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Lost Boys	By : Turkaholic Category: 1 through F > Doctor Who Views: 3820 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who, any of its characters or trademarks. I make no money from the writing of this fanfiction

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Chapter Eighteen
                The Doctor dug his fingers into the Master’s shoulders, still clinging there as the momentary anaesthesia of sex began to fade away. The numbness ended. Confusion, self-loathing and despair took its place. He gritted his teeth against the visceral sting of it, part of him wishing that the numbness had lasted – just a little longer.
                Subconsciously he pressed his head closer to the Master’s, seeking comfort even as he hated himself for it. The Master opened his eyes at the gesture and looked into the Doctor’s face. A tired smirk flickered up one side of his face for a moment and then he leaned in to the Doctor’s ear.
                “Now tell me this won’t happen again.”
                The Doctor stayed silent, locked in his own thoughts. Whatever he said would sound empty, he realised. Once could be written off as an accident; twice was beyond denying, even to himself.
                The Master understood the silence all too well. He sighed, finally regaining his breath, and smiled in satisfaction. He lowered the Doctor’s legs back to the floor and backed away.
                The Doctor resisted the urge to slide down the wall. The wet floor felt uneven underneath his feet, his legs threatened to shake, but he forced himself to stay upright, fully aware of the Master’s eyes on him. Whatever else he had done, whatever mental battles he was losing, he wouldn’t give the Master that kind of satisfaction.
He let the hot water flow over him, raising his head into the stream of it as he tried to understand what had just happened. His head still felt foggy; disconnected from the present as though still struggling to pull itself out of the long days alone, but even through that his mind ran over the situation, analysing it. Something felt wrong: he could sense it in his stomach. The first time, the Master had been sadistic, dominating, proving a point. This time – when the Doctor had been most vulnerable - he’d barely even spoken. It was wrong; out of character.
                The Master had turned his back by the time the Doctor opened his eyes, snatching up his wet clothes from the bathroom floor. The Doctor’s brow knotted. He watched the scratches on the Master’s shoulders, red and glinting on the wet skin.
                “You brought me back.” He said, curiously.
                The Master paused for a moment. He sighed dramatically, his back still turned. “And it begins. I thought for a moment I’d finally found a way to shut you up.”
                The Doctor ignored it. He turned the shower off. The hiss of water faded into nothingness, and the Doctor watched the back of the Master’s head, his eyebrows furrowing ever harder. “You could have just left me there.” He continued. The Master sighed again and raised his eyes, frowning. “I wasn’t a threat to you anymore, I was beaten, so why? Why do it?”
                “You know,” growled the Master, “for someone who was drooling like a vegetable not long ago, you’re irritatingly vocal.”
                “You did it before, too.”
                The Master’s head twitched, as though he were jerking away a fly. He snatched up the towel from its long-forgotten corner and began drying himself; but the Doctor’s mind was beginning to clear, faster and faster as the thoughts came to him. The more he spoke, the more strength he seemed to gain. “You had me at your mercy. I was an old man, and you put me back this way. You could have killed me any time since I stepped on board the Valiant, but I’m still alive. Why do that?” He hesitated. The Master was ignoring him. “Unless-“
                “Shhhh!”
                The Master dropped the towel suddenly. He spun and pressed a finger roughly against the Doctor’s lips, pushing him back against the wall. He screwed his face up in a frustrated glare.
                “That’s enough out of you. That mouth has its uses, but it won’t stop me sewing it shut.”
                The Master kept his finger pressed hard against the Doctor’s mouth. After a moment he swallowed back his anger and raised his eyebrows. “Are you finished?”
                The finger pressed bruisingly hard against the Doctor’s lips, pinning them shut. He felt the finger shaking against his skin; whether through anger or fear, he couldn’t tell.
                Still frowning, the Doctor reluctantly acquiesced: he raised his hand and slid the Master’s finger away from his mouth, turning his face away.
                The Master’s eyes narrowed. He leaned in even closer, his teeth showing in a snarl. “Good.” He snapped. “Finally learning to obey your Master.”
                The taller Timelord felt the Master’s fingers slide through his grasp as he moved away. His fingers twitched in the absence, even as he tried to stop himself.
                There was a silence. The Master turned his back once more and began drying himself more furiously than before, as if hurrying to get away. The Doctor leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes as the confusion and heavy sickness began to settle in again in the silence. He’d spoken more bravely than he felt, as usual, but now that the Master had reverted to his mocking self, he felt more alone than ever.
                There was a soft click.
                The Doctor blinked back into reality. He had no idea how long he’d been thinking, but he realised he was shivering: the hot water had turned icy on his skin. The Master had already dried himself and was now standing – wet clothes dripping over his arm – with his hand on the door.
                “Leaving so soon?” The Doctor forced himself to say, unable to keep the bitterness out of his tone. “Not staying to play with your pet?”
                The Master halted in the doorway. He looked over his shoulder at the other Timelord, his eyes surveying the almost hurt expression on the Doctor’s face. He sighed, pressing his lips together thoughtfully.
                “Get dressed.” He hissed.
                “Why should I?” The Doctor demanded, his teeth clenched.
                The Master hesitated. Doubt flickered in his eyes momentarily. His lips pressed harder together as if angry, and then sniffed.
                “We’re going for a walk.” He muttered off-handedly, and then walked out of the door.
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Lost Boys