless night watching her breasts undulate beneath him, her face screwed up in concentration, legs grasping him as if she'd die without him.

Just then, one of her fingers felt his hand, and she looked up at it. "John," she said, "Where's the ring I gave you?"

Her expression changed from lust to bewilderment to recognition, and finally, to despair, as she realized who he was. Or who he wasn't.

But it was too late. In the slow, viscous fashion of time during climax, her hips were operating on their own, pumping against his,
her cunt closing down to what seemed impossibly small as she came, crushing his cock like a vise as he continued to thrust into her,
his passion rocketing, spilling into her, at the same time that he wanted to apologize.

But she was so warm, so tight inside, he couldn't help himself, and with a cry of pain, jammed into her again and again, the climax
blinding him as his thrusts filled her up, her body shuddering against him, his tears splashing on her perfect breasts.

"Identity Theft Part 3" NC-17 Rose/10

2008-07-12T04:34:45Z

Title: Identity Theft Part 3
author: briodenebuliser
rated: NC-17 for sex
pairing: 10/Rose
Word count: 686
disclaimer: BBC owns these characters
summary: Jumping into her universe with the intention of wiring Rose's house with a protective barrier against alien intruders, he is unwittingly seduced by a drunk Rose, who assumed he's the Clone 10. Not wanting her to suspect otherwise, he goes along with the game, feeling both guilty for deceiving her while comforting himself with the fact that, at any second, aliens could come and hurt her, so in a sense he should stick around to protect her while she's home alone.

His eyes widened, and he kicked himself for assuming the perception filter would cloak him in an alternate universe.

"You're home early," Rose said, "Thought you and the gang'd be out
till Monday. Ya know, killin' fings." She leaned back on the
pillows, her shirt still pulled over sweaty breasts, her knees only
loosely held together.

She doesn't know the difference between us yet, he thought, her John
Smith hasn't aged enough, and she's too drunk to see how terrified I
am.

She patted the mattress, inviting him to lay down next to her.
Thinking quickly, he deduced that the only way to allay her
suspicions would be to stay just long enough for her to fall asleep.
Besides, he told himself, he could protect her from any intruders.
What kind of a world must she live in where mere humans had to fight
off predators?

Leaving his shirt and jacket on a chair, he lay beside her, her left
arm curling around his neck as the other went back to the
yellow highlighter still wedged inside her, acting as her makeshift dildo.

"I know you don't wanna fool 'round or nuffin. You just lay with
me, keep me company?" she said, "I kin get meself off fine." He
nuzzled against her neck, a mixture of oily sweat and perfume
sticking to his mouth as he tried not to see what her hand was
doing.

The highlighter pen went in and out her with a slick, nearly
soundless motion, filling her up quite easily. She's so little, he
thought. Her pink cunt lips moved with it, pulling in and out
between the white columns of her thighs, the inner muscles
glistening wetly.

Suddenly he could feel her hand on the back of his head as she
pushed his mouth toward her plum pink nipple. He resisted for a
second, but then thought, this won't count, this isn't really
violating anything. Closing his lips down on it, she gave a hiss of
delight, jamming his head in harder and curling her fingers through
his hair.

"Would you...put a finger inside me? I want to feel you." she said.
And flinging the pen to the floor, she grabbed his hand and guided
a single digit inside. He closed his eyes, she was so tight and
wet. He drew his finger in and out slowly, her clitoris as swollen
as a rabbit's nose against his hand. She rocked her hips against
him, whimpering that one finger was not enough.

"Time to play horsey." she said. In one smooth motion she whipped
around and pushed him against the headboard, swinging her legs over
his shoulders, and pushing her hot cunt into his face. Holding into
the wall, she ground herself wetly against his mouth, as his hands
flew up to steady her hips.

"That's it, that's...oh I love your mouth." she said, scratching his
shoulders and moaning happily. This was way beyond the call of
duty, but he couldn't back out now, he thought. Working his mouth
against her, he thought frantically how best to distract her.

He hit upon it. Tossing her down on the bed, he ran to his jacket
and fished in the endless pockets until he unearthed River Song's
old handcuffs.

"Oi, little kinky today are we?" said Rose, smiling. Cuffing her to
the bedpost, he drank her in with his eyes for a full second, the
wetness between her legs, her heaving, inviting breasts, and ran for the kitchen.

"Come on come on come on," he said, flinging aside items in her
fridge. Twelve kinds of mustard and not one cucumber. In the
bathroom closet he looked for slender bottles of hair gel, perhaps a
curling iron he could have wrapped in plastic. Nothing, nothing to
serve as a dildo to get her off and send her off to sleep.

As he shut the door in frustration, Rose was standing there, the
cuff unlocked on one wrist.

"You fink Torchwood don't teach lock-picking?" she said. Pushing
him against the wall, she grabbed his crotch and smiled. "You need a hand I fink."

Identity Theft Part 2 , NC-17, 10/Rose

2008-07-11T23:05:41Z

Title: Identity Theft Part 2
author: briodenebuliser
rated: NC-17 for sex
pairing: 10/Rose
Word count: 831
disclaimer: BBC owns these characters
summary: After discovering that Rose had opened a tiny trans-dimensional gap between a camera in room and the Tardis computer screen, terrified of leaving Rose alone in a universe without a Time Lord to protect her, 10 scrambles to create a protective device for her, all the while, monitering her in her room, where she happens to be masterbating furiously to a movie on TV.

He slapped the side of the console and ran his fingers over the
keyboard, trying to catch the dying transmission signal.

Clicking his teeth together nervously, he barked in triumph when he
found the trans-dimensional gap and managed to wedge it open again.
Fortunately there was a star burning out nearby, so he lassoed it's
energy for the task.

He must have lost a few weeks, Rose was now alone, the TV flickering
against her face in the dark. Leaning against the lace pillows on
her bed, she took another swig from a bottle and stared at her cell
phone.

"Oi, come over," she said into the receiver, "John's out for the
weekend, I've been watching Spartacus for the last hour, and
I'm down a pint of gin." She gave an exasperated sigh as the person
on the line gave excuses for not stopping by.

After a while she hung up and stared at the screen again, filled
with flashing swords, gleaming abdomens, and tanned thighs. She

peeled off her jeans and stuck her hand down her panties, if nothing

else then to have something for her legs to squeeze on.

The Doctor could have sworn he saw a shadow flit past the window.
What was she doing home alone, with no weapons nearby? Not even a

baseball bat by the bed? Did they even have a security system? Any

second something could come through that door...

Her middle finger began to rotate inside her panties, tenting the
fabric as she watched two men circle each other in the arena, her
other hand trailing her stomach.

He scanned for security systems in her house, and nothing, not even
a string of tin cans in front of the back door. Grabbing some
nearby electronics, he began building one himself.

Her free hand left her stomach and made its way up her shirt,
pulling it up and over her breasts. She pinched one for a while,
her hips lifting slightly as a fighter begged his opponent to spare
his life, and then switched to the other breast.

While one part of his brain created a barrier generator, the other
was watching her hands, how her cunt was so wet now that she had to
brush her hand dry on the sheets every minute or so. The cotton was
a transparent patch, the honey-colored V of her hair showing through
like dirty snow.

She began to make little whimpering sounds, and grabbed a pillow
between her legs, rocking back and forth on top of it as two
centurions inspected the teeth of a tied up and nearly naked
gladiator. She grabbed her breasts and crushed them in her hands,
her toes curling in the sheets as she swayed, the friction
increasing as her hips sped up.

He was hard again, but his fingers did not shake as he connected the
wires. Somewhere in the ship he still had one of the old
Void-jumpers, he could be in and out of her house in seconds.

She flung back the pillow in frustrating, ripping off her panties so
they dangled from one ankle. Opening the nearby dresser drawer, she
pawed through her belongings for anything that could be used as a
toy. Alas, the closest she could find for her purpose was a capped
yellow highlighter marker.

Sucking on it for a few seconds, she slid it inside her. A sexually
active woman would have barely felt such a slim item, but John's
reticence for penetration prior to the wedding made it sufficient

for her.

He watched as she pulled it slowly in and out, her cunt gripping it
tightly as her other hand grabbed her breast, her cheeks flushing as
blood ran down a young man's bare chest, the arena booming with the

audience's cheers. She moved it faster, a sheen of sweat breaking

over her as she tried to climax and couldn't.

She licked her hand and rubbed her clitoris, making little noises,
her thighs tensing as she moaned, "Oh come on. If I only had a cock
to fill me up."

If I wore a perception filter, she wouldn't even see me enter the
room, he thought. Pulling Martha's old one over his neck, he
pocketed the barrier device and punched the button on the
Void-jumper.

The smell nearly knocked him back, that girl swamp scent like a mink
in the heat of the rut. Even though winter clothes were strewn
everywhere and the trees were bare outside, she'd managed to fog up

the windows.

Taking a deep breath, he looked for the most convenient spot for the
barrier device, and spied a loose floorboard in the corner.
Soundlessly as possible, he crawled beneath the TV's glow and made
it to the other side of the bedroom, listening for any change in her
breathing.

It took but a few seconds to secure the device, and congratulating
himself on his sneakiness, he stood up to leave.

Only to get a face full of fragrant wet panty thrust into his face
with her foot.

"Here," she said, smiling, "Don't need these now do I?"

10/clone 10/Rose NC-17

2008-07-08T08:55:14Z

title: Identity Theft
pairing: 10, 10 clone, Rose
word count: 1600
rated NC-17 for lots of consensual sex
disclaimer: BBC owns these characters
summary: The Doctor discovers a pinhole gap to Rose's bedroom on Alternate Earth, where he unwittingly catches her and his clone in the act, though the entire time he has the unsettling feeling it's really the Master in disguise.

“...forecast to hit 34 degrees Centigrade by lunch time. Parents are advised to keep playing children hydrated and wear plenty of sunscreen...”

The Doctor looked up from his repairs in the floor to stare at the console screen.

“...a felled power line in Cardiff has meant no air conditioning for some neighborhoods, so stock up on bags of ice...”

After fiddling with a few parameters to make sure the screen wasn't playing an old recording, that this was indeed a live feed, he zoomed in on the moving figure in a distant window to see who was there.

Rose stood with her back to him, hanging wet laundry on a line in a fenced backyard, a white button-down shirt clinging to her.

He rubbed his eyes, both impressed and terrified that she had managed a transdimensional link from her bedroom webcam to the Tardis computer moniter. “So that's how she'd tracked me back then,” he said to himself, “Must be a pinhole gap left, shouldn't take but a few minutes to glue together.”

Despite this, all indications were that it would take at least an hour for a proper seal to take place. He smelled Torchwood tech all over it.

To his left, a tall man in a black suit and black shoes entered Rose' room without knocking, his head tilted away so that, for a horrible instant, he was the spitting image of the Master.

