Work Text:
“Alright. Heads, I win, tails, you do, fine?”
“Like always, got it. Toss it already!”
A coin was flung into the air and two sets of dark eyes watched in anticipation as it flew high, spinning in the air so fast they couldn't tell heads and tails apart, then fell onto the open hand; the result had been examined shortly and a disappointed moan escaped one set of lips.
“Come on, I've been the past the last two times already!”
“Well, it's you who came up with this system, remember? Don't complain now.”
“Can I at least wear that coat?”
“You really are obsessed, aren't you?”
“Isn't that why we're here?”
“...yes, but I hate you for pointing it out.”
“Getting into the role already, I see.”
***
“How did you know it's been two times in a row anyway?” Clara pushed him against the console, ignoring his grunt of protest when a lever dug into his back.
“My memory might be lost but the TARDIS’ data of travels isn't. If I see in the logs travel points I can't remember, and they match up with times another TARDIS was in proximity of my ship, I can safely assume–”
“Right.” She cut him off by taking his dick into her hand and giving it a firm stroke; the Master swore under his breath, his hands reaching around her waist to find a way to open the blue, striped kilt she was wearing. “How clever of me.” Her shirt was open loose under too big leather jacket, untied bowtie hanging in-between her breasts; the Master grabbed its ends to pull her into a kiss like she was a puppy on a leash.
“We are a genius, after all.” He muttered against her lips. The brown, well-worn hat on her head was a little in the way of kissing but that was simply part of the experience, so the thought of taking it off didn't even cross his mind. Removing it would be like Clara taking off his green velvet coat, unbelievable and against the rules.
“I am.” Her hand sneaked under his fuchsia t-shirt, clever fingers found a nipple to give it a twist and she laughed when he swore again. “Let's switch, I want you to fuck me into that console.”
Giving up on taking off her kilt, the Master grabbed her waist then and turned them around, helping her hop onto the console with the piece of clothing rolled up; Clara let out a soft whine when her bare ass made contact with the cold metal. “Are we sure, though?” He asked, playing into the role, making his brows furrow with worry. “I mean, we're breaking so many rules, meeting like this– I don't think it's wise, Doctor.”
“What rules?” She wrapped an arm around his neck for stability, the other still on his dick, stroking it into full hardness. “Doctor, I’m the president of Gallifrey, I can literally change the rules of time.”
“Which is ridiculous.” He muttered, an out of character comment, raising a hand to her mouth; she took his fingers, licked at them obediently. “And we use that to have sex with our past self?”
“What better use would there be?” Clara asked once he pulled out his fingers, wet and ready to be pressed against her clit; she shivered once he began to rub it in slow circles. “Come on, Doctor.” When she called him the name that wasn't really his, not outside that little roleplay they were doing, his body reached positively, forcing a moan out of his throat and making him lower his head to her chest, take in his mouth hardened nipple and suck on it until she moaned too. “Don't tell me you don't enjoy it. After all, who will know better how to make me feel good than my own self?”
“So selfish of us.” He muttered, his lips brushing against her skin until they reached the other nipple; he bit at it, lightly, just as his fingers found her entrance and circled it, gathering the wet arousal dripping out of her.
“I was always selfish, no matter what I might try to tell myself and the rest of the Universe.”
“Doctor…” As he let that name sink into her ears, he let his fingers sink into her cunt as well, hot and welcoming, easily taking in the intrusion. “I hate it when you're right.”
“I know.” Her voice was a little breathless, eyes closing as he pumped his fingers, stretching her out. “Fuck… Oh, I feel good. Fuck me well, Doctor… Fuck me until I can see stars.”
He smirked at that, an idea lighting up in his mind, and snatched the bowtie from her neck; and before she could protest, he was grabbing her hands putting them together above her head. Clara understood and kept them still as he tied the piece of fabric into a neat bow on her wrist, her back arched off the console so she could press her chest against his, still covered with shirt.
“We should invite the TARDIS to join.” He offered, just because a threesome with that annoying ship of theirs was something the Doctor would do – what the Doctor did, actually, but that was a long story – and Clara laughed, tugging her hands down to make sure they were well secured, hooked by the bowtie on one of the levers.
“I have sex with my TARDIS every day, she can sit back and watch this time round.”
Unsure if that was just an in-character answer or did Clara really do weird stuff with her ship – it was entirely possible that she did, in fact, have sex with the weirdest creatures – the Master decided to drop the topic and focus on more important things, like his painfully hard dick, or the way Clara’s cunt was beautifully stretched and ready for him. He pulled out his fingers and wiped them against her chest, delighting in the way her arousal glistened on her tits, then positioned them both, spreading her thighs wide apart and guiding his cock between them.
“Don’t tease me.” Clara moaned when he began to grind his dick against her cunt, sliding it in-between her labia a few times.
