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Best Enemies
A Cosmos Without Doctor/Master Scarcely Bears Thinking About
Ask and Ye Shall Receive... 
15th-Apr-2008 02:34 pm
Best Enemies
You can has Anonymous Porn Meme!

Simply comment anonymously with a fic scenario you'd like to see written (your request does have to relate to the Doctor and the Master in some at least tangential way), and respond anonymously to other's requests with anything from a drabbles to full length stories. If you make a ton of requests? You should definitely try and fill a couple.  As Mama in Chicago would explain, it's about reciprocity.

Give it a try! Play hard, have fun!

Edit: *If you really like a prompt and it's been filled, feel free to respond again! One prompt can spawn multiple ficclets!*

Return of Edit: If you don't necessarily need them to sex right nao, but just want to see them do some specific thing, like talk about their granddaughter Susan just as an example (pulled from an idea below), that's awesome as well! Non-porn on the Anon Porn Meme! So Transgressive!

EDIT OF RASSILON: Write RESPONSE in the subject line of a request-fill post to make navigating to responses/telling what's been answered vs. just ditto'd easier for everyone. I don't want to hate on ditos/expansions/qualifications, they're useful! But threads collapse all annoying-like with this layout. x_x

EDIT OF OMEGA: Recently we've had some kinda dubious anon meme posts. The prompts in question are fine; some prompts are responses to others, and you're allowed to have opinions. But exercise best judgement/play well with others. Don't diss other people's prompts when you make yours. You may be anon, but this ain't who_anon. Not everything's gonna be your cuppa. It would be nice if we could avoid 'your choices are invalid, this character is this way' in the future.
Comments 
15th-Apr-2008 08:31 pm (UTC)
Anonymous
Academy-era, Theta/Koschei, awkward but hot telepathysex. With Theta taking the initiative!
16th-Apr-2008 04:02 am (UTC)
Anonymous
I suck at shortness, apparently. Really sorry! Here's your ficclet (http://x-losfic.livejournal.com/13376.html)


It was too long to post as an anon comment x_x. But it has the things you wanted! ...and, er, some more things...
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15th-Apr-2008 09:04 pm (UTC)
Anonymous
Yana/thirteenth Doctor. Mortality.
16th-Apr-2008 10:01 am (UTC)
Anonymous
Right now, Yana is a true blank sheet of paper. What has come before is at rest and forgotten, and what is yet to come is invisible to his human mind, eclipsed by the immense darkness of the end of all things. There'll be years still until a bitter stranger barges into Yana's life and tries to open the watch, only to discover that the universe denies him this, that the mind inside remains closed as a clam shell. The Doctor shakes his head at the rage he felt, and the way he articulated it so clumsily. Some days it seems as if he's going to spend the rest of his days apologizing for the Valeyard's regrettable existence.

But right now he is dazzled by this creature the Master made. Unfettered by madness, and not cloaked in cold civility, Yana is vibrant, immediate, alive. In one hand he holds the little present the Doctor built him, an ad hoc demonstration of why he is worthy of Yana's attention. The other hand flitters almost shakily over the Doctor's body, unbuttoning cuffs and brushing away his collar, checking vitals and temperature. One moment he mutters about genius, the next the exclaims about the double beat, the alien body, the living miracles of the dying world.

The Doctor smiles at what the Master has done. He disguised himself by simply throwing off the masks and names and heavy necessities of being himself. And this light in the dark is what remains. The Doctor wants to grab Yana and whisk him away, one more radiant young thing to brighten his old age.

He stills the greedy, analyzing hand before Yana can start to examine his teeth, resisting the whimsical urge to kiss it. "Where I come from, Professor, we take the time to get acquainted first. Maybe buy -" no, money has gone out of fashion, the word has no meaning to Yana, "offer each other a drink."

Suddenly the butterfly attention is all on him, and those very bright eyes drill into his as if they could just dissect his mind. "Yes," Yana says thoughtfully, "time."

Time has ceased to be a well of choices, and Yana's clear voice speaks of that.

