A hug is like a strangle you haven't finished yet. (shaggydogstail) wrote in shaggydogstales,
A hug is like a strangle you haven't finished yet.

Precious Little Space Dumplings of Love

Title: Precious Little Space Dumplings of Love
Author: shaggydogstail
Pairing: Doctor/Master
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Kinks: Psychic orgasms, dirty talk. Miscellaneous silliness.
Summary: ‘If I’m going to pose as your overly-demonstrative homosexual love-bunny, I ought to get something out of it myself.’ Post-LotTL AU.
Spoilers: Last of the Time Lords, vaguely.
Disclaimer: The BBC owns all.
Notes: Thanks to my own little love muffin, wildestranger, for the beta-job.

There are several things wrong with having an evil scheme foiled, being taken prisoner, and kept captive on the TARDIS. The lack of supreme power, with all its attendant capacity for spreading awe and terror, and commanding hot and cold running minions, is a bit of a blow. The indignity of all it – being beaten by a girl, again, rankles pretty hard as well. Putting up with the Doctor’s unnatural levels of sanctimony would drive a lesser Time Lord to distraction. But that’s not the worst of it.

The worst part is that he’s so bloody bored.

The Master’s tried to escape, of course. Not that he fancied his chances much, since it wasn’t exactly hard for the Doctor to tie the TARDIS’ controls up so tightly with his own DNA that it only responded to his commands, but still. It would be a poor show if he didn’t at least make the effort.

Giving that up as a bad job he’d tried his hand at passive resistance, because allowing the Doctor to foil his half-arsed escape bids only made him smug. That had got old after about a day, because the Doctor took it as a signal that he was accepting his fate, like he’d taken the first step in a “How not to be an evil murderous megalomaniac” 12-step programme. Plus, passive resistance involved a lot of staring silently into the middle distance, and that gave the Doctor far too many opportunities to talk at him for hours on end. Which was bad enough at the best of times because the Doctor didn’t half go on, but was almost unbearable when he got all deep and meaningful or, even worse, emotional. The Master realised he’d have to change tack sharpish before the Doctor got carried away and told him he loved him or something.

Being an obnoxious little shit worked a little better. Hurting the Doctor’s feelings was a bit of a come-down after massacring entire populations, but it was kind of amusing. Besides, it was just so easy. It only took the gentlest of needlings about Gallifrey to get him all wound up – tetchy, angry, or miserable. Often all three at once. A couple of times he actually managed to provoke the Doctor into something approaching a full-on fight about it, with shouting, foot-stamping and the Doctor pulling that cute angry face with his lower teeth bared and, oh, that was fun.

In the short term at least. In the long-term it only seemed to make him even more determined to save both their souls, if such a thing were possible. There might be more hugging and tears and the Master feared he’d spontaneously regenerate with the horror of it all if he wasn’t careful.

So the Master was left with nothing better to do than be generally annoying, and perhaps the odd spot of sexual harassment (because that never gets old).

‘I’m bored,’ he whined for the fortieth time that morning.

The Doctor looked up from the Secret Project he was working on (another bone of contention – the bastard was clearly Up To Something, but the Master didn’t like to give him the satisfaction of asking) and gave him one of his tediously patient looks.

‘You could read a book,’ he suggested.

‘Your books are boring.’ The Master huffed. ‘Except the highly-improbable first-person pornographic epic I found down the back of the bed.’

‘I put you in Jack’s old room,’ said the Doctor, ‘it’s probably his diary.’

‘Can I sell it on E-Bay?’


‘You’re boring.’

‘Uh-huh.’ The Doctor just smiled and started zapping something with his screwdriver. The Master pretended he wasn’t interested and tried tapping his fingers and making clicking noises with his tongue until the Doctor got annoyed enough to look at him again.


‘Still bored.’

‘Do you want me to put the Teletubbies on for you?’


‘You could ask me what I’m doing.’

‘Something very, very boring,’ said the Master. ‘And virtuous.’

