The Master's fingers found her hair, then her temple, pressing firmly into it as he gripped.

He knew she was close, could feel every convulsion and shiver, and that brought him closer to his own climax. On the edge, he sank himself in as deeply as he could, in every sense of the word. Needed her to hear them, to take some of the burden, this glorious curse.

It occurred to him fleetingly-- as much as anything could occur to him so distracted-- that perhaps she wouldn't hear them. That she would refuse, close herself, or be incapable.

But how could she not? They were so loud in his head, so very, very loud.