The Crane Wife: Chapter 6 of 8 (Part II)

[x_losfic]

Title: The Crane Wife
Chapter: Six (Part II): Eight-->this had to be cut in half and posted separately due to lj length limitations
Author: x_los
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Five/Ainley!Master
Summary: In which the Doctor apologizes.
Beta: aralias--I'm posting this under f-lock for the moment because she hasn't quite endured it in full just yet. I'll make it public and cross-post it once it's been edited according to her beta.
A/N: Remember that best_enemies Cliche Challenge forever ago? This was started under its auspices. Slave!fic cliche ahoy! Also, collar!sex in this one? If that's a turn-off for you?
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Part I



The Crane Wife
Chapter 6, Part II



***


The Master spent the next two black days discovering that hating the Doctor didn’t help. This crystallized absolutely in his mind when opening his bedroom door to a soft knock at a quarter past midnight revealed the man himself.

“Could I come in?” the Doctor asked, voice hushed.

He would have quite liked to slam the door in the Doctor’s face, preferably with a hearty laugh at his expense. By all rights he should have done. He should have ignored him, or punched him in the jaw, done anything but, with tight, suspicious eyes, step aside to allow the Doctor in. But he couldn’t help it. The Master’s advocates and detractors alike agreed that the man was as ruthlessly self-promoting as he was clever, but he was nevertheless, completely against his own best interest, upset by the Doctor’s wretchedly miserable expression. Loathing the Doctor, it seemed, was not quite enough to overcome the effects of adoring him.

“Well?” the Master asked curtly, shutting the door behind him. When he turned around the Doctor—who so rarely initiated physical contact—had lifted a hand to cup the Master’s cheek. He stepped close, and the Master, startled, had to look up at him to meet his gaze, unhappily reminded that the Doctor was a good deal taller than him.

“I’m sorry,” the Doctor said, bending down to kiss him chastely, dropping his hand as he pulled back. “I wanted you to know how very sorry I am.”

“For what, precisely?” the Master asked, his eyes narrow. “Your previous display?”

“For everything.” The Doctor flicked his eyes away, uncomfortable. “I couldn’t leave things as they were. I—reacted poorly. No matter what you might’ve done, for my part, I behaved terribly.” He swallowed, turning his face back to the Master’s.

“Thank you. I too,” he cleared his throat in an embarrassed manner, “reacted poorly, as you put it. Now satisfy my curiosity. If we were to go to bed now what might you have to say to me afterwards? I would of course wish to calculate whether anything you might give me could possibly be worth the aftereffects.”

The Doctor winced. “Believe me, I regret saying what I did. There was no cause for me to be quite so—”

Anything the Doctor might say about his own behavior would imply that the Master had been weak enough to be hurt by it, and so the Master cut him off. “How precisely do you intend to repay your debt, Doctor?”

The Doctor grinned at the use of his name, which was nearly an endearment in the Master’s parlance. He took the Master’s hand and led him to the bed, sitting down and encouraging the Master to do the same beside him, kissing him almost in gratitude when he did.

“Sexual favors? How very predictable,” the Master mock-chided.

“Well, if I’m boring you—” the Doctor raised an inquisitive eyebrow, making to rise.

“I said nothing of the kind,” the Master corrected, pulling him back down. Neither did he say that he had missed the Doctor, or that if he had ever been confused as to which he needed more, the Doctor’s body or his affection and esteem, he was now settled on the point. If the Doctor demanded the Master never so much as touch him again, he’d agree in exchange for the Doctor’s assurance that he’d never leave, never remove the Master so entirely from the sphere of his regard. But the Doctor had come to him, and to apologize, no less, for events the Master had been almost ready (at the considerable sacrifice of his pride) to beg the Doctor’s forgiveness for. He must have missed the Master just as badly. The Master’s grin bordered on giddy stupidity, but he took no notice. “This is rather a consummation devoutly to be wished. As it happens, I have something specific in mind.”

The Doctor paused for a moment, surprised and delighted. “Did you read Shakespeare for me? Just because I mentioned him?”

The Master rolled his eyes. ‘Mentioned’ scarcely described the Doctor’s constant stream of references to the literature he’d grown up with. “I do a great many unusual and questionably reasonable things under your influence.”

The Doctor was still grinning widely. “But did you like it? What did you read?”

“Yes, several of the plays, and perhaps we might discuss it after I’m done taking my vengeance on you.” The man’s mayfly attention often needed forcibly dragged back to the subject at hand.

“Ah, yes, right, sorry,” the Doctor shook his head to clear it.

“If I may elaborate, we are going—” the Master paused to select the appropriate words, “to play a game. Consider my request a challenge.”

“Go on.” The Doctor’s interest was piqued.

“You’re an intolerable prattler everywhere but his room,” the Master murmured, leaning forward to drop a kiss on the Doctor’s obligingly raised neck. “You do your damndest to hold your tongue in bed. The reasons of course,” he stroked his hands along the Doctor’s arms, “are obvious. You’ve no intention of letting me enjoy your complete loss of self-possession. I’ve tolerated your evasions to a point, but I want to see that abandon, and you’re going to give me this in payment for your offenses. Start talking—whatever flits into your nubile little mind. I’m sure your conversation will grow ever more interesting as the night progresses.”

“Or?” The Doctor looked both uncomfortable and determined not to loose an inch of ground.

“Simple, my dear Doctor. Or I’ll stop, and you can crawl back to that cot you apparently prefer to my bed.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?” The Master raised an eyebrow, bluffing hard when he was desperate for a reconciliation. “I’ve been quite patient with you these last days—I believe I’ve proven that I’m capable of waiting. Unless of course you feel yourself inadequate to the task? I could make allowances for your weakness, I suppose, if you begged prettily enough.”

“Oh you—I’ve won awards for my prattling, I’ll have you know! Very well,” the Doctor huffed, “I accept!”

“Excellent,” the Master chuckled. “I was hoping you would. Begin now.”

The Doctor opened his mouth, “Doubt thou the stars are fire—” before he could finish the quatrain (he could spout Shakespeare all night, if necessary, and would do before he lost), the Master was kissing him, completely throwing him off his flow, the cheating—and lifting his head, breaking the kiss, stroking the Doctor’s arms again as the Doctor stared up at him, dazed.

“Well?” the Master smirked.

“That’s nice,” the Doctor said automatically of the caresses, causing the Master to chuckle at his having managed to stun the Doctor into banality, which in turn caused the Doctor to blush. He squirmed, trying to guide the Master’s hands over to his shirt buttons.

“Impatient, Doctor?”

“Well, yes, actually,” the Doctor murmured, his blush intensifying. “It’s been two days. Which isn’t a long time in the general scope of things, obviously, but—”

The Master laughed at him. “My poor neglected Doctor, how you must have suffered. Ask.”

“What?”

“You’re supposed to be letting me hear you, so ask. Command, beg, if you like, as long as you keep talking.”

“Please,” the Doctor tried, and the Master only raised an eyebrow. “Please, Master, would you unbutton my shirt?” he corrected himself, feeling ridiculous.

“It’s a beginning, I suppose,” the Master admitted as he slipped the buttons free and pushed open the shirt. He leant to catch the Doctor’s nipple in his teeth. How does it feel? Go on—no, out loud, he chastised when the Doctor tried to respond in the comfortable shared silence of their minds.

“Sharp,” he gasped as the Master bit harder, rolling his other nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “Hard. I always think you’re going to break me. But sometimes I think I almost wouldn’t mind.”

