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Entry tags:	classifieds:ianto jones/doctor

Ianto Jones/Tenth Doctor
Title: Into Hell
Pairing: Ianto Jones/Tenth Doctor
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Rating: NC-17
Table: 10
Prompt: 26, Lust
Author's Note: Prequel to Stigmata Martyr, Mood Indigo and Restlessness & Redemption.
Warnings: Rape.
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own Ianto Jones, the Tenth Doctor, or the Master. Please do not sue.



Ianto came to slowly, his head throbbing. Where the hell was he? Why was it so dark? And where was the Doctor? He couldn't feel the Time Lord's presence anywhere near, and that terrified him more than anything he could think of. He'd become used to feeling the Doctor's nearness, a comforting presence that he'd begun to get comfortable with.

His senses were slowly coming to life, giving him clues to where he was. It was fairly obvious that he was bound, from the way his arms were stretched above his head. He couldn't feel the ropes -- or whatever it was -- holding his wrists immobile, but he was sure that after he was more awake, he'd feel them all too acutely.

It was also obvious that he was gagged, a feeling he remembered all too well from the incident with his Torchwood teammates in that cannibal house of horrors. The nightmares he retained from that experience were still with him, though not as close to the surface, thanks to the Doctor. Somehow, he managed to chase away any darkness that threatened to get too close.

But this was no nightmare. It was horribly, terribly real. Ianto didn't know where he was, or how he'd gotten here -- but something told him that opening his eyes and discovering where he was would make this all too real, take it out of the realm of possibility and plant it firmly in reality, where he couldn't escape from it. Whatever it was.

Ianto shivered; wherever he was, it was cold, the chill biting into his body as much as the ropes were cutting into his wrists. With a shock, he realized that he was so cold because he was naked, the chilled air swirling around the more sensitive areas of his body with every slight gust of wind. Why in the hell had he been stripped naked and tied up like something out of a bondage porn film? Just what was going on here?

"Ah, Mr. Jones. It's no use keeping your eyes closed. I can tell from the change in your breathing that you're finally awake."

Ianto's eyes snapped open; maybe whoever this person was would give him some sort of explanation. They would have to know; judging from what they'd said, they were the author of what was rapidly becoming a nightmare beyond his powers of description. He didn't know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't the man in front of him.

He knew who this was, knew from instinct more than the Doctor's mentions of him. He knew by the coldness in those eyes, the maniacal hunger that raged there, just under the surface. Ianto wanted to cringe away from the anger that sparked in those eyes, but it was impossible. Even if he hadn't been bound and helpless, he doubted that he could have moved a muscle.

It was the Master. He was sure of it.

The man in front of him smiled, his approval obvious. "Ah, I see you know who I am," he said, his tone almost conversational. "I shouldn't need any sort of introduction, really, not after all the things that I'm sure your precious Doctor has told you about me. Painting me as some kind of horrible monster, I'm sure."

Ianto's heart leaped in his chest; could the Doctor have been wrong about this man? Was their enmity something that could be avoided, or patched up? In the seconds it took his mind to formulate that hope, his more rational side crushed it. If the Master was some sort of benevolent being, then he himself wouldn't be in the state he was in, now would he? No, of course not.

The Master stepped forward, reaching out a hand to Ianto's face. Those soft, calloused fingertips trailed down his skin, moving over his cheek, his throat, down to his chest to tweak one small nipple, then the other. Ianto moaned softly, hating himself for his body's reaction to being touched. The Master's eyes roamed over his body, another smile of approval on his face.

"Very good, Mr. Jones. Or shall I call you Ianto? I'm sure that's the name the Doctor cries out when you make him come, isn't it?" He circled around Ianto, eyes roving over the slender body stretched taut in front of him. "He certainly does have good taste in lovers. First Jack Harkness, and now you. But I believe you're more to him than just a lover, aren't you, my dear?"

He stepped close to Ianto, pressing himself against the young man's backside, making Ianto's breath freeze in his throat. "I used to be the one to make him come, you know. So many times .... he has a limitless capacity for sexual gratification, though I'm sure you've already discovered that. You must think you're the luckiest man in the world to have him."

The Master's voice continued, moving from controlled and almost suave to sounding sibilant and menacing. "His soul mate. The one he's been searching for all these years, all these centuries. And he finds that in you, a human. A mere boy. You can't possibly know what it is to own a Time Lord. What it is to possess him."

A hand moved down his back, rested on the curve of his hip before a finger trailed down the crack of his ass, stopping just behind his entrance. Ianto could feel his muscles tensing, waiting for the inevitable touch. His shivering had intensified; now he was shaking not only from cold, but from terror. That voice .... those words .... they were frightening.

