Card Castle (Make Your Own Fate) by ChemFishee / Ianto/Suzie / NC-17 / Round #1
Title: Card Castle (Make Your Own Fate)
Author: chemfishee
Pairing: Ianto/Suzie, mentions of Jack/Suzie and Jack/Ianto
Rating: NC-17
For: babel
Elements: Ianto/Suzie, unhealthy obsessions, rough sex
Thanks: To the stupendous kennedy_unknown, who broke the beta land speed record and didn’t blink twice when I said I was writing this
Summary: They’re not as different as she thinks.
First Time
Suzie Costello watches Jack out of the corner of her eye, head down, pretending to concentrate on the artefact in front of her. Another piece of space debris no one can decipher. Toshiko’s instruments return it as an object of unknown origin. There is no history, or future, for it. Yet it exists, of that Suzie is sure. She has to be sure of that. It is on her desk for her to deconstruct, analyze, hypothesize about. It has to be real.
A cup of coffee she doesn’t even realise she wants is placed on the corner of her workstation.
Difference
The difference, Suzie understands, is that Jack pays attention to him. The fresh-pressed trousers and the crisp linen-blend shirts and the silk ties. Ianto’s mask, his uniform, intrigues Captain Jack Harkness, a man taken to parading through the streets of Cardiff in period military greatcoats. Uniform and costume.
Suzie hears the sounds coming from Jack’s office. Two distinctly male voices, one low and quiet with hints of the working class, one louder and brash. American. She eyes the door, wondering how long it will be till it is flung open and an annoyed Ianto reminds Jack of proper workplace conduct.
Similarity
The nature of their job dictates that they take an inordinate interest in each other. Those away from the Hub, not tied to Torchwoood, blissful and ignorant, never understand. They wake up in the morning with fuzzy recollections of a night spent drinking, dancing, flirting, fucking. Never talking. Movement without words.
It is tiresome and has been for a long time. Anonymous. Lonely. Depressing. “The 21st century is when it all changes.”
Owen is gone for the night, disappeared to his flat of glass walls and open spaces, barely furnished. Tosh follows not long afterwards. Only Ianto stays. And Suzie.
Drink
She is wrong about him. She thought that he’d like dimly lit pubs tucked into dilapidated and crumbling buildings. She thought that he’d decline drinks, preferring water or coffee not as good as his own. She thought that he’d be polite, make his excuses, and wander off to wherever it was he went at the end of the day.
Ianto moves through the crowd, two pints of something dark raised above the writhing bodies hindering him. Fourth round, his treat. He presses one of the beers into Suzie’s hand. “To the world not ending.”
“To enigmas hidden beneath the surface.”
The Past
Ianto Jones stumbles after her, following her through the quiet streets and darkened alleys, through the lair of monsters. Suzie is laughing, loud and obscene and a touch manic. She feels free, broken out of her restraints. Heady with breathlessness.
Air heavy with moisture presses upon them. Fog rolling off the Bay obscures the intermittent streetlamps, a halo of light hanging around them. Suzie stops underneath one, turning to face the man behind her, pulling him to her. The night smells of fish and metal and death, she thinks, before hooking her fingers in his waistband and tugging. Suzie wants.
The Present
The door swings wide, and Ianto kicks it shut behind them. His hands tangle in dark curls, controlling the angle and depths of fevered kisses. Suzie works his belt loose, opening the button on his trousers and drawing the zip down. Nothing romantic about their fumbling into the loungeroom, desperation and need driving their frenzy.
Suzie breaks away, leaning against the wall, trying to strip as quickly as possible. Her body crashes into the wall, cheek flattened, bruise already forming. A weight is behind her, planar yet angular. Her skirt, brown wool, is pushed up, bunched against her lower back.
Unexpected
Ianto’s fingers, surprisingly rough, work around the elastic of her underwear. Two press, and Suzie bites her lip. Her fingers scrabble along the wall, searching for purchase, looking for leverage. Fingernails dig into lavender paint. Suzie arches her back, pushing against the invading digits, drawing them in deeper. She pants and writhes, rocking back and forth between release and restraint.
They are gone too quickly. Suzie blinks rapidly, disoriented. Sounds of searching behind her, followed by plastic tearing. A sharp intake of breath, something indecipherable muttered. Bluntness presses against her, and with one thrust, is in. Wider than she thought.
The Future
Ianto’s thrusts are shallow, measured. His fingers grip her hips hard enough to bruise, controlling the depth. The angle is wrong, too acute for Suzie. She tries to shift, to adjust, to accommodate, but he holds her locked in place. His head rests in the valley between her shoulder blades, sweat beading on his skin.
Suzie cranes her neck, trying to draw his lips to hers. For all that he’s fucking it up, he’s good at the kissing. She wants more of that. Reaches behind her, digging her nails into a flexing buttock. Rhythm stutters and a head is raised.