Do go on. The Doctor was picking this up faster and better than the Master could have hoped - he felt rather proud of him. He was inexperienced, happily, and thus the Master’s to guide through a whole collection of first times, but he was by no means ungifted in these matters. This? He dragged his hand along the waistband of the Doctor’s trousers.

“Like you’re savoring it, or enjoying dragging it out, like you’re,” the Doctor hesitated, “amusing yourself with me.”

Do you mind?

“No,” he muttered, lifting a hand to thread his fingers in the Master’s hair. “No, I don’t think I do. G-good,” he swallowed as the Master cupped his erection through his trousers. “Really—” he cast about randomly for something else to say, seizing on a passing thought, “I love it when you kiss me while you—mmph,” the Master had lunged forward on his suggestion, and when he slipped away he barely caught the Doctor whispering, “Faster.”

“Louder,” the Master countered.

“Go faster.” The Doctor’s cheeks were hot: he didn’t know whether with embarrassment or arousal. “I want you.”

“Do you?” the Master asked as he toyed with the fastening of the Doctor’s trousers, voice husky. “I’m not entirely convinced. What precisely do you want?”

“You,” the Doctor murmured, looking up at him, “I want you inside me.”

“And how does that regrettable lack of fulfillment,” the Master paused to steal a kiss, fingers deftly slipping the fastenings loose, “feel?”

“Like—like being a child waiting for holidays—absolute torture,” the Doctor started and stuttered as cold air and cool fingers brushed against his cock. “As if my whole body’s tense with anticipation. It obsesses me, it’s--you’re all I can think about, all I want. You’re the entirety of the universe, then. You’re all that exists for me. Master.”

“As it should be,” the Master muttered, but his mouth was dry. He hadn’t expected this strategy; that he should be brought to his knees by sweetness rather than filth was entirely unanticipated, entirely like the Doctor. “It’s a wonder I ever condescend to fuck you, when you’re so blessedly focused beforehand.” He hurried the Doctor out of his trousers.

The Doctor squirmed in his hold, hastening the disrobing process along. “But you love it,” he countered. “That’s the best part—well, one of the best parts. The intent look on your face, the almost desperate snap of your hips. The way your mind shudders and settles. Few things as provocative as being desired, but I find being so enjoyed to be even better. The way you look at me, it’s,” he smiled weakly, “over-mastering.”

“Go on,” the Master coaxed, digging in the drawer for lubricant. He was slightly self-conscious about any reference to his infatuation, but taken with how arousing the Doctor found his attention. “Turn around. On your hands and knees.”

The Doctor complied, and in a moment continued without having to be coaxed into it. “It’s always a trial, waiting when I feel so ready, so impatient for you to just—” He gasped as the Master slid a slick finger around the rim of his anus, pressing lightly, flicking his fingertips back around in a neat, exquisite, torturous circumnavigation. “God, Master, just—” he lost the thought in another gasp as the Master’s finger slipped inside him.

“At first it—hurts-” Two more fingers slid in suddenly, pressing, stretching, something possessive in the sure way they played him. “That can’t be denied. But I almost—no I do enjoy the pain.” The Master tapped his thigh and the Doctor automatically spread his legs farther apart for him, biting his lip as when the Master forced the broad head of his cock past the tight ring of muscle, breathing quickly as a series of quick, short thrusts brought the Master fully in. Sweet and eager, rewarding his regular thrusts by yielding himself up to him, clinging to him, all succulent pressure, delicious twitches. The Master smiled ruefully: the Doctor’s body, at least, knew how it felt.

The Doctor dropped his head, mouth open, panting. “Then it feels strange,” his breath strained, his words coming after hard spaces, at sharp angles. “Foreign, invasive and unqualifiable. But a curious sort of tension builds, and it begins to be—perfect. You’re so— You find your rhythm, and the world gets terribly narrow. You seem to know exactly when I need more, I don’t know whether it’s telepathy or serendipity. You’re all I can see, this is all I care about—you could fuck me forever. I wish you would.”

And that terrified him almost more than slavery confined him. The latter could only ever be temporary, could only touch his body, and he’d known misadventure and peril too intimately to be more than quite indignant at his current predicament. But he’d never known an affection that passed into crippling need. He had no idea how to handle anything closer to the hearts than extreme fondness. He couldn’t even think of that fear now – he was too occupied to think of anything but what he was doing. His hips desperately rose to meet the other man’s, his eyes were wide and lost, his mind would focus on nothing but its entwinement with the Master’s.

The Master swallowed, wanting to kiss the Doctor to reward him for the praise, but wanting still more to hear him continue with his left-handed declaration. He’d known the Doctor had been lying when he claimed not to care for him, of course he’d known, but now the Doctor’s every word quelled another of the vicious doubts his decidedly cool reception of the Master’s proposal had aroused.

“That’s—ah—lovely,” the Doctor panted, starring ahead of him at the wall with glazed eyes, the hands he used to support himself shaking, “really—oh—Master.” He folded, dropping down to his elbows, arse high, his back a long, lovely slide of pale skin. The Master ran a hand down it, infinitely satisfied, then dug his fingers into the Doctor’s hips, holding him still as he delivered a series of harder, deeper thrusts.

“Again,” the Master murmured, dazzled by the sheen of the Doctor’s back, the way he rocked into the Master’s thrusts, seemed desperate to impale himself on the Master’s cock, the filthy way he moaned. “Say it again.”

“Master,” Increasingly heated, the Doctor slammed his hips back, vigorous and obliging, as though the Master’s cock were a toy he were fucking himself with.

“Two days and you’re gagging for it. Even if I’d never bought you, you’d still belong to me,” the Master hissed appreciatively, his grin broadening wickedly when the Doctor gasped with a sudden, unexpected rush of arousal at the accusation. “You’re mine,” he pressed, and the Doctor made a noise that was almost a mewl. “Aren’t you? You need this, don’t you? Tell me you need me.” After a moment’s unsatisfactory silence the Master drew almost entirely out and gave him a punishing thrust.

“Ah! Yes,” the Doctor admitted. “Yes,” he repeated a touch sulkily. “Keep going. Please.”

“Earn it, Doctor.”

In accordance with their game, the Doctor did. He kept talking, albeit less eloquently than before. He let the noises he usually smothered burst out—short with shock, high with pleasure, inarticulate except for the luxuriant way the Master’s name lolled thick in his mouth, the way it emerged at turns long, breathy, pouty, reverent. The Master came shaking, his eyes rolling back. When he could breathe properly again he pulled the Doctor off his knees and back into his lap, the Master still inside him. He let the Doctor’s head roll back against his shoulder as he stroked his cock, pushing him into an orgasm that left him weak and trembling in the Master’s arms. The Doctor breathed heavily, trying to recover himself, and the Master tenderly bit the junction of his neck and shoulder before lowering him to the bed and climbing down after him.

“Thank you,” the Doctor, said quietly after a moment, facing away. “You’ve been—you’ve been so good to me, in this respect. I’ve appreciated that. I don’t want you to think I haven’t.”

The Master, in a post-coital daze, was puzzled by his tone, but not insensible of the compliment. He lazily stroked the Doctor’s side with what energy he could muster. “You’re quite welcome. Always.”

The Doctor turned to face him. He studied the Master as if he were memorizing his face. The Master gave him an inquiring look, and he shook his head as if to say it was nothing. “Once upon a time,” he began with faux-solemnity and the Master recognized the opening from a conversation of theirs the previous week—he’d been amazed that Earth fairy tales could exist in such an imprecise chronology.

