TW: It Isn't Cheating (NSFW) [MA]
Fandom:
Torchwood
Title:
It Isn't Cheating
In which Ianto comes to terms with Lisa's death.
Author:
lt_indigo
Pairing(s):
Jack/Ianto
Warning(s):
MA, NSFW. Tiny bit of Gwen-bashing
Disclamer:
If I owned this, not only would Ianto not be bloody dead, but I would not be posting to LJ; I would be making money from this.
Word count:
5,087
Author's note:
Takes place immediately after 'Cyberwoman', and runs into 'Small Worlds'. Sequel to " It Wasn't Cheating"
Jack drove him home in seething silence. Ianto wondered if he would be able to take a swing before his brain started to trickle from his ears with the amount of Retcon he was about to be force-fed. Oh God, he was such an idiot! He had just lost both his lovers in one fell swoop, and the last year of his life was going to be erased. He would wake up tomorrow believing that Lisa was still alive, and have to find out. From whom? Rhiannon? She would think he had finally cracked. And hadn’t he? He had let himself be fooled for months, desperate to believe she was still alive, still the woman he loved. And all the while he was keeping Jack’s bed warm.
Would he be able to trip the Retcon, as Gwen had done? What would be the trigger? The bay? Mermaid Quay? He would probably take his niece and nephew to the Red Dragon Centre eventually; he couldn’t avoid the place forever. He could probably avoid Canada Square for the rest of his life, even not knowing, but ‘Canary Wharf’ was marked on the fucking tube map, and he would probably go to London at some point. He didn’t need a map himself, not with his eidetic memory, but even if you just looked like you knew where you were going, you were going to be stopped by a tourist and asked how to get to ‘X’ place. Out would come the pristine map, and bam, right there, almost bang-smack in the middle of the DLR.
What about a relationship? Jack was pretty memorable: the next time he allowed himself to be fucked was certain to bring those memories flooding back to him. Would that happen? Would his body remember what it enjoyed, even if his mind didn’t? Remember that he liked the touch and feel of a man?
Oh God, what if Jack didn’t do it? What if he was forced to live with the memories of one lover killing the other? With what he had done? Was Jack that much of a monster, to make him remember as his penance?
The same Jack who was, he realised dimly, standing in front of him in the bathroom, shower running, undressing him tenderly, but without the sexual element he normally oozed.
“Come on, Ianto, you’ll feel better after a shower,” Jack was saying. “Cleaner, anyway. More like yourself.”
He blinked, and allowed his mind to drift again, making a mental list of things he needed to tell Jack; triggers Torchwood would have to make sure he avoided, how the archiving system worked, where to get office supplies, the people to talk to at UNIT to get anything done. Who would do that? Jack pissed off everyone he spoke to. So did Owen, and Gwen was… well, Gwen. But Tosh couldn’t be asked to do it: that was just too cruel. Fucking Gwen Cooper. How long before she filled his space in Jack’s bed as well as taking over his job? It was disgusting how she panted over Jack, conveniently forgetting that she had a boyfriend waiting for her at home. Sometimes he was torn over what he would do if he ever met Rhys Williams: shake his hand for putting up with Gwen, or punch him for putting up with Gwen for so long. Even if she didn’t end up with Jack, she would be in Owen’s bed before long.
Oh, he seemed to be wet. Jack had somehow managed to strip him completely, get him into the shower, and was currently massaging shower gel into the encrusted blood on his hands, trying to loosen it. The water was running pink.
“Jack?” he said, sounding horribly needy and uncertain, hating himself for it. Why was he here, again?
“There you are,” Jack said with a smile that was supposed to be reassuring. “Nice to have you back.”
It was Lisa’s blood. Lisa’s, and Annie’s and Dr Tanizaki’s. Jack had the audacity to be standing naked in his shower, washing the blood of the woman he killed off of Ianto. His fists clenched before he was really aware of the action, but Jack held him easily as his tired limbs only made a half-hearted attempt at a swing.
“If you still want to tomorrow, I won’t stop you,” Jack said gently. “When you can think a little straighter.”
Ianto snorted. “No man thinks straight around you. You and those fucking pheromones.”
There was an odd kind of laugh, as if Jack was trying desperately not to be amused. “Good to know your sarcasm is still intact.”
