Fic: Everyone Needs A Hobby
Aug. 29th, 2007 10:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fangrrl_squeesTitle: Everyone Needs A Hobby
Summary: When faced with a captive Jack Harkness, Harry Saxon decides that the traditional methods of torture just won't do...
Rating: R (violence, sexual content)
Pairing: None. It's a bit subtexty, I s'pose but I wouldn't call this a pairing. But it's not genfic, either. Just read the dam' thing.
Spoilers: Very minor for Utopia/The Sound of Drums/The Last Time Lord
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the BBC, not me.
Further notes: a prequel for the setup to the reboot (whew!) of my toppy!Ianto series. And this one's been beta'd, btw.
***
This is a good idea. Remember that, Jack.
Affirmations weren't getting Jack Harkness as far as he hoped they would. Then again, his current circumstances were extreme and there was something about Harry Saxon's presence that disturbed Jack's equilibrium. The fact that the disturbance was apparently reciprocated was scant consolation.
"Freak." Saxon muttered, circling Jack as he dangled from chains, his feet barely touching the ground. "Selfless and noble, oh yes," the Time Lord sneered, "But still a freak."
"I guess that means I'm ahead of you on points, then." Jack replied, knowing his tone would irritate. "I'll take selfless and noble over insane and treacherous, any day."
Anger briefly flickered across Saxon's face. "Insane, treacherous and in charge."
Saxon removed his suit jacket, took his laser screwdriver from its usual pocket, and rolled up his shirt sleeves. "And since you've to all this trouble to put yourself up as my own, personal, punching bag - I'm sure the Jones' would be touched if they but knew - I shouldn't let the effort go to waste." He grinned. "I'd hate to appear ungrateful."
Jack braced himself for whatever was about to happen. He hadn't expected The Master to perceive his motivations quite so quickly, but - to his relief - it didn't seem to matter. No matter what Saxon might have in mind for him, Jack knew he'd survive it and every moment Saxon spent with him, it was time not spent with Martha's family and The Doctor.
Jack watched Saxon survey him like a side of beef - which he supposed was about what he amounted to in Saxon's opinion - and was then surprised to see him put the laser screwdriver aside.
"Too...techy." he fussed. "Too impersonal," he struggled to find le mot juste. "Too clean!" he pounced on the word with relish.
Instead, Saxon patted at his pockets - a parody of every man looking for his house keys - and finally produced a small, silver pen-knife. "Here we are," he decided, unsheathing the short blade. "I think Lucy gave this to me. It's the sort of silly, not-very-useful thing she'd be inclined to give, don't you think?"
Personally, Jack preferred clean deaths. That penknife had wet and messy written all over it. "What can you give the guy who's got everything?" he asked, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.
"Penicillin," came the deadpan reply. "Old joke."
Saxon closed the distance between them and stabbed the penknife into Jack's left bicep. The pain didn't really register until Saxon dragged the blade almost to Jack's elbow, laying open a deep gash. Immediately, blood soaked Jack's shirt and started dripping on to the floor. Jack gritted his teeth and said nothing. There wasn't much he could do in the way of defiance, but it was something.
Rather than stepping back to admire his handiwork, as Jack expected him to, The Master remained close by, breathing heavily and apparently enjoying the scent of fresh blood. "Yes, that's more like it," he murmured. "Although..."
Saxon smiled, a bright, happy, I've just had a very good idea sort of smile and, for the first time, Jack felt genuinely scared.
"I could do this," Saxon casually tore another gash into Jack's arm, roughly parallel to the first. "All day. But, frankly, it's a little boring. You'll get better, eventually, and keep on glaring at me with all the square-jawed righteousness you can muster. Boring." He repeated with a frown. "Predictable, even. But if I do this..."
Jack flinched as Saxon placed his left hand on his temple, but there was no getting away from him.
Saxon chose his words carefully. "And if I nudge a few nerve centers, just a bit..."
Jack yelped in surprise. The burning pain in his arm had vanished - no, that wasn't right. It hadn't disappeared, but the pain had been transformed. Jack gasped, unable to catch his breath as a strange, undeniable pleasure washed over him.
"It's all in the ganglion." The Master gloated. "Delta fibers and the like, but I won't bore you with the details. The pleasure-pain response is one of the easiest to manipulate. After all, they're quite closely related."
Jack couldn't reply. He felt as if he was in the middle of a great makeout session with a socially repugnant boor - which, in a way, he was.
"And then if I..." The penknife jabbed into Jack's flesh, again, just below his ribs. Jack would have fallen to his knees, had the chains not been supporting him - and the steel bite of the manacles only aggravated the situation as another wave of illogical delight washed over him.
Jack simultaneously teetered on the edge of orgasm and a blinding rage. He tried not to lean into the knife. I don't want him and I don't want this!
"Yes you do want this," Of course, The Master could hear Jack's thoughts. "I've made quite sure of it." He twisted the blade in Jack's flesh, delighting in the desperate whimper it elicted. "That didn't sound like oh dear, please stop doing this terrible thing, did it?"
Jack tried to exert some control, trying to override the contrary signals between his body and his brain, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't even feel disappointed as the Master easily brushed aside his mental defenses.
"The peril of being a hedonist in withdrawal, Jack, is that the hedonist finds it very hard to refuse pleasure - whatever it's source."
Thwarted disappointment became humiliation as Jack failed to stifle a moan. "That's more like it." Saxon whispered, satisfied.
Finally, the Master stepped back to admire what he'd achieved. Much to Jack's consternation, the mental imposition remained in place, even without direct contact with the Time Lord. "Much better," he nodded, satisfied. "New game!" he announced. "Let's see what'll happen first, unconsciousness or orgasm." He brandished the bloody knife and smiled at Jack's misery. "I could probably do this for days. Weeks, even. Everyone needs a hobby."