“A bedtime story?” the Master chuckled.

The Doctor smiled, half playful, half wistful. “If you like.”

The Master sighed at the Doctor’s eccentricity with fond tolerance. “Proceed then, if you must.”

“Nearly every tribe on earth had this story, or some version of it. A farmer catches sight of woman—if she’s a woman, and not a tennin, or a valkyrie, a sky spirit of some sort—bathing in a lake. He’s captivated by her, for some reason or another. He wants, desperately, to possess her. So desperately that what happens next is almost excusable, in a way, because he can’t help himself.”

“Some reason or other?” the Master teased. “Presumably she’s unearthly, exquisite beyond anything the poor rustic has ever known.”

“Perhaps,” the Doctor said uncomfortably.

“What happens next?” the Master raised an eyebrow, stroking his arm.

The Doctor flinched under the touch, but so slightly the Master himself couldn’t feel it. “The farmer sees a garment hanging from the tree branch—she’s put it there for safe-keeping whilst she bathes. It’s a magical garment, which allows her to transform into a creature more ethereal than the flesh she’s washing. Perhaps it’s a fox skin, and she’s a kitsune with seven red tails, but more often—almost always, in fact—it’s a cloak of feathers. She’s a creature of flight.

“This garment is organic—it’s a part of her body, her birthright, her nature. This is his only opportunity, and he takes it. The woman emerges, and she stands perplexed, wet and shivering, hideously vulnerable in her human skin. ‘Where is my cloak,’ she asks him. ‘What have you done with what’s mine?’

“He doesn’t tell her. She’s grounded there. She can’t fly away, can’t return home. Imagine his rough hands on her new skin, which has hardly seen the light, and has never known touch. He doesn’t want to give her up, and he doesn’t realize the cruelty of what he’s doing. He’s like a child. They’re both innocent, in a way.

“In most of the stories they marry, and she bears his children. One of them has her father’s boldness, and his love. This child says, ‘Mother, why do you cry each night when father is asleep?’ And though she hasn’t spoken of it for years, the mother tells her daughter that she is weeping for her cloak, her skin. For the world she’s lost. The child finds the cloak and brings it to her, because she can’t stand to see her mother cry. And though the woman cries bitterly at leaving her sons and daughters, and even their father, she immediately takes the cloak and disappears forever, returning to wherever she came from. She cares for them, but that’s simply what she is.”

All the time the Doctor spun out his story, the Master remained quiet, unmoving. “How selfish of her,” he murmured in the silence at the end.

“Master,” the Doctor sighed, “how could any vow I might give you mean anything to you, if it wasn’t given freely?”

“If I gave you your liberty you might never return. That is a risk I will not take,” the Master admitted, softly. “Don’t ask it of me.” He would give the Doctor anything else, if the Doctor would let him. If he would have it.

The Doctor sighed, as though he were giving up on something or someone. “Then I won’t.”

The Master blinked, disbelieving. A smile emerged tentatively, then stretched across his face. “You can’t mean it. Surely you haven’t come to your senses?”

“Oh, I mean every word I say,” the Doctor insisted, though, cleverer than Alice, he knew that to say what he meant was a different matter entirely. He smiled too, but there was something tight in it. “If that’s how you feel, well, consider the question closed. I’ll never bring it up again.”

Stunned, bewildered, hardly daring to believe his luck, the Master simply looked at him until the Doctor leaned forward to kiss him soundly.

“Rest,” the Doctor suggested, and though the night was too hot for it they slept entangled.

***

In the morning the Doctor was gone, but where he’d lain was still warm, and so the Master supposed he’d only just scrambled off to work. He smiled indulgently at the Doctor’s preoccupation with his latest intellectual endeavor—surely he might have guessed that the Master would have encouraged him to stay in today.

A quick command to the building’s main computer brought up an image of the lab. There, the Doctor was rattling around a harried Professor Linme, dashing in circles about him as he collected supplies, talking the poor man’s ear off. The Master chuckled when the Doctor, whirling to gesture, almost tripped over himself, then recovered with a smile. Shaking his head, he broke the connection and began to dress. He headed into his offices whistling through a grin, to the infinite relief of his staff, who’d borne the brunt of his considerable irritation over the last days.

He worked briskly through the morning, and was just considering calling the Doctor in for lunch when three distinct security claxons went off simultaneously. He frowned, pushing his chair back from the desk, and strode quickly out of his personal office and into the command center.

“Shut off that intolerable noise. What’s going on?”

A clerk raised her small, worried face from the monitors. “We don’t know sir. It appears to be a wall-breach, registering in three sections at once, but I don’t see how it can be—”

“Logistics do not concern me at the present moment, Miss Abend. From where precisely do the signals arise?”

“All at the far eastern end of the Palace, sir. Hydroponics, a waste chute on the lower level, and,” she avoided his eyes, “the central laboratory, your Excellency.”

The Master’s eyes widened for only a moment, and he said nothing.

“They have excellent security compartments,” the clerk volunteered hesitantly.

“Thank you, Miss Abend, that will be all,” the Master said curtly, cutting his subordinate’s expression of sympathy short. In the event of a crisis the Doctor could be counted on to wander straight into trouble. Granted he was usually quite capable of extricating himself from it, but still—

“My lord,” a major or the guard arrived, short of breath, “communications sent me. They say they’ve lost control of the system, sir.”

“What—” the Master began, but a canned, metallic voice blared from the speaker grill in the ceiling, drowning him out.

“SURRENDER!” the voice demanded. “SURRENDER TO THE DALEKS!”

The Master paled. He was suddenly far more concerned for his own safety, that of his palace, and the Doctor, who might already have fallen victim to what appeared to be an invasion.

***


The guns the Master issued his security squadrons were of his own design, and capable, via a randomized electric pulse, of frying a Dalek’s central nervous system, entirely immobilizing it on the spot. Once he’d flicked back the safety, the caged electricity made it vibrate in the Master’s grip, numbing his hand even through his gloves. He’d chosen prudence over bravery in light of the severity of the threat, and walked escorted by a full battalion, in the middle of the group in case the Daleks suddenly rounded any corners.

The Master had assumed the Daleks would still be licking their wounds after their last Movellan debacle, which he estimated had eliminated a third of their fleet. That meddlesome species’ preoccupation with the Movellan wars was one of the factors that had led him to found his empire in this relatively calm temporal period. He was surprised that they’d bothered to attack in numbers small enough to have slipped through his space-lanes and planetary security nets without detection.

He could only remember having named the species once in the Doctor’s presence. The Doctor had registered no special recognition, had made no comment. It was possible, given the vastness of the universe, that his wanderings had never brought him in contact with them. The Doctor might not realize the severity of the threat they represented, might get himself killed attempting to talk his way around them. He might not know that the Daleks were well aware of how to kill a Time Lord permanently. Losing the Doctor’s current regeneration, of which the Master was very fond, would be undoubtedly painful, but losing the Doctor altogether hardly bore thinking about.

“Sir—bodies,” a private called back to him from the front. “It’s the East-wing’s security division, sir. Looks like they were intercepted trying to reach this section’s cache point to pick up their anti-Daleks. Not a mark on ‘em, but they’re all—” the private broke off. “They’re still warm, sir.”