The Doctor just shrugged and went back to his zapping. Git. Well, it was either that or try to eat his own feet.

‘OK, OK, I give in,’ said the Master, throwing his hands up in defeat. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m making a Biological Synaptein Limitation Device.’


Truth be told, that actually did sound quite interesting (anything with “biological” and “limitation” in the name had to have some capacity for evil) but the Master wasn’t about to get over-excited just yet.

‘Aren’t you going to ask me what it’s for?’ said the Doctor as he zapped a few more wires together.

‘Is it for blowing up planets?’


Can we blow up some planets?


‘Not even a little one? A little, small, unimportant one that no-one would even miss? A little, small, unimportant planet full of bad people so you don’t even have to feel guilty about it afterwards?’


‘Hmph.’ The Master frowned and kicked the floor. ‘All right, what’s it for, then?’

‘It’s for you,’ said the Doctor.

‘For me? A present? For me?’ The Master clapped his hands together and grinned. ‘But it’s not my birthday… I know, is it our anniversary? Only I didn’t get you anything. Ah, well, we’ll just have to have sex to make up for it.’

‘We’re not having sex.’

‘Well, obviously we aren’t now, because I’m sure I’d have noticed, but just give me a minute and – ’

‘ – we’re not going to have sex either. Honestly, where do you get these ideas?’

‘No?’ The Master frowned. ‘It’s a shame to waste how cute we both are this time around. Unless… are you worried that it might be unethical to sleep with me while I am, technically, your prisoner, hm? Because, really, I don’t think you need to concern yourself with that. Once you’ve got a couple of genocides under your belt a spot of sexual impropriety is neither here nor there.’

The Doctor put down his screwdriver at last, took off his glasses, folded his arms and looked him in the eye. The Master braced himself; he could feel another lecture coming on.

‘Do you want to go out or not?’


‘Do you want to go out?’ repeated the Doctor. ‘Outside, out of the TARDIS.’

The Master blinked. He almost said, ‘outside, oh yes, can we go now, where, now please?’ but remembered that he was the last (or at least, penultimate) Time Lord and not an over excitable puppy, and limited himself to raising his eyebrow.

‘You’re really going to let me out?’ he said.

The Doctor nodded. ‘Well, it can’t be good for you to be cooped up in here all day, nothing to do but look at the same old 48 walls for hours on end. Thought it might be nice for you to stretch your legs, have a bit of a mosey about, that sort of thing.’

‘You’re just as bored in here as I am, aren’t you?’

But I can’t trust you not to wander off and start intergalactic incidents while I’m paying for the shopping,’ the Doctor continued, as though he hadn’t heard the interruption. ‘So I need to have you close enough to keep an eye on. Handcuffs would be a bit –’

‘ – kinky.’

‘ – obvious, so I made this.’ The Doctor held up the device he’d been working on. It was pale gold in colour, the shape of a grain of rice and about twice the size.

‘The Bio... thingy. What does it do?’

‘Biological Synaptein Limitation Device,’ said the Doctor. ‘Here, give me your hand.’

The Master held out his hand warily as the Doctor picked up his screwdriver again. ‘This isn’t going to hurt, is it?’

‘Don’t be such a big girl,’ snorted the Doctor. ‘Would you like to buy a dress while we’re out? I think turquoise would suit you, with maybe a little bit of pink on the trim’

‘Do you want me to wear a dress?’

The Doctor just rolled his eyes and took hold of the Master’s wrist. He placed the bio…thingy on the fleshy part below his thumb. A quick blast of the sonic screwdriver made it disappear, the skin on the Master’s hand healing so perfectly there was no sign it had ever been broken.

The Master held up his hand, staring at it.

‘What did you just do?’

‘Stopped you from running away from me,’ said the Doctor. ‘That thing acts as a sort of bio-stopper – you can’t go anywhere without me so long as you’re wearing it.’

