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Summary
“Be. Quiet,” the Doctor bites out, wrenching the Master’s head back with a fistful of brittle hair.
The Master smiles, mashed under the glass flecks embedded in the Doctor’s skin. Blood already stains the air, peters off of them both, but it’s sharp on his tongue as he laves over sticky flesh. ‘Time’s up,’ he whispers into the Doctor’s mind. ‘You’re sweet with it, artron and fear.’
gallifrey is gone, returned to its hell and locked behind time itself. the doctor weeps gold, the master glows blue, and the leash shines red as it's pulled tightly between them.