“Then we’re close,” the Master said shortly, considering the corridors the intruders might’ve gone down from here, the vulnerable points in this section. To attack this particular section of the palace, and in such small numbers…Perhaps this wasn’t an invasion, but rather a reconnaissance mission to steal his superior technology, to copy his research databases. In which case, they would have headed straight for the Doctor. “They’re slow-moving,” the Master said, craning his neck to peer down an adjacent corridor. “They can’t have gone far. Proceed towards the main laboratory.”

Static cackled over the speaker systems, and screeching chatter erupted at irregular bursts—the Daleks transmission signals were leaking into the system they’d hacked, causing interference with the delicate communications equipment. Snatches of threats and instructions taunted him with their near-intelligibility, frustratingly present but signifying nothing.

Troops rushed into the laboratory ahead of him, swept the area and shouted back the all-clear. The Master crossed the threshold and looked for himself. Everything appeared well-ordered. There was no sign of anything unusual, let alone a hostile force.

The hairs on the back of his neck were raised, the Master could almost taste that something was wrong. Perhaps he’d misjudged what the Daleks had been after, or—perhaps he’d only thought what he’d been deliberately led to believe.

A nasty, sharp little thought sparked like a flint in the back of his brain. No.

The major of the security division over-rode the door release protecting the scientists. Professor Linme came sputtering out first, blinking, lighting on the Master and rushing over to him.

“We heard the sirens and sealed the shelter before they could reach here. I tried to stop the Doctor from going, but you know what he’s—”

The Master whirled, striding out of the room, away from them all, walking quickly back to the heap of bodies on the floor. Some of his security staff trailed after him, clueless as to what he was doing, but loyal. He hardly noticed them. Reaching the bodies, the Master knelt down, pressed his fingers to the man’s neck, and waited. There, so sluggish and soft as to be nearly undetectable, was a living man’s pulse.


The Master breathed deeply, scenting the air. Now that he was searching for it, he could detect a slight acridity, which he might’ve attributed to Dalek energy weapons if it weren’t noticeably stronger just here, drifting down from the ceiling vent directly above him. The corridor was near enough to this floor’s cache to make it seem as if the guards might’ve been headed there in response to an emergency, but every day the East-wing division came through it—perhaps an hour ago—whilst making its rounds. The corridor was so infrequently used by the household that no one would accidentally stumble upon a heap of bodies and alert any other security personnel ahead of schedule.

No system was so cleverly devised that it couldn’t be hacked into by a clever enough man. Such a man could avoid being seen entirely, if he traveled through secret passages that had been revealed to him in a thoughtless moment of passion and fury. Sound could be pre-recorded, sampled from news reports, from the humming background noise of signals crossing the universe. Fast-acting, temporary nerve toxin could be found or crafted. Plans could be made by the determined, by the achingly bright. Feathered cloaks, balled up in cabinets, secreted away in old dresser doors, could slip out, pooling at your feet. Your eyes would widen, but you wouldn’t see anything but those feathers, anything but flight.

The Master rose to his feet with graceless haste, and, with a snarl, began to run back towards his rooms, trailed at a little distance by his bemused guard. He ripped open the door, crashing into the room, running through it. A black lacquer box lay splayed open on their bed, its contents scattered messily as though they had been dumped out. In it, he had kept all his keys, sealed by a mathematical logarithm puzzle even a genius couldn’t parse and break without having the puzzle’s rules explained to him beforehand. And even then it would have taken time—all the time it would have taken the Master to come tearing across the length of the palace to the Doctor’s defense would only just suffice, if the puzzle were new to him. The Master would have to care for him enough to unthinkingly pelt across the palace at the hint of a threat to his safety, but then that was as predictable as the guards’ daily rotation.

The Master noted this in an instant, and then he was throwing open the always-locked doors of the wardrobe that was his TARDIS, only just in time to hear the last, fading echoes of a dematerialization.

He sank to his knees, white and open mouthed. A guard scuttled in after him, breathless. “Sir—what—”

“Leave,” the Master whispered. Frightened by his unflappable Emperor’s tone, the first guard to reach him did so, shutting the bedroom doors behind him and warning off the other pursuers.

The Master pressed at his memories of last night—I mean everything I say, an almost hypnotic suggestion to rest. Surely he’d have wanted to ask the Doctor why he’d suddenly decided to be reasonable? He hadn’t even questioned it. Spilling out with the recollection came the barely-noticeable pain of well-stitched sutures. While he’d been inside the Doctor, the Doctor had been inside him. While he’d been thinking of nothing but the moment and their reconciliation, the Doctor had been delicately picking at his brain with all the skill the Master had taught him (you’re all I can think about), clearing his tracks as he moved—the location of his TARDIS, how to operate the puzzle box, a tweak to the Master’s suggestibility, and rest, my dear. When he’d said ‘I wish you could fuck me forever,’ he’d meant ‘this is the last time you’ll ever touch me’. ‘I’ll never ask to leave you again’ had been goodbye.

The Master would make sure that vicious little bastard rued the day he’d run from him if it was the last thing he ever did.

***

The Doctor leaned back against his console, hands jammed in his pockets, head down. He stared at the tip of his right plimsole, mind blank. “Home, sweet home,” he said in a listless tone. “Good to see you again, old girl,” he murmured with a touch with more feeling, giving her console casing a fond pat. With a long, outward sigh he straightened up, took off his lab coat and threw it carelessly in the direction of the coat rack. Trailing his fingertips along the console and the walls, he headed deeper into his TARDIS.

Comments

[innocentsmith.livejournal.com]

OMG, fic! Fic by you! This fic, specifically, by you!

I am made of equal parts distress and yay and squee: distress because OMG, POOR MASTER, POOR BOTH OF THEM, yay because OH SNAP, DOCTOR PWNAGE, and squee because it's all just so damn good.

I very nearly cried when the Doctor told the eponymous story. How the hell did you manage to make this crazy cracky premise deep?

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

You kill me dead with flattery, you rogue. I'm sooo glad you felt the master sympathy AND the doctor pwnage, because someone else was like 'now he's been raped and is saying sorry, what?' and I was like, no, no, Five is a beast of pwnage here! Look at him emotionally eviscerating the Master and then running away like a badass! And it's good to know that I haven't accidentally written 'leatherpants!Master soullessly rapes emo!woobie!Five, who is fine with that.' Because that would be sadtimes.

I did know I was going with that story so early on, it just seemed to /fit/ so well. And WITH ABOUT 50,000 WORDS. For serious, I think this is /technically/ a novel now.

[kolosigma.livejournal.com]

I love this fic so so much. I've been checking for updates every day. Lovely chapter as always. Poor Master :(

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

Really? It's been a LONG time since I updated this. You poor thing!

Thanks.

[kolosigma.livejournal.com]

I know , poor old me ;)

Oh and I forgot to say in my initial comment, this fic was the inspiration behind my latest Five/Ainley!Master vid.

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

Awwwwh, thanks!

[prettyarbitrary.livejournal.com]

That was stunning. When he told the crane wife's tale... What a payoff! Oh god, you two. Just, in a couple thousand years, you'll be older and wiser and you'll get it, and then you can live happily ever after.

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

I'm happy it was effective>schlocky. And that'd be a long time to wait for a climax on this fic. :p

[ushas42.livejournal.com]

This was great. DARK and PAIN followed by FLUFF and EMOTION followed by OH SNAP.

I'm so glad you made selkie!Five explicit because it fits perfectly.

Also, he fell down the stairs on Trakken. How much do I love that?

