: Speak No Evil
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Ianto Jones/Tenth Doctor
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Rating: NC-17
Table: 5
Prompt: 3, Mute
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own Ianto Jones or the Tenth Doctor. Please do not sue.

***

He couldn't move his hands. Nor his legs. Nor any other part of his body, the Doctor realized, coming back to consciousness out of the fog that had descended on him with the blow to the back of his head.

He didn't want to open his eyes; the sounds around him told him that he was somewhere he didn't want to be. At least it wasn't the Master this time, he told himself; there was some small comfort in that. He wouldn't be stripped of his clothes and his dignity, at least not for the purposes that the Master always used him for.

Judging from the cold air against his body, he was at least wrong about being stripped of his clothes. A shiver went through his thin frame, counteracting the warmth of the blush he could feel spreading over his face and down into his throat. There was something rather embarrassing about being naked in front of strangers.

The Doctor tested the bonds that held his wrists; from what he could tell, he'd been tied down to some sort of .... examination table? He wouldn't know for sure until he opened his eyes and had a look around, something that he didn't want to risk. He was fairly sure that the people who were holding him captive would be waiting for him to awaken.

He could hear machines; he hoped they weren't doing something like monitoring his heartbeats. The few times he'd been taken captive by "modern" scientists, he'd found himself in danger of being the victim of some kind of primitive dissection, and he really didn't want to deal with that again.

Twisting his wrists above his head, he came to the reluctant conclusion that he wasn't going to be able to free himself; he was bound too tightly, and there was no way of knowing how many people his captors had employed to stop him from escaping.

And it would be rather hard to leave here without his clothes, as well.

He couldn't hear the voices any more; apparently, they'd decided to take a break from watching him and gone to do .... whatever they did. It seemed an excellent opportunity to open his eyes and have a look around.

When he did, he wished he'd kept them closed.

He was in some kind of laboratory, that was obvious. Full of machines, tubes, wires, and wicked-looking instruments that looked as though they could cause a great deal of pain if applied to the more sensitive areas of his body.

The table he was bound to was tilted at an angle, leaving him nearly upright, but not enough to afford him a chance to escape if he happened to loosen the restraints. That wasn't going to be possible, he thought, twisting his wrists helplessly in the metal restraints again. These seemed tailor-made for his thin limbs; there was no way he could wriggle out of them.

His arms were starting to ache; having his hands tied above his head wasn't exactly the most comfortable position he could have found himself in. And to make matters worse, he could hear the scientists -- or whoever they were -- trooping back down the hallway.

He hoped that Ianto had some clue where he was, and would somehow manage to come rushing to the rescue. He certainly couldn't help himself in the state he was in. And the situation was beginning to look very bad indeed.

His eyes fell on a folder laying on one of the desks in the room, and he squinted to make out the writing. His eyes widened in surprise, his gaze shooting to the door and trying to make out the words, backwards as they were from his vantage point.

What the hell ....? These people were .... sex researchers?

Then why in the world had they kidnapped him? Surely they couldn't mean to run bizarre tests on him to determine his alien physiology. These people probably didn't even know that he was alien.

Oh, this wasn't good. Not good at all.

"He's awake," one of the women said, coming over to him and placing a hand on his cheek. The Doctor's eyes met hers, but he didn't say anything. It was probably much better to remain mute in this situation -- there was no telling why these people had decided to knock him out and abduct him, and he didn't want to encourage them by speaking.

"Good," one of the older men said in a loud voice, rubbing his hands together briskly as he approached the table that the Doctor was bound to. "Then we can get on with things."

"I wonder why he isn't talking?" the woman murmured, stroking his cheek with gentle fingertips. Hmmm. Here was a sympathetic soul, the Doctor thought, wondering if she would take pity on him and free him, help him get away from .... whatever it was they planned to do with him.

One of the other men grinned as he made his way across the room to stand in front of the table. The Doctor didn't like the sadistic look that crossed those swarthy features; it was far too much like the Master for his comfort. Like someone who enjoyed inflicting pain.

"He doesn't need to talk. He just needs to scream." The words were spoken in an undertone that sounded distinctly sinister.

Yes, this was definitely not good.

The woman's eyes had moved down his body, a smile curving her lips. The Doctor couldn't help feeling exasperated. Just like a human, to focus on his physical attributes, he thought, a little disgruntled by her obvious appreciation of what she saw.

Of course, it wasn't as though he'd given her any reason to appreciate anything other than his body, he mused, trying to catch her eye again. She seemed to be the only person here who might help him get out of this predicament -- at least, he hoped she might.

"What a magnificent specimen," she breathed, reaching out to stroke a hand down his inner thigh, a little too close to his genitals for the Doctor's comfort.

Specimen? That wasn't a word he liked to hear in reference to his own body.

"How many times do you think this one is capable of?" one of the men asked, his question directed at no one in particular. He spoke in a conversational tone, as if whatever torture they'd planned to inflict on the Doctor's body was all in a day's work.

"Quite a few, by the looks of him," one of the other men remarked, watching as the one who'd spoken approached the Doctor to run a practiced eye over their captive's body.

The Doctor remained mute, deeming it best not to speak -- even though his hearts were pounding in his chest. Whatever they planned to do to him, he was sure that it was going to involve something uncomfortable. And perhaps painful, from the sound of it.

The woman was snapping a glove over one hand, reaching for what looked like a tube of lubricant and coating two fingers with the thick substance. The Doctor shivered, closing his eyes and waiting for the inevitable penetration.

He wasn't surprised to feel her fingers between his legs, probing, spreading the lubricant around his entrance before one digit, then the second, entered him. The Doctor winced, another shiver shaking his thin frame. Why in the hell didn't whoever manufactured this stuff make it warmer, for god's sake?

