Also dat chair.

>>25170

Okay, it's time for my head to explode from hotness overload. Holy fuck.

>>25196
My thoughts exactly.

>>25170
>>25194
omfg I need more of this in my life holy shit.

Ooooh my god. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. Yes please. More. So much more.

YES DO WANT RIGHT NOW

I DON'T HAVE ANY MORE DRAWINGS (by this artist) BUT FEAR NOT: they say they'll be doing more after they finish sketch commissions. In the meantime, I'll go ahead and post this fic I wrote. Hope it keeps you guys excited.


Six point seven billion of them, all glorious, powerful and beautiful. I stare on in disbelief at the original, at the Master who is smirking in his usual way as he knows I’m frozen in some state of shock and fear. Six billion people, all now the same person, the very person that I loved and loathed, chased and changed with. It seemed an impossibility but when one spends too much time alone, one forgets that nothing with the Master seems impossible anymore. He approaches me with that stupid grin still plastered to his face, motioning for the three other Masters standing nearby to grab me. They come quickly and I try to slip away before their hands are all over me but I’m not fast enough, and now the three copies are laughing as they pull me away. “What are you planning? What are you trying to do?!” I scream back at the original, but he stands there smirking in his stupid hoodie, smiling at me like an innocent schoolboy. Before I try and struggle to get free of the hands on me, one of the copies slams my head into a wall and the last thing I hear is “Take him to the…” before everything goes black.

I groan when I finally come to, unaware of what time it is—or, more importantly, where I am—and when I gather up the strength to open my eyes I find I’m in a secluded, plain room, with my wrist chained above me to a metal pipe. I try to examine the lock on the handcuffs, see if I can’t break them loose or not, but I can’t see very well from where I’m sitting and my body is much too cold to stand up. Oh, how typical of him. My clothes are missing, which would explain why I’m so cold but it doesn’t explain why he’s insisted on chaining me up in this empty room. By the time I hear footsteps outside the door I’ve made a few guesses as to the ideas he might have for Ways to Torture the Doctor. The door swings open and the Master bounds in like a gleeful little puppy dog, all wide-eyes and smiles at me. I remain curled on the floor and just stare at him, expecting some kind of maniacal speech. The hoodie-clad man kneels down so that our faces are level and he looks me right in the eyes and I see his smile quiver, if only just slightly before he stands and kicks me in the stomach.

“I see you haven’t tried to escape. Those handcuffs aren’t the greatest quality but they were all I could find on a short notice so I hope you don’t mind.” He sneers with a sense of importance. The three copies that brought me in earlier line into the room, the last (who looks surprisingly stunning in that pink dress) locks the door. I clutch at my stomach, still pathetic and helpless on the floor as I look up to my ma—er, my nemesis. He kneels down again, whispering so that his copies can’t hear: “Now that we have that out of the way, why don’t you go ahead and be a nice little Time Lord and tell me where your TARDIS is, hmm?” I say nothing in response which only agitates him further. His palm meets my face in a harsh slap, and the noise echoes in the small room so that I can still hear it ringing in my ears like a drum when I turn to look back at him.

“Come on now, Doctor. Let’s not be like this.” He says placidly, stroking my face with his hand tenderly. “Everything is going to be much easier if you just listen to your master.” He hisses, all of a sudden clenching my jaw in his hand, forcing me to look at him. Staring in his eyes, I could almost see the drumbeat echoing in his mind, controlling him. Commanding him. The Master, poor thing, has been controlled all his life, I realize. Whatever is in his head was put in there by someone, and I have a sinking feeling that the Time Lords may be able to explain it better than even he could. “I’m sorry, Master.” I manage to choke out just before his palm strikes me again. “I’m… so sorry.” I say again, almost relishing in the sting on my cheek. He’s sneering at me again, not exactly sure of what I’m talking about but I get the feeling that he doesn’t really care right now.

