Chapter Text
The man sitting across from you snapped his fingers in your face. You looked up, tucking your hands into your lap. You felt naked in your thin disposable gown. The draft from the nearby window burned your thighs with cold air. “Have you been listening to me?” his voice cut through your daze, snapping your vision into focus.
“Y-yes, Mas–Dottore…Dottore,” you stammered out. You’d almost called him Master.
“No, you clearly haven’t been. If you had, you would know to stop calling me that.”
Guilt crept up your throat. Dottore was so quick to anger. Even when he acted like he was helping you, he would still yell and get frustrated. He didn’t understand you. And he likely never would. He claimed you were a victim of a cult. You didn’t even know what a cult was until you were taken “for research.” To rehabilitate you, he’d said over and over, as if trying to convince himself as well. He claimed you had been brainwashed into believing nonsense. If only he knew he was the one believing nonsense.
“Day 15; Subject 468 is still zoning out and paying little attention to my commands,” Dottore said, adjusting the kamera, which had been recording your conversation. “It’s been 15 days and I still haven’t cracked you. What do you want? How do I fix you?”
“Why are you fixing me?” you started, “there’s nothing wrong with me.”
He grabbed your chin, tipping it up so you were looking at him. “You are completely and utterly brainwashed. That…That man completely messed you up,” Dottore released your chin and pulled away abruptly, “So, tell me, for Archons’ sake. What will make you stop believing him? Do you want a new god?”
A new God?. Why would you want a new God?
“I don’t want a new God…Master, He will be displeased with me.”
“Fine,” Dottore said, “if you won’t accept a new god, I’ll simply force one on you, just like ‘Master’ did.”
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You sat on Dottore’s lab bench, your eyes bouncing around the room, following his movements. Dottore cleaned an empty vial in the sink, holding it under the water until it ran clean. He had taken his gloves off, his pale, scarred hands grasping the wet glass. He set the vial down, turning back to face you. His eyes met yours, which were wide and caught the lights in the lab in a perfect way. It’d been four days since Dottore promised he would give you a new God. He placed the vial back into the sink before approaching you.
“You look numb,” he said, “is that how you feel? Without a god?”
Your eyes narrowed, bored into him. “I’m just…tired.” It was partially true. You were tired. He kept you up for hours on end, trying to get you to answer mass amounts of questions. It was like he was trying to get you to confess to something.
Dottore tsked, grabbing a towel from next to the sink and ran it under the tap before pressing it to your face, “you’ll feel better soon, I promise.” It wasn’t until he grabbed your chin and kissed your forehead that your stomach sank. He’s exactly like Master, isn’t he?
He rubbed his finger over your lower lips, cocking his head to the side, “what? What’s that look for?”
“What look?” you asked, chewing on the inside of your cheek.
“You’re looking at me like I did something wrong.”
“No, I’m not…” you muttered, looking away from him. You couldn’t hold his hidden gaze for long without a chill creeping up your spine. It made you uncomfortable, how you couldn’t gauge his reactions and intentions with the top half of his face obscured by his mask.
“You know I just want to help you, correct? I don’t intend on hurting you, all I want is to help you,” his voice was sickeningly sweet, dripping with some sort of sadism.
You nodded, keeping your gaze on the floor. He patted your head, grinning down at you.
“You’re so well behaved. I see why your ‘Master’ liked you so much,” Dottore said, his hand moving down your face, thumb brushing your lips, “do you even remember the night I brought you here?”
You shook your head. He had knocked you out with some disgusting mix of chemicals and it messed with your head. You were just barely lucid for the first 48 hours before you started making sense–or at least that’s what Dottore told you. Maybe Dottore liked you better, loopy and tired. Master always did.
Dottore kissed your head again, brushing the stray hairs from your forehead.
“Since you’re so tired, I’ll let you sleep, sweetheart.”
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He didn’t let you sleep.
Every hour, he’d come into your room, to check your vitals, draw blood, and question you. By the time you’d “woken up”, you hadn’t even managed three hours of proper sleep. You slogged through the halls to get to Dottore’s quarters, feeling like your mind was on fire. Your arms were littered with bruises from Dottore missing your veins. Once you got to his lab, he made you change into that same thin, almost see-through paper gown.
He didn’t give you the privilege of privacy.
“Strip,” he demanded, holding out the gown to you. You didn’t protest, pulling your shirt over your head. Your pants followed shortly.
Dottore stopped you, grabbing your wrist. “Let me check something.” His hand crept up your forearm. He was clearly looking at the bruises that marred your arms. Bruises that were his own fault. Bruises caused by his own negligence. His finger tips pressed into a particularly angry welt, causing you to yelp. He didn’t stop, his hands digging harder.
“Ow, ow. Please. Ow, stop,” you whimpered, trying to worm out of his grasp.
The sounds of your whining went straight to his groin. He smiled and stopped squeezing. “You have terrible veins,” he said, “I could barely see them last night.” Dottore squeezed once more before letting go. He turned his gaze down. He checked over the rest of your body, hands lingering slightly too long on your hips.
“You have a good body,” Dottore said, “clearly they didn’t mess you up too much in your little…cult.” That word again. Every time he said it, he spoke it with so much contempt and disdain.
A small grin creeped up his face, “what kind of things did they teach you?” he asked.
