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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
- 7
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Chapter Seven
The moonlight continued to stream through the tiny window, casting a thin line of brilliant white across the small room. It illuminated the forlorn shape of a splintered chair, abandoned and on its side in the corner. The light glinted off a sheet of thick glass, sunken deep into the wall. The reflection sloped downwards, radiating light on two figures, wrapped together on an unmade bed.
                The Master’s eyes were closed, his face once again lost in the intensity of the moment. He listened to the breathing of the figure beneath him as they pressed against each other in a slow, grinding rhythm. The Doctor’s head tilted backward against the pillows, his eyebrows knotted and his mouth open, each breath more ragged than the last. Thoughtlessly, he slid his hands up the Master’s bare back, his neck, and into his hair, clutching handfuls of it and pulling the other Timelord’s head close to his chest. He cried out, tugging on the Master’s hair. The Master growled.
                The Doctor had averted his eyes from the scene, whether through pain or embarrassment, Jack couldn’t tell. The captain swallowed hard, torn between the scene he’d been told to watch, and the actions of the Doctor at his side. Jack had no shame, not normally, but something about the two figures moving on the bed seemed beyond private; beyond sex. There was some other layer to the act that was more than Jack could understand, and for the first time since the memory had begun, he started to feel true sympathy.
                “Ow-“ came a muffled voice as the Doctor tugged harder at the strands of hair between his fingers. The Master lifted his head, his eyes narrowed. “Hands. Hands, Doctor.” He snatched at one of the offending wrists, yanking it away. The Doctor’s breath hitched at the pause in the rhythm and he opened his eyes slowly. The Master’s glare deepened. “Put them somewhere else, or I’ll rip them off.”
                The Doctor pulled his wrist out of the Master’s grip, panting through his teeth. He resisted the urge to arch his hips upwards at the loss of contact. “You used to like it.” He panted. “Or is that what you’re afraid of? That you’ll like it too much?”
                The Master’s eye twitched slightly. In one swift movement he slammed a hand across the Doctor’s mouth. He raised himself up onto his knees, staring down with a threatening smile.
                “One more word like that out of you,” He said, his tone a mix of threat and play, “and I’ll rip your tongue out, too. I’ve already got a hand of yours somewhere. I could start a collection.”
                The Doctor glared up and tried to speak. It came out as a muffled moan between the Master’s fingers. He pressed down harder, leaning in close. His tongue flicked out thoughtfully.
                “I have better things to do with this hand than keep you quiet.”
                The Doctor’s breathing quickened, feeling the bruising pressure of the Master’s hand over his face. He tried to keep his gaze steady, devoid of any pain – or lust.
                The Master, however, knew exactly how to break the stalemate. A sinister smile slid up one side of his face, his eyes lighting up as he moved his free hand downwards, and slid it between the other man’s legs.
                The Doctor could do nothing but arch his hips upwards at the sudden touch. He groaned through the Master’s fingers, his eyes rolling. The Master’s half-smile became a fully-fledged smirk. He pulled his hand away from the Doctor’s mouth, closing his eyes to listen to the noises he was forcing the other Timelord to make as he pressed the heel of his hand between his legs.
                The Doctor reacted to the touches through instinct, rubbing himself against the Master’s hand with his back arched away from the bed; his head too full of sensations to even think about the battle he’d just lost. He felt the Master moving, shifting on the bed. It was only when he felt his hips being raised from the bed that he realised what was happening.
                His eyes shot open.
                “Master… no.” He panted, his voice shaking. He looked downwards, the reflection of the moonlight dazzling him. He could see the silhouette between his legs stop moving, raising its head to look at him. He shook his head and gulped, trying to form words. “Not like this.”
                There was an impatient sigh from the other end. He felt himself drop back onto the mattress. The Master turned his head away in irritation.
                “Oh, I’m so sorry…” he muttered, his voice thick with bitter sarcasm, “but do you know, when I was designing this room it must have slipped my mind to include a tube of lubricant.”
                The Doctor’s head fell back against the pillows. He sighed in relief and closed his eyes for a moment. The Master slid a knee up between the other’s legs, pressing against him: the Master’s attempt to keep the Doctor’s mind busy. It worked. The taller man let out a shuddering breath and began to move against him.
                The Master looked down into the Doctor’s face silently for a moment, watching his expression of reluctant pleasure thoughtfully, as if deciding which way to proceed. Eventually he pressed his lips together hard and let out a frustrated breath, then raised two fingers to his own lips.
                The silence filled the Doctor with a dim sense of dread. He opened his eyes to check where the Master was, and blinked in disbelief at what he was seeing. The Master never flinched from causing pain – the state of the Earth below them stood as testament to that fact – and yet despite the look of ill temper on his face, the Master had conceded. “…What?” He breathed, before he could stop himself.
                The Master rolled his eyes and raised his free hand to indicate silence. He pulled his fingers from his mouth with a resounding suck. “Shut up. Actually, no: moan for me a bit more. I’m busy.”
                The Doctor furrowed his brow even further, the look of confusion spreading. The Master pressed his knee harder against the other man’s groin and began moving it roughly. The distraction technique worked. The only thing the Doctor could think to do was pant through tightly clenched teeth, arching up from the bed.
                Whether that had been the Master’s plan or not, he certainly took advantage. He slid his saliva-coated fingers quickly underneath the Doctor’s arching hips, biting his curling lip hard in expectation.
                Colours flashed before the Doctor’s eyes, his eyes screwed shut so tightly that they burned. He threw his head back, crying out sharply as he felt the Master’s fingers move inside him. He felt almost sick at the sound of his own voice; at the way his body arched higher, reacting to the Master’s fingers as they slid deeper.
The thing that made him feel worst of all was that he was beginning not to care.
- 7
- 8
- 9
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Lost Boys