Title: Revenge Served Hot
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Ianto Jones/Tenth Doctor
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: rape
Table: 4
Prompt: 50, Vengeance
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the Tenth Doctor or Jack Harkness. Please do not sue.***
Cold.
Dark.
Where was he?
The Doctor still felt dazed from the blow to his head, the sensation of dizziness not having worn off yet. He had no idea where Ianto was, but he fervently hoped that the Welsh boy wasn't anywhere near at the moment. He had a feeling that this was definitely not a place that would be safe for his love to find himself in.
As for himself .... it seemed even less safe for him.
The blindfold was secure over his eyes, giving him no way to assess the situation, or even to get some kind of idea of where he was. All he could ascertain for sure was that he was bound, gagged, blindfolded and naked -- as well as being cold and extremely uncomfortable.
This didn't have the insignia of the Master, though, which was what worried the Doctor the most. What other enemy could he possibly have who would forcibly kidnap him with the obvious intent of some sort of physical torture? He couldn't think of any new ones he'd picked up anywhere -- though if he was honest with himself, he probably had enemies all over the galaxy.
Not exactly a comforting thought, that.
At least this didn't seem to involve Ianto. He would know it if his lover was near; their bond had strengthened over the past weeks, grown to the point where he could sense Ianto's presence if they were anywhere near each other. And he had a growing suspicion that somehow, against all reasoning, the Tardis was also beginning to bond with the young Welshman in the same way that it was bonded to him.
He'd known from the moment they met that Ianto was empathic, of course -- it wasn't something that could easily be hidden for one of his own mental capacity. But it had occurred to him that over the short space of time they'd spent together moving through time, Ianto's empathy had grown by leaps and bounds, with no clue as to what was causing that to happen.
If Ianto could sense him now, he could only hope that his young lover would stay away until he knew that the coast was clear. Of course, at that point, any number of things could have happened, the Doctor told himself, twisting his thin wrists helplessly in their bonds above his head. And none of them were overly appealing.
It was so cold. Whoever had taken him could have at least left him the modesty of a few clothes, the Doctor grumbled silently. He could feel goosebumps springing up all over his body, the trembling reaction starting to set in with a vengeance.
"Doctor."
The voice came from behind him, sending a prickle of fear down his spine. It wasn't a voice he had ever heard before; someone new to add to the long list of enemies? No, it couldn't be. They knew who he was, at any rate. Perhaps this was all some sort of joke, something to laugh about over a cup of tea.
"Do you remember the time I ...."
Wishful thinking, obviously. One didn't find oneself in the position he was in as the object of a not-very-funny jest.
"You don't remember me, do you, my beauty? I thought not." The voice was silky, satin over steel, the mailed fist encased in a velvet glove. "You will, soon enough."
A body behind him, an arm encircling his waist, fingers brushing between his legs, ghosting over his limp cock. A soft chuckle in his ear, warm breath on the back of his neck, making the short hairs there rise and tingle. Whoever this was, they were someone to beware of. There was menace in that voice, a barely-contained anger that could rise at any moment.
"I've waited a long time for this," the voice murmured into his ear, sharp teeth biting down on his sensitive earlobe. The Doctor winced, forcing himself to stand still. He wasn't going to give whoever this was the satisfaction of putting up a struggle so soon.
The hands were moving down his hips now, stroking over the curve of his ass, back up to rest at the small of his back before moving to the front of his body. One hand cupped his balls, the fingers of the other curling around his cock and starting to stroke.
"That pretty little eye candy of yours must not keep you very well-fucked." The insinuating whisper in his ear again, the words bringing a flush to the Doctor's cheeks. "You're hungry for it, aren't you? I know what you need, Doctor. What you want, even though you may not admit that even to yourself."
This time, he couldn't keep himself from shaking his head, a vociferous denial of those words. He was perfectly satisfied with his sex life, thank you, he wanted to protest. There wasn't a thing he would change about his relationship with Ianto.
Of course, it was hard to make those declarations when his mouth was filled with cloth.
"The two of you took what I wanted. What belonged to me." The voice was losing its silkiness, becoming rougher, angrier. The Doctor's muscles tensed, tightened, even as his body responded to the slow, steady stroking of his cock. "At different times, of course, under different circumstances. But still, you're both responsible for my loss."
