Torchwood Fic: Heal
I remembered the other thing I was going to post last night! It was this! This is what happens when I'm feeling insecure about writing romance and wake up at 4 in the morning with plot bunnies. I wrote it about six weeks ago, but I've been sitting on it for a while.
All comments, especially concrit, appreciated, since I wrote this essentially for practice.
Title: Heal
Author: JK Ashavah
Summary: Losing Lisa broke Ianto's heart. But somewhere in the aftermath, he thinks he might have found a cure. Set between Countrycide and They Keep Killing Suzie.
Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Spoilers: Through Countrycide.
Rating: Mature
Word count: 2087
Acknowledgement: Many thanks are due to the following for their comments and encouragement: geo_chick, who knows a lot about boosting my self-confidence, in_the_blue, who knows a lot about writing romance, and temporal_witch, who knows a lot about Jack/Ianto.
Disclaimer: Not mine! I don't own any of the characters or situations of Torchwood. They belong to Russell T. Davies and the BBC.
Heal
The file makes a gentle slapping sound as it lands in front of Jack. He looks up from the report he’s reading, pen tapping idly on the wooden surface of the desk.
“I thought you’d gone home.”
Ianto sticks his hands in his trouser pockets and shrugs.
“I’m pretty sure I actually ordered you to go home,” Jack continues, turning his attention back to his report. He stops tapping the pen long enough to circle something.
There’s nothing for Ianto to go home to. There hasn’t been, not since he moved back to Cardiff from London. At first he spent all his time in the basement at Torchwood, building Lisa’s life-support system, tinkering with it, making sure it was all perfect. And then he spent his time with her, looking after her. And since Lisa - no, since the cyberwoman who had been Lisa - died, he hasn’t had the heart to find something to fill that gap. So he’s thrown himself into his work, into rebuilding the shattered trust between him and his colleagues, and especially Jack.
“You know,” Jack says, his gaze not moving from the report, “I could just keep talking and listening to my own voice, but I’d much rather hear yours. My accent’s not nearly so pretty.”
“Wanted to finish that report for you, sir.”
Jack looks up and tilts his head, studying Ianto with a little crease in his brow. (How does he manage to make even puzzlement look so good?) He places those big hands on his desk, pushes back his chair and stands, walking over to Ianto.
“The report could have waited. You need some time away from this place, Ianto.” There’s a little concern in his eyes, an expression Ianto’s become all too used to seeing lately. There was a time, in those first few days after the whole affair with Lisa, when he swore to himself he’d never feel anything but hatred for Jack, when he remembered the feeling of Jack’s gun pressed to his head, the sound as Jack pulled back the hammer, the fury in Jack’s voice as he said “You execute her or I’ll execute you both”. He’d felt satisfied for finally having called Jack out as a monster, convinced himself that yes, he’d been telling the truth when he told Jack that one day he’d stand there and watch him die instead of saving him.
That couldn’t be further from how he feels now. Of all his colleagues, it was Jack who reached out to him over those terrible weeks, after all Ianto did, all that deception and betrayal. Tosh had called him a few times, had been friendly to him when he came back to work. But the conversations had been awkward, filled with things unsaid and the uneasiness of trust being rebuilt. He barely knew Gwen; she’d tried to be compassionate, but she just didn’t know him well enough to really be able to help. And Owen had made no secret of the fact that he still held the betrayal very much against Ianto. He’d never liked him much to start with.
But it had been Jack who was there early in the morning and late at night while Ianto was drowning himself in work, Jack who had showed up at his flat when he was still off work and dragged him out to the pub or to dinner. Especially when all Ianto wanted to do was curl up in bed with his photo album, squeezing the stuffing out of his pillow and crying, alone, where no-one could see him. Jack, somehow, had known that what Ianto needed, really, was to know that there was someone there for him. Someone to laugh and talk and take his mind off things for just a little while. Somehow, those times with Jack, when he could almost pretend everything was all right, made it just a little bit easier to believe it would be, eventually. And it became easier to deal with the pain. It had been a side to Jack he’d never seen, never even suspected existed, Jack the comforter and caregiver.
