It'll End in Tears #4: "Plans Change"
Title: "Plans Change"
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: Ianto/Andy, possible (minor) reference to Jack/Ianto if you squint.
Rating: NC-17 for smut, kink (D/s, spanking/flogging, wax play), and language.
Notes/Summary: Part Four of the " It'll End In Tears" cluster, and #2 on the un_love_you prompt table. Enormous thanks to riftugee for the super-quick, super-awesome beta-fu.
Audio: Thanks to darllen, you can now listen to this installment. Download link and commentary here.
Someday, Ianto reflects, there will be jokes that start with the words ‘Five super-secret operatives are jammed uncomfortably into an SUV.’ He isn’t a large man, but he’s trying to be even more unobtrusive than usual. Tosh is tapping madly at her keyboard to his right, while Gwen is rattling off panicked instructions to the police on his left. Owen and Jack occupy the two front seats, with Owen busy checking over their arsenal. Jack, meanwhile, seems intent on knocking them all around as much as possible along the way with hard, high-speed turns.
Ianto fumbles in his jacket pocket for his mobile. It’s Thursday night, and there’s no way they’ll be finished in time. He swears mightily under his breath. He loves his work - lives for it, really - but he also has plans. Plans which, thanks to five weevils surfacing in Splott, he’s going to have to postpone.
He’s halfway into thumbing in a quick text message to Andy when Owen takes a sudden, unwelcome interest.
“Oi! Quit playing Tetris and help me with the weevil spray, eh?”
“Sorry,” Ianto mutters as he hits SEND, and then shoves the phone back into his pocket and gets to work.
“Hang on,” Owen smirks. “You were texting.” There’s a look of real satisfaction on his face, and he sounds like he’s announcing something in front of a class of primary school children.
“Sorry?” Ianto replies, doing his best to look nonchalant.
“TEXTing. Sending a message with your mobile.” He’s goading Ianto, daring him to defend himself.
“Yes, Owen. Sometimes people use their telephones to communicate with one another.” Ianto passes Gwen a canister of the spray, then begins checking another. He isn’t going to rise to it, especially not right now when he’s sandwiched between Gwen and Tosh with no means of egress.
“Yeah, but we’re all here in the SUV, and it’s not like you’re friends with anyone else. So who are you texting?”
Ianto rolls his eyes. “No one, apparently.”
“Okay, you two,” Jack cuts in, giving Ianto a quick glance in the rearview mirror. “We can pass notes later. Right now, we’ve got five weevils to tranq, tag, and drop. Got it?” He pulls over and brings the SUV to a sudden stop. “Tosh, you getting anything?”
“I think so,” she says, peeking up over the monitor screen. “They seem to have split up into two groups. I can give you rough coordinates based on the CCTV footage.”
Jack slides out of the driver’s seat and onto the tarmac. “Alright, then. Owen and Ianto, I want you two to start securing the area. Gwen, with me.”
Owen gives Ianto a little smirk before pointedly taking the lead. He sprints into an alley and Ianto follows, wondering whether the doctor has any idea how to actually carry out Jack’s order properly. Still, Owen tended to glory in doing things his own way, regardless of the actual efficacy of his own technique. Most times it didn’t make much difference, sometimes it was a disaster, but there are certain occasions when even Ianto has to admit that Owen strikes upon brilliance. Genius, Ianto supposes, doesn’t have to be tidy. Or polite.
“I guess I was wrong about you, eh?” Owen says in a conversational tone. He doesn’t even make an attempt at stealth. He’s too busy giving Ianto an approving look. “So who is she?”
“Who’s who?” Ianto asks, shining his flashlight down the path, trying to make out what they’re walking into.
“The bird you canceled on in the SUV.”
Ianto sighs. “I wasn’t canceling a date with a girl, Owen.” It wasn’t a lie. Andy was neither a girl, nor a date. He was more like an appointment. Well, sort of.
“Yeah, right. I saw that look Jack gave you. What was that from our enlightened, fearless leader? Jealousy? See, I think -“
Ianto’s not exactly grateful when the weevil slams into him, but he does make a mental note to thank it afterward for cutting off Owen’s running commentary on his outside relationships.
# # #
Andy rereads the text message for the fifteenth time as he paces around his flat.