He asks me again, “Where’s your TARDIS, Doctor?” and I only repeat my apology. I can tell he’s thoroughly pissed off by now, like he always gets when people—mostly myself—disobey him. Another swift kick to the stomach, ow, sends me kneeling over myself and spitting up blood. “Get him down.” He says with a distasteful and bitterly sharp tone to the copies standing at the other side of the wall. The one in the now-oversized suit comes over to me and unlocks the handcuffs, throwing them across the room carelessly. After I hear the clatter of the metal falling to the dirty floor I hear the shuffle and rustling of clothing—and I get that terrible sinking feeling in my stomach that I know what the Master is planning next. I sit back up, still coughing from the kicks, and see the three Master copies undressing just as I had feared. “No… please, no, damnit…” I mutter under my breath, no energy to scream at the blonde man’s face. I can feel him smirking at me again as I bow my head to spit more of the blood that pooled in my mouth.

“Oh trust me Doctor, I won’t even touch you.” He exhales with a certain air of cleverness. Then I realize that he’s the only one still wearing clothing. Panic would be an understatement. I’m fully alert by now, not even tasting the iron in my mouth as I back myself away from the approaching Masters into the corner. “No, no, no, no, no, no…” I keep crying out, and when their icy hands grab at my skin it burns like the suns back home on Gallifrey and I can’t help but cry out and kick and scream and do anything I can to make it all go away. The Master, the real one, only watches smugly, leaning against the wall, and says, “Oh come now Doctor—I thought you missed me! Now I’m back, and there’s plenty of me to go around!” He laughs manically as the copies grab and pull at me, and I grow limp in their grips because I know it’ll be easier like this. I’m forced to my knees and to stop me from crying out one copy attacks my mouth, shoving his tongue down my throat and invading my mouth, muffling my cries and protests. I feel another behind me, fingering at my ass and slicking himself up but the one in my mouth is holding me still so I don’t squirm away, and now I feel the third at my side, reaching around and teasing my own erection and at the unexpected touch I bite down on the first’s lip which he doesn’t like at all, and proceeds to slap me across the face, wiping the blood away with the back of his other hand.

My mouth free for a moment, I scream out in a pained voice at the Master, “This is inhumane! You’re insane! You can’t do this, plea—” But that’s all I can manage to get out before the first copy has stood up and roughly shoved his dick down my throat, making me almost gag. His fingers thread into my hair and I push back the tears and bob my head along with the force from his hand on my skull. The second, behind me, pushes me forward so I’m on all fours and I feel like a paralyzed dog as he pushes himself, unlubricated, into my entrance. All I can do is squeeze my eyes shut and keep sucking and the first, take the pain from the second, and try to ignore the third as it fondles me just the way the Master knows I like.

Just as the first copy begins to thrust his hips on his own, practically skull-fucking me, my eyes slip open and I see a glimpse of the Master, leaning back against the cold wall and just watching. My eyes shut tight again; unable to match his gaze, but the image of his face staring at me getting gangfucked by himself is burned into my mind. I take little solace in the fact that he isn’t grinning at all anymore—in fact, he may have been scowling—but his scowl can only mean bad news for me. My jaw is practically locked open by now from the first ramming his dick down my throat, ravishing my head up and down without a care to my wellbeing, the second copy fucking me like some savage, hormone-driven beast and although he’s thrusting at his own pace I still can’t help myself but to admit that it feels amazing, and with the third at my side, stroking me quickly, slowly, then stopping all together when I get close to the edge—it’s driving me insane. It’s exactly what he wants, though, so I don’t dare to try thrusting myself into the third’s hand for my own good.

All of a sudden, no warning given (which figures, I suppose) the first who’s been throat-fucking me finally comes with a sudden cry, his body shuddering which makes it hard for me, but I still manage to swallow down everything as I know I’m expected to do. It’s bitter on my tongue and tastes nothing like my Master. Out of what I’m assuming is narcissism, the one behind me who is using my ass as he pleases comes inside me at the sight of the first finishing and I can only roll my eyes and cough, my mouth now free, and I stretch my jaw and wait till the last shudders of the second’s climax come to a stop. The third is the only one still on me, pumping me like a waterspout and I can finally relax and enjoy it, sighing a moan and just falling over myself in relief of having the other two gone. However, the third stops his wonderful ministrations as the sound of the Master—the real Master—snapping on his leather gloves echoes through the room.

