FIC: Bittersweet and Strange
Title: Bittersweet and Strange
Author: blue_fjords
Words: 1,840
Rating: R
Pairings/Characters: Ianto, Jack/Ianto, OFC
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Setting: season one, post-“Captain Jack Harkness”
Summary: Ianto makes a list, but it isn't a very good one.
A/N: I really need to be writing my AU Harlequin romance (shifty eyes). But I was watching “Beauty and the Beast” and this fic just wrote itself. It has absolutely nothing to do with “Beauty and the Beast” - no one throws their arms out and sings about adventure in the great wide somewhere; it’s just the line of the song that stuck. I mean, it’s R - not Disney material. Yeah, I’m going to Hell.
Owen left the Hub early, wearing his disgruntlement and indignation like another man would wear a suit and tie. Ianto couldn’t help the smirk that crossed his lips on seeing him leave. Gwen followed soon after, feet dragging. She didn’t want to go home, she didn’t want to go with Owen, but she had no further excuse to stay at work. Finally Tosh finished her report, flashed Ianto a weary smile, and then she was out the door. Ianto whistled to himself as he printed out Tosh’s report, chewed on his lip as he debated hot cocoa or coffee, and idly scanned his work messages before bringing up a neatly arranged tray for Jack.
The whistling stopped abruptly. He read Tosh’s casual message one more time. Really, it didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know, just something that he preferred not to think about. He adjusted his tie carefully. His father had always said that a carefully knotted tie and freshly pressed suit were the armor and shield of a gentleman. Well, he’d been faking it long enough it was practically second nature to him now. Inside, Ianto knew he was no gentleman, which just made him cling to the façade all the harder. He wondered if Jack was going to give him a battle worth fighting.
He picked up the tray in one hand, clutched Tosh’s report, which did not include her gossipy note, and made his way up the steps to Jack’s office. He knocked diffidently. No answer.
Ianto rolled his eyes. Hard. So Jack was going to be in a sulky snit, then. Well, Ianto wasn’t in the mood to humor him. He opened the door and marched inside.
“Hot cocoa. Report,” he announced in a clipped tone. Jack wasn’t in the office, but the lid to his quarters was pushed up. Ianto deposited the tray and report on the corner of his desk and climbed down the ladder.
“Jack? Sir?” he corrected himself.
The inner door to Jack’s private washroom opened, and Jack stepped out, fastening a towel around his waist. His body gleamed wetly in the dim light, and Ianto knew with grim certainty that Jack was fully aware of the picture he presented. It didn’t change matters.
Ianto strode forward, placed his hands on either side of Jack’s face, and pulled his mouth to his own. You need to keep a few things in mind, Jones. One: you have no claim on him. Ianto’s teeth, tongue and lips contradicted him, devouring Jack’s mouth with a single-minded determination that breathed “Mine!” Two: he has no claim on you. Jack's hands tugged his shirt free of his belt, his fingers moving up and under to scratch down the length of Ianto’s back, raising scars. Three: you are not in love with him, and it doesn’t matter. Ianto maneuvered them to the bed, cradling Jack’s neck as they fell back. Four: he is not in love with you, and it doesn’t matter. Jack fumbled for his bedside table, pulling out the bottle of lube and pressing it into Ianto’s hand before pressing kisses down his neck, lingering at the pulse point. Five: you don’t care that he spent the past few hours falling in love with someone else. Ianto turned Jack on his stomach so he wouldn’t have to look him in the face any longer. Six: he wishes you were someone else. Jack moaned “Ianto” long and low into his pillow at the first touch of Ianto’s slick fingers. Seven: you just shot someone in an attempt to follow his orders, and doom him to another time. Ianto pounded into him, reckless and erratic, fingers digging into the tender skin at Jack’s hips, breath coming faster and faster. Eight: he came back anyhow. Jack tightened all around him as his orgasm overtook him. Nine: you are a fool. A fool. A fool. A fool. Ianto came deep inside Jack, filling him up. When he caught his breath and pulled out, he just felt empty.
Jack rolled onto his side to survey him, and Ianto looked away.
“You’re a hot, sticky mess, Ianto,” Jack said lightly.
Ianto flushed. It wasn’t entirely his fault.
“You should change out of that suit,” Jack continued, eyeing Ianto’s trousers, bunched around his ankles.
Ianto sat up abruptly. “There’s nothing wrong with my suit, Sir.”
He began to pull his clothes back into place, zipping and buttoning and smoothing down. Jack frowned at his back.
“I didn’t mean to imply that there was.”
Ianto re-knotted his tie.
“Why are you in such a hurry to leave? You’ve had a rough day; you should rest here.”
Ianto rolled his eyes, not that Jack could see him. “I don’t get much rest here.”
Jack smirked, and reached out to tug on Ianto’s arm. “That’s the way I like it.”
Ianto finally looked him in the eye at that. The smirk faded from Jack’s face. Ianto was acutely aware of words he had thrown in that face so many months ago - “I clean up your shit, no questions asked, just the way you like it” - how many times had Ianto stayed late since then? How many times had he acquiesced to Jack’s wishes? How many times had they fucked? How many times had Ianto lied to himself about what it meant?