Summary: When faced with a captive Jack Harkness, Harry Saxon decides that the traditional methods of torture just won't do...
Rating: R (violence, sexual content)
Pairing: None. It's a bit subtexty, I s'pose but I wouldn't call this a pairing. But it's not genfic, either. Just read the dam' thing.
Spoilers: Very minor for Utopia/The Sound of Drums/The Last Time Lord
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the BBC, not me.
Further notes: a prequel for the setup to the reboot (whew!) of my toppy!Ianto series. And this one's been beta'd, btw.
***
This is a good idea. Remember that, Jack.
Affirmations weren't getting Jack Harkness as far as he hoped they would. Then again, his current circumstances were extreme and there was something about Harry Saxon's presence that disturbed Jack's equilibrium. The fact that the disturbance was apparently reciprocated was scant consolation.
"Freak." Saxon muttered, circling Jack as he dangled from chains, his feet barely touching the ground. "Selfless and noble, oh yes," the Time Lord sneered, "But still a freak."
"I guess that means I'm ahead of you on points, then." Jack replied, knowing his tone would irritate. "I'll take selfless and noble over insane and treacherous, any day."
Anger briefly flickered across Saxon's face. "Insane, treacherous and in charge."
Saxon removed his suit jacket, took his laser screwdriver from its usual pocket, and rolled up his shirt sleeves. "And since you've to all this trouble to put yourself up as my own, personal, punching bag - I'm sure the Jones' would be touched if they but knew - I shouldn't let the effort go to waste." He grinned. "I'd hate to appear ungrateful."
Jack braced himself for whatever was about to happen. He hadn't expected The Master to perceive his motivations quite so quickly, but - to his relief - it didn't seem to matter. No matter what Saxon might have in mind for him, Jack knew he'd survive it and every moment Saxon spent with him, it was time not spent with Martha's family and The Doctor.
Jack watched Saxon survey him like a side of beef - which he supposed was about what he amounted to in Saxon's opinion - and was then surprised to see him put the laser screwdriver aside.
"Too...techy." he fussed. "Too impersonal," he struggled to find le mot juste. "Too clean!" he pounced on the word with relish.
Instead, Saxon patted at his pockets - a parody of every man looking for his house keys - and finally produced a small, silver pen-knife. "Here we are," he decided, unsheathing the short blade. "I think Lucy gave this to me. It's the sort of silly, not-very-useful thing she'd be inclined to give, don't you think?"
Personally, Jack preferred clean deaths. That penknife had wet and messy written all over it. "What can you give the guy who's got everything?" he asked, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.
"Penicillin," came the deadpan reply. "Old joke."
Saxon closed the distance between them and stabbed the penknife into Jack's left bicep. The pain didn't really register until Saxon dragged the blade almost to Jack's elbow, laying open a deep gash. Immediately, blood soaked Jack's shirt and started dripping on to the floor. Jack gritted his teeth and said nothing. There wasn't much he could do in the way of defiance, but it was something.
Rather than stepping back to admire his handiwork, as Jack expected him to, The Master remained close by, breathing heavily and apparently enjoying the scent of fresh blood. "Yes, that's more like it," he murmured. "Although..."
Saxon smiled, a bright, happy, I've just had a very good idea sort of smile and, for the first time, Jack felt genuinely scared.
"I could do this," Saxon casually tore another gash into Jack's arm, roughly parallel to the first. "All day. But, frankly, it's a little boring. You'll get better, eventually, and keep on glaring at me with all the square-jawed righteousness you can muster. Boring." He repeated with a frown. "Predictable, even. But if I do this..."
Jack flinched as Saxon placed his left hand on his temple, but there was no getting away from him.
Saxon chose his words carefully. "And if I nudge a few nerve centers, just a bit..."
Jack yelped in surprise. The burning pain in his arm had vanished - no, that wasn't right. It hadn't disappeared, but the pain had been transformed. Jack gasped, unable to catch his breath as a strange, undeniable pleasure washed over him.
"It's all in the ganglion." The Master gloated. "Delta fibers and the like, but I won't bore you with the details. The pleasure-pain response is one of the easiest to manipulate. After all, they're quite closely related."
Jack couldn't reply. He felt as if he was in the middle of a great makeout session with a socially repugnant boor - which, in a way, he was.
"And then if I..." The penknife jabbed into Jack's flesh, again, just below his ribs. Jack would have fallen to his knees, had the chains not been supporting him - and the steel bite of the manacles only aggravated the situation as another wave of illogical delight washed over him.
Jack simultaneously teetered on the edge of orgasm and a blinding rage. He tried not to lean into the knife. I don't want him and I don't want this!
"Yes you do want this," Of course, The Master could hear Jack's thoughts. "I've made quite sure of it." He twisted the blade in Jack's flesh, delighting in the desperate whimper it elicted. "That didn't sound like oh dear, please stop doing this terrible thing, did it?"
Jack tried to exert some control, trying to override the contrary signals between his body and his brain, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't even feel disappointed as the Master easily brushed aside his mental defenses.
"The peril of being a hedonist in withdrawal, Jack, is that the hedonist finds it very hard to refuse pleasure - whatever it's source."
Thwarted disappointment became humiliation as Jack failed to stifle a moan. "That's more like it." Saxon whispered, satisfied.
Finally, the Master stepped back to admire what he'd achieved. Much to Jack's consternation, the mental imposition remained in place, even without direct contact with the Time Lord. "Much better," he nodded, satisfied. "New game!" he announced. "Let's see what'll happen first, unconsciousness or orgasm." He brandished the bloody knife and smiled at Jack's misery. "I could probably do this for days. Weeks, even. Everyone needs a hobby."