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

I like to bring the emotional fruit salad to the potluck, full of conflicting elements. These apples don't get on with the lychee...

I AM WAITING FOR THAT FANART, BTW.

Ahaha, yes. How /sad/. Even without the Doctor around to fuck him up, he's still a /bit/ lame.

[blackletter]

The Master's marriage proposal was so nerdy and wonderful. Then after that little moment of smiles it all turns dark and bitter-sweet and tragic.

I *love* a good tragic arc and it's pulled off beautifully here, with the tragedy springing from the respective natures of the Master and the Doctor. They take the actions they *have* to take because of who they are--the Master paranoid and possessive and the Doctor independent and terrified of emotional commitment. So they inevitably hurt themselves (and each other) by doing what they think they have to do.

I feel so very sorry for the both of them.

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

Because he loves SCIENCE and REASON!!... and also the Doctor.

Thanks so much--I love that the narrative tension and characterization are working that well together for you. And if there's one thing I want to get right in this one more than that sense of the story progressing inexorably, it's for both of them to be sympathetic, and for neither of them to have a monopoly on being /right/.

[marquisebaelish.livejournal.com]

Have very few coherent thoughts right now. This absolutely eviscerated me. EVISCERATED.

Just... just... FIIIVE. And the Five-as-a-selkie imagery was so pretty.
I was a little surprised by the sudden darker turn at the end of the first section. It was like, OHSNAP SUDDEN UNEXPECTED DUBCON. But then Five just PWNS ALL and as much as they're *true*, I want to strangle him for saying those things to the Master. HARSH, DOCTOR. TOO HARSH.
Oh, but then he came back and *apologized* and it was ridiculously sweet and I may have wibbled a bit. Oh, and hello awesome porn. But then oh no SOMETHING IS UP because Five is being Poignant and DON'T TRUST HIM MASTER, HE'S GOING TO ESCAPE AND RUIN THE FLUUUUFF.
And-and-and then... DOCTOOOOOR. *cries* HOW COULD YOU?

And now I'm dead of angst.

But just an itty bitty thing:
“Turn around. On your hands and knees.”
the Doctor complied, and in a moment continued...
Your capital letter ran away there. Might want to catch him. :D

And... is the Doctor still stuck wearing the slave collar? Just, we never see the Master take it off.

Now you aren't going to wait another two months to finish this are you? Only, I actually started dreaming endings to this fic last time.

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

As per above, if some selkie!five fanart happens, I WILL NOT BE SORRY.

I think this is Five's 'actually I'm a badass--so you know' chapter--see Five smack the Master down! See Five escape with incredible competence!

How could the capital letter betray me like that?! I THOUGHT IT WAS LOVE!!

Ah, yes, thanks, fixed that--now he takes it off when he gets the wristlets.

Hah, no, shouldn't do, I don't have to move continents between these chapters. :p

[marquisebaelish.livejournal.com]

See, if I could draw with seriousness I would totally make that happen. As is, you'd probably get a cracky doodle of Five as Botticelli's Venus.

And I completely loved Five's badass-ness, btw. He really is incredibly awesome, he just never gets to show it off. Poor Five. It's not your fault things die around you a lot in canon.

Am v. nervous awaiting the last chapter now. I hope the Master doesn't go too batshit. Or at least, if he does, that Five gets to pwn him some more. *bites nails*

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

Aha. He'd just be trying to cover himself on the clam shell.

I know! He's just grossly unlucky. And takes it worse than other Doctors.

Muahahahaha. You will have to WAIT FOR IT.

[asthenie-vd.livejournal.com]

The fic is back! :D And with such a long, long chapter! :D Thank you so much for updating, I was wondering when this would continue, since it's absolutely brilliant fic :) (also disturbing and heart-breaking, but wonderfully so ^^ )

re: consent issues: I'm not feeling much consenting from the Doctor in the first part either, but that's okay in the context, and the way it's written. It's not like we're supposed to interpret the Master's behaviour as okay. They both have issues and are clearly in denial about a few things. And if the Master weren't overstepping some bounds, there wouldn't be any need for Fivey's vengefull cruelty. And again it's not as if his apology means he was okay with the sex. If anything more than a ploy to get what he wants in this part from the Master (all the information about the TARDIS) it's more like an apology for the deed he's about to commit, i.e. ripping the Master's heart out. Poor him. Poor them.

... I hate that the story is ending. Is it really just one more chapter? Should I have some kleenex ready for the bitter ending?

oh and before I forget to say it again: I really like Linme. It's so easy to feel sympathy for him what with those two Drama Lords around. ;)

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

God it is long, I'm sorry, this shit is, in total, 45,468 words now. WITHOUT Chapter seven. That's roughly 200 standard book pages O_O.

I think there's a /degree/ of consent, but no, I'd never call it unproblematic consent that justifies the Master's behavior. But I still can't think of it as straight-up RAPE, because Five's def. actively (NOT just reactively) physically invested in the encounter, to the extent that he's saying 'I'm not interested' and then making out with him some more/climbing onto him for round II. But yeah, total abuse of power/bound-overstepping on the Master's part.

Yep, one chapter, no epilogue this time--this, unlike almost every other long idea, wanted to end blessedly neatly. I still need to have a talk with my beta about what series I'm working on next--there's the half-finished marriage crack sequel, and the partly finished, short-series remix of her Wonderwall/Masterplan duet, but BOTH of those are Five & Ainley!Master, and I've spent oh so much time writing them recently--perhaps it's time for a break? Also it creeps me out that all three have 'marriage' as a central plot concern--surely I am not a giant goo-ball of fluff...shit.

I love that you guys all think the ending's going to be HORRIBLE. I mean /maybe/, but not everything is Final Game--that's maybe the worst ending I've done. Mostly it's, as aralais says, happy endings with extra sex.

I'm ridiculously happy you like this random, secondary OC, probably because the silly little thing is all mine.

[asthenie-vd.livejournal.com]

Don't apologize for long chapters. Long chapters are gooooood. They make your readers happy. ^^ There are so many worse things to waste your time on, than Doctor/Master slash. ;) (like Doctor/Turlough or something *shudder*)

But I still can't think of it as straight-up RAPE
no, no never. Just the part you mentioned makes it obvious (maybe just not obvious for everyone?) that he's going along to some degree. And it's true, they're both rather abusive here, just in different ways. Awww, their relationship is so dysfunctional. How sweet! :p

but BOTH of those are Five & Ainley!Master
but,... but... there's so little Five/Ainley out there anyway. Can you really take responsibility to keep any more of it from the rest of the world? ^^ (plus I'm such a closet fan of that marriage!crack thing, I'd be prepared to shower you with fanart, if I felt I was good enough, and you'd continue writing that fic... )

a happy ending with extra sex would be fine with me. :D

He won me over quite early on. When he barged in this time innocently asking about the lemon squares reminded me, how much I'd like to hug him. XD

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

Eugh--or Three/Jo, that one makes me wibble.

Oh good good, I've been pretty worried re: having failed to write mutually sympathetic characterization in that bit even since someone told me they read it as black and white straight-up rape.

Hah. Thinking of this, have made a giant list of shit that remains unfinished/unedited--and there's a lot more than marriage!crack--but that's 26,008 at the moment, so it may well get finished soon, if only because there's not a /LOT/ left to write, possibly 20,000 more.

Poor guy--there's no hugging in this Palace. Just drama and SCIENCE!!

