[fic] Mirror Image
TITLE: Mirror Image
AUTHOR: Fionnabair
FANDOM: Doctor Who/Life on Mars
SUMMARY: A sequel to Use My Name. Spoilers for Season Three of Doctor Who, up to and including The Sound of Drums.
RATING: NC-17.
WORD COUNT: 2129
EMAIL: fiandyfic@livejournal.com
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Beta’d by m31andy
DISCLAIMER: Doctor Who is copyright BBC, Life on Mars is copyright Kudos and BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.
Mirror Image
Sam’s visits to his strange customer became regular events, cutting out most of his casual work.
Once a fortnight, sometimes once a week, he would get the summons to be ready the next day. Punctually at noon, the car would arrive and Sam would go through the regular ritual of being driven to his unknown destination, entering the antechamber as he mentally dubbed it, and blindfolding himself.
Master always checked the blindfold himself, but Sam had no desire to see the strange man’s face. Their meetings were disturbing, with an edge of something that Sam couldn’t quite identify, but it unnerved him.
Usually Master fucked - no, that wasn’t the word for the way the man did it - made love to him, taking his time, long and languid, needy and fulfilling. Sometimes he bound Sam’s wrists. Sometimes Sam knelt at Master’s feet, sucking him off, before being rewarded with a blowjob that nearly shattered him.
Twice, Master hurt him. Love and tenderness were replaced with rage and pain, as Master wielded a whip and Sam begged for mercy. When Master finally took Sam, it was hard and fast and painful. Sam could feel Master’s tears dripping on his back as he pounded into him.
Hunt came to visit the next day, carefully keeping his face blank as Sam limped across the room. He brought painkillers and he asked how Sam was, telling him that Master had paid for him to have the rest of the week off. He looked as if he wanted to ask questions, but clearly thought the better of it. Nonetheless, Sukey or Jack dropped in every day to check on him and do anything he needed.
Sam wondered about this but despite the pain, he found himself anticipating Master’s next summons.
When he arrived and had been stripped, Master had placed a collar around his neck and a cushion on the floor, and gently pushed Sam down to sit on it. He’d pulled up a chair for himself and urged Sam to rest his head against him. Master sat there for hours, stroking Sam’s hair at intervals. Rustling papers indicated that he was reading, and when some papers fell on Sam, Master laughed.
“Too much work, Sam,” he said. “But I couldn’t miss my time with you.”
He’d fetched food and fed Sam with his own hands, scraps of meat and bread as if Sam was a dog. After, he pulled Sam into his lap and caressed him, running his hands over Sam’s torso, stroking his thighs as he pushed his legs further apart, tugging on Sam’s cock, bringing him to a sudden climax.
Sam wondered if they had an audience. He never heard a sound from any voyeurs, but Master seemed to spend most of his time arranging Sam for an invisible audience.
The next time Master hurt him, he knew what it was that he had seen in Hunt’s eyes. Phyllis herself came around, gruffly checking on his well-being, repeating what Hunt had said before. When she left, Sam had an epiphany.
They were scared. Whoever Master was, Phyllis and Hunt were frightened of him. And Phyllis’s expression had held something else. She’d looked scared of Sam himself.
Things got more confusing. On their regular date, Ben had shown up with a blissful expression on his face. Something good had happened, something amazing. A dream contract right here in Manchester with an eccentric investor who knew of Ben but refused to meet him.
Ben extended their time together, wanting to tell Sam about his fantastic luck, insisting on taking him out, cheerfully agreeing to a curry; so full of his happiness that, after Sam had delivered his customary blowjob, he dropped to his knees and returned the favour.
Sam came, laughing, confused, overwhelmed by Ben’s enthusiasm. Work apart, he liked Ben, who was the sort of man he’d have enjoyed being friends with in different circumstances. He was genuinely pleased for him and spent one of the best evenings he’d ever had in his company.
A week later, he saw Master again. Master was very pleased with himself, and when Master was pleased, Sam was happy.
This time, he tied Sam’s wrists behind him and knelt him on the floor. Master pulled up a stool and urged Sam to suck his cock, running his fingers through Sam’s hair, crooning his name when he came.
Sam sat back on his knees afterwards while Master talked.
He loved this place. So interesting. So vibrant. The opportunities, the chances this place offered - it was a shame he was so busy elsewhere. All he could do here was some minor business.
But he’d found an interesting investment and an interesting man. Sam stiffened when Ben’s name was mentioned and Master laughed.
“No, you haven’t been indiscreet,” he said. “I know you know him.”
