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The Brides of the Sheikh	By : Ceefax Category: S through Z > Torchwood Views: 1697 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Torchwood, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Chapter 1
- 2-Chapter 2
- 1
- 2
The Brides of the Sheikh

By Ceefax

***

Ianto got something of a shock as he and the driver finally retreated from the fierce Bho-Shiyn sun into the sand-coloured palace and he set eyes on the man who came forward to meet them.

*But that's completely impossible,* he thought, slipping his fingers into his pocket and touching the photograph.

"Mr Jones, highness," the driver said, bowing.

He got another shock when the sheikh courteously dismissed the driver.

"You're... You're American? I mean, you sound American..."

A set of perfect white teeth flashed in his direction. "Not really. But I've travelled a lot." He offered a hand and Ianto shook it. "Welcome to our little peninsula."

"Thanks." He fished the photo out of his pocket. He had to ask. "Is this you? Er, your highness."

"Call me Jack." Another movie-star smile and Ianto, much to his annoyance, felt himself blush. The sheikh took the picture from Ianto's outstretched hand. "Sorry, no. That's my dad."

"You look exactly like him..."

Jack gave him back the photograph and took his arm. "Come on, let's get you a drink and somewhere to sit. The heat can be a bit much if you're not used to it."

Ianto blushed even harder at that, and allowed himself to be led into a maze of corridors.

They passed through many rooms, arranged with fixtures and fittings as though several sizable dinner parties were imminent, but there was an abandoned feel to them. He was sure they were just for show, like the displays in British stately homes. Estelle had liked stately homes. Kathy wouldn't go because that would be supporting the aristocracy and Owen dismissed them as 'boring', so he had ended up accompanying Estelle quite often.

The walls, like that of the lavish entrance hall, were yellow stone, and the doorways were arch-shaped with pointed tips. Red curtains with elaborate patterns embroidered in gold served as doors. "These are beautiful," Ianto commented as Jack held one aside for him to pass. "Are they very old?"

Jack laughed. "You got me. Tell you the truth, I hardly even see them any more. Billis'll know."

"Billis? The driver?"

"Driver, estate manager, butler, gardener... Basically, he does all the work, I just sit around and look pretty."

Ianto, with a certain sense of resignation, felt himself blush again. Hopefully Jack would assume it was sunburn.

They emerged into a large bright room. Flowering plants overflowed from pots in all four corners, the bright colours wonderfully refreshing on the eyes after all the drab, desert shades. The floor was covered from wall to wall with a thick, intricately patterned carpet. *This must be one of those Turkish carpets I've heard so much about,* Ianto thought. *It probably doesn't fly, though.* He stopped at the edge of the carpet, unwilling to step on it in the boots he'd worn outside, but Jack tugged him forward.

They sat on a long, low sofa at the back of the room, covered in more cushions than Ianto had ever seen in one place before. There was a table in front of them laid with fruit, fruit juices and water. A large fan in the ceiling produced a slight breeze, and the overall effect was deliciously comfortable. Jack pulled a functional-looking knife from his belt and began eviscerating a mango, offering Ianto every alternate slice.

"So, how'd you end up in our little corner of the world?"

"Well..."

***

Estelle, his foster mother, had been an inveterate hoarder, as Ianto was only too aware, having shared a house with her from the ages of fourteen to eighteen. Two weeks after her funeral, his foster sister, Kathy, effortlessly overruled his feeble protests and roped him into the clean-up operation.

Which explained why he was carting twenty years worth of old newspapers out of a pretty little cottage in Buckinghamshire on a perfectly nice Saturday morning. He dumped his current armload into the back of Kathy's car and winced at the protesting creak from the suspension.

Back in the kitchen, Kathy had spread a mound of documents all over the table.

"Look at this," she greeted him, "I found the original deed to the house from 1922. It used to be called Meadow View." He peered over her shoulder at the elaborate hand written document. "Pretty, isn't it? Catch anybody making attractive official documentation these days. These days it's a miracle if it's even spelt right."

"'Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold.' You'd better get that lot down to the tip," he jerked a thumb at the back door, indicating her Vauxhall Omega parked in the driveway. "There's no way we're getting anything else in there."

She yawned and stretched. "Yeah, okay. Go and give Owen a hand with the box room, and don't either you dare touch these papers."

"No, sir."