“Out.” He commands simply, and the three copies gather up all their clothing and leave within a second of the Master saying so. I’m about to fall over to my side in exhaustion when the blonde, the man I love, rushes over and catches me just before I fall to the cold concrete floor. “You bastard.” I mutter, too tired to try and escape or fight back. I realize, this was the plan all along. A Doctor that doesn’t fight back is exactly what he wants, and now he has it. He lies me on my back to the cold concrete, a bit of a relief after all the hot bodies fucking me everywhere, and he straddles me gently but still with that natural Master-ly way of his, smirking down at me, stroking my raw skin with the cold leather of the gloves and I let myself gasp and moan all I want, unashamed in front of my lover. He knows all my sweet spots by heart and he takes his time to administer each one—a hard bite to both sides of my neck, a trace of my lips with a fingertip, a long stroke down my leg, then back up to my hips to tease my still-stiff member. I’m gasping and moaning and begging under his touch, just as he loves, and he slips off the rest of his clothing—he had undressed mostly while I was being gangfucked, I hadn’t noticed it—and moans my name as he enters into me. I shut my eyes from the pain, my ass still sore as can be from his copy shoving into me like a loose piston, but the Master feels so much better, so right. My eyes slip open and I see him above me, fucking me with a sick, twisted and yet caring passion and I can’t take it anymore, he’s stroking me with those gloves and next all I see is white and I feel nothing except ecstasy and the Master inside me, coming with me, feeling the same way.

When we both come back down, he’s poking and prodding at me and when I look up I realize that I’m covered in bruises and scratches and there is blood everywhere, and I could pass out from the sight if he wasn’t holding me so close to him.

“We’ll fix you up, Doctor. We’ll fix you right up.” The Master smirks, grabbing me and carrying me off.

>>25237
YES. DO WANT.

I like Ten/Simms!Master, but my original loves were Three/Brig and Three/Delgado!Master,

I read this yesterday in DWM.
YES THE POWERS THAT BE SHIP IT.

Euros Lyn:"Why doesn't the Master just kill the Doctor?"
RTD:"Because he loves him. Honestly, I think he does."

>>25612

HAHA YES. I just saw this episode, and this is awesome. I shouldn't like this pairing, but I think I do; the weight of what, 40 years? (and that's just in real time), and tons of different incarnations is what does it for me.

>>25697
oh god
THIS

>>25697
I JUST HEARD ABOUT THIS.
Their love is inevitable.
Also have a gem from dA.

Damn, all I have is this gif. I feel bad.

Sorry, I fail.

>>25837
wait wait why does it cut off just before they make out


shit was that bit only in my head? I was pretty sure that was canon.

ok to make this less HELLA POINTLESS have an old but still awesome link http://nostalgia-lj.livejournal.com/1336208.html#cutid1

>>25838

>>shit was that bit only in my head? I was pretty sure that was canon.

You are not alone...

>>25837
I don't even watch the show and this is hot.

TIME FOR MASTER/DOCTOR LINKS. All of them are gay this time, I promise.

BEST ENEMIES LJ Group:
http://community.livejournal.com/best_enemies/profile
KINK MEME:
http://community.livejournal.com/best_enemies/13938.html

Fic:
http://versaphile.livejournal.com/1671235.html
http://starbrow.livejournal.com/550584.html
http://amy-wolf.livejournal.com/56221.html
http://x-losfic.livejournal.com/22958.html#cutid1

PART THE SECOND:

http://mercurial-wit.livejournal.com/39518.html
http://astrogirl2.livejournal.com/422799.html
http://tabula-x-rasa.livejournal.com/385207.html
http://grittyfic.livejournal.com/47026.html
http://community.livejournal.com/tw_dw_slashfest/19453.html
http://www.whofic.com/series.php?seriesid=938

bump

So... I JUST started watching Doctor Who. I know, I know, shame on me.

I'm in the first season of Tennant's Doctor and I'm LOVING IT. That said, I don't know (YET) who all these intriguing characters you lot are talking about, but I would love some Doctor slash. Any recommendations for a newbie?

ALSO, Simon Pegg was totally in the season one episode 'The Long Game', I squealed like a bitch. He had just a bit more chub than he does now and I just wanted to pinch his cheeks...

...either pair.

>>26196

Kittun

>>26229

In the thumbnail, it looks like something's growing out of his ass.

Needs more Torchwood.

This show is so bad, it's good.

In return, have some shitty manips.

