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He did not. Want. The Doctor. He’d barely escaped being burnt alive, his old enemy watching as he begged for life. So he was not dealing with this childish nonsense anymore. He’d find a planet far away, take it over, rule… alone. He was The Master. A master needs no one.
But when your heart stopped, Doctor, I didn’t hesitate.
Feeling the singular pulse against his fingers, weak, fading. The frantic way he’d rushed to press down- steady steady come on! When the flames engulfed him, The Doctor had done nothing.
“Please!”
“No.” The Doctors’ face responded, resolute. “Never.”
That soft, sorrowful face. Sweat from the fire beading on his brow, buttoned up white shirt tugging at his lean frame- He clutched his console. He could NOT. He could not keep doing this. The Doctors’ hands wrapped round him on Logopolis, lifting him, The Doctors’ hand squeezing his waist, The D-
He slammed his fist down in desperation. He’d lost. The Doctor wasn’t even here and he had lost. He wanted The Doctor. Oh, letting himself think it sent a bitter taste to his mouth, a red mist clouded his gaze. He needed The Doctor. All his being was consumed, aching, drowned in this intolerable NEED. The Doctors’ hands on him, in him, kissing him senseless, maddening!
“Fine.” He relented, unzipping himself. He was weak. Half an hour? Some sort of addict, was he? He’d kill The Doctor for this indignity.
He took himself in his hand, so painfully aware these fingers were not The Doctors’. He wondered if The Doctor guiltily took himself aside, away from those pets, took down those polite and proper trousers… of course he did. The Master bucked his head back at the image. He wondered if The Doctor thought of him, of their escapades, of being restrained by HIS Master, if he screamed “Master” as he came and immediately felt disgusted. Ashamed. Oh of course he did.
The Master moaned at the image. So clear and bright and brilliant in his mind. He KNEW The Doctors’ most recent body held so many nights of loneliness. He tried to picture the shape and length of his cock, and felt dizzy with curiosity. With the need to know every secret The Doctor held. Did he have moles on his arse? Freckles? Did he shave? Was it the same pretty blonde? How would it feel to squeeze both those cheeks, hold them in his hands-
On that yank he came. Crying out “Doctor!” as he did, leaving him empty and exposed. He shook his head. He had to find The Doctor. Needed to.