You always hurt the one you love, da de da dum, de da…

Why? Why do we do it? Don't answer; there's an entire industry devoted to this very topic.

WARNING – starts off strong, so be aware. It ain't nice...

I had written several endings to this story - from all out murderous rampage to all out debilitating depression, but then little ideas and entire conversations would take root and I'd revisit and rewrite. Cripes – go into the light, there's peace in the light…

Anyway, hope this finds a home somewhere in your hearts and minds, faithful readers.

Don't own Tintin & Company – Moulinsart does, ain't making any moula, a thousand pardons for any and all missssspellings (like that one), comma's that stray and any apostrophes that get out of line, sneaky little bits that they are…

And yes, this is the story that kept getting shoved aside for others. Poor thing finally gets to see the light of day!

… Assault and Battery

Tintin had noticed the two men as he searched the warehouse for clues, but had gotten so wrapped up in his investigation that he hadn't paid them much mind. They were just a couple of anonymous dockworkers, big and burly and he doubted they had even perceived him as they were completely caught up in their work.

Until he heard a door slam behind him.

Spinning around, he found the two men standing between him and the only exit. One held a large stick of wood, the other a length of rope.

Taking a breath, he knew he was in for a fight. But it didn't hurt trying to talk his way out, first. Who knows, it might help. Though he doubted it as for some reason he was destined to be knocked about and tied up.

He glanced about for his faithful companion and realized that Snowy wasn't in the room. Okay – he was on his own. Well, he was stronger than he looked – these thugs didn't know what they were messing with.

"Is there something I can help you with?" He asked, his voice calm, his body posture alert and balanced, but not yet into a defensive or aggressive position. Perhaps they had him mistaken for someone else…

"You, pretty boy." One of them growled.

No such luck then. Raising his fists and dropping into a crouch, Tintin waited as the two men advanced. When they got close enough to be within range of grabbing him, he moved. Fast. Kicking the one with the stick in the stomach and hearing the man's breath whoosh out of him, he rapidly dodged the other's attempt to snare him with the rope.

Bringing his fist up, he felt it connect with the second man's jaw, sending the thug crashing backward. Turning, Tintin leapt for the door and thus escape. As his hand grasped the doorknob, other hands grasped him. He had no time to turn when something struck him across the back of the head.

Pain exploded and stars whirled about him, but he somehow managed to stay conscious.

Tintin's legs gave out and he collapsed in a heap. He could only struggle weakly as he felt himself pulled around and forced onto his knees. The sensation of his arms being yanked behind him and then rope being wrapped around wrists and ankles was too familiar.

Shaking his head to clear it, he wondered what these brutes wanted with him. As far as he knew they had nothing to do with the current mystery he was trying to solve. The only reason he was down here was due to an obscure mention in the newspaper about a mysterious light seen shining on the docks nearby. Curious, he had been trying to find the reason when he'd entered the warehouse.

Finally through with trussing him up, they flipped him to a seated position. Tintin thought the knots they had used rather excessive and a bit…odd. They had tied his wrists, but then had run the rope to his ankles. Any time he tried to straighten his legs, his arms would be stretched painfully and vice versa.

Blinking he stared at them, coolly waiting to see what their next action was.

The second man, identified by the bruise that was beginning to show on his jaw, leaned close. "Shouldn't have done that, little boy. Only wanted to play with you. Now, guess we'll have to be a bit rougher." He snarled, odious breath making Tintin's eyes water.

The other man giggled. "Maybe he'll like it that way."

"Doesn't matter if he does or not, we're going to like it." Responded 'bruiser'.

There was something in the glitter of the two men's eyes that had Tintin's hackles up, chills racing up and down his spine. Their leering faces didn't help either, nor the way they kept licking their lips. Swallowing down his unease, he once more asked. "What do you want?"

"To fuck you, pretty boy. Fuck you hard."

Tintin stared at the two men who grinned back at him, completely nonplussed. Had he heard right? And yet…no-one had ever looked at him as these two men were, full of evil lust, lust that consumed them and was soon to consume him.

Even though he was tied up, he still tried to fight, to escape, to somehow get away from the horrific fate that awaited him. He begged them for mercy, pleaded with them not to do such an awful thing, even intimated that he'd go along with it if they untied him - hoping they would and he'd have fighting chance.

They only grinned wider, laughing at his distress. Grabbing him once more, they flipped him over again so he was back on his knees. Groping hands tugged at his trousers, fumbled at button and zipper. He felt his four-squares pulled down to his shins, further hampering his mobility.

He gasped as his underwear was not only pulled down, but ripped away.

Tintin couldn't believe this was happening. He began to shout for help, for aid, for someone, anyone to come and rescue him. But the room was deep within the warehouse, and the only occupants he'd seen were inside with him. He couldn't even make out any barking from Snowy, letting him know the dog was aware of the danger and would soon bring back help.