The question surprised you, Dottore had never asked you what you were taught, just told you that it was wrong. Maybe this was an opportunity to teach him the right way, to make him realize that he is the one that has it wrong.
“They taught us how to be self-respecting and God-fearing…” your voice trailed off, “that the other gods and archons were lies and frauds.”
That made Dottore snicker, “that’s quite rich to say in front of one of the Tsaritsa’s Harbingers.” Dottore scoffed, “let me guess what else? Purity? Abstinence? Respecting your master? To never question what your ‘god’ told you to do.”
You nodded, he wasn’t wrong. And in your mind, none of those things seemed like a bad thing, did they?
Of course they didn’t seem bad to you, that’s all you had known your entire life.
You shook your head, why was your mind slowly starting to sound like Dottore?
Dottore tsked, continuing to inspect your body, his hands moving from where they were firmly planted on your hips to your thighs, pressing you down into the desk. “Can you stay still for, say, twenty minutes?” Dottore asked, “I’m sure you’ve had to do that countless times. They made you pray to your god, correct?” You nodded, trying to hold everything but your head very, very still.
“On your knees?” he asked.
“Yes, on our knees,” you felt a hot flush creep up your face, one you had never experienced before. Dottore tipped you back, prying your mouth open. After a quick examination, he pressed something between your open lips. Your mouth filled with something lukewarm and bitter tasting.
The mystery liquid stuck to the sides of your mouth and coated your teeth.
“Swallow,” Dottore demanded, tipping your head back with his fingers.
It burned sliding down your throat. You weren’t exactly sure why you obeyed him. But frankly, obeying people was second nature to you at this point. It was part of what you had learned after all, spending countless hours following the rules of someone who claimed to know best.
Someone who Dottore claimed didn’t.
Dottore’s fingers followed the liquid, slipping into your mouth. His ice cold digits brushed against your warm tongue, which almost instinctively began to lap at his hand. He chuckled, pressing his fingers in deeper. It didn’t take long before he was practically defiling your mouth with his hands.
It also didn’t take long before you found yourself rocking your hips against nothing. His fingertips rubbed against your teeth and gums, pushing down on your tongue.
It wasn’t until Dottore’s unoccupied hand started exploring…other parts of your body, did you stumble back, startled.
No, no. This was all wrong. When his hand dipped touching between your legs, touching the place only God could? It sent you into a panic.
Your breath hitched in your throat and you caught Dottore’s hand in yours. “What happened?” Dottore asked, “you were fine until I touched your…oh, I get it.” You raised an eyebrow, what did he get? He stared at you for a moment, choosing his words before he spoke.
“It’s because my hands are cold,” he said flatly. You know that wasn’t what he was originally planning on saying, you could feel it. But there was something comforting in his lie.
Dottore cocked his head, like he was waiting for you to call him out. And when you didn’t, a crooked smile spread over his lips.
“You said you learned about abstinence?” Dottore asked, tipping his head up in an almost condescending way.
“Yes…?”
“Is that just no penetration or is anything sexual not allowed?”
You stared at him for too long. What was he getting at? A loophole?
Did he know a way to have sex without decimating everything you’d been taught?
For some reason the thought got you excited, far too excited to be acceptable.
“I guess so,” you finally answered him, “they never really specified, just told us not to have it.” You weren’t even entirely sure how to have sex, just vague ideas from light novels you’d snuck at some point, which, in hindsight, weren’t that raunchy at all.
Dottore was quick to accept that answer, his hips moving between your thighs, grinding into a particularly sensitive spot. The zipper of his pants dug into your skin, making you whine. The sharp, desperate friction made you so very dizzy. Dottore’s quiet huffing into your ear certainly didn’t help. You pressed your hands into his shoulders, trying to shove him back.
“Do you want me off already?” he drawled. You nodded in response.
To your surprise (and relief), he pulled away. Dottore wiped his hands on his pants. Despite the fact that he released you rather quickly, he looked angry. Incredibly so. With a deep sigh, he walked to the other side of the lab.
“W-what’s wrong?” you asked.
You were so naive with men. Dottore had noticed the second you came into his possession. It wasn’t hard for him to figure out you’d been incredibly sheltered. Even just the way you shuddered when he would touch you was all too telling.
Dottore glared at you. His face contorted into something you’d never seen before. He tipped his head up, clicking his tongue. “I think it’s time for you to go back to your room,” Dottore said, grabbing your wrist. His movements are forceful and rough, pulling you off the table and towards the door.
He escorted you out, pushing you through the door. You headed back to your room, feeling…
Ill?
Why did you feel so sick? When your body hit your mattress, you slipped under quickly, letting sleep claim you.
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Dottore leaned up against his desk, using his left hand to support his weight. He looked back, repeatedly checking the door. He needed to make sure the coast was clear, he couldn’t be caught like… this.
Dottore quickly unzipped his pants, freeing his painful erection. His cock throbbed weakly, this wasn’t what Dottore wanted, but for now, it was all he had. His hand wrapped around the base, sliding up and down.
Dottore wasn’t one to masturbate, but he couldn’t get you out of his head. His hand moved too quickly, muttering your name and various curses. He finished quickly as well, much faster than he normally would. He came into his palm with a groan. Dottore lifted his head, staring at himself in a nearby mirror.
Dottore scoffed, “mediocre.”