"We have time for this," the Doctor promises.
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15th-Apr-2008 09:06 pm (UTC)
Anonymous
Pregnant!girl!Master.
15th-Apr-2008 09:14 pm (UTC)
Anonymous
boy or girl doctor?
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15th-Apr-2008 09:12 pm (UTC)
Anonymous
Four/Master with Four topping
16th-Apr-2008 10:49 am (UTC)
Anonymous
I second that! Especially if it's Four/Simm!Master with Four topping.
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15th-Apr-2008 09:27 pm (UTC)
Anonymous
Doctor/Kamelion!Master. Or Master/Kamelion!Doctor. Either one. Both. I'm not picky.
16th-Apr-2008 02:00 am (UTC)
Anonymous
Drabble:

“How long were you with him?”

“Long enough, my dear Doctor.” The form settled into the shape of the Master. “You’ll find my experience fills any gaps in your knowledge.”

The Doctor held an intense internal debate with himself. It ended abruptly as he was pushed backward onto the bed, naked. “I don’t want this.”

“You’re only lying to yourself.” Cool hands played his body with the knowledge only one being had of it.

“It won’t be the same.”

“No, parts of it will be missing; I’m not a Time Lord. But other parts just might be better, hmm?”
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15th-Apr-2008 09:50 pm (UTC)
Anonymous
Doctor/Master, classic Who. Compromising positions and awkward discovery by Doctor's companion(s).
15th-Apr-2008 09:52 pm (UTC)
Anonymous
Ditto! Extra points for me if it's Brig and he gets SERIOUS eye-twitch about it.
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RESPONSE PART 1 - Anonymous - Expand
RESPONSE PART 2 - Anonymous - Expand
15th-Apr-2008 10:17 pm (UTC)
Anonymous
Anything Doctor/Master with hot telepathic sex.
7th-May-2008 07:59 am (UTC) - RESPONSE: DRABBLE
Anonymous
During the foreplay he forgot the silk of the blindfold he was wearing. Which was silkworms. Which was dust. Only the Master could release him from multi-dimensional comprehension, could make him experience the now in its discrete pleasure. From responsibility for everything.

Touch me, he begged. He didn’t mean with flesh, though that collided in due course. Those sharp joys were all the better for being fleeting.

Later, the Master, who had known what it was like to burn to nothing, gave him that feeling in its painful majesty, and didn’t let him scream out loud.

He’d missed him.
15th-Apr-2008 10:43 pm (UTC)
Anonymous
John Smith and his various bearded and non-bearded visitors.
16th-Apr-2008 08:08 am (UTC)
Anonymous
The older gentleman in the waistcoat shoving John Smith against the wall was almost apologetic about it.


“Word does get around,” he explained with a shrug before crushing their mouths together and sucking hard on John’s squirming tongue. He broke off and backed up slowly, moving towards John’s modest, narrow bed. The gentleman made a little come hither gesture with his crooked finger, and almost without knowing what he was doing John staggered after him.


The strange visitor sat down proprietarily on John’s bed, and John climbed into his lap, wrapping his arms around the man’s neck. “And you’re so rarely this accessible,” the Time Lord smirked, rolling so that John’s back hit the blankets and the Master loomed above him.


The Master Mark XVI had know this had to be good when his normally composed Twelfth regeneration had shown up in his TARDIS entirely unannounced, bouncing on the balls of his feet gleefully. The younger version babbled, grinning and disheveled, about a “tip from his successor,” how he “absolutely must see this” and how it was “the best thing since the whole ‘exiled to Earth’ farrago.”


Quite right he’d been, too. A quick revival of his classic hypnotic pick up line and the human form of the Doctor was twining into his latest Master’s arms like a tom mewling for catnip.


“This is lovely,” the Doctor smiled dreamily up at him, “but it seems to happen to me a lot lately.”


“Uh huh,” the Master muttered, indulgent, unscrewing the cap of John’s pomade bottle, “Undress, Doctor.”


“That’s not my name, all these men with their ‘Doctor’ this and ‘Theta’ that—if I’m to be molested in the night the fellows could at least get the name they say when they find satisfaction correct,” John sulked, squirming his way out of his pants while still staying on the bed, revealing interesting glimpse of this version’s highly articulated hipbones and paper-pale skin.


