for best_served_hot | At your side I feel like a ghost

[rude_not_ginger]

Follows this.

Hours had passed. Hours. The Valeyard was now sleeping. The two weeks that the Doctor had rested left him awake, energized. There was more than an hour in him, now, though he didn't know how long.

He reached to his side table and flipped a switch. Lights flickered around the ship, and a few of the cameras turned off. The damage done would leave the Valeyard angry, but it would keep the Doctor and the Master safe. For now. It wouldn't be long until the Valeyard worked it out, and the Doctor knew it.

So hard, sharing one body. The part of him that wanted to stay the Doctor remaining safe and secure in a small section of the tyrant's mind.

He got out of bed and slipped down the corridor, avoiding the cameras he knew were still on as he made it to the infirmary. No guards. They were switching out, now. He had a window of opportunity to make sure the Master was safe. He had to make sure. He had to see that the damage the Valeyard had done wouldn't be permanent.

He pulled open the door and stepped inside.

"Master."

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The Doctor carefully laid the boy back down to the ground. He double checked the boy's pulse. Slow and even. Good, the Master was thorough. He imagined the boy would be asleep a long while. His eyes flicked over to Roy. He held nothing but contempt for Roy's actions, but he wished---there had to have been another way, he thought. But it was too late, now. No way to go back and change things. If there were, the Doctor would've done it a long, long time ago.

"How long've we got?" he asked, getting back to his feet. "Before he wakes up?"

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"A couple of hours," he said, indifferent to the boy sleeping off his machinations on the ground, and the dead body mere feet away from him.

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"Good." The Doctor didn't have quite so long, he figured. But it would be long enough.

He looked over to the Master. Part of him wanted to resume the fight, to shove him up against the wall and snog him within an inch of his life. Part of him knew that moment had passed, and it was uncertain if there would ever be another.

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Perhaps it had passed for the Doctor, the Master had no intention of being deterred so easily. The doors were locked, they wouldn't be interrupted for a time.

He stepped over the boy on the floor, and pushed the Doctor against the wall, pulling his head down for a demanding kiss. They still had time and he intended to make use of all of it.

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

Well, there went the uncertainty. Suddenly, the Master had pushed him against the wall and was pressing his mouth against his, harshly. The Doctor struggled against the wall, struggling to push the Master back, then turn him against the wall as he returned the kiss fiercely.

This was something the Valeyard would've loved. The dead at their feet, the struggle in this---whatever it was---it was something he wanted. He couldn't have it. Maybe that was why the Master wanted it. It was something he could keep from the Valeyard.

The Doctor approved.

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He went back, only because one of the Doctor's hands found his injured arm again, and he lost his concentration. He gave a grunt at the slight amount of pain, and then his back hitting the wall. It didn't grant the Doctor any control, not in the Master's mind, only the semblance of it.

He moved his hand to the back of his neck to keep their lips pressed together. He wanted the Doctor, everything that the Valeyard threatened to take from him. For a brief moment, a memory came to him in sharp clarity, of soft, breathless laughs and even softer lips of boys exploring all the things they knew they weren't supposed to.

The Master broke the kiss momentarily, fingers idly brushing over the back of the Doctor's neck as he took in the way he looked in this moment, and tucked the memory away safely. Once he might have banished the memory without a second thought, but this time, he kept it. This was just like those times when they were much younger, and different children.

But it was stolen, in quiet, dark moments, just as this was now.

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It couldn't last. They only had precious stolen time now. Time borrowed from other time and only the limited time until the Valeyard worked out who was causing all of his trouble.

The Master's fingertips found the back of the Doctor's neck and he took in a sharp breath as sensation shot down his spine. It was a sensitive area for any Gallifreyan, and the Doctor was no exception. He looked down at the Master with a small, private smile that really was only witnessed by him in the past. They knew each other so very well. Even in this, they knew each other.

He leaned forward and brushed his lips across the Master's, ghosting them as he brought his own hand up to the back of the Master's neck, seeking out areas on his skin he hadn't thought of in centuries.

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He grinned wolfishly at the reaction it pulled from the Doctor. It was his, all of this, it only belong to him.

He didn't press forward, to urge more into the brushing of their lips, and remained content with the soft slide. The touch, while it shouldn't have been unexpected, threw him momentarily. Even when he'd been with Lucy, there were some things about him that he did not allow her to know, and this was one of them. He liked to be in control, and the Doctor's touch, there, left him feeling light-headed and out of sorts at the rush of pleasure that shot through his entire body.

