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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

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Chapter Six
The Master watched the Doctor’s face intently as he worked at the buttons on his trousers, enthralled by the unguarded look of lust and fear; attraction and hatred that filtered through his brown eyes. He stared at it with a look of vehement pride in his face, as though it were a work of art; a masterpiece.
                His masterpiece.
                The Doctor knew it was far too late to turn back. The moment he’d kissed the Master, he had known it would lead to this, but even so he felt the doubts shouting out in the back of his mind. The Master’s fingers at the bottom of his stomach, the sound of his breath, the left over taste of his tongue were heady; intoxicating, but even so he squeezed his eyes shut and opened his mouth to speak, to protest.
                It was as though the Master knew. Before the Doctor could find the right words he swept in, latching himself onto the other Timelord’s neck like a vampire, biting and sucking at the skin, gliding his tongue over the pounding veins. The Doctor moaned, his neck arching at the sensation, and every thought of resistance vanished. He raised his hands – until now just gripping uncertainly at the wall – and slid the Master’s jacket from his shoulders.
                The action caught the shorter man off-guard. He froze, his tongue still pressed against the throbbing veins in the Doctor’s neck. He looked up at the side of the other Timelord’s face in confusion, his fingers ceasing suddenly. The Doctor seemed not to notice. He panted, tilting his neck further, urging the Master onwards as he pulled the jacket down to his elbows.
                This happened in a fraction of a second, and was over just as quickly. No matter what ran through the Master’s mind at that moment, he adapted fast: the dark smirk of triumph flashed momentarily across his face once more as he buried his face harder in the Doctor’s neck, grazing his teeth against flesh. He conceded to pull his hands back from their work, slowly, allowing the other Timelord to slide the jacket off. It fell to the floor behind them, the red silk lining shimmering black in the cold light of the moon.
                The Doctor’s head spun. He was vaguely aware that he had lost his self-control, but the feel of the Master’s teeth against the most sensitive part of his neck was like a voice whispering in his ear to submit. He felt his shaking hands unbuttoning the Master’s shirt; felt the Master arch animalistically at the touch. Distantly he could hear his own voice, panting and moaning at the teasing flicker of the Master’s tongue. Whatever pride he’d hoped to retain was now completely lost. He heard the sound of material slipping against skin. Suddenly he realised he was naked.
                The Master’s fingers slid down to his hips, grabbing them hard and yanking them forwards. The Doctor’s legs parted. He clenched his teeth as the Master forced himself between them, grinding roughly against the naked Doctor. The taller man let out a gasp, grabbing at the Master’s half-undone shirt. There was the sound of ripping cloth. The Master stopped.
                He pulled himself away from the other man’s neck, leaving a bruise where he had bitten down. The Doctor opened his eyes warily. He held his breath.
                The Master looked down. The tattered remains of his shirt slid off his shoulders and dropped silently to the floor. He looked back up at the Doctor, a look of amused irritation on his face.
                “You just ruined my best shirt.”
                His fingers dug harder into the Doctor’s hips. He spun round, shoving the Doctor towards the bed, who landed with a soft thud. The taller man propped himself up, looking up at the Master in frustration.
                The Master stepped close, and tutted, a mock-glare on his face. “Control yourself, you bad boy.”
                “Stop it.” Snapped the Doctor, baring his teeth in frustration. The Master raised his eyebrows. “You don’t need to act this way.”
                “But it’s so fun!” The Master grinned, flashing his teeth. “And seeing you squirm is worth hundreds of years of waiting.”
                The Doctor clutched at the bedcovers, sitting up fully in front of the Master. He shook his head. “I don’t know what parts of our past you remember,” He said, the tone of urgency making the Master’s face falter just slightly, “but whatever happened back then, I’m different now.”
                “Oh yes…” The Master tapped a finger on his own lips theatrically, “I can see that.”
                “I mean it.”
                The Master took a step closer to the bed, standing over the other Timelord with a look of disbelief. He leaned down. The Doctor tried to stand his ground, but every instinct of danger, every memory of the Master took precedent. His head twitched just barely backwards; barely even a fraction of a millimetre, but that was all the Master needed. He made a noise of amusement in his throat.
                “Obviously not as different as you’d like to think.”
                The next moment the Master darted forwards, pushing the other man back onto the bed with one hand. The other slid down, unbuttoning his own trousers effortlessly. They slid to the floor as he climbed onto the bed, pushing the Doctor’s legs apart to slide between them. He made no attempt to hide the laughter etched across his face.
Once again, despite his words, the Doctor had made no attempt to resist.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Lost Boys