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slashthedrabble Nov. 22nd, 2007 09:06 pm)
shinodabear.livejournal.com posting in slashthedrabble Nov. 22nd, 2007 09:06 pm)What Remains
Fandom: Doctor Who, Season 3 finale
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ten/Jack/Master
Disclaimer: I do not get paid to work on an extremely slashy scifi show, therefore I am not RTD.
Note: Written with complete uncertainty about what I was doing, other than putting myself in a strange mood. Can take place during the finale, or in some AU after it. You choose.
“Can you feel it?” The voice reaches him through the darkness, stroking his thoughts softly, gently. The blackness becomes velvet. He sighs.
“Can you feel it?” The voice repeats, more urgent. “It's following us, watching us. Judging us. She can’t help us. Refuses to.”
An icy fingertip trails down his naked arm. It circles his palm, twice, three times, before snaking its way back up, and around his ear. “She is so powerful. So, so powerful, and yet she can never interfere.”
The velvet of the shadows wraps around his neck and slowly, teasingly. It begins to choke him. “Are you afraid?” Of the big Bad Wolf goes unsaid.
The fabric jerks suddenly, constricting his airway. He doesn't struggle. “Why? Why did this have to happen to you?”
He gasps quietly, tilts his neck back and wraps his bare leg around the one (clothed, sadly) behind him.
“Jack?” The darkness closes in.
“Jack?” Jack cannot breathe to answer.
“When did this all start?” The Doctor lowers his head and listens to the human heart slow until it stops. He begins to count. Fifteen seconds. Fifteen seconds and it will start again. “When did I even agree to this?”
“When you agreed to become his God.” The man once called Harold Saxon grins from the foot of the bed, stealing the velvet scarf from the Doctor's hands. “Power's a funny thing, isn’t it, old friend?”
“So addictive.” The Master (of the shadows, of pain, of life) crawls over him, promises sinking into the lightless surroundings. “So satisfying.”
“Is this what we’ve become?”
Fifteen seconds, and Jack gasps life back into his lungs.
“It’s what I need.”
The Doctor watches as thoughts cross Jack’s eyes. He reaches out, brushing aside the doubt with a simple touch. “You don’t need him.”
“But you do. The one thing you can’t outrun. The one thing that will always keep coming back.”
Jack laughs, slipping his (really the Doctor’s, and the Master's by default) hand around the simple black tie. He’s learning, slowly, through all his deaths, through his time watching, waiting. She can help him. She is the Vortex, his savior, his mother, his. The Vortex is his.
And the Master knows this.
The darkness closes in once more, with slightly warm kisses and velvet hands. The whispers begin again, the drum beat setting the pace for his (Jack's? The Master's?) worship.
The Doctor sighs.
Fandom: Doctor Who, Season 3 finale
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ten/Jack/Master
Disclaimer: I do not get paid to work on an extremely slashy scifi show, therefore I am not RTD.
Note: Written with complete uncertainty about what I was doing, other than putting myself in a strange mood. Can take place during the finale, or in some AU after it. You choose.
“Can you feel it?” The voice reaches him through the darkness, stroking his thoughts softly, gently. The blackness becomes velvet. He sighs.
“Can you feel it?” The voice repeats, more urgent. “It's following us, watching us. Judging us. She can’t help us. Refuses to.”
An icy fingertip trails down his naked arm. It circles his palm, twice, three times, before snaking its way back up, and around his ear. “She is so powerful. So, so powerful, and yet she can never interfere.”
The velvet of the shadows wraps around his neck and slowly, teasingly. It begins to choke him. “Are you afraid?” Of the big Bad Wolf goes unsaid.
The fabric jerks suddenly, constricting his airway. He doesn't struggle. “Why? Why did this have to happen to you?”
He gasps quietly, tilts his neck back and wraps his bare leg around the one (clothed, sadly) behind him.
“Jack?” The darkness closes in.
“Jack?” Jack cannot breathe to answer.
“When did this all start?” The Doctor lowers his head and listens to the human heart slow until it stops. He begins to count. Fifteen seconds. Fifteen seconds and it will start again. “When did I even agree to this?”
“When you agreed to become his God.” The man once called Harold Saxon grins from the foot of the bed, stealing the velvet scarf from the Doctor's hands. “Power's a funny thing, isn’t it, old friend?”
“So addictive.” The Master (of the shadows, of pain, of life) crawls over him, promises sinking into the lightless surroundings. “So satisfying.”
“Is this what we’ve become?”
Fifteen seconds, and Jack gasps life back into his lungs.
“It’s what I need.”
The Doctor watches as thoughts cross Jack’s eyes. He reaches out, brushing aside the doubt with a simple touch. “You don’t need him.”
“But you do. The one thing you can’t outrun. The one thing that will always keep coming back.”
Jack laughs, slipping his (really the Doctor’s, and the Master's by default) hand around the simple black tie. He’s learning, slowly, through all his deaths, through his time watching, waiting. She can help him. She is the Vortex, his savior, his mother, his. The Vortex is his.
And the Master knows this.
The darkness closes in once more, with slightly warm kisses and velvet hands. The whispers begin again, the drum beat setting the pace for his (Jack's? The Master's?) worship.
The Doctor sighs.
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*Shivers in wicked joy!*
*hugs*
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*hugs*