"He should be mine," the Master hissed, his mouth next to Ianto's ear. "He should give himself to me of his own free will, make himself my slave. I should be the one to enjoy his body, I should be the one with the privilege of taking him. But no -- he chooses to give that to you!" His voice had turned sneering, low-pitched and gritty.

Ianto gasped as a finger stroked across his entrance, squeezing his eyes shut as he waited for the penetration. It was only a matter of time -- all he could do was endure it and pray that the Master wouldn't do anything other than that. He could stand torture being inflicted on his body -- but this was something he'd never expected.

What had made him think that rape was a fate reserved solely for women? He knew that the Doctor had suffered through it before -- and that one of the perpetrators had been this man, this .... thing that was bent on taking him. He should have known from the second he realized that he was nude exactly what this madman had planned for him.

But there was no penetration, no sudden thrusting into his anus. He gasped again when the stroking stopped, involuntarily arching his back when the touch disappeared. It had been a long time since he'd been taken, but his body could still remember the sensations -- and there was a part of him that still hungered for it, needed it, even though he refused to acknowledge that need.

The Master's hands were on Ianto's shoulders, slipping down his back to curl around his waist, hands between his legs. One hand grasped his erect penis, fingers curling around his shaft, thumb rubbing across the tender, swollen tip; the other hand cupped his balls, squeezing slightly, drawing another moan from his young captive.

"His hearts will break to know that I've had you," the Master whispered, his thumb continuing to stroke Ianto's cock, rubbing circles around the tip. "He knows that I'd much rather it were him helpless under my control, but it will cut him to the quick to know that you've been violated by the man he's spent so many years of his existence trying to avoid. As if he could avoid me! As if either of you could."

The Master moved one hand to his pocket, reaching into it and pulling out a set of small, wicked-looking clamps. He didn't hold them up in front of Ianto's face to show him what they were; instead, he reached around the young man's body again, clipping the clamps onto the Welsh boy's tender balls and letting the weights swing between his thighs.

Ianto swallowed a scream when the weights were clamped onto his balls, trying his best not to make a sound. He couldn't help it, though; a whimper slipped out, a shudder going through his body. He whimpered again when the Master repeated the process, this time with a heavier weight attached to a clamp that was affixed to the head of his cock.

The Master looked down to admire his handiwork, trailing his fingertips over Ianto's chest before fishing a third set of clamps from his pocket, letting the silver chain that connected them drag across Ianto's skin as he fixed first one clamp, then the other, to each hardened nipple, the weights on the clamps brushing the sensitive skin of his stomach as they swung back and forth.

"I hope you survive this, my beauty," he intoned, flicking his tongue over Ianto's ear before he stepped back, releasing the young man and reaching for the buttons on his trousers. "I want the Doctor to see the bruises on your body and know who put them there. I want him to hear you scream in terror when he touches you -- and to know exactly what caused your fear."

Ianto whimpered softly behind his gag, muscles tensing. He couldn't feel the Master right behind him, but he knew that his captor was there -- he could hear the rustle of clothes falling to the floor, and he had no doubt what was going to be done to him. No, his mind protested, refusing to accept the inevitable. He can't. He won't.

"Ah, but I can. And I will," the Master breathed, twining his fingers through Ianto's thick dark hair and pulling the Welsh boy's head back -- at the same moment that he snapped his hips forward, entering Ianto in one quick, hard thrust.

Ianto's senses reeled; he felt as if a white-hot poker was being driven into his ass, searing him from the inside out. He'd never been taken dry before; Jack had always been careful to prepare him for anything that he did. This was a kind of pain he couldn't have even begun to imagine, a pain that tore him apart with no guarantee of ever being able to find all the pieces to put him back together again.

He screamed against the cloth gag, his body arching against his bonds. The Master pounded into him again and again, pulling all the way out only to penetrate him again seconds later, holding Ianto's hips so that he couldn't squirm away.

Ianto could feel something tricklng down the insides of his thighs; blood, or the Master's seed? He had no idea, and at the moment, he didn't care. His only thought was for the pain to end; he'd beg, plead, scream, anything the Master wanted from him, if it would only stop.

The Doctor has been through infinitely worse, his mind whispered, a tiny voice that wouldn't be quieted. Over and over again, this man has tortured him. This is nothing. You can bear it. The Doctor will find you. He'll be here. He'll rescue you. You know he will.

His mind reeled under the onslaught of not only the brutal violation, but the weight of his own thoughts. No! his mind screamed, the one word bright and flashing in his mind like a neon warning sign. The last thing he wanted was for the Doctor to come rushing to his rescue. The Master would tear into him, tear his body apart even more ruthlessly.

The Master didn't stop even as he released into Ianto's bruised and torn body; like the Doctor, he must have an endless capacity for orgasm, Ianto thought hazily through the pain. He was going to pass out .... no, not that. He was going to faint, to sink into an oblivion that was more and more welcome with every second.