She whacked him lightly round the head and departed. He watched out the window until she was out of sight, just in case an axle snapped, then made his way up the stairs to find his foster brother.

The box room lived up to the name. Cardboard boxes and old furniture filled the tiny room from wall to wall. In the middle of the junk, Owen had constructed a rudimentary armchair, mostly from an ancient saggy beanbag, and was sitting with his feet up reading a book. A few bits and pieces dragged out onto the landing stood testament to his initial efforts.

Ianto leaned against the doorway and waited for Owen to acknowledge his presence. After about ten seconds and one page turn he gave up. "Kathy's gone to the tip."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Which would seem to imply that I've shifted a whole car-load of crap while you've been up here sitting on your arse."

"Well, aren't we a good little boy."

They had history, those two. Owen had a rather impressive scar on his shoulder where Ianto, age fifteen, had snapped and gone for him with a skewer. There had been mitigating circumstances, but it had earned him several months hard labour with the school counsellor.

"What are you reading, anyway?" Ianto asked, having noticed the blank cover.

"Diary."

Ianto grabbed the nearest box and began rifling. It was filled with old clothes, too far gone even for a charity shop. On some of them, there were signs of mould. "I didn't know she kept a diary."

"Nah, s'not Estelle's. Not unless she got married and didn't tell anyone."

He sealed the box of clothes and pushed it down the stairs. It got stuck halfway. "Whose is it, then?"

"Think it might be your mum's."

Confusingly enough, it wasn't the tone he usually used for taking the piss, but to be on the safe side Ianto fixed him with a look of superior disdain to indicate just how little effect his underhanded tactics had. Family was something of a sore point between them. Owen had a mother and a swarm of sisters, with whom he had regular contact, and had even lived with once or twice. Ianto had been abandoned when he was a few days old, and had no known roots, save a series of foster homes.

The next box he snagged contained a vast mound of silverware, and the aged cardboard gave way as he pulled, scattering spoons over the carpet. He frowned. This was the fourth cutlery set they'd found, not including the two that were in everyday circulation. He knelt down and began gathering them up.

"What d'yer reckon?" Owen asked.

There were candlesticks in the box as well. "What do I reckon what?"

"Well look, then."

He looked up. Owen was holding up the diary, showing the photograph stuck to the inside cover. "So, what d'yer reckon? Any resemblance?" The photograph was a close-up of a man and a woman, cheek to cheek and smiling. "I suppose he might look a bit like you," Owen mused, turning the photo back towards him, "in a generic 'we're both white blokes' sort of a way. There's some other photos in the box."

Unsure what track this conversation was taking, Ianto paused, fish fork in hand. It occurred to him for the first time that Owen might actually be serious.

Owen calmly flipped back to his place, which he'd marked with a finger, and carried on reading. "Well, don't you wanna see? It's this one here with your name on." He aimed a kick at an open cardboard box which had once, apparently, contained multipacks of monster munch.

Retaining the fish fork, in case sudden deadly revenge was needed, Ianto picked his way across the room. On the side of the box in question was indeed 'Ianto', written in what was undoubtedly Estelle's handwriting and covered, as was the rest of the box, with a thin layer of dust. It was beginning to look like this really wasn't one of Owen's jokes.

There were a number of loose photographs at the top. He picked them up one by one, examined them, then stacked them on the floor. They mostly featured one or both of the couple from the diary photo, and they all seemed to have been taken somewhere vaguely middle-eastern, although he hadn't spotted any recognisable landmarks. In one of them, the woman might have been pregnant, but she was wearing heavy robes and he couldn't be sure.

There was one clue - a date, 22nd July 1979, written on the back of one of the photographs. It showed the couple and one other man standing in a line and smiling at the camera. The two men were shaking hands. He put it on top of the pile.

"I'm really beginning to think she was your mum, you know. She's so incredibly boring."

"Can I see?"

Owen dropped the book into his outstretched hand. "I'm gonna make some tea. Want some?"

"Yeah, thanks."

He dropped into Owen's makeshift chair. He felt oddly calm about all this, given that that it was a potentially life-altering discovery. He flipped through the pages. The diary was three-quarters full, with a few sketches upside-down in the back pages. He turned the book over and was examining them, when he noticed an address in faded ink on the inside back cover...

It looked as if he'd have to take some time off work.