The Master licked his lips. “Strip John then, you never could pick a pseudonym. And the shirt as well. Rassilon you should eat, I could play your ribs like a xylophone. Are they not feeding you here?”


“I mean it though,” John pouted, confused, unbuttoning his shirt and leaning up into the Master’s caress when he had the buttons sorted, “Really a lot. First was this terribly excitable Londoner. And after that there was this sort of Anglo-Indian chap. And then this one I think was lost from the Shakespeare troupe that came through? All of them wanted me to call them—” John licked his lips nervously and blushed, “Well. It’s going to sound a bit silly. They all wanted me to address them as Master.”


“Not a bit,” the Master said cordially, enjoying the Doctor naively mouthing his name like it was dirty, “I go by that too, in fact. I’ll want you to say it quite a lot, with as much oomph as your silly singular little heart can manage. Legs up, dear.”


“I’m not going to remember this in the morning, am I?” John frowned and complied, “I never do. Only I think I might like to remember. It always feels incredible.”


“Thank you, but it’s 1913. If your decrepit TARDIS managed the transition correctly at all, your fragile period sensibilities could have you retching at the prospect.” The Master’s voice was brisk, and his fingers were efficient as he prepared John.


“Sometimes I dream about you and those other men, on nights when you don’t visit me,” John admitted, breathy as the Master breached him in earnest, staring up at the stranger, trying to make eye contact, “I think I know you.”


“Typical,” the Master rolled his eyes and his hips in one smooth motion, “You always think that.”


John looked at the Master’s shoulder and tried to speak evenly despite the heady thrill of being filled. “I dream I want you with me so much it feels like my hearts will break under the strain of it. Can you imagine that?” The Master stilled inside him, and John took a deep breath. “Two hearts, I mean. Mad, I know.” John half chuckled awkwardly, but then sobered. “I wish you’d stay ‘till morning.”


“John,” the Master rested an open hand on his sternum, “You don’t mean that.”


“I know what I mean. I’m a grown man, you think I can’t sort my own feelings? All my life I’ve never felt so much for anyone as I do for you in bloody dreams!”
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15th-Apr-2008 10:44 pm (UTC)
Anonymous
Ten/Harold Saxon during those 18 months that Saxon was PM....
16th-Apr-2008 10:25 pm (UTC)
Anonymous
Seconded VERY hard.
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RESPONSE PART II - Anonymous - Expand
15th-Apr-2008 10:49 pm (UTC)
Anonymous
Ten/Simm!Master with whichever companion walking in on them and deciding the show is too good to pass up.
16th-Apr-2008 03:19 am (UTC) - totally cracked-out response
Anonymous
The world might end in fire, they say, or in ice, but I am quite certain that if everyone's laughing that is as likely as anything to stop the world coming to an end. This is more or less precisely what happened eleven months and twenty-nine days into Harold Saxon's evil and retroactively nonexistent reign, when the Archangel network suddenly began to broadcast pornograpy. And not just any porn but the Lord and Master Himself, stark naked, getting buggered up the ass by an extremely old man who seemed astoundingly energetic for his visibly advanced age. Could it be the Doctor? The very Doctor of whom the Great Martha Jones had taught, spreading his tales to the four corners of the ruined planet? The Master moaned and twisted under his thrusts, begging for deeper and more, while Earth's population stared in eager fascination at their television sets. The Master's arse-cheeks were better than his face, consensus was, and the Doctor's cock seemed nowhere near the age of the rest of him. And, damn, evil or not, powerful or not, they sure were pretty to watch.

At least that's what we said later, those of us who could remember.

If you want it explained, the explanation could go like this: Martha Jones was a doctor, and she knew that you heal the place that's broken. We thought the Master was powerful. We were broken that way. So she hacked the Archangel network, turned it into Live! Nude! Timelords!, and made sure we knew exactly who was bonking the Master, who was kissing him tongue-deep, who was licking his cock in slow, even strokes while he threw back his head and hissed and begged...

Ahem. Yes. I did get a videorecording, did I mention? Would you like to see?

But yes, in those few minutes every human mind shared one thought: The Doctor and the Master sure do like to fuck. The harmony of this thought shattered the Archangel network, broke the paradox machine, destroyed the Master's power...and returned us to precisely where we had been one year prior.

