Fandom: TORCHWOOD
Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood – if I did I wouldn't be so worried about how I'm going to find money for university!
Genre/warning: Angst, Child Abuse, Underage, M/M, Violence, Slash, AU
Rated: NC-17
Characters/pairings: ?? Ianto Jones ?? (I do not even know who I am pairing him with. Either Jack or Owen – feel free o suggest someone!)
Title: From the Streets of Cardiff
Chapter One – A Dark History
Ianto Jones was not afraid of the dark.
He had spent his childhood in the slums of the Cardiff Splott housing estate, often experiencing black outs due to the occasional summer storm or his mam forgetting to pay the bill. More often the latter than the former. So at a young age Ianto had learnt to cope with the darkness, but he hadn't liked it. His mam would come home from the pub to find her home in darkness and do one of three things. The first was Ianto's preferred action; she'd yell at him, asking him what he'd done and why she couldn't see in her own damn house. She'd curse the day he was born, claiming she could have been a rockstar (Ianto soon realised that the closest his mam had ever come to fame was a bit role in a seedy porn film when he'd been three) or married rich and become a lady of leisure (she'd dated a 'rich' guy once. He'd had plenty of cash but he'd been a crook – Ianto understood he had been sent to prison by his ex, a bitter woman who's trust fund he had stolen). The second option was when she cried. This was when she was just tipsy or sober and she realised that the electricity bill was her responsibility and she had failed – she would start saying what a bad mother she was and that she'd make it up to him, that she loved him and would be better in the future. Ianto had believed her a couple of times – until he realised it was empty promises said to assuage her guilty conscious. Option three was that she wouldn't even notice, she was too drunk and just ended up passed out on the floor, lying in a pool of her own puke. In the morning she'd clear up and act like it had never happened, she'd be his mam again yelling at him to get to school on time and kissing him goodbye on the forehead – but them memory of her passed out like that would remain with Ianto until his dying day, and no child should have to see his mother like that.
The happiest Ianto had ever seen his mother had been when she had been engaged to a fireman and he and his daughter who was a few years older than Ianto – who had been ten at the time – had moved in. For a while they had played happy families, Nesta (Ianto's mam) had bigged it up to all her friends at the school where she worked as a cleaner that she was dating a fireman, Ianto had had a playmate and a friend in Jeannie, and he had a 'positive male role model' in Cameron Lloyd, his soon-to-be-stepfather. But it hadn't lasted – one night just two weeks before the wedding day Cameron had snuck into Ianto's room during the night… Ianto's memories of that night were dulled by the pain of what happened next and by the human mind's wonderous ability to shut out information that could hurt us. In the morning Cameron had made him marmite toast and fresh orange juice – his favourite breakfast, and they had sat on the sofa like father and son watching the cartoons until Nesta had returned from her mam's in Bangor. Ianto couldn't remember where Jeannie had been that night – but he did remember his mam's face light up at the sight of him sitting on that sofa with Cameron. She even got out her camera. Never once that day did she question Cameron's excuse for the weird way he was walking (with bow legs and a limp) when he said he'd just been playing rough, 'like boys do'. She also didn't think to ask why all of a sudden Cameron wanted to do the clothes washing – or why he decided that Ianto's bed sheets – which had only just been changed the day before – were dirty and had to be washed. The next time this happened was on him mam's hen night. She was off with Clancy the school junior secretary and Flora the dinner lady at the school; at a dance club wasting this week's electricity bill money on watching a man strip for money. This time Cameron left visible bruises on Ianto's hips, obvious bruises. He had been so sure that Nesta wouldn't stop the wedding for anything that he had gotten stupid. The next morning Ianto had called child services and shown them the bruises. Unfortunately Cameron had used a condom this time so it had been impossible to prove he was at fault, especially with his fourteen year old daughter claiming he had spent the night watching old movies with her downstairs. But it had been enough to make Nesta call off the wedding (something she never quite forgave Ianto for) and for Ianto to be taken into child services for a few weeks while they convinced themselves that Nesta had been truly ignorant of the attacks on her son. That time was more than long enough for Ianto to never want to go back to the foster system again.
Now Ianto was fourteen and therefore no longer a child. He wasn't afraid of the dark, this time it meant time for him to work. To walk the Cardiff streets in hope that someone would come along looking for some fun, someone with a big wallet and a small dick hopefully. And no one impotent – it was the impotent ones you had to watch out for, they preferred to take their rage and frustration out on their tricks in the form of violence. And less than half of them paid the extra fifty it cost to hurt him.
His journey from abused drunkards son to street hustler was not a very interesting one. Mam kicked him out and he had no where to go, no one to turn to. He'd been wondering the streets and suddenly a car had driven slowly next to him and the voice of a middle aged man had called out to him, offering him twenty bucks if Ianto sucked him off. At the time Ianto hadn't even understood the meaning behind the words but afterwards he could claim no such innocence. Soon it was him going up to cars, whispering 'fifty for a fuck, tenner for a hand, twenty for a suck'.
His life was pretty dark, he had no one to live for and a luxury for him was a hot shower and a BLT sandwich.
That was – until the day Torchwood came into his life.
TBC – but only if I get eight+ comments/reviews with people wanting me to. It's not greed – but I don't have the time or energy to continue something if no one is really bothered. I have many fictions on the go – I love writing and I had to write this down but if no one wants more than I won't write any more.
Also: do you want it to stay really dark? Or do you want me to lighten up? As in the mood of the piece. I could go either.
Please, please comment people.