syncopath | but none of 'em were home inside the catacomb (for twood

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but none of 'em were home inside the catacomb (for twood_rose)

He had no way of knowing how long he had been in the dark; it was a funny thing, perhaps, but even a Time Lord must concede (as much as it might personally gall him) that death is timeless by its very nature. Still, he remembered everything.

When he awoke, groggily, the first thing he did was clap a hand to his neck, expecting a mark or a hole where the persistent memory of pain told him it should be. There was nothing. A ghost feeling. He blinked twice and sat up.

The room was dim, dusty and unused, and the small sink in the corner rattled ominously before spitting out water of some unsavory color, but there was comfort, egregiously tiny as it may be, in washing up as best he could. He surveyed his surroundings again. Besides the mattress he'd woken up on (and who had placed him there?) the room boasted nothing else.

He knew when he was, but not where. Or why. Not for the first time, he wondered if it might not be a prison.

The Master took panicked strides toward the door, fully expecting it not to open when he yanked on the handle roughly, and almost falling backwards when he was proven wrong.

A maze of hallways spread itself before him, each equally dim and dusty as the room behind. As the Master began to walk, it became obvious what he'd somehow known from the moment he opened the door. It wasn't a prison.

It was a ruin.

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She wished desperately that her hands were free. Not to push him away; exactly the opposite. She wanted to hold him close, tight, to run her fingers in his hair and down his back and over his ass. However, she wasn't about to stop this glorious encounter to request her release. Instead she did what she could from her bound position to fuck him back, hard. He hissed her name in her ear, and she moaned, turned her head, caught his earlobe in her teeth, bit down.

Growling softly, he bit her back, deep, latching onto the skin just where her neck curved into the shoulder. His fingers dug into her flesh, nails scratching.

The drums swelled, close to a crescendo, and the Master made a sound that could have been a whimper, not slowing his pace. One hand drifted up, almost blindly, toward her head.

He wanted to share this.

Rose cried out as he bit her, but did not release his earlobe from her teeth. Indeed, if anything she bit harder, and thrust her hips against his harder, fucking him just a surely as he was fucking her. Her own pleasure was mounting, mounting, to a fever pitch, and as the Master's hand drifted up toward her head, she began to tremble with the force of explosive ecstasy just barely contained.

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.

A door, once opened...

She heard them, alright. And the sound opened something inside her, something long locked away...

And the song of the Time Vortex, the song that had poured into her as she stared into the heart of the TARDIS, poured into her head and into the Master's, the melody to his rhythm.

And she was swept away, climaxing with a gasp, her entire body convulsing in wave after wave of sweet, blinding, annihilating pleasure.

He felt her intrusion, sneered a little as he cursed silently, tried to come back into himself to firmly push her out, too late.

"Clever... cl..."

It was as far as he got before it hit him. His eyes widened in shock and fear, the truths, the power spiraling from her mind drowning what was left of his own, stripping him of everything. He was a child again, powerless, attacked at the very center of what he thought he was.

And it was so beautiful.

The Master came then, as soundly and as fiercely as their union had been, and it was like hitting something unyielding, the ocean after a sharp plummet downwards.

Still connected enough to be dimly aware of Rose's own orgasm, the pleasure she was feeling, he sank into her, murmuring gibberish that consisted almost solely of her name mixed with the soft, intricate tangle of words from his own dead planet.

She cradled him, in her soul, in the center of her being, wrapping him in warmth and music and love. She whispered his name, over and over, her lips moving over his cheek and her breath gentle on his ear. Had she been more aware of their physical situation, she might have asked him to release her, so that she could take him in her arms. As it was, her awareness was in her head, in his head, in the shared mental space he had established, and the position of their physical bodies hardly mattered.

He slumped against her, clung to her naked frame, raw and exhausted and small and very, very terrified of his own vulnerability. She was in there still; he could feel it, and he could do little more than let her hold him. And the Vortex, the Vortex, the Vortex--

What have you done?

The question couldn't be articulated vocally; could barely be spoken at all other than as a passing thought she might sift out. He was too distracted, trying to account for this new information, and simultaneously trying to recoil from it.

