Cold Coffee Chapter Five
Author junoharkness
Beta: a_silver_story
Rating: NC-17 overall. Don't know how bad this story's going to get
Warnings: None for this chapter
Summary: Ianto wakes up after COE
Disclaimer:If I owned Torchwood, Ianto would of never died, instead Gwen would have taken his place when facing 456. However I don't RTD owns it.
Thanks to a_silver_story for being Beta. Turned out way better than planned
John's garden was rather large, which Ianto supposed matched the house. Not caring overly much for the clothes he was wearing, he sat himself down on a patch of grass under a towering tree. The scent of the flowers around him and the warmth of the day made him sleepy as he tried to clear his head, and he watched the strange, brightly coloured insects dancing around some orange blooms, hypnotically diving and whirling, until his eyelids drooped and sleep claimed him.
What felt like only two seconds later - but could have been four hours - Ianto felt a toe prodding his stomach. He prised an eye open, and with some embarrassment squinted up at a rather amused John Hart standing over him, hands on his hips and a smirk in place.
“Ugh,” Ianto groaned as his sleep-muddled brain kicked back into life. “I really do you hate you.”
“Nah,” grinned John, stepping back a little as Ianto got to his feet. “You just wish you do. Come on, Eye-Candy. We're going out.”
“Out where?” Ianto asked, following him groggily up to the path leading around the front of the house.
“Y'know … out. Meet a few people, have a few laughs … What?” he sighed, seeing the half-grimace on Ianto's face.
“We're not going … dancing are we?”
“Actually, I was going to take you out to lunch - but if you're just going to be completely ungrateful about everything I do for you …”
Ianto bit his lip. “I'm sorry … I never meant to be ungrateful … just … my natural disdain for you filters through my usual standards of behaviour.”
John waved away his concerns. “Don't worry about it; I get it all the time,” he winked, pressing a button on an outer wall to make the garage door lift. “So - I know a nice little place in town, an all right little place in town, and a truly awful place in town. Which shall it be?”
“The ... nice one?”
“You sure? There's boobies at the All Right Place.”
Ianto's stomach growled, answering for him as he realised that John had a black Porsche convertible. For a moment, his mind flashed back to him and Jack driving through London in a royal blue model, and John must have noticed the shadow over his features.
“Ianto?”
Ianto blinked. “Erm … sorry. Get going, shall we?”
He pulled open the passenger-side door, and settled gracefully in his seat. John, however, seemed to be out to impress him by sitting on top of the driver's door and spinning around using his coccyx as a pivot until his legs were in the car and he could get down into his seat. Once in place, he put his key in the ignition and glanced over at Ianto as if seeking approval.
“From the point of view of an hormonal fourteen-year-old boy, that might have been impressive,” Ianto told him.
John shrugged. “Aren't we all hormonal fourteen-year-olds, really?”
“My sister would probably agree with you,” admitted Ianto.
“So … really … you were impressed.”
“Just … drive to the place,” sighed Ianto. “Please,” he added, allowing his head to fall back against the top of the seat, his eyes closing as a headache threatened about his temples as the vehicle began to thrum and rumble around him, the engine stirred into life.
John's style of driving was very similar to Jack's - he seemed to think that the car was a fighter jet, and it required navigating nimbly and dangerously through the rest of the traffic on a course of its own. Ianto's knuckles whitened on the door handle and the dashboard as he prayed to at least make it through lunch with John Hart - dying hungry was not on his To Do List - before being thrown twelve feet in the air when someone decided not to move for John's tyrannous driving.
They broke hard outside what looked to Ianto like a rather expensive Italian restaurant, and a valet came to drive John's car away for parking. Ianto raised an eyebrow, and John smirked.
“Now you're impressed,” he tsked. “Expensive date.”
“I'm not your 'date',” scowled Ianto.
“No, you're my charity case,” John reminded him, offering an arm.
“I'm not a girl,” Ianto grumbled.
John looked confused for a moment. “Fine - I'll take the offer of your arm, then.”
Ianto found his arm grasped and tugged toward a man with a handlebar moustache holding open a large glass door for them. He greeted them both as 'sir', warmly and politely, and inside they were greeted by an identical man who was basically the same in every way, except greying at the temples. He welcomed them just as warmly and politely, and led them to a table at the far side of the thus far rather empty restaurant.
