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were_lemurDoctor Who, Master, Doctor, all ages, not mine. The Doctor's having a bad drums day.
He is the Master. The Earth cowers beneath his feet.
But it takes all of his considerable willpower not to cry out as the drums batter his consciousness. The pain is blinding, nauseating, and he sends away everyone but the Doctor before they can witness his collapse.
He hates himself for his weakness as he crawls into the Doctor's tent, driven by the sheer animal need for physical touch. But he loathes the Doctor for the tenderness with which he wraps his arms around the Master, holds him as sobs wrack his body and the drums pound through his mind.
He is the Master. The Earth cowers beneath his feet.
But it takes all of his considerable willpower not to cry out as the drums batter his consciousness. The pain is blinding, nauseating, and he sends away everyone but the Doctor before they can witness his collapse.
He hates himself for his weakness as he crawls into the Doctor's tent, driven by the sheer animal need for physical touch. But he loathes the Doctor for the tenderness with which he wraps his arms around the Master, holds him as sobs wrack his body and the drums pound through his mind.