[asthenie-vd.livejournal.com]

but... but.. .... I share that sentiment. he's like a father to her! D:

no no no no no. black and white rape would read different. Definitely enough shades of grey here. ;)

so.... does that mean more parts of that brilliant, monstrous juggernaut of a fluff ball will might show up soon? :D

well it could be scientific hug, he could write a thesis on the effects of hugging... :p

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

I KNOW!! They love each other, but not /like that/, he's her uncle-figure! :(

Maybe, but aralias may lobby for Brax or the Wonderwall Remix Series hard. I was hesitating on releasing it in parts, wanting to wait until it was ALL DONE, but I think posting as I go has actually been motivating re: finishing this?

[roachpatrol.livejournal.com]

Oh my god, this is so sad! And wonderful! I love this series, you've done a brilliant job. Thank you for writing it, and I look forward to your next update super much.

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

Thanks so much! I'm delighted it was emotionally effective for you.

[vforvegan.livejournal.com]

Gleep. You've reeled me in with porn, and now you dispense plot (with, of course, lashings of porn).
I've been following this fic since it started, and you appear to be one of those writers whose brilliance makes me want to hide in a corner and never attempt to write again. Thankfully, that impulse has been transformed into 'I must write, just to contribute to anything RELATED to said brilliance'.
*sighs* Pornography really is the best way to prepare oneself for a Politics Exam, I DON'T THINK.

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

'Lashings of porn' is very British Navy discipline. Your compliments are intimidatingly nice! And er, do well, despite my enabling your procrastination? :p

[rallalon.livejournal.com]

I tend to be a bit of a lurker, but sometimes, a story is just so good/batshit/brilliant that I can’t not say anything due to having thought about it too much. It’s a little all or nothing that way. So hello, I adore your writing, your characterizations, and all the layers in both, and now I’m going to ramble for a little bit.

On the dubcon issue, I have to say that, overall, it felt to me like there were objections to the details of the situation rather than fully about the actual concept of having sex with the Master. For instance, when it started, up until the Master chuckled, seriously, that could have worked. Admittedly, that’s killing it pretty fast, but if he’d just kept with what he’d learned before about the effectiveness of honey versus vinegar, it could have ended far differently. I realize, however, that this was pretty much impossible in his current mental state, and the Master holds on in very physical ways. Gifts and chains and sex, all of it meant to accomplish one goal. It’s his way of showing he cares. It doesn’t make it right or excusable, never and not remotely, but it does make it something that can be understood. I don’t think the Master thinks he could rape the Doctor here. It’s another tactic to reconciliation that just really, really fails. The collar and cuffs kill it; that the Master needs him to be his and uses those symbols to help prove that he still is, well, it’s hardly good news for the Doctor.

Looking back on previous chapters where the Doctor sort of wished that the Master could force his hand so the Doctor wouldn’t have to feel guilty about it, well, looking at the second half of this chapter makes me think a little of that might’ve come back into play. Otherwise, the Doctor’s mental invasion and subsequent trickery (which, btw, I completely believed to the point of wondering why you would so randomly throw Daleks in when the rest of the plotting was so tight) are to such a degree that would victimize the Master. And it’s hardly like the Doctor to intentionally throw the first punch.

The ways they treat each other here really bring their respective philosophies out, I gotta say. The Master has control and order and everything functions properly provided it all obeys him. Everything can be good in the universe, but it has to obey him. You can have everything you want (if it fits his plans and whims) except free will. The Doctor, on the other hand, puts his morals before his emotions; things can be chaotic and painful and you don’t always get what you want, not even close, but you get to choose (even if that choice is ignoring consequences). Everyone gets to choose.

Especially in their tactics in the first part of this chapter, it comes through. The Master strikes at or uses what’s tangible, but the Doctor goes for the hearts; each hits the other where he knows himself to be weak. You might have gathered, but I adore the layers here.

“If I gave you your liberty you might never return. That is a risk I will not take,” the Master admitted, softly. “Don’t ask it of me.”

If that doesn’t scream out a lack of trust, I don’t know what does. It’s a bizarre, selective lack of trust, though, and I find that wonderful in how screwed up it is. He’d gladly hand over half his empire this minute for the Doctor to do with as he’d like, but he won’t let the man get away from him for one second. Every move is to bind the Doctor to him all the more tightly but somehow in such a way that makes it more of a matter of insecurity than suspicion (even when that suspicion is actually well deserved). That he has to admit that he won’t risk losing the Doctor makes it a confession of love, of a sort. In a very literal (and therefore somewhat creepy) way, the Doctor is his most prized possession. But then, somehow, it’s also sweet:

Loosing the Doctor’s current regeneration, of which the Master was very fond, would be undoubtedly painful, but loosing the Doctor altogether hardly bore thinking about. (just one “o” in “losing” unless you do mean “loosing” as in “to let loose.” Also appropriate, but not what I think you were going for.)

[rallalon.livejournal.com]

Now, this is the bit that has me wondering the most about the Doctor. First off, that was badass as hell and just generally awesome. Unfortunately, second, his entire plan hinged on the assumption that the Master would run to protect him in a time of danger. That the Master will do this has to be a given and for it to be a given, the Doctor has to understand and, more importantly, acknowledge the Master’s motivations. He could potentially keep denying his own feelings after this, but I don’t think even the Doctor could go back to blinding himself as to what’s going on in the Master’s head and hearts.

And from here, I have to wonder what’ll be in the final chapter. If I’m not mistaken, the Doctor’s still in his slave collar, right? Besides that, the Doctor essentially made the Master go through the fear of losing him to death immediately before he made him experience the reality of losing him. If the Doctor knows that the Master would run towards Daleks for him and plans on it, he can’t possibly think the Master would just let him go. He also knows that the Master thinks the odds of him running off and never returning are uncomfortably high – popping back in would be a lovely (if slightly suicidal) way of thwarting that expectation. Really, I’m very curious to see who makes what move considering that both men have a TARDIS now and one has an empire he could catch the other in. That, and I just really want to see how the Doctor reacts to seeing that the Master was sleeping in his bed and reading his books.

Sorry about the rather abrupt rambling craziness – when something gets my imagination going, it kinda makes me a bit excited. Thank you so much for writing this gorgeous story.

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

I think it's important that the bit about the plan hinging on the Master coming running was in the Master's pov. He feels like a rube, like he's been had--the Doctor knew the Master would come himself for a threat like the Likkaut, let alone a serious menace like the Daleks. The Master can't help but see the strategic decision as deeply personal and humiliating because the Doctor was the one making it, whereas I think the Doctor's still comfortable deluding himself about the extent to which the Master has a passing crush.

Thanks about it being badass! I wanted him to do something hard so I could assure myself I wasn't writing woobie!subby!Five.

Ah no, actually--I edited it at some point when I realized I'd not taken care of the collar, and now it goes when the cuffs do. Otherwise he'd just be too easy to track?

I think he currently believes the Master will cool down, given a little time... aha.

Again, thanks for commenting!

[rallalon.livejournal.com]

The Master can't help but see the strategic decision as deeply personal and humiliating because the Doctor was the one making it, whereas I think the Doctor's still comfortable deluding himself about the extent to which the Master has a passing crush.