***

"...So you still don't know what happened to your parents?" Jack was sitting sideways with his legs curled beneath him, one arm extended over the back of the sofa to lie just a few inches from Ianto's shoulders.

"No. The diary ends in 1979, three years before I was born."

"Hmmm. That's a few years before they left here..."

"Were you living here, then? Did you meet them?"

"Not as such, no. We'll ask Billis later, I'm sure he'll be able to help. Tell me more about your foster family."

Ianto suddenly felt horribly embarrassed about mentioning the mundane happenings of his life in this gorgeous palace. "They're not all that interesting, really."

"They seem pretty interesting so far. Tell me." He said it in a tone of easy command - simply as though he expected to be obeyed. Ianto was irrationally reminded of Ms Hartman.

"Well, Kathy's a detective inspector. In the police. And Owen's a doctor."

"Yeah? What about you?"

"Oh, I'm just a PA. Well, Owen seems to think it's pronounced 'tea boy'..."

Jack laughed and shifted slightly, bringing his hand down to rest lightly against Ianto's shoulder. Ianto was suddenly very much aware of the single layer of cotton separating them, where at home he would have had several comfortingly thick layers. "Sounds like you think they've done better than you."

"Well... they save people's lives and bring criminals to justice. I pick up Ms Hartman's dry cleaning."

"Don't sell yourself short. I know how lost I'd be without Billis. But that's not actually telling me about them, that's just telling me what they do."

"Well... I... Kathy's the eldest. Estelle adopted her when she was four, so she's had quite a stable upbringing, considering."

Jack smiled encouragingly and leaned forward to snag a banana, bracing himself on Ianto's shoulder. It was really very disconcerting - Ianto couldn't remember the last time anyone had touched him.

"She always used to boss us around. Still does, actually. Owen and me bounced around the place - I went from foster home to foster home, he went from foster homes to his mother and back again."

"You didn't find anywhere to settle down?"

He didn't feel very comfortable discussing his really quite horrible childhood with this all-too-handsome man who he darkly suspected was eating that banana in a deliberately provocative way. "We did eventually. So, what about you?"

"Not much to tell. Took over all this..." With a sweep of his hand he indicated his kingdom, "from my dad. It really runs itself, I just spend the money. Well, me and the ladies."

Ianto gave him a questioning look, and he picked up a folding picture frame from behind a high pile of pineapples and handed it over. It contained studio portraits of three women.

"My wives," Jack explained. Ianto was entirely unable to keep the surprise from his face. Jack laughed. "Well, I've got to keep busy somehow."

"They... er... They're very pretty."

"You'll meet Toshiko at dinner tonight." He tapped the picture in the left-hand frame. "The others are out of the country at the moment. Gwen's somewhere in Switzerland, and Rose's in Paris."

"Do you have any children?"

"No, no. I don't think any of us are that responsible, yet." He laughed, and Ianto smiled politely. "You don't have anyone waiting for you back home?"

"No. There's no-one."

"Ah. Best way to be." He gave Ianto a friendly pat on the shoulder. "How's the jet lag? I'd recommend a rest before dinner, and around here it's best to sleep through the hottest part of the day, anyway. Good habit to get into." He got up, opened a small side door and exchanged a few words with someone on the other side. "Oh, and make sure you've got something to snack on," he added, folding himself back onto the sofa. "Keep your blood sugar up, trust me, it helps."

Billis appeared at the door. He inclined his head towards Jack. "Highness?"

"Would you show Mr Jones to his room, please? We'll eat at five," he added, addressing Ianto, "then I'll give you the grand tour. Tomorrow we'll see what we can dig up about your folks."

Ianto followed Billis into another maze of corridors. The tall, thin man said nothing but simply strode ahead. Ianto liked to think he had a good sense of direction, but the high enclosed walls soon had him disoriented. When, less than five minutes later, Billis stopped outside a dark, highly-polished wooden door, Ianto had no idea in which direction the opulent sitting room had been. This was a little worrying, but he supposed, in a pinch, he could always use the Theseus-in-the-labyrinth approach to find his way around.

Billis opened the door and stepped back to allow him to go first. His luggage had apparently made it before either of them. The room was very pleasant - light and airy with a balcony looking out over the front courtyard. There was a small living-room area with large, soft armchairs, separated from the bedroom by a mesh screen, which had a rather impressive vine-like plant growing across it. The bedroom led on to the bathroom, which was all in white and gold.

