"You want it to hurt, don't you?" he murmurs, his lips brushing the Doctor's ear as he speaks. The Doctor opens his mouth to reply, already forming the shape of-de-ni-al, but all he can do is moan, as the Master slides in, into his body, in-to-his-mind.

It's an easy motion, on both fronts, because the Doctor opens willingly for him, lett-ing-him-in, and isn't that delicious?

"You want me to hurt you," he whispers as he moves, and the Doctor doesn't say anything, amazingly enough, doesn't nod, or shake his head, although his arms jerk in their bindings above his head. The Master smiles, because he can feel the answer in the-Doc-tor's-mind.

It makes him shiver. He brushes his thumbs lightly over the Doctor's forehead, keeping his fing-ers-stead-y over his temples. He slows his time, and he can feel the Doctor slowing with him. The feeling is old, and familiar, and like nothing else.

Cold water, flowing through the crevices of his mind, maybe, molecules slowing to absolute zero.

He moves his body with a slowness to-match-his-time, and he can feel every little twitch and response from the Doctor's body, but the slide and shiver in his mind is worth a thousand bucks and moans.

He has to resist sliding deeper, keeping only a light touch, a surface contact, so that he can keep the Doctor out of his mind. The Doctor strains for it, trying to reach in, and the bodymind rush of pleasure he gets at de-ny-ing-him is more than any satisfaction a purely physical act ever could.

De-ny-ing-him the pain he wants, de-ny-ing-him the deeper contact he wants-- It's delicious all the way to the very end, when he lets himself sink deep, deeper, because while he'll deny the Doctor, like hell he'll deny himself.