If this shows, ignore it, I'm still trying to beat ffnet's stupid editing system…

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Disclaimer: I own squat.

A/N: The end is coming! XD Ah, right, this is a nasty little chapter. Mentions and some details of rape. Nothing to heavy, or in detail but, well… I'm not actually particularly happy with this chapter, there's something a little off about it but I hope you enjoy.

Thanks: The response was so quick and welcoming, so really, just a massive thanks to everyone! As always, lynny, rubydoo and Mags.

Many, many thanks to 'nay' really, thank you so very much. Your review meant a lot and I hope you enjoy this. And to NikkiCee; thank you so much love, you don't know how much the songs helped, lol, maybe you do as the title indicates them ;)

To Be Used
Chapter Nine
Broken hearted Victim
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Tom was reminded of a memory of him as a child, standing crying in the middle of his room. Watching his angry father stand at the door way, trying to talk to him over his sons childish wails and sobs. As he father had lurched slowly forward, child Tommy had cried harder; fear growing, pounding at him, gnawing at him, devouring him. He had known he had done wrong, known he was in trouble, and no matter how sorry he claimed to be, he knew he was still going to be in trouble.

All that fear, that child like vulnerability, the sorrow and pain and insistent, non-stop wails, came back to Tom. He stood shaking, trembling, knees pressed together as Doug crept lustfully forward for him. His eyes were unfocused, tears brimming and falling from them; the orbs two dark pebbles submerged in a lake. "D-Doug," he chocked, his voice restricted from the fear.

"Tom," the larger man had no trouble speaking, had no problem with the sin he knew he was about to commit.

"Please," he tears grew into voiced sobs, unable to suppress them. Knowing what was about to happen made the situation worst, made the fear unavoidable.

Doug caught Tom as he fell, dragging the lighter body to the bed edge, pushing him down onto it. He stood above, watching Tom breath erotically on his back, "Stop crying Tom, it's pathetic."

Tom fought to stop the tears, to quieten the sobs and whimpers, but he didn't succeed. "Don't, don't" he hiccupped, "Don't do this Doug, please, I-I love you." The words sounded false and tasteless on his tongue, and he knew now that all the love for Doug he had ever felt was gone.

"And I love you-"

Tom nodded. Maybe not all the love he felt for Doug was gone, it couldn't be. Not when the man who was about to harm him, the man who was cowering over him like a predatory bear, was still comforting him with those simple words. Still arousing him.

"-But sometimes, sometimes…" he shook his head, clearly confused by himself, "You just make me do this Tommy."

Tom swallowed, "Can't-Can't we talk about this Doug?"

Doug shook his head, "I'm sorry." He pulled his jacket off, now in jeans and a t-shirt. "I'm sorry." He made the lunge; falling on the bed, arms on either side of Tom, legs pinned between Toms'.

"Doug!" he cried, "No! Don't!" he weakly tried to push the larger body of him, incapacitated by his sore bones and bruised body. "Stop!"

"Shut up, Tommy" With fumbling fingers he peeled off the jumper Tom wore, tugging it as it caught around his neck, tearing at the sleeves. "Just-Just shut up okay, it won't hurt…so bad then."

Tom's chest heaved, skin sinking around the bones as he breathed in. Realization dawned on him; that Doug didn't want to do this, that for reasons unbeknownst to Tom, Doug felt compelled. Tom had to get through to the rational side of Doug that had to still be there, "Doug, you" he chocked, "you don't wanna be doing this. I know you don't. You can stop."

"I know." He paused, hands lingering over the tender cheekbones of Tom, running over the delicate and fine sculptures of his face, "And I wouldn't" his finger parted the two petal lips, "but you deserve this Tom. It's the only way you'll learn."

Tom's eyes widened, confused. How was this, his fault?

Doug noticed the confusion and gently moved his hands down the marked neck to run freely over Tom's chest, touch the hardened nipples. He looked hypnotically at the dark bruise that accentuated each rib, the horrid patch of blood and torn skin. "I'll tell you," he pressed purposely hard on the bruise, bathing in the sound of Tom's harsh whimpers, "If you hadn't been so nosy, hadn't been so self absorbed, hadn't been such a pathetic excuse of a boyfriend, I wouldn't have to be like this."

Tom nodded, cold tears tracing the bones on his face; Doug was right.

"But, what really triggered this, what's really caused all of this, is that night….with Booker and how disgusting it made you."

"Oh God, Doug." His face scrunched as he bit back a wail that he knew would never stop if he let it escape. Doug was only confirming his doubts, only enforcing them hard in cement, and Tom knew they had to be right. Of course they did. He had caused all of this, had made life hard for Doug. He deserved this.

He would never know to correct himself.

Doug ran fingers through Tom's hazelnut hair, breathed in his scent, lingered as their eyes locked. He breathed huskily, changing positions a little. "Turn over."

"No"

An eyebrow arched gracefully, "No?" he smiled bitterly, slapping Tom's delicate face sharply, "I said turn over, Tom!"

Tom sniffed, "N-No Doug, I..."

Doug moved his knees below Tom's genitals, knowing any higher would incapacitate the use, "I said, fucking turn over."