Billis showed him the bell pull which would summon a servant, bowed to him (not as low as he'd bowed to Jack) and left.

Ianto sat down on the (huge soft) bed and levered his boots off with a sigh of relief. Investigation revealed that although the sand had infiltrated his socks, there was none in his boots. This didn't seem possible, but there it was. He pulled off his socks, tucked them into a side pocket of his rucksack because they looked so untidy lying on the floor, and wriggled his toes with abandon. He considered unpacking, but was feeling a little too lazy at that particular moment. He unbuttoned his shirt, but didn't remove it, and flopped backwards onto the bed.

The ceiling was painted with similar geometric patterns to the curtains in the corridors, but here they were executed in pale green and blue. He smiled up at it. Everything was so pretty here - it made a wonderful change from the stark modernity he was usually surrounded with.

The next thing to worry about was what on earth to wear for dinner. He had tried to pack for all eventualities (while still having luggage that he could carry without injuring himself), but he had no idea what would be expected of him. He would be dining with the country's ruler, after all, so a certain degree of formality would be appropriate; however Jack hadn't really struck him as an appropriate degree of formality kind of guy... He should have asked Billis, but it hadn't occurred to him at the time.

He yawned, rather hugely (the bed really was very comfortable), and glanced at his watch. He had a few hours before he needed to start getting ready. He ran a hand thoughtfully over his chin. He should have a shave before dinner. And a bath. He rolled off the bed and went to investigate the bathroom.

The bath was a design he hadn't seen before - sunken into the floor, with one side a very shallow slope - more like a miniature swimming pool than a bath. He set the water running and wandered back into the living room. There was a bookcase against the wall containing books in a surprising range of languages, most of which he didn't know. However, there were five or six in English, as well as a tiny leather-bound edition of L'Esprit contre la raison in French. He smiled at the selection - very pretentious, perfect for a palace guest room - picked out L'Esprit and an amalgamated edition of Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained and took them back into the bathroom.

He had a sudden crisis of conscience concerning the availability of water in the desert, and left the bath water quite shallow. He piled his clothes on a chair in the bedroom, dug his washing kit out of his rucksack and threw a towel over the books sitting by the taps in case of splashing.

He winced at his reflection - in spite of his repeated applications of sunscreen, the areas of exposed skin were noticeably pink, clashing with his normal white-shading-to-pale-blue colouring. He sighed ruefully and stepped into the bath.

The cool water felt wonderful. He washed himself from head to toe, resolved to ask Jack about the water recycling systems to determine how guilty he should feel, dried his hands carefully on the booktowel, and settled down to read.

He lay on his stomach on the sloping edge using the towel as a cushion for his elbows. There he stayed in a contented state of relaxation, occasionally swirling his feet so the cool water lapped at his sides, until he was brought out of his daze by the sound of somebody moving around in his room.

***

He didn't drop the book. Instead he gripped it convulsively, staring wide-eyed at the flimsy sliding partition. Soft unmistakable footsteps sounded again. And then came a zip opening...

Trying to make as little noise as possible, he climbed out of the bath, feeling cold for the first time since he'd got off the plane. He wrapped himself in the thick white robe hanging by the towel rack - while attacking naked might possibly grant you the element of surprise (and maybe intimidation, depending on the opponent), attacking naked and wet and shivering was almost as pitiful as attacking naked and wet and shivering with a towel precariously balanced around one's hips.

The closest to a weapon the bathroom could offer was a heavy glass bottle filled with what he was almost sure was bubble bath, but as he couldn't read the label he'd decided not to risk it. He hefted it, holding it in a thumping-on-the-head position, took a deep breath, slid the partition back an inch, and peered through the gap.

It was Billis. He was engaged in the furtive, underhanded pursuit of unpacking Ianto's suitcase. Heart pounding, and feeling like a bit of an idiot, Ianto watched as he shook out a shirt, slipped it onto a hanger and hung it in the wardrobe, then (leaving the probably-bubble bath behind) pushed back the partition and stepped into the bedroom.

Billis gave him one of his little semi-bows. "I hope you are quite refreshed, sir. I have taken the liberty of laying out some clothes for this evening."