STUCK@WORK WILL CALL ASAP
He puzzles over it. After all, what could Ianto possibly be stuck doing in a tourist office? Was there such a thing as a postcard-related emergency? He adds this to the mounting evidence for his Ianto-cannot-possibly-work-in-tourism theory, slaps his mobile down on the coffee table, and thumps down onto the sofa with a sigh. He’s tired and cranky. He’s had a hell of a day, and damn it, he was looking forward to this.
It’s disappointing, is what it is.
He picks up his remote and clicks around, looking for something interesting to watch. There isn’t anything, really, so he turns it to some random police procedural on BBC2 and fixes himself a drink. He spends half an hour mostly not-watching (except for the bits that make him wonder if the writers have ever seen a police officer), and before he realizes it he’s being awakened with a start by a soft tapping on his door. A glance at the clock - 2:42 AM? - tells him he’s dozed off on the sofa. He groans and cracks his neck and shuffles muzzily to the door, wondering who the bloody hell is trying to knock him up this early in the morning.
One look through the peephole and he’s fumbling with the lock.
He’s never seen Ianto in a suit. At least, he doesn’t think he has. There’s something weirdly familiar about it though, like there’s something scratching around in his brain trying to tell him that this is the natural state of things. Well, everything except for the fact that Ianto looks like he’s been in a bar fight, and a nasty one at that. He’s probably going to have one hell of a black eye in the morning by the look of things.
Ianto blinks at him, a look of realization spreading across his bruised face. “Oh! I didn’t mean to wake you. I just saw your light on while I was driving home, and thought -“
“Christ, what happened to you, mate?” Andy hauls him in and closes the door.
“Embarrassing incident in a dark alley,” he replies, looking more than a little bit self-conscious. “I was going to go home and call in the morning, but your lights were on, and -“
“Sit down. Let me get you something for that eye.”
Ianto starts to protest, but Andy’s in the kitchen already, wrapping a bag of frozen peas up in a tea towel. Andy returns, feeling uncharacteristically proud of himself, and passes it to the darker haired man. Ianto looks a bit sheepish, but maybe a bit grateful, too.
“Thanks.” Ianto presses the ersatz ice pack to his face and hisses.
“I’ve worked enough rugby nights. Trust me, you’ll feel better for it.” Andy says with a nod. He’s standing with his arms crossed, sort of half-supervising. They wait in silence for a moment. Behind them, some GCSE revision nonsense program murmurs on the telly. Andy reaches down for the remote and turns the set off.
“So, what happened, anyway?”
Ianto shrugs. “Just unlucky, I guess. I really didn’t intend to trouble you with it. I was sorry about tonight, and drove past on a whim. I was going to call in the morning, see what you’re doing Sund -”
Andy takes a step in and looks him over. Ianto’s suit’s probably ruined, and he looks beyond worn out. And yet, Andy can’t help but think that maybe there’s some kind of right thing to do here. He’s got no idea what. There are boundaries, after all. Negotiable boundaries, mind, but that doesn’t stop them existing.
“You look like hell, Yan. Come to bed with me,” he says, apropos of nothing, and surprising himself more than a little.
Ianto blinks. “What?”
“You’ve had a shit night, looks like. I want to make it better.”
Ianto looks equal parts stunned and amused. “That’s a little forward, don’t you think?”
“Not if I’m serving you and bringing you pleasure,” he says. He feels faintly ridiculous. Who talks like this, anyway? He feels his cheeks burning, but forces himself to complete the thought out loud. “I want to.”
Ianto puts the bag of veg down on the coffee table. He doesn’t look vulnerable anymore. The bruises on his face cease suddenly to be the bruises of a man who’s been on the wrong end of a fight, and start looking a whole lot more like the sort of bruises a man picks up when he’s too busy winning a brawl to give a shit. Even the quality of the air around him seems to change.
“Ask me properly.” His voice is like ice.
Andy’s heart races as he drops to his knees and averts his eyes. “Please, sir. Let me bring you comfort, sir.” He feels small. He feels like property. He feels bloody fantastic.
There’s a long pause, and when Ianto speaks again, his voice is low and dangerous.
“Strip.”
Andy is only too happy to comply. He keeps himself low to the ground - he even manages to take off his trousers on all fours - and leaves the clothes neatly folded on the floor in front of him. He’s gratified when Ianto steps forward and strokes his face. He’s been good. He likes being good.