But the clone turned toward the camera just as quickly, reaching to the desk for pencil, and the Doctor let out a sigh of relief. During that horrible year in the Master's ship, he'd imagined all sorts of horrors for his loved ones, but the most irrational had been that, somehow, the Master would find Rose, and trick her into believing that he was the next Doctor regeneration. Show her the hand in the jar, flash that brilliant smile, put his hand on her cheek, and break her innocence like a merenge.

“Oi, help me with the folding,” she said, tossing a pile of shirts in the clone's lap, “And don't you look posh, what's that, Hugo Boss?”

The clone blushed and smiled at his shoes. The Doctor laughed, his worry turning to amused pity. It was like watching a twelve year-old boy being seduced by his friend's mum.

Rose put down the laundry and straddled the man. “You like the shirt?” she asked, “Saw you staring at breakfast today.”

She'd unbuttoned it very low, her nipples jutting through the fabric like bing cherries. “What do you think they taste like?” she asked, “Like peaches? Like cream?”

She pulled aside a panel of fabric, and the man turned away, leaning back on his heads and searching the ceiling for written instructions. The Doctor covered his mouth trying to keep the giggles back. He wanted to cheer the lad on.

“We don't have to do a lot,” she said, “I figured we can wait for the wedding. But we can do a little.” And upon this she undid the man's button fly, pulling up the shirt a bit to lay her hand on his cock. The man's lips folded inside his mouth, his eyes shut.

“I'm just gonna put it inside,” she said, “So I can feel it. You been gone so long, I haven't been with a man for two years. I didn't want to push you, I know it's been a while for you.”

Dropping her panties, she lowered herself onto the man, shuddering slightly as she grasped his shoulders and placed her chin on the top of his head.

“You're...really hard.” she said. He put his arms around her, watching her face the entire time in a mixture of terror and elation. “I'm just...gonna sit here for a bit.” she said.

A tiny bead of sweat rolled between her breasts.

“Can you feel me when I do this?” she asked.

He make a tiny cry as she squeezed down on him. “Right then,” she said, “Wanted to make sure.”

Rocking back and forth very gently, she said after a minute, “I'm just gonna...I really want to feel you inside, you're so deep.”

Flexing her thighs, she very slowly lifted and lowered herself in his lap, her breath happily ragged, while he held his, his doe eyes wide as he stared at her slightly bouncing breasts.

“Oh please don't come,” she whispered, “I just need to feel you, it's been so long since anyone...you feel so good, and you're so hard.”

She bounced slowly on him until she worked up a good sweat, her shirt never completely coming open, her nipples scraping against the now transparent cotton and giving him the impression that he was being stared at.

Suddenly she laid back on the bed, pulling him toward her by his armpits. “I need you to be deeper, come on and hold me like this.” Pulling his arms under her knees and clasping his hands at the small of her back, he reentered her, in a clearly more penetrating manner that made her grab his hair in a frenzy.

“Don't stop,” she said, “Please don't come, this is incredible, please don't come, you're so hard.” She grabbed his back and forced him to move faster, to rocket into her, forced him to finally close his eyes and concentrate on what he was doing if he was going to last.

The Doctor whistled a merry battle tune, probably the Marselliese. He wished he'd made popcorn. He stopped when Rose began to make really feral noises, scratching at the man in the camera and begging him to go faster, harder, cut her in half.

The man let go of his hands, pulling her blonde hair back with one hand while grasping her thigh with the other, his face a mask of seemingly malevolent purpose. Once again, the idea of Rose with a stranger came unbidden into the Doctor's mind, of the Master's ability for deception.

If he'd only take off that black suit...the Master was the same way, screwing his human charges with the least amount of skin contact.

“Oh yes,” Rose said, “Keep...I'm close...don't stop...” As she let out a high wail with the man pounding her into the wall, the picture frames rattling, the black figure between her white thighs hammering away like a machine.

But rather than fall instantly asleep, she rolled him over so she was facing the camera, and stripped off her shirt. Why she ever needed bras, he'd never know, her breasts swayed against her heaving chest like ripe fruit.

“I love you.” she said, straddling him with his cock still inside. “I don't want to wait for the rest.”

Because his face wasn't visible to the camera, all the Doctor could see was Rose riding a black-suited man, his cuff-linked hands guiding her hips posessively.

“Come inside me,” she said, “Come deep inside of me, I am yours, Time Lord.”

The Doctor panicked, wanted to tell her she was being betrayed, that it wasn't him, that as soon as it was over the man would rip off a latex mask and show his true indentity, and then rape her again once she knew the sickening truth, rape her in the mouth, in the ass, in all ways degrading and unimaginable, turn her into a sex puppet.

She thrust her body over and over again, the man beneath her crying out with each jolt, and the Doctor felt himself get hard, wishing, for the first time, that he could reach through that moniter and cry out for her to stop.

Her pussy worked it like a hungry mouth, wet and tight, swiveling and crashing again and again on the man's red cock, as if she were going to destroy herself in sacrifice. “I can feel you scraping inside of me,” she said, “Go on, I want you to come inside of me, can't you feel this?”

And this time when she squeezed down on him, he growled instead of whimpering. In a moment, his voice began to rise in pitch, his breath began to quicken.

Her face had become flushed by the summer heat, but even now her cheeks and nose shone with sweat, her white body practically about to explode with fire, her eyes dazzling like drowned violets.

The Doctor push his hand on the screen, wondering if he would feel that heat, as the man began to buck faster. “No no no no...” the Doctor said to himself, “It's not me.”

Rose smiled, reading the indications that the man was close, and rode him even harder, as the lips of her cunt grabbed his cock tightly, sucking at it. She lifted her arms, pressing against the cieling, her breasts bouncing rhythmically, utterly lost in what she was doing to him, as he screamed over and over in the shock of what was happening to him.

“Something's...coming...” he gasped, and somehow, from some hidden wellspring of strength, he rolled Rose off and pinned her to the wall, pounding into her relentlessly with his arms under her thighs, not caring if she was in pain, spread wide like a captured butterfly on the slide.

The Doctor wished he could look away, away from Rose's flushed face turned to one side as she begged him to finish, to make her his, as the dark man used her for his pleasure, sliding in and out of her until his climax trickled onto the floor like a broken egg.

They were stick rattling the furniture, her voice still begging, when the gap closed, and the screen turned to static.

10/ Master NC-17

2007-08-24T13:35:35Z

title: bride
word count: 1,018
disclaimer: BBC owns this

The Doctor lay on the slab, still heady from the rush of controlling the storm. He watched it, churning slowly over the Earth. from the video screen that filled his vision in that dark laboratory,.

The Master stood beside it silently. "So what have you decided?"

The Doctor couldn't look away from the satellite image of Earth, two-dimensional and garishly colored. He remembered all the thousands of people whose death or suffering he'd caused, and suddenly was very glad he was miles up in the sky. He couldn't bear to see another accusing human face.

The Master read his expression, and trailed his gloved fingers across the map. "They're so far away. Like ants at this distance."

He walked up and took the Doctor's face in his hands. "Come with me, there's nothing left on Earth for you."

The Doctor looked at the storm one last time, as it grew smaller and thinner, like an enormous white flower. "Rose." he whispered to himself.

"Ah my friend, all moments in time are present to us. She has yet to be born. And she's already dead. Either way, she is at peace." the Master said, his thumb gently following the curve of the Doctor's cheek, "She no longer needs your love."

The Doctor watched the storm's progress, spinning smaller and smaller, until it eventually faded into nothing and the ocean was still. The only warm thing in that room was the Master's hands on his face, and at that moment something died in him.

Nothing, in all his lives, was as strange as that walk into the Master's bedroom, the click of the lock turning in the eerie silence.

The only piece in the room was a dark, lavish looking four poster bed, and a roaring fire whose incense gave the room a surreal hazy appearance.

The Master said nothing, only parted the curtain and beckoned him.

The curtains were closed around him, and the Doctor lay under the sheets in fragrant darkness, sinking slowly into the mattress as he listened to the Master undress.

A man's body crept over him, slowly reaching under the sheet until they were against each other, his skin dry and a little cold to the touch.

He had never been so scared in his life, in this dark place where whatever happened next could not be exstinguished by the hope of sleep aftwerwards.

When the Master first entered the Doctor, the pain made him panic.

_Is this all there is?_ he thought, _Is this marriage, this horrible intrusion?_

But when a hand not his own closed around his erection, the discomfort focused into a sharp physical pleasure that filled his own body, like that moment when you slip into a horribly hot bath and your body finally settles in and takes the pain.

His mouth opened, soft noises from the back of his throat that one might make while dreaming.

The Master's erection was like a wooden leg inside of him, his body gripping it, feeling its texture, its surety like you would run your tongue along your teeth.

His pace was slow, drawing in and out with most of his length with the greatest of control, one hand balanced on the Doctor's thigh.

The Doctor's hips rose slowly, his feet tensed against the bedsheets.

"You like me scraping inside of you, don't you?" the Master whispered, his face inches away.

But before he could answer, the Master pulled out and flipped him over, positioning the Doctor's back against his stomach. From there he entered again, gripping the Doctor's erection.

The Master's breath was hot on his neck, his teeth sinking into his shoulder to make him whine.

He fucked him sideways. Standing up. With the Doctor straddled on top, controlling his motions with both hands on the man's waist.

But always slowly, with such control, with such timing so as not to desensitize him.

When he judged the Doctor to be peaking, he stopped and said, "Hold on, I need something from you."

The Master turned, lying down on the thick satin sheets. Spitting into his hand, he drew the Doctor's erection toward him. "That's right, just...in..." He shuddered.

The Doctor screamed, his arms trembling as the Master closed in around him, and tried with all his strenth to stay immobile.

But the Master took over, placing his hands on the Doctor's ass to move him slowly in and out, making sure not to go so fast as to make the Doctor climax.

"I don't want to come, I just want to feel a nice cock inside me," the Master said, "It's been so long, and you feel amazing."

The Doctor struggled to keep his breath even, his teeth chattering, allowing the Master to do all the talking.

"Do you like my body?" he said, not expecting an answer from the man on top, "Do you like how young I am?"

"I've been saving myself for you."

The Doctor wetted his lips, silent.

The Master's breath became heavy. "Oh you're so deep."

The movement sped up slightly.

"Ah please don't come, you're so hard."

The hands became slighly more insistant, the nails digging.

"Oh, don't speed up, oh, yes, I can feel you stretching me."

Rivulets of sweat ran down the Doctor's back.

"Aaaah I've wanted this, I want you to make me come, pleeeeease make me come."

The Master squeezed hard, making the Doctor's weak in the knees, and bit his lip when Master moved his ass in long, fast strokes that slapped their bodies together.

His voice went a little higher. "I can feel you inside me. Like a hammer."

“Like a machine.”

"Pound it into me."

"Faster."

"Harder. Tear me in half you son of a bitch."

"Break my spirit."

The Doctor finally cried out, "I...I...I'm close..."

"Then come inside of me. I want to feel it."

"Because it is your right."

"Because you are my love."

When both men began to climax simultaneously, the Doctor could feel the other man close around him, like a rosebud blooming in reverse, and something died inside of him.

