Day 13: Torchwood, Unmasked, for two HC Bingo prompts
Title: Unmasked
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: NC-17
Characters/pairings: Jack/Ianto
Warnings (including spoilers): Sensory deprivation of a sexual nature, bit of pain mixed in with explicit sex, spoilers for that one scene in To the Last Man and a little bit for Last of the Time Lords.
Wordcount: 1,664 words
Author's note: For the adventchallenge and the hc_bingo prompts 'Sensory deprivation' and 'Unwanted transformation.'
Summary: Part 8 of the Playtime series. For one night, Jack lets himself go.
[*]
“This time tomorrow, he'll be back in 1918.”
Jack cradles Ianto's face in his hands. He's so young, too young to have survived all he has. To work here, in a job that allows few to see their thirties. Well, they're all young, his people. But Ianto sometimes seems the youngest.
Like right now. Those pale eyes, inches away from his. Bright and pained and lustful and unsure, Ianto seems constantly teetering on the edge of falling into some dark place, and Jack never knows how to save him. Any of the others, he knows which buttons to push, the right words to say at the right time, to give them back their confidence until the next disaster. But with Ianto, everything he does seems to wear away so soon, until they're right back where they started.
Everything except...
“Come with me.”
Ianto follows his lead, as he- most always- does. Once in Jack's bunker, the captain opens the chest at the foot of his bed and pulls out a dark hood and the soft play-cuffs they've just started using again. He holds them up and Ianto's eyes widen and burn. Jack closes the chest.
“In his own time. Would you go back to yours, if you could?”
Jack gently pulls the draw of the hood around Ianto's neck and ties it off, squeezing Ianto's hands and waiting for a tight squeeze in return before he relaxes. He fastens the cuffs around Ianto's pale wrists, placing them above his head on the pillow, not attached to the pole across the top of the bed.
Then he sits back, straddling Ianto's thighs, and watches.
The dark bag covering Ianto's head ruffles a bit as the younger man shifts. His hands, with their long fingers and unexpected calluses, twitch and then settle. Jack examines his throat, soft and round, and his shoulders, which have grown while he was away.
Jack tugs a bit at the ample hair in his lover's armpit and chuckles when Ianto gives an indignant twitch. “You know I love it,” he murmurs. He brushes his hand down Ianto's chest approvingly, where, underneath the softer hair, he can feel the subtle definition of muscles. Continuing down, a bit of pressure reveals the strong abdominals beneath a growing roll of fat that normally rests on Ianto's waistband.
“I've noticed you starting to watch what you eat,” Jack tuts. “You shouldn't bother. I like this, too.” His hand travels around the curve of Ianto's body until he can tug at the beginnings of a love handle.
Ianto twitches again.
Jack shuffles down and kisses the extra weight. “Not that it made you any less sexy, but I like you better this way. Sometimes I thought I might break you, back then.”
He sits back up, and surveys his lover. For all that he's still a bit too thin, Ianto's body is long and solid. With his young, demonstrative eyes blocked by the hood, Ianto seems older, more mature. “Sometimes,” he says quietly, though he knows Ianto would barely hear him if he yelled, “I think I'll never get to see you when you start to look old and wise.” He kisses the center of Ianto's chest.
“Other times,” he whispers, “I know I won't.”
“Why, would you miss me?”
“Yep.”
He works Ianto's neck, nipping, laying down wet kisses and cold breaths until his lover shivers beneath him. One hand is stroking Ianto's nipple in the direction of his chest hair, and Ianto's erection is filling with blood against Jack's thigh.
“Whenever you go out in the field, I'm afraid you won't come back,” he confides to Ianto's clavicle. “And whenever I leave, when it's not on a mission, I think you're afraid of the same thing.
He bites Ianto's bicep sharply and feels the chest rise up against his hand as Ianto takes a breath inside the hood. “My darling,” Jack whispers, barely a breath. “I'm here.”
“I left home a long time ago. I don't know where I really belong... Maybe that doesn't matter anymore.”
He continues to leave marks down Ianto's torso, examining every new muscle that has appeared since he left, five months ago on Ianto's timeline, a year and seven weeks in his. Seven weeks, left than a sixth of the time he spent in that hell, but right now Jack's in the Hub, in Torchwood with this beautiful young man, whispering embarrassing words of devotion into his crotch and taking his heavy cock into his mouth, and the Valiant can't touch him here.
“I know you get lonely.”