“I’m not teasing you, I’m lubing myself up.” He answered, trying to keep his voice calm, but it still came out strained with arousal. He couldn’t help it; it simply felt too good, to feel her wet and ready against him, to see those ruffled clothes on her body, to hear her call him the Doctor… It was probably fucked up at least a little bit, but he didn’t care.
For some reason, Clara didn’t seem to care either; it was actually her who came up with that offer, during one of the rare times they bumped into each other and ended up in bed instead of tearing each other apart. Any other face of his would probably laugh at such a ridiculous suggestion – which only proved that she knew well who to ask, because he actually considered the offer – and then agreed to try.
That trial somehow turned into regular thing, one that included dressing up in various parts of the Doctor’s clothes – and yes, those had to stay on, as much as the positions allowed, which was why his checkered pants were currently only lowered a little – and, sometimes, more elaborate scenes, like finding a world to save, getting caught by the villain of the story and fucking on the ice cold floor of their prison dungeon.
(That was his idea and even having to actually save the world afterwards – Clara’s insistence – was worth it.)
Honestly, he always knew that Clara was a narcissist aspiring to be the Doctor but he still didn't expect her to enjoy those sessions as much as she did. Of course he enjoyed it; to pretend, just for a while, that he was above it all, that he was the most important being in the Universe was something he'd always accept with no hesitation. And to get a chance to fuck them as well… Well, he couldn't say he didn't miss that. Unfortunately, the current one was too angry with him and too fixated on her newest pet to even think about him in that way. Clara was a decent substitute.
That substitute moaned softly now, demanding attention – oh yes, Clara always enjoyed having all attention on her. “Just fuck me already, will you?”
“Acting very demanding for someone currently tied up and at the mercy of her past self, aren't you?”
“Come on… Please, Doctor.”
Oh, she knew just how to push him, with the tone of her voice and the name calling; she knew it was all it took for him to lean down and kiss her, swallow her moan as his cock pushed softly into her. He could feel her muscles tense; as ready as she was, he was thick enough for the intrusion to edge on pain, the stretch greater than his fingers could provide. Not a single complaint came from her lips though, she just bit his lower lip in a sharp kiss, dug her teeth in until she could lap at the droplet of blood that came out of the small wound she caused. He didn't even think to complain either, mind absorbed by the way she shivered, full-body, once he bottomed out inside her. Her reactions were always delicious, if a little out of character; the Doctor didn't tend to be as loud as she was, in most of their bodies he had to really put in the good work to hear their moans loud and free, passing their lips one after another the way hers did once he began to thrust into her with earnest. He didn't mind that, though, not at all; it was good to have such an obvious feedback, it fed his ego well.
Besides, the idea of the Doctor being so open about their pleasure was enough for him to feel the absolute thrill and double his efforts in pounding into her.
“Oh, I'm gorgeous like this…” Clara gasped, her widened eyes travelling down his body, from the smooth line of his jaw (the Doctor rarely fashioned any kind of facial hair so he usually shaved before those meetings), through his chest, fully covered with that bright shirt, so vividly contrasting with the calm green of the coat, down to where his cock poke out of the trousers and question mark boxer shorts. He knew he looked good, in that ridiculous way the Doctor always fancied, and Clara's comment only made him smirk.
“We are. I'm so glad you picked that skirt, it's much easier to get to you.”
“It's a ki– ah!” Her eyes rolled back when he hit a particularly good spot. “It's a kilt, you uncultured– oooh.” She never got to finish that sentence because then he pulled out a sonic screwdriver – the one with blue light on top, he stole it long ago when the Doctor was busy brooding, one of the favourite activities of that particular face – and presented it to her. “What am I up to with this, my past?”
“Have you ever stopped to take a look at all of sonic’s functions, my darling me?” He asked, pressing the tip of the sonic against the hollow in her throat; when she parted her lips in a delighted anticipation, he began to draw an invisible line, down her sternum and between her breasts.
“There are hundreds, maybe thousands of options, even I didn't discover all of them yet.”
“Hmm. Or did we?” The bulb of the screwdriver travelled to the side, under the brim of the black leather jacket, resting against Clara's nipple – and then he turned on a particular setting, making the screwdriver buzz against the hardened bud.
“Oh!” With a surprised moan, Clara arched her back, struggling against her bonds – or rather pretending to, they weren't really trapping her with no escape, he did it more for the show. “How do– fuck, yes, that's a perfect angle – how do you know that setting if I don't?”
“Maybe the memory of it had been erased along with other ones.” He muttered, obediently keeping up that angle – because, frankly, it was perfect indeed, fogging his mind a little with hot white pleasure each time he thrusted into her – while the hand with the sonic moved down again, in a straight line that crossed through her belly button and pubic mound.
“Fuck– Doctor, yes, pleas–ah!” Her last word turned into a pleasured scream when he pressed the device to her clit. Her walls squeezed around him and the Master swore too, fucking her deep, feeling his own pleasure rising higher with every thrust.