‘But that means...’ the Master squinted. ‘If I want to got out, I’ve got to hold your hand. You really were asking me out on a date, weren’t you?’

‘It’s not a date until one of us gets the other drunk on Bacardi and Coke and tries for a snog at the bus shelter,’ said the Doctor, leaping to his feet. He held out his hand to the Master. ‘C’mon, lets go and see Bec i’th’Keth 3. It’s market day.’


Two hours later.

‘This is all your fault,’ said the Doctor irritably. ‘Last time I try and do anything nice for you.’

‘It is not,’ insisted the Master. ‘Now give me your hand, you bastard, before I throw up.’

Suffice to say, the expedition to Bec i’th’Keth 3’s market had not gone well. This was, depending on whose side you take, all the Master’s fault for being a big baby, or the Doctor’s for excessive stubbornness, not knowing that the Bec i’th’Kethian authorities were cracking down on illegal use of psychic control following the Decree On Indentured Servitude of Higher Sentient Beings, and also for shouting too much.

Or, to put it more simply, they’d had a row about where to go for lunch, the Master had stomped off in a huff thinking the Doctor would have to follow him, and been knocked out cold by the Biological Synaptein Limitation Device, which led to the Doctor being arrested by the Bec i’th’Kethian militia on suspicion of unlawful psychic control.

As first dates go, it was pretty bad.

The militia had bundled them into a glass holding cell which was currently transporting them both to the magistrate’s office on the top of the 678 floor central council office. (The Bec i’th’Kethians having a rather unusual form of justice that allowed them to view shoving an alleged criminal in a lift with their alleged victim as perfectly normal practice.)

‘Just what are the sentences for slavery these days?’ asked the Master, in the faint hope that winding the Doctor up might make the journey pass more quickly.

‘There won’t be any sentence at all if you just tell them you came here voluntarily,’ said the Doctor.

‘And why would I want to do that?’

‘Because it’s true? You practically begged me to let you out of the TARDIS.’

‘Oh, so I can leave in the part about you keeping me prisoner?’

‘What? No!’ The Doctor rubbed the back of his head and grimaced. ‘Can’t you just, just for once not be completely impossible about things?’

‘Don’t see why I should,’ the Master pouted.

‘Because Bec i’th’Keth 3 has the most tediously bureaucratic rehabilitation system in four galaxies. I’ll have to do a course on How Not To Abuse Your Indentured Sentient Being and you’ll be sent to the Servants Rehabilitation Camp, which I promise is about a million times less interesting than being stuck in the TARDIS.’

‘Yes, but I would get away from you,’ said the Master. ‘It does have a certain appeal.’

‘Only until I find a guard corrupt enough to sell you out,’ said the Doctor. ‘You don’t find the prospect of being bought at all humiliating?’

The Master shrugged. ‘Depends on what the price is.’

‘And there’s still the synaptein device,’ added the Doctor. ‘I don’t have to take it out, you know.’

‘Bugger.’ The Master scowled. ‘OK, supposing I was to be overwhelmed with a surge of charitable good will and agreed to save your backside. How exactly do you suggest we talk our way out of this?’

‘Well... ’ The Doctor pulled a thinky-face. ‘We could just tell them the argument we had when I picked you back up was just a personal falling out and that the militia’s sensors didn’t detect a psychic control device so much as a... profound empathic bond.’

The Master raised an eyebrow. ‘Like a marriage?’


‘You know, I don’t know why you don’t just ask me out like a normal person.’

The Doctor glared at him.

‘Let me think about this,’ said the Master slowly. He pursed his lips and made a great show of tapping the side of his head with his free hand. ‘If I’m going to pose as your overly-demonstrative homosexual love-bunny, I ought to get something out of it myself.’

‘What do you want?’ asked the Doctor, sighing.

‘Under the circumstances, I think sex would be an appropriate bargaining tool.’

The Doctor rolled his eyes. ‘I might have known.’

