Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: An AU in three parts, stemming from my desire to write a story with the Master and Rose, which spiralled out to include the Doctor as well. We're rated M for a reason, just so we're all clear on that too...

I.

For the record, he's not staring at her because he wants her. No. No, that's not it. He could have anyone in this club if he wanted – he's vain enough to know that – but he doesn't want her. Even so, he can't take his eyes off her.

His interest in her has nothing to do with wanting to fuck her, but understanding why Theta wants to fuck her. He thinks of Theta, geek chic with the Chucks Taylors and skinny jeans and dark-rimmed glasses and great hair, and just cannot picture him with this girl, this chav, with her blonde hair and mascara-caked eyes. Even in the unflattering lights of the club, she looks pretty enough, but if what Romana has told him is to be believed, she's nothing more than a common shop girl from an estate across London.

He takes another drink and watches as she laughs with her friends, trying much too hard to draw attention to herself in that tiny scrap of a dress. He wonders if Theta knows she's here – and more importantly, why he's not with her. Perhaps he's already thinking of running from her too. Wouldn't be a surprise, knowing Theta… the coward.

That was his way, all right. Acting like things were going well, that things like labels and definitions and words didn't matter (and they didn't, not to him, not as long as they were both happy, as long as they were content not to question). Pretending like everything was fine… right up until it wasn't.

Then he would run. Pack up all his belongings and just leave without so much as an explanation, without a reason, without a note or even a forwarding address. Just vanish into thin air only to reappear weeks later with some other bird in tow, taking her everywhere and showing her off as if he couldn't be more proud of himself, the fucking peacock.

And there it is, that sting of jealousy, a hot, ugly churning that makes him reach for his drink, swallowing the amber liquid down until the burning matches the ache inside. He hates Theta, hates the way he feels, hates that he feels so much when, clearly, Theta felt nothing at all. It makes his blood boil and his head pound. Makes him want to hit and hurt and harm, to scream and scare and scar. Makes him mad, mad, mad, mad.

He finishes his drink just as she breaks away from her friends, heading over to the bar for another Sex on the Beach or whatever frilly drink girls like her enjoy so much. He's on his feet before he even knows why he's moving. Later, he'll say that it was spite, or curiosity or something, but in the moment he can't identify why he feels drawn to her. All he knows is he has fire in his belly and an itching in his palms to cause some trouble.

And he's the master of causing trouble.

He waits until she's bellied up to the counter, money and breasts pushed out to tempt one of the bartenders into taking her order. With a single-minded determination, he sidles up to her at the bar, his arm brushing hers.

"Close quarters here," he says when she glances his way, his smile deceptively disarming.

"That it is," she responds, casually looking him over before turning her attention back to flagging down a bartender. It's no easy task, with the crowd that's clamoring for service, but he knows this bar, frequents it enough that it's only a few moments before someone heads his way.

"Lucy," he says, flashing the girl a brilliant but false smile. "Should have known you'd not forget me."

"Same thing as usual?" she asks, smiling sweetly at him. He knows she's mad for him, would do anything he asked and then some, and he shamelessly uses it to his advantage.

"You know me so well," he winks. "And one of whatever she's having," he gestures to Theta's girl, who blinks slowly in surprise before turning towards Lucy.

"Rum and coke," she orders. "Double."

He grins. Perhaps she isn't a frilly drinker after all. "You heard the lady."

"Coming right up." Lucy eyes him curiously, but obeys. She's a good girl like that; there's a reason she's his favorite here.

"Thanks," the blonde at his side says, drawing his attention once more.

"No problem. It's murder trying to place an order here."

"They seem to know you, though."

He shrugs. "I've been coming here a while, gotten to know a few people. Not seen you here before. I'd remember."

She rolls her eyes but snickers all the same as Lucy returns with their drinks.

"Here we are," she sets down two glasses, pushing them forward. Theta's girl starts to hand over her money but he beats her to it.

"It's on me," he says, shoving some bills in Lucy's hand and waving her off before she has a chance to tell him what time she gets off shift. He doesn't give a rat's ass, and he's starting to think that fucking her in the men's room at closing time last week was a mistake.

"Thanks," she says, reaching for her drink and looking up at him through her mascara-dark eyelashes. "You didn't have to do that."

"Sure I did," he flashes her another smile. "How else would I get a girl as beautiful as you to talk to me?"

She laughs, taking him by surprise. "That usually work for you?"

He shrugs. "More or less. Question is – is it working right now?"

She grins at him, the tip of her tongue poking out between her teeth. "Might be."