10/ Master rated R for sex implications

2007-08-22T04:43:26Z

title: concessions
author: briodenebuliser
rated: R for sexual behavior
word count: 880
pair: 10/Master
disclaimer: BBC owns this

The Master watched the security video, and was afraid to look down to see if he had an erection.

It was in another part of the ship, not far from here, in a loading dock. The Doctor had managed to escape his cell and was being chased by at least twenty soldiers, dodging their bullets by snapping back behind cargo.

One of the bullets intersected with a window.

As the air pressure collapsed and the wall tore away, sending all the men screaming into the night air, all the Master could focus on was the Doctor's face, staring directly into the security camera, the wind whipping his hair and destroying everything around him.

Eventually the emergency shields dropped, and the room went dark.

As the Master skidded toward the cargo room, his hearts hammered with ecstacy, with the thought soon he would no longer be alone in his madness.

The doors opened and the Doctor came crashing out, grabbing the Master's lapels in both hands.

"You killed them?" the Master asked hopefully, his body suddenly responding to the other man's physical nearness.

The Doctor drew him nearer. "Think they can learn to fly before they hit the ground?"

The Master puts his hands on the Doctor's grip. "You wouldn't kill me though. Look," he said, moving the Doctor's hands slowly down the front of his jacket, "I'm harmless."

The Doctor hesitated for a second, confused, which gave the Master just enough time to punch him in the jaw and make a run for the lab.

The Doctor ran headlong after him, not suspecting where they might be headed. When he finally entered the lab, he saw an enormous moving image of a storm on a computer screen.

He looked at the Master, then back at the screen. “What's that? It's enormous, did you do that?” he asked.

The Master didn't answer, but rather leaned back on the red satin-lined slab.

The Doctor stepped right up, asking again, “What have you done?”

The Master turned to pour himself some wine. “Relax, have a drink with me---

But the Doctor slapped the glass out of his hand and knocked him to the ground. Within seconds he had ripped the sheet off the slab and wound it around the Master's neck, twisting it as he dug his knee into his back.

“Try a different answer.” he said.

“It's...*gasp*

“It's you.” the Master finally sputtered out, “You made that storm.”

The Doctor stopped for a moment. “You're lying.”

The Master turned around underneath him, admiring the Doctor's straddled position. “You've mucked around with the Whirlwind program so much, the atmosphere is trash at this point.”

The Doctor went pale.

“No really,” the Master continued, “All you can do is prevent the damage from becoming more aggravated.”

“But...if we leave it alone, the environment should aright itself in a few years.”

“A few years!” the Master laughed, supporting himself on his elbows so their faces are closer, “That's you all over, bugger the planet and then leave to let the humans clean the mess.”

“That's not—-”

“Millions will die if you leave it at this stage.” the Master said as he stood himself up, offering a hand to the Doctor.

He turned the both of them to the onscreen image, the Master behind him and wrapping his right hand around the Doctor's chest.

“Millions.” he repeated, “Or, if you step in now, only thousands.”

“You're pulling numbers out of the air.” the Doctor said, not moving to avoid the Master's roaming hand.

“You can't escape responsibility, you have to make that decision. After all,” the Master said, smiling, “It's out of my control.”

Tears spilled down the Doctor's face. “I'll go mad.”

“I can think of no greater sacrifice.” the Master whispered.

The last dregs of bravado drained out of the Doctor, and he felt to his knees in deep, wracking sobs. The Master lay a hand on his head.

“There, there,” he whispered, “You're not alone.” He walked over to neaten the sheets on the slab, thinking to himself of the bed prepared in a locked room elsewhere.

“You are doing what no other man could,” he said as he led the Doctor to the slab, undressing him as tears plipped on the satin, “And when it's done, I'll be waiting for you.”

His mind wandered back to the video of the Doctor's face in the cargo room, and imagined that same face in the near feature, just as righteous, but bending the public's will to his own and justifying it as a necessary evil for progress' sake.

The Master flushed, nothing turned him on more than a pious man making concessions. He would wait no longer, tonight was the night.

He affixed the helmet to the Doctor's head, pulling the sheets over his now naked body to keep him warm. Right as he was about to leave to switch on the program, the Doctor gripped his arm.

“Promise you'll be here when I....?” he asked, his eyes shining.

The Master leaned down, cupping his face in his hands. “I swear, when you awake, the bad dream will be over,” he said, running a nail lightly down the side of the Doctor's face and shuddering.

“And you will be my bride.”

10/Master chapter 6.1

2007-08-20T13:33:28Z

title: electricity
rated: R
disclaimer: BBC owns this

“Gentlemen,” the Master said cheerily, surveying the meeting room of all the major heads of state, “Have any of you heard the story of the Mysterious Stranger?”

They dared not move to even shake their heads. This was supposed to be a call to order on the Master's latest international demands.

The Master continued. “All of your countries have, in some form, a folktale of the hapless peasant who is captured by the wicked witch and later helped by a stranger in disguise, a fairy or a hag or a saint or a ghost, et cetera. The last chance for help. The man,” he paused, licking his teeth, “With the answers.”

A door opened, and the Doctor stepped through, escorted by armed men on either side.

“Ah,” the Master drawled, “And here is our stranger now.”

He sat down at the head of the table, leaving the Doctor to stand. All the leaders looked up with a glint of hope in their eyes.

“But I've killed all the peasants,” the Master continued, “Leaving him with only one job now.”

The Doctor looked down at him in horror, and the Master smiled, pushing away from the table just enough to reveal his unfastened pants.

“Kneel.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The Doctor had completely cannibalized the cell, tearing open the walls to get at the copper wiring that was now hung out of the drywall and wound around his arms. The Master smiled, impressed at the man's nerve.

“Stay back.” the Doctor warned.

“Please,” the Master said condescendingly, “We're expected for another meeting. Come along now.”

The Doctor's face twisted. “Don't touch me. Don't ever again, I won't let you.”

“What, not lonely tonight?” the Master said, his heels clicking on the concrete floor. He reached out, but the Doctor jerked away.

“Stay back, this won't end well for either of us.” the Doctor said, his back nearly to the wall. The Master was starting to like the high pitch in the man's voice, the way his chest rose unevenly under the transparent shirt.

“What'd you do to the room?” he said, sensing the Doctor was scared of something, but not of him. He reached out for the Doctor's face, tracing a thin trail of sweat. “Keeping any secrets?”

A split second later there was a flash of light, the feeling that their marrow had turned into lead, and both men were on the floor. When the Master looked up again, he found he had bit his tongue and was bleeding down his chin.

“Did you do that?” he asked angrily, now taking a better inventory of the cell. The Doctor, though clearly struggling, managed to lean against the wall, the wiring still in tact.

The Master laughed. “You've been charging up the room, with you as the transformer. Must be able to pick up quite a charge in this part of the atmosphere.” He made a predatory step toward him. “But now the charge is gone.”

“No it isn't, “ the Doctor croaked, “I'm hooked up to the superconductors that run the ship, if I stand here long enough...”

“If I let you stand here long enough.” the Master finished for him. He walked right into the Doctor, catching little static sparks as he grabbed the man's hands and forced them behind his back. “You know that reeeeally hurt. I love your instinct.”

The whole room smelled of ozone, and the Master's knee made its way between the Doctor's legs, one thigh working roughly against the other man. “Did you like the idea of hurting me?” he said, his teeth stained with blood.

“Don't...you're too close...I'm building up a charge.” the Doctor gasped, his thin chest writhing underneath.

“Am I now?” the Master said. He smiled, running his fingertips up the Doctor's exposed ribcage, watching as little sparks escaped his fingertips. They both felt the shocks, but while the Doctor tried harder to escape, the Master only pressed more urgently

His hand made its way under the Doctor's thigh. “I can feel it,” he whispered, “The power feeding into you. You could kill us both.”

The thought made his face flush, and he buried his knee even further into the Doctor's groin, moving it slowly. His mouth was barely a few inches away.

“That's...don't...you're building up a charge again.” the Doctor said through half-lidded eyes.

The Master could feel the other man's temperature rise as well, bits of energy crackling down his body, his face turned away in earnest rejection of the pressure building inside of him. But more than that he sensed the Doctor's fear of pain, and this made the Master reckless.

He leaned into the Doctor's neck, laying his hands on the copper coils. A sudden, albeit mild shock ran through both of them, their cries simultaneous as they jerked against each other, and the Master bit his lower lip to keep from crying out.

“Think this was such a hot idea now, genius?” the Master whispered, “You make such sweet sounds, I could do this all night.”

“Alright I'm sorry I shouldn't have tried--”

The Master backhanded him angrily. “Quit whining you little cooze.” And to emphasize the point, he jerked the copper wires again, making both of them flinch against each other reflexively, the Master's face, for a moment, wrenched in honest pain as he rode it out, his body arching, his feet on tiptoe, his mouth open as the breath shuddered out of him.

He smiled as he popped his spine back into place, slapping his left palm against the wall beside the Doctor's head, his hips grinding into him as the other hand trailed down to undo his belt. “Yeeeah, you feel it just as much as I do,” he said, licking the blood off his mouth, “Though I think you like it more.”

But the Doctor didn't look away this time.

With a sudden move, both his hands were around the Master's throat, throwing all his weight into it until he knocked him off balance. A moment later he was knocked to the floor, the Doctor alternately walloping and kicking him in the gut to keep him down.

It was over quickly, the Master forcing himself to breath normally, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

When the Master opened his eyes again he was captivated. The Doctor, stood straddling him, his entire body glowing with electricity, his hair on end, his face dark and expressionless. Small streaks of lightning shot off of him, arcs rippling between his legs, disappearing into thin air.

It made his mouth water, laying there at the Doctor's mercy.

And with a final kick, the Doctor placed the heel of his shoe on the Master's throat.

“Say it again.” he said.

The Master gagged.

“Say it again.”

The Master tried to breath, but was too weakened to escape, and flailed briefly under the Doctor's unyielding pressure.

And the last thing he heard before passing out was, “That's the last time you call me cooze.”

10/ Master rated R for violence

2007-08-17T14:09:21Z

already posted to dw_slash

title: door
author: briodenebuliser
pair: 10/Master
rated: R for violence
disclaimer: BBC owns this
summary: In my usual style where all the violence is sexualized. the Master suddenly realizes that, more than anything, the Doctor has to want to walk into that laboratory before any additional work can be done.

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

There's a security video the Master's watches a hundred times a night, a grainy black and white recording of the Doctor rocking back and forth, a small body in his arms, blood all over the floor. He sees himself in the image, looking up at the camera with an unreadable expression.

Sometimes when he's really drunk, he dips his finger in the wine and draws on the computer screen.

But several nights earlier, the two men were in the lab, and the Master smiled as he ripped the sheet off, watching the Doctor shake in a cold sweat. "Look what you've done," he said, grabbing the Doctor's face and turning him toward the video moniter, "Think they got the message?"

The Doctor said nothing, but stared at the screen, watching the storm he'd created crush a mountain as if it were butter. He curled into a ball on the slab.