His breath stuttered out in almost a gasp against the Doctor's lips.

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The Doctor loved watching that, watching the Master slowly uncoil from himself and become undone. The Doctor should've been focusing on, well, the unconscious and dead men in the room, or the fact that they were in incredible danger, or the fact that there was a thing inside of him that was just waiting to come out and take over. Instead, he focused on moving his fingers across the Master's neck.

He traced out long-dead words across his skin, watching totally enraptured at whatever responses they invoked. He watched like a dying man might watch the last of his water soak into hot sand. In theory, it was a very similar situation.

"Master." He said the word differently this time. It was still the Doctor, there was still so much more to the name than just the name itself, but now there was a sense of quiet intimacy there. Almost questioning.

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A tiny bit of the Master's awareness was focused on their surroundings, but most of it was on the Doctor. His fingers traced answering words, or perhaps the closest approximation over the Doctor's skin, even as another shudder was pulled from the Master.

His eyes were dark with desire, and he wanted so much more than the time they had would allow. He could still read the Doctor as if nothing had ever changed between them. As if they didn't have centuries of bad blood and enmity muddying the proverbial waters.

"Doctor." His tone remained quiet, undemanding for the time being. Content. It was an odd feeling, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt anything close to it in, well, a very long time.

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The Doctor's lips curled into a small smile.

"I like it when you say my name."

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The Master chuckled, lips turning up into an answering grin.

"Who else would I call out on being a sanctimonious idiot?" He traced other words into the back of his neck as they stood there, words one would never mention in polite company, and let his blunt nails catch sharply, right below his hairline.

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The feel of the Master's nails brought out a sharp hiss from the Doctor, and he returned the bite in kind with a scratch of his own. This was how they were, trading tenderness and nostalgia for pain and vulgarity at a moment's notice, and then back again.

Though his nails bit at the Master's skin, when he leaned down to kiss him again, the kiss was slow, cautious, careful. A contradiction to the blood on his split lip and the sharp chemical smell of the infirmary. With the hand that wasn't on the Master's neck, he moved to undo the buttons on the Master's shirt, slowly sliding one through each eye.

He wanted this. Whatever it was. He wanted it.

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He chuckled again, lower, and gave an answering growl at the sharp scratch. He tensed, briefly, at the rush of sensation it brought, before grinning rather like the lunatic he was.

He kissed him back, humming his approval, and let him control the direction of the kiss for the time being. He was at something of a disadvantage though, as the Doctor began to undo his shirt. He could relinquish the hold he had secured on his neck, but it would still be rather awkward attempting to do something so simple as unbuttoning the Doctor's jacket with one hand.

Frustrating was the wrong word to describe it.

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

With both hands free, one to control the back of the Master's neck and the other to unbutton his shirt, the Doctor found himself back in control.

Shirt unbuttoned, he broke the kiss and pressed his mouth to the Master's neck, tasting the sweat on his skin. It had been so long since he'd---well, since they'd---but they were. Right now. His hand lowered from the shirt to the Master's belt, carefully unlooping it.

It was strange, actually feeling in control. Especially feeling in control with the Master. The Valeyard felt in control all the time, but only the Master and the Doctor knew just how much control that was.

How in control? a voice in the back of his mind asked.

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With a soft growl that was not all frustration, he gave a parting rake of his nails against the back of the Doctor's neck, and let his hand slide down to undo the buttons on his suit jacket.

His breath came out in a soft pant, feeling the Doctor's lips on his neck. Oh. It was different being with someone who knew all of the intimate places they could use to their advantage, being with someone who had no qualms with exploiting them.

The Master, unable to do much with one arm, decided to take another route. He shifted his hips, providing a brief amount of friction between both of their bodies.

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The Master's body pressed against the Doctor's, and the friction of their mutual arousals made the Doctor shudder against him. He moved his mouth to capture the Master's in another crushing kiss. His neck being stimulated, his body---the Master knew what made him feel.

God, this was....it was feeling and being felt and things he wasn't allowing himself before. It made him stronger, he believed. He felt stronger. He felt like the blood was starting to move in his veins again. He was becoming the Doctor more and more.

No, that's me.

There was half a second of shock, and then the Doctor all but threw himself away from the Master, stumbling back and falling awkwardly over a chair in the room.

