Title: Captivity
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/Ianto, Ianto/OFC
Warning: No spoilers. Sensitive subject matter: non-con, drugging.
Word Count: 4300
Rating: Adult Content: sex
Summary: “Jones, pretty Jones, you can have a life of ease as my bedmate or I can turn you to the stables. Which would you prefer?”
Notes: Written for the “happy-ended angst” prompt.

Thank you to .

The sequel to this story is Release.

The negotiations were difficult, delicate. Even without a language barrier there were still issues of idiom, nuance; and the Qioshan were not people of nuance, at least in the way of English nuance. Jack’s presence was requested as the most senior member of Torchwood (the head of Torchwood Four simply refused to come, saying, “London has dealt wi’out me for thirty years, they can deal wi’out me for another thirty,”) and Ianto was introduced to the Prime Minister, the military representatives and the security team as “my right hand.” He was put at the conference table at Jack’s side and quietly took notes, every point of debate as well as his impressions of all present.

The Qioshan sovereign, Mikuzhephae, was a formidable man, stern and battle-scarred, with the pupil-less blue eyes and café-au-lait-colored skin of his people. He had brought his courtiers–advisors and handmaidens and guards–and his daughter, a haughty young woman who looked at them all with disdain.

“This world is cold,” she complained to Ianto when they paused the negotiations to eat. She liked Ianto–she attached herself to him almost at once. He supposed he was something she could understand in this strange place, someone like herself, included to learn the ways of government but not expected to participate.

Every time he looked away from her his eyes met Jack’s, and the quiet semi-smile Jack gave him distracted him completely from Princess Mikuhuit.

He managed to remember to answer her. “It’s wintertime for us. If you go south you’ll find it warmer.”

“The father says we will not see more cities.”

“The father is, I think, wise about that. They’re not ready to meet you.” He couldn’t see if Jack was eating anything: he looked too deep in conversation with the Prime Minister to have gotten himself some food. “Will you excuse me, Your Highness?” he said to the princess, and her attendants bristled until she dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

“You may go. You attend to the Harkness?”

“I do,” Ianto said with a slight bow of his head. “He’s my responsibility.”

Ianto put together two plates–good English food, to introduce the Qioshan to English culture–and brought them to where Jack and the Prime Minister were talking in low, intense voices. Both of them smiled at him in thanks. “Be careful with your Mr. Jones,” the Prime Minister said, “or we may steal him away from you.”

“You’d have to steal him,” Jack said. “I wouldn’t give him up willingly.”

“You flatter me, sir,” Ianto said quietly and their eyes met. It was in the arch of Jack’s brow, the curve of his lip, that he was grateful for Ianto’s presence and his care and would show him properly once they were alone in the hotel. Ianto merely nodded and left them to get himself another cup of coffee.


The day was long. There was much to cover, even if this was mostly a formality: most of the agreements would be reached without the sovereign present, possibly without even the Prime Minister involved except for the final approvals. Ianto took pages of notes, carefully coded, and when they finally broke for the night he gave the notebooks to Jack as the ministry car took them back to their hotel.

“I hate this sort of thing,” Jack said with a sigh. “There’s no excitement. It’s so dry.”

“This is how history is made,” Ianto said.

“The king’s daughter liked you,” Jack added and Ianto’s lips twitched.

“I’m likable, sir.”

“That you are,” said Jack and put his arm around Ianto’s shoulders, completely disregarding the driver. “That you are.”

They rode up in the elevator together, Ianto leaning against Jack, and Jack started tugging on Ianto’s overcoat as Ianto unlocked the door. “Room service,” Jack said, “I want something with mashed potatoes, something hot.” He pulled off Ianto’s coat as Ianto tried to pick up the phone to call room service.

“I can’t call if you’re undressing me, sir.”


“Don’t you want to eat first?” Ianto said mildly and Jack made a face, kissed him and turned away to take off his own coat.

The hotel room was dark–they had only turned on one light–and when he heard the slump Ianto thought it meant Jack had missed the bed when he tossed his coat. “Jack?” he said and there were men in the room, Qioshan royal guards in blue and gold uniforms, and he shouted, “Jack!” and something was sprayed in his face and everything went black.


The air smelled strange when Ianto awoke, like a heavy perfume, and the room was dark. He felt nauseous and dizzy, and the sheets were slippery under his hands. Silk, he thought vaguely, and slowly sat up.