Whatever it is Ianto feels for Jack, it’s certainly not hatred. He’s always been attracted to him, from the first time they met. He’d expected to have to flirt his way into a job. He’d steeled himself for that, prepared to flirt and tease and banter, whatever it took. He needed the job. For Lisa’s sake. What he hadn’t been prepared for was how attractive Jack would be. His confidence, charm, and charisma. He certainly didn’t expect to find himself lying on top of Jack after drugging a pterodactyl, staring into those deep blue eyes, feeling Jack’s hot breath so close he could almost taste it, breathing in that intoxicating scent that he always has. They’d been moments from kissing when Ianto rolled off, made his excuses, and hurried away, fighting tears at the thought that in finally getting the job he needed to look after Lisa, he’d found himself betraying her.
Nor, when he finally started work, had he expected that little twist in his stomach at the sight of Jack, or the little thrill that American accent sent down his spine. Nothing was ever going to come of it, he told himself. Look at the way Jack ignored him, took him for granted, barking out orders and demanding coffee, never asking Ianto about himself, nor offering any of himself. Besides, there’d been Lisa. Ianto had reminded himself, firmly, over and over again, that nothing could ever happen. That his first priority was Lisa. That Jack didn’t have any interest in him beyond occasional flirtation and teasing, anyway. And how was that any different to how Jack behaved towards any other living creature?
But that’s all changed now. Because now Ianto’s seen how deeply Jack can care. So many times, in moments where something reminded him of what he’d lost and overwhelmed him, so many times when he was recovering from being captured and beaten by those cannibals, he’d feel a presence beside him and a strong, gentle hand on his head or shoulder. He’d look across and see Jack with a tiny frown on his face, concern in his eyes, and the unasked question are you all right? written in his expression and in every gesture.
Now here he is, that same look on his face, hands deep in his trouser pockets. His hair’s just a little tousled, like it often is when he’s working on paperwork. (Would Jack mind if Ianto tangled his fingers in that hair and leaned in and kissed him?) Why does he have to be so attractive? Why does he have to have that smooth, strong jawline, those full lips and beautiful eyes, even those endearing dimples when he grins and the little cleft in his chin?
He’s your boss, Ianto.
And he can’t spell anything but trouble. It’s Jack Harkness, the man known for his casual, eager, easy attitude to flirtation and sex. Oh, yes, Jack would probably sleep with him if Ianto asked. But he’d never get anything more. Jack doesn’t seem to do relationships. Besides, even if he did, what would he see in Ianto, the man who so recently betrayed him? Jack’s a hero. He needs someone remarkable, not just the treacherous tea-boy. Ianto could do more. He knows it. He's waiting for the chance. But given how well his last field mission went, that’s probably not happening any time soon.
“Ianto?” Jack takes a step closer, and Ianto can smell him now, and he’s wearing that dark blue shirt, the one that looks so good on him. And he’s so casual, so at ease with himself, like he doesn’t know how good-looking he is, how his mere presence can drive people wild. Ianto’s breath catches at the sudden wave of longing and desire. What would it be like to feel those big, gentle hands roaming over his body? Would those arms feel as strong holding him as they look? Do those lips kiss as well as he’s always imagined they must?
He can’t find out. He just can’t. Everything in him is screaming not to do it, that it’s a terrible idea, that he needs to turn around and walk out of Jack’s office right now and go home and get under a cold shower and stop thinking like this about his employer, the man who gave him the second chance he didn’t deserve.
So why is it that his treacherous feet take a step forward until he’s standing so close to Jack he imagines he can feel his breath? And why does his hand snake up to the back of Jack’s head, fingers clutching at his hair? So wrong, so wrong, so wrong he’s thinking as he leans in, pressing his lips to Jack’s, seeing the look of surprise that flashes across the other man’s face just for a moment before he closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see what he’s doing. The kiss is tentative; his lips linger on Jack's for only a few moments. He's trembling as he stands there, mouth so close to Jack's, knowing he should walk away. But Jack smells so good and that moment wasn't enough and he's kissed him now, so he may as well do it properly. He kisses Jack again, and this time he lets his tongue play at Jack’s lips, inviting, no, begging him to respond, to give some sign that this isn't just Ianto, that Jack feels something too, that the advance is welcome. But there’s nothing, no reaction for a long moment. So wrong, so wrong, so wrong, and now he’s done it and he was wrong about what was there and Jack’s going to …
No, Jack’s going to kiss him back. Ianto’s eyes fly open as Jack’s lips part and Jack’s tongue starts exploring his mouth, and he feels firm hands on his shoulders as Jack pushes him across the office until his back’s against the wall. And oh, god, he kisses hard and desperate and so, so well. Jack's hands clutch at Ianto’s hair; he can feel the warmth of Jack's strong body pinning him to the wall, and everywhere Jack’s touching him feels so good. Ianto whimpers into Jack’s mouth. Finally, finally. How long has he been waiting for this moment? And it’s just as intoxicating as he always thought it must be; he’s suddenly hyperaware of every little sensation, from Jack’s fingers in his hair down to where Jack’s knee brushes against his. And he finds he can quiet that inner voice very easily now. Even if it’s just the once, even if he never kisses Jack again, he’s glad he did it. Because it feels so right, for all Jack’s his boss, for all he’s still grieving Lisa, for all the last time he kissed a man was a long, long time ago.
