Silver (a_silver_story) wrote,

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Rentboy!Ianto, Chapter 1 point 1

Title: As yet untitled renboy!Ianto fic
Author: a_silver_story
Chapter: 1/?
Genre: AU, Romance, Angsty, fluffy
Rating: NC17 / 18
Pairings: Main Pairing is Jack/Ianto. Also includes Ianto/Martha, Ianto/Tosh friendship, Ten/Tosh, Mickey/Martha (mentioned)
Warnings: M.M, rentboy!Ianto, brief Het, Alternate Universe
Disclaimer: If I owned anything in this, I'd be a rich rich rich bitch. However, I am not a rich rich rich bitch so you may all, therefore, assume I own nothing. Which I don't. It all belongs RTD and the BBC, in case any of you didn't know. Now pass the retcon ...

Summary: Started as a PWP, but since it's me (sorry folks!) and I really can't do things by halves, it grew and grew and grew (and not in an innuendous sort of way). Doctor Smith owns a posh Cardiff hotel, and the respectable Sixth Earl of Boeshane is coming to stay - and he brings with him some very specific demands.

The story follows Ianto from being born, meeting Toshiko and them running away together to the city, right up until Ianto is taken to work in the Doctor's hotel as a 'service' butler for - you guessed it - Jack.

This chapter is quite bleak *sowwi* - but that's what good drama is, people! It makes you wish you'd never bloody bothered.

Don't worry - unlike some writers, I do believe in happy endings - for fiction, at any rate.

Torchwood Index/Masterlist

Doctor Smith paced his office, biting his lip and mumbling to himself. He hated difficult guests – particularly dignitaries – but most of all he hated the thought of Captain Jack Harkness, sixth Earl of Boeshane staying in his hotel. The man was powerful – too powerful for his own good, and held far too much influence in pretty much every Royal Court or Presidency in the world. And Doctor Smith had just found out that for the first time, he’d chosen The Arcadian Royals’ Diamond Inn as his hotel of choice – for a month.

“Donna!” he called. His temporary secretary wheeled her chair back, poking her head round the door.

“What?” she barked.

“It’s ‘yes, sir?’.” grumbled the Doctor. “Anyway ... clear any bookings for our Sapphire Penthouse Suite. The Earl of Boeshane and his wife are to stay there for a month.”

“What if someone’s already booked in?”

“Phone them and tell them we’ve had to close the suite for maintenance and fit them somewhere else – if they don’t like that, they can bugger off. Oo! And you wouldn’t be an absolute darling and fetch me a cuppa tea, would ya?”

“Make yer bloody own.” came the reply as Donna wheeled herself back to her desk to do her administrative tasks. The Doctor crossed the room to shut the door, smiling to himself as he heard Donna shouting “Who the hell used my stapler?”. With the sound blocked out, he sat himself behind his desk and pulled a blank sheet of paper towards him. He knew he should be honoured that the Earl had chosen his hotel to stay in – he was a lavish guest, who paid well in both rent and tips – and so the Doctor was going to plan for everything he might need personally.

Right at that moment, his desk phone rang.

“Hello, Doctor Smith.” he said, holding the receiver to his ear.

“Hello, Doctor. I am Miss Habiba. I’m calling on behalf of Captain Jack Harkness, sixth Earl of Boeshane. We spoke this morning?”

“Miss Habiba! Lovely to hear from you! Is there a problem with his .... Earl ... dom?” the Doctor attempted, unsure of the honorific required for an Earl.

“None at all. I’m just phoning to ensure you received the e-mail containing attachments of all of His Lordship’s requirements for his visit.”

“I’ll check that now.” replied the Doctor, loudly clickety-clacking on his keyboard, pretending he hadn’t been refreshing his inbox for the whole morning – so far he’d had no e-mail, but in the time between Miss Habiba ringing and him now checking his mail, he had received a new message. He opened it and scanned the attachment briefly. “Yep ... I’ve got it, Miss ... Habiba?”

“Good. Please remember that the Earl is not the most patient of men, and we request that you make sure that everything goes nice and smoothly for him and his wife during their stay. I must also remind you that in order for the visit to be a success, all requirements as outlined in the brief must be met. Is that clear, Doctor Smith?”

“Crystal.” he replied, his voice feigning brightness.

“Well ... thank you. Um ... just before you go ... did this phone call ... go ... well?” Miss Habiba’s tone of voice changed so dramatically, the Doctor was surprised it could possibly be the same person.

“Er ... yeah ... I’d say it was pretty ... good. I mean ... I’ve had better conversations, but ... y’know. You were very ... demanding.”

“Oh! Oh! Thank you!” she chirruped. “It’s my first day!”

“You’d never have guessed.” the Doctor assured her. “Now, I need to make myself busy with the plans for your boss’s visit.”

“Oh .. of course! Yeah! Um ... goodbye, Doctor Smith.”

“Bah bye, Miss Habiba.” He set down the receiver and rubbed his temples. Turning back to the computer, he tapped the ‘home’ button on his keyboard and returned to the beginning of the document Miss Habiba had sent. He checked the overview before scrolling down to see each demand in detail. It was the usual stuff, really: a limousine, champagne on ice, a fully stocked mini-bar, no maid (except to wash bed linen and dress and turn down the bed), soundproofed windows, Rolls Royce, Bentley and Cadillac hired cars, dry cleaning done daily, personal shopper for the wife (constantly ready and waiting should they be needed), a driver – different drivers for the different cars – wearing uniforms bearing the Earl’s crest and colours and a ‘service’ butler.

The Doctor blinked, reading over the last demand again. He knew what “‘service’ butler” was euphemism for, and hated when his guests requested one. It meant he had to go to his sister’s ‘house’ and find a suitable candidate. He sighed heavily, scrolling down the document to find the specifications the Earl had for his Service Butler.

