four; for best_served_hot

[rude_not_ginger]

Follows this.

He was quite pleased with the Master's development. He'd learned how to behave, for the most part. Oh, he was hardly the most agreeable of companions, but he wouldn't want the Master to be agreeable. He wanted him to be the Master. He wanted him to be there, part of his world.

Over the week that followed, the quiet drumming in his mind that insisted that the Master had to live at all costs had quieted, the part of him that was the Doctor apparently sated with the Master's presence. The Valeyard was pleased with it, too. He remembered why he was so fond of his old enemy. He posed a challenge.

He was challenged with frustration and irritation and glorious success. Things were going better than planned, and now with the traitor out of the way, he'd be able to do so much more.

The week went by wonderfully. He felt the first tremor of exhaustion run through him and he believed that he might sleep well for the first time since the Master came back into his life.

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[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

He let his eyes close, but he forced himself to stay awake. He didn't want to go. This was too comfortable, this was too wonderful. Despite how hard things were, despite how hopeless they could be, the Doctor felt almost (but not quite) happy here. Lying next to the Master, remembering how things used to be.

"Keep yourself safe," he begged, his voice quiet. "For me, please."

[best-served-hot.livejournal.com]

"I will," he said, lowering his voice to almost a whisper.

Then, almost like in the cave weeks before, he leaned closer to him and touched his forehead to the Doctor's. He focused on a memory that came up earlier as they sat and spoke, a memory of huddling under a blanket together, whispering secrets in the night when they should have been asleep. It was a memory that the Master did not hold to, but one not made less by anything that came after those times.

Almost like they were something sacred, to be left unmarred by broken promises and bitter partings.

He brought it into the clearest clarity he could, and shared it with him. It was brief still, but he allowed the connection to persist for as long as he dared before slowly pulling back out of the Doctor's mind.

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

He felt the memory move through him, the warmth of the Master's body next to his, the complete safety of being with someone who understood him so perfectly. He curled himself up in the memory, he wrapped himself up in it like a blanket. A safe, solid blanket. A blanket of the way things were before they went all wrong. Before hatred and anger and---

As the Master pulled away, the Doctor was aware of how the Master felt so close to him, he was aware of the warmth of the Master's breath against his face. And in that moment, he wanted---he wanted---

Wrapped up in the warmth of the memory and the safety of the Master's closeness--a safety he might never admit to--he found himself falling into a deep, dream-filled sleep.

[best-served-hot.livejournal.com]

Opening his eyes, which he hadn't realized he had closed, he watched the Doctor as he pulled back, though their shoulders were still touching. His eyes slid over the Doctor's face, uncertain of what he was thinking. There were times he thought he could almost remember what might be going through his mind, but other times he felt as though he were floundering in waters he had once been familiar with.

This was one of those moments, and then it was gone; the Doctor asleep.

"I hate you."