When Jack breaks away, they’re both panting for breath. Jack’s hands go to Ianto’s waist and hold him in place, just above where his shirt tucks into his trousers. (He doesn't need to. Ianto's not going anywhere.) And there’s something Ianto’s never seen in his eyes before when he looks at him, something that sends a jolt of pleasure through his body. Lust, smouldering away in those blue eyes.
“What was that about?” Jack breathes. His mouth is still awfully close to Ianto’s, and Ianto can feel Jack’s breath tickling across his lips. His heart’s racing, because it’s Jack, and he’s so close - when was the last time he felt this alive? - and it’s so easy to imagine all the things he’d love Jack to do to him.
“I would have thought that was obvious, sir.” But his heart isn’t in the sarcasm; he’s too busy staring into Jack’s eyes, running his hands along Jack’s sides, sliding them around to rest on Jack’s arse and pull him closer.
Jack raises an eyebrow and leans in toward Ianto. The feel of warm breath on Ianto's face sends a shiver of pleasure down his spine. “If you’re going to kiss me like that, the least you could do is call me Jack.”
“No arguments from me,” Ianto murmurs, his breath mingling with Jack’s. Their lips are so close together that Ianto’s not entirely sure who it is who kisses whom this time, all he knows is that it’s him and it’s Jack and it’s good. And just maybe, things will be all right.
Eventually, he will heal.
All comments, especially concrit, appreciated, since I wrote this essentially for practice.
Title: Heal
Author: JK Ashavah
Summary: Losing Lisa broke Ianto's heart. But somewhere in the aftermath, he thinks he might have found a cure. Set between Countrycide and They Keep Killing Suzie.
Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Spoilers: Through Countrycide.
Rating: Mature
Word count: 2087
Acknowledgement: Many thanks are due to the following for their comments and encouragement: geo_chick, who knows a lot about boosting my self-confidence, in_the_blue, who knows a lot about writing romance, and temporal_witch, who knows a lot about Jack/Ianto.
Disclaimer: Not mine! I don't own any of the characters or situations of Torchwood. They belong to Russell T. Davies and the BBC.
Heal
The file makes a gentle slapping sound as it lands in front of Jack. He looks up from the report he’s reading, pen tapping idly on the wooden surface of the desk.
“I thought you’d gone home.”
Ianto sticks his hands in his trouser pockets and shrugs.
“I’m pretty sure I actually ordered you to go home,” Jack continues, turning his attention back to his report. He stops tapping the pen long enough to circle something.
There’s nothing for Ianto to go home to. There hasn’t been, not since he moved back to Cardiff from London. At first he spent all his time in the basement at Torchwood, building Lisa’s life-support system, tinkering with it, making sure it was all perfect. And then he spent his time with her, looking after her. And since Lisa - no, since the cyberwoman who had been Lisa - died, he hasn’t had the heart to find something to fill that gap. So he’s thrown himself into his work, into rebuilding the shattered trust between him and his colleagues, and especially Jack.
“You know,” Jack says, his gaze not moving from the report, “I could just keep talking and listening to my own voice, but I’d much rather hear yours. My accent’s not nearly so pretty.”
“Wanted to finish that report for you, sir.”
Jack looks up and tilts his head, studying Ianto with a little crease in his brow. (How does he manage to make even puzzlement look so good?) He places those big hands on his desk, pushes back his chair and stands, walking over to Ianto.
