Chapter Text
Wanderer’s peace was disturbed by a knock on his door. It was unusual, to say the least, as Traveler & co would announce it way ahead.
He stood up from the bed, making his way to the door. Upon opening it, he had half mind to shut it right away as the ever familiar and haunting grin graced the puppet’s presence.
“What are you doing here? I thought you were busy being dead.” Wanderer gritted out, knowing well enough already that Dottore of all people wouldn’t be reckless enough to not send a clone for such a job.
“Oh, was I?” Dottore tilted his head to the side, the beak of his mask almost blending in the darkness of their surroundings. “Perhaps I missed a memo.”
“Yes you did. Now go away.” Wanderer made a mistake of backing off a step, which allowed the man to enter.
Dottore used the opportunity to lounge on the bed as soon as he spotted it. Almost as if it was his, or he’d already been made familiar with the rooms’ layouts.
“You speak as if we’re very familiar with each other already, Mr. Hat Guy.” Dottore’s teeth shone despite the darkness around them, snapping Wanderer out of his observations.
“Everyone’s familiar with you at this point.” Wanderer shook his head in denial.
“Right. And that’s why you looked at me with hundreds of years worth of hatred.” Dottore’s gaze turned more intense.
“I think you just made that up.” Continuing denying, Wanderer shortly fired back.
“Did I?”
The room went silent, despite Wanderer’s better judgment. He knew it would just confirm Dottore’s suspicions, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything.
A feeling of dread overcame the puppet. Once on Dottore’s radar, in his reach, it was hopeless.
“Dottore, I…” Wanderer choked out, once again taking a step back. He only began to be even more terrified as the man got up from the bed, and walked over to him.
“I happened to find ways to preserve memory of you, S c a r a m o u c h e.” Dottore’s hand found its way on Scaramouche’s shoulder, holding on tightly. That was it. He was found out.
“I…I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Okay?” At that point, Scaramouche slid down to the floor, arms wrapped around Dottore’s leg.
He was hoping any kind of apologetic display would pacify Dottore at least a little bit not to end up buried alive before the sun set.
“Please just don’t hurt me.” He finally mumbled out. In all honesty, he was terrified. Dottore dismantled and left him like that for days on end for way less.
“Foolish puppet…” Dottore chuckled under his breath, bringing Scaramouche back up to the same level by his hair. When he winced at the action, Dottore made sure to slap him too, for good measure.
“Do you think just because you pretend to not be a monster who committed all of those crimes in the name of the Fatui you can be accepted into society? Forgiven?” Dottore went on.
“No, Scaramouche, I will make sure to remind you that you cannot.” With an another strike, the puppet landed on the floor, abruptly let go by Dottore.
“I..I can! I have friends now…” The adrenaline made Scaramouche retaliate before his brain could process it. He regretted it soon after, as Dottore stepped on the back of his neck with his boot, pinning him to the floor with no little struggle in retaliation.
“I think I may have misheard you, friends?” Dottore’s boot only applied more pressure with each move.
Scaramouche’s vision turned black for a moment. He could only hear his ragged breathing, and Dottore’s furious huffs as he pondered on what to do next to the puppet.
Dottore’s boot taking a step back, and off his neck, made him inhale violently. Cough followed, as Scaramouche tried to get used to a normal breath again. He’s gotten too human recently.
“Dottore, please…” Scaramouche’s vision was clouded by tears, which mostly came from his coughing.
Kicking the puppet aside to go and lock the door, Dottore shook his head condescendingly. “Acting pathetic will not absolve you of your transgressions.”
Scaramouche just winced. He remained lying on the floor, fighting with himself to be able to see anything, as the fresh batch of pain invited even more tears.
“There is none. You can’t command over what I do in life.” Scaramouche coughed out, attempting to sit up on the floor.
“Oh, really?” Dottore tilted his head to the side once more, circling closer as the door was already locked shut. “I wonder what Her Majesty would think of that.”
“She’d agree!” Scaramouche’s hands balled into fists. He couldn’t believe he was actually standing up for himself. “She allows the Harbingers to pursue own interests first.”