Did this :D

I know it's not perfect but the Master's face used to be a whole lot worse.

>>End of Time Master = hot.

Whatever happened to End of Time Lord President Fancypants Rassilon? He was a stone cold badass, and made the Doctor completely lose his shit. Bad history there, maybe?

>>26835

>>26836

inspiration

>>26835
I can't think of him without remembering the SPITTING.

>>26900
SAME.

>>26900

This. Sorry, Mr. Dalton.

Did this pic for this fic: http://x-losfic.livejournal.com/37620.html because it is pretty rad.

And, uh, I wrote some Rassilon/Eight noncon, too? http://roachpatrol.livejournal.com/26117.html#cutid1 if it makes you feel better, you can imagine Rassilon spitting a lot, I don't judge.

CARRY ON, CITIZENS.

>>28659
Pic + fic = way rad

>>28711
Oh gawd, I'm pissing my pants. This is win.

Full fic here: http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=20038

But I'll just post some of the best bits shall I? :)
I'll try my best to cut out what I can of Lucy but she is involved a lot, sorry.



The Doctor obeys, crawling up his body, dragging his cheek against him as he goes, seeking contact, scent. The Master's hand grips the back of his neck and pulls him up into a rough kiss. The Doctor whimpers as his mouth is ravaged and then rises up against the Master's mouth. They kiss with bruising force, almost more a battle for dominance than an act of passion even though they both know who's in control. It's been centuries, regeneration after regeneration, their lives turned inside-out by time and tide but in this nothing has changed. Their first bodies or their latest, as friends or enemies; their first kiss, every kiss, the essence is always the same. Having it again after so long, so much, only makes the Doctor ache for it more. Want it more, want the Master in every way he can have him, want the Master to have him just as completely.

The Master's fingers press into his neck. They moan into each other's mouths, tongues sliding, teeth clicking together. The Doctor ruts slowly against and feels the Master's erection through the silk, full and straining. The Master turns them over, tumbling over into the centre of the bed so the Master is on top and the Doctor's bound hands are trapped between them, pressed down. And then his wrists gripped and pulled up over his head and pinned against the pillows, the Master delving back into his mouth, the Doctor arching up against him, one leg wrapping around and the other turned open to make room for the Master's body.

A break and the Master's face is held a bare inch from his own, his breathing short and rapid against his mouth, his eyes hard and dark and wanting. The Doctor thrills to the knowledge that the Master wants him, wants him, needs him like the Doctor needs the Master, and his hearts swell. All his fear, all his worries fall away, because the rest doesn't matter, the rest is irrelevant in the face of this. If surrender gives him this then he'll make a meal of surrender.

It seems as though the Master is about to speak, but the moment passes and it's back to wrapping themselves around each other, tasting and pawing and pressing hard, harder, driven by that wordless need. The Doctor's teeth tug aside silk to reach skin; he drags his mouth against the Master's neck, his shoulder, broadly licks to taste that honey-salt of Gallifreyan and not the copper-salt of human. The Master groans and thrusts against him, and then with a touch the Doctor's wrists are released and the Doctor instantly tugs at the Master's shirt and then runs his hands along his back, his arse, grasping and kneading. He needs contact, skin against skin, the friction of their bodies.

Somehow between them they pull the Master's clothes into disarray, shirt half-off and pajama bottoms hitched down past one hip. If there was any planned intent it's gone, forgotten in their urgency for each other as centuries of frustration and longing finally find release. There's no pretence, no games; their lust is the most honest they've been with each other since this started. The only thing that matters is not stopping, ever. Lustful groping turns into a full-bodied struggle as they tumble back and forth to be on top, to be underneath, to gain some indefinable upper hand that means only more, sloppily pinning each other down even as they kiss and moan. Lucy gives an amused, startled sound as their antics force her off the bed, and then they roll back the other way, tumbling over and over until the Doctor rolls into empty air and then slams to the floor, the air knocked out of him and flat on his back but there's no time to recover because the Master isn't fazed, isn't stopping, and he breathes in a great gulp of air and snarls and they're off again.