Tom was physically frozen, traumatized by terror. He knew to move, he could feel his mind screaming at his nerve centre to do so, yet he couldn't physically move. He felt sick.

Doug growled, gripping at Tom's lean forearms with a force that would be sure to leave deep bruises and tiny nail cuts the next day. He made no noise as he easily flipped Tom's body over. He laughed a little, maliciously, grabbing at his belt and pulling it through the buckles without any regret of what he was about to do. He let the belt and jeans slide from off of his hips, the belt slipping through the holders and clunking to the ground.

The noise of a zip being pulled down alerted Tom and screamed at his mind. Suddenly he was awoken from the frozen trance he had been in. He turned a little, struggling against Doug's larger hands, heavier hands, abusing hands. "Get-" he grunted, "Get off of me Douglas"

Doug was shocked that the placid, almost willing Tom had suddenly upreared; using the small amount of strength he had to throw Doug off. Tom had always been weaker than Doug, exceptionally stronger than what he appeared, but weaker than Doug. It didn't help now that Tom was physically exhausted and injured and that Doug's drunken limbs were heavier.

"Turn over, slut, and stay there." He pushed Tom back onto his stomach. "And don't you dare talk to me," he slapped the side of Tom's head, "like that."

Tom's eyes stung from the force of the slap, but more so from his breaking heart. Slut. Doug had never called him a slut, even when drunk, and it hurt. It fucking hurt more than a bullet wound ever could. It tore at him, it killed him, it ruined him.

"Remember your God damn place Tom, on bottom, as always."

Tom felt a twinge of nauseas hit him, rise in his throat. He had always been on bottom because Doug had loved being on top, because Tom had loved Doug being on top. Now, he was using it against Tom and Tom wasn't sure if anything could hurt as much as what Doug had just said to him. Slut.

Doug used a knee to pin Tom to the bed as he shrugged his jeans to his thighs, stroking his member even though it was already hard. "You ready?"

Tom whimpered into the ironic soft sheets, "Please Doug, don't do this."

Doug laughed, "Fuck you." He reached under Tom's waist and felt down for the zip, tugging at it and unbuttoning the silver metal circle. Tom tired to escape, weakly struggled against his captor but found the knee in his back painful and that with his body in this state, with his mind the way it was, he couldn't. As he pants were tugged over his hips and down his things to his knees, his erection intensified from the warming hands and he blushed furiously, wishing his body wouldn't react, praying for it to stop, trying to deny the pleasure and arousal he felt.

Doug lingered over, touching in a way that made Tom want to scream, tears forgotten. "Don't pretend you don't like it Tommy." Doug grabbed at Tom's face, meeting with the flushed cheeks, "I was right, you are a little slut." He forced his lips to Tom's unresponsive ones and growled into them to force them open where he fiercely tamed and captured Tom's mouth, possessing it.

Tom pulled away, a new wave of tears brimming at his eyes. How pathetic he was, how…useless he was. Captured by his once lover, forced into a degrading position because he was too weak, too useless, too pathetic to aspire to anything or anyone else. He laughed into the covers in pained disbelief; he was just here to be used, just here for Doug's enjoyment. He was used in every aspect. It was all his life amounted to now. Tom jolted as the hard member of Doug's came to brush against his opening.

It didn't mean that he wanted his life to amount to this, that he wanted what was happening to him. That he wouldn't stop it.

"Doug!" he screamed, voice tearing, "Please, Doug, don't fucking do this!" he struggled to get up as Doug position himself on top, straddling Tom in one of the most degrading positions they had ever been in. "Doug!" his voice softened, all anger and fear drowned by acceptance, "I'm begging you Doug, please, please, don't do this…"

- - -

Booker's motorcycle had never seemed so slow in his life. It didn't matter that he was killing the speed limit by a good ten miles, and sometimes nearly twenty. It didn't matter that he had illegally put his siren on to skip red lights and force all traffic to a side for a matter he may only be prying to deep into. It didn't matter that he was physically, realistically going as fast as he could; because his fastest wasn't fast enough to get him to Tom.

What if he didn't make it in time to stop something horrible?

He floored the gas again. He wouldn't allow that to happen. He turned the street left, ignoring the images that had been plaguing him, ignoring the scenarios that tauntingly played in his mind; he had already envisioned everything possible, he knew the endings off by heart, he just hoped he didn't find Tom dead on the floor, covered in his own blood.

The siren blasted annoyingly in his ear and he wished he could scream at it, throw it off and be done with it, but without it, he would be five miles further away and the usually comforting blearing noise would be accepted for this one chance to save Tom.

Dennis smiled beneath the helmet, to save Tom. The thought sounded ridiculous. Three months ago they were at each others throats; even three days ago they had been bickering. Months ago Tom had accused him of rape and now he was flying down roads and street paths to get to a man he had only just been compassionate to, only just started acting friendly towards. To get to a man Dennis was starting to fall for and that simple, mere thought excited and scared him.

A fine spray of rain started and Dennis suddenly felt himself caught in a surreal environment, like none of what was happening, what had happened and what was about to, existed. That this was some far fetched dream he hadn't yet awoken from where desires and nightmares had been fulfilled; yet the passionate kiss and warm embrace he had been entangled in with Tom proved all of that different.