Her fingers began to tingle. She flexed her hands involuntarily, and the tingle flushed into pain, bringing her out of their shared reverie. She nuzzled his cheek gently, and murmured.

"Master... please untie me... please, let me hold you..."

The request nudged him from his contemplation a bit, and he lifted his head, bewildered and resentful, to look at her.

He could just leave her here, he realized not for the first time. He was not the one, after all, stripped of clothing and tied to a pillar bare to the elements. It was up to the Master, after all, to decide whether to be merciful.

The song teased at him, worried his brain, and he abruptly pushed himself upright, using mostly the pillar behind her. With a disgusted and embarrassed air he refastened his trousers and pulled the laser screwdriver from the pocket of his overcoat.

She saw that change, that look of resentment and disgust, and when he pulled the laser screwdriver from his pocket...

She whimpered, squeezed her eyes closed, turned her head to hide her face against her shoulder.

The Master almost laughed at that, Rose cowering, strung up naked like a sacrificial lamb. There was something so gratifying about it, really the reason he'd done it in the first place-- although that seemed ages ago. And now everything had changed...

Almost laughed. Really just a cold smirk, as he fired at the tie, severing her bonds and freeing her.

Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to her hands and knees, trembling. She concentrated on her breathing, fighting to regain control. In... out... in... out...

She pushed herself to sitting, and slid back against the pillar, reaching blindly for her clothes as she went, keeping her eyes lifted to the Master.

The Master's own eyes were distant again, his head cocked, listening with distracted fascination. He barely registered Rose's fall, or her fear, although it prickled at edge of his senses.

"Storm coming," he said absently.

She took a glance at the sky as she pulled herself to her feet. Piece by piece she quickly dressed.

"What sort of storm?"

He looked at her. "The first of many. This planet is soon to experience its very own Ice Age. Of a kind."

He watched her dress, opened his mouth as if he would say more, but shut it with a snap, looking past her at the ruined city.

She finished, and approached him. After a moment, she offered her hand.

"We should find shelter," she said quietly.

"I killed it," he said abruptly, still staring out at the rubble. "This planet. This civilization... I thought I could control it." The Master laughed a little, aghast at his candor. It was as if the words wouldn't stop flooding out of him.

He looked down at her hand as if he wasn't sure what it really was. He felt adrift.

She watched his confession in silence. When he looked down at their hands, she squeezed his gently.

"How long ago?"

The Master flinched a little when she squeezed. "What does that matter?" he asked, a trifle irritated. It was a failure, and he did not ever admit to failure.

He shook his head as if to dispel any trace of nagging conscience. "They did it to themselves, in the end. Just needed a push, I suppose. Couldn't stop them if I tried."

And yet you blame the Doctor for things even more out of his control, she thought, but did not say. Instead she looked around, and, spying a cave, tugged him toward it.

"come on..."

He let her drag him toward the enclosure, stepping alongside numbly, his mind half on other things. His prior examination of the soil aided this; he'd determined the 'Yllax could not nest here, and that was one less burden to consider. Couldn't do with dying here.

Might end up someplace worse. If that were even possible.

And all that time alone in the dark, with the drums.

He shivered involuntarily.

She frowned at that shiver, wondering what had crossed his mind. Once they were well inside the shelter of rock, she again tugged, although this time to encourage him to follow her as she st on the ground, her back to the stone.

The Master's first thought was to protest the idea of squatting on the bare ground. This, if anything, had to be beneath him. However, the idea of standing seemed ridiculous to the point of being equally embarrassing, and so he sat.

Almost as soon as he had done so, he could hear the sky open up, and the first drops of rain scatter lightly over the dusty ground outside. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, trying to focus on it-- hoping the noise outside would help mitigate the effects of the sounds inside.

He especially tried not to think of how much sitting in this place reminded him of the grotto, and his prior imprisonment there.

Rose heard the rain, and sighed. They were just in time, it seemed. The cave was proving to be adequate shelter, with the exception of the occasional draft. Rose shivered at a particularly chilling one and curled against the Time Lord, her head nestled on his shoulder.

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