.oOo.
Jack was so gentle it was difficult to believe he was the same man that only hours ago had ordered Ianto to execute his own girlfriend. He finished washing Ianto, and dried him off in the biggest, fluffiest towel Ianto possessed (Ianto tried not to think about the fact it was Lisa’s, brought with him from London in the hope she would use it again some day). He dressed him in warm pyjamas and tucked him into bed. Ianto listened for the sound of the front door closing, but didn’t hear it before the events of the day caught up to him, and he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
.oOo.
Jack wasn’t put off by Ianto’s bouts of catatonia: they were completely expected for this kind of trauma. What he really wanted to do, though, was probably the worst thing possible in this particular situation. He wanted to climb into bed with Ianto and hold him, make sure he knew he was safe. Ianto wasn’t likely to accept that. In fact, he completely understood Ianto’s desire to drive his fist through Jack’s skull.
If he was honest with himself, he even understood Ianto’s actions: that desire to keep someone with you despite the odds was powerful, and the manipulative bitch must have done a good job of acting human to fool his Ianto. Ianto was normally so sensitive to the emotional state of the people around him, knowing exactly what they needed (even if it was to be left alone for a while) and doing it without question that Jack was left wondering if the Cybermen were devious enough to have retained the human personality and emotions of Lisa Hallett until the unit was able to function independently, so as to gain Ianto’s trust and use his devotion against him. They had a human brain; they probably were. Bastards.
‘His Ianto’? Well, Jack thought wryly, that certainly wasn’t true, was it? Ianto wasn’t his and, Jack had realised as Ianto’s accusing words rang in his ears, he never had been. Jack had never cared enough to ask about his life before coming back to Cardiff: in fact he had thrown it in Ianto’s face casually, as if it meant he knew everything about the young man. He knew nothing.
“Oh, Jack, you fool,” he groaned, putting his head on his knees. This, right here, was the reason he didn’t do relationships. This complicated, emotional connection. It wasn’t the complete bypass of common sense that Jack had the issue with, not really: it was the personal betrayal. Ianto had led him around by the balls, almost literally, had been so sweet and innocent that Jack had never even suspected he was being seduced. That he was being played. He was a con man; he should have been able to see that he was being taken for a ride. Quite literally, in this case. Dammit, he needed to stop being such a sucker for a pretty face and nice arse.
.oOo.
Ianto woke, and had a moment of serenity before reality crashed down around his ears. Lisa was dead. Everyone knew his terrible secret; they had all contributed to her death. They had all shot her when he had hesitated.
There was a soft voice coming from the living room. Ianto ignored it. Even if it was burglars, he didn’t care. They could take whatever they wanted, because nothing mattered any more. He wouldn’t even remember owning this flat in a few hours’ time; what did possessions mean?
“… and if Ianto finds that there is one single bean out of place in that machine, I will rip Owen’s bollocks off. Do I make myself clear? There are plenty of coffee places along the Quay; go use them.”
Oh, it was Jack, probably on the phone. To Tosh, at a guess. Jack, the bastard who had…
Rage filled him, and he was on his feet and in the living room before he really knew what he was doing. Jack was sat on the sofa, a cup of tea in one hand, his mobile in the other.
“Tosh? I’ve got to go. Speak to you later.”
Jack hung up, set the tea down (on a coaster!) and stood. Ianto was quite grateful for that, because it meant that he got to absolutely deck him.
“You murdered her!” he screamed as Jack lay there, massaging his jaw. “That girl, Annie, would still be alive if you…”
He couldn’t breathe. The world was closing in, going blurry around the edges. Suddenly, Jack’s strong arms were around him, holding him up as his knees gave way.
“Murderer,” he mumbled as the sobs forced their way out of his throat.
.oOo.
The TV was flickering when Ianto awoke again, lying on the sofa, covered with a blanket. The sound was off and the subtitles were on.
“Jeremy Kyle?”
Jack shrugged. “Daytime TV is all crap,” he said defensively. “I just wanted to see what normal people were like. You know, the people we do this job for.”
“Those people,” Ianto said, pointing unsteadily at the screen, “are not normal.”
Jack gave a low chuckle. “Agreed. Would you eat something?”
