(A/N: Ok, here I am again to try to win more of you over to the Eleven/Simm!Master pairing. I don't own Doctor Who, and I can only hope that one day they let me write an episode. Ok, this is slash, and as such I warn you to leave now if that's not your thing. On with the show!)
Finding the Doctor
His hands were shaking badly from long sleepless hours and tedious repetitive work, and probably from being stressed out, if he was honest with himself, which he rarely was. They fought his every movement, aching and protesting at the delicate manipulations that he was asking them to make. Oh, he knew that it wouldn't be so bad, and that the quaking was in some way due to the fact that he hadn't moved or slept or eaten, or done anything to take care of himself in what he judged to be three days. He had banished Amy and Rory to their bedroom so that they would be safely out of the way should he mess anything up in his altered state. If he chanced to look anywhere but at the work he was doing, he was certain that he would see a layer of dust collecting on his arms and clothing, but it didn't bother him all that much. The TARDIS had been acting strangely and had sat them down in some strange location that he could only identify as being 'somewhereish' and 'next to a thing'. It bothered him intensely when she did things against his will, but more so when she did things that seemed to be dictated by a will other than her own.
"She's not broken," a gentle voice spoke softly in his ear, it was a voice that he had grown used to hearing over the last several months in the darkness of his own thoughts when his stress got to him. A pair of strong arms slid their way confidently around his torso, gently pulling his exhausted body away from its apparently unnecessary task. He allowed his eyes to drop closed, but did not let his mind relax, lest the hallucination run away with him. Concentrating he tried to summon the energy to fight the illusion, hoping to press his tired, hungry, and utterly delusional brain into working once again.
Smooth, soft-skinned hands trailed up his sides and one began to gently work its fingers over the lines and angles of his face, seeming to appreciate the sharp contours. His head fell back onto the shoulder of the man behind him, trusting his weight to the powerful frame that supported him, even if he did think it an illusion. It was only when those strong, searching fingers trailed down his neck and slid into the open front of his shirt to splay over the muscles of his chest that he gave into the lie. Responding only to the desperate need that filled him, his own hand came up to grasp the one that laid over his chest, his other hand brushed knuckles over a stubbled jaw.
"Ah, you're not real," the Doctor breathed, a soft sorrowful smile spreading over his lips, tinged with weariness and pain, he was glad that his companions didn't have to see that expression. But it was ritual to admit the truth aloud, just once whenever it happened, it have him some illusion of control, of wanting the hallucination that his broken mind supplied. Gentle lips began tracing over his jaw, their warmth searing into his thoughts and they were shortly replaced by a velvety wet tongue, mapping the curve of his ear. The Doctor shuddered in pleasure, fingers tightening around the hand on his chest.
"Is that so Doctor?" the voice of the other man had grown lower, taking on a husky note that was laced with such passion that the Doctor couldn't help the tingle that went down his spine in response. He found himself moaning as his shirt was slowly tugged open, buttons giving up their grip at the insistence of those wonderful hands. He didn't fight when the material was pulled from his body and a hungry mouth claimed his shoulders and collar bones in burningly hot kisses.
"You're never real, you…haven't been real in months," the Doctor didn't want to have to admit such a thing and potentially ruin the moment, but it felt more normal to respond. Never before had the other man spoken more than a few words or given acknowledgement to whether or not he existed. The gentle motions of hands and lips and tongue ceased and the Doctor found himself turned around. He raised his eyes hesitantly to meet with the visage of the Master, and his hearts began to beat wildly. Troubled eyes searched his face, they made him feel like his soul was being devoured, and then he was pulled wholly into a demanding kiss. He knew then that something was wrong; in all his fantasies those lips had never felt so perfect, so right.
"Oh, my Theta, what have you been putting yourself through?" the Master's voice was delicate, his eyes shining with concern as he pressed his forehead against the Doctor's.
"I…it's been months…you're here, how are you here? Kos…" the Doctor breathed through his shock as his hands began to run through the Master's hair. He touched the other man's face and chest, his expression full of stunned disbelief.
"I called the TARDIS, you know, like the taught us. She's not broken; she just didn't land exactly where I called her. It took me a bit to get here. For whatever reason, she seems to think of me as a pilot. And yes, I am very sorry old girl; I really am, so if you've found me just to drop me in a volcano I do understand. I'm not supposed to be alive Doctor, but I am," the Master said softly, and the Doctor could only process the gentleness in his best friend's face. The brunette Time Lord shook his head, as though trying to lift himself out of a fog and dove in for another kiss, his lips pressing tightly to the Master's as they shared something altogether deeper than the first kiss.
When they pulled away to catch their breath the Doctor knew beyond shadow of doubt, that the Master was back, alive and well. He wasted no time in pulling the tattered and abused red t-shirt from the slender torso of his lover and greedily devouring the pale flesh beneath. The heat that was generated when they pressed their bare chests together made the Doctor's head spin.
"I've just been missing you so much, so, so much," the Doctor whispered and allowed the Master to capture his lips in another kiss. Neither really noticed when they ended up on the floor, but neither seemed to mind. The Doctor stared up into the blonde's face, a smile blossoming over his lips as he reached up to stroke the other man's stubble covered jaw once again.
"Doctor are you still—oh," Amy Pond stared open mouthed at the pair of men on the floor in front of her as beside her Rory blushed fiercely and tried to figure out what to do with his eyes.
"Rory, Amelia," the Doctor said, not blushing as he looked at them from a mostly upside down position.
"That…was hot…c'mon Amy," Rory stated ineloquently and grabbed Amy by the arm, pulling her away before either of them got any ideas.
The Master shrugged and descended once more on the Doctor's delicious lips.
(A/N: And there you have it. More from me. Please review and let me know what you thought, and I swear to the TARDIS you'd better not flame me after I gave you fair warning.)