John Smith (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dreamtofbeing) wrote2009-11-16 11:52 pm
dreamtofbeing) wrote2009-11-16 11:52 pm
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Untitled
The Doctor is drunk.
He hadn't quite realized this until the Master had shown up at his apartment, wanting to drop off some paperwork, and had started to drop some dry remarks. The Doctor had protested--he wasn't drunk, he hadn't meant to get drunk. He'd had a glass of wine, no more than two, maybe. But as he had followed the Master's dry sideglance at the bottle, he'd seen that it actually was mostly empty. He's still not quite sure how that happened.
He doesn't really care right now, though. The Master refused to stop his taunting, invading the Doctor's personal space, and at some point, the Doctor lost his patience. They had ended up on the couch, the Doctor straddling the Master's lap, kissing the other man and touching him, his hands under the Master's shirt running over smooth, warm skin. A sudden desire had washed through him--to claim the Master, to own him, make him his. When he'd told the Master as much, the other man had seemed intrigued by the idea.
They're in the bedroom now. The Doctor followed the Master from the living room and is now leaning in the doorway, watching, arms crossed as his heart beats in his chest and his erection strains against the fabric of his jeans. The Master stands before him, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. There's a red bitemark on the side of his neck, and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone.
The Doctor licks his lips. "Take your clothes off."
He hadn't quite realized this until the Master had shown up at his apartment, wanting to drop off some paperwork, and had started to drop some dry remarks. The Doctor had protested--he wasn't drunk, he hadn't meant to get drunk. He'd had a glass of wine, no more than two, maybe. But as he had followed the Master's dry sideglance at the bottle, he'd seen that it actually was mostly empty. He's still not quite sure how that happened.
He doesn't really care right now, though. The Master refused to stop his taunting, invading the Doctor's personal space, and at some point, the Doctor lost his patience. They had ended up on the couch, the Doctor straddling the Master's lap, kissing the other man and touching him, his hands under the Master's shirt running over smooth, warm skin. A sudden desire had washed through him--to claim the Master, to own him, make him his. When he'd told the Master as much, the other man had seemed intrigued by the idea.
They're in the bedroom now. The Doctor followed the Master from the living room and is now leaning in the doorway, watching, arms crossed as his heart beats in his chest and his erection strains against the fabric of his jeans. The Master stands before him, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. There's a red bitemark on the side of his neck, and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone.
The Doctor licks his lips. "Take your clothes off."