The Master loved feeling the man's teeth chatter in his hand, smell the adrenaline in his sweat. "Cold?" he asked. He ran a hand down the Doctor's exposed shoulder.

"How did that feel?" he asked, watching the screen with the Doctor, "Can you hear the wind when you're inside the program? Can you feel it in your bones?"

He leaned over the frail, shivering scientist, and ran his fingers through his hair. "I think the people will listen to a man like you, whose footsteps are like words written on the surface of the world."

The Doctor shut his eyes, refused to look at him. But the Master continued to run a hand down his arm.

"You know what those words are?" the Master whispered.

The Doctor opened his eyes, looking to see that the Master had trailed blood all over his body with his hands. Somehow he knew the answer already.

The Master smiled. "Follow...me...follow...me..." He took the Doctor's face in both his hands, watching the storm reflected in his eyes.

The Doctor took his hands down, and sighed, looking again at the screen.

Without a word, he picked up his clothes, and walk toward the door.

He didn't take three steps before the Master plucked the clothes out of his arms. "Going somewhere?" he asked quietly. He knocked the Doctor to the floor, tossing the clothes to the side.

"Your problem," the Master said as he undid his belt, "Is you've always slept like a baby."

The belt clattered to the floor. Next the jacket rolled off his back, flung against the wall with a crack.

"If I have a bad day I can't sleep for a week, but YOU, you just roll over and you wake up the next day and the streets are still lined with sunshine."

He began to unbutton his shirt, the sleeves spattered brown, his face appearing flushed in the light of that red satin room.

"You need something to remember me by." he said.

He flung it into the Doctor's face, the smell a mixture of old blood and cologne.

"Put it on."

The Doctor dropped the shirt, his face twisted in revulsion.

The Master slowly bent down to pick up the belt. "Put--it--on." When the Doctor refused, he raised the belt over his head and smiled. "That's right, give me a reason."

But before it could come to that, the Doctor began to slide his arms through the sleeves, trying very hard not to think about the body that must still be lying out in the hallway.

He woke up in his cell the next day to find that someone had messed with the room temperature, a dry heat that nonetheless made his shirt stick to his body. It smelled like a charnel house.

All of his meals were red: tomato soup, beef tartar, strawberries. The food sickened him in that heat, so he would dip his fingers in it and draw on the wall.

The next day, the walls had, predictably, been painted over. Except for one spot.

He drew on the wall again. Again the wall was painted over the next day while he slept, but a pattern was emerging.

He drew again, higher up on the wall. It was painted over, but not all the way to the ceiling.

This time he crushed the fruit in his hand and smeared it across as much of the wall as he could. When he woke up the next day, it almost looked like...

The Master leaned in, watching the security camera screen, running his fingertip along the rim of the wineglass to make it sing.

The Doctor, despite the heat, wrapped his arms around himself in that filthy shirt.

The stain was approximately thirty inches wide and seventy-five inches high. He sat down against the opposite wall and stared at it.

The next night, the Doctor woke up to the sound of piano music coming from, it seemed, the Master's laboratory. If he strained his ears, he could also hear lab equipment clinking, the turning of pages, a man's footsteps.

He looked at the form on the wall and it made him ache.

The next night, the Doctor woke up to find no food, but a black marker. He picked it up, testing the weight in his hand, and looked up at the stain again. He traced a shape in the air a few inches from the wall, like a sideways S, or a serpent...

Or a door handle.

He awoke to the fire alarm, the hallway red with lights running off the emergency generator. He stood up to find that his door, in fact all the doors, had unlocked.

Hundreds of soldiers were rushing on the floor above him, but he appeared to be alone. He considered checking the Master's lab, but decided this was his best chance for escape.

He didn't go a hundred feet before hearing someone breathing very fast around the corner. A little boy shot past on rabbit legs, something hard and glittering in his hand.

"Hold on," the Doctor said, nabbing the kid, "How'd you get on the ship?"

He looked terrified and tried to twist away, but the Doctor said, "Come on, I'll hide you in my room, it's right there."

Once the door was shut he was sure the boy would calm down, but his breathing seemed to get worse, a thin, high sound coming out of his lungs.

"Lie down and try to---what's that in your hand?"

The boy smiled and clutched it to his chest. After a few seconds he gained some control on his breathing and said, "My friends didn't think I could get here and back home. They said I had to bring something back to prove it."

He held up his right arm to show another one of the Earth vortex manipulator models, though even the Doctor could tell its power supply was shot. In the boy's hand...

"Where did you get that?" he asked, panic in his voice.

The boy drew away. "It's busted anyway, why, is it yours? I found it in an office."

"You were led to that thing, weren't you?" he said, "Did you hear it say anything?"

The boy looked down at the fob watch.

"Did it say anything to you?" he repeated.

Footsteps approached from behind.

"Follow...me." the Master said, smiling in the doorway, a shadow framed in red, gun in one gloved hand. "So you've found our little stowaway. He had us all worried, we thought we might have another killer on our hands."

The boy's chest began to convulse, his breath quick as he looked at the gun. "He's having some sort of attack," the Doctor said, "Let me use one of your first aid kits and---"

The Master shook his head. "He's trespassing. He gets what he deserves." he said, walking up to the Doctor, gently pressing the nuzzle against his belly.  "Except for the fortunate ones."

The boy's face was turning a disturbing color, and he put up his hands to the Doctor's chest in a last-ditch plea. The Doctor held him in his arms and calculated how long it would take for someone to suffocate. For the lungs to quit, then the heart, then the brain.

He reached a decision, and reached for the Master's gun.

"What're you doing?" the Master asked.

"A mercy killing."

The Master laughed. "Oh come on, not you?"

"I can make it quick, quicker than dying from shock. I can't just stand here and watch him..." he said trailing off.

"Of course you can't," the Master said, one hand looping around the Doctor's neck, the nails digging in, "You never had to watch. About time you tried some real murder." And with that he began to step back.

"No, give it," the Doctor demanded, grabbing for the gun, and managing to get his hand on the barrel.

"Don't be thick."

"Fine, you want to kill him?" the Doctor asked.

"Why bother," the Master replied, looking at the struggling child, "When you've done the job for me."

"He's in pain."

"Oooooh I bet he is." the Master said, smiling.

The two men were inches away, the red emergency lights blinking all around them, the air so hot it hurt to breath. The Master looked at the part of the Doctor's chest exposed under the bloody shirt, watched how the sweat poured down his face, down his neck.

The Doctor made another pull at the gun, knocking the Master off balance so that his free hand grabbed the man's shoulder to steady himself. He slipped a finger under the collar and pulled it to the side, slowly peeling the fabric free of the sweaty skin.

"I guess the shirt taught you nothing."

"Let go--"

He got a little further inside the shirt, feeling a heart against his palm. "Come along," he said, pulling the Doctor toward the door, "I'm sure the boy knows how to die on his own."

"Let go--"

"This isn't your style--"

"Have some pity--"

"Look, he's the one that--"

"LET GO--"

Bang.

There's a security video the Master's watches a hundred times a night, a grainy black and white recording of the Doctor rocking back and forth, a small body in his arms, blood all over the floor. He sees himself in the image, looking up at the camera with an unreadable expression.

Something like envy for the child's position.

If he strains his ears, he can still hear the Doctor crying in his cell across the hall.

The Master rewinds the video again, and dips his finger in the wine, tracing a door around the man in the security video.

10/Master rated R for violence

2007-08-17T14:07:34Z

already posted to dw_slash

title: Dirty Work
author: briodenebuliser
rated: R for violence
pairing: 10/Master
disclaimer: BBC owns this
summary: The Master seduces the Doctor into doing more dangerous labwork for him, but when there's an attempt on the Master's life, things get dangerous very quickly...

The Doctor staggered back to his cell, leaning against the cold concrete. "We can't do that again," he said hoarsely, "I'm starting to crack." he said, his hands shaking badly.

The Master smirked, his hand on the doorknob. "We'll see."

"No wait," the Doctor said, grabbing his hand and falling to his knees, "This isn't funny anymore. The Whirlwind program shouldn't even belong to us, you need to get rid of it."

"What, you want me to give it away?"

"Think what you'd be giving to mankind, the things they could accomplish with simple time manipulation," he said, his fingers kneading the Master's hand,

"They would love you."

A week went by, and the Doctor lay staring at the ceiling, moving only to take his meals.

A second week went by, and the Master strode in to tell him that it had been done. "I've decided that it's more fun watching humans crack under the strain of beta-testing this thing." he said.

Weeks passed. What had been respectable meals turned into bowls of unflavored broth twice a day. Sometimes he wished the Master would come in just so he could lick the salt off his hands.

Then one night, the Doctor lay wide awake on the floor, and realized that he was not alone.

"Who are you?" he whispered.

The figure was dressed completely in black, and armed to the teeth. "I think I have the wrong man."

"How did you get in here?" the Doctor asked.

The black figure held up a small device completely foreign to him, a mixture of Earth and Gallifreyan design. Something like a vortex manipulator, but less powerful.

"Well done," he whispered, not sure whether he should be scared, "You're here for...?"

"I've come for the Master's head," the man said, "Don't get in my way."

"He'll kill you." he said, reaching for the man, about to tell him to not throw his life away. But upon making contact, he saw the mire of the man's mind.

The man was a practiced soldier. A practiced executioner. The Doctor looked at a lifetime of horror, and drew back in disgust.

It took him a moment to form a response, the man's borrowed memories still vivid. "Right then." he finally said, devoid of pity for this man, "See if I care."

And with that, the killer vanished.

He grabbed his head, sliding down the wall, and began to sob. "What's happening to me?"

"I dunno, what is happening to you?" the Master asked. He'd snuck in quietly, dressed in an expensive black suit, "You were talking to someone."

"No, just losing my mind," the Doctor said, letting out a little manic laugh, "Every day with you is just another step closer to the edge."

"Well then, no cake for you." he said, revealing a beautiful white frosted cake.

The Doctor felt his teeth chatter. "What's that for?"

The Master smiled. "Ever been to Peru?"

The Doctor shook his head.

"It's home to the one of the most dangerous maximum security prisons in the world," the Master continued, sitting on the floor and propping the Doctor's back against his arm. "Home to the most horrible kind of men. Rapists. Serial killers." he paused, leaning in to whisper in the Doctor's ear, "War criminals."

The Doctor shuddered, feeling the Master's gloved hand on his forehead as he pushed the hair out of his eyes.   "Knowledge is a dangerous thing, we can't let this technology fall into the wrong hands," the Master said soothingly, "Someone in that prison got their hands on it, we need to...correct them."

"What...?" he asked, afraid to complete the sentence.

"Just scare them," the Master assured him, taking off his gloves. "You'll make a little bitty storm, and have it pass over the prison. Maybe cause some structural damage, but that's all. Just so they know who they're dealing with."

"That doesn't sound right."