"Heee, heee, heee!" the 'giggler' giggled. "Go on sonny boy, scream all you want. Ain't nobody gonna hear you, 'cept us. And we want to hear you scream, hee, hee."

"Yeah, you're gonna scream all right." The 'bruiser' added. "Scream your pretty little lungs out. Might have just made you go down on us, cop a feel or two of that ripe little rump of your'n, fondled your itsy bitsy little boy cock. But now, seeing as you didn't want to play nice, you're gonna bend over and take it like a man."

The giggler laughed even harder.

Tintin closed his eyes and began to pray. All during their talk, the men had been doing precisely what they had been talking about, squeezing and fondling his buttocks, grasping and pulling none too gently on his manhood.

Chills kept sweeping through him and his body trembled so hard his knees were stuttering against the hard concrete floor. His jaw was clenched so tight to keep his teeth from chattering that a splitting headache was beginning to develop across his forehead.

He heard the sound of spitting and jumped as something wet touched him in a place he'd never had anything contact him before.

Tintin cried out with anguish, horror and disbelief as something hard thrust inside of him. He could feel whatever it was moving inside him and writhed in an attempt to get away from the awful sensation.

"Oh boy, just think what he's gonna be like with our pricks in him, if he moves like that with just a finger up his ass." Exclaimed Giggler, chuckling with glee.

The other man said nothing, just continued to root around in Tintin's anal cavity. Finally he pulled himself out, and Tintin began to sigh with relief only to cry out again as once more the man invaded him. Only this time it was worse, as the man was penetrating him with two fingers, stretching Tintin even further.

Tintin kept his eyes and jaws clenched. He wished he could bite his knuckles, anything to stay silent. He didn't want to make any more sounds, give them any indication how terrified he was or how painful their actions were. He couldn't do anything about the tears that were beginning to gather behind his lids.

"Here now, you've had him enough, my turn!" The other man asserted, pulling the 'bruiser's' arm away. Tintin didn't bother to sigh at the sweet release, knowing it was but a short respite.

Chortling with sick humor, the 'giggler' spent several moments sticking his fingers one at a time inside Tintin, then two fingers and finally three. "Ohhhh, he's a tight one ain't he?"

Somehow managing to keep from making a sound during the ordeal even though his abused flesh burned from the repeated penetrations, Tintin cried out sharply as he felt his tuft grabbed securely and pulled, his head yanking backward. "You're a virgin, ain't ya pretty boy? Hee, hee, heee! Well, not for long. Our cocks are mighty hungry for a hot, tight fuck."

"Please, oh please. Don't do this to me. Why? Why do you want to hurt me?" he asked plaintively.

"Cause, that's why. Cause we can. What ya gonna do it about it, ya little girly-boy?" Bruiser remarked.

The fingers that had been fisted into his hair relaxed and made their way over his face, the touch soft, disgustingly caressing. "Cause you're pretty, pretty boy, hee, hee. Saw that right away when you was walking around. Pretty red hair, pretty face like a girl's, pretty little ass, hee, hee, ripe and round. So we pretty much decided to have some fun with ya." Giggler snorted, amused at his little pun.

"I…have some money, I can give it to you…" He offered desperately.

Tintin saw stars again as a heavy hand smacked him on the back of his head. "Shut up, cunt. Don't want yer money, want yer ass." Bruiser hissed in his ear and then barked at his partner, "Move over, I've waited long enough, cock's drippin' as it is."

Tintin couldn't help the moan of despair as the 'bruiser' shoved the other man out of the way. He tightened reflexively as rough hands grasped his hips, pulling his buttocks up higher.

He screamed as he was pierced by a very thick 'something' that shoved hard and deep inside him, ripping into his tender flesh. He was well aware of what it was, but somehow not identifying it made it seem less…real.

But the pain was real. Tearing, sharp, burning pain that blazed from his entrance and raced deep inside him. A pounding force that shoved in and out of him, causing his knees to scrape back and forth across the floor. Grunts and groans that battered his ears, sounds that were both zealous and triumphant.

He was vaguely aware of someone cheering, laughing hysterically.

Tintin no longer remembered wanting to keep silent. It hurt too much. Not just the physical violation, but the psychological as well. His mind reeled from the dreadful knowledge that he was being sexually assaulted. And there was nothing he could do about it.

He'd been tied up before, placed in helpless situations. There had been many a time when he'd thought his luck had run out.

But he'd never been violated before, made to feel so humiliated, so vulnerable…so hopeless.

His mind swirled and he struggled to retain consciousness. As awful as all this was, he did not want to be completely at their mercy.

And so he screamed and shrieked and cried out until his throat was raw. He wanted to buck and writhe, but held himself still, instinctively knowing that not only would moving hurt him more, but that it would entice his attacker.