Loss? As far as the Doctor knew, he'd never willfully taken something from this person. The voice wasn't recognizable; at least, not in the sensory-deprived state he was in at the moment. If only he had some sort of clue as to who this was ....
The Doctor squirmed uncomfortably as the hand continued to work at his now-erect cock, a soft gasp coming from behind his gag. Whoever it was, they were far too good at what they were doing; as much as he didn't want to be touched, his traitorous body leaned into the caress, his hips rocking forward with each delicious stroke of those cool fingers.
"You're wondering just who I am, no doubt." The voice had resumed its original silkiness, sounding almost friendly, conversational. The hand cupping his balls moved back, fingers idly playing around his entrance. The Doctor's muscles contracted, tensing, his breath hitching in his throat as he waited to see just what his assailant was going to do with those fingers.
"No, I don't think so." Now the voice sounded musing, thoughtful, as if the man behind him was contemplating his next actions. "I don't think you deserve the courtesy of being prepared. After all, I wasn't prepared to lose what you and your eye candy took from me."
What? the Doctor screamed inside his mind, his muscles tightening as he struggled helplessly against his bonds. What did I take? What in the bloody hell are you talking about? None of this made any sense. This person, whoever they were, must be a complete madman, his motives only making sense to himself.
"You took Jack from me." The voice was whispering into his ear again, the words falling like stones into his consciousness. "I could have had a lifetime to spend with him, trapped in that time loop. He could have been mine, mine forever. But no .... you dragged him away. You took him from me. You. And then your little eye candy kept him from returning to me."
The Doctor gasped again, the sound muffled by the cloth filling his mouth. Jack .... then this .... this was .... No. It couldn't be.
"Captain John Hart, at your service, Doctor." Those long, cool fingers were playing around his entrance again, teasing him. The Doctor couldn't stop his hips from pushing back, grinding his ass against those fingers.
"Such a little wanton, you are." Hart sounded pleased, as though the Doctor's involuntary actions confirmed something in his warped mind. "I was right. You're hungry for it, aren't you? Positively gagging to be fucked."
The Doctor shook his head, desperately trying to negate whatever impression his physical actions had made. No, he pleaded silently, muscles bunching and tightening as he pulled in vain against the ropes that held his wrists imprisoned above his head. Don't, please, don't. I did it to save Jack. Not because I was acting against you.
"You'll pay for what you've done, Doctor." Hart's voice was still silky, but now with an undertone of anger -- anger bordering on hatred. "Consider this a payback."
The stroking hand on his cock abruptly let go, the fingers playing around his opening disappeared. The Doctor's body tensed, waiting, anticipatory. Whatever was coming, he was certain that it wasn't going to be something he wanted. Judging from the tone of Hart's voice, it would almost inevitably involve pain.
He could feel the man behind him reaching for something, hear a soft susurrus of laughter, feel the brush of fabric against his skin as the Captain's arm snaked around his slender waist again, one hand settling between his legs, fingers brushing over his balls.
A minute click from behind him. An ominous sound.
Something large and blunt and .... cold pressing against his anus. Digging into him, pressing insistently forward past the tight ring of muscle, trying to force its way into him without benefit of lube or preparation. The Doctor had never wished more that his body wasn't so flexible, didn't return to a virgin-tight state after every sexual experience.
He tried to cry out, the sound muffled by his gag, reduced to a helpless whimper in the back of his throat. His back arched, hips pushing forward in an attempt to escape the intrusion. But that hand on his balls tightened, forcing him to be still, keeping him from moving away from the slow, inexorable invasion of his body.
It was metal. Cold, hard, unforgiving. The Doctor could feel the object pressing inside him, opening him, twisting and turning and rending until he was sure that he could feel blood trickling down his thighs.
The pain centered in his ass, curling around to his stomach, his thighs, spreading slowly over his entire body. There wasn't a cell or fiber of his being that didn't ache, no area of his consciousness that was spared.
"Don't move, Doctor." Hart's voice was still silky-smooth, punctuated now by sharp, ragged breaths. So he was aroused by what he was doing, was he? The Doctor would have wanted to laugh, if he hadn't been in so much pain that screaming seemed a more viable alternative. Hart was no better than some of the galactic "monsters" he'd dealt with, achieving his own satisfaction by seeing the pain of others, causing harm to innocents.