"Oh, it's perfectly safe, you'll just..." he said, gliding a finger across the top of the cake, "...slide right past them." he said as he placed the finger into the Doctor's mouth, feeling him take it gratefully.

He shivered, his face flushed as he licked it off the Master's finger, slowly savoring the sweetness mingled with the machine oil on the Master's hands. He was starving.

"How does it taste?" the Master whispered into his ear. But the Doctor did not answer, only lay in his arms.

The next night, he started awake. The door to his cell was propped open, but no one waited there. Everyone was asleep, and so he made his way to the Master's laboratory, guided by a smell of sweet perfume.

The lab door was also unlocked, and when he went in he was greeted not by the Master, but a tub of steaming water that emanated something indescribably intoxicating. Candles glowed around the whirring science equipment, though even that was obscured by the soft music coming out of the rich, satin-draped walls.

He undressed, lowering himself into the water and shuddering with relief. He'd forgotten how long its been since he'd been warm.

Just as he eased himself back, the Master approached from behind, dressed again in a black suit, though this time the tie had been discarded and the shirt loosened a bit. "That's right, sit back," the Master cooed, "The program is very sensitive to mental distress, tends to make the storm intensify." He cupped the Doctor's chin in his hand, giving him a glass of red wine to drink.

"You don't have to do this." the Doctor said.

"Don't I." the Master replied, smiling as he ran his hand along the surface of the water.

For a while, they sat in silence, the Master refilling his glass and combing through his hair while the Doctor soaked, secretly wishing he could just stay and never return to that awful cell.

He didn't dry off, rather the Master rolled up his sleaves and lifted him out of the water. For a few seconds, he leaned his face against the Master's chest

and listened to his hearts, realizing that the smell he couldn't place all this time was the Master's cologne. Placing him on the table fitted with soft bedding, the Master began to attach the restraints.

But just as he pulled a red sheet over him and tightened the belt loops on the Doctor's ankles, something thumped against the floor outside in the hall.

The Doctor's eyes went wide, looking up and trying to read the Master's facial expression, trying not to show his panic.

The Master eye narrowed, silently making his way to the lab door, motioning for the Doctor to be still.The Doctor shut his eyes, his stomach clenching at the thought of what would come next.

Sure enough, a fight ensued out in the hallway, though he only heard one man cry out.

The sound was muffled through the walls, a series of pummeling blows that sounded like someone dribbling a bowling ball on the floor. A long, held-out gagging sound, and then nothing.

The Doctor waited several minutes for the Master to return, and for a brief instant...

But the Master returned, his heels clicking on the floor as he strode furiously back to where the Doctor lay. He landed a backhanded slap across the Doctor's face. "You knew this was coming." he said, grabbing the Doctor's free arm and twisting it painfully, "How long have you known?"

The Doctor struggled to breath. "I saw him yesterday," he said desparately, "Come on, look at the shape I'm in, hardly slept right or eaten for days, for all I know the man was a daylight hallucination."

The Master said nothing, releasing the Doctor's arm but continuing to stare into the Doctor's eyes. His breath was labored, he seemed genuinely hurt. "He nearly killed me."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't think he'd get this far, please believe me." the Doctor said, eyes shining with tears. He pulled the Master toward him with his free arm, gripping him like a life preserver. "Please don't be angry with me, please, I'm sorry, tell me you're not mad, I can't go into the program like this, I'll botch it if I go in now, please don't, I can't survive like this."

The Master pushed him back, and placed both hands gently on the Doctor's face, leaving little bloody trails as he wiped away the tears. He stood there thinking to himself for a long time, listening to the man cry, wondering if he could trust himself to beat the Doctor without actually killing him. But then he thought of something better.

"I'm fine." he said stonily, then smiled. "No really, everything's going to be fine."

The Doctor looked down and saw just how much blood had gotten onto the Master's shirt, though it was difficult to tell in that wine-colored room. He began to shiver.

Fastening the last restraints, the Master set the helmet onto the Doctor's head and readied the computers. The storm was already close to the prison, all it needed was tweaking in duration and velocity. Quick, but superficial. The Master reached out to pull the lever to start it, his hand hesitating slightly as he thought about what he was about to do...

The program had advanced since he last tested it, but it was still fatally tricky to manage. Thousands of possible outcomes has to be considered depending on temperature, direction, speed, etc. The prison was close...

The Master rolled back his sleaves and dipped his hands into the bathwater, watching the blood swirl on the surface. "Easy for you," the Master muttered to himself, looking at a satellite image of the storm's progress, "You never see their faces."

He was tired of the Doctor's hands never getting dirty, tired of his moral superiority. He looked down at the Doctor's serene face, his thin form at ease, and placed a hand on his temple.

The effect was very satisfying. Though the Doctor did not emerge totally from the program, he flinched, gritting his teeth as the images bombarded his mind.

And in Peru, the storm sped up, ninety miles per hour, a hundred miles per hour...

And in the Doctor's mind, the assasin was knocked to the floor, the Master kicking his weapon out of reach...

A hundred and ten, a hundred and twenty...

The Master's foot crashed down on the man's face with a sickening crack, blood spraying...

A hundred and forty, a hundred and fifty...

The Master began to kick the man in the ribs, with no idea of how long it would take to kill a man in such a fashion...

A hundred and eighty, a hundred and ninety...

He only stopped when a rib had punctured the man's lung, and watched as he drowned in his own blood...\

The Doctor tried to regain control, but everything spun out from under him. Though he couldn't see what was happening on the ground, the Master looked up at his computer screen and smiled as the wind began to pick up cars, trees, and, eventually, several hundred people.

He released the wrist restraints, and, to his surprise, the Doctor gripped him in his arms and began to sob. "Please...please...I'm not a killer...tell me I'm not..." he said, looking up in horror.

The Master cradled the back of his head in one hand, gently laying him back down on the slab and pulling the sheet over him. "Oh but you are now," he said, smiling, one bloodied finger tracing the Doctor's mouth. "I'll see that you get there."

briodenebuliser @ 2007-08-09T22:07:00

2007-08-10T02:11:17Z

Already posted to dw_slash.

title: Mosaic
rated: safe
pairing: 10/Master
disclaimer: BBC owns this
summary: Master seduces Doctor into working on a dangerous lab experiment.

The Master surveyed the Doctor's cell, eyeing the hundreds of pictures cut out of books and taped onto the walls. There must have five of Notre Dame alone.

"This," he said, tearing off a handful of papers and balling them up, "Has got to go."

The Doctor said nothing, staring out the window as his cell was stripped. The books, the bed, everything. And when that was taken, the Master reached up and removed the single lightbulb hanging from an extension cord.

A week went by, his meals slid through a door slot twice a day, and he stared at the cracks in the concrete until he thought he'd go blind.

A second week passed, and the Doctor had begun to paint faces on the wall with his food. The next morning, he woke up and they'd been painted over.

"Alright, this is beyond cheek," he said, shouting under the door the next time his dinner arrived,

"You gonna talk to me or what?"

The Master walked in, dressed completely in black, down to his gloves. Didn't hide the blood.

"Been down with your friend Jack a bit," he said, smiling, "Getting old, we were playing Julius Caesar this morning and it usual takes a good ten stabs until he passes out."

He peeled off one of his gloves and let it fall to the floor. The Doctor stared at it, not wanting to make eye contact.

"What's happened to you?" the Doctor whispered, "What's changed?"

"I know, I've really become a monster," the Master said, taking a step closer, "I should be destroyed,

I should be taken out in streets at the end of a meat hook."

He pulled a handgun out of his coat pocket and placed it in the Doctor's hand, kneeling before him.

"So kill me." he said.

The Doctor stood with mouth hanging open, unable to respond. "I...I can't kill you."

"But you must, I've done unspeakable things." the Master said.

"But I can't, not _you_."

The Master smiled again. "Ah, then it must be because you love me."

The Doctor recoiled. "No! I despise you!"

The Master shrugged. "Well then, kill me."

The Doctor stood imobile, his hand shaking as he pointed the barrel at the Master's chest, walking up to him until it lay against one of his hearts. "I can't."

The third week the meals stopped coming.

Then one morning, a small square of red paper was slid under the door. The Doctor lunged at it, for

any scrap of color in that dismal cell. He held it up to the window light, studied it, but it ordinary

beyond the fact that the number "1" has been penciled on the back.

Every hour that day and the next day, a square of numbered paper floated under the door, until he had

twenty-five lying in a heap on his floor. He knew the last one had come when he woke up to find a roll

of scotch tape at his feet.

It was so quiet on this side of the ship, the sounds of the paper were deafening.

He taped up them up in order, completely unable to tell what the complete picture was supposed to be.

It was so dark, it could have been anything.

The next day, he was so hungry it hurt. The lightbulb had been replaced in the cieling, and when

he looked at the wall he fell to his knees and bit his hand.

"Bastard..." he whispered.

It was a choppy but still recognizable image of the Master, a hand over his mouth, his face crumpled,

looking at something to his right.

A look of utter remorse, like nothing the Doctor had ever seen.

He was transfixed.

"Bastard bastard bastard..." he kept saying under his breath. He knew it had been staged, that the

Master would never have reformed like this, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from it.

A moment later the real image stepped in, this time robed entirely in red. Color deprivation made the

Doctor want to drink him, but hunger kept him prostrate on the floor.

The Master walked up to him, running his fingers through his hair, before picking him up in his arms and carrying him to his laboratory.

No scientist in living memory had ever had a lab like this one, the Master's lab looked like a harem

out of Arabian Nights. Soft light showed expensive machinery whirring to the side, everything else, the floor, the walls, the furniture, being decked out in dark red satin. The Doctor felt drunk just looking at it.

He loved the feel of the Master's robes against him, buried his head against the soft fabric to listen to his heartbeats.

He didn't fight when the Master laid him down on a soft table, drawing up a sheet over him to keep him warm. "What are you...?" he muttered.

"Shhh," the Master whispered next to his ear, "Got something for you."

But instead the Doctor became more alert, noticing that his ankles were being cuffed to the slab he lay

upon. "What...why...?" he managed to stutter. Then he noticed the helmet next to him. "Oh no I can't," he said, "You can't make me, it nearly...I went mad the last time."

"You're the only one who ever got close to repairing this thing," the Master said, tapping his head, "My

head's too broken, it's got to be you."

The Doctor felt tears of terror fall down the side of his face. "I'll lose my mind, that device..."

he sobbed, he remembered the last time he'd used it, the Whirlwind program that allows a single user to

control large-scale storms using time manipulation. Dangerous at best.

But as scared as he was, it was getting harder to refuse the Master. He'd been without any company,

any distraction, any comfort for so long, and now here he was between warm, clean satin sheets,

feeling the Master's hand rest on his forehead. His resolve began to fade.

"Please," he said, whining with the pain of exhaustion, "I can't."

The Master leaned next to his ear, and said, "Yes you can, you can do this."

The Doctor looked away, wishing and not wishing he could move out from under the Master's hand.

