The heightened sensitivity of his skin following the Doctor's slap makes the touch of the Doctor's hand distinct—warm and hyper-present. The Master closes his eyes and shakes his head, a half-smile quirking at his lips and smoothing the moment's tension from his forehead. Doctor. You're so very bad at aggression.

Except, of course, when you're not and you put him in hospital. But you save that for special occasions, and this, he thinks, isn't one of them.

He relaxes back down onto the bed, arms out to his sides, shoulders loose. "Go on."