He knelt down beside Sam. “And I know he’s good to you in a world where few are, Sam.”
Gently, he pushed Sam forward until his forehead was resting on the cushioned stool.
He ran his hands down Sam’s back and parted his buttocks. “And it’s good to help someone who’s good to you,” he breathed. “Makes me feel like a different man.”
“Thank you, Master,” said Sam as Master entered him.
“Do you know what I like about you, Sam?” asked Master as he thrust inside him. “You’re like me. You’re quite insane in your own special way. But it’s different. You don’t want power, you don’t want fame, you don’t want destruction, you just want to be happy. Maybe I’ll take you with me someday, Sam. Maybe I can make you happy.”
“You do, Master,” gasped Sam, in the most sincere statement he’d ever made in his life.
“Thank you, Sam,” he replied. “I know you mean that. But it’s not enough.”
Ten minutes later, both Sam and Master were dripping with sweat. Sam was reaching towards his climax, verbally urged on by Master, when he heard a strange noise. Master stiffened immediately and pulled out of Sam with no regard for his comfort.
Sam almost howled, turning his face sideways, resting his cheek on the rough tapestry of the stool. He stilled, his cock aching and dripping, listening for a sound - any sound - from Master. But there was nothing. It was as if he was alone in the room.
He knelt there, blindfolded, his hands still bound, for yet another age, only twitching when the door burst open.
“Stay down!” yelled an American voice and he could feel a body circling him.
He obeyed the voice. There was nothing else to do.
“Martha?” asked the voice, and a hand ripped off his blindfold.
“Sit back. Slowly,” the voice ordered, and with his eyes still closed, Sam pulled himself back on his knees.
“Doctor?” a woman’s voice called. “We’ve got him.”
“Open your eyes,” ordered the American, and Sam blinked as he obeyed.
A tall man, dressed in clothes from an old war movie, stood in front of him, pointing a gun directly at Sam’s head.
“Someone get to you before we did, Saxon?” he asked. “This is an interesting look for you.”
The grin on the man’s face made it clear just how interesting he was finding it.
“If only we’d known,” he continued. “I could have…”
“Stop it!” a tired voice ordered. Sam looked to his left and saw a lean, dark man come in with a young black woman at his side. The man was dressed in a way that fitted in with the era, but also reminded Sam fondly of his own time. The woman, however… Her outfit was far more like Sam remembered. In fact, he was pretty sure Maya had owned a copy of that jacket.
“It’s not him, Jack,” said the man. “He’s human.”
“Chameleon Arch again, Doctor?” asked the girl, who Sam presumed was the aforementioned Martha.
He shook his head. “He wouldn’t be able to get to one. And I know the Master, he wouldn’t do that again. Not after last time. That’s not him.”
Jack lowered his gun. “So who’s this? Certainly looks like..”
“I don’t know, why don’t you ask him?” the other man snapped.
Jack grinned and sat down on the stool. “Captain Jack Harkness,” he said, holding out a hand.
Sam just looked at him.
“Oh,” grinned Jack. “I forgot.”
“Stop it,” said the man again, the one Martha had called Doctor.
“Well, how could I resist?” asked Jack, leaning forward to untie Sam’s arms.
Sam flinched away and Jack pulled back instantly.
“See?” said the Doctor. Jack looked over at him and nodded.
He stood up and knelt behind Sam, finally, thankfully loosening the ties at his wrists. Sam stretched his arms painfully, pulling them around.
“What’s your name?” asked the Doctor, never taking his eyes off Sam.
“Sam,” he said. “Sam Tyler.”
He realised all three were looking at him intently, and then Martha came forward with his clothes.
“Here,” she said. “You probably want to get dressed.”
Sam nodded.
When he had finished dressing, he took time to look around the room. It was clearly an unconverted factory room with a huge bed at one end. There wasn’t much more furniture - a couple of tables, an armchair and the stool. But he finally understood why he thought he’d had an audience. The walls were covered with mirrors. He looked up. There was even a huge mirror over the bed.
“Where did he go, Sam?” asked Jack. “The man who was here. The man who…”
The Doctor cut him off abruptly. “You never saw him, did you?” he asked. “Did he tell you his name?”
Martha seemed a lot more practical.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “Do you need any help?”
Sam looked at the three of them helplessly, so confident, so determined for information, so clearly not the sort of people who’d use violence to get it.