“The report could have waited. You need some time away from this place, Ianto.” There’s a little concern in his eyes, an expression Ianto’s become all too used to seeing lately. There was a time, in those first few days after the whole affair with Lisa, when he swore to himself he’d never feel anything but hatred for Jack, when he remembered the feeling of Jack’s gun pressed to his head, the sound as Jack pulled back the hammer, the fury in Jack’s voice as he said “You execute her or I’ll execute you both”. He’d felt satisfied for finally having called Jack out as a monster, convinced himself that yes, he’d been telling the truth when he told Jack that one day he’d stand there and watch him die instead of saving him.
That couldn’t be further from how he feels now. Of all his colleagues, it was Jack who reached out to him over those terrible weeks, after all Ianto did, all that deception and betrayal. Tosh had called him a few times, had been friendly to him when he came back to work. But the conversations had been awkward, filled with things unsaid and the uneasiness of trust being rebuilt. He barely knew Gwen; she’d tried to be compassionate, but she just didn’t know him well enough to really be able to help. And Owen had made no secret of the fact that he still held the betrayal very much against Ianto. He’d never liked him much to start with.
But it had been Jack who was there early in the morning and late at night while Ianto was drowning himself in work, Jack who had showed up at his flat when he was still off work and dragged him out to the pub or to dinner. Especially when all Ianto wanted to do was curl up in bed with his photo album, squeezing the stuffing out of his pillow and crying, alone, where no-one could see him. Jack, somehow, had known that what Ianto needed, really, was to know that there was someone there for him. Someone to laugh and talk and take his mind off things for just a little while. Somehow, those times with Jack, when he could almost pretend everything was all right, made it just a little bit easier to believe it would be, eventually. And it became easier to deal with the pain. It had been a side to Jack he’d never seen, never even suspected existed, Jack the comforter and caregiver.
Whatever it is Ianto feels for Jack, it’s certainly not hatred. He’s always been attracted to him, from the first time they met. He’d expected to have to flirt his way into a job. He’d steeled himself for that, prepared to flirt and tease and banter, whatever it took. He needed the job. For Lisa’s sake. What he hadn’t been prepared for was how attractive Jack would be. His confidence, charm, and charisma. He certainly didn’t expect to find himself lying on top of Jack after drugging a pterodactyl, staring into those deep blue eyes, feeling Jack’s hot breath so close he could almost taste it, breathing in that intoxicating scent that he always has. They’d been moments from kissing when Ianto rolled off, made his excuses, and hurried away, fighting tears at the thought that in finally getting the job he needed to look after Lisa, he’d found himself betraying her.
Nor, when he finally started work, had he expected that little twist in his stomach at the sight of Jack, or the little thrill that American accent sent down his spine. Nothing was ever going to come of it, he told himself. Look at the way Jack ignored him, took him for granted, barking out orders and demanding coffee, never asking Ianto about himself, nor offering any of himself. Besides, there’d been Lisa. Ianto had reminded himself, firmly, over and over again, that nothing could ever happen. That his first priority was Lisa. That Jack didn’t have any interest in him beyond occasional flirtation and teasing, anyway. And how was that any different to how Jack behaved towards any other living creature?
But that’s all changed now. Because now Ianto’s seen how deeply Jack can care. So many times, in moments where something reminded him of what he’d lost and overwhelmed him, so many times when he was recovering from being captured and beaten by those cannibals, he’d feel a presence beside him and a strong, gentle hand on his head or shoulder. He’d look across and see Jack with a tiny frown on his face, concern in his eyes, and the unasked question are you all right? written in his expression and in every gesture.
Now here he is, that same look on his face, hands deep in his trouser pockets. His hair’s just a little tousled, like it often is when he’s working on paperwork. (Would Jack mind if Ianto tangled his fingers in that hair and leaned in and kissed him?) Why does he have to be so attractive? Why does he have to have that smooth, strong jawline, those full lips and beautiful eyes, even those endearing dimples when he grins and the little cleft in his chin?
He’s your boss, Ianto.