His clothes had been removed, and someone had put a gold band on his left ankle and another around his right wrist. Two stones were set in both bands, both gleaming a steady green light. He tried to twist off the one on his wrist but it wouldn’t budge, and he couldn’t find a catch.

This, Ianto thought, is very bad. The guards wore bands like this, with blue stones rather than green–green was the color of the attendants who had hovered around the sovereign and his daughter during the negotiations.

He would just have to explain. Surely they knew kidnapping was no way to begin a relationship with a new world, and he would simply have to explain that he wasn’t a servant to be bought. What would they want with him, anyway? They had enough people to look after them.

The chamber door opened and Ianto tried to push himself to his feet, but the spray the guards had used was still affecting him and he couldn’t stay upright. He fell back onto the bed, and it occurred to him, as he watched the servants place trays of food and drink on the low tables and coo over him in their soft language, that normally a kidnapped slave wouldn’t be put on a bed with silk sheets.

This is very, very bad.

He said to one of the women who was tucking him under the sheets, “My name is Ianto Jones. I’m with Captain Harkness of Torchwood. There’s been a mistake.”

She patted his head and said something that sounded, at least in tone, like “Dear boy,” and handed him a plate piled with berries and what looked like sweets. Ianto pushed it away.

“No. I’m not hungry. I want to go back to my people–the Captain. Captain Harkness. Tell your master I wish to return to the Harkness.”

It was hopeless: she didn’t understand the language, none of them did. And the tea she pressed into his hand smelled very good, settling his roiling stomach just by scent. He took a sip and she nodded in approval, called him the “dear boy”-sounding word again and gave him back the plate. He ate a berry cautiously, getting more pats of approval, and managed to smile in the most reassuring way he could muster.

Not panicking, he thought. Just dealing. Jack won’t let me–

He nearly dropped his tea cup. What if they’d hurt Jack?

The servant was watching him with concerned eyes, and he repeated, “The Harkness?” hoping he’d see some reaction in her eyes to let him know what had happened. But she merely offered him more sweets, not letting up until he’d eaten one. They were encased in a thin pastry and the flavor of the filling was rich and spicy. He nodded to say he liked it.

The door opened and all the servants stopped straightening and folding to drop to their knees. Iatno started to get off the bed but the woman who’d been feeding him stopped him with her hand on his shoulder.

It was Princess Mikuhuit, followed by two guards. “Jones,” she said quietly.

“You’ve taken me against my will, Your Highness,” Ianto said.

She dismissed the servants, who all walked out backwards–so not to turn their backs on her, Ianto supposed. There were only the guards left, both of whom looked bored. “I gave the Harkness money for you,” she said, arranging her robes around her as she sat on the foot of the bed. Her back was perfectly straight. Her hair gleamed in the lamplight.

“Gave Harkness–? He doesn’t own me.”

“Do you not serve him?”

“I work for him–it’s different.”

“How is it different?”

“He pays me.”

“All your needs will be attended to,” she said. “You will want for nothing.”

“You don’t understand,” Ianto said, and there must have been something in his tone or his body that made the guards suddenly hold themselves more alertly. Ianto held up his hands to them. “I’m not threatening your mistress.”

She spoke to them, impatiently, and said to Ianto, “You fed the Harkness at the meeting. You watched his every move. My man says he was in the room with you. He was taking off your clothes. If you are not his servant, what are you?”

He sighed. “I work for him,” he said again, wearily. “And we–we’re–”

The princess was amused. “There is no shame in saying you share his bed. Many slaves do. It is the highest honor, to serve your master so fully.” She nodded. “I have paid the Harkness for you and I will claim you as mine and bring you home. All will be well, Jones.”

Ianto took a breath and tried again. “Captain Harkness doesn’t own me. I work for him to earn a living–I share his bed because I want to.”

“And I want you to share mine,” she said placidly and gave him the plate of sweets. “Eat. You must be hungry.”

He took one with a sigh and ate it. “When the others find what you’ve done–”

“I am the king’s daughter,” she said simply.

“You are no longer on your world,” he reminded her. “You’re on a different planet with different rules. We don’t kidnap people here–we don’t keep them as slaves.”

“I am the king’s daughter,” she said again, but there was a little less certainty in her voice this time.