Ianto pushes Andy down and away. “Go run me a bath,” he snaps. “Wait for me on your knees next to the tub.”
“Yes sir,” Andy answers breathlessly, and hurries off to do as he’s told.
# # #
Ianto does not speak when he enters the bathroom. Andy knows he’s been going through the kitchen, and that he’s been in the bedroom, but he’s not sure about what the other man has in mind. Last week, they’d planned at length. He’d been ready to push his limits hard, and Ianto had taken him well past his comfort zone with ease. Tonight, though, he’s less confident. They’re both playing it by ear tonight. He reminds himself that he has the tools to stop if he needs to, and trusts that he’ll be heard if he needs to be. Green means go. Yellow for slow down. Red for stop, no, too much.
Andy waits on his knees, stock still.
“Undress me.” Ianto’s voice is authoritative without being harsh, and Andy responds to it instantly.
There are small intimacies and large ones. Andy knows this because he’s been in relationships before, but this is beyond his experience. He’s taken a partner’s clothes off before, but he’s never disrobed someone. He’s shared showers with lovers, but he’s never bathed anyone. He’s stunned to discover it intimidates him more than being humiliated did. Ianto must notice his distress because he touches Andy’s chin and gives him a moment of eye contact. He sees Other Ianto in that look, and how perfectly fine he’d be with letting this go right now if Andy wants him to.
“Green,” Andy mouths, just barely voicing it, and Ianto drops his chin and lets him work. After all, if he can survive being taken apart, he can survive putting someone else back together, can’t he?
# # #
Ianto is wearing Andy’s bathrobe, and Andy is following him, two steps behind. There’s something amazing about being a guest in his own flat. He likes it more than he could have predicted.
One thing Andy does not expect to find in his bedroom, when he accompanies Ianto from the bath, is candles. Ianto is not romantic. This point has been made abundantly clear. He is, therefore, surprised to see four soft white candles burning in glass jars, and the bed cleared and open. The only obvious hint as to the nature of their arrangement is a leather belt draped across the bedside table.
Ianto starts to shrug the robe away, and Andy is there to take it, fold it, put it aside.
“On the bed,” Ianto tells him. “All fours.”
Andy climbs onto the mattress, all hands and feet, and licks his lips as he gets into position. He faces away from Ianto, with the headboard to his left. His heart pounds in his chest as he hears Him approach. He nearly purrs when Ianto’s palm comes to rest on the back of his head.
“You’ve been a good boy tonight. Do you want a reward?” When Andy hesitates, Ianto’s fingers twist hard into his hair. “Answer me clearly when I ask you a question, fucktoy,” he snarls.
“Yes sir,” Andy gasps. “I’d like a reward if you think my efforts warrant it, sir.” He is careful to enunciate every syllable.
Ianto lets go and strokes Andy’s back. “Good boy. Such a good boy.”
His voice is warm syrup as he picks up the belt and folds it in two. He caresses Andy all over with it, skidding it across his back and up between his legs and over his arms before focusing on rubbing the folded strap back and forth across Andy’s arse.
“Say please,” he instructs Andy with an obvious smile in his voice.
“Please, sir.”
The strap lands with a heavy crack, and Andy’s fingers dig into the sheets as he chokes down a yell. The belt stings like Hell, and his arse feels like it’s on fire. Ianto rubs his hand lightly over the area, and then Andy feels the smooth touch of the strap as Ianto squares up for another shot.
“Again!”
“Please, sir.”
Another blow, harder than the first one.
“P-please,” he rasps on his own, this time, and Ianto rewards him over and over again until ‘please’ starts to lose its meaning and the world begins to melt into a soft, peaceful blur. Each blow with the strap pushes him just that little bit further into a sort of white space where his mind is at rest. It’s a little bit like dreaming, and a whole lot like being in the air.
It takes him a second to notice when the strap disappears, and Ianto’s hands start gliding over his reddened skin. He’s about to say “please” again, but the sound of the condom wrapper penetrates the soft edges of his consciousness, and “please” doesn't seem adequate anymore. He’s still flying from the beating when Ianto starts fucking him, and it’s completely unreal coming back into his body to discover it in ecstasy.
He probably manages a yes or an ohgodplease. There will be bruises on his hips in the morning, Ianto’s gripping him so hard, and he just can’t get over how bloody brilliant that is. He feels so…worthy.
