Mechanical Aptitude
Apr. 23rd, 2008 05:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
x_losficTitle: Mechanical Aptitude
Author:x_los
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Shalka!Master/Shalka!Doctor
Summary: "Over the Master's ratcheting cries the Doctor, teeth grit, sounding almost bored, insisted on course corrections."
Beta:deborah_judge , who was right about there being two stories awkwardly fused into one here in Revision Draft
A/N: edited request for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
best_enemies Anon Meme : if you'd like, here's the original version.
The Doctor had made sure when he built the android that everything worked as it should. Though the Master’s consciousness was ensnared in a crafted body, the Doctor had given him taste buds and optic nerves with great discernment and acuity. He’d made sure the Master could smell and hear as well as he ever had, maybe even slightly better. The things the Master enjoyed were still physically pleasurable for him.
And he’d given him a completely realistic sensitivity to touch. He’d threaded in erogenous zones with centuries of authority, insisted on being told whether everything was in proper order. The Master had pointed out that, as a scientist, the Doctor should know that determining that was going to require a lot of field testing. A great number of trials, the Doctor added. In all sorts of conditions, the Master reminded him.
Today the Master was practically salivating over a tiny, common error that anyone might have made, near cooing that the Doctor couldn’t even program their answering machine properly. It occurred to the Doctor he was being egged on. So naturally he’d backed his android companion into the console, bent him over it, shoved himself in and sneered out a command to try getting them somewhere now, then.
When the Master seemed likely to actually do it, fingers flitting over the dials with an only slightly strained version of their normal grace, the Doctor got thoroughly annoyed. Decisively he worked the collar of the Master’s jacket down and sucked at his flushed neck, just below his ear. That provoked an immediate little gasp—and the Master’s hand smacked hard against the directional coordinator, his nails dragged down the bank of switches as the Doctor sucked harder, mucking up the alignment completely.
“Cheap shot,” the Master gasped.
“This from you?” He adjusted his aim, hitting the right spot inside his partner a bit more emphatically, and the Master nearly yelped, bending back into him in a wordless request for more, palm trembling on the alternator. The position gave the Doctor better access to his neck, and he took full advantage of it to lightly bite the patch of skin he’d been tonguing. Which really got the Master’s attention. “It’s not my fault you’re so easy to wind up.”
Technically this time, having made the body, it was his fault. But if the Master couldn’t think clearly enough to call him on it, it became sort of a ‘tree falls in the woods’ paradox. The Doctor drummed his fingers over the Master’s cock, torturously slow, the way the Master would never admit to liking it. No matter how big and bright and black his eyes got when the Doctor took his time. Over the Master's ratcheting cries, the Doctor, teeth grit, sounding almost bored, insisted on course corrections.
“I can’t concentrate like this!” The Master spat out, making a valiant effort to stop whimpering. He somehow managed to look put-upon. The Doctor silently commended his strength of will.
“I seem to recall someone saying that ‘only an amateur couldn’t operate in extreme conditions’ last week when I blew out the rotator trying to navigate the Grey Rift.” He ran a hand down the set of the Master’s jaw, enjoying the tight clench of it, the neat-trimmed bristle of hair under his palm. “Perhaps you should take your own advice and try harder?”
He pounded himself into the Master’s ass with an audible smack to demonstrate the adjective, in case the Master’s circuits were a bit addled by all the sensations they were being asked to process. He smiled cheekily at the half-growl that elicited.
“I expect to be landed pristinely in the middle of a field on the Eye of Orion at half past noon, or someone’s sleeping on the couch for a week with only his endless complaints to warm him.”
“As if you could hold out that long,” the Master scoffed, “Can’t keep your needy organic hands off me. The only thing you can design and run properly is a fuck toy.”
The answering machine clicked over and caught the Doctor’s hysterical giggles at that. Beeped emphatically.
“Well what do you know?” The Doctor banked his mirth and drawled, self-satisfaction creeping in as he finally gave the Master’s dripping cock a few hard strokes. The sophistication of the android body meant it felt exactly as it should to him, warm and swollen. “I might just teach you yet not to say I can’t handle machinery.”