"When this is over," the Master said in a low voice, looking off in the distance,"I'll take you far away

from all this. Just the pair of us, we'll ride off into the end of the universe, where no one can find

us. Just you, and me, until the end of time, until we are dust swirling in space like a living pearl."

The Doctor looked up at him, wanting to believe.

"Again."

"What again?" the Master asked.

"Lie to me. Again."

The helmet was afixed to his head, his arms restrained to ropes in the floor.

The Master walked across the lab, his robes swinging in the candlelight. He laid his gloved hand on a

lever, looked into the Doctor's eyes, and said, "I'd give you a gun every day if I thought it meant you

loved me."

Before the Doctor could say another word, he threw the lever, and smiled as the other man screamed in

the madness of the storm.

briodenebuliser @ 2007-08-03T00:30:00

2007-08-03T04:34:35Z

title: Vacancy
word count: 692
rated G
pairing: 10/Master
summary: Master/10 visit a small, deserted American town

Downtown was exactly three blocks long, bookended by churches that faced each other in the world's greatest staring contest. Store display windows upheld an unspoken rule that only second-hand dresses, knick-knacks, and wigs were fit to be seen in public. No birds, no dogs, no stirring wind, the one traffic light flashing like a hotel vacancy sign.

"Wait, where are we?" the Master asked, shielding his eyes from the sun.

The Doctor peered into a window filled with old license plates. "Modoc, South Carolina."

"Modoc?!" the Master said, laughing, "Like in those old Marvel comics?!" He leaned in on the penguin salt shakers, safari flower vases, and keepsake boxes, who looked back dreamily as if to say 'gosh if we know'. "Not that I suspect any of the locals could read without moving their lips." he muttered.

The Master got tired of television screens so quickly, sometimes he put his hand on the two-dimensional burning cities like a mother cat pawing at a video of her lost kits. Weeks of panic had ripened the people for something new, whether it rise up against him or devolve into cannibalism, and he wanted to bend the bough down and inhale his new creation.

But they were alone. The town hero who would have made him pay for his crimes was standing hand-cuffed next to him, the drunken sidekick was waiting in a bottle of Armagnac on his dresser, and the air was thick with the stale afterglow of victory. These little towns were expert at rolling up the sidewalk on the weekends and driving off, leavings tourists on the doorstep with that sinking feeling of a girl who's accidentally arrived at the dance hall the day after prom.

"Where are they?!" the Master yelled at the Doctor, "Not even a tire track! Incredible!" He looked up and down the main drag, kicking a door as if someone would come and unlock it for him.

The Doctor had it timed. Forty-five minutes without an audience, and they'd be back in the ship's lab joking about how rat brain slices looked like pizza.

Not two minutes had gone by when a child's cry sprung out of the church on their left.

"Aaaaah," the Master said, sniffing the air, "There you are." He hurried after the sound, and the Doctor followed, wondering how many might still be alive.

Once they stepped inside, the Master walked experimentally across the tiles floor to hear the click of his heels in that cavernous place. He didn't need to raise his voice too much.

"Are you ticklish? I bet you aaaaaare." he said, looking this way and that for the source of the cry. "I'm gonna come and tickle ya, yes I am. Tickle you until my fingers sink right between your ribs and I can pick you and jiggle you up and down like a maraca."

The Doctor leaned in close and whispered, "Don't you think this is a bit too easy? I mean, he knows we're here, and he's still going off like a siren."

"Shut up and walk ahead of me, we're going down the stairs." He pushed him a few inches ahead, keeping one hand on a shoulder as they stepped down to nursery level. Their flashlight rolled over bits of wall doodled black with marker, and food wrappers crackled under their feet in the dark. The cry retreated into the last room on the left, little hiccups starting to break the noise.

Master pushed the Doctor out of the way and shined the light into the little boy's face, filthy and surprisingly free of tear tracks. The Master smiled encouragingly. "Well now," he said, "You didn't see this coming, did you?"

The boy moved only a little, quietly enough to hear the grenade pin drop.

Master blinked again and he was on a steel table with ice packs on his face and a high dialtone in his ears. Hands gently peeled burnt fabric off his arms. He couldn't hear, but he looked up at the Doctor's cheery face and as he slowly mouthed the words,

Didn't see that coming, did you?

briodenebuliser @ 2007-07-29T19:59:00

2007-07-30T00:03:09Z

title: Hands
author: briodenebuliser
word count: 915
rated: T
pairing: 10/Master
disclaimer: BBC owns this
summary: during "The Year That Never Was", where 10 and M find how easy murder is.

"I loved her hands," the Doctor said, "The brushstroke sweat swiped across a table, the two fingers walking along her arm, her little coin tricks." He drew Rose's outline on some paper, then tapped longingly against the surface like a bee against a car window.

"I found an old pair of her gloves once; the hundreds of letters she'd never write me, the thousands of fingers she'd never point at me, all slept in the back of my closet like two nesting cats."

The Master looked at the device, testing it in his hands to see if even the vibration of his pulse would cause parts to jangle loose from their place. "If you'll sit there and make sure my heart doesn't explode once I snap this on, be a load off."

"What's this one do?"

"The one thousand computer programmers I kidnapped to control hurricanes are not as reliable as one would wish. We're going to find bits of Brazil scattered all over the place now. So, if you want to get something done right the first time..." he said, tightening the velcro straps against his skull. "Hurricane

Drake is at stage 2 development, so if I can get a lock on its' direction I can let it spin out away from land."

"What is it with you and wanting to control the weather?"

"Not the weather," the Master said grinning, "The Whirlwind."

Both men sat down in chairs, the Master staring down thousands of timelines and gambling which one would tweak the storm to his favor, his head so noisy with the sussurus of possibilities that his brain squeaked, while the Doctor just sat and made sure he didn't die.

When it was over, a thin coat of grease hung on the air, the smell of a lab that once again narrowly avoided exploding in green smoke, and it reeled both scientists in like worms on a hook.

The next week, they were both working in tandem over the disemboweled device, egg cartons and teacups holding spare parts. "Why'd you just sit there watching?" the Master asked finally.

"You asked me to." the Doctor replied.

The Master twiddled the device between his fingers, waiting for the right question.

"What's it like, down in the storm?" the Doctor asked.

"Why didn't you attack me?" the Master asked in turn.

"Would you kill someone in their sleep?"

"Not when you want the same dream," he said, running a nail along his mouth, "Putting your hands around the storm like clay on a pottery wheel, narrower and narrower until its just a snake dancing to your arabesque."

"Where you get the fuel for that?" the Doctor asked, "Must blow through a hell of a lot of energy."

The Master flicked his hands away from the air he'd been choking. "Synthesized some low-grade D-------trium, had to fill in the gaps with hydrogen, but it stays crunchy in milk. Try it." he said, thrusting the headset at him.

"What? Is there a storm right now?"

"Nothing big, but China's always got _something_ this time of day."

The Doctor ran his hands through his hair, wondering where Rose's hands were now, tilting her head up as she spelled his name in the stars.

"Come on, I'll bet ten quid you can't slow the storm down before it hits land." the Master said.

The Doctor looked at him incredulously. "I thought you were better man."

"I thought you were a betting man." he said, his smile the crack of light in a pandora's box partially jimmied open.

When the Doctor fastened it on and started the program, it was nothing but a stream of information at first, various speeds and points on a maps describing the development of the storm, the timelines stretching out like a hydra that promised to multiply itself with every possibility he ruled out.

If he wanted to, he could stay at a distance and pretend it was a coin spinning in slow motion across a table. But if he came in close, really got into the grain of that watery fabric...

The Master watched his friend breaking into a sweat, leaning against the table and taking his air in quick gasps. That was the thing about the fuel he'd synthesized, it broke down into basic components that tended to affect your heart rate if you breathed enough of it. Great stuff for those crisis moments

and needed the extra juice pumping to your brain, a little manic aggression's good for the tedium of time manipulation, but if spent too long in the program---

The Doctor ripped the headset off and yanked himself back to the surface, his eyes adjusting to the light. Somewhere, he knew, was a Master-shaped vase that needed dropping.

He ran straight at him, a chair raised high over his head and landing in an arc inches from the Master had been sitting. A stream of beakers crashed at his feet in the chase that ensued, but he could feel it in his brain, the howling column that wanted everything to break against him.

When the Master fell to the ground, the Doctor could see the next seconds unfurling, the blow to the head, and then the next, and the next...

But he didn't. He just stood over the prone figure and rocked on his toes. That future wouldn't happen today.

The Master looked up at the man holding the chair over him and smiled bloodily. "Easy, isn't it?"

briodenebuliser @ 2007-07-27T23:54:00

2007-07-28T04:02:42Z

title: Deer
author: briodenebuliser
word count: 831
rating: M for some violence
pairing: 10/Master/Tish
disclaimer: BBC owns this
summary: During "Year That Never Was", a short story where the Master sends Tish off on a horrible errand.

Tish walked toward the viewing room in L-patterns, placing each heel precisely three tiles up and one to the side, swaying when she thought no one was looking. The ship was so empty, the people were so quiet, that the sound of walking on a hard floor echoed in her head. She was past the point of missing

music, or other's people's voices, she would have given anything just to have a phone to cradle against her ear so she could listen to a dial tone.

The room afforded a one hundred and eighty degree view of the horizon above the cloudline, the Master a black chesspiece against the dawnlight whose shadow cut the floor in half. She wondered if he spent his free time on large rocks absorbing the sun's heat.

He turned suddenly, flashing his wide, lizard grin. "Good morning." he said, walking closer. Her eyes slid sideways, noticing the Doctor crumpled in the corner as if the two men had been playing a game of tug-of-war and the Master had simply let go his end of the rope and watched his friend smack into the wall.

But as still as they both were, one standing and the other down, they were both hurricanes standing in place, and it made her want to move under ground.

He smiled her eyes up into his, picking at the collar of her uniform. Little bits of lint came off in his fingers, and he continued to smile at them as if they were flowers picked off a vine, and then flicked them to the floor.

"Clean." he said, "Come out with me, got something for you girly girl."

He pointed to the door with his remote control, and out of a hidden panel in the ceiling dropped an enormous grey sleeping bag, and her first thought was that something had pupated on the ship. She looked back at him, and he could hardly contain all the teeth in his head as he nodded at her to move forward.

A few feet and she was outside the entrance again, standing next to the cotton cocoon. The Master, still in his square of light, pressed a button on his remote, and he cooed, "Caught anything for me?" An affirmative was buried somewhere in the static.

The panel slid shut behind her except for a spare inch in the center, and all was quiet except for the twinkling his smile made in her mind's eye. But she wasn't alone for long.

Around the corner, which one she couldn't tell, came the drumbeat of a different critter. It clanked against the tiles, and if echoes were anything to measure by, it must have been an enormous toddler running around the ship in its mother's high heels.

And then it rounded on her, an enourmous buck deer running straight for her in a good impression of a magnified Rorschach inkblot framed against the blank hallway. She froze for an instant, and then ran back to the door, scratching at the panels open for her. Instead she was staring into a darkened telescope...no wait, rather the barrel of a gun.