Ianto pulls out of him suddenly and pushes him down. Andy feels a brief moment of panic - what have I done wrong?! - but then Ianto rolls him onto his back and hauls Andy’s legs up onto his shoulders.
“Please,” Andy murmurs as Ianto slides back in again, resuming his persistent, needy rhythm.
He tenses a bit when Ianto reaches for the first candle and begins to tilt the jar. Andy’s burned himself with candles before, and he expects blistering pain. Again, he wonders what he’s done wrong to deserve such intense punishment. Instead, he’s rewarded with a quick, sharp sting across his right nipple, followed by warmth as the wax begins to cool in thick blobs.
He babbles something like ohmyjesusfuckinglordohshitagain as Ianto pounds him just a little bit deeper and reaches for jar number two.
“You like this?” Ianto asks with a slightly manic grin. “More?”
More gibberish - ohsweetfuckyesanythinggreengreengreen - accompanied by furious nodding.
Ianto pours the second one a little closer to the skin and Andy nearly chokes when he tries to hiss and moan at the exact same time. He can feel Ianto’s thrusts getting even more desperate.
Andy doesn’t need his eyes open to know that the third jar is for his cock, and when the wax hits he makes a wild, wholly incomprehensible noise in his throat.
When Ianto finally reaches out to bring him off, Andy comes so hard he nearly blacks out.
# # #
Ianto belts himself into the driver’s seat of the Audi and rubs his eyes. He’s secured Andy’s flat, cleared away most of the mess, and left the other man dead asleep with a full thermos of coffee waiting on the bedside table. It’s nearly five in the morning, and he’s due at the office by eight, and there’s no way he’ll be getting more than an hour’s sleep, what with needing a shower and picking up breakfast on the way in.
Still, it’s Friday. Fridays are always short unless there’s a disaster, and Jack had mentioned something about taking advantage of the weekend.
He smiles his best kitten’s-got-the-cream smile, and starts the car.
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Prev (Pt #3) (Warnings: Smut, kink (D/s, humiliation, food and fluids, light bondage), and language.)
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Next (Pt #5) (Warnings: Smut, not too graphic.)
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Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: Ianto/Andy, possible (minor) reference to Jack/Ianto if you squint.
Rating: NC-17 for smut, kink (D/s, spanking/flogging, wax play), and language.
Notes/Summary: Part Four of the " It'll End In Tears" cluster, and #2 on the un_love_you prompt table. Enormous thanks to riftugee for the super-quick, super-awesome beta-fu.
Audio: Thanks to darllen, you can now listen to this installment. Download link and commentary here.
Someday, Ianto reflects, there will be jokes that start with the words ‘Five super-secret operatives are jammed uncomfortably into an SUV.’ He isn’t a large man, but he’s trying to be even more unobtrusive than usual. Tosh is tapping madly at her keyboard to his right, while Gwen is rattling off panicked instructions to the police on his left. Owen and Jack occupy the two front seats, with Owen busy checking over their arsenal. Jack, meanwhile, seems intent on knocking them all around as much as possible along the way with hard, high-speed turns.
Ianto fumbles in his jacket pocket for his mobile. It’s Thursday night, and there’s no way they’ll be finished in time. He swears mightily under his breath. He loves his work - lives for it, really - but he also has plans. Plans which, thanks to five weevils surfacing in Splott, he’s going to have to postpone.
He’s halfway into thumbing in a quick text message to Andy when Owen takes a sudden, unwelcome interest.
“Oi! Quit playing Tetris and help me with the weevil spray, eh?”
“Sorry,” Ianto mutters as he hits SEND, and then shoves the phone back into his pocket and gets to work.
“Hang on,” Owen smirks. “You were texting.” There’s a look of real satisfaction on his face, and he sounds like he’s announcing something in front of a class of primary school children.
“Sorry?” Ianto replies, doing his best to look nonchalant.
“TEXTing. Sending a message with your mobile.” He’s goading Ianto, daring him to defend himself.
“Yes, Owen. Sometimes people use their telephones to communicate with one another.” Ianto passes Gwen a canister of the spray, then begins checking another. He isn’t going to rise to it, especially not right now when he’s sandwiched between Gwen and Tosh with no means of egress.
