How We Break

Unlike the rest of what the Doctor had seen of the asteroid, the cells where he had been drug and tossed were easily cut and planted in the rock with at least some expertise. Eventually a solid blow to the head took his consciousness long enough for the man to pull the child form the Doctor’s limp arms and toss him aside. The Doctor lunged for the boy but was punched again. His body was hauled and dragged with a strong punch to the head a few more times to keep him cooperative. They hadn’t bothered to restrain him in any way, just deposited him in the corner with lights in his eyes and a headache he was only beginning to grasp.

The door clanked and echoed as it slammed close. He scrunched his face as the reverberations tunneled through his skull. He didn’t think he’d ever been hit around the head so many times. Vision faded in and out as he tried to stand, but he had no balance. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back into the corner in an attempt to stabilize himself but instead simply passed out.

The next thing he knew was the clanging of the bars again. Opening his eyes, the Doctor lowered his head down into his hands with a groan, but feeling through his hair, the fractures in his skull were a lot less severe. Silently he thanked his accelerated healing. Stiffness in his neck made moving more painful than strictly necessary as he tried to stretch himself, but all thoughts of his own body were wiped from thought. In the opened door to the cell stood the cleaner man, but the Doctor was looking behind him. Skinny, tiny, naked legs were visible, covered in scrapes and dirt.

“You are going to be so easy it’s almost not fun,” the man said, “You will strip.”

“What?”

“Strip. I would like your clothes, and it will be easier with you naked.”

The Doctor didn’t move. He was too stunned to even process the words. In his silence, the man moved the child from behind him around front, stooping to place enormous hands on shrunken shoulders. It was the tiny girl who had wrapped herself around the Doctor’s middle. She was clothed in only a loose wrap of material. The Doctor mouthed what again, but stopped himself short of speaking. Instead he held his hand out. She tried to take a step to him, but the fingers dug into her shoulders and upper arms.

“Doctor, that is what you call yourself, correct…? Now, Doctor, I believe you should do what I have already requested.”

Slowly the Doctor raised his eyes to the man’s face, now understanding the threat.

“Yes,” the Doctor breathed, peeling his tweed jacket from his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor of the cell, “Okay, just give her to me.”

He gradually stood, fighting the wobbling dizzy that tried to topple him. Closing his eyes and swallowing the nausea, he tugged off his bow tie and let that too fall to the floor as well. Completely vertical now, he continued stripping himself of his own clothing, losing the suspenders, dress shirt, and pants. A flicker of embarrassed shame flitted through him as he pulled down his underwear, but he didn’t let it show. He crouched, inviting back his dizziness, to unlace his boots and stood again, doing his best to keep steady, and kicked them and his pants off.

“Okay,” he said again, his hands out as if to show he had no weapons, “Okay?”

The man let go of the girl. Dropping to his knees, the Doctor opened his arms, and she ran to him like before, this time putting her frail arms around his neck. The Doctor snatched up his white collared shirt and wrapped it around her like a blanket, holding her against him.

“Let her stay with me,” said the Doctor, remembering what the man had said about children not lasting long, about there being no more girls, “Anything, just let her be in here with me.”

The man smirked as he casually stepped into the cell, saying, “In here? You want her with you?” He laughed and gestured around them, “Gather the clothes. I need them.”

The Doctor scrambled to do as he was told, making sure to carefully shake loose the sonic, and the girl didn’t let go. She wasn’t hanging on as tightly to him as she had on the surface, but her arms did not move. He held them out to the man, who took the bundle and reached down to curl his fingers around the collar of the white shirt and roughly tug it free. The girl gasped, and the Doctor held her against him. He watched the man leave, failing to close the bar gates. The Doctor steeled himself to run and fight, but no sooner had the thought occurred to him than the man returned, a second man appearing out of nowhere to close the door and lock them in. He must have just gone a couple feet and turned back around. With sure steps and empty arms, he approached and knelt where the Doctor and the little girl sat entangled. The man reached out and touched the Doctor’s cheek with a smile. He leaned forward and kissed his lips, a shallow kiss between malevolent smiles. The man did it again, but instead of pulling back he whispered, his breath brushing over the Doctor’s lips.

“I think you should send her to the corner. I have had my fill of children; I just want you. Is that a deal?”

“You…” said the Doctor with a rattled breath, “You won’t touch her?”

“If you cooperate with me, no. She can just watch.”

