01. centuries (piano/cello cover) - brooklyn duo [come on, come on and let me in // the bruises on your thighs like my fingerprints]
02. tainted love - hannah peel [you think love is to pray // but i'm sorry i don't pray that way]
03. madness - muse [i tried so hard to let you go // but some kind of madness is keeping me afloat]
04. 505 - arctic monkeys [i'd probably still adore you with your hands around my neck // or i did last time i checked]
05. power and control - marina & the diamonds [women and men we are the same // but love will always be a game]
06. remain nameless - florence & the machine [you can call us what you want // you can call me anything you want]
07. goodbye kiss (kasabian cover) - lana del rey [rock and roll sent us insane // i hope someday that we will meet again]
08. every other freckle - alt-j [you're the first and last of your kind // i wanna be every lever you pull // and the showers that shower you]
09. go - delilah [take my breath away // whispering your name// tie me up in chains // no one puts it down like me]
10. crazy in love - l'orchestra cinematique [got me hoping you'll page me right now // and your kiss got me hoping you'll save me right now]
11. poison - gin wigmore [when you kill me with the poison of an evil you hold // you feel so good to swallow]
12. girls girls girls - maria doyle kennedy [because i take full advantage of every man i meet // and i get away almost every day // ...with what the girls call murder]
"The only reason I chained you up is to show you how much I love you!" ~_^
Memories are rubbish things. The ones you like are never clear enough, and the ones you hate are stuck with you forever.
Missy's like one huge, bad memory in humanoid form. The Doctor might joke about it, but, truly, she's the reason why he drinks. Or has started to. And Irish whiskey has quickly become one of his dearest friends. Vodka is a little too strong, though.
She likes red wine the best. She can't stand white and he asked her why.
"It's not sweet or dark enough. Red's a prettier colour."
"Why?"
"It's more realistic."
He has conversations like that with her before she goes to bed or he does or they both do. It's counterproductive, because he wants to get rid of her so badly, but he can't stop enjoying her physicality. And he's tried.
Once, because he wanted to get rid of her so much it clawed at his insides, he dropped something special in her drink and left her in the library, figure limp across the sofa and dregs of her wine spilled over the carpet below. He went to bed alone for once, but he tossed and turned and it yanked and tore at him even further.
He could only sleep when he exhausted himself with his own fingers, imitating her touch. It made him feel even worse, but at least he was tired enough afterwards to sleep.
Meals are always awkward. He'll drop the plates on the table, push one towards her, and pick at whatever he made for twenty minutes or so.
"We didn't go out today."
"I know."
"You promised."
"I said 'soon'."
"I've waited long enough, dear."
"You don't deserve to make commands or have them filled out."
"Says who?"
"Says the one who allowed you to live."
"I'm not living."
"You're surviving, yes. Which is more than you deserve."
That leads to conversations fitting into the bad memories category. She'll go find him in the console room where he messes about with the console and pretends he's busy and knows what he's doing.
"You know I love you. . ."
"No, you don't. Not the right way."
"But I do love you. That's enough, isn't it? Yeah? Even if it's not the way your selfish arse wants, it's love and you should be grateful. You should be lucky."
"Why? Lucky that you're obsessing over my hearts and my mind and my cock?"
"Don't be crude, hon. It is love. You're always so mean to me, and you are lucky I love you. If I didn't, I'd want to kill you."
"Don't you already?"
"No, not so much anymore. It'd be boring now. Why don't you love me back, though? I love you so much that I forgive you for everything you do."
"You've got the blood of millions on your hands and I've forgiven you enough to allow you to stay aboard my ship. Be grateful for that."
"You've got the blood of thousands, including my own."
". . . and?"
"And the fact you don't appreciate my love now makes me feel awfully sad. . ."
"Go be sad somewhere else."
"Fine."
And then she seemingly forgets she's feeling sad a few hours later because she'll climb into his lap, press a hot, damp, open-mouthed kiss to his neck, and whisper that she missed him that day.
"You've -- ah -- seen me all day," he says, eyes fluttering closed as she kisses down the length of his neck, undoing his shirt buttons with every press of her lips.
