Title: Last.
Author: HouseCat.
Rating: M for sexual situations.
Notes: I didn't think I'd ever want to write male on male, but after watching the Master episodes of season three for the first time last night, I simply couldn't resist! I might possibly try more fics in the future too.

He's no romantic. Crossing time and space for nine hundred years had long opened his eyes to the nature of not only humanity, but of life itself. Survival. The need for companionship. The need to dominate.

He's not a romantic, so when he enters the Master the first time he's not slow, or careful, and there are no whispered sentiments or gentle caresses. His fingers grip the Master's hips until they bruise, and he thrusts into the Time Lord with enough force to have the slim, taut body beneath him tensing against the onslaught.

But he can feel it. He can feel Gallifrey, its warm air, and the glow of the Citadel. He can hear the music of his people, his family, riding on the sweet wind as it sweeps his face. For nine centuries he was profoundly alone, the last attempt of a mighty civilisation to escape extinction. His world was silent, his mind alone.

He grits his teeth and thrusts harder, starving for more, needing the connection like hot, dry land needs the rain. He could feel himself moving closer to completion, but it wasn't enough.

It wasn't enough.

"Please," he choked, his pace increasing, unsure of whether the Master had even heard him.

But he saw the man's arm move, unfisting from the sheet and reaching to his lap, where the muscles of his upper arm tensed and relaxed as he wrapped his hand around his length and began to move.

It was like the door had opened all the way, flooding his mind with the sight, sound and smell of a planet long dead. Their home. Before he knew it, he was reaching out, his fingers stretching out into the empty air. He wanted to cry, to shout, to wrap his arms around the man under him, to kill him.

Instead he dropped his head back, uttering a small cry as his hips bucked forward, spilling himself deep inside the Master. Underneath them the blood red sheets were spotted with pearly white liquid.

And then, as quickly as it opened, the door was closed, leaving nothing but numb silence. He collapsed onto the Master's back, digging his fingers into the soft skin, waiting for tears that had long dried up to fall from his unblinking eyes.

They never did.