The man smiled again. He latched his hands onto the shoulders of the little girl and ripped her away, shoving her over to the side where she landed with a whimper. It was the first noise the Doctor had heard from her. The man reached for her, for what purpose it wasn’t clear, but the Doctor grabbed the other man’s wrist tight enough to bruise and brought it around to himself. The man seemed surprised by his strength. He chuckled and stood.

“Stand.”

The Doctor obeyed. Gently, almost lovingly, the man’s fingers traced down the Doctor’s neck and over his chest. The hands flattened and smoothed over his sides and hips.

“Unmarked and pale and clean. You even smell wonderful.”

The man leaned forward and trailed the tip of his nose over the Doctor’s ear, hands still braced on his naked hips. The Doctor leaned away, frowning, as if he still didn’t understand what was going on.

“I thought you were going to cooperate.”

The man looked down at the ratty girl who still lie cowering on the floor of the cell, but before any move could be made, the Doctor grabbed the man’s chin, turned him back around, and kissed him. It was desperate for an entirely different reason, like the Doctor was somehow screaming “Look at me! Pay attention to me!” At first the man was immoveable, but in only a couple seconds he was dominating the Doctor’s mouth, messily and slobbery, and the Doctor found it difficult to keep up. The man backed him up against the wall, pressing their bodies together. Hands traveled the Doctor’s torso, greedily looking for anything they could reach. Finally the man broke for air but smoothed his lips along the Doctor’s neck.

“Is that what you want?” asked the Doctor, swallowing hard, trying to keep his breath, “You want me to have sex with you? That will keep her safe?”

Without a response, teeth dug deep into the Doctor’s flesh until it popped open and spilled blood. He cringed at the pain. The man spread it with his tongue all the way up to the Doctor’s ear and down to his collar bone. Both hands travelled his body and roughly grabbed his ass, lifting him onto the balls of his feet and crushing his crotch against the man. Fingers pulled and walked along him until one extended enough to touch his hole. More joined, poking and stroking. The Doctor cringed and instinctively went to shove the man but caught himself last second, curling his fingers in and forcing his hands to flatten against the wall behind him. He tilted his head back against the stone and squeezed his eyes shut.

One of the hands slid down the back of his thigh, latched behind his knee, and pulled his leg up to hold it around the body on him. A sharp burn made him gasp and fight to not resist. The finger pulled out of him and pushed back in to the first knuckle. He hissed but picked his head up and opened his eyes.

She was watching him, the little girl, from her place on the floor. He didn’t know what to do for her. He pulled his hand slowly from the wall and, looking her in the eyes, pointed to his sonic on the floor in the middle of the room a few feet from her. She didn’t show any signs of acknowledgement. He tried to point better, to draw his finger form her to the sonic, but his arm moved with the constant rocking of his body as a finger moved in and out of him.

He cried out and gripped the man’s shoulder as a second finger dryly shoved into him. Moisture rimmed his eyes. He swallowed, trying to not make any more noise, lifted his hand from the man’s shoulder, and jabbed his finger as best he could at the sonic. Her eyes shifted, and then she saw something on the floor. She looked at him for instruction, but the man used both fingers to leverage the Doctor open, and the Doctor gasped, slamming his hands down on the man’s shoulders and managing to only hold on rather than attempt to flee. Teeth latched onto one of his nipples, and the fingers started in on him with rough thrusts that nearly knocked him off his feet.

Through the haze of pain, the Doctor knew he had to keep his sonic with them if they were to ever get out. He put his hand on the back of the man’s head and scrubbed his fingers through the brittle hair, hoping it was encouraging. By the blood he could feel dripping over his ribs, he guessed he was right.

With furious gestures, he tried to get the girl to grab his sonic. After several tries and the man switching nipples, she crawled towards the device and picked it up. It seemed enormous in her tiny hand. He told her to go back up against the wall out of the way, and she listened, holding it with both hands. The Doctor tried to control his breathing. He didn’t know any other way to communicate with her, but he so didn’t want to. One breath, two—nope. One, two. The Doctor pointed to her, dropped his hand to the man’s waist line, and slid it under his shirt. He pressed his hand flat against the man’s skin and ran it up his back. The man growled and ground himself into the Doctor’s soft body. He moved his mouth from a bloody nipple to the clean side of the Doctor’s neck, lips smearing red over the cream of the Doctor’s skin.

The Doctor shuddered and yanked his hand out. He opened his eyes and saw the girl still staring at him, her eyes now wide. Swallowing was difficult with the man on his throat. He tried breathing through his nose to keep his breath slower. Once again, he pointed to the sonic, then the girl, and slid his hand under the man’s shirt.