"Bastard," the Doctor growls under his breath. "Bastard, bastard, I hate you." And then he plasters his mouth to the Master's neck and sucks hard, laps at the skin and sucks until there's heat and he knows it will leave a mark and then he kisses and kisses up the Master's neck, back down again, and then his mouth, over and over. The Master just laughs and laughs and then drags his nails down the Doctor's back, raking the skin and then grabbing with cruel force, marking the Doctor over and over with blood and bruises. And it's glorious, glorious, neither of them can get enough, it's impossible to get enough to make up for nine hundred years of being driven mad with need for each other that they were too proud and stubborn to admit. And now that it's out they can't stop, can only tear into each other with increasing desperation.

The Doctor finally tears the Master's shirt away and there's new skin to attack, to feel and memorize and mark. They're both hard and the Master shoves down the last of his clothes and there's nothing in the way, just skin and sensation.

Equilibrium is impossible. The struggle has to end and it can only end one way, and so the Doctor is far from surprised that it ends with him flat on his stomach, arms pinned behind his back, and then with him being bodily hauled half up onto the bed, bent over with his feet on the floor, the Master's cock between his thighs as the Master presses him down. They're both breathing hard, four hearts racing, bodies hot with exertion.

"Down," the Master growls, pushing painfully between the Doctor's shoulder blades. The Doctor gives one last futile struggle and then stills, accepting temporary defeat.

"What to do with you," the Master murmurs, low in his ear. There's a breathy, manic laugh, and then: "Too much spirit, Doctor. That gives me so much more to break."

"Planning to talk me into submission?" the Doctor spits back.

The Master clucks his tongue. "You never did know when to quit. And here I thought we understood each other."

A thrill of fear runs through the Doctor, mingling tantalizingly with his arousal. "Maybe I need a reminder," he says, daringly.

"That's the least of what you need," the Master sneers, and thrusts up between his legs, cock hot and thick against him. "I'm going to enjoy fucking this body of yours. It simply begs for me to hurt it."

"Then do it," the Doctor dares.

"Why Doctor, anyone would think you want to be punished. And after I so generously forgave you. Is that it? Tell me the truth and we both might get what we want."

The Doctor's chest tightens. "What if I do?" he says, lightheaded with admission.

The Master gives a rumble of a laugh. "Then there's hope for you yet. Now on your knees."

The Doctor grunts in surprise as the weight suddenly lifts from his back. His wrists still bound, he rolls sideways off the bed and lands on his arse. The Master smirks down at him as he struggles onto his knees before him. But when the Doctor looks up in expectation, the Master turns away.

"No peeking," the Master chides, and before the Doctor can react there's a blindfold across his eyes. He starts in surprise but there's a tug and the fabric is knotted into place. The loss of his sight as well as his hands makes him uneasy, sensitized to every sound. He turns his head back and forth, trying to hear what's happening around him, but the two of them have gone frustratingly quiet.

He crawls awkwardly towards where the Master was but finds only air. "Master?" he calls, warily.

"I'm here," Lucy says, kneeling in front of him and he can imagine her expression, that mixture of maternal and sororal and sexual love bound together by madness.

She touches the scratches and incipient bruising he gained during his struggle with the Master. "Does it hurt?"

The Doctor shakes his head.

"You mustn't lie," she tells him, tenderly.

"I'm not--"

But Lucy presses her finger to his lips, silencing him. "Whatever he does to you, you have to feel it." She presses herself against him, trapping his erection between their bodies. "No more fear. No more denial. Just what he gives you, pleasure and pain. That's what he taught me." Her finger moves from his lips, and she touches the fingerprint bruises left by the Master's hand, presses into them. The Doctor hisses.

"Does it hurt?" she asks again.

This time the Doctor nods.

And then the Master's hand at his throat, his voice, low and menacing in his ear. "Do you still want to suffer?" he murmurs. "Tell me you need it, Doctor. Punishment. Tell me you need me to hurt you."

The Doctor can't think, can barely speak. When he swallows he feels the grip of the Master's hand, light but strong. "Yes," he whispers. For every time he was weak, for every time he failed. Pain to hold him down, to stop the whirling madness of his thoughts. The Master's strength to struggle against. Yes.

The hand tightens briefly, then is gone. "Good," the Master purrs. "Very, very good. Now stand."