The Doctor squirmed against his bonds, unable to stop his body's physical reaction to what she was doing. Damn the male body's tendency to react overtly to any physical stimulation. Even thinking of his grandmother naked on a cold day wasn't going to dampen the flush of sexual response traveling through his body, or make his raging erection go limp.

Wait .... just why was she lubricating him? What were they going to do to him? His eyes snapped open, widening with trepidation.

The woman's fingers slid out of him, to be replaced by something nudging at his entrance, something large and blunt and .... and cold. The Doctor cried out as it pressed inside him, far too large to be forced into his body. His hips flexed, muscles tightening, his body protesting the invasion.

The woman stepped closer to him, fingertips stroking across his nipples. The Doctor gasped, his eyes meeting hers. He could read desire in her eyes -- desire, and compassion. She was at least trying to make this easier for him.

The older man had apparently finished with whatever else he was doing; the Doctor couldn't completely discern anything other than electrodes firmly pressed against his balls and the base of his penis, small wires connecting them to whatever had been inserted. His eyes followed the wires to where they hooked into a large black box, its front scattered with dials and frequencies.

This was looking worse every second.

"I give him four times, five max." One of the men shrugged, leaning against a table and surveying the Doctor. "I don't think he can go more than that."

"Ah, but we were told that he has amazing capabilities," the older man said, picking up the black box and studying the front of it. "If what we were informed of is true, he may prove that the male body is indeed capable of being multi-orgasmic."

The Doctor's eyes widened, an involuntary gasp coming from his lips. Who in the world would have told these people that he was ....

The Master. Who else? The Doctor's fists clenched, his teeth sinking into his lower lip. That bastard. How he would be laughing if he was here.

But being angry at the Master wasn't going to do him any good at this point. Unless he was very much mistaken, the wires connecting that box to the electrodes pressed to his genitals were more than capable of forcing any normal human body past its limits. And combined with his own multi-orgasmic nature .... well.

So they intended to torture him by pushing his body past its limits? The Doctor frowned, his eyes sweeping over the people in the room. He knew from bitter experience with the Master just how painful it was to endure the sort of torture they were planning, and he had no doubt that these sour-faced men would take a kind of perverted pleasure in watching him suffer.

None of them looked as though they'd had a day -- or night -- of physical pleasure in their lives. This was probably where they got their enjoyment from, forcing on others what they themselves craved.

This wasn't going to be pleasant.

The man holding the box pressed a button, the frequency springing to life with a crackling sound. The first wave of electrical current hit the Doctor's body with the force of a tidal wave.

The Time Lord screamed, his body convulsing, arching against the restraints that held him down. The frequency climbed higher, the current pouring into his body at an ever-increasing rate. He screamed again, seeing black spots in front of his eyes, his hearts galloping in his chest.

"Stop!"

That voice .... it was so familiar ....

The current arced still higher, drawing another agonized scream from the Doctor's throat. The colors of the room danced before his vision, seemed to melt together, the blackness at the edges of his sight threatening to take over and drown him in oblivion.

Passing out would be a blessing, he thought, his senses reeling. At least it would stop the pain ....

"Turn that damned thing off! Now!"

Was it his imagination, or was that .... Ianto?

Mercifully, blessedly, the searing pain ended as abruptly as it had begun.

Then Ianto was by his side, kneeling in front of him to ease whatever had been inside him out of his body, removing the electrodes and the wires. The Doctor moaned softly as the metal restraints were unlocked, a blanket wrapped around his trembling body, Ianto's strong arms encircling him.

"Is he all right?" Jack's voice. Sounding anxious, tight with concern.

"I think so." Ianto spoke softly, his hands moving over the Doctor's body as if searching for broken bones. "Did they hurt you, my love?"

The Doctor shook his head, remaining mute. He didn't want these people to know that he was actually capable of speech. It might foster a further interest in him -- one that he didn't want to encourage.

"You can't take him," one of the men protested, taking a step towards Ianto and the Doctor. "He's valuable to our scientific experiments. Our work is important ...."

He stepped back as a scowling Ianto raised a gun in his face.

"He's far more important to me," the young Welshman ground out, looking as though he would gladly shoot the next person who said a word. His arm tightened around the Doctor, his grip protective.

"Your work is shut down. Permanently." Jack sounded angry as well, his gaze taking in the five people standing beside the tangle of wires. "If I hear a word about anything like this happening again, I'll know where to look. And I won't be so nice next time."

With that, Ianto lifted the Doctor into his arms, silently carrying the Time Lord out of the room. Jack followed, throwing a final warning glance at the Doctor's captors before slamming the door behind him.

The woman moved to the window, peering out in time to see Jack open the car door, Ianto sliding into the passenger side with the Doctor's thin frame cradled in his arms.

"So close," she sighed, shaking her head. "So close. We had him. Here, in this room."

"We'll have him again," the swarthy, sinister-looking man snarled, a fist clenching at his side. "They can't keep him from us."

"We'll need a more restricted location to continue our work," the older man added, carefully setting the black box back on the table he'd lifted it from earlier. "Somewhere that he can't be so easily found."

"Yes." One of the other men stepped forward, his voice eager. "I think I know just the place. We can start moving the equipment there tomorrow. And we have to contact our informant."

A slow smile spread over the swarthy man's features. "Oh, I don't think that will be a problem, gentlemen."

He moved a hand across his face, wiping off some of the dark makeup that had disguised the saturnine features of the Master. He glanced around at the others, an anticipatory smirk twisting his mouth.

"The next time we capture the Doctor, he won't be so easily rescued, and we'll be able to finish our .... experiments .... in peace. I can assure you of that."

***