"He's coming."

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He kissed him hungrily, like he was trying to devour him, as his hand moved to divest him of his jacket. The abruptness of the way the Doctor threw himself away from the Master caught him off guard for only a moment. His body still thrummed with arousal, and now a possibly unhealthy dose of adrenaline.

And now, if it were even remotely possible, he hated the Valeyard so much more. It was taking what was rightfully his. That thing did not deserve its existence, all it would ever be was a shade, an idea, and a worthless one at that. He managed to school his face into impassiveness, trying to will his body back under his own control, but it was proving a bit...difficult.

"How long?"

They needed to move this party back towards the Valeyard's sleeping quarters.

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

The Doctor fought for control. He hadn't fought before, not in a long time. He just accepted it, maybe strained for it a little, but not fought. And right now, he was fighting for the sudden wakefulness in his other half.

"No time," he said, shaking his head. "If you're in here, he'll question it. If you're gone, he'll work something else out. You have to get out of here. Go!"

He wanted to save the Master. He wanted him alive. The Master wasn't the Valeyard's, and the Doctor wouldn't let the Valeyard take him.

"Go somewhere, anywhere else! Just go!"

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The Master wanted to wait. He wanted to find a way that didn't require his running away. It felt like losing everything that had been brought up to the surface in the time they had both stolen from the other, but it wasn't. He had to remind himself of that.

They weren't losing. This was not a battle won for the Valeyard, it was merely a setback.

"You haven't lost yet, Doctor," he said, in way of goodbye for the time being.

He opened the doors and ran out, only barely remembering to keep to where the power was flickering and cutting off. He managed to make it all the way back to his own quarters in what he supposed was record time, half stumbled inside, and leaned against the door as it closed.

Too close. That was far too close. He scrubbed a hand over his face, giving a groan of frustration, and allowed himself to slide into a sitting position on the floor.

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The Doctor stumbled backwards, reaching for something, anything to wash the taste of the Master from his mouth. He could grab alcohol, but that might be too obvious. The Time Lord pheremones, they would be obvious to the Valeyard. No other way. He grabbed the scalpel off of the table and stuck out his own tongue. He sliced across the top of his tongue, trying desperately not to cry out as he did so. The taste of blood filled his mouth, completely overwhelming the taste.

Safe. The Master was safe, for now.

He collapsed onto the floor.

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The Master allowed himself a few moments to calm himself, and straighten out his clothing. There was a good chance that they would be found out from this. That small amount of time had been amazing, and also amazingly stupid.

He pushed himself up from his sitting position, and rooted around in one of the drawers that held the scarce few personal items he had, procuring a device which he tucked into his trouser pocket.

This was suicide, absolute madness, but that's what he was good at, wasn't it? He was good at pushing the envelope, at being reckless and unpredictable. He opened the door to his room, peered out into the hallway, where the lights still flickered, and bolted towards the room the Doctor had told him about some weeks prior.

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The Valeyard blinked his eyes. He was in pain. His mouth ached, his jaw ached, and there was the taste and smell of blood everywhere. He didn't see the ceiling of his sleeping quarters, he saw the ceiling to the infirmary. What he didn't see was the Master in his table. Two guards, lying on the floor. One, he could tell, was still alive. What the hell had happened? And why was there a scalpel in his hand?

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He wasted no time in making his way to the room. Once there, he punched in the access code, waiting impatiently for the door to slide open. When it finally did, he was greeted with darkness.

He stepped in slowly, allowing his eyesight to adjust as he did. He could still barely make out a thing. He reached his hand into his pocket, hand curling around the device there as the door closed behind him.

Something was very, very wrong here.

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As the Master stepped into the room, the being waiting in there began to wake up. Slowly. She did not want to be woken up, she liked believing everything that was happening to her was a dream.

She especially did not like being woken up by him. The being she despised almost as much as the being that took the place of her Time Lord.

The floors around the Master's feet began to glow a light green as the familiar shape of the console room of the TARDIS surrounded him. The console room, but twisted and warped by the Valeyard experimenting with it and damaging it. She stood there, completely void of energy and near the point of dying. It was, in all probability, only her stubbornness of will that kept her alive now.

And as the Master stood there, something the Doctor had planted in his mind clicked into place. The TARDIS energy began to swirl at his feet, and the links for a symbiotic bond began to form. The TARDIS had a new, permanent pilot. And he'd just walked in.