Male, early twenties. Dark hair, blue eyes. Clean shaven. Handsome – leaning more towards ‘fresh-faced’ than ‘rugged and manly’. Naive – or at least good at pretending to be. Quiet, and trustworthy. Good at General Butler duties; including handling housekeeping chores, negotiating any maintenance or dry cleaning, Silver Service trained. Well-dressed. Loyal and trustworthy – any deviations from these ideals will be the Hotel Manager/Owner’s responsibility to neutralise.

Wondering for a second whether or not whoever had compiled this document knew they’d put ‘trustworthy’ twice, he came to the conclusion they simply didn’t want someone to go blabbing to the press about this particular demand. The Doctor would have to pay whoever they chose a lot to keep quiet – enough to get them out of whatever dead-end life they’d been living at his sister’s house, anyway. He cast his mind through his sister’s itinerary of lodgers, trying to find one that would fit the Earl’s requirements.

He sighed in exasperation. The closest he could think of was Owen Harper – and he was certainly nothing like what the Earl desired. Hovering his hand over the receiver, the Doctor lifted it quickly and dialled the number without thinking too hard. “Sarah Jane? It’s me, John. Yeah. That kind of favour to ask again ...”

Printing off the specifics, he called Donna and they made their way to Sarah Jane Smith’s house on the other side of town.


This end of town was seedy. It housed the strip clubs, the more questionable ‘massage parlours’ and the brothels and bath houses of the city. Sarah Jane’s was an exclusive place, hidden down a back alley and invitation only – Sarah Jane was picky who her lodgers did dealings with – and contained the most desired young things in the entire city. While the Doctor thought none-too-often of his sister – and spoke of her less – he couldn’t help but be proud of her always becoming the best in whatever field she landed in. Donna glanced around furtively, even though Doctor Smith had explained the purpose of the excursion and that no pimps or customers would try and pick her up while she was with him (like they’d try at all, with that brilliantly almighty gob on her) she was still wary.

The Doctor knocked on the door three times, and a panel slid back to reveal a puggish looking middle-aged man asking for the password. He leant in close, whispering it loud enough for only the doorman to hear, then waited as the panel slid shut and the door swung open. Donna followed him a step behind as they entered.

Inside was totally different. The walls were a deep burgundy colour, and red and gold shawls had been draped over the lamps and light fittings, softening the light and creating an ambient mood. Chandeliers dripped with crystals, light dancing off the cut-glass edges onto the walls and making it seem like snow had frozen mid-cascade on the red walls. A red velvet couch lined the room, and two doors led off one side, and one door led off on the other. On the couch sat two beautiful women – one with pale skin, freckles and long, dark hair. The other was a petite Japanese woman, with chocolate coloured eyes and a full, inviting, pouting mouth. She smiled when she saw the Doctor, turning herself to face him, her low cut top showing off her cleavage.

“Doctor.” she greeted him, watching him coolly.

The Doctor cleared his throat, fidgeting a little. “Toshiko ... um ... you ... how are you?”

“I’m wonderful. This is Gwen – not entirely new, but you haven’t been in for a while. Don’t you miss me?”

Gwen giggled a little, being suddenly silenced when there came a knock on the door. “That’ll be my four ‘o’ clock.” she sighed. “Always just work, work, work!”

“Who’ve you got?” asked Toshiko.

“Rhys Williams. Again.”

They laughed together, stilling themselves when a kind-looking man in his early thirties entered the building. Gwen changed instantly, and the Doctor realised she may have joked about this gentleman’s frequent visits, but she clearly didn’t mind at all. Surreptitiously, Doctor Smith tried to look at her as she lead Rhys away without being too obvious. Dark hair, pale skin. Pretty. Dammit – would the Earl be too fussy if he got a Service Maid instead of a Butler? He had a wife, after all ...

“John!” Sarah Jane exclaimed as she burst through the door. “What can I do for you?”

“Male, early twenties. Dark hair, blue eyes. Handsome. Got anybody?”

“That’s very specific, John.” she replied, worrying her bottom lip slightly. “Who’s he for?”

“Captain Jack Harkness, sixth Earl of Boeshane.”

Sarah Jane let out a whistle. “Tricky customer – did you hear he had a hotel shut down in Beijing last month?”

The Doctor fidgeted, ignoring Donna’s gasp. “Yes ... I had heard that. Thank you, Sarah Jane.”

“You’re lucky ... I’ve been thinking recently: Y’know the tea-boy? The one we’ve had since he was about thirteen? Welsh, a little broad in the shoulder for most of our male customer’s liking, but I’m starting to think he’d be an absolute hit with the ladies – wasn’t so sure about him at first, to be honest. Grown into himself at last, though. He’s pale, dark-haired, blue eyed. Wanna look at him?” she didn’t wait for a reply before sending Toshiko to find him.


In an orphanage in Newport, August 1983, a small baby is left on the steps in the cold, turn-of-season wind. It’s Wales, so inevitably raining, and it’s nearly four hours before anyone hears him over the steady thrum of water on the roof. He’s brought inside, a bundle of freezing blue flesh, and it’s a miracle the tiny little thing is still alive.

“What should we call him?” asks the young woman currently clutching him close to her, desperate to make him warm.

“John Doe?” shrugs another woman.

“If we’re going with common names ... John Jones?” replied the first woman.

“John Jones?” the Matron beside them snorts. “He’s Welsh – we should give him a Welsh name.”

“What’s Welsh for ‘John’?” asks the second woman.

“Ianto.” replies the Matron.

“Okay then ...” agrees the first woman. “Ianto Jones.”