If only all problems were so easily solved. "Thank you..." Billis refastened the empty suitcase and put it on top of the wardrobe. Ianto did a double take at his watch, sitting innocently on the dressing table. It was nearly half past four. He'd never been in the bath that long... Granted, he'd put his head down on the towel-pillow and closed his eyes a few times, but he didn't think he'd been tired enough to sleep... He darted back into the bathroom and began to fill the basin, letting the water out of the bath as an afterthought.

Billis snuck in behind him and started folding towels. "This wing has an interesting architectural history. I distinctly remember your father commenting very favourably on the structural features."

Ianto paused in his application of shaving foam. "Did you know my father well?"

"Not well, no. Your parents' stay with us was all too brief, much to the sheikh's disappointment."

"Why did they come here?"

Billis gave him a thin-lipped smile and peered quickly at his pocket watch. "If I may, sir, we are due at dinner very shortly, and there will be other times in which to reminisce." With a brief incline of his head he swept up the used towels and departed. Ianto gave his departing back a quizzical look and turned back to the mirror.

***

Jack was late to dinner. Thankfully, in the meantime, Ianto and Toshiko had discovered they had similar tastes in television and computers, and had moved past Monty Python and Yes, Minister and were enthusiastically discussing programming languages when he finally arrived.

He kissed Toshiko on the cheek, gave Ianto's shoulder a squeeze, and sat down at the head of the table. "Sorry, had to take care of some things. You should've started without me."

Toshiko gave him a warm smile. "Oh, we were going to, don't worry."

Ianto was staring down at his empty place setting, waiting for the blush that Jack's touch had engendered to fade. This was really getting ridiculous - his life up to this point hadn't exactly overflowed with passion, but a simple touch on the shoulder shouldn't affect him so badly. Especially the touch of a (very) married man.

"You two seem to be getting on. Has she told you how we met?"

Toshiko went a rather pretty shade of pink. "Oh, don't."

"It's a very romantic story - she saved me from desert bandits."

"It wasn't really like that..."

"Yes it was, don't ruin it." She smiled and rolled her eyes. He leaned eagerly forward towards Ianto. "It was a dark and stormy night..."

Toshiko laughed and hit him lightly with the back of a spoon. "It was a slightly overcast afternoon, actually."

"All right, but there had been a bit of a sandstorm earlier."

Ianto almost jumped out of his skin as a servant appeared silently behind him and placed a plate of meat and rice in front of him. He twisted around automatically, but he'd already disappeared. When he turned back, Jack and Toshiko had also been served, and a curtain covering a doorway was just swinging back into place. Toshiko gave him a look of sympathy. "They're good, aren't they? You get used to them eventually."

"So, anyway," Jack said, around a mouthful of food, "there I was, minding my own business, driving along... To be fair, I was singing along with Abba quite loudly at the time, so somebody may've been offended by that..."

"Not camp at all," Toshiko interjected.

"Absolutely not. So, I'm driving along, when this guy with a submachine gun steps out into the road. I try turning the music down, but he still looks pissed. I'm in an open jeep, so I don't have any cover, or a lot of options. So then I'm watching them divide up my possessions - and there was some talk of them taking my jeans... that's the trouble with designer labels - when over the hill comes a squad of cavalry in khaki to my rescue."

"You're in the army?" Ianto asked, addressing Toshiko. She hadn't struck him as the type.

She shook her head. "I'm a doctor. But I did some work for the UN for a while."

"Really? My brother's a surgeon, what field are you in?"

She gave a small apologetic smile. "Pathology, actually."

"Ah. Not quite so glamorous."

"Not really, no."

"And then two months later we were married. Sweet story, isn't it?" He beamed at Toshiko, who smiled back.

"Bit of a whirlwind romance," Ianto couldn't help remarking.

"Yes, Jack's good at those."

"When you know it's right, why wait?" Jack said, emphasising the point with a piece of bread. "By the way, Ianto, I'm loving that shirt on you. Dark colours really bring out your eyes."

Taken aback, Ianto hastily swallowed his mouthful of food. "Er... Thank you."

"Of course," Toshiko added, "it's not really a classic love story, as he already had one wife at this point."

"You can't say I didn't warn you."

"If you don't mind my asking..."

"Why did I marry him if he was married already?"

"Oh, it's purely sexual," Jack said with a sideways grin.