Health
Lips burn along her skin, stopping to nibble occasionally and mouth phrases in a language she doesn’t understand. The angle changes slightly as he pulls away from her, and his right hand moves from her hip across her belly. It dips lower, and she wonders if he thinks it’s Jack he’s fucking.
Slow circles and she’s coming apart at the seams. It’s rough, too rough to be strictly pleasurable. Yet she welcomes it. For once, she feels alive, every nerve ending stimulated. The pace picks up, tempo falters. She’s clenching around him before she’s aware, a bite on her shoulder.
Eyes
Ianto withdraws his softening dick slowly, the first thing he’s done with any care. Suzie hears him snap the condom off and points in the direction of the loo before he asks. Her thighs shake with the effort to remain upright, her eyes are unfocused and cloudy, her skin raw.
Ianto returns with his pants pulled up and fastened, the belt still undone. He won’t look at her, can’t do it. And she knows that work tomorrow will be torture. Because Ianto is not what she wants. And she is not what Ianto wants. They are not Jack.
Memory
He is uncomfortable and fidgeting and nervous and constantly in motion. Suzie wants to know if it’s all the caffeine and if she is the same way. “I, uh… I sh-sh-should be going.”
She doesn’t try to stop him, merely adjusts her skirt. The door opens with a click and closes with a bang. She sags against the wall, legs barely holding her up. She is tender, bruised, sore. And she is alone.
Before Ianto came to Cardiff, Jack looked at her. He smoothed her curls away from her head and whispered platitudes into her skin. He never let her cry.
Someone Missing
She knew better. Knew that she was nothing more than a distraction for a lonely man waiting for answers. Suzie didn’t know what the questions were, but she knew the empty look of the constantly searching and the ever hopeful.
Jack made her the centre of his universe, for a time. Nothing shone brighter in this godforsaken city than his smile when he looked at her. And then he took it away, gave it to the teaboy who knew too much for his own good. When it was gone, Suzie realised the light had only been Jack’s reflection. Never her.
Dreams/Nightmares
She sleeps fitfully, waking in starts, heart beating erratically. There’s something moving in the dark, something she can feel, something she can’t touch. Suzie watches the wardrobe, waiting for the monster to come for her.
She is irritable the next morning. The coffee is bitter, and she wants it that way. Four cups down and she thinks she can finally focus. Only she keeps staring at glass walls.
Around half three, Ianto enters the Hub carrying something vaguely metallic and hand-shaped. He considers it a moment before placing it on her workstation. “Someone found this. Thought you might be interested.”
Author: chemfishee
Pairing: Ianto/Suzie, mentions of Jack/Suzie and Jack/Ianto
Rating: NC-17
For: babel
Elements: Ianto/Suzie, unhealthy obsessions, rough sex
Thanks: To the stupendous kennedy_unknown, who broke the beta land speed record and didn’t blink twice when I said I was writing this
Summary: They’re not as different as she thinks.
First Time
Suzie Costello watches Jack out of the corner of her eye, head down, pretending to concentrate on the artefact in front of her. Another piece of space debris no one can decipher. Toshiko’s instruments return it as an object of unknown origin. There is no history, or future, for it. Yet it exists, of that Suzie is sure. She has to be sure of that. It is on her desk for her to deconstruct, analyze, hypothesize about. It has to be real.
A cup of coffee she doesn’t even realise she wants is placed on the corner of her workstation.
Difference
The difference, Suzie understands, is that Jack pays attention to him. The fresh-pressed trousers and the crisp linen-blend shirts and the silk ties. Ianto’s mask, his uniform, intrigues Captain Jack Harkness, a man taken to parading through the streets of Cardiff in period military greatcoats. Uniform and costume.
Suzie hears the sounds coming from Jack’s office. Two distinctly male voices, one low and quiet with hints of the working class, one louder and brash. American. She eyes the door, wondering how long it will be till it is flung open and an annoyed Ianto reminds Jack of proper workplace conduct.
Similarity
The nature of their job dictates that they take an inordinate interest in each other. Those away from the Hub, not tied to Torchwoood, blissful and ignorant, never understand. They wake up in the morning with fuzzy recollections of a night spent drinking, dancing, flirting, fucking. Never talking. Movement without words.
It is tiresome and has been for a long time. Anonymous. Lonely. Depressing. “The 21st century is when it all changes.”
Owen is gone for the night, disappeared to his flat of glass walls and open spaces, barely furnished. Tosh follows not long afterwards. Only Ianto stays. And Suzie.
Drink
She is wrong about him. She thought that he’d like dimly lit pubs tucked into dilapidated and crumbling buildings. She thought that he’d decline drinks, preferring water or coffee not as good as his own. She thought that he’d be polite, make his excuses, and wander off to wherever it was he went at the end of the day.
Ianto moves through the crowd, two pints of something dark raised above the writhing bodies hindering him. Fourth round, his treat. He presses one of the beers into Suzie’s hand. “To the world not ending.”