By the time Ianto Jones was seven, he knew he hated being alive. He dreamt of running away – of becoming a pirate, or a spy ... just someone. Run away and be a Someone. It’s all he could think about, day in and day out. He tried escaping that many times that the Matron eventually nailed his window shut and put a bolt on the outside of his bedroom door. He began scowling at her and folding his arms whenever they were forced into contact. She thought it adorable at first, tweaking his cheek and sending him on his sweet little way; but eventually she realised he was going for the long haul – he wouldn’t grace her with his sweet little smile or his glistening blue eyes and lovely little laugh until she made his window open and removed the bolt.

Three years later, she gave in. Stubborn little brat.


Aged ten, and Ianto Jones had escaped. Finally. He ran as fast as he could – the Matron’s purse in his hands, pulling all the paper money out of it he could. He wasn’t a bad boy, though. He’d already bought an envelope and stamps so that he could post her back the purse with all her money in it when he was finally a Somebody.

He slept in bushes, eating cereal from his rucksack, rationing it out and making it last until he could get to the city. Cardiff.

Ianto had never been to Cardiff before. He’d seen pictures of it – painted pictures in the gallery, and photographs in his school books – but he’d never actually been. With Matron’s money he’d bought a disposable camera, taking pictures of things that interested him on the way. Horses and cows and bulls and sheep. Road signs. Speed limit signs that lit up when sensors registered a car as going too fast. He happily snapped away for two weeks before finally dragging his little legs far enough to see the cityscape of Cardiff. He took his final picture: the silhouettes of the exciting, buzzing, beautiful city against the purpling sky, gold and red light bleeding upwards from the horizon.

He’d been sleeping rough for a week, and decided to use the last of Matron’s money to get a room for the night. Ianto was dirty and grimy, and probably smelled. He hated not being clean, but sometimes, to be a Somebody, you had to forego the odd bath. The woman at the desk looked at him in shock. “Where’s your mammy?” she asked, smiling kindly.

“Dunno, miss. She left me.” he replied.

“And your daddy?”

“Dunno. Never known. Is there room for me or not? I don’t mind sleeping rough, but could I have a bath?”

They lady called the manager. He came down, took one look at the boy and said he would have to stay for free. The kind lady looked after him, bringing him bubble bath and soap and taking his clothes to be washed. He evaded questions about where he came from, and heard the grown-ups talking about a child reported missing from an orphanage in Newport matching the little boy’s description.

“What’s your name?” asked the kind lady, helping little Ianto to wash his back.

“John.” he told her. It wasn’t a complete lie. He knew what his name meant.

“That’s English for ‘Ianto’, isn’t it?” she asked knowingly.

Ianto shrugged. “Dunno. Don’t speak Welsh.” That was a lie. He couldn’t deny that was a lie.

“Where did your mammy leave you?” She reached over and started shampooing his hair.

“Newport, two weeks ago.” he half-lied, half-truthed.

“What does she look like – do you want us to help find her?”

“She looked like ... short. And caramel-coloured. Pretty. Dark hair like me.” he told her. The description actually fitted a girl he’d seen working in a field. She was about thirteen, and she’d call him over from where she was cutting crops. They’d sat on a hay bale together, sharing lunch and chatting about the city and the Somebodies they were going to be. Toshiko was going to be a Somebody first because she was older and better at things, but she’d let Ianto come with her if he promised he’d marry her when they were old enough – unless Toshiko found someone richer, of course. But then he could be her stable-boy.

The kind lady was rinsing his hair out now, and he tipped his head back so she wouldn’t get the soap in his eyes. After he was bathed and dried, she tucked him up in the bed and gave him a kiss on the forehead. He fell asleep in the big, comfy bed minutes later.

He awoke in the middle of the night, a tapping on his window rousing him. The tear-stained face of Toshiko stared back at him through the pane, and he sprang to his feet and hoisted up the casement. She climbed in, bringing a small bag of things with her. He hugged her.

“It’s okay, Tosh.” he muttered. “We’ll run away to the city together.”

They clambered into the big bed, curling up and falling asleep.

Ianto awoke a second time that night, knowing something was wrong. He didn’t wait to find out what, slipping his newly-clean clothes on and hoisting his little rucksack onto his shoulders. He roused Toshiko, raising a finger to his lips and dragging her with him. Opening the window, he climbed out and latched onto the drainpipe, slowly easing himself down as he’d done at the orphanage in Newport. His feet finally touched the ground, and he helped Toshiko as best he could down the final few feet.

They held hands as they ran towards the city, not stopping or looking back. If they had, they might have spotted the Matron and the police entering the front of the Inn as they ran away from it.


Everywhere they went in the city, they felt watched. Ianto had a little money left, thanks to the now-not-so-kind lady giving him his bath and room for free. He bought himself and Toshiko some food to share, and a big bottle of coke as a treat for them both.

They slept under the slide in the park, curling up together against the cold. Sometimes, if it was dry, they could build fires to keep warm, but they were always too scared to go to sleep in case one of them burst into flames. Eventually they started taking it in turns. Ianto would stay awake, watching the fire, stroking Toshiko’s hair and singing softly to her in Welsh. In his little ten year old mind, he’d decided he was in love with her and that if she was going to love him back, he’d have to take care of her and show her that he was already a man.

Perhaps if Ianto had been staring at their surroundings rather than sleeping Toshiko, he might have noticed they were being watched. Six days out of the seven they’d spent in the park, they had been watched. Noticed, targeted, and watched.

The next morning, hungry for breakfast and penniless, a kind old man with plenty of food to spare invites them to come and eat with him and his grandchildren. Naively they accept, brimming with joy at the kindness they had been shown. He leads them to a part of town where they can see no other children – even at this time – and the walls are covered with pictures of bright colours and naked women that make Ianto's eyes nearly pop out of his head.

