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

[syncopath]

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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[syncopath]

He cinched the tie tight around her wrist before he allowed himself to react to her reaction, so to speak, closing his eyes again at the impassioned mention of his name. With some satisfaction at his handiwork, he bit into her shoulder deeply before reaching for her other wrist.

[twood-rose.livejournal.com]

She cried out at that, then twisted her head to the side and caught the side of the Master's neck in her teeth, biting back.

[syncopath]

Another sharp intake of breath, a surprised gasp, even, and the Master fumbled at her remaining hand still around his waist, momentarily bereft of his usual dexterity. Clinging desperately to some measure of control, he firmly grasped her other wrist after what seemed a long struggle, intent on bringing it up to join the first.

[twood-rose.livejournal.com]

She let him have her wrist, releasing his neck from her teeth and settling back against the pillar to watch him, strangely calm, as he completed the bindings. Her breath was fast, and her cheeks flushed.

[syncopath]

It was easier to work with two hands. The Master pressed against Rose as he tied the other wrist next to the first, so that her wrists had some play, while still restraining her to the pillar. He stepped back slightly to take in the entire picture, a pleased and rather smug expression on his face, belying his own quickened breath.

She looked so lovely standing there, something caught but somehow still untrammeled in nature. A wild Rose...

Much more interesting than Lucy, who would hang there passive as a cow, her eyes shut the entire time, stiff as a board. Pleased enough, perhaps, but boring.

He stepped back to her, running his hands along the curves of her body, cupping her breasts and buttocks. "Do you like it?" he asked her.

[twood-rose.livejournal.com]

She pressed back against him, best she could, and when he returned to run hiss hands over her, she leaned into his touch with a sigh, and strained forward to brush her lips against his cheek.

"Yes," she murmured. "Yes, I do..."

Her heart pounded in exhilaration. This was dangerous, so dangerous, so wonderfully dangerous...

And watching the effects it was having on the Master was fascinating."

[syncopath]

He grinned at her excitement, his eyes glittering, as he traced one finger around the waist of her jeans and up her back again.

"You know, I could do anything to you," he said speculatively, his smile lazy and loose. The drums pounded on, incessantly, urging him to take action, inviting darker thoughts. He brought his lips close to her ear.

"Anything."

[twood-rose.livejournal.com]

She shivered.

"Anything," she whispered back, and she turned her head to catch his earlobe gently in her teeth. She sucked on it for a moment, before letting it go.

[syncopath]

The Master's hands tightened on her waist and shoulder briefly. Again she had caught him by surprise, and he was quick to retaliate. The hand on her waist was suddenly in motion, snaking around to the front of her jeans and between her legs, kneading the flesh there. His other hand cupped her breast again, supporting it as he bent to swirl his tongue around the nipple with excruciating slowness.

[twood-rose.livejournal.com]

The suddenness of it took her by surprise, and she slumped as the strength all but left her legs.

"Oh god," she said, her voice trembling. "Master... oh..."

[syncopath]

"Yes," he agreed in a whisper. "Tell me how much you like it."
He looked sidelong at her as he resumed suckling at her breast, occasionally incorporating his teeth, not bothering to be overly gentle.

His other hand crept up to the waistband of her jeans, undoing the button and teasing down the zipper.

[twood-rose.livejournal.com]

"Very... oh! ... very much... it's wonderful, oh, please, please more, please don't stop..."

She felt his hand's path, and bit her lip with a needful groan.

"Master..."

[syncopath]

The Master's hand slipped inside her jeans, grazing over the smooth of her panties idly, thumbing the elastic at the crotch and barely rubbing the skin inside.

"Yes, Rose?" he murmured, giving some much-needed attention now to her other breast with his tongue. "What do you need from your Master?"

[twood-rose.livejournal.com]

Her eyes were closed, her lips were parted, and she was panting lightly, her head sagging against one arm.

"Please..." she whispered. "My Master... please... I need your touch, your kiss, everything."

"I need you..."

[syncopath]

He was practically kneeling now, as he slipped his fingers underneath the elastic band of her panties and into the wet warmth they encased, still suckling her and kneading into her breast with the other hand, almost supplicant. He vaguely wondered who was really in control.

"Mmmm," he murmured. "Tell me how it feels to be restrained, helpless, while I'm doing this." He began to slip a finger inside her, stroking slowly.

[twood-rose.livejournal.com]

She keened as his finger slid inside her. "Oh god," she whispered, writhing gently in her bonds. "It feels... oh... so good..."

She bit her lip, and moaned again, her verbal abilities failing her.

"So good," she echoed.

[syncopath]

Listening to Rose's gentle series of arpeggiated moans, the Master suddenly wanted nothing more than to ravage her here and now, to fuck her hard against this pillar. To desecrate her in a dead world.

The finger slid out abruptly as he slid her jeans and panties down in a single, frantic motion, pressing up against her again as he fumbled with his own belt.

[twood-rose.livejournal.com]

And at that moment, there was nothing she wanted more either.

She strained forward, pressing back against his body, capturing his lips with hers in a fierce kiss, moaning desperately.

[syncopath]

The kiss caught him off-guard, eliciting another small moan from the Master. He dispensed with the buckle, unzipped hurriedly, gripped her bare ass with fingers like iron, deepening the kiss as he pulled her closer to him.

[twood-rose.livejournal.com]

She kissed him harder and deeper as well, even as she groaned a little from the pain of his fingers gripping, crushing her ass. Her knees slid to either side of his legs, opening her to him, and she flexed her hips, pressing against him.

He hardly needed to force himself on her at all, and she wondered how he felt about that. Maybe it was a disappointment. Or maybe under all the brokenness there was still the desire to be wanted, to be needed. To be loved.

[syncopath]

It was a trifle disappointing, if he'd stopped to think about it, but frankly the opportunity to despoil Rose Tyler-- to have brought her to that level, where she would willingly give herself to him, where she was his-- it was alluring in its own right. Part of him would have realized that this was his aim from the beginning-- to corrupt her, to steal her away from the Doctor in spirit and body, once and for all.

He was thinking of none of that at the moment, however, letting the rhythm in his head guide the rest of the body, wash over him until it devoured him almost completely.

He entered her with no preamble, a simple, violent thrust, pushing her back against the pillar.

[twood-rose.livejournal.com]

Rose, however...Rose saw it differently. When he desired her, kissed her, took her, she was the one with the power. She embraced him with all her heart, loving him in his brokenness, so similar to the way she loved the Doctor, had loved him since the moment she met him.

He thrust into her, violently, and the kiss broke as Rose screamed out his name.

"MASTER!!!"

[syncopath]

It was so good, the way she screamed his name. The way they writhed together, a two-headed serpent, an Ouroboros gone horribly wrong. Pleasure and pain intertwined until the two were indistinguishable from each other, and through it all, the ever-present, never-changing drumbeat that drove him on.

His face darkened with mad passion, he fucked her with a sort of vicious, predatory air, devoid of self-awareness, the tails of his coat covering the both of them like the wings of a hawk. Thinking of nothing but her scent, her skin, the way she felt wrapped around him.

"Rose," he hissed in her ear.

[twood-rose.livejournal.com]

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.

[syncopath]

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.