Title: Reversal of Power
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/The Tardis
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 4,075
Prompt: 32, Ship
Warning: Rape. By machine.
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 the Tardis. Please do not sue.
***The Doctor studied the controls on the console of the Tardis with a frown. It was strange for her to just break down and decide not to go anywhere, but it wasn't the first time she'd done this. He'd always been more than happy to do things that would shorten his life expectancy by a few years to get her going before -- but this time, he was reluctant to do so. After all, he couldn't keep giving away years of his life.
Still, if it was going to get him out of a bad situation .... he leaned against the console, chewing on the edge of a fingernail, musing. It wasn't as though he was in some sort of trouble, or that he needed to go anywhere. In fact, he was more or less wandering, with no companion (at the moment), and nothing to do. There were several things he could do, but none that took his fancy for the time being.
So. It was just him and the Tardis. This didn't happen often -- there was usually a companion around to enliven his day-to-day existence -- but for once, he didn't feel the need to have a human at his side. Again, an unusual occurrence. He always hated to be alone, but he'd felt the need for it in the past few days. He couldn't help wondering if it wasn't him, but some feeling that the Tardis had helped him gravitate towards.
He frowned again, the expression staying on his face longer this time. It seemed incredible that his bond with the Tardis could be affecting his judgement in that way, but it was possible. He had learned not to discount anything when it came to his bond with his ship. No one had ever quite understood the nature of that bond -- and if he was honest with himself, he didn't fathom everything about it, either. It was enough for him that the bond existed.
But sometimes .... sometimes it felt as though the Tardis was too close, too possessive of him. The Doctor couldn't help feeling that some of his companions had felt that strong, possessive bond that the Tardis had with him, felt it all too acutely -- and that was why they'd chosen to leave him. Not to live their own lives, but to get away from something that they couldn't understand and that made them uncomfortable to be near.
At the moment, he couldn't feel any trepidation, only a nagging annoyance. He was fairly sure that this was something the Tardis had somehow planned, wanting to leave him stranded in some place and time that he wasn't prepared for. She had done that often enough, he told himself, and there had been far too many close escapes from situations that he shouldn't have been in the middle of in the first place.
Still, it didn't do any good for him to get upset with the Tardis. If she'd decided to strand him here -- wherever here was -- then he'd better get out of the ship and have a look around. It didn't seem to be a hostile enviornment, though from what he could tell, it was more or less a deserted one. Unless he wanted to look at plants as being able to carry on a good conversation, it looked as if the Tardis was his only companion for now.
The Doctor headed for the door, meaning to go outside and see what was around him while he gave the Tardis time to rethink the idea of stranding the two of them here. Reaching the door, he tugged at it, expecting it to spring open easily, as usual. Instead, the portal remained stubbornly closed, no matter how much he shook it. For some reason, the Tardis wasn't letting him leave her confines.
He spun around, his brow furrowing in consternation. The Tardis surely wouldn't bring him to a place that wasn't safe for him to exist in, would she? She'd never taken him anywhere that wasn't fit for carbon-based life forms -- at least, not to his knowledge. And she certainly wouldn't let him go outside of the safety of her borders if there was something waiting just outside the door that could threaten his life in any way.
No, she wouldn't do anything to endanger him -- because the Tardis needed him. Yes, he needed her, in many ways, but he was her pilot. There were things that she simply couldn't achieve without him, no matter how advanced and somehow sentient she might be. She was his ship, and she obeyed him. That was the way it had always been, even when she had these little fits of contrariness.
The Doctor's voice was more than a bit angry when he spoke, his words sharp and biting. "I don't know just what you're up to, but you need to stop this. You've apparently brought me here for some reason that's quite beyond me, and I insist that you let me out of here so that I can at least get our bearings. You don't seem to be able to do that, for whatever reason or other, so it seems to be up to me to do that."
The Tardis didn't answer him, of course, which only made him feel more infuriated and helpless. He wanted to stamp his foot and point at the door, have it open promptly in response to his annoyance. But in spite of his thoughts in that direction, the Tardis remained maddeningly silent, and the door stayed firmly shut. He rattled it, pushed against it, but it wouldn't open. In fact, it seemed more firmly closed than before.