The Doctor struggles to his feet, helped up by Lucy. She pulls him up onto the bed and he crawls after her, off-balance and disoriented by his bindings. He's pushed down onto his stomach and he thrusts against the bed and gives a low moan, aching to be touched, for relief from the arousal saturating his body.

She guides him to spread his legs, then spreads his arse, and there's cool slickness and then a third point of pressure, pushing against his arsehole. His hands clench into fists, but then there's the Master's hand on the small of his back, a steady pressure, and he relaxes with a sigh and opens. Something firm and thick pushes in, not fingers or cock but something else, one of the many toys he saw but he can't remember, had shied away too quickly, flustered.

"Master," he groans, breathy and needy. He clenches around the object, the dildo or plug, it has to be one of those, and then bucks up against it, eager for it. In response, the Master pulls back, then pushes deeper, fucks it back and forth in a steady motion. It's curved, curving inside him in ways that make his nerves spark with pleasure, and he moans openly. But before his arousal can rise much higher, the object is pushed all the way inside him, thickness flaring and then narrowing until it's settled into place, and when it holds itself inside him he knows which of the two it is.

Lucy moves away, down to his legs and presses them together, and then the Master reaches and with a touch they're locked in place, immobilizing him, making the plug settle more solidly into position. When the Doctor moves his hips there's a delicious pressure inside him and he thrusts against the bed in a slow rocking motion, seeking more. But then their hands are on him again and turning him onto his side, stilling him.

His blindfold is tugged down, over his nose and his ears and then into his mouth, turning it into a gag. He bites at it but it's more important that he can see again because the Master is looking down at him with pure satisfaction, with dark intent.

"I'm going to give you everything you deserve," he says, relishing each word. "But you're going to beg for it first, because up to now I've been far too generous. It's time you earned your keep." He moves back, reaching for Lucy, pushing her beneath him. "Until then, I suppose I'll allow you to watch." And then he turns away and kisses Lucy the way the Doctor longs to be kissed.

The Doctor whimpers through the gag. He would beg now, he would, if only they let him. The sight of them together -- together without him -- is almost too much. He has no choice but to watch as they lose themselves in each other.

To be untouched in the face of that is unbearable. The Doctor bends his legs for balance and begins to rock his hips, seeking the glorious sparks of pleasure from the plug inside him. Lucy's thighs tighten against the Master's sides and the Doctor imagines how it will be to ride that body, to be fucked by the Master, for his body to be fucked. He's glad he didn't let Jack take that liberty, wonders if the Master would have stopped him if the Doctor hadn't, because his body is the Master's.

His cock is hard and straining and he squeezes around the plug as he rocks against it, breathing faster as he watches the flex of the Master's hips. The way the Master's body strains with power, compact and muscular beneath smooth skin, the cords of his neck standing out with effort. He imagines himself under the Master, staring up into his snarl of lust as his body is bent double, as his arse throbs with the heat of friction and the Master's cock instead of the cool silicone inside him now.

He matches the Master's pace, each thrust mirrored in his own hips, in the way he clenches inside, and each of Lucy's moans blends with his own, high and desperate even though the gag. His cock is untouched but he can feel it building anyway as he drags himself along with them, as they fuck right in front of him, just beyond reach, the bed creaking in time with every movement. And he can see that it's close for them too and he clenches around the plug over and over until he's so close, suspended at the edge, and it's Lucy's loud cry that tips him over. He comes along with her, cock pulsing messily onto the sheets, shuddering and shivering and giving an endless stream of muffled whimpers and cries. The Master comes soon after, a triumphant cry as he buries himself deep in Lucy, as he turns to the Doctor with a gasping, gloating grin. He's laughing when he rolls off her and onto his back, breathing fast, cock slick with come.

The Doctor is dazed and spent but when he breathes in a bolt of lust hits him all over again. He finds himself straining his neck, nuzzling at the wet juncture of Lucy’s thighs. There's the rich smell of the Master, the thick mixture of come seeping out of her, and even gagged he strains his lips for it. Lucy gives a hum of pleasure, spreading her thighs wider for him, but before he can reach her cunt the Master pulls him back. The Doctor's face is smeared, nose and cheeks shining with come.

"Not yet," the Master chides, amused. He pushes the Doctor flat onto his back, hands pinned beneath him.