“I don’t know where he went,” he said honestly. “And I don’t know his name. He told me to call him Master the first time.” There was a sigh from the other three. “And I don’t know what he looks like. It’s a different arrangement. And thank you,” he turned to Martha. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t feel fine, but he wanted to get rid of them, find out what had happened. Hunt or Phyllis might know something, and sod the consequences of curiosity, he had to at least ask.
“So you’ve been with him before?” asked Jack.
Sam nodded. “Quite a few times. He started the arrangement about four months ago.”
In his peripheral vision, he could see Martha mouthing “arrangement?” at Jack and Jack’s responding wink.
The Doctor glared at Jack and muttered: “You can talk, you’re just as bad,” which seemed to dampen the American a bit.
“Sam,” the Doctor had turned back to him. “May I?” He stepped forward swiftly and placed a hand on Sam’s forehead. This time Sam didn’t flinch.
“Oh,” said the Doctor. “Another one who can’t go home. You really are in the wrong place at the wrong time, aren’t you, Sam Tyler? Maybe it’s something to do with the name.”
“Doctor?” asked Martha, concern in her voice.
The Doctor stepped back. “There’s nothing more for us here. Wherever he is now, the Master isn’t in 1974. Let’s go.”
They all turned, Jack winking at Sam, and were halfway out the door when Sam’s brain caught up with what the Doctor had said.
“Wait!” he yelled, running after them. “What do you mean, not in 1974? Are you?” He looked at Martha. “You don’t see outfits like that on the street, not now. Where, no, when are you from?”
There was a pause and both Martha and Jack looked at the Doctor.
“Oh, I don’t care,” said Sam. “But do you happen to know 2006? Nice place, iPods, mobile phones, where they actually do something about corrupt police?”
“We, uh, just travel with the Doctor,” said Martha, backing away.
Sam turned to the Doctor. “So, have you got a time machine?” He laughed and threw his hands up in the air. “A time machine? Can I have a ride? Get back home?”
The Doctor stopped him with a firm grip on his shoulder.
“You can’t, Sam,” said the Doctor gently. “There’s no way back for you. I’m sorry.”
He turned to leave, gesturing to Martha to precede him.
Jack turned to follow, but stopped and held out his hand to Sam, who shook it numbly. “But I think I can guarantee that you won’t have to see the Master again,” he said cheerfully. “Which is good news, isn’t it?”
He turned to follow Martha and the Doctor, and missed the shattered expression that crossed Sam’s face.
AUTHOR: Fionnabair
FANDOM: Doctor Who/Life on Mars
SUMMARY: A sequel to Use My Name. Spoilers for Season Three of Doctor Who, up to and including The Sound of Drums.
RATING: NC-17.
WORD COUNT: 2129
EMAIL: fiandyfic@livejournal.com
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Beta’d by m31andy
DISCLAIMER: Doctor Who is copyright BBC, Life on Mars is copyright Kudos and BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.
Mirror Image
Sam’s visits to his strange customer became regular events, cutting out most of his casual work.
Once a fortnight, sometimes once a week, he would get the summons to be ready the next day. Punctually at noon, the car would arrive and Sam would go through the regular ritual of being driven to his unknown destination, entering the antechamber as he mentally dubbed it, and blindfolding himself.
Master always checked the blindfold himself, but Sam had no desire to see the strange man’s face. Their meetings were disturbing, with an edge of something that Sam couldn’t quite identify, but it unnerved him.
Usually Master fucked - no, that wasn’t the word for the way the man did it - made love to him, taking his time, long and languid, needy and fulfilling. Sometimes he bound Sam’s wrists. Sometimes Sam knelt at Master’s feet, sucking him off, before being rewarded with a blowjob that nearly shattered him.
Twice, Master hurt him. Love and tenderness were replaced with rage and pain, as Master wielded a whip and Sam begged for mercy. When Master finally took Sam, it was hard and fast and painful. Sam could feel Master’s tears dripping on his back as he pounded into him.
Hunt came to visit the next day, carefully keeping his face blank as Sam limped across the room. He brought painkillers and he asked how Sam was, telling him that Master had paid for him to have the rest of the week off. He looked as if he wanted to ask questions, but clearly thought the better of it. Nonetheless, Sukey or Jack dropped in every day to check on him and do anything he needed.
Sam wondered about this but despite the pain, he found himself anticipating Master’s next summons.
When he arrived and had been stripped, Master had placed a collar around his neck and a cushion on the floor, and gently pushed Sam down to sit on it. He’d pulled up a chair for himself and urged Sam to rest his head against him. Master sat there for hours, stroking Sam’s hair at intervals. Rustling papers indicated that he was reading, and when some papers fell on Sam, Master laughed.