"This isn't funny," he muttered under his breath, going back to the console to look it over, wondering if he'd somehow programmed something into the Tardis that was doing this. He had that capability, but he usually didn't try it -- it was easier to let the bond between himself and the ship take care of mundane little details. She'd never failed him before, unless she really was having some sort of breakdown. But that didn't appear to be the case this time.
"Now look here --" he began, starting to turn around towards the door. But he couldn't turn. He couldn't move; he was immobilized, rooted to the spot he was standing on, held there by some sort of energy that was radiating from the center of the Tardis herself. He gasped, his eyes widening, darting from one place to another to see where this .... this random energy that had him so thoroughly trapped was coming from.
The more he tried to struggle, the more he was held powerless. He stopped trying to resist, standing stock-still and hoping that the Tardis would take that as a sign of compliance and release him. Instead, the restraint seemed to close in on him even more, until it almost felt as though he was struggling for each breath. What in the hell was the Tardis doing? Reading his mind, apparently, letting him know that he wasn't getting away from her.
He opened his mouth to speak, to plead with her to release him, when the Tardis swept his feet out from under him and he landed on his back on the floor, a soundless scream torn from his throat. He had no air to scream; the breath was completely knocked out of him, and for a few moments, blackness hovered around the edges of his vision, stars dancing before his eyes. He couldn't see, couldn't breathe, couldn't think.
It took him a few moments to process exactly what was happening -- and when he did, he was more startled by what the Tardis was doing than he'd ever been by anything he'd experienced or witnessed in all of his long life. The Tardis was dragging him across the floor, to a position directly in front of the console, lying helpless on the floor with his arms stretched above his head, held there by the coils of energy keeping him motionless.
What's more, there were other coils of energy wrapping around him, holding him down, slowly but inexorably spreading his legs and holding him there. The Doctor turned his head from side to side, trying to form words, but nothing would come out of his mouth but a spluttering sound, the result of his complete confusion and his disbelief that this could possibly be happening. He must be having some sort of hallucination.
Those coils of energy were tightening around him with each passing second, and what was more, they seemed to be moving over the fastenings of his clothes, loosening the fabric covering his body as they held him more tightly. The Doctor thrashed in those bonds, trying to kick, scratch, do anything that he could to free himself from that restraining energy, to no avail. He only succeeded in making the coils go tighter, as if warning him not to struggle.
The Doctor gasped when he heard a rending sound, looking down to find that his jacket and shirt were now ripped down the front, leaving the front of his body exposed from the waist up. The Tardis was systematically undressing him, he realized with a shock, but why? What could she possibly have in mind, other than his embarrassment? No, that couldn't be it. His ship certainly knew what he looked like naked.
The fabric was pulled away from his upper body, those coils of energy shimmering in the air around him as they divested him of his clothes. The Doctor wanted nothing so much as to be able to pull his hands free, cover himself, get up off the floor and let loose a stream of indignant words. But he couldn't; he was immobilized, helpless to do anything other than watch helplessly as his clothes were stripped from his body, leaving him naked and vulnerable.
His trousers followed the shirt and jacket, then the boxer briefs, a shudder going through his body as the chilled air inside the Tardis hit his exposed flesh. He almost wanted to protest when those energy coils brushed over his inner thighs, making his muscles tighten in reaction. But there was no air; he could breathe, but he couldn't draw in a lungful of air to scream or even plead with the Tardis to stop this game and let him go.
Another brush of energy, this time against his balls. The Doctor shivered, realizing that he couldn't control his body's reaction to the touch, hating the tendency of the male body to have an overtly physical response to any sort of touch that seemed the least bit sexual. Another touch, this time curling around his half-hardened cock, making it spring to attention, hard and throbbing against his belly.
A lick of energy over his nipples .... and another .... and another. The Doctor squirmed and moaned, unable to control his physical responses to what the Tardis was doing to him. If the ship kept this up, he thought dazedly, he'd be a quivering wreck by the time she decided that she'd had enough and released him. If only he could draw in enough air to cry out, to protest, to let her know that he didn't want this ....
But of course she knew. How could she not? She was bonded to him; she could tell what he was thinking, what he was feeling. She could literally feel his traitorous body's physical pleasure, even as his conscious mind was horrified by what was taking place. She knew what was in his mind; why wouldn't she stop? Were his thoughts too muddled, too scrambled by a slow, numbing terror of what was happening, to get through to her?