“Yeah, but we’re all here in the SUV, and it’s not like you’re friends with anyone else. So who are you texting?”
Ianto rolls his eyes. “No one, apparently.”
“Okay, you two,” Jack cuts in, giving Ianto a quick glance in the rearview mirror. “We can pass notes later. Right now, we’ve got five weevils to tranq, tag, and drop. Got it?” He pulls over and brings the SUV to a sudden stop. “Tosh, you getting anything?”
“I think so,” she says, peeking up over the monitor screen. “They seem to have split up into two groups. I can give you rough coordinates based on the CCTV footage.”
Jack slides out of the driver’s seat and onto the tarmac. “Alright, then. Owen and Ianto, I want you two to start securing the area. Gwen, with me.”
Owen gives Ianto a little smirk before pointedly taking the lead. He sprints into an alley and Ianto follows, wondering whether the doctor has any idea how to actually carry out Jack’s order properly. Still, Owen tended to glory in doing things his own way, regardless of the actual efficacy of his own technique. Most times it didn’t make much difference, sometimes it was a disaster, but there are certain occasions when even Ianto has to admit that Owen strikes upon brilliance. Genius, Ianto supposes, doesn’t have to be tidy. Or polite.
“I guess I was wrong about you, eh?” Owen says in a conversational tone. He doesn’t even make an attempt at stealth. He’s too busy giving Ianto an approving look. “So who is she?”
“Who’s who?” Ianto asks, shining his flashlight down the path, trying to make out what they’re walking into.
“The bird you canceled on in the SUV.”
Ianto sighs. “I wasn’t canceling a date with a girl, Owen.” It wasn’t a lie. Andy was neither a girl, nor a date. He was more like an appointment. Well, sort of.
“Yeah, right. I saw that look Jack gave you. What was that from our enlightened, fearless leader? Jealousy? See, I think -“
Ianto’s not exactly grateful when the weevil slams into him, but he does make a mental note to thank it afterward for cutting off Owen’s running commentary on his outside relationships.
# # #
Andy rereads the text message for the fifteenth time as he paces around his flat.
STUCK@WORK WILL CALL ASAP
He puzzles over it. After all, what could Ianto possibly be stuck doing in a tourist office? Was there such a thing as a postcard-related emergency? He adds this to the mounting evidence for his Ianto-cannot-possibly-work-in-tourism theory, slaps his mobile down on the coffee table, and thumps down onto the sofa with a sigh. He’s tired and cranky. He’s had a hell of a day, and damn it, he was looking forward to this.
It’s disappointing, is what it is.
He picks up his remote and clicks around, looking for something interesting to watch. There isn’t anything, really, so he turns it to some random police procedural on BBC2 and fixes himself a drink. He spends half an hour mostly not-watching (except for the bits that make him wonder if the writers have ever seen a police officer), and before he realizes it he’s being awakened with a start by a soft tapping on his door. A glance at the clock - 2:42 AM? - tells him he’s dozed off on the sofa. He groans and cracks his neck and shuffles muzzily to the door, wondering who the bloody hell is trying to knock him up this early in the morning.
One look through the peephole and he’s fumbling with the lock.
He’s never seen Ianto in a suit. At least, he doesn’t think he has. There’s something weirdly familiar about it though, like there’s something scratching around in his brain trying to tell him that this is the natural state of things. Well, everything except for the fact that Ianto looks like he’s been in a bar fight, and a nasty one at that. He’s probably going to have one hell of a black eye in the morning by the look of things.
Ianto blinks at him, a look of realization spreading across his bruised face. “Oh! I didn’t mean to wake you. I just saw your light on while I was driving home, and thought -“
“Christ, what happened to you, mate?” Andy hauls him in and closes the door.
“Embarrassing incident in a dark alley,” he replies, looking more than a little bit self-conscious. “I was going to go home and call in the morning, but your lights were on, and -“
“Sit down. Let me get you something for that eye.”
Ianto starts to protest, but Andy’s in the kitchen already, wrapping a bag of frozen peas up in a tea towel. Andy returns, feeling uncharacteristically proud of himself, and passes it to the darker haired man. Ianto looks a bit sheepish, but maybe a bit grateful, too.
“Thanks.” Ianto presses the ersatz ice pack to his face and hisses.
