He had gotten used to being watched as he slept.
At first the sensation of eyes staring at him from the dark would rouse him out of his sleep, hearts thumping and a barely contained scream trying to force itself from his lips. Those first few days were the worst. He didn't sleep often and to have the precious moments of peace disturbed by the watching eyes made him jumpy and nervous whilst awake.
Now he expected to see them when or if he peered out into the darkness. Found himself searching for them when they were not right by his bed when he woke.
It took some time but the watching progressed to occasionally climbing into his bed, just to be near, not making contact but seeking out the one being in the often cold and harsh cosmos who shared the same biology, who understood the workings of the watcher's mind.
The first time the contact became physical was a surprise. He had gotten used to the bed dipping in the middle of the night and the warmth of another next to him, but the arms seeking to hold him, or alternately wishing to be held by him had come as something of a shock.
But he figured it was harmless. He understood all too well the need for touch. How many times had he enfolded a companion in a seemingly innocent hug just because he craved physical contact more than he would admit even to himself?
He didn't give it a lot of thought. When the TARDIS brought the lights up to simulate dawn his bedmate was always gone and the nocturnal visits were never spoken about. Instead they would talk of the past, where they wished to go next, dancing around the subject with practised ease.
Then came the kiss.
Kissing was not really a Gallifreyan custom, and he still reacted with shock when one came his way. It was foreign even after hundreds of years around humans, it still stopped him dead in his tracks. Not that they weren't, on the whole, pleasant but it was in those moments it was apparent he was not fully integrated into human society. Try as he might to fit in, this was something he could never get used to.
And to have another child of Gallifrey be the one to kiss him was even a bigger surprise. Obviously they had both spent a lot of time around humans, but he could never consider kissing someone unless they had not kissed him first. Not that it was repulsive, it just wasn't in his normal routine.
But, he decided, it wasn't exactly the worst thing that had ever been done to him by his nightly visitor and as far as that went he could deal with it. Cool lips, the same temperature as his own felt less of a shock than the hot mouths of the humans with which he had had similar encounters.
Sometimes the holding seemed a bit less innocent. He would tense up as the hands left his chest or waist and wandered up to his neck, or down to parts that he wasn't sure he wanted those hands to touch. They would squeeze or rub lightly, then when he was just about to speak, asking them to stop they would move back to safer ground as if sensing his conflict.
The nights seemed to be a completely different reality now. The eyes grew bolder, touching and kissing him with more persistence, seeming not to care if it made sleep out of the question . Those fingers touched him in places few others had dared since the near extinction of their species. And yet, he never stopped them.
There were times he would wriggle away from the touch, turning on his stomach or side to move out of their reach. This usually put a stop to it, the hands became still and they left him alone. He was never sure if this was a good thing or not. Sometimes he wished they would ignore his silent protest and push down his barriers, forcing him to give in.
Then came the visit where it was clear that this was not like the others. The eyes only watched until he felt them boring into the back of his skull and woke. Then they swooped down on him, pressing his thin body to the mattress, pinning him to the sheets as the heavier figure lay on top of him.
He fought just enough to give the illusion of struggle, enough to make it seem as if they didn't both know that this was just what he wanted. As the hands roughly tore open his night clothes as the lips punished and bruised his own he bucked and twisted like he didn't enjoy the sensation of the pain wrapped around the pleasure as his nerves fired in ways he had long forgotten they could.
When the cool hardness pushed inside him, tearing him and making him break the silence for once. This was quickly followed by one hand clutching at his neck while a tongue thrust its way into his mouth. He went still, no longer pretending to fight. Tears swimming in his eyes as he gave himself over to the sensations.
It was over too soon, all the demons he hoped would be chased away by the punishment dealt to his thin body by the only being in the cosmos who could deal it out, still danced in his head. Even as his orgasm wracked his body he saw the faces of those he knew he had failed.
The weight was lifted and the eyes closed. Rolling away he turned on his side, the pain of the assault making him hold his breath as he moved. Yet he was finally able to let go of the guilt, just for a moment. Long enough to sleep, dreamless, at last.