“Too much work, Sam,” he said. “But I couldn’t miss my time with you.”
He’d fetched food and fed Sam with his own hands, scraps of meat and bread as if Sam was a dog. After, he pulled Sam into his lap and caressed him, running his hands over Sam’s torso, stroking his thighs as he pushed his legs further apart, tugging on Sam’s cock, bringing him to a sudden climax.
Sam wondered if they had an audience. He never heard a sound from any voyeurs, but Master seemed to spend most of his time arranging Sam for an invisible audience.
The next time Master hurt him, he knew what it was that he had seen in Hunt’s eyes. Phyllis herself came around, gruffly checking on his well-being, repeating what Hunt had said before. When she left, Sam had an epiphany.
They were scared. Whoever Master was, Phyllis and Hunt were frightened of him. And Phyllis’s expression had held something else. She’d looked scared of Sam himself.
Things got more confusing. On their regular date, Ben had shown up with a blissful expression on his face. Something good had happened, something amazing. A dream contract right here in Manchester with an eccentric investor who knew of Ben but refused to meet him.
Ben extended their time together, wanting to tell Sam about his fantastic luck, insisting on taking him out, cheerfully agreeing to a curry; so full of his happiness that, after Sam had delivered his customary blowjob, he dropped to his knees and returned the favour.
Sam came, laughing, confused, overwhelmed by Ben’s enthusiasm. Work apart, he liked Ben, who was the sort of man he’d have enjoyed being friends with in different circumstances. He was genuinely pleased for him and spent one of the best evenings he’d ever had in his company.
A week later, he saw Master again. Master was very pleased with himself, and when Master was pleased, Sam was happy.
This time, he tied Sam’s wrists behind him and knelt him on the floor. Master pulled up a stool and urged Sam to suck his cock, running his fingers through Sam’s hair, crooning his name when he came.
Sam sat back on his knees afterwards while Master talked.
He loved this place. So interesting. So vibrant. The opportunities, the chances this place offered - it was a shame he was so busy elsewhere. All he could do here was some minor business.
But he’d found an interesting investment and an interesting man. Sam stiffened when Ben’s name was mentioned and Master laughed.
“No, you haven’t been indiscreet,” he said. “I know you know him.”
He knelt down beside Sam. “And I know he’s good to you in a world where few are, Sam.”
Gently, he pushed Sam forward until his forehead was resting on the cushioned stool.
He ran his hands down Sam’s back and parted his buttocks. “And it’s good to help someone who’s good to you,” he breathed. “Makes me feel like a different man.”
“Thank you, Master,” said Sam as Master entered him.
“Do you know what I like about you, Sam?” asked Master as he thrust inside him. “You’re like me. You’re quite insane in your own special way. But it’s different. You don’t want power, you don’t want fame, you don’t want destruction, you just want to be happy. Maybe I’ll take you with me someday, Sam. Maybe I can make you happy.”
“You do, Master,” gasped Sam, in the most sincere statement he’d ever made in his life.
“Thank you, Sam,” he replied. “I know you mean that. But it’s not enough.”
Ten minutes later, both Sam and Master were dripping with sweat. Sam was reaching towards his climax, verbally urged on by Master, when he heard a strange noise. Master stiffened immediately and pulled out of Sam with no regard for his comfort.
Sam almost howled, turning his face sideways, resting his cheek on the rough tapestry of the stool. He stilled, his cock aching and dripping, listening for a sound - any sound - from Master. But there was nothing. It was as if he was alone in the room.
He knelt there, blindfolded, his hands still bound, for yet another age, only twitching when the door burst open.
“Stay down!” yelled an American voice and he could feel a body circling him.
He obeyed the voice. There was nothing else to do.
“Martha?” asked the voice, and a hand ripped off his blindfold.
“Sit back. Slowly,” the voice ordered, and with his eyes still closed, Sam pulled himself back on his knees.
“Doctor?” a woman’s voice called. “We’ve got him.”
“Open your eyes,” ordered the American, and Sam blinked as he obeyed.
A tall man, dressed in clothes from an old war movie, stood in front of him, pointing a gun directly at Sam’s head.
“Someone get to you before we did, Saxon?” he asked. “This is an interesting look for you.”
The grin on the man’s face made it clear just how interesting he was finding it.
“If only we’d known,” he continued. “I could have…”
“Stop it!” a tired voice ordered. Sam looked to his left and saw a lean, dark man come in with a young black woman at his side. The man was dressed in a way that fitted in with the era, but also reminded Sam fondly of his own time. The woman, however… Her outfit was far more like Sam remembered. In fact, he was pretty sure Maya had owned a copy of that jacket.