Toshiko hit him with the spoon again. "Actually, it's a very convenient arrangement."

*Do you all sleep together?* "How do you get on with the others?"

"We don't see all that much of each other, to be honest. We get on fine, whenever we manage to be in the same country at the same time."

"But don't you... I've never actually come across this, er... Don't you mind?"

"Mind what?" Toshiko asked.

Jack was sitting back, smiling, eyes flicking between the two of them, with the air of someone enjoying a particularly good tennis match. Ianto shot him a nervous glance. "That he gets three wives and you only get one husband. It's just... It seems a little one-sided."

Jack's smile widened until he seemed positively predatory. "You disapprove?"

"No! No, not at all, I just wondered..."

"Well, um..." Toshiko went slightly pink and looked down at her plate.

"No need to worry about that," Jack said, "we're very modern here - we practise open relationships. Gwen's got two other guys on the go - and that's just the ones we know about - and I've lost track of Rose's... Tosh, still just the one bit on the side, yes?"

She nodded, going pinker still, smiling in a proud-but-embarrassed way.

Ianto felt very much as though he'd opened a can of worms.

Jack leaned in, resting his chin on his hands. "So, all three of us are free and available." He grinned at Ianto, who felt a little like bashing him with a spoon himself.

"Don't pay any attention to him," Toshiko said. "He will flirt with anything, I've seen him."

"It's true," Jack said, "I'm a slut," and he laughed happily.

All this was somewhat outside Ianto's usual experiences. Where he came from, dinner conversation didn't include cheerfully listing the people one's multiple spouses were cheating with. It was rather refreshing, in a weird, terrifying kind of way, although it was bringing back his feelings of inadequacy. He'd certainly never done anything that would shock anyone. Well, nothing sexual, anyhow.

After dinner, they went back to the fruit-laden sitting room for coffee. Ianto restrained himself from attempting to drag the subject back to his parents' visit, consoling himself with Jack's promise that it would be dealt with tomorrow. So he listened to Jack's slightly outrageous and almost certainly untrue stories and watched Toshiko's fond exasperation, adding the occasional comment whenever he could get a word in. The man could certainly talk.

Eventually, Toshiko excused herself and Jack (with a stretch that showed off his arms nicely) announced that they should probably start on the tour before it got too dark. Ianto, being full and comfortable and finally not too hot, wasn't so keen at that precise moment, but felt it would be impolite to say so.

And once he had got over his initial food-filled sleepiness, he found himself fascinated. Arriving, what with the blinding midday sun and the information overload from being in an entirely alien environment, he hadn't been in an ideal position to observe. Now, in the gentler evening light, he found the palace and its surroundings hauntingly beautiful. The low, flat buildings of the small town segued seamlessly into the palace grounds. Thick walls with arch shaped doorways formed an intriguing labyrinth within the town that provided shelter from wind and sand. A number of locals, mostly wrapped in robes, wandered the streets. The sight of Jack didn't seem to cause any particular reactions, even when he took Ianto's arm. There were many couples, of all combinations of gender, walking the streets arm in arm, so he didn't object, although he did turn his head away until the burning faded from his cheeks, cursing his pale skin for what seemed like the thousandth time that day.

They strolled through the marketplace, just closing down for the night. Jack pointed out a few potential purchases, and promised to bring him back another day. They moved on to the outskirts of the town, where the buildings ended and the sand took over, stretching out in soft, sculpted dunes towards the horizon. Ianto knew perfectly well, both from maps and from the view from the aeroplane, that Bho-Shiyn was a narrow peninsula surrounded by the ocean, but from where he stood, the sand seemed to go on forever. He shivered a little, and Jack drew him closer with a protective arm around his waist. "It gets cold quickly once the sun goes down," he said. "Let's get back home, I've got a few more things I want to show you."

Very much aware of the hand resting on his hip, Ianto smiled a little at the thought of the man beside him casually referring to the sprawling palace dominating the dusky skyline as 'home'. Sunset was staining the sky with a beautiful selection of reds and oranges as they made their way back through the now almost deserted streets.

They weren't halfway back when Jack pulled him into a darkened alcove, wrapped both arms around his waist, and moved in for a kiss.

Surprised, Ianto pulled away, his shoulders hitting the wall behind him. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Kissing you. Things seemed to be going that way. You don't want to?" He sounded puzzled.