As the old man took them down a small alley, a bad feeling started creeping into Ianto's stomach. It had been bubbling a while, but now it was spreading.

“C’mon, kids.” urged the man.

Ianto tugged Toshiko’s hand. “I dunno, Tosh.” he muttered.

“I’ve got a bad feeling tuh-ahhhhhhhh!” she screamed – they both did – as two large men appeared out of nowhere, grabbing them from behind a shoving hemp bags over their heads. They were bundled up and carried, flailing and kicking, until they heard a door shut and were thrown onto the floor.

Ianto was instantly on his feet, biting at the first man who tried to hold him down. Toshiko took her cue from his fast thinking, kicking the man who went for her in the balls and digging her teeth into his wrist.

They were, however, two small children against two very big men. Despite what may happen in the movies, there was no chance for them to fight their way out.

“Hold STILL!” shouted one of the men, smacking Toshiko hard across the face. Ianto froze, staring at what he’d done, a red mark swelling on Toshiko’s cheek. She froze too, whimpering, sliding to the floor. Ianto crouched beside her.

“Tosh?” he whispered.

“Tosh?” said a harsh old woman’s voice from the shadows. “What sort of a name is ‘Tosh’?” The woman advanced forward, leaning on a cane and dressed all in black. Her white hair was cut close to her head, and her eyes were dark, sunken and beady.

“My name’s ... Toshiko Sato.” Tosh stammered.

“Much better. You do not call yourself ‘Tosh’ from now on, understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.” replied Toshiko reverently, deciding not to think on what she meant by ‘from now on’.

“Your name?” barked the old woman, moving her gaze.


“Ianto what?”

“Jones. Ianto Jones. Ma’am.” he added, deciding to follow Toshiko’s lead on the reverence front. “Please ... don’t hurt Toshiko again. Ma’am.” he pleaded.

“Awwww ... adorable! Isn’t he adorable! I can’t see ‘adorable’ being a good selling point in this market, though.” the old woman croaked.

“What about the girl, then?” asked one of the men. “Will the Geisha house have her? They took the last Jap we found.”

“It’s pronounced ‘Japanese’.” Ianto cut in sarcastically. The old woman whacked him hard with her cane.

“I dunno ... they don’t pay so well at the Geisha house. But she looks like she’s gonna be pretty. Maybe even beautiful if she looks after herself proper. I wouldn’t say she’ll be awfully tall though. Where else is there?”

“There’s a Chinese restaurant two streets down. Okay ... she’s Japanese, but most people can’t tell the difference.” snorted the other man.

Toshiko tensed, and curled her fingers into Ianto's hand.

“And the boy?” frowned the old woman. “His face is chubby – no knowing whether or not he’ll grow into it. He’s what? – nine? Ten? Hmmm ... there’s a New York bath house up the street that might have a use for him. A little runt to shove down the pipes and push out the blockages.”

“It’s decided then?” said the old man who lured them there, who had until now been lurking in the shadows.

“I’ll take the girl.” said one of the burly men, lifting Toshiko bodily in the air.

“No!” she squealed. “Ianto! Ianto!” she reached for his hand, and he clasped it as the other man lifted him up too. Ianto reached out his other hand to Tosh, and she grabbed on to it tightly. They both yelled and kicked and bit, but eventually they were torn apart.

“She’ll only be down the road ...” muttered the old woman, as if she couldn’t understand why the young children had struggled so much.


“Ianto!” yelled the Warden. Again. “Get. The. Fuck. Down. Here. NOW!”

“Fuck off!” he shouted back. It was his birthday. He was allowed the day off, and the Warden knew it. Quietly, he moved around his room, stuffing his few meagre possessions into the duvet to make it look like he was still in bed. He hoisted up the window and dropped behind the flowerbeds below, picking a couple of stems and binding them together with a broken boot lace. With a spring in his step, he headed towards China town.

Thirteen, he thought. What to do on my thirteenth birthday ... Obviously he was going to go and see Toshiko – who was more and more beautiful every day – and he would make her compliment him. He might even get a kiss on the cheek. Now that Toshiko was sixteen, things had changed a little. Ianto had learnt more than enough at the bath house to know what Toshiko had to do now to earn money. He knew very little about sex, if he was honest – only about sex with men, because that was all he ever saw. Neither of them spoke about it – it was an unspoken agreement – but whenever Ianto saw her she was bright and cheerful, and they pretended like nothing in their lives was wrong.

As he approached her ‘restaurant’ – he thought of the word loosely – he spotted her laughing at a punter’s sad joke and turning to fetch his drink. He waited until her boss was looking the other way, and grabbed her hand and dragged her aside.

“You scared me then!” she squealed, giving him a playful smack on the arm. “Happy Birthday, sweetheart!” She hugged him, and Ianto squeezed her tight, lifting her up and whirling her round. “Thirteen – nearly a man.” she grinned.

“Ugh. I never want to grow up.” admitted Ianto. Toshiko’s face turned solemn.

“You won’t have to do anything until you’re at least twenty. They like their men to be men, and their women to be ... girls.”

Ianto understood what she was saying. “Got you these ... ish.” He handed her the now rather ragged looking stems, and she giggled at the sight.

“You are funny, Ianto.” she smiled taking them from him. Her face turned serious again. “Have you heard ... about the new place? Opening on the other side of the street?”

“Yeah.” Ianto dropped his voice. “What about it?”

“They’ll want to recruit, right? We could recruit together! Look out for each other.”

“I dunno ...”

“The Brothel Madam who’s opening it was scouting here yesterday – she asked if I’d be interested. Hang about here at lunchtime and I’ll introduce you.”