“This is nice, John,” Ianto conceded. “Thank you.”
“The pleasure will be all mine,” John promised. “But … you're welcome, anyway.” Kicking back in his seat and relaxing as menus were placed in front of them, he grinned cheekily. “If Jack could see us now, eh?” He turned to the waiter. “A bottle of house red, if you wouldn't mind - what are you drinking?” he asked Ianto.
“Er ...”
“Bring lots of wine,” John decided for him. “What? You were too slow,” he said in reply to the quirked eyebrow opposite him.
Ianto sighed and shook his head resignedly as he opened the menu and began to browse. He bit his lip. He couldn't read it. “John … what the Hell does all this say? I can't read these symbols.”
“What do you like to eat?” John asked.
“I like meat.”
John grinned. “Oh, Eye-Candy - I bet you do ...”
Ianto rolled his eyes, though he had walked into that one. “Please could you tell me which dishes I might like? Which ones are your favourites?”
“Why not be adventurous and pick something at random?”
“I might not like it.”
“You might, though.”
“I might not.”
“You might, and that's what's fun.”
Ianto shuffled in his seat. “That one, then.”
“That's a side.”
“What about that one?”
“A bit … eggy. And smells like egg sandwiches.”
“Ugh. That one?”
“Are you allergic to shellfish?”
“No.”
“Then that one should be fine.”
Ianto shrugged. “Whatever that one was, then.”
The waiter returned to their table with two bottles of wine and filled their glasses, took their food orders and left them to place it.
“So ...” Ianto tried awkwardly. “Can I ask … why … how did Jack … leave you?”
John tapped the table. “The first Annual Meeting of the Jack Left Me For Better Things Club has been called into session ...”
“Sorry … forget I asked.”
Nodding, John sipped his wine. “Delicious,” he smiled. “Try some?”
Ianto lifted his own glass and took a sip. It was fruity and sweet, and tasted more like concentrated strawberry juice than alcoholic wine. “That's really … I like it. What's it called?”
Shrugging, Captain Hart took another large gulp and relaxed back into his chair. Already, their food was being brought out. Brought out … alive …
Ianto stared at the two little crab-like things scuttling around underneath the grille covering his rectangular dish, and was grateful to note that John had ordered the same thing. They were given bowls of dips and salads, and a hot stone was placed between them. The waiter wished them a 'good meal', leaving them to it and bustling off.
Watching John, Ianto realised he was expected to use a strange little tool with an energy charge to kill his crabs, then cook break them apart and cook them himself. John was quite happily chasing his still-alive crab around his dish, before finally cornering it and zapping it. Ianto followed by example, swallowing his reservations in the interest of being polite.
John showed him which parts of the crab were good to eat, how to use the hot stone to cook them and which dips worked best with which limb or flesh. The crabs were delicious but salty, and Ianto gulped down a glass and a half of the fruity strawberry-like wine before his first one was even finished. John raised an eyebrow at the rate he was drinking it, but though he was being polite in saying nothing.
It wasn't until it came to exhibiting extended co-ordination that Ianto noticed he perhaps should have gone a little steadier. He was only trying to speak, but apparently that wasn't as easy as it had been thirty minutes earlier. An attempt to thank John for the meal came out in a slurred tangle of sounds, and Ianto frowned in confusion at himself. Two and a bit glasses of wine and his words were going?
“Wha' percentage is that?” he asked, trying to stand up as John finished the transaction paying for the meal.
“About the same as whisky on your planet,” John shrugged, and Ianto's eyes widened to saucers.
“I juss' had … how many glasssesuv whisky?” He lifted his empty glass to his eye level to inspect it, trying to gauge how many shots of spirit he reckoned would fit per glass. “Didn' taste strung,” he pteulantly argued.
“You think that's strong? Wait until you meet HyperVodka. Easy, Eye-Candy. You're going to take yourself out if you don't watch where your hands are going.”
John was pretty much propping him up on the way out, and as they waited for the valet made the mistake of letting Ianto out of his sight. He turned to find him quite pissedly telling the gentleman on the door that he looked exactly like someone Ianto knew, though he couldn't quite remember from where.
“C'mon, you,” John sighed.
