The bedroom door opens, as he expected it would. He doesn't turn around, but presses his face into the pillow and smiles.
The Master's lips are cold on the nape of his neck, his fingers cold and slick inside him, his body colder still as he covers the Doctor and enters him.
The Doctor closes his eyes and sees the stars, the vastness of space, sees the massive dark swathe he's carved through time with his own hands. The path of action and consequence. He sees what he's set in motion, sees the dark trail swept clean of stars, the path he's cleared for the Master's return.
The Master sighs against his shoulder, humming with contentment, sliding his hands over the Doctor's. He's warmer, now, more solid, and the Doctor pushes back against him, exhaling, his spine curving with pleasure.
Time is a river rushing out beneath his feet, and he dips his hands in, watching as the streams of causality divide between his fingers, splashing against his palms, lapping softly around his wrists. He smiles, cups his hands and drinks deep from the stream, and he *ripples*.
He spreads his hands and the ripples lash out from his fingertips, time liquid and reverberating with his laughter, and he begins to dance, to spin. He catches the Master's shadow from the corner of his eye as he twists and weaves and bends and plays, doodling a new timeline here, conjuring an event horizon there, snapping an infinity in half and hurling away the pieces.
He pauses, panting, exhilarated, and sees the Master standing there, knee-deep in the stream in front of him. He holds out his hand to the Master, and his fingertips shimmer with the dust of crushed stars.
The Master starts and takes a step back.
The Doctor takes a step forward.
The bed stops creaking as the Master stills. The Doctor looks back at him over his shoulder, and a terrible laughter builds up in his chest.
The Doctor flicks his wrist and *pulls*. With a cry of rage, the Master falls as the world is yanked out from underneath them, as they plunge together through the Vortex and the Doctor's mouth is upon his.
With a groan of delight, he pushes the Master down and fucks him, *rides* him. And he promises, he promises him this--"here, let me show you--"
And he binds the Master's wrists with comets, scours him with supernovae, consumes him piece by piece until they're joined, and they shall be one for a thousand years. Until he yearns to see his reflection again in the curved mirror of space, until he cries out the Master's name, sings out his shape and form, calling him back into existence from within himself. He divides himself for the sake of pleasure, divides to give birth to desire, and they shall be two again, and they will shine bold and bright.
The Master laughs with him, then, loud and abrupt and clear. He snaps his hips up, growling, pulling the Doctor close. His smile is sickle-sharp as he laces their fingers together and murmurs against the Doctor's mouth.
"Welcome home."
Story Notes:
More prose poetry than straightforward fic. An entry from the dream diary of a mad god. Thanks to 45eugenia and Versaphile for betaing.