She dropped, and looked at the deer right as the bullet hit it's throat and had its blood reaching for the corners of the walls. Its legs gave out, and soon it sat unseeing beside her, and at this close proximity she could see how truly large it was, and wondered if the Master would be wanting her to have the antlers mounted on the wall.

"Get rid of it." he ordered, the smile missing from his voice. She looked up at his face, one black eye looking through at her, before shutting her out with the horrible realization that, until this point, she had never handled a dead thing before.

She received clearance to take the thing down to ground, and she had managed to find an old sleeping bag in a storage closet so it wouldn't bleed everywhere.

Down on Earth, with the flies and the dogs and the starving children with baseball bats, she wondered if the Master was laughing.

She found an old dumpster behind the nearest building, but after an hour she couldn't heave it in. A crowd gathered around this little Buster Keaton reel, watching the bag slide out of her hands, leaking more blood on her, or listen to her gasps when she accidentally touched her exposed arm to the hot steel of the trash container. But they did not think to give assistance, they were not thinking at all, as the whites of their eyes glowed with hunger.

When she returned, she walked five steps and sank to the floor from exhaustion, and looked up at the Doctor's face, which was a welcome sight since she knew that, if she were alone, she would have begun to cry.

"He's the same way with me," he said, "He expected you to fail. He just wanted to see if you'd do it."

briodenebuliser @ 2007-07-24T00:06:00

2007-07-24T04:07:21Z

title: Cake
author: briodenebuliser
rated: R for violence
word count: 2,136
pairing: 10/Master
disclaimer: BBC owns this
summary: "Year That Never Was" scenario, where the Master takes the Doctor down to Earth for a little visit.

The first time the Doctor broke into the Master's lab, he stepped in a half-melted stick of butter.

He skated around in the dark a few seconds, quietly trying to scrape it off until he heard crunchings underneath the unbuttered shoe. Peering closer, he realized there were a number of rodent skeletons littering the floor, floured in a coat of rat poison. In fact, a great Siberian wasteland of the white powder surrounded a padlocked cabinet, flattened out by shoeprints.

Towers of paper lay on the desk, some gathered in plastic mixing bowls, all glued together with dead mice. He was about to ignore them as trash until he plucked the nearest page and read the title.

"Cake?"

"Commandeered a cocoa farm in Brazil." the Master said thru the intercom in the ceiling. The room was suddenly blinding and a pair of Toclaflane sped across to corner him, a small brass ornament tinkling from each one.

"You'll want to put those on." the ceiling instructed, and Doctor realized they were bracelets.

He ran a mental finger down the list of devices Master had used on him before, trying to remember if this was something new, or something borrowed from another race.

"Look, I haven't got all day." the ceiling said, impatiently tapping it's omnipresent fingers.

"What do they do?" Doctor asked.

"What, don't you trust me?"

"Did you design them?"

The ceiling smiled. "Aaah, I _dare_ you to put them on."

A faint smile couldn't help but raise the corners of Doctor's mouth, he felt like a kid again. The bracelets snapped securely in place.. The temptation to lick them was checked by another glance at the mice, and the suspicion that the Master would have no qualms about poisoning _him_ as well.

The door opened with a devastating grin and open arms. "Hey there chief, wanna borrow the car for the big date tonight?" Master said.

"We going somewhere?"

"Ooooh, I felt like stretching my legs, spreading love and goodwill," Master said, pushing dirty mixing spoons into the sink, "You know it's Christmas Eve?"

The Doctor stared at his hands, wondering where the lost one was hidden.

"But before we go down, I want to show you one of my current projects." He pointed a remote at a TV screen, and a pit full of men in brightly-colored uniforms surrounded by wide-screen televisions stood in silence, watching a clock.

"Isn't that the stock exchange in Chicago?" the Doctor asked.

"Used to be, I've hired them for a slightly different _futures_ market." he said, licking his teeth.

Suddenly a satellite image of a hurricane appeared on the screens down in the pit, and all the men began shouting to one another, gesturing to people on the outer rim of the pit behind computers. They clambered over each other, looking to the screens, then to each other, then to the men thirty feet away, all completely incoherent to the outsider.

But when the Doctor looked at the satellite image. "Is the hurricane moving away from land? That's impossible, storms that size don't change direction so suddenly, the chances of that happening are---"

"Million to one, I know." the Master said, "I've taught them how to manipulate temporal probability to the point that they can study all the thousands of ways, the thousands of timelines, where the hurricane might develop, which timeline will result in its not being a threat, and choosing that timeline in that immediate area of the ocean."

"How is that not affecting our own timeline?"

"Surely there's a timeline where the world is exactly the way it is now, but without Hurricane Bettie bashing into Cuba? You'd need a lot of manpower to examine all the possibilities, so when I heard about these men in Chicago---"

The Doctor wasn't sure how he felt about this. "You're teaching humans time manipulation? Why, what do you get out of this?"

The Master picked up a container of cake squares, crunching on a mouse skeleton as he did so. "They will love me."

The pair of them came down to Earth, in a tropical city choked with cars, used as tents or coffins, with people inside staying out of the sun and lizards on the hood gathering the sunlight. The Doctor began to sweat.

"Wait here." the Master whispered, the bracelets suddenly locking his hands behind his back as the Master pushed him to the ground on his knees. "Comfy?" he asked, his figure black against the sun, "I won't be a moment."

He was about to turn away when he snapped his fingers. "Nearly forgot." he said, shifting the box of sweets to his other hand and pulling a small black bag out of his pocket. "Can't let the children see you now can I?" he said, pulling the bag over the Doctor's face and pulling a drawstring, like drawing the door shut on an oven.

He heard the Master's footsteps lead away, never entirely disappearing, and his fingertips as he tapped his little secret rhythm against car windows. The Doctor couldn't quite make out what he was telling them, but the hypnotic tone of voice was familiar, so in the end it didn't matter what he said, it would break in the end.

Time fell in salty droplets off the tip of his nose in that black bag, and stealthy little feet congregated around him in a wide circle. They, whoever, pickpockets, cannibals, the curious, stood waiting, for what?

The sound of one brick being lifted off another sound behind him, and he felt a burst of pain behind his kidney. The children shouted in glee, and began singing.

_Fly away Jackbird

Fly away Jackbird

Your mama is a vulture

That's what I heard_

A smaller stone hit him in the chest, and the children roared with laughter. "Stop!" he cried out, balling himself up on the ground. Three stones hit him all at once, and the black cloth sucked into his mouth as he labored to breath.

Large footsteps approached him, and the Master grabbed his hair and yanked him upwards. "Sit up straight." he whispered, "I just need a few more minutes."

More stones launched into him, though at least they aimed for his arms and legs this time, as the children continued chanting their little rhyme. The only thought that kept him from passing out was his greater fear of suffocation as the bag clung, hot and sweaty and gritty. After about five minutes though, they abruptly stopped, turned, and ran off.

He collapsed on the ground, and heard the Master opening his box of sweets. "Thank you!" the Master shouted, like an emcee at a boxing match, "I'll be here all week to knock the bastards down!" The children were magnetized, and clambered around his legs. "You did very well today, everybody. But I need three volunteers if you want this box." he said, shaking the contents inside.

The bag was ripped off his head, and sweet air blew across the Doctor's face face. Standing in front of him were a little boy, a little girl, and an infant barely old enough to sit up. All the others were huddled around the Master, their eyes trained lovingly on him as they licked frosting off their fingers.

He went to the girl, gently running his fingers along her cheek. "You did the good job today, you know that?" he asked.

She smiled, but didn't answer. The Doctor tried to warn her, but could barely gasp, watching his own blood pool in the sand.

Suddenly, fingers were around her throat, and she was forced to the ground, the Master's knees on her chest. Her eyes widened in terror, and she sputtered for mercy.

"Got a light?" he asked the little boy. Someone made a cigarette lighter appear, and it was handed over. The Master made clicked it experimentally, and smiled at the Doctor before grabbing the girl's hair and setting it on fire.

He shut his eyes, but the Doctor could block out neither the screams nor the smell. "Master, stop this!" he shouted, knowing no one heard him. It took a long time, she trashed so, and the Master was trying not to actually scorch her face or ears, taking pains to lift one yellow lock after another, like a tailor with his measuring tape.

But it was over eventually. He got up off the girl, who laid on the ground crying, little tufts of hair left on her otherwise uninjured head, and looked at the boy over his shoulder.

"What _you_ need," he said, turning his whole body to him, "Is something wet in your mouth." He reached into his pocket and stuffed a small brown object in the boy's mouth, and forced his mouth shut, staring into the boy's eyes as he began to whimper and cry. Noises that might have been "no please no" were muffled in the boy's throat. The boy tried to run away, but so many witnesses, at the very least, guaranteed he would not be killed.

After a few minutes the boy was allowed to spit. The girl was looking up at him in a mixture of pity and disgust, and he ran away to retch behind a tree. The thing on the ground might have been rolled up cardboard, or some mud, or half a dead rat.

Finally, there was the infant. It could have been a boy, no one had checked, and had watched all of this passively, serenely. The Master bent down to smile at it, and the infant grabbed his hand, gently gnawing on his forefinger. "Aaah, so that's what you wanted?" the Master said, and pulled a handgun out of his coat. He took a little candy from his box, and smeared it on the tip of the barrel.

The Doctor began to whine, "Pleeeease not this one, please don't."

Holding the infant in his arms, he leaned its head back, and gave it the barrel to suckle.

The Master didn't look up this time, but only into the child's eyes, who smiled up at him. A mixture of emotions crossed his face, ending in disappointment. "Oh what's the use," he said, tossing the infant down, "If they're too young to be scared of you?"

Back on the ship, the Doctor lay on a steel table with his shirt removed, the Master putting ice packs on his injuries, putting in a few stitches on his left arm. The bracelets were still attached.

“You ever get those days,” the Master asked, “When your head feels like a plastic bottle filled with pink cake sprinkles, and if you press just a little too much, it'll explode and you'll get pink sprinkles all over the furniture?”

The Doctor felt tears sting at his eyes with the needle going into his arm. “Your head is broken.”

“Mmmm,” the Master replied, “Wonder how my little weather team is doing.”

“Why are you helping them?”

“What's the difference between killing millions or saving millions, really? In a few months they'll probably use it on themselves and drown half the world.” the Master asked, “I don't get to see their faces either way.” He stabbed the needle into the wound again. “I want to be there for each of them.”

“So then why the cake?”

He tied off the stitch, and leaned in with his great white teeth. “Wanna see a movie?”

He pointed a remote as a small screen of the storm, and suddenly it switched to a grainy cell phone video of a blonde girl cradling a baby. He imagined her cooing, the baby burbling and reaching up at her pink mouth, background noise being nothing more than static. Suddenly she looked up, and waved away whoever was holding the phone.

“Little brother, looks like,” the Master said, switching off the screen, though keeping the remote tight in his grip, “She's good with kids, I've been watching her.”

