Title: Scream For Absolution
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Ianto Jones/Tenth Doctor
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Rating: NC-17
Table: 10
Prompt: 11, Whips and Chains
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the Tenth Doctor or Jack Harkness. Please do not sue.

***

Ianto came to slowly, swimming up from the black depths of unconsciousness reluctantly. He didn't want to know what was happening, didn't want to open his eyes and see what was around him. He'd prefer not to know where he was, to believe that all of this was just a bad dream.

But it wasn't. The lights, the sounds, the discomfort -- all of it was horribly real. A nightmare in the waking world that he couldn't escape from in the realms of sleep.

He didn't want to open his eyes. That would make it all the more real.

He had to. There was no choice; if he kept them closed, there was no telling what the monster who held him captive would do.

And not only himself -- the Doctor was there with him. In a much, much worse situation than he was, by far.

Ianto forced himself to let his eyes flutter open, squinting at the bright lights in the room. It took him a few moments to focus, his mind cringing away from the situation that he and the Doctor were in, not wanting to believe it was really happening.

The Master stood in the center of the room, between his two bound captives, looking from one to the other with an expression of malevolent glee on his face.

He nodded to Ianto, for all the world as though he were acknowledging his presence at a garden party rather than in a torture chamber. "So nice of you to join us, Mr. Jones."

The young Welshman tugged at the chains that held his wrists imprisoned above his head, knowing without having to be told that they wouldn't give. Of course the Master wouldn't allow him even the merest chance of pulling free. But he'd had to try, if only to convince himself of the futility of struggling.

"Leave us alone," he rasped, his voice cracked, coming from a dry, parched throat. "Let us go. Let him go."

The Master stepped closer to him, his eyes roving over Ianto's naked body. One hand moved to his cheek, stroking the soft skin, then dropped to his chest to tweak one taut nipple. Ianto's body stiffened at the touch, trying to pull away. But there was nowhere to go, no place to run, no opportunity of movement.

That touch made his skin crawl. If only there was a choice, a way not to have to submit to it. But there wasn't. He could only stand there and suffer the indignity of this monster's hands on his flesh.

"Let him go?" The voice was contemplative, slightly amused in its tone. "No, I don't think so. Look at him. He's far too lovely a prize for me to relinquish at a mere request."

Ianto couldn't bear to look at the Doctor. The Time Lord had been stripped naked as well, thin wrists chained above his head in the same manner as Ianto was bound. But the similarities stopped there. The Doctor was gagged, unable to speak, the red slashes of whip marks across his chest and stomach. Ianto was afraid to look lower; he didn't want to see if the Master had inflicted any wounds further down the Gallifreyan's body.

The Master leaned close to Ianto and whispered in his ear, obviously enjoying the effect his words were having on the young man. "He's trying desperately not to regenerate. For you, Mr. Jones. He wants to keep this body for you."

"You bastard." Ianto struggled against the cuffs holding his wrists, even though he knew that escape was impossible. "Let him go! You've got no reason to do this!"

"Ah, but I have every reason." The Master's voice was suave, satisfied. "I have to test his limits -- to find out just how far he will go for his soul mate."

Ianto's heart clenched in his chest at the Master's words. So the bastard knew. He knew that Ianto and the Doctor were bonded, knew exactly what they meant to each other. And he would use that knowledge to full advantage, Ianto had no doubt.

He glanced over at his love, unable to keep his eyes away. The Doctor's body was already healing, the slashes starting to disappear from his skin. Ianto breathed a sigh of relief. Not regenerating, just healing himself.

The Master stepped over to the Gallifreyan, twining his fingers through the Doctor's tawny hair and pulling his head back, exposing the slender column of his throat. "This is by far the loveliest of his incarnations, Mr. Jones. Did you know that?"

"I've never seen his other incarnations." Ianto answered the Master coldly, not wanting to refuse to speak; there was no telling what the Master might choose to do to the Doctor if he didn't make some attempt to acknowledge the words.

"And you have him." The Master's voice had changed from a conversational tone to a snarl. "He should be mine. I should own him, body and soul. Instead, he's chosen to give himself to you, a mere human. That isn't acceptable."

"And you think that you can own him by torturing him?" Ianto shot back, unable to keep the angry words from rising to the surface and spilling over.

The smile was back on the Master's face, an ugly smile that was almost a grimace, a parody of what should have been at least a somewhat pleasant expression. "No, my dear Mr. Jones, of course not," he drawled, drawing his hand down the Doctor's body to curl long fingers around the Time Lord's cock. "I'm only seeking to punish him for his actions."

"Let him go!" Ianto almost screamed the words, tugging frantically at his bonds. He couldn't bear to see that .... that thing touching his beloved so intimately.

"I'll let him go when I'm ready," the Master snarled again, moving away from the Doctor and crossing the room to pick up the whip that had already inflicted such damage on the Time Lord's helpless body. "When I'm done with him."

"You can't force him to regenerate." Ianto's words were panicked, desperate. He didn't know for sure that they were true; he only hoped they were.

The Master shrugged, pulling the whip taut in his hands as though to test its strength. "That doesn't matter. I don't need him to regenerate. I don't even need him to scream, as you can see. I only need him to suffer."

"No!" The word was torn from Ianto's lips before he could hold it back.

The Master only smiled, glancing towards the Time Lord before letting the whip arc through the air, making a whistling sound as it went.

The Doctor's body jerked as the whip wrapped around his left thigh, leaving a red welt in its wake -- the mark far too close to the Doctor's genitals for Ianto's comfort.

"Please," he begged, twisting his wrists, nearly babbling in his agitation. "He's suffered enough already. Take me, hurt me. Let him go. You know it would hurt him more if you take me. For the love of all that's holy, stop."

The Master raised a cynical eyebrow at him. "Holy, Mr. Jones? You must know that I have no reverence for your relics. Nor for your pleas."

With that, the whip sailed through the air again, this time slashing across the Doctor's bare hip. The Time Lord moaned against his gag, not raising his head, his body seeming to slump against the chains that held him upright.

"Not much fun, is he?" The Master sounded almost amused again. "I suppose I'm going to be forced to make him scream. It would liven things up so much more."

"No," Ianto whispered, his throat constricting around the word.

The Master stepped towards the Doctor, working at the knot that held the cloth tied between the Gallifreyan's lips. The Doctor didn't move when the gag was removed, didn't look up. Ianto hoped that his lover wasn't conscious enough at the moment to register what was being done.

"Now," the Master breathed, "the fun begins."

Ianto squeezed his eyes shut as he heard the whip being drawn back, to whistle through the air again with a snapping sound.

The Doctor's scream filled his consciousness, drawing a keening wail from his own lungs until he couldn't separate the two voices.

***