Just when I think he might be getting it, no? Seriously, though, I feel like something has to register on a deeper level than that, at this point. Maybe he can justify the attraction as a physical thing, maybe he can justify the mental compatibility from being genius Time Lords, maybe he can even justify the Master's sexual assault of a freak-out in the first part of this chapter as a possessive man's response to being spurned by one of his possessions, but there's still that proposal. For a man who plans like the Master to propose a longterm alliance of any sort means that it's longterm (with, of course, minor-to-severe threats of backstabbing that don't apply in this particular instance).

On the Master's POV warping this, that makes perfect sense. The Doctor climbing back into his bed and saying he'll stop protesting sounds an awful lot like accepting the proposal. Certainly, he lead the Master to believe he would be staying permanently, even if that deception didn't last long.

One thing I'm curious about? Is whether the Master considers the Doctor as his property. For obvious reasons, the Doctor can't let this go and the Master definitely seems to love talking about the Doctor being his, but I've never been able to suss out how many levels the Master means this on. If the Master can explain to himself that the Doctor left early that morning because otherwise, the Master would've encouraged him to/made him stay in bed, then he does have ingrained assumptions as to his power over the other man's actions. But then, he does want to marry the Doctor and claims they'll have equal power then. So. Not sure there.

Thanks about it being badass! I wanted him to do something hard so I could assure myself I wasn't writing woobie!subby!Five.

I don't think he's ever rolled over enough for that to apply. He has moments where, yes, if he stayed at that level of giving in, it'd be pretty subby, but then there's the inner debate and the failed attempts that never actually occur. He's emotionally confused and it makes sense for that to be so, given both the situation and the man. Still, the badassery was so badass. I loved the bit with the feathered cloak because, besides being a beautiful bit of imagery, it was only at that point that I realized that the TARDIS and the cloak are both hidden in a wardrobe and that just struck me as awesome. Because, yes, the Master is remembering his last conversation with the Doctor in a new light, but that isn't just the light the Doctor wanted it in, it's the exact light he himself must have seen it in due to knowing at the time of the storytelling that the TARDIS was in the wardrobe. (Or maybe I'm just reading way too much into this. Sorry, English major. It happens.)

Looking back, yep, I missed the removal. Rather glad that's in there - I was wondering about the tracking issue.

I think he currently believes the Master will cool down, given a little time... aha.

Man, I can't even see Linme cooling down in a little time. It's not just the Master the Doctor's run away from, even if he is the most significant one. There got to be more or less an entire palace now that wants the Doctor back, if only to provide a not-them target for the Master's wrath.

[x-los.livejournal.com]

Spring cleaning my inbox and saw I hadn't properly gotten back to you!

but there's still that proposal.

I think Five tends to *write off* shit that's Too Big or that he just doesn't want or know how to deal with. Registering on a deeper level? Yes. Confronted actively on a conscious level? Hell to the no!

And re: property, I think that's ONLY an emotional thing made concrete for him, like handcuffs and presents. He thinks he'd have convinced the Doctor to stay in bed, and he thinks the Doctor's his in an elementary, obvious personal way, and talks about it in physical terms because as you said, physical person, and also if you can't verbalize insecurities well enough to deal with them as what they are, or suspect you might not meet with a good reception if you wanted to Talk About Feelings or whatever, externalize that as literal possession and dealing with it on those grounds seems safer, and more workable?

(Or maybe I'm just reading way too much into this. Sorry, English major. It happens.)

Nah, I'm an English major, bless English majors, there's no such thing as Reading In, only doing it right. :p

And yeah, he doesn't LIKE responsibility, but he's the de-facto leader/co-leader of the lab at this point, and thus, given that he's also The Boyfriend, he's sort of the whole Palace, which had come to rely on him pretty heavily, without warning or notice.

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

Thanks v. much! Long comment makes my /week/.

I really like your reading of the dub-con scene--the part about physical symbols of control being a means of reassuring himself/demonstrating affection is particularly eloquently put.

Not that you bring it to my attention, this /is/ letting the Master force him into leaving--waiting until he does something that give him an excuse/can't be ignored. I like that even in *leaving* he's being this passive aggressive, and making as little of an emotional investment/commitment either way as possible.

I also really like that point about Five assigning greater prestige to choice than to emotions/outcome, and therefore being weakest on that front. You've done so much excellent commentary it's like reading good canon meta--it clarifies underlying points that definitely get muddled in my mind by the details of the writing process. So thanks a lot!

Every move is to bind the Doctor to him all the more tightly

Even giving him star systems might accomplish that--people feel more tied to a situation if it comes with possessions and perks they'd lose by abandoning it, even if other elements of that situation are intolerable. And your point about the Master being very outcome-based or /physical/ here works well re this: That he has to admit that he won’t risk losing the Doctor makes it a confession of love,, because he takes the Doctor's concrete admission that he loves what the Maser can do for his body as an admission that the Doctor loves *him,* and so for him the abandonment is worse than the Doctor thinks is will be. The Master thinks this was pretty much a mutual acknowledgment of love, and the Doctor doesn't think that counts until you specifically say exactly that. Whatever the Doctor's feeling doesn't count as /that/ unless he chooses to label it so, and that's a choice he can't intellectually make, as it runs against the grain of both his conscience and his need to be free of any such obligation.

Ah, fixed, thanks!

[rallalon.livejournal.com]

Not that you bring it to my attention, this /is/ letting the Master force him into leaving--waiting until he does something that give him an excuse/can't be ignored. I like that even in *leaving* he's being this passive aggressive, and making as little of an emotional investment/commitment either way as possible.

The Five you’ve written is an immensely reactive man. From the get go, he’s got a situation to deal with, one that he has to respond to rather than shape. And for someone trying to resist his situation, the emotional side to this makes a great deal of sense. Unless he gets provoked, he doesn’t really do much to the Master, relatively speaking. He refuses to give in, doesn’t often initiate, and yet – for more or less the entirety of Chapter Five – he can’t even properly reject the man. (I think this might be why the escape was just so incredibly fantastic: not only was he finally really actively doing something about his situation instead of simply attempting to hold his ground, he was doing it so brilliantly.)
All of this actually reminds me a lot of a line of Ten’s in Army of Ghosts: “They can shoot me dead, but the moral high ground is mine.” Because that seems to be the level of priorities here. Regardless of the consequences (which he’s probably going to try avoid anyway), he has to hold to his moral high ground. No loving, no staying, no regrets, all for the sake of that moral status, the untarnished conscience.

And your point about the Master being very outcome-based or /physical/ here works well … because he takes the Doctor's concrete admission that he loves what the Master can do for his body as an admission that the Doctor loves *him,*

Though I definitely agree on how his avoidance of saying it outright and the Doctor’s admission could be considered to be the same thing, I think this really ties into how the Master’s just so used to ruling things. If a planet submits and pays tribute (or whatever else he makes it do), then it’s under his control. Whether he had to conquer it or made it submit through more pleasant means, he knows what success in the conquest is when he sees it. The Doctor willingly in his bed and full of praise equates to victory, even if the Master had to ask for that praise outright. It still counts.

For the Doctor, though, I can fully see the admission -- whether he allows himself to mean it on a deeper level or not -- as being explained away by the “game” the Master proposes. Well, I can see him explaining it away to himself as something said simply due to the request. Yet again, another instance of the Doctor using the Master’s influence over him to justify his own actions. He's way too good at that.