“I’ve worked enough rugby nights. Trust me, you’ll feel better for it.” Andy says with a nod. He’s standing with his arms crossed, sort of half-supervising. They wait in silence for a moment. Behind them, some GCSE revision nonsense program murmurs on the telly. Andy reaches down for the remote and turns the set off.
“So, what happened, anyway?”
Ianto shrugs. “Just unlucky, I guess. I really didn’t intend to trouble you with it. I was sorry about tonight, and drove past on a whim. I was going to call in the morning, see what you’re doing Sund -”
Andy takes a step in and looks him over. Ianto’s suit’s probably ruined, and he looks beyond worn out. And yet, Andy can’t help but think that maybe there’s some kind of right thing to do here. He’s got no idea what. There are boundaries, after all. Negotiable boundaries, mind, but that doesn’t stop them existing.
“You look like hell, Yan. Come to bed with me,” he says, apropos of nothing, and surprising himself more than a little.
Ianto blinks. “What?”
“You’ve had a shit night, looks like. I want to make it better.”
Ianto looks equal parts stunned and amused. “That’s a little forward, don’t you think?”
“Not if I’m serving you and bringing you pleasure,” he says. He feels faintly ridiculous. Who talks like this, anyway? He feels his cheeks burning, but forces himself to complete the thought out loud. “I want to.”
Ianto puts the bag of veg down on the coffee table. He doesn’t look vulnerable anymore. The bruises on his face cease suddenly to be the bruises of a man who’s been on the wrong end of a fight, and start looking a whole lot more like the sort of bruises a man picks up when he’s too busy winning a brawl to give a shit. Even the quality of the air around him seems to change.
“Ask me properly.” His voice is like ice.
Andy’s heart races as he drops to his knees and averts his eyes. “Please, sir. Let me bring you comfort, sir.” He feels small. He feels like property. He feels bloody fantastic.
There’s a long pause, and when Ianto speaks again, his voice is low and dangerous.
“Strip.”
Andy is only too happy to comply. He keeps himself low to the ground - he even manages to take off his trousers on all fours - and leaves the clothes neatly folded on the floor in front of him. He’s gratified when Ianto steps forward and strokes his face. He’s been good. He likes being good.
Ianto pushes Andy down and away. “Go run me a bath,” he snaps. “Wait for me on your knees next to the tub.”
“Yes sir,” Andy answers breathlessly, and hurries off to do as he’s told.
# # #
Ianto does not speak when he enters the bathroom. Andy knows he’s been going through the kitchen, and that he’s been in the bedroom, but he’s not sure about what the other man has in mind. Last week, they’d planned at length. He’d been ready to push his limits hard, and Ianto had taken him well past his comfort zone with ease. Tonight, though, he’s less confident. They’re both playing it by ear tonight. He reminds himself that he has the tools to stop if he needs to, and trusts that he’ll be heard if he needs to be. Green means go. Yellow for slow down. Red for stop, no, too much.
Andy waits on his knees, stock still.
“Undress me.” Ianto’s voice is authoritative without being harsh, and Andy responds to it instantly.
There are small intimacies and large ones. Andy knows this because he’s been in relationships before, but this is beyond his experience. He’s taken a partner’s clothes off before, but he’s never disrobed someone. He’s shared showers with lovers, but he’s never bathed anyone. He’s stunned to discover it intimidates him more than being humiliated did. Ianto must notice his distress because he touches Andy’s chin and gives him a moment of eye contact. He sees Other Ianto in that look, and how perfectly fine he’d be with letting this go right now if Andy wants him to.
“Green,” Andy mouths, just barely voicing it, and Ianto drops his chin and lets him work. After all, if he can survive being taken apart, he can survive putting someone else back together, can’t he?
# # #
Ianto is wearing Andy’s bathrobe, and Andy is following him, two steps behind. There’s something amazing about being a guest in his own flat. He likes it more than he could have predicted.
One thing Andy does not expect to find in his bedroom, when he accompanies Ianto from the bath, is candles. Ianto is not romantic. This point has been made abundantly clear. He is, therefore, surprised to see four soft white candles burning in glass jars, and the bed cleared and open. The only obvious hint as to the nature of their arrangement is a leather belt draped across the bedside table.
Ianto starts to shrug the robe away, and Andy is there to take it, fold it, put it aside.
“On the bed,” Ianto tells him. “All fours.”
