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metztlimoon) wrote2008-09-03 12:06 am
- fic,
- janto,
- slash,
- ten/master,
- vid
Fic: Ten/Simm!Master : It Never Is & Fanvid: Janto:When you say nothing
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It never is
The Doctor kneels next to his bed, head resting on one hand, the other clenched into a fist at his side. The images in his mind beg to be made real, and he hates every one of them. Fucking the Master, coming inside him; old friends naked together, twirling gentle patterns on each others' skin; the Master fucking him, abusing him.
He flicks so quickly from one to the other, craving affection, craving pain, just craving.
For a moment, his hand falls into his lap, presses between his legs before he curls up his fingers once more and slams his hand against the bed frame until his fingers bleed. Can't risk losing control, giving in to these macabre fantasies and his twisted need of a dead man.
He can't touch himself because he knows it wont be enough – it never is.
But the pain in his hand isn't enough to stop him, either. He reaches down, letting out a sigh as his fingers ferret out flesh through his trousers, letting the juddering breath back in as he wraps his hand round his cock and pretends the fingers are not his own.
“Ouch,” whispers the Master, from the doorway. “You really are a mess.”
The Doctor turns, part horror and part desperation, pulling his hand away from himself. The Master stands there, leaning up against the door frame, his arms folded, looking down at the Doctor.
“You can't be...” The Doctor says. “You're dead.”
“Bah,” says the Master. “Dead is such a loose concept.”
“You burned...”
“You seem to like burning things,” says the Master. “Dead enemies, home planets.”
“Stop it.”
“You brought me here, what did you expect? That you could stop torturing yourself for more than five minutes?”
“I... brought you here?”
“With your incessant pain! I could hear your agony over the drums from a universe away.” The Master holds up his hands. “Believe it or not, I was concerned.”
“Concerned?”
“That you'd do something stupid.”
“Hah,” the Doctor says. “Now I know I'm hallucinating, and obviously creatively.”
The Master scowls. “Concerned I'd miss watching you pine yourself to death. What a treat. If I'd only known my dying would have such an effect on you I'd have done it long ago. Wait... I did. Several times. Did you always spend weeks afterwards coming into your hand?”
The Doctor closes his eyes. “Just... just stop it.”
“You weren't so alone then though, were you? Back then, you could still hear them, the singing of Gallifrey in your blood.”
The Master puts his hand on the Doctor's shoulder, and crouches down next to him. “But you're not alone now,” he whispers. “Not any more.”
The Doctor didn't even realise he was holding back the sob until it tears out of his burning throat. “Shhh,” says the Master, drawing the Doctor into his arms -solid, for a dream- and the Doctor clings to him. “I've got you.”
The Master half lifts the Doctor onto the bed, and lies them both down. The Doctor gives in to the embrace, head nestled against the Master's shoulder. “There,” the master says. “Lets get rid of some of these clothes.”
The Doctor recoils on instinct, but he doesn't resist as the Master lays him bare. The Master's eyes are dark as he runs his fingers over his ribs. “You really have let yourself go, haven't you.”
The Doctor looks down at himself, and then at the Master's mostly clothed body. He takes hold of the Master's hand and gently kisses his fingers.
The Master smiles almost tenderly. “So that's want you want is it, Doctor? Two great minds – not philosophy or history...”
He trails his finger slowly down the Doctor's sternum, down in a line to his navel. Circles there.
“Not old enemies, arguing into the night. No. You...”
The finger teases lower, until the Master is -almost- touching the Doctor's cock, and the Doctor twitches.
“Want....”
He pauses there, leans in close to the Doctor's ear, his breath warm, his voice a dark rumble.
“Flesh.”
A tiny, desperate whimper escapes the Doctor's throat. The Master rests the palm of his hand on the Doctor's stomach, fingers splayed wide.
“Then, dear Doctor, that is what you shall get.”
The Master slides his hand upwards, reaching the Doctor's throat. The Doctor swallows against the Master's fingers.
“I'm not gentle,” the Master says.
“I don't want you to be gentle,” the Doctor whispers.
The Master kisses hard at the Doctor's neck, and increases the pressure of his fingers until the Doctor is struggling for air.
“Mark me...” the Doctor breathes.