He takes a long, slow sip of his drink. "I'm Harry, by the way."

"Rose," she replies, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"Nice to meet you, Rose," he lies through his teeth, smiling and clinking his glass to hers. She lifts her glass to her lips and drinks. He watches the muscles of her throat as she swallows and finds himself thinking of Theta, wondering if she knows what he likes when she takes him in her mouth, if she knows what makes him groan and shudder and lose control. He feels the hate rising up again, like a drumming in his head, and funnels all his anger into charm. "So tell me, Rose… you got a bloke waiting for you somewhere? Should I be on the lookout?"

"Not tonight," she laughs, her blonde curls bobbing. "Although, you may have to fight off my mates if they spot you."

"Ah," he nods knowingly. "Girls' night?"

"Young and wild and free," she grins, flirting back. Perhaps this is going to be easier than he thought. "So what about you? Got a girlfriend hanging about?"

He laughs in earnest. "No… God, no."

"Confirmed bachelor then?" she teases. "Or are you a horrible playboy?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he says darkly, causing her to smile.

She drops her eyes and he thinks he can see the hint of a blush on her cheeks. When she lifts her eyes again, she's looking at him with curiosity, cocking her head to the side and looking up at him through her lashes. "I can't figure you out, Harry. What is it you're after?"

Perhaps she's cleverer than he first gave her credit for. This is interesting. A new song begins, pulsing bass and drums that beat out a steady four-count he can feel in his head and his chest.

"Dance with me?" he asks on a whim, holding out his hand to her.

She hesitates, nibbling on her lip and shifting on her heels, glancing around for her friends.

"Come on," he smiles at her. "One dance won't hurt anything."

She bites her lip, deliberating a moment more, before she nods. "All right."

"Brilliant," he grins. He finishes off the last of his drink and takes her hand, leading her towards the dance floor. She comes willingly, her hand in his much softer and smaller than he's used to.

He weaves them out into the throng of people, finding just enough space in the mass of writhing bodies to pull her in front of him. He presses up against her from behind, his hands settling on her hips as she begins to move against him. She's tentative, at first, rocking her hips to the beat and settling into a rhythm. Her bum presses back against him and he tightens his hold on her, fingertips sinking into her flesh to better align their movements. Her hands drop to cover his and she grows bolder, rolling her hips against him and leaning back against his chest. He drops his head and presses his lips to the base of her neck. She tastes of sweat and adrenaline and just a touch of fear. Good.

At the start of the next song, he lets his hands wander a little, his fingers splaying over her thighs, caressing her skin through her skirt. Rose lifts a hand, reaching back to curl her fingers around the back of his neck. He's not sure when this turned from dancing to something more, but his body has begun responding to her, and with the way she's pressed against him, grinding her hips into his, there's no way she is unaware of what she's done to him, what she's doing to him.

Without warning, he turns her sharply, spinning her until she is facing him. She wobbles, both from the alcohol and her high heels, and catches herself with her hands on his chest. She is flushed and just a bit breathless and when she lifts her eyes to his, he can see that her pupils are wide with an unmistakable arousal. He tugs her closer, hands around her waist, and shifts a thigh between her legs. She wraps her arms around his neck and they are moving again, hips matching up from an entirely new angle. She grinds down on his leg, seeking the friction he's providing, and he is growing harder every time she rocks forward with the beat.

When the song ends, he doesn't say a word, but grabs her hand, pulling her back they way they came, away from the crowd and the bar and her annoying little friends. She is right behind him, fingers twined in his, her palm slick against his own. He doesn't know what he's doing, doesn't know when he made the decision to fuck her. But he has, and he is. And he's going to damn well enjoy it.

He leads her out the back door, both of them stumbling into the hazy darkness of the back alley. It's much quieter here but he can still make out the bass beat of the music inside the club. He stares at her for a moment, wondering if she's going to bolt now that she realizes what he intends, but she doesn't. Rather, she reaches for him, grabs fistfuls of his shirt and pulls him to her, lifting her chin and capturing his lips in a kiss. As young as she is, she's certainly experienced, if her kiss proves anything. The way she knows just how to use her lips and tongue and teeth is just shy of criminal and, combined with the lingering taste of alcohol on her tongue, he is painfully hard much more quickly than he'd believed possible.