I assume the Doctor and the Master are still out there, somewhere, and I hope they are enjoying each other as much as they seemed to on television. At least they have taken their bizarre Time Lord courtship elsewhere, and with luck it will no longer disturb this planet. Earth seems no worse for the wear. When the clock was turned back one year almost all memories of the year's horror were lost. All that remains are a few videotapes, and some half-believed stories about what, in fact they represent. That, and a very widely shared - almost universal - sense that the universe is a very, very silly place.


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16th-Apr-2008 12:15 am (UTC)
Anonymous
Ten/Simm!Master tie!porn (because ties are cool)
That the Doctor doesn't expect
But then he gets his "revenge"
16th-Apr-2008 10:12 pm (UTC)
Anonymous
` The Doctor hadn’t expected to wake up young again, with a familiar salmon-coloured tie gagging him. It still tasted like it had the first time the Master had shoved it in the Doctor’s mouth. He’d hauled the Doctor out of a prison cell, still weak from the Keller Machine, fucked him over the warden’s desk, and unceremoniously tossed him, staggering from the abuse, back for a confused Jo to tend to when he’d finished. It even still smelled of the cologne the Master had used in that body—oranges and anise.


“Was that as good for you as last time?” the Master drawled, satiated, and eased the tie out with a smirk, his fingers compulsively stroking the moist silk, tracing near-fond whorls. The Doctor wondered if in the lonely nights of the past centuries the Master had wrapped it around his neck, around his cock, and remembered, imagined he was fucking him instead of his hand. The Doctor wondered if either the tie or the memory meant something to him.


“You do seem to take to captivity,” the Master muttered, “I’d almost say you missed this thing, the way you’ve sucked the salt off it.”


“Yeah, it was as good as the last time,” the Doctor assumed a thoughtful expression, “but then I wasn’t thinking of you then, either. Good thing about gags—no one hears what name you might have screamed. Spares everyone hurt feelings and embarrassment, that.”


The Doctor grinned under the rapid crack of the back of the Master’s hand across his face. Yep. Definite nostalgia-cache there. It was an obvious lie, but the Master was too neurotic by half to easily dismiss it. And the Master would probably never be able to enjoy the tie again—the Doctor had ruined a memory the other Time Lord had hoarded and revisited for centuries in the space of an instant. That would teach the Master to insinuate the Doctor was enjoying anything about the destruction of Earth.
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16th-Apr-2008 12:31 am (UTC)
Anonymous
Nine/ Master or Saxon - Understanding
16th-Apr-2008 01:06 am (UTC)
Anonymous
I'll bite. Here's a response:

"I don't much like politicians," the Doctor said as he unbuttoned the Master's shirt.

"Another thing we share in common," the Master responded as he pushed the Doctor's leather jacket off his shoulders. It dropped to the floor in a heap.

The Doctor smiled as he stretched himself out on the bed. His wide smile looked out of place, even as it lit up his stern face. "You seem different. For a politician."

The Master finished pushing his trousers down his legs before stretching himself out on the Doctor. "How so?" He nipped at the Doctor's neck, then sucked at his earlobe.

"Like you've seen things. Bad things. Evil in the universe. Disappointment in life."

The Master froze. "Haven't we both?"

"Yeah, I guess we have at that. One more thing we have in common."
The Doctor took the Master in hand. The Master reached for the lube and handed it to the Doctor. "A lot we have in common then, Harry, considering we're two total strangers."

The Master arched into the Doctor's touch. "Not total strangers, surely. Not when you consider the biggest thing we have in common."

"What's that?" The Doctor raised his head up to lick and suck at the Master's Adam's apple so he could feel it vibrate with the Master's next words.

The Master moved to position himself at the Doctor's entrance. "We neither of us want to be alone."

"No. No, we don't," the Doctor agreed as he took the Master in.
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16th-Apr-2008 01:31 am (UTC)
Anonymous
Accidental!sex.