“Mah liver,” Ianto told him, leaning precariously into his face. “hates you. Mah liver realllllly fuckin' hates you.” John flinched as a finger poked his chest, accusatory. “It hates you, it hates Jack, it hates, it hates his coat, it hates your jacket, it hates your cow, it hates you … and … and so's your Dad!”
John rubbed his temples. It was going to be a long trip back.
Ianto calmed down after a couple of glasses of cold water. John had managed to get him settled on the
couch (and to stay there) while he tried to find his First Aid kit with its breathalyser - he'd be able to tell from
that just how much Ianto had consumed and whether or not his poor twenty-first century liver, so full of hate,
would be subjected to alcohol poisoning.
He seemed fine, as far as John could tell, so left him to yell obscenities at a melodramatic soap on the
television while throwing popcorn at the screen.
“You BASTARD!” Ianto shouted, throwing a particularly large handful at the man on screen who was telling
his partner he was bored with his life and leaving indefinitely to travel the star system in search of something
new.
“Okay … enough telly,” sighed John, using the remote to switch it off. He put a hand on Ianto's shoulder and
rubbed soothing circles. “I think maybe you could sleep it off?” he suggested. “Unless … you're not tired.”
Ianto shook his head. “Nope. Not tired.”
John nodded, then narrowed his eyes slightly as he weighed Ianto up in his mind. “How angry at Jack are
you, Ianto?” he asked.
“If I ever see him again, I'm gonna rip his bollocks off and feed them … to them crab things. NO! I'm gonna
use them crab things to nip his testicles off. Then I'm gonna feed them to … to … to …” Ianto huffed angrily
as nothing sprang to mind. In the end, he decided on going with, “I'll put them in the freezer and decide what
to do with them after I'm done knocking his stupid teeth out!”
John moved the hand on Ianto's shoulder to his nape, and stroked the short hairs at the base of Ianto's neck
gently. “I'd love to help you out,” he murmured.
Ianto sighed. “I'm getting toward sober, and you're trying to take advantage of me.”
“Of course I am! I'd be insulted if you thought I wasn't! … and it's not like Jack's not out there, fucking his way
across the Universe … what's the point in you and me wallowing in self-pity and loneliness when we could
be seeing stars of our own?”
Ianto turned his head, gazing at John sadly. “You think he is?”
“I do, Eye-Candy. I do.”
“And … he's not coming back?”
“He never comes back.”
“He did. Once.”
“He probably got lost,” John said bitterly.
“Do you think … he just forgot us? Pushed us to the back of his mind so that he wouldn't have to think and
just …”
“What do you think, Ianto?”
“I think he did,” Ianto rasped. “That fuckin' bastard … I think he did.”
“So ...” breathed John, “what do you and I do now?”
Ianto turned his head, his reddening eyes meeting John's calm blues. “We fuck,” he said simply.
John wasn't quite so prepared for the kiss as he'd thought he'd be, should the situation ever arrive. Ianto took
him by surprise, overpowered him and had him on his back on the sofa in a quick motion that fired John's
synapses into life. He opened his mouth to the pressure of Ianto's tongue, wrapped his legs around his waist
and tried to maintain some control of the situation.
However, it seemed Ianto was not going to relent. He was bigger, stronger and impatient, nearly tearing
John's clothes as he kissed and scrabbled to get them off. Eventually John had to grasp his wrists and
squeeze until it hurt. “Be patient,” he murmured, pressing a kiss up onto Ianto's lips. “Why don't you give
those reins to me, and we'll make this good, yeah?”
Ianto sniggered. “Girl,” he taunted, then bit John's lower lip, delighting in the flinch he got in return. “Let's play
a game,” he murmured, kissing the lip he had nipped. “First one in my bed ...” He kissed John's neck. “...
gets to pick the position ...”
John laughed, then grunted as Ianto rolled off him onto the floor, got to his feet and waited for John to right
himself. They practically crawled over each other on the stairs, tripping the other, dragging backwards and
kissing whenever their mouths were close enough. Ianto had lost his trousers on the way, and John had
somehow lost everything but … was he wearing boy shorts?
“Are you wearing girls' knickers?” laughed Ianto, spotting the white and pink flowers decorating John's left
arse cheek.