‘Don’t play the high-and-mighty with me,’ said the Master. ‘I know you want to, and this way you don’t even have to worry your fussy little conscience about it, since I’m essentially blackmailing you into the whole thing.’

‘What type of sex?’

‘How many types are there?’ asked the Master. ‘Do you think I’m some sort of pervert or something?’

The Doctor did the glaring thing again.

‘OK,’ conceded the Master. ‘I play along with your little cutesy couple charade, and you have to let me make you come.’

‘How does that work for you?’ The Doctor looked surprised.

‘Because once we got back to the TARDIS I’m going to be locked up with you and your endless sanctimonious attempts at salvaging my character for at least a hundred years,’ said the Master. ‘Having the memory of you all desperate and sweating, begging me for more is the only thing that might make the long winter evenings even remotely bearable.’

‘Hm, we’ll see about that,’ said the Doctor.

‘So, it’s a deal?’ the Master nodded towards the dial on the lift, which indicated they’d reached the top floor.

The Doctor looked both resigned and horrified. ‘It’s a deal,’ he agreed.

There was a ping! and the doors opened.

‘I’m so glad we’ve sorted everything out, darling!’ gushed the Master, and he flung himself at the Doctor just as a pair of Bec i’th’Kethian guards pointed their laser spears at them.


The magistrate sat behind a high bench, flanked by armed guards and wielding a rather nasty-looking sabre of her own, which the court clerk kept having to jump to avoid. The Doctor and the Master were told to sit in a circular pit before the bench, surrounded by some form of irradiated barbed-wire. The whole thing might have been quite intimidating, if not for the rather unfortunate appearance of the Bec i’th’Kethian species – try to imagine a the rogue offspring of a penguin and a koala, stretched on a rack to a height of seven or eight feet, and then dipped in sugar to get a rough idea.

‘So you see, it was all just a misunderstanding,’ said the Master, wrapping up a long and convoluted tale with a smile at the magistrate. ‘A lover’s tiff. Isn’t that right, cupcake?’

The Doctor flinched a little as the Master slapped his thigh. ‘Yes, dear.’

‘Several witnesses said you made a number of loud and extremely serious allegations about your treatment,’ said the magistrate, looking extremely dubious. (At least, the way the tufts of fur on the top of her head wiggled seemed to indicate dubiousness.) ‘The court has heard that you said – ’

‘ – oh, don’t remind me, please!’ The Master threw his hands over his ears. ‘I think I might die of shame if I hear the cruel words I spoke to my beloved cream puff!’

He threw his head in the Doctor’s lap and sobbed loudly. ‘Oh, say you’ll forgive me, honey-pie.’

The Doctor patted his back gently. ‘There, there,’ he said, before looking back up at the magistrate. ‘Please excuse my, um, partner. He’s just a little emotional.’

‘So it would appear,’ said the magistrate. ‘Still, there’s also the matter of the psychic bond readings, which measured well over the legal limit. Can you account for that?’

‘Consensual bond, completely legal,’ said the Doctor briskly. ‘We’re empaths, you see.’

‘Empathically in love!’ declared the Master loudly. He turned to the Doctor. ‘You do still love me, don’t you, dumpling?’

He winked at the Doctor, who mouthed ‘dumpling?’ in return.

‘Always,’ said the Doctor out loud, ruffling the Master’s hair. ‘My little fruit and nut bar.’

‘They’re awfully sweet, aren’t they?’ sighed the court clerk.

‘They’re prime candidates for psychiatric screening,’ said the magistrate.

‘We’re madly in love!’ trilled the Master.

‘Hm.’ The magistrate frowned. (Although, again, the koala-ish beaky face made it hard to tell.) ‘It is customary to remove alleged victims of psychic abuse for individual questioning.’

‘Oh, we can’t be separated,’ said the Doctor quickly. ‘I mean... I’ll get lonely. And pine for him. You wouldn’t want to make me pine, would you? That would be very unkind.’