“Will the bath house let me go, though?”

“Run away.” shrugged Toshiko.

“Yeah ...” replied Ianto absently, his mind wandering and thinking of everything that would happen to him if he was caught.

They said goodbye to each other, and Ianto avoided the bath house for the rest of the day. He went to the park where he and Toshiko had lived, sitting on a swing and scowling at the spot under the slide where they had cuddled up to sleep. In the three years since, both Old Ma Crawley and Old Pa Crawley – as he had since found out they were called – had kicked the bucket. He had taken Toshiko to dance on their graves, twirling and swirling and falling over each other until they were chased away by their sons. Threats of death followed them back home, but were never concluded.

Ianto sat on the swing, just thinking. Wondering what his life would have been like if he’d stayed in Newport, hadn’t met lovely Toshiko or wound up in Cardiff, cleaning out the bath house and waiting until his body was mature enough for him to be of any use. Eventually, lunch time came, and he began to make his way back to China town (or his part of town’s version of it) and back to Toshiko.

Sure enough, she was sat at a table with her boss and a middle-aged white woman wearing an expensive suit. Ianto approached nervously, suddenly aware of his grubby, tight clothes and dirt-covered skin – working in a bath house did not always permit cleanliness. Toshiko spotted him and beckoned him over, introducing the new woman as ‘Sarah Jane’.

He greeted her, and Toshiko’s boss, but wasn’t asked to sit so remained standing. Sarah Jane raised an eyebrow, telling him to turn on the spot slowly so that she could look at him. “I don’t know, Toshiko.” she sighed eventually. “He’s not what the punter would be looking for, I don’t think. Hard to tell at that age, but I could hazard a guess.”

“Well ... he can cook, and clean and ...” begged Toshiko. “... and he’s really good. He’ll do anything you tell him, no questions asked. He won’t speak unless spoken to and he’s good in a figh –”

“Enough, Toshiko.” barked her boss.

“Where do you work now?” asked Sarah Jane, directly to Ianto.

“Peacock Bath House, ma’am.” Ianto replied, keeping his eyes downcast like Toshiko had taught him for when he had to talk to superiors outside of his home.

“And how old are you?”


Sarah Jane sucked in the air through her teeth. “I’d have to keep him for at least seven years before he’d be able to earn anything. He’s younger than he looks right now – what if that continues? Nine years? Ten? I can’t see him being overly profitable.”

“He makes bloody good coffee.” Toshiko tried, flailing for a reason for Sarah Jane to take him on.

“I’m a tea drinker.” replied Sarah Jane curtly.

“But the punters generally like coffee. Keep their stamina up, earn more.” she pressed.

Sarah Jane pursed her lips. “A month trial. Keep the house clean and the lodgers fed and make the punters tea and coffee. Sound like you can do that?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Ianto beamed at her. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“There you are you little bugger!” The Warden’s voice carried down the street. “C’mere!”

“It’s my birthday.” Ianto informed Sarah Jane. She sniggered.

“You better run then.” she smiled.

Ianto didn’t need telling twice. He bolted in the opposite direction to the Warden, almost skipping instead of running, hardly believing he was being given a chance to get out.


Ianto aced his month’s trial, and Sarah Jane kept him on. He got the impression she liked him, and he always made sure he went that little bit further for Sarah Jane. For the moment, the only people in Sarah Jane’s house were Ianto, Toshiko and Sarah Jane herself, but she had assured them that more were coming.

First came Owen. Ianto had heard of him briefly while working at the bath house – a scrawny, skinny cockney that the big Welshies liked to fuck simply to get one over on the English. He gave as good as he got, though, and quickly became popular in the town. Sarah Jane snapped him up with the promise of all the curry he could eat.

Ianto liked Owen, but wasn’t always certain Owen liked him. He was twenty-one and had been another victim of Ma and Pa Crawley, so they identified with each other in that respect. They compared kidnap stories – Owen had been with his girlfriend, Katie, when they’d been ambushed. He hadn’t seen Katie since, but he thought of her a lot. He’d been working in this part of Cardiff for four years, but was only just coming into his own.

Ianto could see that Owen liked Tosh. He changed when she was in the room – becoming an alpha male and always teasing Ianto or telling him what to do. Ianto was jealous at first, realising that Toshiko liked Owen back, but soon got over it when Martha came to live with them.

Martha. Was. Beautiful.

The first time he saw her, his heart skipped a beat. She was chocolate-skinned and kind-faced, with big dark eyes and a perfect smile. He carried her bag into what would be her room, babbling about nothing and everything and making her laugh. He asked her where she’d come from: another Londoner, getting into the business when she was sixteen down by King’s Cross, working her way up to Cardiff. Ianto assured her she would like it here, and that staying for a long time would be a brilliant idea.

She laughed and ruffled his hair, and asked how such a sweet little thing had wound up in a place like this. He told her how he had run away, how he and Toshiko had met and how they had made it to Cardiff. He told her of Ma and Pa Crawley, and she stopped him before he managed to get to the bit where they ripped him and Toshiko apart.

Ianto thought at first she was angry at him, but quickly realised she was venting anger at his situation. He sat on the bed and patiently waited for her to run out of steam. Eventually, she did, and Ianto thanked her for her time and went off to make everybody’s dinner.

Suzie arrived next. She didn’t talk to anyone much and spent pretty much all her time in her room. Her customers had to be lead up there and she took all her meals on a tray. Ianto decided not to try and talk to her. She snapped and shouted if anyone asked her anything other than whether or not she would like a cup of tea. Ianto didn’t know whether or not he liked her, and decided to reserve judgement until she felt comfortable enough to have a conversation.