A third finger forced its way into him, and he clenched his jaw to muffle the yell.

“Okay,” the Doctor gasped, pulling his hand free and holding the man’s shoulders, “Okay, please, just—do you have anything… slippery?”

The fingers disappeared, and for a minute hope trickled through him. The index fingers of both hands pushed in down to the knuckles. Stretched out as he was, the friction still burned. The fingers worked in deeper and spread, pulling him apart. The Doctor grunted and then screamed. His opening ripped, and more fingers joined.

“Blood,” grunted the man, smirking against the Doctor’s ear, “That’s slippery, right?”

He stepped back and opened his pants, dropping them. The Doctor sagged against the wall, gritting his teeth against the pain radiating through him. The man stepped aside and kicked his pants away. Alarm shot through the Doctor. He looked up, but his sonic was nowhere to be seen, her arms wrapped around her chest, knees pulled up and pressed against her. A breath shuddered out of him in relief, but it was short lived.

His bicep was grabbed, and the man turned him around, crushing him face first into the wall. The Doctor grunted as air fled his lungs. His body went limp for less than a second as his head collided with the stone, but he caught himself. The man kicked his ankles apart, cracking one, and hooked his finger in the Doctor’s entrance, yanking and pulling at him. With a moan of pain and a hiss, the remnants of a dismantled scream, the Doctor pressed his palms and forehead against the stone. He knew what was coming, knew what to expect, but he had never felt so panicked. It was barely containable. In truth, he might have been able to fight his way out and back to the ship, but she would be hurt in the process, or killed, or worse than both of those options, so he had to take it. He had to not pull away or cringe or ask him to stop, just allow it. Pain was fine; he’d get over it, but this was new.

He felt the man’s body press up against him, teeth and nails in the backs of his shoulders. The hands moved down his sides, caressing them gently until they felt the bone outline of hips. They reached further until the tips of fingers pressed into the soft flesh of the Doctor’s length. It was stroked carefully at first and then more roughly. Behind the pain, the Doctor could feel the hot erection rutting against the space between his legs. The man moaned and groaned into the back of the Doctor’s neck.

“So soft, so delicate,” the man mumbled, “Gorgeous. Taste so good. Feel me? Feel it?”

The Doctor screwed his face up in disgust but said nothing. A rock of the man’s hips went out too far; his dick vanished for a brief second, and then the Doctor’s world exploded in pain. It burned and seared, sharp shocks from raw rips and tears. He felt like he was being skinned in the most delicate of places. The man embedded his dick as far in him as possible, grip on the Doctor’s hips forcing him back. The man moaned with pleasure, nuzzling his lover’s hair. It was only then in the silence, the Doctor realized he had screamed.

“So perfectly smooth… inside…. I’m inside you. Feel it?”

When the Doctor said nothing, just clammed himself up, the man withdrew to the tip and slammed into him, forcing out shriek.

“Feel it?”

“Yes!” the Doctor yelled, tears falling from one eye, “Yes, yes.”

A throaty chuckle answered him. The man pulled out and pushed back in, then again and again. The Doctor bit his lip until it bled, trying to suppress his cries. It was a satisfaction he wouldn’t give. He wouldn’t act like he enjoyed it, and he wouldn’t let the man know how much he was hurting. Occasionally the head would hit that tiny part of the organ high in him, and a burst of pleasure would rush through him to be crushed in seconds. The object forcing its way through his body felt far larger than he knew it actually was. It was ripping him apart. Blood trickled down his thighs, more with every thrust. By thirty minutes, the Doctor floated in a haze of physical torment.

~

“You be good,” said the man, crouched down by the little girl.

He reached out and patted her head, his fingers coated in dry red and pink.

“Don’t touch her.”

The man looked over at the crumpled, naked heap that was the Doctor and smiled. He stood and paced over, lowered himself down a knee, and extended his hand.

He brushed away the moisture trailed on the Doctor’s face, and said with a grin, “You tighten up for me, and I’ll be back…. You’re so soft….”

The man stood and casually walked away, buttoning his pants and making sure to close and lock up the cell. As the clang of the bars faded and the footsteps died, the Doctor breathed so harshly it sounded like a sob.

“Okay,” he said, his voice higher than usual, pushing himself onto his back without moving his legs the tiniest bit, “Okay.”

A tear broke away and fell down over his ear. He violently scrubbed it away. Running was not an option. Sitting wasn’t even an option. He needed to heal if they were going anywhere. As careful as he could he heaved himself on to his elbows and hissed at the pain in his lower abdomen. His intention had been to speak to the child, but he caught sight of himself, and words died on his lips.