“That’s,” the Master panted, “highly unlikely.”
“But then, you’ve always run like clockwork, and I can certainly get you going.” The Doctor mused, grinding his hips. “Bring her a little to the left, if you could—though I’m not sure you can at this point, can you? If you weren’t so very absorbed with working yourself on my cock we’d have landed already…”
The Master fumbled and found the control he needed. But then the Doctor pressed him further down on the console, entirely changing the angle of penetration, pushing deeper in while he clenched his fist hard around the Master, who hissed and wrenched the dial much too far over. The Doctor snickered. “Ooh, bad luck.”
The Master craned his head to glare at him. “Do you think if you get an ounce smugger you’ll choke on it?”
“Oh I don’t know. Would you like that?” The Doctor kept his tone pleasantly disinterested.
“Care to find out?”
“Is that a request?”
“Consider it an order.”
“Ah. See, I never follow orders.”
The Master gave an epic sigh. “Fine. Please. You insufferable idiot.”
“Why Master,” the Doctor dripped honey, “I’d be delighted. May I finish up first?”
“Ooh, I like that. Yes, you may.”
The Doctor moved his hands to the Master’s hips and thrust faster, rocking himself in. The Master did something with his muscles that wrenched a startled, intense stomach-dropping climax out of him. Without a pause longer than a breath he spun the Master around and went to his knees, latching his mouth around the Master’s flushed erection.
The Master let his hips follow their instincts, bucking into the Doctor’s mouth. He twinned a hand loosely in the Doctor’s hair, keeping his eyes on his face.
“Come on,” he growled, close but not quite there yet, “you can do better than that.”
The Doctor’s eyes flared with annoyance, and he plunged down to the root, sucking so hard the Master rapidly became inarticulate.
That what you had in mind? He sent. His hand spayed across the Master's hip worked just as well as the more conventional contact points.
Even the Master’s telepathic voice burbled wordlessly in response. It sparked out of the metal structure that housed it to blanket the Doctor, ephemeral and electric, especially heady wherever they directly touched. They were saturated in each other’s signals, and it felt like drowning in sex. He sent a trigger-command to the Master’s mind and watched him come from the inside, all the dominos of that carefully ordered mind falling in a sweeping rush.
The Doctor relished the way the other man came in spurts, one hand gripping his shoulder and the other fisting tight in his hair, biting his lip to keep from choking out the Doctor’s name, caging the word in his mouth like he wanted to swallow it and keep it in him. The Doctor rocked back on his heels when his throat had worked the other man completely empty, letting the Master slide out of his mouth slowly. He ran his tongue across the hyper-sensitive flesh as it departed, enjoying the Master’s wince because it felt too good.
“You do like my mouth,” the Doctor observed, resting his head on the Master’s thigh, dizzily pleased with himself.
“Well,” the Master gave credit where it was due, relaxing his hand to card through the Doctor’s hair, pleased to have ruined the gelled stiffness of it, “I suppose everyone must be good for something.”
“I’ve no higher purpose than that, then?” The Doctor chuckled, glancing up at the Master. “Sucking you down like I’m working a crazy straw is the summit of my potential?”
“You speak as if there was a more noble endeavor!” The Master looked down at him and raised a dubious eyebrow, the gesture undercut by lassitude. “That ‘saving worlds’ business you insist on is just a sideline. This is your real contribution to the universe.”
“My sole purpose is apparently to get you off. Who’s the fuck toy now?” The Doctor rolled his eyes and stood up, offering a hand to the Master, who was resting against the console for real support.
“It’s a compliment, my dear Doctor! In a certain range of activity, you’re even more of a genius than you think you are. And with your ego that is saying something.” The Master took the Doctor’s arm and used it to haul himself up, both of them trundling towards the bath. “Now I really want lunch.”
“You don’t strictly need to eat after sex, you know. It’s not like your energy reserves are that easily exhausted in this body.”
“You don’t strictly need to give me realistic semen and neurotically tinker with the bioengineering until it ‘tastes like me.’ But we’re both allowed our whims. And the incriminating evidence that you enjoy that almost as much as I do is even a little endearing.”