Mickey joined them after Suzie, and Ianto decided that Mickey would be his new father figure. Mickey taught him how to make a catapult, how to hit a target and how fast he should run if he accidentally broke a window. He taught Ianto how to steal and pickpocket from the rich people who didn’t deserve so much money (as Mickey put it). Mickey got caught twice, but Ianto's little fingers were too deft and quick to be noticed. Ianto paid for Mickey’s bail with the stolen money, running the second daylight hit their eyes and not stopping until they were back home, collapsing on each other in laughter.

Ianto loved working for Sarah Jane. It was hard, and the hours were pretty much constant, but anything was better than the bath house. Here, he was even given a small amount of pocket money. He used to save it up to buy little things for Toshiko, but now that she had Owen he decided to ‘back down’ on that front. Toshiko was more like his sister than anything, he realised. He started buying little sweets and truffles for Martha and leaving them in her room. She would invite him up to eat them with her after hours, and they would sit and chat about all the places they’d love to go.

Martha had travelled a lot, he learnt, in search of her father. She knew little of him, other than he had left her mother while she was pregnant, penniless and homeless. They’d lived with her grandparents until she was four, when her mother and grandfather died in the same year. Her grandmother had had to go into a home then, and Martha never found out what happened to her in the end. She had a little of her mother’s things to go on, and used them to try and find her dad – visiting the places he’d been, finding where his photographs had been taken, that sort of thing.

It had come to nothing, though. No one knew who the man in the photographs she showed them was.


“I don’t care if it’s your sixteenth birthday! Get your arse out of bed now, kid!” Owen was bellowing.

Ianto grumbled into his pillow. “Piss off, you cockney shite!” he shouted back. He was greeted with a laugh from whoever was with Owen downstairs. Sounded like a couple of other people were there – Ianto wondered briefly if Martha was there, and if she’d be impressed if he stood up to Owen.


“Tosh’s part-time shag!”

Ianto could hear footsteps pounding the stairs up to his room, knowing he’d more than touched a nerve – he’d jumped on it bollock naked wearing a neon sign with the word ‘Annoying’ glowing green above his head. He smirked to himself as Owen burst into the room, ripping his covers back and straddling his waist, closing fingers around his throat. He wasn’t squeezing, just trying to frighten him. Ianto pretended he was still asleep, and let out a fake snore.

Whoever was with Owen downstairs had followed him up, and Ianto heard Martha’s distinct giggle. “Leave him, Owen. It’s his birthday. You always get left on your birthday.”

“But he’s ... not us.”

“No. He makes our food and drinks. If I’m honest, he’s the last person on the planet I’d want to piss off.”

Keeping his eyes closed, Ianto cheekily stuck his tongue out at Owen, who threw him back down and climbed off him in a huff. Ianto opened his eyes, stifling a snigger as he watched Owen leave. His eyes came to rest on Martha, who smiled at him.

“Happy Birthday.” she said, entering the room.

“It’s going well so far.” he replied, sitting up and suddenly very conscious of the fact he was only wearing his boxers with Martha very, very close. She perched on the bed.

“So ... sixteen.” she grinned.

“Yeah ... doesn’t really feel much different, though.”

“No. It doesn’t. Neither does eighteen. Twenty-one only feels different because that one gives you the biggest hangover of your entire life.” she joked.

Ianto smiled.

“I got you a present.” said Martha, reaching into one of her pockets.

He perked up, sitting a little straighter and pulling the covers further over his lap, praying Martha wouldn’t notice his body’s reaction to her being in his room and on his bed and reaching over to shut the door.

Something small was concealed in her hand, and she held it out near Ianto's face. He frowned, shuffling a little closer as she did the same. “What is it?” he asked. She laughed deep in her throat, and opened her clasped hand to reveal ... nothing. “Oh ...” said Ianto.

She extended her fingertips and brushed his cheek, and he tensed and averted his gaze. Martha moved closer, caressing his cheek with her palm and rubbing his skin under her thumb slowly and gently. “Look at me.” she whispered. He forced his eyes to look at her, and the second his met hers he found himself blown away as she pressed their lips together and slid her hand behind his neck. Her other arm was around his waist, but he was far too stunned to do anything other than freeze in shock. Martha kissed his mouth a couple of times, waiting for him to relax. When he didn’t she pulled back slightly.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing.” replied Ianto, his voice squeaking out about a million octaves too high. He cleared his throat. “I ... um ...”

“Hang on ... you’re sixteen ... you’re working here ... and you’ve never been kissed?”

“Owen tried it once when he was pissed, but I whacked him with a candlestick and ... well I don’t think he remembers.” Ianto laughed weakly.

“Whatever.” breathed Martha. “This time, just ... I dunno. Do something? It doesn’t matter if you’re not sure. It’ll be good either way, yeah?”

She did wait for a reply before kissing him again, this time flicking her tongue over his lips and pressing it forward. Ianto more than obliged, opening his mouth and letting her into him, sliding her hands down his body and holding his waist. He kept one hand behind her neck and the other on her shoulder, and started in surprise when she gently took that hand and pushed it lower to her breast.

Ianto had seen enough sex to know what he had to do, at least in theory. He gently squeezed the flesh below his palm, caressing her gently. He found the hard nub of her nipple through her shirt, giving it a gentle nip of fingers and making her gasp a little. “Okay?” he asked her.

“Fine.” she smiled, moving to kiss his neck and flick her tongue over his skin.

A little unsure how far Martha intended to go, Ianto ran his hand down her back until he found the hem of her shirt, slipping his hand under it and feeling the smooth skin of her back. He rubbed gently, sighing in delight as she sucked and nipped at his neck, marking him. Pulling his hand round the front of her body, he stroked her belly gently before making his way upwards, slipping his hands behind her back and deftly unclipping her bra.