[aralias.livejournal.com]

hey baby! i've come to write a review of this chapter while you're out! i don't really know what to say, though. tis very good,b ut then you know that. i really really really like the ending, which i think i told you already, but the whole way the master's realisation plays out is beautiful filmic. i love the way it slows down with his realisation and the beautiful, poetic image of the cloak falling out of the dresser, and then he's snarling and running and you can feel time slowing down again as he takes in what's happening and the demateralising is still happening even as he gets there! i love it. though it also makes me sad. though not that sad, because i unlike the poor saps who do not have access to a good deal of your thought process, know what is going to happen next.

the sex is good sex. particularly the dub-con one sex... ahem...

and i do not know the difference between jam and marmalade, but if i did i would tell the master, and this might offer him some solace in his time of woe! probably not. the doctor's cold rubbishness in the first half of this chapter is also my favourite, with his 'i think we've both made mistakes' etc. what a fail-lord, which i think is only right. as always everything feels like it could only have played out this way, and that is a very good thing too.

very hungry now so i am going to end this review and eat.

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

While you watch the atrocious sequel: I like that you don't think the realization is too silly, or that image too self-indulgent--I nearly cut both.

Yeah, I think he's forgotten he cared about that. And I do <3 how shit Five is there--I think it makes the Master's distress more sympathetic. And it's a very Five way to fail as a person.

[bagheera-san.livejournal.com]

Go Doctor! Run like the wind! *cheers*

Ahem. Not the appropriate reaction for a shipper, I know, but who wouldn't cheer for the crane wife when she escapes? And this is belatedly giving me exactly what I want from D/M slavefic, namely, the Doctor fighting back and triumphant. His plan was so excellent (especially because I, too, was fooled by UNEXPECTED DALEKS). Perhaps the Master will come to see that the Doctor is exponentially more awesome when not defeated and locked up.

I laughed out loud at the Master's staircase accident. Tremas probably fussed terribly when it happened. And they were science bff's before and the Master patted Nyssa benignly on the head and afterwards everyone was embarrassed because he "stole" Tremas' body. Clearly, in a universe this nice, where the Daleks aren't even real, chapter seven can not be full of angst, and the Master will not do very obvious terrible things like destroying the earth or a third of the galaxy in retribution. Clearly.

You were right about this being a rift!fic. It plays out exactly like the rift probably did.

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

I think naturally he will, even if that really pisses him off because he'd like to wring the Doctor's neck--everything he finds attractive about the Doctor (his abilities, competence and intelligence) is displayed more prominently when he's running around Doctoring. I mean he's attracted to his Doctorishness, not his subservience--he could get untalented and weak-willed anywhere. So even the escaping itself could be seen as rather attractive, if eviscerating.

/Totally/. Nyssa, in the next chapter, has only fond memories of Guy Who Looks Like Daddy And Occasionally Came Round For Dinner--why is he after them, again? The Doctor will explain later...

I'd like to think the proper pre-rift dynamic was somewhat more mutual, re: the Doctor actively being invested in the relationship, but other than that, I do like this as a model for it.

Like your icon, btw.

[deborah-judge.livejournal.com]

Oh, beautiful. I do feel for the Master in this story, he's so emotionally clumsy. And the revised scene really works.

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

Thanks! And I'm glad it's not so bleugh now--bouncing thoughts against yours /really/ did help me clarify what I wanted and where I was going!

[tbsavafob6.livejournal.com]

This is beautifully written. It's just fantastic. Wonderful to read. I know. I look at the date this came and think 'Why didn't I find this earlier?' I'm just happy I did.

The Master loves the Doctor so much that he doesn't want let him go. While the Doctor loves him as well, he values his freedom more. It's beautiful and tragic all at the same time. It's like, you want the Doctor to stay, but you also want him to go. *smiles*

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

Thanks for trucking through it now that it's REALLY LONG. And I'm glad you're liking it for those dynamic reasons, which are what I wanted to set up. :) I'm just glad they're working for you enough for you to like.

[lindest.livejournal.com]

First of all, don't hate me for not commenting on this before (when I forced you to comment on mine), because I read this over spring break when there were No Internets To Be Found. I copypasted it into a word document. That's how desperate I was for a story and how wonderful this one is.

Also, I think I've read just about everything you've linked in your masterlist. Don't hate me for not commenting on those. I was a lurker then.

Anyway! You've taken a cliche that I thought I hated and turned it into something quite unique and you. There is an excellent balance of sexual chemistry which is handled in a very believable and interesting way. There were so many ways you could have probably gone wrong in a "slave" fic, but you neatly averted them. The flow is smooth, we can picture the setting, and your readers just generally have a good time of it!

What I really want to say is thank you for all the time and effort you put in to this storyline. It's a very satisfying read. finishhhh

[x-los.livejournal.com]

Awh, you didn't force, I was just around. Wow, now that IS dedication? I am flattered!

Wow, that /is/ a lot of crap. There should be an accomplishment badge for /that/. :p And I love bad fic cliches of old, as part of fandom!culture, but I'm happy someone who dislikes them still likes this fic.

Hm. Now you mention it I suppose there are potential pitfalls, but I didn't really consciously think about navigating them? I kind of always knew how this story went, in a broad sense, from the beginning before I started writing it.

And hey, no problem, I enjoyed doing it! And v. soon. <3

[darklyenigmatic.livejournal.com]

I just read this all in one day. My eyes sort of despise me.

I was hesitant about reading this because it's really not a theme/plot I go for. But then I though, why not? This is you. I have yet to read anything by you that I dislike. And, um, yes. Wow. Cue insane comment of rambliness:

On the one hand - Five you badass! On the other I want to beat him round the head with a stick because he BROKE THE MASTER'S HEARTS!! And then stomped on them. And then made a cursory attempt at gluing them back together, but the glue was pritstick, and he just ripped them apart again. And stomped more, and practically machine gunned them into little itty-bitty pieces. Um. The analogy may have run away with me.

But, yes. The Master. The Master who is still sort of evil, but cares with an intensity that clearly scares the hell out of the Doctor, but, gah! He loves him!! And the Doctor just - *stutters* Stupid, emotionally stunted Doctor!! I mean, I have to sympathise with him, too, because captivity is bad. But - couldn't he just then come back?? And say, see? No need to hold me captive I'm here of my own freewill? This would be logical and provide a happy ending for all. I doubt it will happen.

So, I am now preparing for the worst (more pain, more darkness, more broken heartedness) which would be beautiful but also kill me, and hoping for the best (angst angst angst -> happy! Or at least more D/M without murdering each other).

This was incoherent and insane, for which I'm sorry. But you see what you did to me? Broke my heart and turned my brain to goo. How do you de-goo a brain?? (Um, ick. Nevermind).

Anyway, really, really can't wait to read more. I loved this. :D

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

Ouch. It's loooong for that--I am impressed you managed!

Ahahah. EVERYONE THINKS THEY WON'T LIKE THE SLAVEFIC. EVERYONE IS WRONG!! MUAHAHHA.

...you do know chapter 7 parts one and two are out, yes? Not 8, but it's just you're commenting on the old chapter, so I thought I'd check.

That is pretty much exactly the reaction I want--that both of them kind of suck as people, and are simultaneously deserving of pity.

And ask goosnake!Master, I am /certain/ he can help re: your de-gooing issues.

[darklyenigmatic.livejournal.com]

No! No I didn't! *runs* Thank you for mentioning it, otherwise god knows when I'd have found it. :D

[x-losfic.livejournal.com]

When Chapter 8 came up, likely. :p

[darklyenigmatic.livejournal.com]

This is probable (thought not definite) but then I'd have broken my eyes again reading it all at once. And now I can't read the next chapter because I have to go out. Not fair.