John hesitated and glanced down at himself, and Ianto took the opportunity to shoot into the lead and throw
himself down onto his bed. Without complaining, John began to help him pull the comforter, pillows and
cushions off and abandoned them on the floor, leaving them with just the mattress and the cotton sheet.
Ianto pulled his t-shirt over his head, kneeling in the middle of the bed and pulling John close to him, their
skin brushing as they kissed hungrily.
Laughing, Ianto and John wrestled each other down to the mattress, John sinking his teeth into Ianto's
shoulder and making him hiss, force a knee between John's legs and press him down onto the firm surface
beneath them. John tried to speak and with a throaty chuckle Ianto kissed him again to prevent his words,
pressing his hips down and making John grunt.
“I have an idea,” John said distantly as Ianto began to kiss and nip his way down John's chest. “It's
inappropriate, childish and more than just a little bit obsessive, but it's a fun idea.”
Ianto raised his head a little and blew gently on the sensitive skin of John's tummy. “Sounds like my kind of
idea,” he prompted, curling his fingers over the top of the knickers John had opted to wear and tugging them
down to his thighs. With a sound of disappointment from Ianto, John rolled from the bed, opened the closet
and took out the photograph of Jack.
“What are you doing with that?” Ianto asked warily.
John set the photo on the bedside table, positioning it so that it would face the bed. Ianto laughed, and lifted
his hips as he tugged his boxers down his legs and tossed them aside with John's knickers. John gave an
appreciative whistle, crawling to lie beside him and press himself against him from shoulder to knee. They
kissed languidly, hands exploring the strange planes of each other's bodies, electricity jolting through them
when they pushed and ground their hips into each other.
Sliding his hand down John's back, Ianto reached his arse to find that John was way ahead, already
fingering and stretching himself. Breaking the kiss, Ianto brought his finger to his mouth, sucked on it and
made it wet, then pushed his hands between John's legs, forcing his own finger inside him, too.
“Uh … yeah ...” grunted John, hissing at the new burn. He withdrew his own hand so that he could push
Ianto onto his back by his shoulders and straddle him so that they could sixty-nine. He briefly leaned over to
the bedside table, rummaging around until he found lubricant, then tossed it over his shoulder for Ianto to
catch, leaned forward on his knees and elbows, then began to give him what John hoped would be the blow
job of his life.
Indeed, Ianto was more than just a little preoccupied, and in the end John felt a little left out of the pleasure
and eased up a little to make room in his mind for action. He shivered as cold gel was finally poured over his
entrance and hot tongue began to to lap and probe.
Ianto discovered pretty quickly that the lubricant was mint-flavoured, and it just added to the sensations John
was creating with his mouth. He carried on, one hand at the top of each of John's thighs to hold him open
with firm grip as he dared to push his tongue a little deeper. He felt the muscles contract around it as John
stuttered, almost forgetting that Ianto's erection was currently lodged in his throat and nearly making him
choke.
Sucking John's balls into his mouth and flicking his tongue, Ianto decided to concentrate on preparation. He
patted John's bottom, prompting him to stop, and moved until he could kneel behind him, John on all fours.
Jerking him off with one hand, Ianto used the other to push his fingers inside him, stretching him open and
ready.
John let out an erotic moan that made Ianto's breath hitch, and John smirked when he noticed. He made the
sound again, and Ianto shoved his head into the mattress playfully. “Stop that, or I'll squeeze the base of
your cock and not let you come.”
“Oof,” John grunted as Ianto's fingers were thrust forward with unexpected roughness. “Yes, sir …”
Ianto squeezed some more gel over his fingers, onto his cock and let some run down, cold and wet, over
John's erection. Using the tips of his thumbs to hold John's hole open, he stretched a little more and decided
even if John wasn't ready, Ianto was - and John could probably take it.
Unsure why he did it, but did it anyway, Ianto gave Jack's photo a cheeky salute before lining himself up and
pushing forward. John pushed back, helping him inside, and moaned loudly. “Oh … oh … ohohohoh!” he
was nearly shouting, and Ianto rolled his eyes.
“I didn't … realise the plan … was for Jack to hear us ...” he panted, and John squeezed down on him.
Ianto let out a rather unmanly whimper, but made up for it by angling a little, pulling out and thrusting back
inside again right into that that spot.