Ianto bucks up into his mouth and Jack grips the newly-padded hips, already marked with lines from his briefs, from his trousers and belt, from the gun holster he was wearing today. Jack traces the lines and wishes he could make them vanish, not let anything mark his Ianto but him. “You're mine, you hear that?” he whispers.
Ianto, chest heaving, doesn't respond.
“Going home wouldn't fix that.”
Carefully- they really do need a larger bed down here- Jack knee-walks up until he can slip his hand into Ianto's. It's immediately squeezed tightly, and while he's there he collects the lube and condom he'd set on the table beside his bed.
He nudges Ianto's thighs apart and kisses then, taking his time to gnaw and suck on one particularly sensitive spot until his lover is trembling. Jack gives it a last, vindictive bite and Ianto jumps.
“This is what I can do to you,” Jack says loudly. “Look at you. Tied up, on my bed. Can't see me, can't hear me. You'd let me do whatever I wanted to you. I killed your girlfriend, or don't you remember that? I left you behind! I ran away from you, I hurt you. And I can still make you do this with me.”
He ends on a whisper, though no one but himself can hear. Ianto lays motionlessly, legs splayed open, ams above his head, not a hint of fear in the lines of his body. Jack gulps to bite back a burning in his throat. “I don't deserve you.”
“Being here, I've seen things I never dreamt I'd see.”
He pushes inside Ianto's stretched passage in one long motion. Ianto's fists tighten above his head, but quickly relax once Jack halts, afraid. He runs one hand heavily down Ianto's leg, scraping sightly with his nails, ruffling the coarse hair there, encouraging the limb to wrap around his hip. He pushes inside Ianto's tightness and moans with a fullness he rarely allows.
“Ianto, you feel so good,” he tells his deaf lover, clutching at his skin, his body, his being. Every push into him, the slickness around his cock, the way Ianto clenches, all of it feels magnified beyond belief. It always does, when they're like this. When Jack can say anything, do anything- he reaches up and painfully tweaks a nipple, just to prove it, and Ianto's back bows instinctually- and Ianto won't be able to hear his words, see his expression, his desperate eyes.
“You're here, you're here with me,” he pants, smelling Ianto's sweat, the thicker smell of his arousal rubbing against Jack's stomach. “I need you.”
“Loved people I never would have known if I'd just stayed where I was.”
He pulls at Ianto's cock, slick from pre-come. It's not quite enough, but Ianto's hands aren't fisted and he's twitching up to meet Jack's hand. Jack's eyes are wide, taking in every heave of Ianto's lungs, the jerky motion of his hips, the bright tip of his cock as it disappears and reappears in Jack's fist. The cords in his neck that tighten, the way the fat on his stomach jiggles as he moves, tenses, stops, as he comes. His muscles pulse around Jack, calling to something deep inside him, a desire to respond in kind, to be with his love in this moment, but instead he barely breathes until Ianto has relaxed.
And then he moves again, pushes inside the used hole, squeezes Ianto's spent cock one more time, and Ianto's head lolls, his finger twitch. Jack lets go and closes his eyes at last, letting the sensation of Ianto surrounding him, again and again, bring him close.
Then warm arms come around his neck, pulling him closer, the cuffs scratch the back of his neck, Ianto's heel digs into his ass and he is right there, a few last hard thrusts and his own senses are gone for a few mindless seconds, until all he can hear is his own rough breathing.
“And I wouldn’t change that for the world.”
Jack closes the chest, the hood and the cuffs safely inside, and returns to the bed, where his bleary-eyed lover watches from the warmth of the blankets. He slips under them and gathers Ianto into his arms, kissing him. It's not chaste, but neither is it heavy. A long, warm, press of the lips that goes no further, and Jack rests his forehead against Ianto's, eyes closed. When he opens them and finds Ianto watching him, he nearly reaches up to stroke his cheek, but he forces himself to ignore the urge.
Jack doesn't like the man he becomes when Ianto wears the hood. He has no right to mark him, he knows, no right to claim him the way he does, and that's why he waits until Ianto can't hear to say what he feels, deep down inside. He doesn't want to see Ianto's face when he realizes how much Jack wants him, how deeply this relationship affects him.
He's not sure if he's more afraid of being pushed away or embraced.
For now, it's enough that, once he takes the hood off, Ianto always looks as though he's been pulled back from the edge of that cliff, that's he's really right here with Jack, and that he's not going anywhere.
The fact that it makes Jack feel the exact same way is completely irrelevant.
My HC Bingo Card