The thing about time is that it's all happening at once. Every day, every zeptosecond, all occurring within a single turbulent instant. At this moment Rose Tyler is being born and being pulled inexorably towards the Void. At this moment Jack Harkness is lying dead on a satellite in 200,100 and hanging over London during the Blitz in a Chula warship. The perception of time as something that flows naturally in a particular direction is as false as the perception of 12 static images of a horse run through a projector as being an actual horse. It's easy for him to pretend otherwise when he keeps lower species for company, but the man in front of him has a mind almost the same as his own.

It used to be that if he closed his eyes, he could feel them. The Time Lords, the self-made universal constants. Gallifrey neither fluxed nor withered because the Eye of Harmony held it outside of time, and the Time Lords' observations resolved time into a narrative. The first sentient humanoids in the universe, born three and a half billion years before this moment, the universe's template for countless species that followed. If he'd personally tracked down each individual Time Lord and murdered them he would still be able to feel them. If he'd done all that and destroyed the Matrix, there would still be the echo of their minds. But what he did was so terrible, so complete, that there is only utter, endless silence.

Except the Master, and he /resounds/.

There is a part of the Doctor's mind, the reflex link, that exists for the sole purpose of connecting all Time Lords together. It used to be done through the Matrix, and as a renegade he had been alternately denied and allowed that connection. Now as a survivor he controls his reflex link entirely, as the Master does his own, as they did before their exiles.

They don't use it for words, not right now. Nothing so trivial as that. Instead it's a greeting, a brush of affection, the feel of it like a cat rubbing against his leg. The Master's mind brushing against his own and the Doctor's mind leaning into his, returning the gesture, and it's been so long since the last time he felt anything so intimate he shudders with reaction.

The Master's name is on his tongue but he doesn't use his voice. He sighs the word in his mind and the Master's hand moves, slides from back to hip and rubs a slow circle there, a match for the slow curling of his mind against the Doctor's, around it, coiling like a snake. And again the Doctor feels no desire to fight his grip, no need to struggle. Instead he welcomes it, sighs the Master's name again and closes his eyes and exults in the pressure of the Master's mind around his own, tightening and tightening until that link between them is a narrow point of sensation and then holding.

There's no silence, no static, only the pure tones of the Master's mind drowning out the discordance of the universe. He could hear a thousand Time Lords at once through his reflex link but now there's only one, but it's the only one that matters, the only one he /needs/. Through that narrow link he sings the keening hymn of surrender and the Master responds with the strong bass notes of sovereignty: ancient Gallifreyan songs of war adapted for their own private, intimate battles. Their song goes on and on, weaving back and forth between dissonance and consonance, over 900 years and the Doctor should have forgotten the notes but it's all so clear, as if it was only yesterday that they were entwined in their secret bed, minds and bodies pressed against each other until the borders blurred. The Doctor's whole self is tensed with those notes, that tight, narrow point of song between their minds.

And then the link breaks, the song breaks. The Doctor's knees do give out then and he comes back to himself at the Master's feet, panting, skin pricked with sweat. His hands spread out against the dark, glossy hardwood, long, slim fingers and not the small ones he became so accustomed to. He shivers, more from absence than any chill, and turns his face up to the Master.

The Master looks down at him with unfathomable eyes. Holds him with his gaze, not even needing touch, and the Doctor feels as though his very hearts are seized. He shivers again and reaches out through the link but the Master is silent now, shut down, and the Doctor can't bear it.

"Please," he begs, aloud and through the link. Not in English, not in human tongue, but in the melodic tones of Gallifrey. It's the first word of it he's spoken since the War. Since he became the last, the only one, the sole survivor. Since he became mute in his own song because there was no one left to sing to. He sings the Master's name, sings his surrender, his obedience. Anything not to be alone in his mind, not after the silence was finally broken.

It seems to take forever but at last the Master accepts, his returning song a purr of satisfaction, contented possession, and once again that unspeakably wonderful coil around his mind. All the tension runs out of him at once and he rests his head against the Master's leg, weary and grateful.