A flutter ran through his heart and Dennis leaned further over his motorbike. There was no use in trying to deny it or find reason for it; Dennis Booker loved Tom Hanson.

He sharply turned a corner and flew down a straight road, bike coming to a skidding halt as he slammed the brakes, smoke burning underneath the tearing rubber of the tyre. The folder was forgotten as he leapt from the bike, ignoring its clatter as the kickstand failed and the bike tumbled to the ground. Scratches were easy to fix, dead bodies were not.

It was then that Dennis had to stop his train of thoughts; he was taking this too far. Tom was not dead, Doug had not killed him, there was nothing going on between the two more than a verbal fight and Tommy being the whiny, scrawny runt he was, had freaked out more than what was necessary. Still, Dennis took steps two at a time, he still had that uneasy feeling swimming inside of him and he was not willing to risk the chance.

He panted at the door of Tom's apartment, pausing to regain breath as hands fell to knees, body hunched over. He was a trained cop, even used to have a quite a position on his school's track team, and yet the short run up the stairs, the fast paced, yet lazy ride over had exhausted him.

"Doug! Doug! Stop!! Please! Stop, Stop!"

Dennis shot up, heart beat pounding heavily against his chest cage. Even through the wooden door Tom's yells were clear and audible and Dennis shuddered against the thought of how they would sound in the same room as Tom.

'Stop! Please, please, please Doug, stop…"

Dennis hated how broken and weak the cries sounded, how piercing and anguished they were that the undertone in Tom's voice spoke of nothing more but utter fear and humiliation and Dennis was sure guilt too. He twisted the door knob, swearing heatedly as he found it locked. Dennis rammed his shoulder against the door, waiting for the wood to splinter and crack.

"Stay the fuck down Tom," a muffled smack, "This is your own fault." A soft cry, a fragile whimper.

Dennis froze, still pressed against the door. Penhall's' voice sounded so different, so unlike him that it freaked the usually collective Dennis out and he could only imagine how Tom felt. How the easily frightened Tom would feel at the hands of his abusive lover, listening up close to the demonic voice that possessed Doug Penhall. His mind geared and he threw his full body weight into the door, each continuous ram afterwards accompanied by a swear word, a mutter of hope, a begging of making it in time.

The door creaked, and a snap on the other side vibrated threw the door and Dennis smiled in relieved hope. He breathed in deeply, mentally preparing himself before he gave the last and final ram, the splintering of the door drowned by Tom's cry.

"Why do you hate me, Doug?!" a soft cry, soundings of a struggle, "What the fuck did I ever do to you?" a yelp of pain, "I'm sorry Doug, I'm sorry for Christ's sake!" a sickening scream entwined with a satisfied grunt, "I'm fucking sorry Doug. I'm sorry I'm a fuck up, I'm sorry I fucked up your life, I'm sorry I'm so fucking disgusting that you find you-" a stifled muffle as a noise emitted from Tom, "-can't love me anymore." A dejected tone, "I'm sorry Doug."

It took a moment for words to make a path in Dennis' mind, took a moment longer for the sounds Dennis had been hearing to process, and it took a moment longer still for Dennis to double over, the overwhelming urge to vomit rising in his stomach, up his throat into his mouth. He coughed a little, the acidic burn leaving his mouth. He didn't think Penhall would sink as low, become so degrading as to do this.

"Hanson!" he all but screamed.

There was a change in movement, a quieter environment and muffled words. He called again, louder and more determined, searching round the house. "Hanson! Tom Hanson!" He passed the kitchen, stepping carefully around furniture and overturned belongings; signs of a struggle.

His heart beat grew, climaxing to a point that he felt it rise in his throat. His footsteps became wider as he moved from walking to pacing, pacing to jogging. "Tom! Answer me god damn it!" He strained his ears for a retort and heard instead a muffled cry, a strangled sob, a heavy blow. "Tom!" his voice panicked.

There were inaudible words, hushed secrets from Dennis' ears and furniture moved. "Jesus," Dennis muttered frustratingly. He bolted fast, turning the sharp corner and coming face to a closed door. He could barely remember Tom's apartment, but he was positive this had to be Tom's room, positive in his minds frame that it was.

He yelled from the outside, "You in here?" he knew he wouldn't get a reply, but something in him had hoped so, "Tom…please," he didn't want what he thought, what he knew, to be right.

A reluctant sigh escaped him and he ran a shaking hand through his sweat saturated hair. "What am I doing…" he trailed off hopelessly, wishing it was someone else, any one else, just not him.

'Doooouuuug! DOUG!'

Tom's scream shook him, and he barred his teeth, suddenly feeling abusive towards Doug Penhall. He twisted the unlocked door knob and closed his eyes briefly, trying to catch his breath and ease his thumping heart. He slowly opened his eyes and let the scene before him unfold.

What he saw would never be forgotten.

Maybe it was a little abrupt, and a nasty place to leave but I need that break there otherwise it'll be wtf? And no one wants a wtf. Thank you all again for your reviews!