They found a rhythm together, John pretty much gyrating and Ianto thrusting at the right moment and hitting
the right place almost every single time, and John was making enough noise that Jack could probably
hear them.
Spent and laughing, they collapsed together onto the mattress.
“You're a little more than just Eye-Candy, I'll give you that,” panted John.
“I expected a bit more fight from you, if I'm honest,” Ianto teased, turning to lie on his side, his back to John
as he scrubbed hands over his face. John edged closer and tried to spoon against him. “Don't,” Ianto said,
shrugging him off.
“Sorry,” John muttered, and moved away.
On opposite sides of the bed and with their backs to each other, they fell into a light sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Torchwood.
That was the major thing that had completely ruined his life.
Jack entered Torchwood Two unannounced, not caring what reception he might get. He'd only ever been there two or three times. Nowadays - or what had been the 'nowadays' - Archie would come down to Torchwood Three, and before that they would have all met up at Torchwood One with Yvonne in London.
Walking straight through the unlocked front door, Jack got the instant impression the building may be empty. “Archie?” he called, hoping the strange little man might answer him.
Shuffling footsteps echoed down an indeterminate corridor, and a shout of 'Jack me lad!' greeted him moments before Archie himself appeared at the top of the grand staircase. “You've been away far too long - it's been almost two years since I last saw you,” he was saying, smiling as he made his way down the stairs toward Jack. “So … to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
Jack couldn't help returning the short, blustery elderly man's smile. “I … need to see all the Torchwood Three employees that got sent here after … after the 256. We're planning on moving the bodies to our new base,” he explained, sighing regretfully as thoughts of Ianto tried to cloud his mind.
Archie nodded understandingly. “Sure. Just follow me.”
He led Jack through an impossibly large number of corridors, splitting off in every direction; some tunnels leading off into the ceiling with ladders and fireman's poles for entrance and exit - if anyone broke into this base without a map, they'd be lost for days, and Jack was considering asking for a map in case he got lost. He was right on target when he told everyone that Archie was 'a little bit strange', he considered as he began to follow Archie up what appeared to Jack to be a random ladder.
The tunnel opened up in the floor of a rather small room, and Archie pointed the way. “Torchwood Cardiff is straight down the hall and then to the left. If you need anything, just yell, okay? Don't worry - I doubt you'll get lost. Well … sort of doubt you'll get lost. Only ten people have died trying to get out of here, so the stats are good considering how many people have been in.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Ten people is … rather are lot for … how long?”
“Oh - that's just this year,” Archie said airly, waving away Jack's concerns, nimbly hooking a leg around the pole and spinning around it as he slid down and out of sight.
Jack sighed.
Straight ahead and to the …. left. He could do that.
He began to make his way down the corridor when his instinct piqued and he hesitated. He moved a hand slightly, and frowned.
There was a strange resistance to his movement close to the wall on his left, like pushing his hand through water. He could sense a fizzle and tingle, ever so faintly, between his fingers, and knew instantly what it was.
Vortex energy ...
Residual vortex energy ...
Something had happened, and Jack could feel the disturbance in time dancing through the air, two paradoxes of the Space:Time continuum walking through each others' timelines. Himself … and someone else.
He felt a similar thing around John Hart - had a time traveller been here?
Jack continued down the corridor, one hand feeling out the residual trail, feeling it stronger as he got nearer his left turn. No normal human would be able to feel this - only him, with his endless amounts of Vortex energy flowing through every moment of his existence.
The residual disturbance was getting stronger and … stickier … the closer Jack seemed to move to its source. It was more than just lingering in his fingers, it was moving to his arms, his legs, his chest - he was breathing the air, but it was like trying to breathe through cloth gag. He turned left, almost hoping that would take him out of the residual energy's disturbance of him, but it just got stronger … and there was something else … something … familiar ...
The walls were lined with shining metal doors, and part of Jack just knew … just felt which one would be hanging open, the drawer rolled out and empty. The standard morgue gown that would have dressed lay abandoned on a chair, and a set of scrubs was missing from the autopsy surgeon's peg.
For the sake of it, and because the energy around him didn't feel quite so bad now that he had a pretty good idea to whom the trail would lead, Jack rolled the drawer back into the wall and shut the door.
Just as he'd thought.
'Jones, I.'