Andy climbs onto the mattress, all hands and feet, and licks his lips as he gets into position. He faces away from Ianto, with the headboard to his left. His heart pounds in his chest as he hears Him approach. He nearly purrs when Ianto’s palm comes to rest on the back of his head.
“You’ve been a good boy tonight. Do you want a reward?” When Andy hesitates, Ianto’s fingers twist hard into his hair. “Answer me clearly when I ask you a question, fucktoy,” he snarls.
“Yes sir,” Andy gasps. “I’d like a reward if you think my efforts warrant it, sir.” He is careful to enunciate every syllable.
Ianto lets go and strokes Andy’s back. “Good boy. Such a good boy.”
His voice is warm syrup as he picks up the belt and folds it in two. He caresses Andy all over with it, skidding it across his back and up between his legs and over his arms before focusing on rubbing the folded strap back and forth across Andy’s arse.
“Say please,” he instructs Andy with an obvious smile in his voice.
“Please, sir.”
The strap lands with a heavy crack, and Andy’s fingers dig into the sheets as he chokes down a yell. The belt stings like Hell, and his arse feels like it’s on fire. Ianto rubs his hand lightly over the area, and then Andy feels the smooth touch of the strap as Ianto squares up for another shot.
“Again!”
“Please, sir.”
Another blow, harder than the first one.
“P-please,” he rasps on his own, this time, and Ianto rewards him over and over again until ‘please’ starts to lose its meaning and the world begins to melt into a soft, peaceful blur. Each blow with the strap pushes him just that little bit further into a sort of white space where his mind is at rest. It’s a little bit like dreaming, and a whole lot like being in the air.
It takes him a second to notice when the strap disappears, and Ianto’s hands start gliding over his reddened skin. He’s about to say “please” again, but the sound of the condom wrapper penetrates the soft edges of his consciousness, and “please” doesn't seem adequate anymore. He’s still flying from the beating when Ianto starts fucking him, and it’s completely unreal coming back into his body to discover it in ecstasy.
He probably manages a yes or an ohgodplease. There will be bruises on his hips in the morning, Ianto’s gripping him so hard, and he just can’t get over how bloody brilliant that is. He feels so…worthy.
Ianto pulls out of him suddenly and pushes him down. Andy feels a brief moment of panic - what have I done wrong?! - but then Ianto rolls him onto his back and hauls Andy’s legs up onto his shoulders.
“Please,” Andy murmurs as Ianto slides back in again, resuming his persistent, needy rhythm.
He tenses a bit when Ianto reaches for the first candle and begins to tilt the jar. Andy’s burned himself with candles before, and he expects blistering pain. Again, he wonders what he’s done wrong to deserve such intense punishment. Instead, he’s rewarded with a quick, sharp sting across his right nipple, followed by warmth as the wax begins to cool in thick blobs.
He babbles something like ohmyjesusfuckinglordohshitagain as Ianto pounds him just a little bit deeper and reaches for jar number two.
“You like this?” Ianto asks with a slightly manic grin. “More?”
More gibberish - ohsweetfuckyesanythinggreengreengreen - accompanied by furious nodding.
Ianto pours the second one a little closer to the skin and Andy nearly chokes when he tries to hiss and moan at the exact same time. He can feel Ianto’s thrusts getting even more desperate.
Andy doesn’t need his eyes open to know that the third jar is for his cock, and when the wax hits he makes a wild, wholly incomprehensible noise in his throat.
When Ianto finally reaches out to bring him off, Andy comes so hard he nearly blacks out.
# # #
Ianto belts himself into the driver’s seat of the Audi and rubs his eyes. He’s secured Andy’s flat, cleared away most of the mess, and left the other man dead asleep with a full thermos of coffee waiting on the bedside table. It’s nearly five in the morning, and he’s due at the office by eight, and there’s no way he’ll be getting more than an hour’s sleep, what with needing a shower and picking up breakfast on the way in.
Still, it’s Friday. Fridays are always short unless there’s a disaster, and Jack had mentioned something about taking advantage of the weekend.
He smiles his best kitten’s-got-the-cream smile, and starts the car.
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Prev (Pt #3) (Warnings: Smut, kink (D/s, humiliation, food and fluids, light bondage), and language.)
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Next (Pt #5) (Warnings: Smut, not too graphic.)
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