She moved back to his mouth again, this time delving straight in with her tongue. She pulled back for a second. “Are you gonna take my shirt off or what?” she asked. Ianto instantly began pulling it off her, taking her bra with it and wishing he could have a moment to just look at her before being dragged back into the kiss. “You’ve got lovely big hands.” sighed Martha as they ran up and down her body.

Ianto took her by surprise, pushing her down onto her back, lying between her legs and kissing her. She gasped as his erection rubbed between her legs, and arched her back as he began to work his mouth lower. He was a little clumsy, and missed a couple of erogenous zones that Martha knew he would learn in time. He gently sucked a nipple into his mouth and she arched again, running her fingers through his hair and giggling his name. Grinning up at her, he did it again, and at the same time trailed his hands down to her trousers. Raising a questioning eyebrow, he waited for permission.

He opened her button and zip agonizingly slowly, and she raised her hips so that he could pull off her trousers and underwear at the same time. Dipping his head as he discarded the clothing, he gave her a tentative lick. Martha gasped a ‘yes!’ and he did it again, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves he thought might be her clit. He wasn’t sure. Apparently, it was very hard to find.

Deciding to up the ante a little, he pushed his tongue as far inside her as he could go, and was taken by surprise when she bucked upwards and let out a moan. He fucked her with his tongue before deciding that might be enough. Martha seemed to agree with him, sitting up and frantically pulling at his boxers. He got them off, and knelt between Martha’s legs. Stroking himself a little, he lined himself up with her entrance. Again, he raised an eyebrow, asking for permission. Martha nodded, and he pressed himself forward.

Fucking hell, no wonder people paid for this shit.

Ianto gasped as the sensations of Martha being under and around him took over everything his brain was currently processing. Her hands were on his back and she’d wrapped her legs around him, digging her heels into his backside. Burying his head into her shoulder, he moved as fast as he dared, not knowing what to expect and hoping it wouldn’t be over before Martha was satisfied.

Losing control of his movements a little, Ianto raised his head to look at her. Her eyes were closed as she concentrated on the feel of him inside her, and she kept sighing his name. Shivering with pleasure, he moved a bit harder, leaning down to kiss her and squeezing a nipple and breast in one hand. Heat was building in his belly, and he could feel his balls getting tighter. Martha was squeezing her muscles down around him, making him gasp and moan.

“Faster!” she whispered. “God, Ianto ...”

He could hear the bedsprings now, and he was fairly certain his first proper orgasm was finally ... coming. The heat was threatening to spread throughout him, and he knew he couldn’t hold on much longer. He was trying to hold on to his thoughts, wondering if he should tell Martha, when she let out a cry beneath him and clenched down hard. He gasped as she writhed and arched beneath him, not sure if that was an orgasm or just a good reaction ... when the door to the room burst open and Sarah Jane, closely followed by Owen, hurtled into the room.

“What ... the fuck?” he gasped. He felt himself dragged backwards, then felt his face burn when he realised that both Sarah Jane and Owen could see him totally naked and covered with Martha. He was still erect, and the sudden loss of sensation through his cock made him more angry that the sex had stopped than anything.

“Martha! I told you not to touch him!” hissed Sarah Jane.

“What ... you’re gonna leave him a virgin ‘til he’s twenty?” challenged Martha, moving the duvet to cover Ianto.

“If it makes me money, yes I will.” replied Sarah Jane. Owen made a smug ‘I told you so’ noise from behind her.

Ianto stared at her in shock. He’d never known Sarah Jane to be anything other than kind, but now she was snarling and shaking with rage. She calmed herself a little before continuing. “He’s turning out well.” she explained. “He may be a little broad than what most punters are looking for, but he’s lost all his puppy fat and he’s getting tall. Handsome face – more handsome than I thought he would be – and he’s a good strong, lad. I think the ladies will love him. And they’ll pay a lot if he hasn’t been had before.”

Ianto grimaced at the words “been had”. Was that what the last half hour had been? Martha ‘having’ him? Not because she was attracted to him, but because she wanted what people had paid over fifty thousand for in the past, and that he had been so willing to give? He ignored the way Sarah Jane talked about him like he wasn’t there, and concentrated in trying to get his erection down. He could feel Owen watching him, and that certainly helped.

Eventually Martha was dismissed, dragged away by Owen, and Sarah Jane sat on the bed beside him shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Ianto.” she breathed. “But ... times are hard. It’s all about money, and the more we get the better. Martha has given you a taste of what’s to come – be patient, and you can have that pleasure all the time. You’ll be paid for it. Do you think you’d like that, Ianto?”

Ianto tried to shake his head, but instead kept his eyes downcast and stayed silent. Sarah Jane took that as a yes, it seemed, and left the room, closing the door behind her and telling him he had to be a good for her.

Toshiko came and sat with him for a bit, sharing biscuits and tea. They fell asleep on the bed together, much to Owen’s chagrin, but everyone knew that Tosh and Ianto would never do anything together anyway and left them.

Mickey didn’t talk to Ianto much after the incident with Martha, and he left soon afterwards. Martha cried for days and days, before eventually drawing into herself and becoming like Suzie: meals on a tray in her room and customers brought up rather then met at the door. She refused to see Ianto for a long time, but eventually they began talking again – but never about what they did together, and especially not about Mickey.


Ianto was twenty-three before Sarah Jane finally called for him to be looked at. Toshiko knocked on his door, dragging him up to the room that used to be Mickey’s and telling him he had to make himself presentable – the Doctor was looking for someone very similar to what he had to ‘offer’. He shaved and scrubbed quickly, pulling on the suit Tosh brought from his quarters that they’d saved for this kind of time. The cut was tight and the waistcoat emphasised his slim waist while making him broad and masculine. He straightened the suit, and gave Tosh a nod to go and fetch whoever it was.