He runs on pure sensation, smell and touch and taste, not thinking beyond this moment. She gasps as his hand works its way between her legs, and she scrabbles at the front of his trousers. He pushes her hands away and does the work himself, quick with his button and fly and shoving his trousers and pants down just enough. With a hand on her shoulder, he turns her away from him; he doesn't want to see her face, doesn't want the feel of her breasts pushing against him, the soft curves and dips of her body where there should be hard angles and lines. He just wants to feel, to close his eyes, to pretend.

He grabs the hem of her already too-short skirt and lifts it even further, exposing her backside. She shivers as he tugs her knickers out of the way, sliding his fingers into her once more. She moans in such a delightful way, pressing back against his hand. He can almost see why Theta enjoys her.

"C-condom," she manages, glancing over her shoulder. "You have one?"

He pulls away and digs in his pocket. He'd come out tonight with the intent of shagging someone; he'd just never dreamed that it would be her. But, oh, this has been a wonderful surprise. A perfect opportunity to show Theta how in control he really is, even still. Show him that he cannot be beaten, not so easily. Show him just what sort of madness he's capable of.

The latex in place, he presses himself against her, teasing her, taking her hands and lifting them until her palms rest flat on either side of her head.

"Like this," he whispers in her ear and she whimpers in response, shifting restlessly against him. He smirks, wondering if she's ever this wanton when she's with Theta, if he knows just how brazen his pink and yellow girl is, how badly she wants a good fuck.

Without a warning, he drops his hands back to her hips and holds her still as he pushes into her in one strong movement. She gasps and stiffens, her fingers curling into brick wall, pink nail polish chipping on the rough surface. He bites back a moan as he buries himself completely inside of her – hot and wet and so fucking tight.

He doesn't give her a chance to adjust to him before he sets a rhythm, fucking her fast and hard, needing to get off, not caring if she gets there too. That's not what this is, he tells himself. This is anger and hate and retribution and hurting Theta as badly as he hurt him. He drops his head, latching his mouth to her shoulder, roughly nipping at the skin there as he drives himself in and out of her in short, quick thrusts. This is not about intimacy or lust or pleasure, but damn if she isn't good.

There's the way she's grinding back against him, reaching back to grab at his leg, making these soft, breathy noises he's entirely unaccustomed to and suddenly, despite his intent, she's coming already. He can feel it, her body impossibly tightening further around his cock as she cries out, unintelligible syllables that are not his name and yet not anyone else's. Her orgasm sets off his own and he pounds into her, thrusting hard and deep as he rides the pleasure out until he is spent, splaying out his hands on either side of her head to keep himself upright even as his knees turn to jelly. She shudders beneath him and he pushes himself away from her, slipping out of her body, delighting in her surprised whimper. He turns and leans his back against the wall, staring up at the sky as he catches his breath.

"Well, fuck," he chuckles, glancing over at her.

She's suddenly shy under his gaze, hiding her face behind her hair, looking younger than he's seen her all night. "That was mental," she gasps.

"Wasn't it, though?"

"I've never done that before."

"What? Had a shag behind a club?" he asks, disposing of the condom by way of tossing it in a shadowed corner before tugging his pants and trousers back up.

"Yeah," She drops her eyes and tugs her skirt back down. "I… I don't…"

"What?" he turns towards her, noticing tears welling up in her eyes. Oh, here it comes.

"I… I have a boyfriend," she says, shaking her head, pushing away from the wall, from him, putting a few shaky steps between them. "Oh my god… I wasn't… I wasn't thinking…"

"Rose," he looks at her pointedly, "I wasn't really planning on hanging around."

"I… I know," she says softly, "and it's fine, but I just feel… guilty."

He steps in close to her, reaching out and brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "You're only human, Rose. Humans make mistakes."

"I guess," she shrugs. "He just can't find out. It would break his heart. We've only been dating a few weeks and…"

"Who's going to tell him? Hmm? I don't even know the bloke," he lies, convincing as always even as he wants to strangle her right there and tell her knows – he knows.

"Thank you," she offers him a little smile. God, she's so young. "But I should probably be getting back. My friends will be wondering where I am and…"

"It's fine," he nods towards the club. "Better go before they come looking for you."

"Thanks… for… you know," she stammers, her cheeks flushing. "And it was… You were… really good."

"I was thinking the same about you, Rose," he grins at her, dark and shadowed. "I'll not forget you anytime soon."

She gives a little wave of her fingers and turns from him. His eyes follow her as she disappears back into the club, leaving him alone in the dark alley. Satisfaction sings through his veins. This night has gone better than he'd ever imagined.

Regardless of whether or not he ever tells Theta, he has the knowledge that he's fucked him over, fucked his girl, and that's enough to keep the jealousy at bay.

For now at least.