"I..." Jack's fingers stroked gently across his cheek, the thumb ever so lightly brushing his lips, then his fingers settled at the back of his neck. "We shouldn't," he said, sounding unsure even to his own ears.

"Has anyone ever told you you have the most perfect mouth...?"

Ianto felt a flash of annoyance. "No. Probably because I haven't," he said tightly, meeting the eyes of this arrogant, far too handsome man who had dared to assume that he would just fall into his arms like... well, like his wives had apparently done.

"And why shouldn't we?" His left hand pressed against Ianto's chest, and Ianto was perfectly aware of how hard and fast his heart was pounding - he could feel it pulsing in his throat.

It was a fair question. As Jack had taken pains to make clear over dinner, they were both free. The dusk light was shining in his bright blue eyes, his broad shoulders and strong arms were so close, and it had been so, so long since Ianto had been touched...

This time when Jack leaned towards him, Ianto met him halfway. Jack's lower lip pressed between Ianto's, and the tip of his tongue gently parted them. Jack cupped Ianto's face in his hands, fingertips sliding into his hair. Their tongues met and lazily caressed, and Ianto couldn't help the faint gasp that escaped him. Jack tasted so good... He pulled away, forcing his breathing to slow. "We shouldn't..."

Jack gently manoeuvred them into a hug, his slightly rough cheek pressed against Ianto's. "You never did say why."

Ianto slid his hands up to the back of Jack's shoulders and turned his head slightly, the better to breathe in his scent. "For a start, your domestic arrangements are far too complicated for me."

"You don't..." a light kiss to his neck, "have to become..." a soft nip to his earlobe, "part of my domestic arrangements..." the tip of a tongue traced over the upper rim of his ear, "if you don't want to," whispered close in a rush of warm breath that made him squirm and cling tighter.

He wasn't sure what to say - he liked Jack a lot, and had even come to admire him in the short time they'd spent together, but he really didn't want to go into his troubled past, his intimacy issues, the bad relationships, the worse break-ups... *If you weren't already married,* he thought, ruefully, *and if I wasn't quite so messed up...* The chill in the air suddenly registered, and he shuddered in Jack's arms.

Jack rubbed his back briskly. "I know, we're not really dressed for the night. Let's finish the tour and get inside. We can talk about this tomorrow. Or not, whichever you prefer." He planted a dry kiss on Ianto's cheek, gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder, and took his arm again. Ianto, feeling overwhelmed, allowed himself to be led back to the palace.

The town was, by now, dark and completely deserted, and it was something of a relief to return to the floodlit palace, with servants moving around the grounds. "I know," Jack said, "I'll introduce you to my babies, it'll be warm there."

Ianto gave him a questioning look, but only got a bright smile in response. Jack led the way to a long stable block. A few horse and camel heads emerged and chewed in their direction. Jack exchanged a few words with a man who held a shovel and an air of authority while Ianto examined the animals from a safe distance. He generally preferred his animals cat-sized or smaller, and both the horses and the camels had a mad, wild look in their eyes...

Jack finished his conversation and returned to his side. "They're very nice," Ianto said, nodding towards the stables and looking forward to a warm bed, but Jack took his arm again.

"Not those. C'mon."

They walked around the stable block to a series of barns. Ianto looked around in bemusement - there had been no sign whatsoever of this little agricultural complex from the front. Jack pushed open a small side door and led the way into the dark.

In the strong-smelling darkness, there was the sound of heavy breathing, snorting, and the stamping of feet coming from all around him. For a moment the panic began to rise, then Jack switched on a series of small, dim lights and he found himself surrounded by... cows. About twenty of them, in a series of low stalls. Safely contained, but a little closer than he'd ideally prefer, and all with thick straight sharp horns, more like oxen than cattle... and they were all staring at him. He took a deep breath, released his death grip on Jack's sleeve, and told himself firmly that they were just burgers on legs.

"Gorgeous, aren't they?" Jack asked proudly.

"They're very nice. Very... pointy."

"Come and meet Janet."

"Janet?" He looked at the large brown cow with the metre hornspan whose forehead Jack was casually scratching, She snorted at him. "Yes, she looks like a Janet."

"Yep. She's my special girl. Stroke her nose, it's ever so soft."

"I'm not really much of a cow nose fan..."