“Well, then I say it is in my interest to keep you contained.” With a shrug, Dottore made his way right in front of Scaramouche.
“Why?”
“Why, am I not authorised to my own belongings anymore?” Dottore’s hand found a way to Scaramouche’s chin. Overall, the aura encircled him completely, it felt, from the oppressive atmosphere hanging in the air. “Do not forget who picked you up when everyone else betrayed you.”
“YOU caused those betrayals!” Scaramouche lunged to the other man’s neck, tightening his fingers as much as possible after hitting the target.
“N-How amusing.” Despite the intrusion, Dottore was set on maintaining his confident demeanour.
However, he stiffened, not prying the hands away. It caused Scaramouche to pause for a moment in confusion, before he moved away as if it burned him. “Stupid…!”
“You created a problem, dear Scaramouche. Now deal with it.” Dottore shrugged.
A new wave of dread washed over Scaramouche. It has been extremely challenging to heal from the past routine of him being abused by Dottore like that, and giving in to the demand at hand would ensure ruining all previous progress.
Scaramouche gulped. “No, please… please control your urges.”
“Ah, I believe I didn’t quite ask you for your opinion.” Using the convenience of having Scaramouche already under him, Dottore swiftly pulled his shorts down.
One thing intrigued him.
“Ah, you’ve gotten procedures done with a different doctor?” Dottore’s boner was momentarily forgotten in favour of new developments he noticed in Scaramouche.
“Y…Yeah.” Scaramouche, although shocked, scoffed out as he hid his temporary relief.
“I can see your clitoris has expanded.” Dottore hummed out, feeling how Scaramouche’s newfound ‘t-dick’ functioned. “What a marvellous development.”
“You never allowed me to get more testosterone in for that to happen.” Scramouche mumbled out a tad defensively.
“It didn’t feel necessary for you to be too masculine.” Dottore didn’t deny.
“Of course it didn’t…” Scaramouche could only bitterly smile.
At that point, Dottore didn’t pay attention to the other’s words, more focused on unzipping his pants and freeing his dick.
“We could move to the bed…” Attempting to make the situation at least a little better for himself, as he realised he couldn’t get out of it, Scaramouche threw a proposition out. He was hoping Dottore would at least consider it. The prospect of getting fucked on the hard and cold floor didn’t seem too appealing.
“We could.” Dottore hummed out, picking the puppet up roughly. Despite the wince it caused, the man carried on without any worries, positioning Scaramouche beneath himself.
Scaramouche found that holding Dottore’s free hand caused him to move less roughly. Old tactic. Whatever would make it a little more bearable.
“Ha, seems like you weren’t very active since you left me.” Dottore noted the slight tightness caused by lack of use.
“I had more important things to focus on, like academics.” Scaramouche grumbled out, letting out an uneven sigh as he felt the other entering him.
“It doesn’t suit you.” Dottore dismissed. “You’re not good at much aside from being a fuck-doll.”
Even if Scaramouche knew it was just an another dig at him in an attempt to bring him down even more, it hurt. He wanted to be more than just an another item for Dottore to blow off steam. Being placed in the same category as plastic toys wasn’t something Scaramouche desired. It was the furthest from it, in fact.
However, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to risk losing the last chance at gentleness in this situation, no matter how hard he wanted to rebel.
Dottore’s stamina seemed to be endless. Time stretched on and on, and Scaramouche only wondered how there was still anything left in Dottore’s ballsacks.
At some point, his back began to hurt. Scaramouche had half a mind to ask Dottore to change positions, but the exhaustion that crept onto him prevented him from verbalising that thought.
As if reading his mind, Dottore moved Scaramouche upwards, causing the puppet to land on his lap. It was a bit pleasant, he had to admit. He could lay on his chest. It was warm. Very warm.
What was he thinking about? That was Dottore. He didn’t even want this to be happening.
They changed positions a few times, time stretching on to late evening. When Dottore finally backed off him, Scaramouche couldn’t do anything else than lay on the bed motionlessly.
“I will be back tomorrow, make no mistake.” Was the only thing Dottore said, before exiting the hotel room, leaving Scaramouche exhausted and used.