If he were human, his right nipple would probably not heal properly. The buds were surrounded by pock marks that oozed drops. His skin was indeed pale but perhaps never as pale as it was streaked and printed with blood, dark and dry now. Bruises littered his hips and legs, and between his thighs was more red, but this wasn’t smeared or spattered. It had dripped and leaked from his body.

He sucked in a breath and fell back to the floor, covering his face. Suddenly breathing hurt and then wasn’t possible. No, no, no. No more. It had to stop. Tears ran and a squeak escaped him as he tried force his chest to expand.

The child, the little girl who was sitting, watching. She had seen it all. He gulped down a breath, and his chest unfroze. Several ragged breaths later, he wiped his face again and turned his head, eyes in search of her.

Curled up, she was closer than he would have liked, pressed against the wall. Her eyes were huge and fixed on him like lamps. He didn’t attempt to sit up again. Instead, he did his best to hold his hand out to her from the horizontal position lying on the floor.

“Please come here,” he said, his voice hoarse, “I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

She blinked but didn’t seem to need too much persuasion. Carefully he watched her rise, one arm held tightly across her chest, the other using the wall to help her stand. She placed one small, bare foot after another and made her way to him. He patted the floor with his other hand, wanting her between him and the wall and not the first thing accessible to anyone who entered the cell.

“Wake me up if anyone comes in,” he told her, “Here, lay on my shoulder. I have to heal, then I’ll get you safe. Sound like a plan?”

She did as he said and snuggled down in the circle of his arm, head on his shoulder. He closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose as a particularly sharp pain shot through him. When he opened them, he started somewhat. An inch from his nose was the metal middle of his sonic screwdriver. He wrapped his hand around it and set the end on his face, sending a prayer of thanks to whoever or whatever might have been listening.

He held his hand back out to her and said, “You keep this hidden for me, okay? There isn’t anywhere in here for me to hide it. Can you do that?”

She didn’t answer but took it and pushed it back up under her pitiful excuse for clothes.

“I’ll get you somewhere safe…. I’ll find you a home.”

Still mumbling to her, he allowed himself to be taken blissfully into unconsciousness.

~

At first he was sure his aching body had been the culprit in waking him up. Lower in his abdomen was a throb that he appreciated noticing wasn’t as sharp as it had been. Something cold trickled over his side, and he scrubbed the residue of an intense sleep out of his eyes. He blinked to make sure it was gone and found the little girl staring down at him with wide eyes. Awkwardly lifting his head to look over his chest, a rag was in her hand. She was attempting to wipe away dried blood. Beside him was a pale of apparently cold water.

“Here,” he said hoarsely, pulling the cloth from her fingers, “You don’t need to do that. I can get it…. Where did you get this stuff?”

She just gazed at him.

“You were supposed to wake me up if anyone came in…. What is your name?”

As he scraped the rag over his skin far rougher than she had been doing, he hoped to get her to talk. It would hopefully distract them both from this unpleasantness, but again, he got no reply.

“I bet you have a really pretty name,” he said, gritting his teeth as he cleaned his more damaged nipple.

“Is there a name you would like me to call you, any name you want,” he added, dipping the rag in the water and moving it between his legs.

He hissed out the sting, but he when moved his leg aside to reach better, the stabbing momentarily froze him as he tried not to groan or yell. Focusing more on what he was doing, he did not speak to her. Some of the crust dried to the upper part of his thigh was being stubborn, and he was failing to convince himself that it was blood. It took a lot longer than it should have to clean himself, including scraping off the side of his neck and collar bone from that nasty bite. When it was done, he was thoroughly exhausted again. He dropped the rag in the bucket and gestured for the girl to lie on his shoulder again.

“If you won’t give me a name, I’ll pick one for you until you decide to tell me…. I’m going to call you Susan. Is that okay…? You can talk to me. I won’t hurt you.”

Susan watched him as his words became more jumbled and his eyes closed once more.

~

This time he knew for sure what had woken him—the slamming on the metal door as it slid open. The Doctor pushed Susan up out his arm and frantically told her to go sit in the corner and close her eyes. She didn’t stand but shuffled away, frightened stare on the man who entered the cell. A second man closed the door and locked it behind him. The Doctor forced himself to sit, though most of his weight went to the hand that braced him lopsidedly on the floor. The man came over and knelt. He squinted at the bite marks and then yanked the Doctor’s hand out from under him and pushed him flat. Shoving the bucket out of the way, pink and brown water sloshing out onto the floor, the man’s knee pressed the Doctor’s thigh wide into the floor and reached over to the other leg, unfolding it. The Doctor’s face flushed, and he wrapped his arms around his chest as he realized he was being inspected. The man’s fingers spread his crack and poked at him.