Ianto shrugged, and Jack disappeared into the kitchen. This set Ianto off into a panic: Jack was in his kitchen, God only knew what kind of state it was in. The man couldn’t keep a coffee cup clean!
“Relax, it’s only soup,” Jack said, reappearing with a steaming bowl and a spoon. “The pan is already soaking in the sink. And yes, there is washing up liquid in there with it.”
Vaguely reassured, Ianto took the bowl. Actually, he realised suddenly, he was famished. He hadn’t eaten anything at all in over twenty-four hours. Even the tinned chicken soup tasted good. For a few minutes, anyway, right up until he ran to the bathroom, his stomach emptying itself violently.
He shook for a few minutes, as the spasms wracked his body. Jack followed him after a while, reached around him and flushed.
“You don’t want it staring at you,” Jack said gently, sliding to the floor beside him. His strong hands massaged the sore muscles, relaxing them.
“Why are you being so good to me?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Jack sounded genuinely confused.
“Wasn’t there Retcon in the soup?”
Jack’s hands stilled, then pressed a tender kiss to the top of Ianto’s head. “No, there wasn’t. I’m not going to do that. Not unless you want me to. Do you?”
Ianto thought. “No. No, I need to remember her, what happened to her.”
“Yeah.” Jack stood up. “I’ll let you get yourself sorted, then I want you to try to eat a little more.”
.oOo.
Jack was asleep on his sofa when Ianto felt the caffeine deprivation finally get to him, early the next morning. The decent thing, he supposed, would be to make him a cup as well. By the time he had set the percolator going, Jack was awake and stretching, exposing just a little bit of skin where his t-shirt and trousers parted company. Ianto completely ignored the way his mouth went dry, and turned back to the machine.
“Ianto, you’re wonderful,” Jack said a few minutes later, accepting his mug and leaning back. “I’m going to have to go in today, but I’ll be back this evening.”
“You don’t need to check in on me like I’m a child,” Ianto said petulantly.
Jack’s bright eyes considered him. “Maybe not, but I want to. I’ll bring some real food, if you think your stomach will handle it.”
Ianto shrugged. Quite honestly, he didn’t know what he wanted at the moment. Maybe having Jack around would be a good thing, in case he decided he wanted to take another swing at him.
.oOo.
Jack was worried about what he would find when he returned to Ianto's flat, curry in hand. What he wasn't expecting was to be pulled through the door by his coat lapels and quite thoroughly kissed. He supposed he probably should have anticipated something like this, and was suddenly very glad he hadn't taken Tosh up on her offer to look in on Ianto tonight. This wasn't about any emotional connection they may or may not have shared; this was purely about the physical, needing to feel alive. Jack had seen it a lot during the war: in fact, he had gotten laid many times by men who had seen too much death to cope. Jack's sexual proclivities had been an open secret during both wars, and the fact that he essentially prostituted himself out to the men didn't bother him. Normally, anyway.
Somehow, though, this same reaction in Ianto bothered him immensely. Possibly because he wanted Ianto, and he wanted the young man to want him back, and not just for his ever-willing body.
Reluctantly, he pulled away, untangling Ianto's gorgeous long fingers from his coat, shaking his head.
“This isn't what you want. Not really.”
Ianto was trembling. Jack could smell the tang of testosterone and oxytocin coming from his skin, and his heart sank. He might not want it, but his body needed it.
“Don't you want me, Jack?" Ianto asked, his voice low, seductive, his hand on Jack’s groin. "Don't you want me to fuck you? Has it always been about you having power over me?”
Jack stroked his cheek gently, trying his best to ignore the stirring erection under Ianto’s insistent hand. “I've never had that,” he admitted, to himself as well as Ianto. “Quite honesty, I would love nothing more, but you were calling me a murderer just yesterday.”
The effort to think was clear in Ianto's expression, as was the regret. “Lisa died at Canary Wharf,” he said. “You were right. She... it tricked me. Used me. I need to move on, Jack. Help me?”
Fuck it. Jack had always known he didn't stand a chance, but for Ianto to beg, his fabulous Welsh vowels caressing the words, the last of his self-control was shredded. He set the curry down and let Ianto lead him to bed.
.oOo.