Desperately, the Doctor tried to reach his ship with his mind; he was horrified when his tentative reaching out came up against a brick wall in his mind. The Tardis was shutting him out, acting on her own -- anything he did, thought, or felt wouldn't make the slightest bit of difference to her. She'd somehow decided to take advantage of this situation -- and it didn't seem to matter to her that he was an unwilling participant.
The coils of energy were tightening around his thighs and ankles, slowly spreading his legs further apart, licking between his ass cheeks as if the Tardis was somehow preparing his body for whatever she intended to do to him. The crushing realization that he was more than likely going to be forcibly raped -- by his own ship -- came down on the Doctor's mind with a suddenness that would have paralyzed him, if he were capable of movement.
He wasn't in control any more, the Tardis was. The tables were turned -- the owner had become the owned, the master had been turned into the slave. He had no idea just what the ship was going to do to him, but he was almost positive that it would be painful. And yet .... and yet the Tardis knew enough about him to be able to make it at least somewhat pleasurable at the same time -- that is, if she chose to do so.
Somehow, he didn't think she was going to do that.
A movement on the console caught his eye, and the Doctor raised his head as much as he could to see what was happening. His breath froze in his throat when he realized that the Tardis was extending wires towards him, wires that were twisted together to form a long, thick cable. What did she intend to do with that? He was fairly sure that he already knew, but the idea was too terrifying to contemplate.
Why was this happening? When had the Tardis' need to protect and connect twisted into the apparent need to possess and dominate? He had no idea, and he wasn't sure that he wanted to know. If it was something that had been festering and growing for a long time, the thought that he'd been at his ease in the ship, even when communicating directly with her through his mind, was a frightening feeling. One that would take a long time to shake off.
The cable of wires wrapped around each other was inching up between his thighs now, brushing against his skin and making him wince away from it. He squirmed against the energy coils, making them tighten around his wrists and ankles. The coils around his thighs spread his legs further apart, making him groan and squeeze his eyes closed. His body was already spread as wide as he could possibly be; any more would risk pulling ligaments.
The Doctor gave a startled scream when the cable nudged against his entrance; somehow, he hadn't thought the Tardis would go through with this. He certainly hadn't thought that she'd try to force herself into him dry. She had to know how painful that would be for him -- but she didn't seem to care. It was as if she had completely broken free of whatever restraint she had, her regard for him diminished or, more frighteningly, lost.
"No!" The word burst from his lips as he struggled against the coils of energy that held him down, his body arching helplessly against the restraints. The Tardis seemed to be angered by his futile struggles; the coils tightened, and more seemed to wrap around his body, even coiling around his throat to cut off the majority of his air. The Doctor gulped in as much oxygen as he could, trying not to scream and lose what precious air he still had in his lungs.
He tried to scream when the cable of twisted wires thrust inside him, but all he could manage was a strangled inhalation of air, his body spasming and writhing in the Tardis' grip. The cable moved forward, pressing deeper into him until he was sure he would tear from the pressure -- but stopped moving once it was a few inches in. He lay there, panting, his muscles taut, hoping that this was as far as the ship would go before she released him.
But no. She was only letting him catch his breath before she invaded him further, pushing even deeper, a little at a time. A slow movement, then a quick thrust, each one snatching the breath from his lungs and making black spots dance in front of his eyes. The Doctor was sure that nothing had ever been pushed so deeply inside him before -- and those wires were uneven and uncomfortable. They weren't meant to be pushed inside anyone's body.
Each time he thought the Tardis was going to withdraw, the cable thrust even deeper inside him, pushing further than anything had ever been. He could feel blood trickling down his thighs, feel the cable pushing even deeper inside his body, so deep that it felt as if it were rearranging his insides. He couldn't move, couldn't struggle; he could only alternately whimper and scream, praying that the torture would end soon and leave him in one piece -- physically and mentally.
He could feel the Tardis adding wires to the twisted mass invading his body, making the cable thicker and stretching him more with every few moments that dragged by. His blood was pooling on the floor beneath him, dripping into the crevices of the Tardis, along with his tears. Was she enjoying the taste? Was she somehow lapping it up, subsisting on it like some sort of life sustenance? Was that her way of taking him into herself?