Ianto ran his hand over his face. He felt hot and foggy–no longer nauseous, but restless. “This could ruin the negotiations,” he muttered. “The Prime Minister won’t look on this kindly–we tend not to ally ourselves with–” He groaned suddenly, feeling his pulse rise to a nearly painful speed. His skin felt as if every nerve was being pricked by tiny needles–or more like, kissed by tiny lips. “What have you done to me?”

“Given you herbs,” she said, and dismissed her guards with a word. Once they were gone she began removing her robes and Ianto had a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what kind of herbs she meant. She got beneath the silky sheets with him and took his face in her hands. “Am I not sweet, Jones?” she whispered and chastely kissed his forehead. “Am I not pretty? Can you look upon me kindly?”

“Please,” he said, “I want to go back to Jack,” but she was kissing him, touching him, and she was soft and lovely and the drug was in his blood and he was helpless to stop her, helpless to stop himself.


When Ianto awoke again he was alone. The gold bands were still on his wrist and ankle, and there was a uniform laid out for him. Like other servants’ it was green and gold, but when he picked it up he saw it was little more than tights and a strap that he supposed would go over his shoulders. He sighed and folded it up again.

There was food left for him as well: more fruits and pastries, which he had no desire to touch. There was water, at least, which he drank gratefully.

If Jack were hurt the negotiations would be stopped. If he were not, Ianto knew Jack would be doing everything in his power to get him back. He had to find a way to help Jack–to get himself found, somehow.

Even though he didn’t know their technology he could still figure it out: he could find a way to get from their ship back to the surface, at the very least. He went to the door, thinking that if it were locked he could find a way to pick it–

Pain seared through his body, strong enough to bring him to his hands and knees. He groaned, curling himself up, and when the pain finally eased up enough to allow it he crawled back to the bed and twisted the sheets in his fists.

So that was how they kept their slaves under control.

Ianto tugged at the wristband viciously, trying to work it over his hand, but it fit too tightly–and when he tried smashing it against the wall pain flared through his body again, even longer this time, and he was left weeping and shaking when it ended.

Servants came, including the woman who’d spoken to him the night before. They ushered him into the adjoining washroom, bathed him carefully and put him into a robe since he refused the uniform. They tried to get him to eat again but he took only water, no matter how much they scolded him.

“Pain,” he said, pointing to the wristband. “They burn you when you disobey. Right?”

Their dropped eyes told him everything. He said, “No one should live like this. No one owns you,” but of course they didn’t know his language anymore than he knew theirs.

Soon after they left, the princess returned and she smiled when she saw him. “You are pleasing to me, Jones,” she told him and touched his ear. He jerked away.

“I’m a prisoner.”

“You are mine now.”

“I belong only to me, Your Highness. Let me go.”

She looked at him, her lips pursed, and then said, “The Harkness was pleased with the fee I gave him for you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“He only asked that I look after you.”

“You’re lying!”

The princess’s smile took on a nasty edge. “Jones,” she said softly, “Jones, pretty Jones, you can have a life of ease as my bedmate or I can turn you to the stables. Which would you prefer?”

“The stables,” Ianto said darkly.

Mikuhuit took a breath, and then pressed a jewel on the band around her own wrist. Pain coursed through Ianto’s body and he twisted away from her, groaning. “Which would you prefer?” she asked again when she released the jewel.

He panted, “You’re not keeping your promise to the Harkness. He’d be very displeased to learn how you’re mistreating me.”

She fidgeted with the wristband. She was just a girl, he thought, a spoiled girl, used to getting her own way in a world where rule was absolute–but it was possible that no one aside from her personal servants and guards knew about this. Jack must have said something today, if he were able to attend the negotiations; if he weren’t, the Prime Minister would have sent someone to investigate. The princess had little room to maneuver herself before she was discovered–surely she must know that.

She took a breath, and eased herself onto the bed. “My world,” she said softly, “is warm and fragrant. We have forests that cover most of the lands, emerald-green and filled with fruits . . .” She touched his face, stroked his cheekbone slowly. “Don’t you wish to see it?”

“No,” he said with complete sincerity. “This is my home. Everything–everyone–I love is here.”

Mikuhuit studied him with her strange eyes. “Do you love the Harkness?” she asked softly.