He knew of the Doctor, but had only seen him a couple of times. He was aware he was a relation to Sarah Jane, and that he was rich and powerful in the hotel business. The tall spire of his hotel rose up the Cardiff landscape, and Ianto could see it from his old bedroom window. The Doctor had also had a long infatuation with Toshiko – sometimes paying for the two hours and then just sitting and chatting with her. It had died off though – he met someone new. A politician’s daughter – Toshiko was vague on the details – and eventually his visits stopped all together.

He was back now though, and asking to look at Ianto. Taking a deep breath, he waited for the knock, wondering what he should say when it came. ‘Come in’? ‘Enter’? Should he go and answer the door? he wondered. He settled on ‘enter’, then wondered where he should be and what he should be doing when the Doctor came in. He decided to lean against the dresser, casually, letting his hips push a little forward and keeping his hands on the edge of the wooden surface. There was a knock, and Ianto called his mentally rehearsed “Enter!”, keeping a cool gaze on the door.

The tall, skinny Doctor entered, casting his eyes about the room before coming in, followed by a red-head with a PDA. Behind them came Toshiko and Sarah Jane, and he was fairly sure Owen was hanging about outside the door – which was promptly shut in his face. There was a moment’s silence while Owen’s footsteps retreated upstairs – he’d probably gone to tell Martha and Suzie about Ianto's visitor – before the Doctor took a step forward and looked him up and down.

“Turn on the spot, love.” encouraged Sarah Jane, and he revolved slowly.

“How old are you?” asked the Doctor.

“Twenty-three, sir.” replied Ianto, coming to a standstill.

“What d’you think, Donna? Aesthetically?” He moved over to Ianto, pinching his stomach to see how much fat was there.

“Well ... I wouldn’t say no.” the red-haired woman winked.

“Mmmm.” the Doctor replied. He stepped back and looked Ianto in the eye. “You clean?”

Sarah Jane moved forward. “He’s never been had, John.”

Doctor Smith raised his eyebrow. “Twenty-three and never been had? You believe him?”

“He’s been here since he was thirteen – we had one incident when he was sixteen, but nothing since. I’m certain of that. He’s an honest boy. Does as he’s told – except on his birthday.”

“When’s his birthday?”

“Last week.”

“Good ... I’ll need him for a month. And I’ll make sure his Lordship knows he’s untouched. See how much he’ll pay for him.”

“Very good.” Sarah Jane smiled. “Come down to my office, we’ll get this all sorted.” She ushered the Doctor from the room, leaving Ianto alone with Toshiko and the red-haired woman called Donna. There was an uncomfortable silence, Ianto not being sure what to say with Donna still in the room.

Donna, however, had already decided to fill the silence. “How could you just ... let them stand there and ... like you’re a piece of meat for sale or ... whatever?” she snapped at him.

“You weren’t exactly fighting my corner before, ma’am.” he replied quietly. Toshiko shuffled a little nervously.

“What am I supposed to say with your ... what is she? Owner?”


“Whatever ... I mean ... do you have no self respect?”

“I have nothing. That’s why I’m here.” he retorted. Donna bit her lip at that.

“Sorry.” she muttered. “I just ... I don’t think it’s right is all.”


“I’ve been thinking of changing my title.” mused the Earl. Barbara rolled her eyes behind him from the back seat of the Bentley. He was sat in the passenger seat, insisting on being able to see everything while they were driving.

“Really, sir?” she asked, adjusting the collar on her blue suit.

“Yeah. I’m bored of being the sixth Earl of Boeshane. What about .... The Mighty Sixth Earl of Boeshane? Got a ring to it, huh?”

“It’s a shade pretentious, sir.” she informed him. He scowled at her like a child.

“What about you, Lois?” he asked.

“Um ... maybe try it out for a couple of days, see how it goes?” she stammered.

Silence followed her statement, Barbara and Earl Harkness staring at her. Then she remembered.

“Oh! Um ... sir.” she finished. The atmosphere in the car returned to normal.

“See!” beamed Jack. “Why can’t you think like that, Janet?”

“My name isn’t Janet, your Lordship.”

“I know, but ... Barbara never seemed right.” he told her sympathetically. “Now ... where’s my wife?”

“Shopping.” replied Barbara, bristling.

“Oh. Okay - how long until we get to the hotel?”

“Ten minutes, sir.”

“Where are we again?”

“Cardiff, your Lordship.”

“Ahhh ... Cardiff. Cool.” he nodded. “Is that near Wales?”

“It’s in Wales, sir. I was born here.”

“Really? Do you speak Welsh?”

“I’m afraid not, sir. In fact, most Welsh people don’t speak the language.”

“Oh.” The Earl scratched his head. “Are we nearly there yet?”

“Eight minutes, sir.” sighed Barbara, chancing an eye-roll with Lois. She leant over and whispered. “You take over for a bit.”

Lois gave her a wide-eyed look, but prepared herself to answer any of the Earl’s questions.

“Is it raining?”

Okay ... this was easy. “No, sir.”

“Oh. Do you know if it’s going to rain?”

“Not according to the forecast, your Lordship.” That went well, too.

“Is that a Chuckle Brother?”

“No, sir. That’s a woman.”

“Are we nearly there yet?”

“Are you just asking silly questions to annoy me .... sir?” Lois said before she could stop herself. He turned in his seat to look at her, then flashed her his widest grin.

“Yup!” he said with delight.


LJ says the post is too large - So Rest of This Chapter here!

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Tags: fanfic, gwen cooper, ianto jones, jack harkness, janet, lois habiba, martha jones, owen harper, rentboy!ianto, ten, torchwood, toshiko sato

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