"Don't you dare faint on me, you little bastard," the Master hissed, twining his fingers through Ianto's hair again and yanking his head back. "I want you to suffer through every second of this. I want the Doctor to be able to look into your mind and see it all. I want him to know exactly what was done to you -- and remember everything I've done to him."

So saying, he thrust his hips forward again, bringing another scream from Ianto's throat, a scream that was muffled by the gag in his mouth. The pain sizzled through his body, starting between his legs and spreading to every nerve, a pain that didn't abate and didn't end. It only went on and on, the Master laughing as his screams became weaker and more diminished.

Ianto's last coherent thought was that death would be a welcome release, if more of this was all he could expect from the future.

I'm sorry .... I'm so sorry. He could feel the Doctor's mind brush against his own before he spiralled down into blessed unconsciousness.

*** *** ***

He was here. He had to be here. He'd never felt Ianto's presence so strongly as he had when his mind reverberated with that cry for help, not even when the Welsh boy was right beside him.

The Doctor stumbled through the large, darkened warehouse, the place that Ianto's mental cry had led him to. His hands shook, his legs were wobbly; he was terrified of what he would find. The Master had been here, he knew that from the feel of the place. He could feel the malevolence, the hatred. The maniacal evil that the Master represented.

And the lust. The unbridled lust that made up part of the Master's psyche.

The Doctor wanted to cringe away from that feeling; he hated to let his mind touch it, the tainted residue of the Master's psychic trail. That lust wasn't directed at Ianto; oh, no, it was aimed full force at him. He'd never be able to escape that, no matter how long he lived, how well he hid himself, what far ends of the galaxy he fled to in an attempt to run away.

He'd never get away from that relentless pursuit. And now, Ianto had been dragged into it, harmed because of him.

Where was he? He had to be here. The Master wouldn't have been so cruel as to take Ianto away with him, somewhere that he'd never be found. The Doctor's eyes swept the darkness, his senses straining outward for some hint of Ianto's presence.

There. In the corner. He was there. He had to be.

The Doctor broke into a run, tripping over a loose tile and sprawling across the floor. He crawled across the tiles for a few feet before he could make it onto his feet again, desperate to reach Ianto, not caring that he'd scraped his palms and knees bloody in his fall.

He reached the corner of the warehouse, falling to his knees and doubling over. A scream bubbled up in his throat; it pierced the darkness with the force of a gale wind, a keening wail that cut through the silence.

"No!"

Ianto's inert body was on the ground, sprawled out over the cold tiles of the floor. Even in the semi-darkness, there was no mistaking the dark trails of dried blood down the insides of his thighs, the obvious use that had been made of his body. His breathing was shallow and ragged, his chest barely rising and falling.

Sobbing, the Doctor gathered the Welsh boy's body into his arms, pressing his lips against Ianto's cheek, his forehead, his closed eyes, his parted lips. The wail hadn't stopped, only grown softer, finally trailing off into small whimpers that the Doctor couldn't keep back.

He was alive. Ianto was alive. He was breathing, his heart was beating. That was a good sign, the Doctor told himself frantically, trying to calm down. That meant that there was a chance -- a good chance -- that he could manage to get Ianto back to his world, to his time, and find help.

The Doctor took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes closed and dashing the back of his hand across his face. Now wasn't the time for tears and breakdowns. They wouldn't help Ianto. He could indulge his own needs when his soul mate was safe, when he knew that Ianto was going to recover.

Gathering his love into his arms, the Time Lord struggled to his feet, only seeing the small piece of paper that had been left by Ianto's body after he'd risen. Sinking to his knees again, still clasping Ianto in his arms, he picked it up and unfolded it, squinting to make out the words.

When he did, his lips tightened in anger, his hand automatically crumpling the paper and tossing it away from him.

"This is your hell, Doctor. May you burn in it. Eternally."

Struggling to his feet again, the Doctor turned towards the entrance to the warehouse, towards the Tardis and safety, a way back to Ianto's time. He had to get the Welsh boy to a hospital -- and quickly. His breaths were becoming more shallow and labored by the minute, his face drained of color, his heartbeat seeming to slow significantly when the Doctor placed a gentle hand on his chest.

It was slow going, stumbling across the floor that he'd previously been able to run over. But he made it to the door, turning to survey the place where his love had been held captive.

He wanted to remember this. He wanted to re-create it in the future -- and use it to bring the Master to a bitter end. It was past time that monster was stopped. He should have managed to do it a long time ago, instead of being a scared little boy and running away from the responsibility.

"I'll come back," he whispered, his voice low and fierce, eyes narrowed, his words coming out in a hiss. "And I'll make you pay for what you've done."

So saying, he turned his back on the place that had become his personal hell and made his way to the Tardis, Ianto's unconscious body cradled in his arms.

He didn't hear the soft, sibilant laughter that trailed out of the building after the two of them.