Once Jack had submitted (and it had never taken that much work before, but then, he was never getting Jack to submit before), it was relatively easy. Ianto’s hands flew to his partner’s trousers, undoing the belt as their mouths met for a messy, fierce kiss. Teeth clashed as Ianto finally managed to get his hand inside and grasp Jack. He felt some grim kind of satisfaction as the tables turned, and it was finally him getting to
elicit those kinds of sounds from Jack. That had never been part of the arrangement, because all Ianto wanted was to keep Jack’s attention from wandering to the archives, therefore the best solution (in his mind) had been to lie back and think of Wales. Or Lisa. It had honestly never occurred to him that Jack might even enjoy relinquishing control, not having to be in charge in the bedroom as well as in the Hub.
Jack wore too many clothes, Ianto decided. Who needed to wear a shirt and a t-shirt? Or a belt and braces? It was just ridiculous, and it took far, far too long to undress him. How the bloody hell did Jack manage it so quickly?
Finally (finally!) he managed to get Jack’s trousers and underwear off, and admired the cock that sprang free. Yeah, he wasn’t gay at all. His mouth wasn’t watering with anticipation at tasting that delicious, thick cock; having its weight rest against his tongue. Just like he hadn’t enjoyed, hadn’t come from Jack fucking him.
He tentatively licked a stripe along the underside, from root to tip. Jack shuddered. Emboldened, Ianto swirled his tongue over the head before taking it into his mouth. The strangled moan coming from Jack was a fabulous incentive to continue.
.oOo.
Holy shit, Ianto had been paying attention to what Jack did during their times together. Jack always enjoyed performing for his partner, but he wasn’t going to object to being on the receiving end if the results were going to be this good. There was a hand caressing his balls, the other currently obsessed with his navel, but had roamed over every inch of his chest. Ianto was putting everything Jack had done to him into practice, with the sole exception of… Humming. He was humming. Well, Ianto had now perfected the entire repertoire.
Ianto wasn’t as slow or gentle as Jack had been the first time, but Jack didn’t exactly need or mind that. There was a reason he generally preferred male lovers, after all: he enjoyed a strong partner, someone he wasn’t afraid of hurting if he was a bit rough after a bad day, and someone who could make him still feel it the next morning on occasions. Owen would probably tell him it was some kind of unhealthy masochism, but Jack actually enjoyed being reminded of a night of vigorous sex whenever he sat down. He was certainly going to have that experience tomorrow, judging by Ianto’s powerful thrusts and the fingertip-shaped bruises he was sure were forming on his hips.
Ianto, without missing a beat, shifted his position just slightly. Jack swore vehemently as Ianto nailed his prostate. Jack thought that maybe he heard a grunt of satisfaction, but he might have imagined it as the assault continued. His breathing hitched as Ianto brought him closer and closer, until all it took was the lightest brush of his hand against his cock and he came with a shout.
It was minutes later, lying sticky and sated, that Jack realised that, in the throes of his own release, Ianto had done something he had never done before: he had called out Jack’s name. Jack wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. He knew that you couldn’t ever trust something said in the heat of the moment, but Ianto had (he realised now) always been careful never to say anything at all, as if even in orgasm he was determined to keep his secret. Perhaps it was only now that the secret was not weighing heavily on his soul that he had been able to let go of himself.
.oOo.
Tosh was surprised when Jack asked her to go to Ianto’s instead of him. It was widely known by now that he had been there both nights since Lisa, even though Tosh herself hadn’t told either Gwen or Owen: she had kept Jack’s secret.
“He needs to have a good cry,” Jack confided, pretending to look at the Rift data on her screen. “He won’t do that around me. Not again, anyway. You don’t mind, do you?”
Tosh gave him a weak smile and shook her head. “Not at all. I’m surprised it’s taken this long.”
Jack looked a little uneasy. “He had other things he needed to get out of his system first.”
She raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. Jack had been ambiguous on purpose, she was certain, because that could go one of two ways: either Ianto had taken a swing at their boss (understandable), or jumped him (equally understandable, the man was beautiful). She had suspected there was something between the two of them, but that was because Tosh actually paid attention to Ianto: she had talked to him, gotten to know him. Made an effort, and she was glad that Jack clearly wasn’t considering Retcon, because she would have missed her little brother. It briefly surprised her that she thought of Ianto like that, but there it was.
