standsonhigh | There's nothing here but what here's mine.

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psl: barty

There's nothing here but what here's mine.

This wasn't, exactly, how he had planned his return. He had expected to be on home turf, a place he understood and wanted to be. Surrounded by worshippers and already plotting. Not here with some strange man using the power he gave specifically to his followers to bring him back. The books of Saxon weren't meant to be public knowledge, they were his private notes, and yet this man decided to drag him into a world he didn't want to be in.

The Master always had a funny feeling that magic wasn't something he should of ever tried to toy with because as it stood, he didn't like where this was going. It defied the logic he knew.

Voldemort was a strange creature, a very unpleasant one at that. He looked sickly and his eyes were red like an albino. Still, he didn't say much on it, he'd looked worse himself and damages were just a sign of ambition and desire. It always took everything out of you, especially with humans.

The drums were raging in his head as he followed Voldemort into this meeting he'd decided to attend. He'd only been back a few days and already he seemed to of captured the imagination of this tiny little creature who was all but eager to introduce him.

An ancient ruler from another reality must of been interesting.

He didn't walk behind Voldemort, he kept in step, not willing to seem a lesser. Hey, the dark lord brought him here. If he was going to play with this merry band of psychopaths, he wanted to seem equal.

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The sounds he made were small and desperate and utterly pathetic. However, at the moment Barty didn't even have it in him to be embarrassed, he was too busy panicking, as one tended to do when one couldn't breathe.

His hands were cuffed behind his back and although he tugged on them desperately, it didn't do any good and the cuffs cut into his skin. He was frantic, really, but there was very limited movement possible with the Master keeping his legs immobile and holding his shoulder with one hand. The other, of course, was clamping his nose shut, which was why he was panicking. The tape over his mouth wasn't budging and there definitely wasn't any air coming through.

Barty didn't actually believe that the Master wanted to kill him by suffocation. It didn't seem like near big enough a gesture, for one thing, way too casual. Besides, he also knew why this was happening. A simple reminder of who was in control, by poking on Barty's control issues. It tended to happen every now and then when the Master felt he was getting too cocky. Or when he just felt like it. However, while he knew all that on some level, right now all he knew was that he wanted air and that he wasn't getting any and so his eyes were wide and staring up at the Master with whatever pleading noise he could manage.

Oh please, Barty hadn't started to turn blue yet, he could last longer than this. He came up with this fantastic game on the Valiant, he used to play it with the Doctor, the breathing game. Though he usually played that in the bathtub and he'd hold the Doctor's head under, waiting patiently till he started to trash and only letting him up when he started to get desperate. He never wanted to kill anyone during these days, just make them think he would.

He'd wrapped duct tape rather firmly around Barty's mouths so no air could escape and pinched tight, listening to the wonderful sounds that he made. Desperate little whimpers that made the Master feel better than he'd felt in a long time. He wished he could always keep Barty this desperate.

But eventually, he would actually need to breath. The Master timed it till Barty started become faint to let go of his nose, letting him get some air. It wasn't over, the game could keep on going, he just wanted the poor bastard not to die this early on. "Come on, Barty! You can do better than that. Now, take a deep breath, we'll try again."

And, with that, he pinched Barty's noise again, sitting comfortably on his chest and ignoring the way he trashed.

As soon as he could breathe again, Barty did as much, wheezing without any dignity, desperately trying to fill his lungs with air. He wanted to make it stop, turning his head and trying to open his mouth under the duct tape, but of course it didn't work. Nothing worked and in the end, all too soon, his air was cut off again and his lungs were still burning from before.

He wanted to glare, but in the end he just ended up pleading again, desperate and scared, while tears shot up in his eyes and he felt them running down his cheek. Worse and worse, this was just turning more and more into a nightmare. Even as deprived of his oxygen as his mind still was, he realized that the Master could potentially keep this up for a very long time and there was nothing Barty could do but keep begging and fighting for every breath.

Yes, he definitely hated this.

The Master did it twice more, each time taking note of how long Barty could last. He gave him a pass, eventually, but only because he was actually starting to turn blue. He let the poor bastard take a few desperate gasps through the tape before gently stroking his hair, cooing in concern over him. Or so it appeared, anyway.

"If I want to, I can control any part of you. Even the breath you take. Do you get that?" the Master asked as he leaned down, a dark grin on his face. He did like that level of control and being able to assert it. Barty got a little too cocky lately, demanding and insisting.

This was a lesson he needed.

Reaching out, he used his thumb to get rid of the tear tracks before he slid down Barty, twisting himself around till he was lying on Barty now, ear to his chest to listen to that panicky heart beat. It raced so fast, it just nearly met the drums beat. How perfect. "You sound wonderful right now."