Jack looked sad, and tired, and older. “Ianto -”
“I’m going out, Sir. It’s after hours.”
Ianto tugged his arm free, turned, and climbed the steps. He glanced down once he reached the top. Jack was still kneeling on the bed, naked, staring at the wall.
Ianto took a deep breath of cold air once he made it topside. A trip to a pub was definitely in order. He entered the first one he came across, marched up to the bar, and ordered a double. This was a whiskey night, most assuredly. He glanced around the room after his second. He sighed heavily. There was not a single person in that pub he was the least bit attracted to. Ianto eyed the door as he raised his finger for another whiskey. The next person through that door gets lucky, he thought to himself.
An incredibly nondescript woman walked through and made her way over to the bar. She looked uncertain. Perfect. She gave him a wobbly smile.
“I’ve never been to a Welsh pub before! What do you think I should order?” she asked in a flat American accent. Ianto had to stop himself from banging his head against the bar. The bartender moved down the bar to them and plunked a tumbler of whiskey down for her, too.
“Oh! Thank you,” she said, picking up her glass. “Cymru!” she exclaimed, banging her tumbler against Ianto’s. Ianto had to stop himself from rolling his eyes.
“What’s your name?” he asked instead.
“Jackie.”
Ianto began to choke on his whiskey.
“Oh, my! Oh, my!” she jumped up from her seat and moved around to his back, pounding him hard.
“Stop, stop!” he finally managed to get out. “You don’t hit someone on the back if they can still cough!”
“Sorry!” she blushed a deep red. “Are you a doctor, sir?”
Ianto choked again. “No,” he wheezed out. “I’m in tourism.”
“Really! I’m a tourist!”
Ianto just gave her a look. She blushed again. “I suppose that’s obvious.”
The bartender came back over. “You alright then, mate?” he asked Ianto, replacing his whiskey.
“Lovely.”
Jackie watched him as he tipped his glass back and downed the liquid.
“Did someone break your heart?” she asked, leaning forward in sympathy.
The man at the far end of the bar really did have to do the Heimlich Maneuver on him after that one. “I’m really sorry!” Jackie kept saying, hopping from foot to foot.
The bartender gave him a free whiskey, grimacing at the American. Jackie watched him drink it down with big eyes.
“Um, do you know the time?” she asked in a small voice when he was finished.
Ianto fished out his stopwatch. “It’s just after midnight.”
Jackie was staring at the stopwatch. “That’s a lovely piece. Where did you get it?”
Ianto grunted. “My boss.”
“My grandmother gave my grandfather a watch like that when they were married. She said it was because he both stopped time for her and made her want it to last forever.”
Ianto’s eyes burned. “How touching,” he said coldly.
Jackie blushed one more time. “I’m sorry about the whiskey, and your, um, troubles. Maybe I’ll see you around this week. I’m going to the castle tomorrow.”
“I don’t work at the castle. But you enjoy it,” Ianto replied, manners kicking in.
Jackie gave a half-wave and left the bar. The bartender looked at Ianto. “One more?”
“Yup.”
Ianto made his way slowly home an hour later. The moon was so very bright, throwing up shadows every few steps. Ianto was completely alone on the street, but all of the long shadows made him feel like he was leading a parade of drunken giraffes.
Ianto stumbled to a stop at the end of his street. Jack was waiting under the streetlight outside his flat.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his tongue fumbling over the words.
“Maybe I was horny.”
Ianto rolled his eyes, and regretted it as the world spun. “Well, I’m not. I’m drunk.”
Jack eyed him, amused. “I can see that.”
“What do you want, Jack?” Fuck, he called him ‘Jack’ again. Well, it was way after hours. He could be forgiven the slip.
Jack hesitated. “You seemed . . . out of sorts . . . earlier.”
Ianto’s mouth dropped open. Was Jack concerned? He closed it with some difficulty. “Um . . .”
Jack favored him with a grin, and moved closer. “Look, you’re falling asleep on your feet. Let me help you to bed.”
“Don’t want your help,” Ianto said mulishly, ducking the extended arm. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
Jack cocked his head, eyes weighing and measuring him. Ianto shuffled his feet under the scrutiny. Finally Jack opened his mouth. “I’m sorry, too. Here,” he fumbled in his pockets for something, and picked up Ianto’s hand to close his fingers around a tiny pill box. “This will help with your hangover. It’s from the future,” he said in a stage whisper, “though I will warn you. It tastes rather bitter.”
Jack turned to go, and stepped three paces from the streetlight when he stopped and came back. He cupped Ianto’s cheek in his hand and kissed his lips, a gentle brush at first and then with greater passion. He pulled away finally, and trailed his finger down the slope of Ianto’s nose. Jack smiled, a smaller more intimate smile than the usual, and left him again in the streetlight. Ianto imagined he could see a piece of his soul tearing off and following him down the street.
“I’ll see you in a few hours!” Jack called over his shoulder.
Ianto’s hand closed convulsively around the pill box. You keep that list in your head, Jones.