“Maybe.” The Master lifts his mouth from the Doctor's skin, and moves his hand – this time it travels down again in a long, appraising sweep of the Doctor's body, before nudging apart his thighs. The Doctor was hard before, now he's painfully aware, the Master's fingers cup and squeeze his balls.
The Doctor reaches up, slides his hand inside the Master's shirt, pressing against the still solid chest. The Master sighs and unfastens the shirt, letting it fall over his shoulders. The Doctor then brushes his fingertips against the Master's face. So real.
Oh!
The Master twists one of the Doctor's nipples, smiling at the Doctor's expression of pain. The Doctor arches his body, and the Master does the same to the other nipple. Then he strikes the Doctor, snapping his head to one side and exposing the skin. He leans up, bites hard at the Doctor's throat, until the Doctor thinks he's going to either scream or come, or maybe both. He reaches up, but the Master pushes his hands back down, pins the Doctor's arms by straddling his chest, and undoes his trousers. He presses his cock against the Doctor's lips.
“Suck,” he says.
The Doctor does, choking as the Master pushes himself in, but somehow looking up as the Master smiles down at him and strokes his hair almost fondly. Then the touch becomes rough, forcing the Doctor's head still with clawed fingers as he thrusts deeper and faster.
Then the invading organ is gone from his mouth, and the weight is gone from his chest. He breathes deeply, oxygenating, aching..
“Turn over.”
The Doctor rolls, pulling his knees up beneath him as the Master's hand slides down over his arse. It's coated with something, he doesn't know exactly what but it's wet and slick and cool against his skin. He presses back, onto the touch.
.“I'm going to fuck you...” the Master says, teasing with his fingers, scraping his nails along the inside of the Doctor's thigh.
“Until the only word you'll remember is my name...”
The Doctor whimpers slightly, half from the touch and half from the voice. Please, his mind says.
“Until you beg me to stop...”
The Master's fingers press against his hole, working their way inside him, roughly.
“Please...” The Doctor whispers.
The Master rakes the Doctor's back with his free hand, and thrusts his cock at that very moment- digging his fingers into the Doctor's hips to keep him still. Pain sears through the Doctor and he howls into the pillows, knowing he asked for this but wishing he hadn't, wanting it to stop. In a moment of panic he cries out...
“Please... Master.... Stop...”
But the Master has him fast, fingertips pressing painfully against bone as he drives into him. It burns, the Master's cock forcing him open, but it's contact, it's something...and for all the Master says he isn't gentle the Doctor knows it's a lie. Even as the Master yanks back the Doctor's head to nip again at his throat, even as he goes too just a little too deep and just a little too fast and laughs as the Doctor cries out at the hateful, perfect pain, even then he knows he's holding back. He's afraid of what that might mean. Afraid of the pain that might still come... aching inside and feeling the tears running from his eyes.
The Master doesn't stop.
And then the pain isn't pain any more, and even if it is the Doctor doesn't care. His body is welcoming every thrust, and he's moving with the Master, rocking his hips to find the perfect angle, and the Master's hand curls round his hip and wraps round his cock, spinning pleasure through his belly. The Master's breathing quickens, panting now, his breath hot against the Doctor's shoulder, and the Doctor burns with sweat and ecstasy and sex, whispering the Master's name through the sounds of skin on skin. He's going to come, and he does, shaking and hoping hoping the Master won't be far behind because he can't take it much longer...
He isn't, his body tensing behind the Doctor's for a second, and clenching his hand into a fist on the Doctor's thigh – twice more, and he pushes the Doctor forward and off him, before sprawling on his back and staring up at the ceiling. The Doctor lies beside him, staring upwards too.
“Thank you,” says the Doctor, after a long while.
“Shut up and go to sleep,” says the Master.
“Will you be here, when I wake up?”
“What do you think?”
The Doctor turns his back on the Master, curls into a ball, and sleeps.
He dreams of gunshots and the smell of fire. He dreams he's holding the Master in his arms. He dreams the Master kisses him, while around them the world burns.
It's not enough. It never is.
THE VID
Song: When you say nothing at all (Roanan Keating)
Summary: When Jack tells Ianto what he's thinking, Ianto is a bit bemused. Made for jimmymick
x-posted:
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jackxianto , torch_wood ,At you tube here.
If you want to see it somewhere else, I'll sort out another link.
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