"C'mon, she won't bite. Will ya, darlin'..."

He found himself pulled forward. Not wanting to be rude, he touched her nose quickly. It was, indeed, soft and velvety, except for the bristly whiskers here and there. It was also slightly damp. He wiped his hand surreptitiously on his trousers and backed out of lunging range. Janet extended a startlingly large pink tongue and swiped it across her muzzle.

"She's our champion." He scritched her ears. "All ready for the big day tomorrow. They're a very rare breed, you know. There's only a few thousand in the whole world."

"What's happening tomorrow?" Ianto asked, with visions of a Bho-Shiyn version of a country fete in his mind.

"The races! You're in for a treat, you arrived just in time. It's about the biggest event of the year, around here."

"Races? With... cows?"

"Yep. You do want to come, don't you? It'll be fun, I promise. There'll be snacks."

"There's not any kind of... audience participation, is there?"

"Absolutely not. You need years of practise to race cows. And to be completely mad, of course."

"All right, then. I'll come." He didn't know who he was kidding. He would've said yes if Jack had invited him to watch open heart surgery followed by a four-hour discussion of property prices in the Rhondda Valley. He also suspected that he was falling hard for the strange and charismatic sheikh, and a tiny internal part of him was panicking about that.

"Great, You can sit in the royal box with me and Tosh." He was feeding Janet wisps of hay over the partition. Ianto gave the door behind them a longing look. *All I wanted,* he thought, *was to find out why my parents abandoned me. That's all I came here for. I really wasn't planning on having anything to do with love or livestock.*

"Are you okay?" Jack asked, glancing back at him. "You look a bit..." he hesitated, trying to find the right word.

"Just a bit tired," Ianto replied hastily, before Jack could come to the conclusion that the right word was 'terrified'.

"Sounds reasonable. Let's get you to bed." He gave Ianto a friendly leer and patted Janet on the neck. "Night, beautiful."

It really had been a very long day, and very exhausting, both physically and emotionally. Therefore, by the time they returned to the main stairwell inside the palace, Ianto was thinking only of politely extracting himself from his host, making it back to his room, and collapsing; so when something very blonde came leaping out of the shadows and hurled itself at Jack, his first startled thought was that some revolutionary group were making an assassination attempt. A second later and, from the way Jack was laughing and spinning her through the air, it was clear that wasn't the case.

"Guess what?" she asked with a grin when Jack put her down.

"Ummm... You bought a puppy?"

"No."

"You got your nipples pierced?"

"No."

"You've got a job as a traffic warden?"

"No."

"Errr... You gave birth to a pterodactyl?"

"No. Shall I just tell you?"

"No! One more go. You're... wait, don't tell me... You're back early?"

"Yes!" They hugged again, and she kissed him, noisily. "Ah, you may be slow, but you get there in the end."

"Ianto, this is Rose, one of my other better halves; Rose, this is Ianto. His parents were friends of my father's."

"All right?" Rose said, holding out a hand.

Ianto shook it. "Nice to meet you, ma'am." He brain chanted *I had my tongue in your husband's mouth,* and he did his best to ignore it.

Rose, not very subtly and with a wide smile, looked him up and down, then elbowed Jack in the ribs.

"We were just off to bed," Jack said. "For sleeping," he added at Rose's raised eyebrow.

*There must be something in the water,* Ianto thought, disbelievingly. *Toshiko seems relatively normal, at least...*

"How long have you been here, then?" Rose asked.

Ianto looked at his watch. "About eight hours."

"Ah. You'll've met the cows, then."

"Don't you start," Jack said warningly, pointing a finger at her. "C'mon, bed."

He herded them both up the stairs and deposited Ianto at his room, for which he was thankful, having been under grave doubts as to his ability to find it again unaided. They all wished one another a good night, and Jack and Rose left, arms around each other's waists, her fingers tucked into his back pocket. Ianto retreated inside and shut the door.

*Lifestyles of the rich and over-sexed,* he thought as he lay in bed, blankets tucked tightly around him against the desert night. *If that's what never having to work for a living does to you...* He drifted off, thought unfinished.

***

He was woken as somebody slipped into the bed beside him. He froze, staring into the dark, his mind racing.

Then, quietly, a little hesitantly: "Ianto?"

"Toshiko?"

***
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The Brides of the Sheikh