And he can’t spell anything but trouble. It’s Jack Harkness, the man known for his casual, eager, easy attitude to flirtation and sex. Oh, yes, Jack would probably sleep with him if Ianto asked. But he’d never get anything more. Jack doesn’t seem to do relationships. Besides, even if he did, what would he see in Ianto, the man who so recently betrayed him? Jack’s a hero. He needs someone remarkable, not just the treacherous tea-boy. Ianto could do more. He knows it. He's waiting for the chance. But given how well his last field mission went, that’s probably not happening any time soon.
“Ianto?” Jack takes a step closer, and Ianto can smell him now, and he’s wearing that dark blue shirt, the one that looks so good on him. And he’s so casual, so at ease with himself, like he doesn’t know how good-looking he is, how his mere presence can drive people wild. Ianto’s breath catches at the sudden wave of longing and desire. What would it be like to feel those big, gentle hands roaming over his body? Would those arms feel as strong holding him as they look? Do those lips kiss as well as he’s always imagined they must?
He can’t find out. He just can’t. Everything in him is screaming not to do it, that it’s a terrible idea, that he needs to turn around and walk out of Jack’s office right now and go home and get under a cold shower and stop thinking like this about his employer, the man who gave him the second chance he didn’t deserve.
So why is it that his treacherous feet take a step forward until he’s standing so close to Jack he imagines he can feel his breath? And why does his hand snake up to the back of Jack’s head, fingers clutching at his hair? So wrong, so wrong, so wrong he’s thinking as he leans in, pressing his lips to Jack’s, seeing the look of surprise that flashes across the other man’s face just for a moment before he closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see what he’s doing. The kiss is tentative; his lips linger on Jack's for only a few moments. He's trembling as he stands there, mouth so close to Jack's, knowing he should walk away. But Jack smells so good and that moment wasn't enough and he's kissed him now, so he may as well do it properly. He kisses Jack again, and this time he lets his tongue play at Jack’s lips, inviting, no, begging him to respond, to give some sign that this isn't just Ianto, that Jack feels something too, that the advance is welcome. But there’s nothing, no reaction for a long moment. So wrong, so wrong, so wrong, and now he’s done it and he was wrong about what was there and Jack’s going to …
No, Jack’s going to kiss him back. Ianto’s eyes fly open as Jack’s lips part and Jack’s tongue starts exploring his mouth, and he feels firm hands on his shoulders as Jack pushes him across the office until his back’s against the wall. And oh, god, he kisses hard and desperate and so, so well. Jack's hands clutch at Ianto’s hair; he can feel the warmth of Jack's strong body pinning him to the wall, and everywhere Jack’s touching him feels so good. Ianto whimpers into Jack’s mouth. Finally, finally. How long has he been waiting for this moment? And it’s just as intoxicating as he always thought it must be; he’s suddenly hyperaware of every little sensation, from Jack’s fingers in his hair down to where Jack’s knee brushes against his. And he finds he can quiet that inner voice very easily now. Even if it’s just the once, even if he never kisses Jack again, he’s glad he did it. Because it feels so right, for all Jack’s his boss, for all he’s still grieving Lisa, for all the last time he kissed a man was a long, long time ago.
When Jack breaks away, they’re both panting for breath. Jack’s hands go to Ianto’s waist and hold him in place, just above where his shirt tucks into his trousers. (He doesn't need to. Ianto's not going anywhere.) And there’s something Ianto’s never seen in his eyes before when he looks at him, something that sends a jolt of pleasure through his body. Lust, smouldering away in those blue eyes.
“What was that about?” Jack breathes. His mouth is still awfully close to Ianto’s, and Ianto can feel Jack’s breath tickling across his lips. His heart’s racing, because it’s Jack, and he’s so close - when was the last time he felt this alive? - and it’s so easy to imagine all the things he’d love Jack to do to him.
“I would have thought that was obvious, sir.” But his heart isn’t in the sarcasm; he’s too busy staring into Jack’s eyes, running his hands along Jack’s sides, sliding them around to rest on Jack’s arse and pull him closer.
Jack raises an eyebrow and leans in toward Ianto. The feel of warm breath on Ianto's face sends a shiver of pleasure down his spine. “If you’re going to kiss me like that, the least you could do is call me Jack.”
“No arguments from me,” Ianto murmurs, his breath mingling with Jack’s. Their lips are so close together that Ianto’s not entirely sure who it is who kisses whom this time, all he knows is that it’s him and it’s Jack and it’s good. And just maybe, things will be all right.
Eventually, he will heal.