The Doctor was silent.

“She doesn't say much about you, but she cries a lot. A lot. Draws your name on her hand and rubbish like that.”

The Doctor did not respond.

“I keep thinking, I could probably whip up a way for you to communicate with her.”

The Doctor's head whipped around. “Could you---?”

Suddenly the bracelets gave a teeth-loosening jolt through the Doctor's body, his spine arching off the table as he screamed to no one. Jackhammers were nailing him in the chest. When the Master took his finger off the remote, he laid his hand on the Doctor' to check his hearts.

Sweat mixed with adrenaline ran down the Doctor's face, and he wondered if he had to strength to even hoist himself off the table.

The Master held his face, smiling and pointing at the screen again. “More cake?”

briodenebuliser @ 2007-07-16T21:04:00

2007-07-17T01:10:56Z

title: String Theory
author: briodenebuliser
word count: 1,360
pairing: 10/lucy/rose/joan redfern/Master
rated: G
disclaimer: spoilers for "Sound of the Drums"
summary: Mostly humor meets Alice Through the Looking Glass. When the Doctor attempts to disengage the Paradox machine, he risks a number of after-effects.

"How are you going to fix this?" Lucy said, sitting on a bench, her knitting bag folded in her lap. She'd diverted the guards, giving the Doctor enough time to shut off the security cameras and sneak them this close to the TARDIS.

"Well, assuming I can disengage all the stuff he's tacked on and divert the energy back into the Tardis, the paradox should aright itself and take us back to the moment he got it running. Should have this done in no time."

"Mm, indeed." she said, taking out a pair of mittens and continuing her needlework. He suspected a lack of faith in his ability to work quickly.

"Except," he said, "That he's pumping out an incredible amount of temporal waste by-product with his Paradox machine, those things were never energy efficient. And seeing as he's been running it for several weeks non-stop, there'll be a good deal of dimensional decompression---"

She smiled at him, that affected lifting of the mouth that meant he was showing off again.

"Don't suppose you studied superstring theory?" he asked, "No, course not, erm, there's lots and lots of dimensions wizzing around, but we don't take the time to study them because they've been compacted to the point of being unseen, and their existence is highly unlikely to begin with. But all this time energy run-off is allowing these dimensions to enter our perception. Might allow. Well, a goodish chance it'll allow.

"By taking apart this Paradox machine while it's still running," he continued, "I'm allowing terrible amounts of energy leak off with no outlet, which may turn this current timeline into something very different indeed if I'm not careful."

She smiled a little more forcefully.

"Oh alright, here," he said exasperatedly, pointing at her knitting, "A safe amount of temporal energy leakage might turn a single stitch from dark blue to periwinkle, whereas the leak we're looking at now would turn those woolly mittens into a macaroni salad. Got it?"

He grabbed a complex handful of cables, delighted that they didn't electrocute him or blast him into atoms. "Might take a little longer than anticipated.

Comfy?" he asked her.

Maybe it was his imagination, but her knitting needles seemed to have turned into eyestalks. "All's good." the snail-mittens replied.

He blinked. "Just sit there and...you should be at a safe distance." he said. Sure enough, Lucy was knitting placidly away, the protuberant eyes atop the needles staring glassily at him. He knew if he got into a staring contest with a transdimensional object he'd soon be dancing naked down the ship's corridors naked with orange marmalade smeared all over his body and singing "Georgie Girl".

Upon closer examination of the Master's handiwork, he exclaimed, "Oh, will you look at that! High marks lad! You know, I've often thought of rigging my own equipment to the mainframe and turning the Tardis into...oh I dunno, a roller skate factory, but THIS---"

Time eddied around him, pockets of sound accelerating and decelerating so that machinery normally emitted a high whine would, a few feet away, sound like a fat man's heartbeat.

"Used to take these kind of things apart all the time, you think this is complicated?" he shouted, his back to Lucy, "Gallifreyan spacecraft makes Sputnik look like an art nouveau toaster oven."

He reached for the closest cable and heaved with all his strength to disconnect it, singing a haphazard work song under his breath. "And if the right one don't get ya, the left one will, tum tum, tumty tum, a poor man's made of muscle and blood..."

All the time dilation made him dizzy, his brain struggling to figure out what came next. "Come on, come on, where are you," he muttered, scanning the Cthonic mess of cables, "Take down too many, the whole core containment deteriorates, time vortex leaks out, and, well."

"Well what?" an older female voice replied.

His head whipped around. "Kill us all most likely." he said, in response to her question.

"Ah." Joan Redfern said, looking serenely down at her work.

She sat behind him, wearing Lucy's shapeless linen suit, but instead of blue wool was fiddling with an assortment of tubing in her lap. All of the tubing terminated, to his horror, into him. He hissed as the slightest motion caused seven-gauge hollow needles to shift in his arms. There were so many that he was afraid of bleeding to death if he ripped them out.

He couldn't afford the distraction. "I could do this, really I could, but, aaaah," he said, gripping his hair in frustration, ignoring the pain as he stared back at the machine, "I can't tell if some of these parts are fixed in place or I'm just perceiving them in extremely slow motion."

He stole another glance at Joan, her hands weaving the tubes in an oddly comforting fashion. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"You're not a well man," she said, "You need to stay put, or you'll do yourself a lot of damage."

"Stay put," he muttered, giggling as he noticed that the hollow needles were slowing transforming into corkscrews, burrowing for his blood. But upon further examination, he noticed that the tubes were labeled with Gallifreyan monikers, just like the TARDIS. And one in particular had a slightly longer ID number, which meant it was a recent addition...he looked up, and sure enough, the TARDIS had a cousin cable with the same ID.

He looked over at the domestic scene, an ikon of the saint of homemakers. "You know the best thing about our love?" he said.

"What?" she asked, her pale eyes peering up for the first time.

"I could walk away from you."

He yanked out another cable at the pain blinded him. Suddenly the pain wasn't just in his arms, but his legs and torso. All around him were briar vines, clutching at his clothes.

"No you couldn't." a voice replied, one he recognized like a punch to the gut. Rose sat untangling vines from herself, pulling thorns off of in slow gestures and watching them crumble into dust on the floor as time rippled and lapped against her. She smelled like apples. Or bitter almonds, whichever came first.

"Oi, this is getting too avant-garde," he said, the room suddenly becoming two-dimensional, like stage backdrops should be, flattening Rose into a paper doll. "What are you doing?"

"I'm stuck here on Earth," she said, "What are you doing?" Measuring distance became impossible, only shapes, and the colors of her, the yellow in her hair, the pinks in her face, sprang out from the page, as if a hidden hand had illuminated her in goldleaf.

"Oh, biding my time," he said, tears brimming in his eyes as he turned away, "Just waiting for my ship to come in."

He unwound the vines down to their source, a red cable beneath a grate on the floor. After this next, and last, pull, he found himself sitting opposite from the TARDIS, secured to a chair in knots that would have left sailors crawling into a bottle of gin in silent shame.

"Oooh, what's this, a Heaving Line Knot?" the Doctor asked jovially, the lack of thorns and intruding needles making him feel, in comparison, as if he were a good-natured old man allowing himself to be captured in a nursery game of cowboys and indians.

"It'll be a hangman's knot if you don't shut it." the Master replied, returning a sharp implement between his teeth.

"You'll want to watch what you're doing," the Doctor said blearily, "Or I might turn into a Muppet or Margaret Thatcher."

The Master turned away from his partially dismantled machine and grinned. "You don't think I'd lived this long as an ancient, powerful, and deadly mastermind and not put a dozen safety triggers on this thing? You've ingested enough nerve gas to kill an ordinary human, and instead it's made you delirious."

"S'at right?" he replied, wondering where his dream female had wandered off to. "Thank goodness, I was starting to think my physics was completely off the map."

briodenebuliser @ 2007-07-08T16:30:00

2007-07-08T20:34:05Z

title: Captivity
author: briodenebuliser
pairing: 10/Master/Lucy
word count: 590
rated: G
disclaimer: spoiler "Sound of the Drums"
summary: conversations between 10 and Lucy on captivity. Humor mostly.

“...and I had to use a frequency multiplier to the proper neuro-electric field strength, so the Piezoelectric transmitter could work with the least resistance.” the Master said, sipping his coffee.

Lucy smiled, not understanding. “He used crystals to brainwash everyone.” the Doctor translated, studying his nails as best as his restraints allowed. “What'd you use, Langasite?”

Cats didn't looked this smug. “Polyvinylidene fluoride, got it on sale from the Kremlin.” the Master replied.

“Ya know you could do the same thing if you had a loooooooooooot of sugar?”

“I'd need...” they both paused to calculate, “7,215---” “No, 18,000---” “No, for the whole country? You'd need---” “3.2 million metric tons of sugar!” the Master concluded.

“Diabetes for everybody this Christmas!” the Doctor cried out cheerfully before his nose got the working end of Master's coffee mug.

The three of them had been having breakfast together more and more frequently. Lucy would unravel her napkin thread by thread while smiling encouragingly.

In the beginning, she slept all the time. She would stare at her toiletries, and wonder if she could make a bomb out of toothpaste and orange juice.

She would spend hours breathing on the glass and writing RESCUE ME with her finger.

At night, she visited the Doctor whenever Harold was away. He'd be asleep, but she didn't want to be alone. The Master had stocked his cell with harmless mometoes from the TARDIS, and she would take down all the objects on a shelf and rearrange them according to size and color.

One time, the Doctor woke up. “So is this side of the room accelerating away from me?”

“What?” she asked, almost dropping the vase in her hand.

“You got all the red bits on that side. Well, the chartbooks are orangey....well, actually I thought they'd look more authoritative if the pages were yellowed, so I boiled 'em in turmeric this one time...”

She put the vase back and began to silently walk back to the exit. “And don't try turmeric as a skin-lightener, did that once before a friend's wedding and everyone thought I had liver failure.” he continued.

She cracked up laughing. It had been weeks since she last laughed, and it came out like a cough. “That's awful.” she replied.

“Eh, photos were black and white back then, wouldna noticed.”

She turned a fraction sideways toward him. “When Harold and I were married, it took hours for the newspapers to finish photographing us. I smiled so much my face froze up.”

“You miss it?” he asked.

What, she wondered, the way things used to be? “I miss the people sometimes. You all are so smart, I can't always follow...”

“Pfft.” he said, motioning to the books on his shelf, “You got all the time in the world now, plenty to catch up on. Besides, he just likes to show off, I bet with a little hard work you'd be calculating the strain-charge for poled piezoelectric ceramics with one hand behind your back!”

Her eyes watered at the immensity of those shelves. “Harold frightens me.” she whispered.

“You and everyone else.” he replied, “But what scares you more?” he asked.

She turned another fraction towards him, this one thought of hers padding back and forth in captivity until now. “That rescuers will come and be even worse.”

She looked down at the vase in her hand for the first time. “What did you keep in here?” she asked.

“Roses.” he said.

“Where are they now?”

He looked away, smiling. “Anywhere but here.”