They didn’t actually get around to visiting the Eye of Harmony that day. But curiously no one was exiled to the couch either.
Author:
x_los Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Shalka!Master/Shalka!Doctor
Summary: "Over the Master's ratcheting cries the Doctor, teeth grit, sounding almost bored, insisted on course corrections."
Beta:
deborah_judge , who was right about there being two stories awkwardly fused into one here in Revision DraftA/N: edited request for
best_enemies Anon Meme : if you'd like, here's the original version.
The Doctor had made sure when he built the android that everything worked as it should. Though the Master’s consciousness was ensnared in a crafted body, the Doctor had given him taste buds and optic nerves with great discernment and acuity. He’d made sure the Master could smell and hear as well as he ever had, maybe even slightly better. The things the Master enjoyed were still physically pleasurable for him.
And he’d given him a completely realistic sensitivity to touch. He’d threaded in erogenous zones with centuries of authority, insisted on being told whether everything was in proper order. The Master had pointed out that, as a scientist, the Doctor should know that determining that was going to require a lot of field testing. A great number of trials, the Doctor added. In all sorts of conditions, the Master reminded him.
Today the Master was practically salivating over a tiny, common error that anyone might have made, near cooing that the Doctor couldn’t even program their answering machine properly. It occurred to the Doctor he was being egged on. So naturally he’d backed his android companion into the console, bent him over it, shoved himself in and sneered out a command to try getting them somewhere now, then.
When the Master seemed likely to actually do it, fingers flitting over the dials with an only slightly strained version of their normal grace, the Doctor got thoroughly annoyed. Decisively he worked the collar of the Master’s jacket down and sucked at his flushed neck, just below his ear. That provoked an immediate little gasp—and the Master’s hand smacked hard against the directional coordinator, his nails dragged down the bank of switches as the Doctor sucked harder, mucking up the alignment completely.
“Cheap shot,” the Master gasped.
“This from you?” He adjusted his aim, hitting the right spot inside his partner a bit more emphatically, and the Master nearly yelped, bending back into him in a wordless request for more, palm trembling on the alternator. The position gave the Doctor better access to his neck, and he took full advantage of it to lightly bite the patch of skin he’d been tonguing. Which really got the Master’s attention. “It’s not my fault you’re so easy to wind up.”
Technically this time, having made the body, it was his fault. But if the Master couldn’t think clearly enough to call him on it, it became sort of a ‘tree falls in the woods’ paradox. The Doctor drummed his fingers over the Master’s cock, torturously slow, the way the Master would never admit to liking it. No matter how big and bright and black his eyes got when the Doctor took his time. Over the Master's ratcheting cries, the Doctor, teeth grit, sounding almost bored, insisted on course corrections.
“I can’t concentrate like this!” The Master spat out, making a valiant effort to stop whimpering. He somehow managed to look put-upon. The Doctor silently commended his strength of will.
“I seem to recall someone saying that ‘only an amateur couldn’t operate in extreme conditions’ last week when I blew out the rotator trying to navigate the Grey Rift.” He ran a hand down the set of the Master’s jaw, enjoying the tight clench of it, the neat-trimmed bristle of hair under his palm. “Perhaps you should take your own advice and try harder?”
He pounded himself into the Master’s ass with an audible smack to demonstrate the adjective, in case the Master’s circuits were a bit addled by all the sensations they were being asked to process. He smiled cheekily at the half-growl that elicited.
“I expect to be landed pristinely in the middle of a field on the Eye of Orion at half past noon, or someone’s sleeping on the couch for a week with only his endless complaints to warm him.”
“As if you could hold out that long,” the Master scoffed, “Can’t keep your needy organic hands off me. The only thing you can design and run properly is a fuck toy.”
The answering machine clicked over and caught the Doctor’s hysterical giggles at that. Beeped emphatically.
“Well what do you know?” The Doctor banked his mirth and drawled, self-satisfaction creeping in as he finally gave the Master’s dripping cock a few hard strokes. The sophistication of the android body meant it felt exactly as it should to him, warm and swollen. “I might just teach you yet not to say I can’t handle machinery.”
“That’s,” the Master panted, “highly unlikely.”