Barty didn't trust that the Master was actually giving him a break, expecting him to start all over any moment now. That didn't keep him from breathing in deeply though, so hastily that he coughed, choked up as it was from behind the tape.

He nodded in answer to the question, partly because it was just stupid to disagree with the facts. Right now, the Master could have killed him just by taping over his nostrils and that was really not the kind of death he imagine for himself.

His face burned from shame as the Master rubbed at his cheeks. Right. He'd been crying. Only reluctantly he let himself relax when the Master stretched out on top of him, hurting his arms, still twisted behind his back as they were. Wonderful, huh? It felt as if his heart was about to hammer its way out of his stomach.

He forced himself to breathe evenly, at the same time working on loosening the tape covering his mouth. Anything that would make him less helpless.

The Master lay there for several moments before he got off Barty properly this time and stood up straight, eyeing Barty with a look of disgust. Humans were so pathetic sometimes, it was sad really. With a sigh, he bent down and grasp Barty's leg, starting to yank him along. Slowly, Barty was dragged across the bedroom carpet and towards the bathroom.

Maybe he could learn the same way the Doctor had on the Valiant. Then they could play together all the time like this.

"Let's have a bath!"

It was said with such happiness, the Master was beaming at the already filled tub, which was nice and hot. Oh and full of bubbles. Perhaps too many bubbles. And a rubber duckie. Dumping Barty on the floor, he pulled off his own jacket and tossed it aside.

"Ready to get clean?"

Edited 2013-12-28 00:58 (UTC)

Barty yelped, then struggled as he tried to avoid the carpet burn, which was of course utterly pointless. He was glaring up at the Master now, showing very clearly that, no, he wasn't ready. The theme was very likely to not have changed and it didn't take a genius to guess what might happen to him in a full bathtub.

But it wasn't as if he was about to get a choice, so he just sat up and looked at the Master, deciding to try a pleading look instead of the anger he felt. It had a higher chance of pleasing him when he was in such a mood.

"Oh Barty, don't look so grumpy, it'll be fun," Was all the Master offered to that pleading look, gripping Barty under his armpits and yanking him up. It took a lot of awkward moving and some nasty bumps but he finally got Barty in the tub. Still fully clothed and bound. But, because he was feeling fair, he clambered in as well, his own suit getting soaked and bubbly.

Mockingly, he rested his wet and bubble covered hand on top of Barty's hair and playfully ruffled it, making it stick up all over. He was such a fun play thing on the days when the drums hurt so badly he wanted everything to break.

He was almost as good as the Doctor. Mockingly, he waggled the rubber duck at Barty and squeaked it. "Do you want the duckie or will you be fine?"

There was something very uncomfortable about being in a bathtub with his clothes on, but that was really the least of his worries now. He didn't really mind playing in the bathtub with the Master, hell, he didn't even mind being tied up overly much, but time had taught him to judge the Master's mood and so he knew not to expect anything good.

He glanced at the duckie and shook his head, not that he was sure how to even answer the question. Not sure he wanted to know what he would be fine with, but actually quite sure he knew. Which also meant that the duckie would not be able to help him through it one way or the other.

The Master sat back, looking at Barty for longer than was reassuring. But in this moment, with the steam and the bubbles, he could squint and blur Barty into the Doctor. Without any warning, he practically pounced on Barty, shoving his head and forcing him down, under and into the bath, completely submerged.

Then he sat on his chest once more, holding his head under and waiting. His little act had already sloshed loads of water out onto the floor and he was sure more would come. He hoped they didn't leak through to the kitchen.

"Hope you took a breath!"

Oh, Barty knew that look. That was the Doctor look. That was the most horrifying look, because it made the Master be the most unpredictable for him. He was trying as best as he could to figure the man out, but to understand the Doctor's and Master's relationship it would have needed several lifespans. He didn't even have one lifespan and yet through a bizarre twist of fate, he was caught in the middle in a unique position.

And suddenly under water. The surprise and sudden weight of the Master on top of him had made him breathe out and that meant he was short on air. His arms were trapped behind him, but the metal of the cuffs was scraping along the tub while he thrashed his legs, splashing water as if it would do any good.

He waited patiently for the struggling to get beyond desperate then he pulled back, letting Barty re-emerged to the surface. With a thoughtful look, he reached out and gripped the edge of the very damp tape, yanking it off with a swift pull. It was painful but it came off without taking any skin. That was quite a skill actually.

"Deep breaths, there's a good boy," the Master cooed as he yanked Barty closer, mockingly rubbing his back. He remembered the way the Doctor would cough and tremble after these games, looking at him with such care. Like he wanted to make it better. What an idiot, he should of known better. "We're nearly done."

"Ah!" He couldn't keep from screaming when the tape was pulled off, but with his mouth free, he also gasped for air desperately, only to end up overdoing it and coughing. He would have doubled over if not for the Master holding him close.