It's a lesson, he knows that. A clear reminder of how their arrangement is going to work. His obedience, his complete surrender, or else nothing, utter denial, isolation and abandonment and finally death. But if he's good he gets the Master and he won't be alone, and it's the choice between air and the vacuum of space, the choice between sunlight and the event horizon of a black hole. It's no choice at all, but he still chooses. He chooses the Master, will always choose the Master, over and over and over. And he sings that truth over the link in exultation.

"Good," the Master murmurs, and tightens the coil again.

fresh from dA. :3

and this.

Moar eighth Doctor love. Totally inspired by

>>25170

and

>>29372

only with more pretentious paper texture thrown on top.

>>29558

EEEEEIGHT. He's my Doctor, and I love him so, in all of his bad-movie, uncertain-canon-y glory. Thanks for this!

Because we all wanted to see it happen. Bondage chair!

>>30419
UNF.
I SUPPORT DRESS!MASTER.

We so need moar.

I just wanted to tell you gaiz that you have the best fandom an' I am deeply jealous

*bump bump*

lol.

An LJ community my roommate posts on said they wanted people to put Doctor Who references in classic art, so I made this for her to post there.

I'm gonna say Tom of Finland is classic.

d'aaawwwing
don't you guys love couple-graffiti~

and some 50's business fashion.

Consider part bump, part awesome longfic rec.

http://nemaline.livejournal.com/843.html

Also posting pics of Neil Gaiman wearing a Doctor Who scarf because it's damn nearly porn.

Fuck yeah.

>>39293 >>39294 >>39295
This is just about the best thing ever.

Hehe, Amanda Palmer is dumping pics of her fiance being nerdy. XD

>>39296
Plus he's doing it /outside/

>>39310
I wish

>>39373
This is the cutest thing ever.
Do want sauce.

>>39419
making-a-mess @ deviantart~

>>39373

this reminds me of anime beavis and butthead.

We definitely need moar of this.

YOU WOULD MAKE A GOOD DALEK.

>this thread

Is there anything with the eleventh doctor yet? There Has to be, even if it's just Rory

>>43098

http://community.livejournal.com/ponchoboys/

>>43419
God, his hair, it's just... Hng...

http://rutube.ru/tracks/3323229.html?confirm=b2a48890d42ef3ba084f100137a07db5&v=90643250b63ac5b8bb920579c6284cf8

>>45172

oh my god that's

that's pretty decent.
the song is a bit of a bonerkill but wow, russia.

Does anyone have anything with Eleven? I'm really craving some after last night.

DELGADO FIGHTS A BEAR

AND THEN HE MAKES IT HIS BITCH

>>43094
Anyone have a bigger version of this?

Hey guys! It's "I found a bunch of animations that are way too small" time!

Here's a bit of Eight/Five.

Anyone have anything with the Shalka Doctor and Master? They'd probably be really easy to draw. I've read all the major fics already.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4dHkbdMYpSA - this is freaking awesome

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SCmNudmON9A&feature=player_embedded#! - and this is hilarious.

Holy shit so much content after so long!

I'm looking on dA for good stuff.

C-c-c-c-contributing

anywhere i could find dominant anyone/master...?

>>26837
Is..is that NPH on the right?

>>47937

... No. That's the Master.

>>47937 >>48096

Though that would be awesome.

>>28659
YOU! I went and read the fic a while back after seeing the picture, and I LOVE YOU FOREVER

Dumping a pair of Eight/Master fics I did recently, and a pic. The picture's from the end of the first fic, and a little spoilery for the end?

http://roachpatrol.livejournal.com/38861.html (AU, fluffy, no graphic sex)

http://roachpatrol.livejournal.com/42553.html (AU, entirely graphic sex)

Also some shibari for the Best Enemies kinkmeme, this prompt:

http://community.livejournal.com/best_enemies/13938.html?thread=2646386#t2646386

Someone else is posting Second Doctor and Jamie, so here is this!

Probably too fluffy and not gay sex-y enough for this board, but it is my curse.

http://classic-who-slash.deviantart.com/

Kind of want Daleks/10.

Hhhnnngggg
Seconded

>>54401

>>54446

afskjfalksjflkasjfdlkajsf!
Awesome.

I had a hard time finding these pictures. Be happy.

>>55491
Jamie looks exactly like a woman : /

>>55568

Did end up a bit girly in that one. It's an earlier drawing.

>>55488

Hey, I really like this one. Cute!