Ianto didn’t know how to answer that–he didn’t know what the answer was even when he asked himself. “Sometimes,” he said finally.

“You are his by choice,” she said and frowned.

“Yes. And he is mine, also by choice.”

“Would you weep for him, were he to die?”

“I would weep bitterly,” he said. He had before, after all.

“Perhaps,” she said, “perhaps tomorrow I will ask him.” She gazed at him sorrowfully. “Do you not desire me at all, Jones?”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” he said. “I don’t.”

She nodded once and got off the bed, and pressed another jewel on her wristband. Ianto braced himself but there was no pain–only the guards again, who took his arms and dragged him out of the room. He didn’t say a word to the princess–only kept their gazes joined as long as he could.

Mikuhuit looked away first.


The cell where Ianto spent the night would never be called cozy, but it was warm enough and there were no rats. One of the guards brought him his own clothes, and he changed without hesitation, glad to be rid of the robe. There was an outcropping from the bulkhead that served as a bed, and he got as comfortable as he could, using the robe as both blanket and pillow.

He wondered Mikuhuit would send him more pain out of spite during the night, but he fell asleep eventually and nothing disturbed it but his own dreams.

In the morning a guard brought him breakfast. No berries and pastry this time: only bread spread with a soft cheese, and water to drink. Ianto ate it without hesitation: no doubt the aphrodisiac Mikuhuit had given him had a distinct flavor that bread couldn’t hide.

He paced around the cell once he’d eaten, hoping to work off his nervous energy. He recited poetry, the periodic table, the countries of the European Union and their capitals, the planets and their moons, his favorite verses from the Bible, every mnemonic trick he knew. He did push-ups, both-armed and one-armed, and sit-ups and stretches.

He sat on the bench-bed and thought, Jack, come get me. I’m ready to come home.

When the cell door finally opened he jumped up and grabbed his jacket and tie, and swallowed hard when he saw it was the sovereign, Mikuzhephae. He remembered to bow. “Your Majesty.”


“Yes, sir.”

“We have found you.”

“Yes, sir.”

The king nodded his head towards the corridor. “Come, Jones. The Harkness has been frantic.”

Ianto smiled to himself and followed him out of the cells.


The most surprising part, Ianto decided, wasn’t that the negotiations had ground to a halt, nor that the princess was kneeling in subjugation along with her guards and servants, nor even that the Prime Minister smiled and said, “Mr. Jones, pray don’t get lost again, apparently the country can’t function without you.” No, the most surprising part was that the moment Mikuzhephae said, “Here is the Jones,” Jack wrapped himself around Ianto and buried his face in Ianto’s neck and for a moment his shoulders shook.

That was not the reaction Ianto expected. But he didn’t mind it, either.

He patted Jack’s back and said quietly, “It’s all right, sir. I’m all right.”

Mikuzhephae said, “We wish to make reparations, Harkness. The Jones is precious to you, and the daughter was foolish. Whatever punishment you request, so will we do.”

Jack lifted his head and looked into Ianto’s eyes. “Did she hurt you?” Ianto swallowed and Jack frowned deeply. “Tell me the truth.”

Ianto took a deep breath and told Jack quietly, “Their servants wear these wrist- and ankle-bands that send them pain whenever they disobey.”

“And she put them on you.” Jack turned to the sovereign, arms still around Ianto. “That treatment of my colleague–and of your own people–is a disgrace.”

“It is our way,” Mikuzhephae said. “I am sorry the daughter was foolish with the Jones. She will be punished but we will keep our way.”

“The nation of Great Britain does not wish to trade with a world that endorses slavery,” the Prime Minister said, her voice stern. “You hadn’t mentioned this before.”

“It is of no importance,” Mikuzhephae said.

“It is of great importance! We are a civilized nation, and slavery is not what civilized nations do.”

The sovereign dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “Perhaps that is for later. There is the matter of the daughter.”

Ianto let himself lean against Jack and exhaled. “I don’t care,” he whispered to Jack. “I’d like to go home.”

“I care,” Jack said. “She just took you. I thought I’d never see you again.”

“The Jones is precious to the Harkness,” the princess said softly. “I am sorry I took your treasure.”

“The Jones is very precious,” Jack said harshly.