“Huh,” he said, “You healed fast.”

The man didn’t require a response. He climbed over the Doctor, wedging himself between the Time Lord’s legs. The Doctor took a shuddering breath, held himself tighter, and tilted his head back on the stone far enough to see the wall by the top of his head. The man pried the Doctor’s arms apart and pinned them to the stone as he leaned in to lick the side of the Doctor’s neck, from collar to ear, like a dog lapping at water.

“What are you supposed to call me?” the man asked.

It took the Doctor a couple seconds to pull his mind back to coherency. He had asked but wasn’t given an answer.

“I think we’ll go with Rory. You find him loving and kind. Yes, Rory.”

The Doctor gulped and said hoarsely, “Rory.”

“Louder.”

“Rory.”

“Good…. Having you on the floor is so much easier,” the man said, and licked up the Doctor’s sternum, “I’m going to hurt you now, so good, and you will call by my name. Understand?”

“I can take you to places where sex is a public affair, where you can do whatever you want—“

The man’s cock forced its way into the Doctor’s raw body, tearing open wounds and ripping flesh that could not withstand another onslaught. The Doctor screamed, his fingers digging into the man’s biceps, unconsciously trying to leverage himself away.

Buried in him, the man leaned down and slurped at the Doctor’s ear, saying, “What’s my name?”

The Doctor groaned out the name through a clenched jaw, and the man withdrew only to slam into him again.

“Say it better this time.”

“Rory.”

He thrust again.

“Say my name.”

“Rory.”

“Again.”

“Rory.”

“Again.”

“Rory.”

Over and over. The violence of the man began to spatter dark droplets on both their thighs. Teeth marks littered the Doctor’s chest and shoulders and now face, all running blood. Every thrust, every time something particularly painful happened, the man would say, “Again.” The Doctor would say, “Rory,” until it became so frequent for so long, the Doctor did it without prompting.

The man sheathed himself with the Doctor’s body and was drawn down to a pale, unmarked spot high on the Doctor’s shoulder. He sunk his teeth in like fifty times before, but this time he didn’t stop. Flesh popped in his mouth and fluid sprang forward. It was so satisfying to not stop. The Doctor screamed, higher and loud than he knew was physically possible, this time doing his very best to push the man away but not succeeding. He didn’t notice the moisture leaving his eyes in rivulets. The last of the tendrils of muscle snapped, and Rory pulled back. Through the haze of pain, the Doctor gagged. Between Rory’s teeth and lips was a hunk of the Doctor’s shoulder. Blood gushed over his bottom lip and dribbled down his chin to drop on the Doctor’s chest, looking every bit a messy vampire. The Time Lord could see as Rory moved the meat in his mouth, a smeared flat layer of skin. Rory smoothed his tongue over it and began to chew.

The Doctor gagged again and tried to twist away. He heard the gulp as Rory swallowed his flesh down and felt hands come up to his face. They held him roughly, keeping his face straight, and Rory leaned down to his lips. Terror and panic laced through the Doctor like never in all his years. He thrashed and shoved but weakened as he was and large as the man was, he did not get far. Rory pressed his mouth against the Doctor’s. A trickle of blood ran across the Doctor’s jaw like a tear. Though it seemed like the man intended no more than a rough kiss, the hot liquid leaking into his mouth did nothing to quell the erratic emotions coursing through him. He tried to seal up his mouth to keep the blood and saliva out, but when he pressed his tongue flat on his pallet, he found soft chunks and more in the crevices of his teeth.

His body convulsed violently, and Rory let go just in time to allow the Doctor to twist his top half as best he could with the other man’s weight on him and retch so hard his forehead smacked on the stone floor. He vomited again and again until his throat swelled and tears and snot streamed from him. Every breath he got the chance to take was a gasp, and every lungful of air made him feel something else weighted on his tongue or wedged in his teeth, and he’d retch again.

It wasn’t until dizziness overtook him that he rolled back like a limp doll, vomit now joining the blood, tears, and mucus that caked his face. It wasn’t until then that he noticed the rhythmic jerking of his body. Rory was still fucking him, but all the pain was constant now, all consuming, and the Doctor did nothing but lie there.