‘I know your game!’ The Master jumped to his feet, and, has he still had a firm grasp of the Doctor’s hand, took him along too. ‘You just want to get me away from my dumpling because you fancy him yourself don’t you? Well, I can’t say as I blame you for that because he is the sweetest dumpling that ever did live, but you’re not taking him away from me because he’s mine, do you hear? Mine, all MINE!’

The magistrate scrunched up her ears, ruffling the fur (which was sparkly). ‘Please sit down. I assure you I do not want to steal your dumpl – I mean, partner.’

‘Calm down, muffin,’ said the Doctor as he pulled the Master into a hug.

‘Muffin,’ echoed the Master, sniggering into the Doctor’s neck. Although sniggering like a child might give the game away, so he tried to cover it up as some sort of mating ritual by adding a quick lick.

‘How romantic!’ said the court clerk. ‘They’ll probably start kissing soon’ She leant forward, with a hungry look in her beady little black eyes.

‘Can I take him home now?’ asked the Doctor. ‘As you can see, it’s been a very trying day and I’m sure we don’t want to take up any more of your valuable time.’

‘Yes, let’s put all this behind us by making sweet, sweet love,’ piped up the Master.

The magistrate waved her hand (furry-paw-flippery thing) at the guards. ‘Let them go,’ she said, ‘before they put me right off my dinner.’


‘Well, I think we got out of that quite nicely,’ said the Master as the Doctor locked the TARDIS door behind them. ‘What do you think, dumpling?’

‘I think I never want to hear you call me that again.’ The Doctor grimaced.

‘Aw, c’mon, admit it. It was fun.’

‘Well.’ The Doctor smiled. ‘Maybe just a little bit.’

‘See, you should let me out more often,’ said the Master. ‘Better than sitting around here reading self-improvement books.’

‘What, and let you get me arrested again?’

‘Give over. I didn’t kill anyone, plot your downfall, or try to take over any civilisations.’ The Master shivered dramatically. ‘I feel so virtuous.’

‘Only you could describe an afternoon of lawbreaking and lying as virtuous,’ said the Doctor, but he was still smiling.

‘Hm, well, that’s as may be, but we’ll save the dissection of my character for later,’ said the Master. He yanked the Doctor’s hand, spinning him around so that he was pressed up against the TARDIS’ console, and put his free hand on the Doctor’s hip to hold him in place. ‘But for now, less talking, more sexing.’

‘Huh, what?’ The Doctor boggled, looking all flustered. It was adorable, really. ‘Oh, that. Um…can’t it wait?’

‘Nuh-uh,’ said the Master. ‘You promised.’

‘Yes, technically I suppose I did, although it was under duress so I’m not sure that really counts in all fairness and – ’

‘ – and that’s exactly why we’re going to do it right now,’ said the Master, ‘before you think of a way to wriggle out of it.’

The Doctor sighed. ‘OK, we’ll do it now,’ he said, in a resigned tone that implied he was agreeing to a trip to the dentist, and not the spot of hot Time cock action he’d been gagging for for months. (Really.) ‘Only not here. I wouldn’t put it past you to do something untoward with the TARDIS’ controls.’

‘Lead me to your chambers, Doctor,’ said the Master, stepping back with a flourish. He practically skipped down the spiral staircase as the Doctor led him by the hand to his bedroom.

The Doctor was all nervous and jumpy by the time they reached his bedroom, babbling about something the Master paid no attention to and rubbing the back of his neck. Not that it really mattered – if the Doctor thought that his incessant twenty-to-the-dozen wittering was going to put the Master off his stroke, he had another think coming.

‘Hush.’ The Master put his hand on the Doctor’s chest, pushing him against the wall.

‘Here?’ said the Doctor. He jerked his head in the direction of the bed. ‘You wouldn’t rather…?’

‘Right here, right now,’ said the Master. He grinned. ‘I’m gonna make you come in your pants.’

The Doctor gulped. It was brilliant. ‘Is that hygienic?’