“Sir,” Ianto said quietly, a hand on his back to calm him down. It was strange to hear him say so, though, in front of all these people–the last time Ianto had been around them they’d thought he was Jack’s secretary. Now they knew different.

It was also a surprise to realize he didn’t mind.

“Very well,” Mikuzhephae said. “We will punish the daughter thus: we turn the daughter to the Harkness and he may do with her as he pleases.” The princess’s face crumpled with anger and her fists clenched, but she said nothing. “It was his precious thing that was taken, and so it will be his wish to make amends.”

Jack watched Ianto, who sighed and shook his head. “I don’t care, sir,” he whispered. “Take me back to the hotel, please. I’d like to put this behind us and get back to the trade agreements.”

Jack touched his cheek. He said to the princess, “That’s your punishment, Mikuhuit. This is my precious thing. Don’t you forget it.” The girl–and she was just a girl, just a spoiled girl who wanted something she couldn’t have–lowered her head, and Jack directed Ianto out of the conference room.


Once they were back at the hotel Ianto took an hour-long shower, letting the hot water pound out the tension from his body. He washed every inch of himself from head to toe with the mild hotel soap, and when he was done he stayed under the spray for several minutes more, his head tilted back and his eyes closed.

When he finally came out of the bathroom, wrapped in his own dressing gown, Jack was waiting from him along with a table from room service, crammed with covered dishes. Jack smiled at him hopefully. “I got mashed potatoes.”

“You were the one who wanted mashed potatoes.” He pulled over a chair nonetheless.

“There’s other stuff, too. Green beans and steak and rolls and apple pie . . .” His voice trailed off and he put his hand lightly on Ianto’s shoulder. “Are you going to be okay?”

Ianto nodded, not looking at him, and poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table. “Just give me some time.”

“Of course,” Jack said and pulled over a chair for himself, close enough so that he could touch Ianto’s cheek. He said quietly, “I thought I’d lost you.”

“The king said you were frantic.”

“I was frantic.” He brushed his thumb over Ianto’s cheekbone, and Ianto pressed Jack’s hand hard against his cheek. Jack leaned close to kiss Ianto’s hand. “I was terrified. I was certain you’d been sent off to a mining colony on Phulic Koxin or something just as bad.”

“No,” Ianto said. “Nothing that drastic.” Just made into the sex slave of a girl who needs to have ‘no’ said to her much more often.

“I. . . may have been very blatant about what you mean to me. I know how you value your privacy, but I kind of . . . may have . . . let it slip that you’re–”

“Precious,” Ianto said quietly. “Yes. I gathered that. It’s all right.”

“Ianto,” Jack said and pressed his lips to Ianto’s forehead, “my precious, precious thing.”

“That’s enough of that,” Ianto said, uncomfortable. He and Jack were not nickname people. He certainly didn’t want Jack to start with nicknames now. He took a lid off one of the plates and inhaled the scent, savoring it. “Applewood bacon,” he said softly and smiled at Jack.

“I thought you’d like that.” He let go of Ianto and uncovered his own plate. “Mikuhuit had an attack of conscience, I think. That’s why she finally told us. She saw how worried I was and admitted she had you on the ship.”

“The negotiations are in danger because of me,” Ianto said, frowning.

“The negotiations are in danger because they own slaves,” Jack said, “and I’d forgot about that particular wrinkle in their history. By the time I know the Qioshan they’re a republic–no more absolute power, no more slavery.”

Ianto looked at him a moment, then shook his head and decided not to pursue it. He ate a forkful of mashed potatoes and steak, and chewed with his eyes closed for a few minutes. It was incredible–and better still, it was familiar. No surprises.

“Oh,” Jack said and wiped his mouth, got up from the table, and rooted around in his overcoat pockets. He tossed Ianto a small box. “Gift from the king. It’s a Qioshan delicacy–it’s like spicy chocolate truffles.”

Ianto opened the box, stared at its contents and closed it again. “I’m not eating those.”

“Why not?”

“There’s aphrodisiac in those pastries, Jack.”

“Oh,” Jack said, and quickly hid the smile that threatened to break. “That’s . .. terrible, Ianto. Just terrible.”

Ianto ate steak. Good, comforting, familiar steak. He said, “Give me a little time to recover and ask me again.”

Jack grinned, then leaned over and kissed him, hard. “No pressure,” he said and put the box of pastries away.


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