"Almost?" The word came out faint and desperate and he was trembling, even as he let the Master hold him, pretend to care for him. It was better than nothing, after all, right now the fake comfort was definitely better than nothing. And a thousand times better than getting drowned.

"Not long now," the Master confessed as he shoved Barty off him and once more, they lay there, in a state of strange peace. Lying clothed in the bath, bubbles fading and the water going luke warm. He squeaked the duck again and sank back, eyes closed, the drums were so quiet. So pleased.

"Dunk your head and hold it under. Don't come out for as long as you can and I'll call it a day if I think you've tried. If I don't, we'll have to try again with some assistance," the Master said, explaining the rules as he started to ruffle and wash his own hair with the bath water.

Barty made a face, but only for a moment. He didn't want this to keep on going, he didn't want to move past this training session to actual punishment and he'd have to wait until he could talk to the Master normally again. They were never quite on equal footing, but right now his footing was especially loose.

"As you wish, Master." He did use that phrase, a little bit fueled by the thought that the Doctor likely never said anything like that. After breathing in, he did as he'd been told. Under water until he ran out of air. Slowly he released the bubbles, wondering in the serene silence how much would be enough, if anything. It was a stupid decision, ultimately, probably aided by his brain still reeling from the after-effects of the breath play, but he decided to breathe in, underwater, and allow it to get into his lungs.

If he did it to himself, the Master couldn't do it, after all.

Barty was soon yanked out of the tub by the Master, hands knotted in the man's wet hair to hold him up. That had been a fantastic display, really had been, but he knew that most humans had a limit as to how long they could play this game. He slapped Barty on the back a few times to held him try and cough up any water he might of swallowed. He didn't need his second in command sick.

"Deep breath, Barty, take it slow. You don't want to destroy those lungs of yours."

That was the Master's job, after all, he took a great level of pride in it too. Slowly, as Barty seemed to catch a bit of his breath, the Master lay back in the tub once more, listening to the wet horrible breathing that Barty was doing. Sounded awful, actually.

But he didn't care much himself, he didn't really seem to be with it today. Usually he'd of ended the game about half an hour ago but the drums did things to him, caused him to lash out and really make people hurt.

No, he didn't want to destroy his lungs. The Master on the other hand, Barty was less sure about that. He might have expressed those doubts if he hadn't been busy coughing up water and trying to clear his airways, face red instead of blue at least.

Finally he managed to normalize his breathing enough to look over at the Master, shaking and hoping it was over. Some days he really couldn't stand the drums.

"It's getting cold." Hopefully that observation wouldn't come across as too cocky, too. One never knew.

It was pretty cold now, the water was barely warm and all the bubbles had gone. Half the tub was on the floor, soaking everything that happened to be there, even his jacket. Pointless to take it off, actually. The Master leaned out of the wet tub and grabbed his jacket, freeing the screwdriver. Dropping back into the cold bath, he undid Barty's cuffs and waited till the man's hands were in front.

Then he threw him the screwdriver. It wasn't like Barty could use it but the Master didn't want it getting any wetter.

"Get out. Now. Take a towel and go into the other room, just get out and leave me," the Master insisted, closing his eyes and remaining in the bath. This was the cool down now, when he forced himself to relax and take control again. A cold bath seemed like a good way to keep himself in check.

He didn't want to break Barty, not yet, he actually wanted to keep him.

Barty caught the screwdriver and didn't waste any time in following the order and getting out of the tub. He reached for a towel, still holding the screwdriver and looking at the Master with an actually worried expression. He wanted to help him, he really did, but it seemed as if he was out of means for the day.

Still, after hovering for a few seconds longer he nodded and headed out of the room, closing the door behind him. He put the screwdriver down on the bed and wondered if the Master had meant for him to leave this room, too. Not clear enough, though, so in the end he just stripped of his wet clothes and wrapped himself into the towel, shivering from cold now, at least, rather than from lack of oxygen.

It was a few minutes before the Master left the cold bath, dripping wet and not looking any happier. Time Lords didn't feel the temperature like humans did, hence why he seemed entirely fine, though he could hardly lie and say it felt pleasant. Wordlessly, he pulled off his wet shirt and dropped it into a wet heap beside Barty's clothes.

"You're freezing," he observed carefully, stalking in like a predator did with it's prey. This wasn't really a day he should of been around anyone, he was too dangerous and he knew it. If he wanted to he could break Barty beyond repair and leave him a gibbering moron. Hell, it was a fight not to do it some days. Not because he didn't like Barty, he did, it was just in his nature to ruin. "Ask nicely and I'll warm you up."

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There's nothing here but what here's mine.

Sometime in Whoverse, I guess

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