A/N: A short drabble that I wrote while in English... I write depressing things in English. Please R&R!
The Doctor lounged on his bed in the Master's ArchAngel Ship. Well, he lounged as much as he could with shackles holding him completely. In 'his room', The Doctor's looks reverted to his norm. A Star Wars quote floated into the front of his ever-thinking mind. 'When 900 years you reach, look as good you will not.' He mentally chuckled a little bit, and rolled his eyes. "Oh, predicament." His mind raced once more, trying to think of all the possible escape routes. There were none. The ornate door opened to emit The Master. Quite unfortunately, The Master had stripped The Doctor down to his boxers and socks whenever he was in this bedroom. Because the other Time Lord adored control, The Doctor was whipped and strapped daily, and various sores and cuts dotted The Doctor's beautiful chest and stomach. In one of The Master's hands, a short whip was nearly brushing the floor. The muscles in The Tenth Doctor's stomach started spasming at the mere thought of the leather on that whip touching his skin. The Master's fingers walked up the other's stomach and chest. They stopped at his lips, applying a slight pressure.
"Kiss them," The Master said in a commanding and cold voice. Remembering previous punishments, The Doctor complied. Soft leather trailed across The Doctor's neck. Slowly, The Master raised it above his head, and the shackled one shuddered. Yet he didn't feel the familiar sting of whipping. Hesitating, he opened his eyes and saw The Master's hand open. The man lowered his empty hand. Suddenly, The Master was kissing The Doctor. The kiss brought back all of the memories between them. Some were tender, some rough, all nostalgic. Tears pricked at The Doctor's eyes as their tongues touched gently and then The Master's tongue was probing around a helpless Doctor's mouth. Years of tearful and quiet nights filled the forefront of their minds. Once more, they were two teenage boys at the Academy. As sudden as The Master had kissed him, his warm, wet, and delicious lips were gone. Slowly, The Doctor opened his eyes and frowned. The only evidence that The Master was ever there was the whip. He sword an ancient Gallifreyan swear. Tomorrow, he would become nine hundred again. Tomorrow, D-Day arrived.