Neither the Master or the Doctor meant it to happen, it was all because of: sex pollen, innocent alien drink that's same as alcohol to Timelord biology, mind control by remanents of alien-starcrossed lovers who want a last shag, sex-or-death, sex-to-save-Gallifrey, stranded on a planet where everything runs on sexual energy.

Seriously, it wasn't their fault. It was all an accident.

16th-Apr-2008 03:29 am (UTC)
Anonymous
was meant to be a prompt. got carried away by details.
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16th-Apr-2008 01:48 am (UTC)
Anonymous
Stating the obvious: Drabbles do not lend themselves to pr0n.
16th-Apr-2008 02:04 am (UTC)
Anonymous
While porn!drabbles are not the first thing to come to mind, order_of_chaos managed it, and I really liked hers.
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16th-Apr-2008 11:46 am (UTC)
Anonymous
One and the Master talk about their granddaughter Susan.
1st-Jul-2008 07:08 am (UTC) - RESPONSE: PART I
Anonymous
They step blinking out of the TARDIS into the planet’s harsh summer sunlight, and his old eyes are still adjusting, when he hears Susan shriek “Grandfather!” Whip fast the Doctor turns, wondering what she’s gotten herself into this time, only to start, to have this mouth open in a whispered, uncontrollable denial when he realizes it isn’t him Susan was calling to.

Susan is running across the glen, and in his arms before the Doctor can say a word. He clutches her to him—he’s in a new body, fresh and younger than the Doctor’s, but his identity is all too obvious. Susan buries her face in his black jacket, and her slick black hair is the exact floor of the Master’s, and his eyes, which the Doctor sees in Susan every day, his eyes which haven’t changed at all in this new body, glint at the Doctor.

The Master tilts up his chin, daring the Doctor to do something, to call her away or rush to her defense or to scream at the Master not to touch her. The Doctor doesn’t believe the Master is so far gone as to harm their own descendant. Neither will he have this fight in front of their grandchild, and the Master suspects it. Is using it to his advantage.

The Doctor has protected Susan from the full extent of his husband’s crimes—easy enough to accomplish, as they were only the objects of horrified whispers in the highest council chambers, nothing that might have reached her ears. When she’d cautiously asked, upon leaving Gallifrey, if they might try and find her other grandparent out among the stars, he’d given her a sharp perhaps and asked her not to speak of it again, with the implication that it was all too painful to talk about.

She’d respected his wishes and kept her silence, never knowing that the Doctor obscured every trace of their presence with one single threat in mind: the Master would have heard that they’d been forced out of the safety of Gallifrey, that the sole child of his line traveled with his estranged husband, that they were friendless and alone. That he would be hunting them.

Exile and hiding had trimmed the Doctor’s excesses. Susan kept suggesting they visit 20th century earth, that she resume schooling of some kind—wasn’t Earth, after all, a part of her blood? Couldn’t it be a second home to them, a new start?

No, said the man who had yearned all his boyhood to drive a train engine, who was terribly attached to humans, who wanted deeply to spend time on the island of his mother’s birth and simply rest his old bones a while, not Earth, Susan. We can never go there. He told Susan that 20th century Earth was a foul place, and bounced them instead from one backwater to another, insisting that he was conducting important research on each.

“Take me inside, Susan,” The Master instructs, starring over her dark head at his husband. Her elegant, highly articulated bones are so like his, and the Doctor feels old and clumsy in this body. The Master’s regenerated, has warped into something mad and foul, and the Doctor’s body still insists that he’s Theta, and if one of his hearts is beating faster from fear, the other is insisting in quickened beats that whatever he’s done this is still Koschei: more home than Gallifrey ever was, right before him. If he simply moved they could touch.

Susan, holding her grandfather’s hand, walks back into the TARDIS, keeping up a rapid patter about everywhere they’ve been, everything they’ve done. The Doctor follows them, wary and cautious and dazed. The Master lets her guide them all to a sitting room, lets her talk, answers her questions about how he’s occupied himself since they last saw each other.

“My dear Susan,” he says after some time, “Lovely as it is to find you at last, your grandfather and I would like some time alone to catch up.”

“Oh!” Susan promptly blushes. “Oh certainly, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—Of course!” She hesitates for just a second in the doorway. “Do you think you could put me to sleep tonight?”
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