“But then, you’ve always run like clockwork, and I can certainly get you going.” The Doctor mused, grinding his hips. “Bring her a little to the left, if you could—though I’m not sure you can at this point, can you? If you weren’t so very absorbed with working yourself on my cock we’d have landed already…”
The Master fumbled and found the control he needed. But then the Doctor pressed him further down on the console, entirely changing the angle of penetration, pushing deeper in while he clenched his fist hard around the Master, who hissed and wrenched the dial much too far over. The Doctor snickered. “Ooh, bad luck.”
The Master craned his head to glare at him. “Do you think if you get an ounce smugger you’ll choke on it?”
“Oh I don’t know. Would you like that?” The Doctor kept his tone pleasantly disinterested.
“Care to find out?”
“Is that a request?”
“Consider it an order.”
“Ah. See, I never follow orders.”
The Master gave an epic sigh. “Fine. Please. You insufferable idiot.”
“Why Master,” the Doctor dripped honey, “I’d be delighted. May I finish up first?”
“Ooh, I like that. Yes, you may.”
The Doctor moved his hands to the Master’s hips and thrust faster, rocking himself in. The Master did something with his muscles that wrenched a startled, intense stomach-dropping climax out of him. Without a pause longer than a breath he spun the Master around and went to his knees, latching his mouth around the Master’s flushed erection.
The Master let his hips follow their instincts, bucking into the Doctor’s mouth. He twinned a hand loosely in the Doctor’s hair, keeping his eyes on his face.
“Come on,” he growled, close but not quite there yet, “you can do better than that.”
The Doctor’s eyes flared with annoyance, and he plunged down to the root, sucking so hard the Master rapidly became inarticulate.
That what you had in mind? He sent. His hand spayed across the Master's hip worked just as well as the more conventional contact points.
Even the Master’s telepathic voice burbled wordlessly in response. It sparked out of the metal structure that housed it to blanket the Doctor, ephemeral and electric, especially heady wherever they directly touched. They were saturated in each other’s signals, and it felt like drowning in sex. He sent a trigger-command to the Master’s mind and watched him come from the inside, all the dominos of that carefully ordered mind falling in a sweeping rush.
The Doctor relished the way the other man came in spurts, one hand gripping his shoulder and the other fisting tight in his hair, biting his lip to keep from choking out the Doctor’s name, caging the word in his mouth like he wanted to swallow it and keep it in him. The Doctor rocked back on his heels when his throat had worked the other man completely empty, letting the Master slide out of his mouth slowly. He ran his tongue across the hyper-sensitive flesh as it departed, enjoying the Master’s wince because it felt too good.
“You do like my mouth,” the Doctor observed, resting his head on the Master’s thigh, dizzily pleased with himself.
“Well,” the Master gave credit where it was due, relaxing his hand to card through the Doctor’s hair, pleased to have ruined the gelled stiffness of it, “I suppose everyone must be good for something.”
“I’ve no higher purpose than that, then?” The Doctor chuckled, glancing up at the Master. “Sucking you down like I’m working a crazy straw is the summit of my potential?”
“You speak as if there was a more noble endeavor!” The Master looked down at him and raised a dubious eyebrow, the gesture undercut by lassitude. “That ‘saving worlds’ business you insist on is just a sideline. This is your real contribution to the universe.”
“My sole purpose is apparently to get you off. Who’s the fuck toy now?” The Doctor rolled his eyes and stood up, offering a hand to the Master, who was resting against the console for real support.
“It’s a compliment, my dear Doctor! In a certain range of activity, you’re even more of a genius than you think you are. And with your ego that is saying something.” The Master took the Doctor’s arm and used it to haul himself up, both of them trundling towards the bath. “Now I really want lunch.”
“You don’t strictly need to eat after sex, you know. It’s not like your energy reserves are that easily exhausted in this body.”
“You don’t strictly need to give me realistic semen and neurotically tinker with the bioengineering until it ‘tastes like me.’ But we’re both allowed our whims. And the incriminating evidence that you enjoy that almost as much as I do is even a little endearing.”
They didn’t actually get around to visiting the Eye of Harmony that day. But curiously no one was exiled to the couch either.