“To enigmas hidden beneath the surface.”
The Past
Ianto Jones stumbles after her, following her through the quiet streets and darkened alleys, through the lair of monsters. Suzie is laughing, loud and obscene and a touch manic. She feels free, broken out of her restraints. Heady with breathlessness.
Air heavy with moisture presses upon them. Fog rolling off the Bay obscures the intermittent streetlamps, a halo of light hanging around them. Suzie stops underneath one, turning to face the man behind her, pulling him to her. The night smells of fish and metal and death, she thinks, before hooking her fingers in his waistband and tugging. Suzie wants.
The Present
The door swings wide, and Ianto kicks it shut behind them. His hands tangle in dark curls, controlling the angle and depths of fevered kisses. Suzie works his belt loose, opening the button on his trousers and drawing the zip down. Nothing romantic about their fumbling into the loungeroom, desperation and need driving their frenzy.
Suzie breaks away, leaning against the wall, trying to strip as quickly as possible. Her body crashes into the wall, cheek flattened, bruise already forming. A weight is behind her, planar yet angular. Her skirt, brown wool, is pushed up, bunched against her lower back.
Unexpected
Ianto’s fingers, surprisingly rough, work around the elastic of her underwear. Two press, and Suzie bites her lip. Her fingers scrabble along the wall, searching for purchase, looking for leverage. Fingernails dig into lavender paint. Suzie arches her back, pushing against the invading digits, drawing them in deeper. She pants and writhes, rocking back and forth between release and restraint.
They are gone too quickly. Suzie blinks rapidly, disoriented. Sounds of searching behind her, followed by plastic tearing. A sharp intake of breath, something indecipherable muttered. Bluntness presses against her, and with one thrust, is in. Wider than she thought.
The Future
Ianto’s thrusts are shallow, measured. His fingers grip her hips hard enough to bruise, controlling the depth. The angle is wrong, too acute for Suzie. She tries to shift, to adjust, to accommodate, but he holds her locked in place. His head rests in the valley between her shoulder blades, sweat beading on his skin.
Suzie cranes her neck, trying to draw his lips to hers. For all that he’s fucking it up, he’s good at the kissing. She wants more of that. Reaches behind her, digging her nails into a flexing buttock. Rhythm stutters and a head is raised.
Health
Lips burn along her skin, stopping to nibble occasionally and mouth phrases in a language she doesn’t understand. The angle changes slightly as he pulls away from her, and his right hand moves from her hip across her belly. It dips lower, and she wonders if he thinks it’s Jack he’s fucking.
Slow circles and she’s coming apart at the seams. It’s rough, too rough to be strictly pleasurable. Yet she welcomes it. For once, she feels alive, every nerve ending stimulated. The pace picks up, tempo falters. She’s clenching around him before she’s aware, a bite on her shoulder.
Eyes
Ianto withdraws his softening dick slowly, the first thing he’s done with any care. Suzie hears him snap the condom off and points in the direction of the loo before he asks. Her thighs shake with the effort to remain upright, her eyes are unfocused and cloudy, her skin raw.
Ianto returns with his pants pulled up and fastened, the belt still undone. He won’t look at her, can’t do it. And she knows that work tomorrow will be torture. Because Ianto is not what she wants. And she is not what Ianto wants. They are not Jack.
Memory
He is uncomfortable and fidgeting and nervous and constantly in motion. Suzie wants to know if it’s all the caffeine and if she is the same way. “I, uh… I sh-sh-should be going.”
She doesn’t try to stop him, merely adjusts her skirt. The door opens with a click and closes with a bang. She sags against the wall, legs barely holding her up. She is tender, bruised, sore. And she is alone.
Before Ianto came to Cardiff, Jack looked at her. He smoothed her curls away from her head and whispered platitudes into her skin. He never let her cry.
Someone Missing
She knew better. Knew that she was nothing more than a distraction for a lonely man waiting for answers. Suzie didn’t know what the questions were, but she knew the empty look of the constantly searching and the ever hopeful.
Jack made her the centre of his universe, for a time. Nothing shone brighter in this godforsaken city than his smile when he looked at her. And then he took it away, gave it to the teaboy who knew too much for his own good. When it was gone, Suzie realised the light had only been Jack’s reflection. Never her.
Dreams/Nightmares
She sleeps fitfully, waking in starts, heart beating erratically. There’s something moving in the dark, something she can feel, something she can’t touch. Suzie watches the wardrobe, waiting for the monster to come for her.
She is irritable the next morning. The coffee is bitter, and she wants it that way. Four cups down and she thinks she can finally focus. Only she keeps staring at glass walls.
Around half three, Ianto enters the Hub carrying something vaguely metallic and hand-shaped. He considers it a moment before placing it on her workstation. “Someone found this. Thought you might be interested.”