She wished, though, she had asked more about Lisa, tried to push Ianto a bit on the subject, because then she might have had a clue about the Cyberman in the basement. Beyond knowing she had died at Canary Wharf, Tosh had never asked; had assumed either extermination or deletion, not conversion. How utterly horrific. How the hell was Ianto even still sane? He was stronger than anyone gave him credit for, she had always known that. Anyone who walked out of that building alive and mentally sound was; they had to be. A lot of the ‘survivors’ from Torchwood One had not been, and had killed themselves within the first two weeks. Tosh remembered being surprised the day that Ianto (and Myfanwy) appeared in the Hub, without warning, and Jack casually announced that he was a survivor.
She wondered now how they had all simply accepted that fact; how they had not questioned his motives for returning to the very organisation that had very nearly gotten him killed, that had gotten his girlfriend and thousands of others, both in the tower and outside, killed. She had persuaded herself that he felt some kind of duty; that he had seen the worst the aliens had to offer, and wanted to do what he could to aid and abet what was left of the institute in their fight against the extra-terrestrial.
She wasn’t entirely sure what to expect when she reached Ianto’s flat that evening. She certainly wasn’t expecting to find that Ianto almost looked normal, albeit not clad in his customary suit, but a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that showed off his slim figure nicely. The outfit also emphasised just how young Ianto was. She knew he was, of course, but he disguised it behind the suit, an obsessive compulsion to clean and catalogue, and an air of professionalism. He was just a child really: how had he gone through so much already? Why was he mourning the terrible, violent loss of his partner when he should have been wining and dining her, possibly starting to talk about marriage and children? Such things had been possible at Torchwood One, after all.
“Tosh? I… Do you want a drink?”
He held out a bottle of beer, still capped, clearly just pulled from the fridge.
She flashed him a hint of a smile as she took the bottle. “Thanks. I thought you might want to talk. I wanted to come yesterday, but Jack wouldn’t let me.”
There was a flash of guilt in Ianto’s eyes at the mention of their boss. “Come in, Tosh.”
Ianto busied himself with finding another beer, and the bottle opener, as Tosh settled herself on the sofa. His living room was spotless, something Tosh would normally expect from Ianto, given his normal tendencies, but right now, it wasn’t something she had anticipated. She had expected mess. She had expected Ianto to be a mess, but he seemed quite coherent and well-adjusted. That in itself was worrying, but she supposed everyone dealt with grief differently.
“Jack reckons I need to do something stupid, like cry, doesn’t he?”
Tosh was startled by Ianto’s reappearance. After taking a moment to process what he had said, she nodded.
“And he thought I wouldn’t do that around him.”
Another nod. “I really was going to come yesterday. I thought you’d need someone, and Jack… Well, he’s a bit full-on sometimes.”
Ianto plonked himself down opposite her and took a swig of his beer. “Actually, he’s been very well behaved. And you can tell him that I meant what I said yesterday: I know she died months ago, and I know that none of you killed her. She was already dead when I brought the Cyberman here.”
Tosh reached over, laid her hand on his arm gently. “I wish you’d told me. I would have tried to help.”
“There’s nothing you could have done, and…” He paused, swallowed. “That could have been you she tried to convert.”
Tosh squeezed gently. “I know I probably couldn’t have brought her back,” she said gently, making sure he met her eyes, “but I would have tried. For you.”
Ah, there were the tears, finally pricking at the corners of Ianto’s eyes. He had the most stunning eyes, really, Tosh realised, a clear blue you didn’t often see. Once he really was ready to move on, he would be beating girls off with a stick. And Jack. Possibly. She really wasn’t sure what was going on there any more. She would worm it out of Ianto eventually, but not right now: now there was a more important story she needed to hear.
“Tell me about her?”
.oOo.
“So?”
“You’ll have to ask him, Jack.”
“Tosh…”
“He’s okay, Jack. Really. He talked, eventually; I listened, and I’m not saying more than that.”
Jack frowned, and it was obvious to Tosh that he was trying to think of the best way to bribe the information from her.
“Only Ianto’s coffee would work, and I seem to remember threats of castration if the machine was touched by anyone other than him.”
“You’re an evil woman, Toshiko Sato.”