‘Far from it,’ said the Master. ‘I’m about to show you what a dirty little boy you can really be.’

He leant forwards, one hand either side of the Doctor’s shoulders, closing him in, and fixed him with a cool, steady stare.

‘Oh, oh no you don’t,’ said the Doctor, scooting away. He pointed his finger at the Master accusingly. ‘You’re trying to hypnotise me. I knew you were up to something.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ said the Master with a bite of impatience. ‘Do you really think this is some sort of elaborate ruse to gain control of your mind, take over the TARDIS and, I don’t know, cause the downfall of a civilisation somewhere?’

‘Could be.’ The Doctor folded his arms and lifted his chin. It didn’t make him look any less shifty.

‘Or are you just playing for time while we have a completely pointless discussion about why that isn’t possible?’


‘Thought so.’ The Master grabbed the Doctor by his tie and shoved him back up against the wall. ‘Now quit stalling and concentrate. Let me in.’

The Doctor swallowed heavily and blinked. When he opened his eyes again the pupils were wider, inky-black and glossy.

‘That’s it,’ said the Master softly. ‘C’mon, I promise you’ll like it.’

The Doctor took several deep breaths, as though steeling himself to fight or run away, and then relaxed, leaning back against the wall. The Master could feel his psychic defences slipping away, slow like melting butter, and smiled.

‘See, it’s not so bad, is it?’ he said. ‘Do you like this?’

‘Ah!’ The Doctor gasped and bucked against the wall, his face flushed. ‘Yes.’


‘Yes, Master.’

‘Ooh, very good, Doctor.’ The Master smirked. ‘You know how much I like it when you use my name.’

‘Yes, Master.’

‘Even better when I don’t have to ask. You should get a reward.’

He sent another pulse of psychic energy through the Doctor’s body, making him cry out and twitch.

‘Told you you’d like it, didn’t I?’ he said, leaning forwards to whisper in the Doctor’s ear. ‘Told you I could make you desperate and horny, so turned-on you can hardly speak.’


‘Mmm, that’s right.’ The Master practically purred in satisfaction. ‘See, I could just tear your clothes off, throw you onto the bed and have my way with you. I could touch you, lick you, bite you. I could suck your cock or make you suck mine, shove it right down your throat or come all over that pretty face of yours. I could hold you down and fuck you raw, drive into you over and over again until you’re writhing beneath me, sobbing with pain and how good it feels.’

The Doctor whimpered, clutching his fists by his sides, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead.

‘Or,’ the Master continued, ‘I can do this.’ He grabbed hold of the Doctor’s chin, forcing the Doctor to look at him, eyes dark and wide. ‘Get right inside you, deeper than just fucking you, all the way in. And that’s so much more satisfying screwing some feeble human.’

‘I…’ the Doctor gasped, breathless. ‘Please.’

‘Was there something you wanted?’

‘I want you to touch me,’ said the Doctor between ragged breaths. ‘Please. Master.’

‘Oh, but I’m not stopping you from touching me, am I?’ said the Master. ‘And I know how much you want to, don’t you?’

The Doctor nodded mutely, biting his lip so hard the skin turned white around his teeth.

‘Were you waiting for me to give you permission?’ asked the Master, his voice rich with amusement as the Doctor nodded again. ‘Such a good boy. You should definitely get a reward for that.’

The Doctor just whined pitifully. Oh, yes.

‘I’m going to touch you,’ said the Master, voice low and dirty. ‘I’ll even let you choose where and how. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ the Doctor gasped. ‘Thank you, Master.’

‘Chose carefully, now,’ said the Master, smiling. ‘Do you want to feel my hand on your cock, hm? Or maybe my mouth? Would you like me to hold you close and caress you like a lover, or put you over my knee and spank you like the naughty little punishment fetishist you really are? Tell me, Doctor, tell me what you really, really want from me.’

The Doctor stopped moving suddenly, breathing heavily as he looked the Master in the eye.