Tears were running down his face, his nose leaking moisture as well. He didn't care. A small voice in the back of his head said that maybe if he looked less attractive, they'd leave him alone.

The pain and the movement were blurring into one big overwhelming ball of agony when with one last, brutal shove, 'bruiser' stilled his movements. He could hear the man crying out joyously.

Except for one last stab of pain as the man pulled out, it was over. The pain was still there, but no longer white hot. Tintin tried to collapse, but the 'bruiser' still had his hips painfully gripped.

Taking a shaky breath, Tintin tried to control his sobs, shift his weight off his knees, scraped raw. His hands were fisted together, fingernails sunk deep enough to bring up half-moons of blood.

"Awww, pretty little baby boy's sad. Must not have been to his liking, hee, hee. Maybe he'll find my cock more to his pleasure, heeee hee hee heee."

Tintin tried to shout no, but it only came out as a whisper. He'd known that the 'giggler' would be taking his turn, but had futilely hoped that perhaps…

"Have at him, I've opened him up and got him all nice and wet for you. Should just slide right in." Bruiser remarked. Tintin caught the sound of a zipper and the rustle of clothing. He braced himself for the onslaught.

He could get through this. He would get through this. They had made no mention of killing him; maybe they'd just have their way with him and then leave. He'd promise not to tell, beg them to please let him go.

Breath catching in his throat as he felt pressure on his extremely sore and inflamed anus, Tintin gave out a long groan as the 'giggler' slowly entered him. Giggling the entire time, of course.

"See, this is how ya do it, not wham, bam, thanks, my man, but nice and easy, hee, hee, hee. Take your time, savor the tight little ass. And boy oh boy, hee, hee, is he ever a tight one."

Oddly, Tintin would have preferred it the other way; gotten it done and over with instead of having to endure this slow torture.

The pain was beginning to build back up to the former white-hot stage, but instead of screaming, Tintin only made small, low noises, more whimpers than anything else. He just wanted this to end, but the man was taking his time. Over and over the 'giggler' pulled out and re-entered him, keeping up a running patter about how tight Tintin's ass was, how wonderful it felt around the man's cock, how he'd never had such a good fuck before. All interspersed with that hateful giggle.

Slow tears made their way down Tintin's face, dripping onto the cold concrete floor. His legs shook and he trembled and shivered. He grimaced as he felt the man's hands move gently across his flesh, curving under him and taking his shaft into one hand, scrotum in the other and begin fondling them.

"Not going to get hard for me sweetheart? Hee, hee. That's ok, I know I'm enjoying this."

He wasn't aware of the exact moment the man began to move more forcefully, only that his body was once more rocking back and forth. Moaning, he bit his lip. As the rhythm increased it wasn't long before he began to taste blood. It oddly centered him, knowing that all the pain he was experiencing wasn't caused by his hated attackers.

And he hated them. Wanted nothing more than to smash them, rip them to pieces, pull those disgusting cocks off and stuff them up their asses. Face screwing up into an expression of pure rage, Tintin seethed.

If he could get free for just one second…

He almost didn't notice the man stilling inside him, but did catch the man give out a long, sighing groan. And he was definitely aware of the 'giggler' exiting him. His ass was so painfully raw it didn't feel any less uncomfortable, but at least the man was out of him.

Keeping himself still as hands once more roamed over his body, fondling this and tweaking that, he waited to see what they would do next.

Tintin couldn't help but cry out as he was once more flipped over to sit on his extremely painful rump.

Noting that the 'bruiser' was standing over him, fully dressed allowed him a small bright spot of ease.

The 'giggler' however was crouched before him, holding his now flaccid shaft in his hand. Tintin did not like the look on the man's face.

Scooting forward, Giggler brought his cock up and began to rub the tip against Tintin's face. Swallowing repeatedly in an attempt not to heave, Tintin tried to turn his head away from this new degradation. Feeling a hand once more grab hold of his tuft, he reluctantly stilled.

"Lick it." Giggler ordered. "Open up that pretty mouth of yours and lick it."

Tintin's narrowed eyes locked onto the man's beady orbs and he was instantly rocked backward by a vicious backhanded swipe.

"Ya little prick! I seen what you was thinkin'!" the man exclaimed. Turning to his laughing partner, he continued, his voice whining. "He was gonna bite me, you seen that!"

"Fucker's still got some fight in him, maybe we weren't rough enough…"

Tintin stilled.

"Damn." Bruiser stated, suddenly looking at his watch. "We're missing lunch."

"Crap, wanted to have some more fun with pretty and tight here. Maybe we keep him here? Come back and play some more with him?"

Tintin could see out of the corner of his eye that the 'bruiser' was seriously contemplating the idea. Promising God the world, he prayed they would let him go.

"Sounds good. Boss ain't exactly checking up on us."

Tintin sagged. This wasn't over yet.

…