The cable continued to push into him, growing thicker by the minute, alternately thrusting and pulling back. The Doctor gasped for breath, each thrust squeezing the air from his lungs before he had a chance to let out any sound other than a short, truncated scream. He'd given up trying to beg the Tardis for mercy; either she wasn't listening, or this was some sort of punishment for a slight he hadn't even known he'd given her.
When had this happened? When had his bond with his ship, the bond that had been so close and loving, turned into something dark and twisted? When had she decided that he was hers, and not the other way around? And just when had she discovered that she could render him helpless to her will -- and decided to act upon that knowledge? He'd probably never know; he wasn't entirely sure that he really wanted to.
The Tardis no longer belonged to him; she was no longer under his control, obeying him at the slightest command. No, he belonged to her -- and she was making sure that he knew it. Making sure that he could feel every inch of her invading his body, making sure that he was completely aware of his helplessness in the face of her desires. Making sure that he'd never feel safe again -- when she'd always been the only safe place in the universe for him.
He was going to bleed to death, here on the floor of the Tardis. He was sure of it; there would be no regeneration, no chance to cheat death. Someone would find him here, and have no idea of what had really happened to him. They'd think that he had somehow been attacked by some enemy, not raped by his own ship. He would pass into memory, with no one to mourn him and no one close enough to care what had brought him to his end.
Miraculously, at that thought, the Tardis stopped moving forward into him. After a few moments, he could feel her start to withdraw the cable from his body, slowly and reluctantly, but still removing it. The going was much more slow and careful than she had been when she'd pushed inside him; he could tell that she was trying to repair some of the damage she'd caused. Whatever she was doing to "repair" him was almost as painful as the initial penetration.
This would weaken him to the point of almost complete helplessness, dangerously so. The Doctor didn't think he could get to his feet; there was no way he'd be able to make it back to his sleeping quarters unless he crawled along the floor, inch by painful inch. He knew for certain that his legs wouldn't hold him up, though any pain he suffered from dragging himself along the floor would seem like nothing compared to the pain he was feeling now.
With a sound almost like a regretful sigh, the cable slipped out of him, leaving him spread out on the floor, his muscles unable to respond even after the coils of energy unlocked themselves from around his limbs. He could only curl into a fetal position, crying silently, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his shaking arms around his legs, trying to find a position that didn't hurt each time he gasped air into his starving lungs.
He didn't know how long he laid there, sobbing and gasping and shaking as if he were a detox patient. He reached for the console, thinking that he might be able to maneuver himself to his feet and stumble to his bed, but that hope was in vain. His trembling legs refused to hold him up, or even to help him haul himself to his feet. The only way that he would reach the comparative safety of his bed would be to crawl.
And he did. Inch by painful inch, he used his elbows to drag himself across the floor, down the corridor to his bedroom. His knees were bloody by the time he collapsed inside the doorway, only a few few feet from the bed. Only a little further, and he could grasp the mattress and move haul himself into the welcoming softness, bury himself beneath the blankets and fall into what would hopefully be a deep, dreamless sleep -- a sleep of forgetfulness.
He could never forget. The Doctor closed his eyes, wanting to lay his head on his arms and weep again. He didn't know when the balance of power had shifted -- and he more than likely never would. But there was something about the Tardis that had changed. She was no longer his safety, his sanctuary, his protector. She was now his jailer, his master, his greatest fear. She could dominate him in a way that nothing and no one else ever would.
They were still connected, still forged from the same mental synapses that allowed her to feel what he felt, understand instinctively what he wanted and needed. She still loved him -- he was sure of that. But somehow, that love had become twisted, dark, filled with the need to dominate and possess. The Tardis he knew and loved had been replaced with a creature that chilled him to the core, something that inspired more fear than love.
He never knew how he made it into the bed, when he fell asleep. He never knew just how the Tardis had managed to keep his damaged body alive, how she had taken care of him through the hours that passed before he was able to get to his feet and make himself presentable to the world again. He never knew what had possessed her to harm him, to instill the kind of fear in him that only the Master had been able to claim up until that point.
The Tardis was still a part of him. She was still his sanctuary, still protective of him. But that protectiveness was tinged with something else now, a tension in the air that the Doctor couldn't help but feel whenever he was alone anywhere within her confines. He could never forget what she'd done to him, the nightmares still coming back to haunt him, leaping out of the darkness of his dreams like shadowy phantoms bent on destroying him, mind, body and soul.
They were both only waiting for it to happen again. Whenever the Tardis wished.
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