Only during the quietest hours of the night did the Doctor find himself wandering the halls. There was no real time on the TARDIS but the systems cycled through their functions, powering down in regular intervals that were fairly similar to day and night. It was during these cycles that he found himself wandering, pulled from reading in the library or tinkering in the Console Room by some unseen but powerful force. As though in a hazy dream, he’d float down the halls, never taking the same path twice but always ending up in the same place: the Cloister Room.

Since his experiences in San Francisco at the end of the 20th Century, the Doctor had consciously avoided entering the Cloister Room during his wakeful periods. He found multiple reasons to resist approaching the Eye of Harmony or even thinking about the horrors that it contained within. In the twilight between sleeping and wakefulness, however, the lull of need emanating from that room was too strong for even him to resist.

Stepping onto the stone covered floor, the Doctor halted his forward progression, simply standing and experiencing the tranquility of the room. The cloisters rose above him, arching in perfect masonry around him, entwined in ivy and green life. The center of the room housed the closed pit that dove into the heart of the TARDIS: a metal cover sealing in someone who should never have been released on the universe in the first place. Yet even as he stood there, the Doctor knew that sealing a foul being like the Master into the soul of the TARDIS had been foolish at best. It was a dangerous arrangement and one that could not possibly hold forever.

Approaching at last, the Doctor put a hand out, touching the smooth metal seal. His eyes closed, tracing his fingertips over the warm metal, anticipating the change. It was always subtle at first; the TARDIS responding to his, their, buried desires. His palm skirted across the engraved marks that made up the Seal of Rassilon before finally contacting skin and cloth and hair.

Gasping tightly, the Doctor’s hand tightened on the fabric in his hand, pulling taut. He didn’t dare risk opening his eyes but instead leaned forward until his brow pressed against the soft fabric that stretched over another man’s chest. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know the color of the fabric, or who wore it: the smell and feel of him was enough.

There were no words, just touches. The grip the Doctor had on the fabric loosened as another hand gripped his wrist, twisting it until it fell away. Just as the action was about to become painful, it ceased and then there were lips on his lips, a tongue against his tongue, and hot, sweet breath flowing from him to the other man. There was heat when there should have only been cold, skin when there should have only been metal, and a deep passion between them when there should have only been hatred.

The Doctor rode the waves of euphoria that threaten to overtake him, trusting in the moment and himself and the TARDIS and the man who held him so possessive but gentle. His gasps were answered by another man’s breath. His hands brushed through short hair and another man’s warm fingers pulled through his own long locks, returning the action. Each motion he gave he received tenfold in return, until the pleasure and tightness in his hearts was too much.

Throwing his head back he released a final cry, letting his eyes fly open to land a piercing blue stare up at the ceiling. The wave crashed strong and hard through him and he clung, desperately, to the man beneath him, but knew, even then, that he was alone.

Wiping furiously at his face when it was all over, the Doctor lowered his gaze to the seal. His palm was stretched desperately over the cool metal, fingernails splintered at the ends from their attempts to claw the seal open. Pushing himself away from the unyielding stone and metal, he grabbed his clothing, hurriedly redressing despite their disarray. His hearts shuttered continually from the encounter, but he once again denied that it happened; that it even could happen.

Yet even as he briskly walked away from the Cloister Room, his heels clicking on the lonesome corridor floor, he knew deep inside that it was real; that he could never escape the Master.

Some part of him knew he didn’t even want to and that was why it happened at all.