"Don't move," he said again, his mouth pressed against the Doctor's ear. "Don't even breathe. Not if you value your body -- and your life. This could go off at any moment, you know. I've always been known to have a hair trigger."
It dawned on the Doctor with a sickening, crushing realization just what Hart was pushing into him. A gun. A bloody gun. This .... this creature was raping him with a gun, probably with his finger on the trigger at this very moment. As if in answer to his thoughts, the metal twisted again, pushing deeper into him, bringing a muffled scream of agony to the Time Lord's lips.
Hart laughed into his ear, a cruel, twisting sound that matched the twisting movement of the metal buried in his ass. "It hurts, doesn't it, Doctor? But I'm sure that it doesn't hurt nearly as much as how I hurt when you stole Jack from me."
The gun worked deeper into his ass, eliciting another gurgling, muffled scream from the helpless Time Lord. "It won't stop, Doctor," Hart whispered, pushing the metal forward and twisting it cruelly inside his bound and gagged captive. "Not until you faint from the pain. Not until I'm satisfied that you've suffered enough .... for now."
The Doctor tried to regulate his breathing, tried to distance himself from the pain spreading through every area of his body. It had to stop sometime .... Hart couldn't keep this up forever, could he? At the moment, the Doctor wasn't so sure of that. The tearing sensation seemed to go on forever, the pain searing through him until he was sure that his body would give out, simply collapse bonelessly against the restraints and sink into blackness.
That blackness was overtaking him, threatening to swamp his consciousness, seeping into the edges of his mind. The gun twisted again, pulling back, then pushing deeper inside him until he was sure that it was pushed further into his ass than anything had ever been before. He felt opened, exposed, torn into thousands of tiny, indefinable shards of being.
"Come for me, Doctor." Hart's other hand was on his cock again, clasping the throbbing shaft in his fingers, the calloused edge of his thumb rubbing against the tender, swollen tip. "Come for me now. Come for me the way you come for your Ianto .... the way you came for Jack."
The gun thrust against his prostate again, twisting, tearing, insistent. With a strangled cry, the Doctor obeyed his captor's command, his body convulsing with the force of his orgasm, his muscles spasming around the gun barrel still buried inside him.
As suddenly as the metal had entered him, it was gone, the abrupt cessation of sensation wringing another cry from the Time Lord. Hart's fingers replaced it a few seconds later, probing at his abused hole, the prodding almost as painful as the initial intrusion had been. He could feel something trickling down his thighs; probably blood. It had to be his own blood.
"I'll tell your eye candy where to find you, Doctor." The words were whispered into his ear again, the voice once against almost conversational. "And Jack. I think they should both find ou here, in this condition. Your thighs covered in blood and your stomach covered in your own semen. A fit state for them to see you in, hmmm?"
He twined his fingers through the Doctor's tawny hair, pulling the Gallifreyan's head back and pressing hot lips against the pulse at the base of his throat. "We'll meet again, Doctor. I can assure you of that. I'm not done with you yet. Oh no. Far from it. Consider that a promise, not a threat. This is my vengeance, Doctor. And I've not taken nearly enough of it yet."
And with that, he was gone. The Doctor turned his head from side to side, trying in vain to loosen the blindfold enough to at least sense which direction Hart had left in. But the deprivation of his sight was complete; there was no way he could get even the slightest indication of where his tormentor had gone. No way to tell Ianto and Jack, when they arrived, where Hart could possibly be hiding.
He sagged against the bonds, his body going limp. It was over -- at least for the time being. There was nothing for it but to wait, wait for Ianto and Jack to find him, hope that they wouldn't be too shocked by the humiliating state he was in.
Tears rose up in his throat, a sense of utter hopelessness at the memory of Hart's words. Another enemy. Another reason to watch his back. Another reason to flee as best he could through space and time, never being able to relax for fear of being found.
And Ianto was drawn into this, as well. How could he protect Ianto if he couldn't protect himself?
He shuddered as Hart's last words sank into his consciousness, branding themselves there as if they would never disappear. The old cliché about revenge was a lie, he thought to himself, bitterness rising up in his throat to choke him. In this case, revenge was a dish served blisteringly white-hot.***
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