For some time, the console room was filled with sounds of hips smashing against each other, sonic buzzing against a clit, loud moans and names none of them really carried but responded to nevertheless. The Master knew Clara was getting close, by the way her talk was becoming less coherent as she gave in to the pleasure of being taken care of in such wonderful ways; and he was nearing his orgasm as well, his thrusts more frantic now, hand with the screwdriver trying to find the perfect spot that would leave Clara squirm in desperation.
She wasn’t even looking at him anymore, her eyes shut tight so she could focus on the way his dick felt as it slid in and out her soaking wet cunt and the way sonic was warm and vibrating, pressed to the side of her clit now; the Master found that this was the best spot for it, building her pleasure steadily and making her muscles twitch a little each time he pressed harder, those pulsations synchronized with his thrusts.
“Doctor…” Clara’s voice was weaker now, her entire body winded up and ready to spring into action any second.
“I know.” He soothed her, leaned in for a kiss that would never be so soft if he wasn’t in the role. “I got you. Come on, Doctor…”
That last use of not-her name was what pushed Clara over the edge; she opened her eyes wide and went rigid under him, hands straining against the bonds and forcing them loose so she could grab the lapels of his coat and hold so tight her knuckles went white, orgasm washing over her in a massive wave. The Master eased the pressure of the sonic on her clit, leaving enough of it as to not overstimulate her but force her body to prolong the orgasm, keep those waves coming as long as possible; it was nearing its end when he came too, stilling with his cock buried deep inside her, joining Clara in shouting that oh so special name as the stars danced in front of his eyes, blinding bright and burning his body whole.
They turned him into nothing but dust and he let that dust fall, down from the empty space between planets onto soft, familiar ground, letting out a sigh as it accepted him.
The acceptance of the soft ground lasted about five seconds; then he felt a finger poking at his ribs. “Normally I wouldn’t complain, but those fucking controls are digging into my back, you know.”
He sighed again, this time with annoyance as that lovely image of stars and dust and burning disappeared in a sad pop, and lifted himself off Clara; she had a sparkle in her eyes that told him she was up to no good. “What now?”
“You know, you might say…” She made a dramatic pause, looking very pleased with herself for what she was about to say. “That you came into the future!”
The Master stared at her for a long minute, not believing she actually said that; surely, he was hallucinating?
But the enthusiastic grin didn’t leave her face as she waited for his reaction, dispelling any hopes that he misheard her; he groaned then, and pushed himself to standing. “Where the fuck is that neural block, I want my memories of that joke wiped this instant.”
That was another rule: meeting your future self meant you’d forget the memories of the meeting afterward. That’s how it happened naturally and that was the rule they set, to keep things more authentic. And thrilling; there was something exciting about going into the meeting without certainty that you’d remember it afterwards.
Although he’d really prefer to remember more of them. If his calculations were right, Clara was much more lucky with getting the future than he was.
“Spoilsport.” With a sigh, Clara stood up too and massaged her wrist, the kilt falling down to cover her again. “You know I will just use it again next time, right? Your reaction never gets old.”
“If we throw tails again, that is.”
“One can hope.” She found her hat that fell off sometime during orgasm and placed it back on her head, then pulled out the neural block from the pocket of the jacket. “Ready?”
“Yeah. As fun as that was, you ruined the experience.” He stood in front of her, expression sour; she laughed.
“No I didn’t, if the amount of come trickling down my thighs is anything to go by.” Still giggling, she raised the device, ready to activate it. “Oh, and thank you for that sonic idea, that was nastily wonderful. I hope you come up with it again next time. Anyway, same time next week?”
“You do know I won’t remember this conversation.” He rolled his eyes at her. Her grin widened.
“I do. See you, Master.”
And with that, the lights went off.
***
When the Master came to his senses, he found himself laying on the cold floor of his TARDIS’ console room, stripped down to just his usual, purple pants and shirt, no vest or coat in sight. Huh. Not the weirdest circumstances to wake up to, he supposed. Still, a question rose: how did he end up here?
“Or better question. When did I last sleep?” He asked himself out loud, sitting up. He stinked faintly of a dried sweat, suggesting that he was up to some sort of physical activity before losing consciousness. “Can’t remember. Must be why I passed out then.” That didn’t explain the scent but his mind felt too foggy to worry about that; he’d come up with some more possible answer later on.
Slowly, he stood up and inspected the room; nothing out of order, it seemed. Huh. He really must’ve been exhausted, mustn't he? Perhaps he should just bury himself in his bedroom and take a longer rest, no good evil plans could come out of a tired mind.
“But first, a meal.” He decided, rubbing at his lower lip – where did he cut it again? “Meal, cup of tea, shower – and then a well-deserved nap. Sounds like a plan.”
Content with himself, the Master left the console room and headed to the ship’s kitchen to busy himself with cooking.
Weirdly enough, he was craving a souffle.