A Teaspoon And An Open Mind: A Doctor Who Fan Fiction Archive
Tenth Doctor
Break to Harness by Aeshna [Reviews - 2] Printer
Author's Notes:
Something small and twisted and nasty, the first draft of which was written for the Fourth Porn Battle, prompt "Master/Jack, collar". I'm not convinced that this isn't actually more a Master/Lucy piece, but whatever way you look at it, poor Jack isn't having much fun....

Spoilers for DW3.11, Utopia, DW3.12, The Sound of Drums and DW3.13 The Last of the Time Lords. Features character death (albeit of the non-stick variety); non-con; torture; general unpleasantness.

Many thanks to mimarie and jwaneeta for looking this over for me.

There's a now-familiar convulsive gasp and jerk as the universe returns its twisted plaything to life and he smiles coldly, cinching the broad leather band a notch tighter. "Welcome back, Captain. So glad you could make it."

The body beneath him jerks again, bound arms flexing in apparent hope that the ties might have somehow weakened in the minutes since he so neatly pierced its improbable heart, and blue eyes narrow with predictable hatred. "Tut tut!" He slaps a hand hard against the bare flesh of one lean flank. "Don't you like my new gift? It suits you — makes you look quite the handsome beast. Isn't that right, Lucy?"

"Oh, yes, Harry. Quite handsome." She's lounging in the chair beside the broad bed, her red silk robe loose round her and her legs open, one hand idly stroking through pale, damp curls. She licks her painted lips at the scene before her but the hungry gleam in her eye is for him and him alone, not the monstrosity pinioned against the sheets. "He's like an animal."

"He is an animal." The Master forces stiff fingers between the thick brown leather of the collar and the fragile flesh beneath, thrilling to the involuntary sounds of distress that come with the added constriction, of breath reduced to rasping pants. The thing is an abomination, filth, its mere existence an insult to the sanctity of all that he has ever known and he wants it gone, wiped from reality, its vile constancy excised. As that is beyond even his gifts, however, he will settle for making it suffer for the mere crime of being. A sharp twist of his wrist forces the elegant head back, closing its windpipe, and he feels a thrill at the desperate, beautiful ferocity with which it fights for oxygen — pale skin flushing crimson then purple, tongue quivering delicately against darkening lips, chest hitching violently and eyes bulging wide. His knee is hard in the small of its back, pinning it down, and it's helpless, trapped....

And, best of all, it knows it.

"Filthy brute," he sneers, and tugs his fingers free. Lucy mewls deliciously as the thing drops back against the sheets, dragging in air in frantic gulps, and the Master smiles indulgently at her as he wraps his left hand around the back of its shackled neck, his right going to the familiar length of his laser screwdriver. A wink for his wife and he changes position, now straddling the beast as it bucks and kicks and hisses and swears, fighting the inevitable as he spreads it wide and forces cool metal into tight, unwilling flesh.

It stills as he impales it, pushing harder, deeper, and for a moment he wonders if this is it, if this is how to break its will. But then its struggles start afresh and he can taste its fury, its wild, hopeless determination, and he's laughing as he twists to grab the collar once more, cutting off the thing's breath as he slides sideways to kneel on the bed, trapping a thrashing thigh beneath his shin as he turns his prize towards Lucy. "You approve, my love?"

"Oh, yes." Her eyes are wide and glassy as she pumps three slender fingers into herself. "Please, Harry. Please, for me...."

He flashes her a grin and goes to work, reaching between his writhing captive's legs and fucking it hard with the bloodied metal length, stabbing in and out with vicious abandon as he tugs and toys with the collar, losing himself in the gasps and grunts and helpless gurgles. A thing of such insane, eternal power trapped within a fragile human shell, its wrongness echoing through every whimper, every twitch, every worthless, straining attempt at escape, and it's his now, his, more than it ever was the Doctor's. His to shatter, to slaughter, to break again and again and again until it welcomes each blow, each cruel dispatch, kneeling before him with empty, vanquished eyes and willingly offered throat....

He pulls its head in towards his. "Call me Master," he murmurs roughly.

"Go to he—"

The rasping snarl cuts off unfinished as he thumbs the control and the strong body stiffens, the laser slicing through it from within to spit gut and heart and throat and brain on a searing beam of brightness. Lucy's eyes widen as it dies and she comes, hard, and he follows her an instant later as the thing slumps limp and lifeless — for the moment — against him.

He pants his completion, meeting Lucy's eyes, then tightens the collar another notch before the thing revives.

Oh yes. He's going to enjoy this.

~ fin ~
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