"Not the way I like," she murmurs, flicking open the button of his trousers. "All flushed skin, forgetting who you are. That's the way I like you."
She kisses him full on the lips and pushes her fingers past the waistband of his pants, and he grips a handful of her hair as he gets drunker and drunker on her by the second.
Sometimes he has to try even harder to distract himself. So he indulges in playtime.
He mocks her tone of voice, "The only reason I chained you up is to show you how much I love you! Isn't that what you always say? I love you, I love you, I love you! And it makes everything all better, yeah?"
"But you don't love me, so it doesn't count." She sounds terse and taut and he has a horrible suspicion that she's close to crying.
"But you liked it, didn't you? You like it when I'm rough."
She didn't talk to him for hours and he couldn't stop looking at the bruises on her cheek and neck.
He does feel sad, now that he thinks about it.
She disappoints him, because, oh, how the mighty fall.
There had always been something so grotesquely alluring to the doctor about succumbing to that which would ultimately destroy him. This was one of them.
The pit of the doctor’s stomach was burning, aching for an addiction he should have never begun to feed. Perfectly manicured nails dug into soft flesh and he arched his back, his mind growing hazy as he sought oblivion, needing to forget, even for a moment, how damaging this had all become. The woman on top of him possessed something she should have never been able to get within reach of, and now that he had touched it, he felt himself falling further into the madness that this old friend had brought to him.
He tangled his fingers in a mess of brown hair, encouraging the woman on top of him to move her hand lower, a breathless plea on the tip of his tongue that his dignity would never allow him to voice. Even if he had though, it probably would have been ignored, as Missy was far too headstrong to ever be a true subordinate.
“Stop being so damn impatient.”
Missy’s fingers wrapped around the Doctor’s wrists before she pushed down with all her strength, effectively pinning him to the bed. There was a struggle of course, there always was, but like all the other times before this one it was brief; Missy was built better for this kind of dominance and it infuriated the doctor to no end. Even in bed they could never agree with one another, and once again, the doctor found himself asking why he even bothered in the first place. Self-torture, perhaps; he did seem to be uncannily good at it.
“Either fuck me or get out,” The Doctor snapped, humiliated to find he couldn’t move an inch beneath Missy’s weight. “I don’t have time for games.”
She scoffed in infuriated disbelief, looking down at the giant mistake they both insisted on making week after week. “God, do you ever shut up?” she asked, her grip tightening on the doctor’s wrists as she dug her fingernails into his flesh. The pain bordered on pleasure and the doctor squirmed beneath her, conflicted by the vast difference in sensations. It was that feeling that he found he desired the most.
The doctor’s retort beginning to slip past his lips, but as quick as it came it was gone, devoured by Missy’s tongue as she silenced him in the only way she knew how.
Their lovemaking was always tinged with violence, as it was the only truth they allowed themselves to see as they made their bed of lies. Missy never hesitated in marking him, a feeble attempt to mask her own shame of being owned. But it was the doctor who left scratches on her skin and bruises on her arms, his own desperate reminder that he hated the woman on top of him as he shamefully begged for Missy to make him come undone. They were such a disaster, the two of them together, and yet they devoured the pain they gave each other like a drug as they slipped a little further towards the edge.
The doctor felt himself slick with sweat and as he took a moment to find his breath, he leaned against the pillows. His heart was racing, every inch of his skin tingling with the aftermath of pleasure, and yet he felt sick to his stomach as he watched Missy pick herself up off the bed. The air around them began to grow thick as the reality of their situation was brought to light once more, and when Missy looked at him, the doctor felt like ripping his hearts from his chest just to save himself the misery of feeling this way again, because it was hard to rid himself of a feeling he couldn’t even begin to name.
“I think you should leave now,” he said, his voice loud enough to mask the weakness he felt inside.
Missy merely laughed, “oh dear, don’t be such a bore, I thought we’re just getting started.” Grinning like a Cheshire cat, she bent down to peck his cheek. ”Let me stay? I promise I’ll stay out of trouble.” she pleaded, fluttering her eyelashes.
