Chapter Text
The Doctor’s fingers worked on his shirt buttons, and he enjoyed getting to watch as she undressed him. His breaths started coming in shorter, lighter bursts when her fingers moved to his belt, and moments later his trousers and underwear were shoved halfway down his thighs while her fingers ran over his cock.
His head fell back against the sofa as he enjoyed the feeling of her hands on him, but he pretty quickly found himself wanting more . Her hands were delicate and soft and moving so slowly, so moments later he was pulling at her; grasping at her hips, dragging her closer and sliding her down onto him as she moaned.
He started out by guiding her movements with his hands on her hips, but after a few moments she was setting her own pace, her nails digging into his shoulders as she fought to keep herself steady. It was funny, they both thought, that even though she was on top, he still seemed to be in control. Looking up at her as her hair started to stick to her forehead with sweat, he couldn’t help thinking how beautiful she looked. He’d always been the one who was more impressed by aesthetics - the Doctor never seemed to notice when she had something beautiful. Not when it was a person, and not when it was an object.
Yes, the Master had always loved creating things that were breathtakingly beautiful - it was part of the reason he’d burned so many places to the ground, wasn’t it? He could see beauty where other people couldn’t.
Her legs started to get tired, after a little while of moving up and down on his lap, and though the occasional moan was being pulled past her lips, the repetitive movements made it easy for her to just let her body keep moving while her mind went off on its own tangents. She’d never been very good at staying focussed on the task at hand, unless it involved a certain amount of danger.
She found herself wondering what her friends would think of her now - her fam would be appalled, she was sure of it. The two boys would probably be too embarrassed to say anything about it, but she knew that Yaz would call her out. She was brilliant at that - Yaz always knew how to set her straight, if she ever thought about doing the wrong thing. Not that she thought about doing the wrong thing very often , so it was more… when she considered doing the right thing, but the wrong way.
The Doctor was snapped out of her thoughts when the Master’s hand grabbed her jaw, pulling her face closer to his. “No, don’t think about them.” He hissed, and she could practically see the madness in his eyes as he looked at her. “You think about me .”
She shouldn’t have been surprised by that, really - he’d always been a better telepath than her. He was top of their class in the academy (even if they had skipped a few of those lessons in favour of spending their afternoons sitting in the fields), so of course he’d noticed that she was thinking about her friends.
A slight nod from her in response, and he let his hand slide down from her jaw to her throat, and, seeing the look in his eyes, she had a feeling she knew what was coming. His fingers tightened experimentally, pressing down on her windpipe as he watched her closely for a reaction. She refused to give him one, though, so he pressed harder, mentally counting the amount of time it would take for her respiratory bypass to kick in, and letting go just before it could.
The Doctor was left gasping for breath, her hand flying up to her neck so she could run trembling fingers over the skin. He simply shot her a manic grin.
At some point, she’d stopped moving, though they’d both been too focussed on the fact that she was being choked to notice. Still, the Master noticed now , and suddenly he was flipping them over, the Doctor’s legs tightening around his waist as her back hit the pillows on the sofa. Quick as a flash, before she’d even properly had a chance to register all the sudden movements, his hand was back on her neck again, pressing down harder as he positioned himself above her and thrust into her roughly.
Despite the look of anger in her eyes at being treated so roughly, he could tell she was enjoying it just as much as he was. (Well, maybe not quite as much, since he seemed to get some perverse pleasure from the idea of choking the life out of her, but she definitely didn’t dislike it as much as she’d like to think she did.) But they both knew she could stop him if she wanted to, and she wasn’t even considering it. Why would she?
After all, he was completely right when he’d said that she liked letting him take control, even if it was only for the evening.