‘Kiss me.’

‘Oh, very clever,’ the Master murmured against the Doctor’s lips.

He could feel the jolt of a connection being made the moment the Doctor opened his mouth, tongue thrusting inelegantly against the Master’s own. Just enough genetic transfer to complete the telepathic cycle and he could feel the Doctor, sense his desperate arousal as everything he made the Doctor feel echoed back to him. The psychic reverberations were less intense than what he sent out, but they were enough to make the Master moan inside his own head and into the Doctor’s mouth, neurons tingling and synapses fizzing and damn, I’m good.

Oh, yes you are,’ the Doctor thought back at him as the Master pressed closer until there was no space between their bodies, and he guided the Doctor’s hands to his waist before tangling his own in the Doctor’s sweat-and-sex mussed mop of hair.

It was like falling in, melting, melding, as the rapid tempo of the Doctor’s heartbeats harmonised with the drums inside his head and the Doctor’s yes and please and you, oh, you, bounced inside his mind.

It was just too much.

‘Now,’ he whispered in the Doctor’s ear. ‘Do it now.’

The Doctor whimpered out loud when he came, and shouted inside his head, sending a blast of psychic energy pelting the Master so hard it nearly winded him. The Master grunted and bit down on the Doctor’s neck to keep from crying out, for all he knew the Doctor could hear him screaming his name.

‘Mmm, that was nice.’ The Doctor grinned at him, dopey and cross-eyed, all euphoric with afterglow. He lunged at the Master, aiming sloppy kisses at his mouth, but the effort seemed to much for him and stumbled, leaving the Master to catch his arms to keep him from tumbling to the ground.

‘Naturally,’ said the Master with a self-satisfied smile. He really was feeling inordinately pleased with himself.

The Doctor was floppy and giggly as the Master guided him to the bed and undressed him. He laughed like a child in between making various inappropriate attempts at affection, ninja-kissing the Master’s cheek, shoulder and elbow whenever he got the chance and wrapping his arms around the Master’s neck as he unfastened his trousers. It was all quite ridiculous and completely unnecessary.

The Master batted the Doctor’s hands away, having to make do with only limited groping opportunities in his efforts to prevent the Doctor from cuddling him. The Doctor was drowsy and boneless, so wiped-out he’d clearly be asleep within moments. Bastard had been spending to much time with humans. Or possibly sloths. At least he was probably too woozy to be able to remember the Master tucking him in like an infant – the Master only wished he’d be so lucky.

The Doctor wiggled and yawned, patting the space on the bed beside him and looking up at the Master expectantly.

‘Oh, no you don’t,’ said the Master. ‘A quick one against the wall is one thing – I’ve got no intention of actually sleeping with you.’

‘Y’have to,’ said the Doctor, yawning like a hippopotamus.

‘I do not,’ retorted the Master. ‘I don’t do snuggling and no amount of those ridiculous puppy-dog eyes looks is going to change my mind.’

‘Bio...synaptein... thingy,’ murmured the Doctor, grabbing the Master’s hand and kissing it. ‘Y’re not goin’ anywhere.’

The Master glanced down at his hand. Bugger. He sighed dramatically and started wriggling out of his own clothes with the air of a long-suffering martyr.

‘Just don’t try anything,’ he warned the Doctor as he climbed into bed beside him. ‘No cuddling or anything, got that?’

The Doctor beamed. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ he said.

He yawned again and closed his eyes, looking unnecessarily pleased with himself in the Master’s considered opinion. Moments later his breathing slowed and he lay still, making soft little whuffling noises as he dozed off.

The Master shook himself. There was no way he was going to sit and watch the Doctor sleep. He glanced around the room, as though checking to see if the TARDIS was watching them, before pressing a soft kiss to the Doctor’s forehead.

‘Sweet dreams, dumpling.’


Tags: character: tenth doctor, character: the master, fandom: doctor who, pairing: doctor/master, rating: nc-17
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