“It’s not him, Jack,” said the man. “He’s human.”
“Chameleon Arch again, Doctor?” asked the girl, who Sam presumed was the aforementioned Martha.
He shook his head. “He wouldn’t be able to get to one. And I know the Master, he wouldn’t do that again. Not after last time. That’s not him.”
Jack lowered his gun. “So who’s this? Certainly looks like..”
“I don’t know, why don’t you ask him?” the other man snapped.
Jack grinned and sat down on the stool. “Captain Jack Harkness,” he said, holding out a hand.
Sam just looked at him.
“Oh,” grinned Jack. “I forgot.”
“Stop it,” said the man again, the one Martha had called Doctor.
“Well, how could I resist?” asked Jack, leaning forward to untie Sam’s arms.
Sam flinched away and Jack pulled back instantly.
“See?” said the Doctor. Jack looked over at him and nodded.
He stood up and knelt behind Sam, finally, thankfully loosening the ties at his wrists. Sam stretched his arms painfully, pulling them around.
“What’s your name?” asked the Doctor, never taking his eyes off Sam.
“Sam,” he said. “Sam Tyler.”
He realised all three were looking at him intently, and then Martha came forward with his clothes.
“Here,” she said. “You probably want to get dressed.”
Sam nodded.
When he had finished dressing, he took time to look around the room. It was clearly an unconverted factory room with a huge bed at one end. There wasn’t much more furniture - a couple of tables, an armchair and the stool. But he finally understood why he thought he’d had an audience. The walls were covered with mirrors. He looked up. There was even a huge mirror over the bed.
“Where did he go, Sam?” asked Jack. “The man who was here. The man who…”
The Doctor cut him off abruptly. “You never saw him, did you?” he asked. “Did he tell you his name?”
Martha seemed a lot more practical.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “Do you need any help?”
Sam looked at the three of them helplessly, so confident, so determined for information, so clearly not the sort of people who’d use violence to get it.
“I don’t know where he went,” he said honestly. “And I don’t know his name. He told me to call him Master the first time.” There was a sigh from the other three. “And I don’t know what he looks like. It’s a different arrangement. And thank you,” he turned to Martha. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t feel fine, but he wanted to get rid of them, find out what had happened. Hunt or Phyllis might know something, and sod the consequences of curiosity, he had to at least ask.
“So you’ve been with him before?” asked Jack.
Sam nodded. “Quite a few times. He started the arrangement about four months ago.”
In his peripheral vision, he could see Martha mouthing “arrangement?” at Jack and Jack’s responding wink.
The Doctor glared at Jack and muttered: “You can talk, you’re just as bad,” which seemed to dampen the American a bit.
“Sam,” the Doctor had turned back to him. “May I?” He stepped forward swiftly and placed a hand on Sam’s forehead. This time Sam didn’t flinch.
“Oh,” said the Doctor. “Another one who can’t go home. You really are in the wrong place at the wrong time, aren’t you, Sam Tyler? Maybe it’s something to do with the name.”
“Doctor?” asked Martha, concern in her voice.
The Doctor stepped back. “There’s nothing more for us here. Wherever he is now, the Master isn’t in 1974. Let’s go.”
They all turned, Jack winking at Sam, and were halfway out the door when Sam’s brain caught up with what the Doctor had said.
“Wait!” he yelled, running after them. “What do you mean, not in 1974? Are you?” He looked at Martha. “You don’t see outfits like that on the street, not now. Where, no, when are you from?”
There was a pause and both Martha and Jack looked at the Doctor.
“Oh, I don’t care,” said Sam. “But do you happen to know 2006? Nice place, iPods, mobile phones, where they actually do something about corrupt police?”
“We, uh, just travel with the Doctor,” said Martha, backing away.
Sam turned to the Doctor. “So, have you got a time machine?” He laughed and threw his hands up in the air. “A time machine? Can I have a ride? Get back home?”
The Doctor stopped him with a firm grip on his shoulder.
“You can’t, Sam,” said the Doctor gently. “There’s no way back for you. I’m sorry.”
He turned to leave, gesturing to Martha to precede him.
Jack turned to follow, but stopped and held out his hand to Sam, who shook it numbly. “But I think I can guarantee that you won’t have to see the Master again,” he said cheerfully. “Which is good news, isn’t it?”
He turned to follow Martha and the Doctor, and missed the shattered expression that crossed Sam’s face.