She gave him her best, brightest smile. Knowing he was defeated, he straightened up and pressed a kiss to the top of her head in a fatherly fashion.
“Thank you.”
.oOo.
At Tosh’ suggestion, Jack returned to Ianto’s place that evening. He would more likely than not have gone anyway, if truth be told. Despite the terrible circumstances, he was enjoying spending more time with his young lover, and surely looking after Ianto in his time of need could only stand in Jack’s favour later on?
The greeting he got was no less pleasant than it had been last time, although Ianto was much more gentle this time.
“I thought you might not come tonight,” Ianto said when they parted, his voice husky and his hands automatically smoothing out the wrinkles he had just put into Jack’s coat.
Jack caught the hands gently in his own, trying not to recall those elegant fingers working him open.
“Ianto…”
“It isn’t cheating, Jack,” Ianto said, as if he had anticipated this and prepared the line beforehand. “Lisa has been gone for months. This is me trying to move on, as I should be doing.”
Jack sighed. As much as he really wanted to hear Ianto say something like that, he knew he would be taking advantage at the moment; letting Ianto fall prey to a mixture of his own desperation for contact and Jack’s potent pheromones.
“You might know that up here,” he said, tapping Ianto’s temple and hating himself as he did so for being so sensible and not giving into his baser instincts, “but down here…” His hand moved to Ianto’s heart. “I don’t think you’ve had time to really work out what you want.”
He stepped around Ianto, went into the kitchen and started to prepare a meal for the two of them, leaving Ianto standing, speechless and staring at his own front door.
.oOo.
They had eaten, with Ianto asking how things were at the Hub, Jack giving him the bare details: there had been a couple of small objects wash up in Bute Park and were now awaiting cataloguing and archiving whenever Ianto felt up to it; Gwen was fussing over how he was, but Jack wasn’t letting her come over; Owen was, well, Owen. They had put the telly on and sat watching… Jack found he couldn’t remember what they had actually watched, because all he could remember was Ianto shuffling over and cuddling into him at the first advert break. There had been no indication of wanting any contact other than just being held, and Jack was more than willing to do that.
“I’m not fixed, Jack,” Ianto had said eventually. “I know that. There’s still a long way for me to go. There might be bad days in the future but I’ll get through.”
“And I’ll be here to get you through,” Jack had replied, pulling Ianto even closer to him.
That was how he had come to find himself lying, spooned around Ianto, both of them in their underwear, listening to the young man sleep. Until now, Ianto’s sleep had been not altogether restful, Jack knew from his nights napping on the couch for the couple of hours’ sleep he needed, then working at Ianto’s computer. This particular night, Ianto was peaceful for the first time. He didn’t seem to be trapped in nightmares of either the events of… only four nights ago? Really? or Canary Wharf itself. Jack considered it six waking hours well spent, keeping Ianto’s dreams safe.
.oOo.
They agreed to no sex again until Ianto’s head was on a little straighter. Jack spent another night in Ianto’s bed, then the next one at the Hub. That following morning, awakening from a bad dream of his own, he found Ianto there, looking at a file, standing at the door of his office.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said softly, torn between worry that Ianto was pushing himself too far too early and joy at Ianto being back at all.
“Neither should you,” Ianto replied, his tone just as gentle. Ianto had always nagged at him to get a proper flat, so that he could get away from the Hub. Living here all the time wasn’t good for him, Ianto had argued. Jack suddenly believed him.
Ianto turned to his computer, called up some files.
Jack lay a protective, reassuring hand on Ianto’s shoulder. “What’ve you got?”
“Funny sort of weather patterns.” Ianto looked over his shoulder to him for approval, seeking validation for his work. And he got it in spades.
.oOo.
Ianto stayed resolutely at his workstation as everyone else swept out in disgust.
“What about you?” Jack demanded angrily. Ianto knew it wasn’t directed at him, so brushed it to one side.
“You did what you had to do,” he said, keeping his voice calm, soft. “It must have been hard, but you saved thousands of lives.”
Ianto wasn’t just talking about Jasmine, and the softening of the lines in Jack’s expression told Ianto that the message had gotten across in full. He held out his hand to Jack, and the captain took it without hesitation. Ianto pulled him close, kissed him passionately, his intentions clear.
No, it wasn’t cheating, and it never had been.