Served Cold | Chapter 20
Title: Served Cold
Author: mercury_pheonix
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Children of Earth Fix-It.
Characters: Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, Gray, The Eleventh Doctor, Amy Pond, Rory Williams, Alonso Frame
Pairings: Jack/Ianto, Amy/Rory, Jack/Alonso, Ianto/Gray (one-sided, non-con)
Ratings/Warnings: R - sex, rape, abuse, torture.
Spoilers: All series.
Summary: When the Hub explodes, and the cryogenic chambers are flung open, one of its inhabitants manages to flee the wreckage. Seeking revenge, he decides that the best way to hurt Captain Jack Harkness is through a certain Welshman. There's one problem, however - Ianto Jones is dead…
Children of Time Awards
Runner Up
(Round 6: "Angst" Category)
(Nominated in the "Angst" and "Slash" Categories)
A/N: I've decided to try and increase the speed of my updates, as it is not fair on you or this fiction that I leave it so long between chapters. I thank you for being so patient with me these past few months. Not only have I started a whole new chapter of my life, but I've also been tackling some of the hardest material I have ever written. It hasn't been easy writing this fiction, especially since Jack and Ianto have been reunited - that was only the beginnings of the intense challenges I would face whilst chronicling their story. Challenges I have never set myself before, and which I hope I have overcome with some semblance of confidence and competence. This chapter was supposed to have been longer, but, as usual, things never seem to work out as they have been planned - so I have decided to split the original idea for this into two chapters. I felt that Ianto's experiences in this chapter needed to stand alone, and that any addition to the end would just take something away from it. Please let me know your thoughts.
This chapter is one of the darkest I have written. It contains some dubious consent and some very, very angsty sex; so please be warned before reading it.
Chapter 19 | Masterlist | Chapter 21
Served Cold
Chapter 20
He woke up slowly.
That was the only real way to describe it. His eyes eased open millimetre by millimetre, light slowly filtering in until the glare of its brightness filled his vision. A steady ache began to thrum in his head as feeling returned to his limbs, the slight twitching of his fingers gradually building until the jerking had spread along the length of his arm.
He lifted his head slightly, testing the waters as his neck struggled to hold him in place. There was a numbness still spread throughout his body - like the remnants of something heavy weighing down in his veins, combining with gravity to try and force him down onto the bed. He fought it, twitching and flexing his muscles until the adrenaline in his body forced him into a sitting position, the blurring of his eyes clearing as he became accustomed to the light.
He didn't know where he was.
As he sat up he blinked a few times and ran his eyes across the room, drinking in hungrily with every sense. There was a bed beneath him, he realised, sheets sticking to the sweat and heat of his body; the mattress, too, was soft. In fact, he realised with surprise as he moved a little, testing it with the point of his elbow, it was exactly right. Last time he'd slept in any bed this soft, this tailored to his needs, had been…
A snarl curled at his lips as recollection came flooding back. A needle jabbing into his arm, sedative flowing freely through his blood supply as he struggled to keep hold of his consciousness. And that face, so similar to his own and yet so much older, looking down at him with pity…pity, pity for his plight, but not fighting for him…never fighting for him…just leaving him, forgetting him…
He pushed the sheet from his body quickly, anger thrumming through his veins and overpowering the last, final remnants of the sedative. There was a sharp prickling at his hand as he moved, something tugging at his skin - he looked down to see a tiny needle taped in place against the back of his hand. Attached to it was a tube leading towards an IV which hung with with a dull emptiness by the side of his bed.
It must have been more than one shot - he reasoned. He must have been here longer than that. They must have been keeping him sedated, to keep him quiet. Maybe even to keep themselves safe. All these thoughts flittered through his mind in less time than it took for him to scan the room one last time, his mind working at a frenetic pace.
Oh yes, he wasn't stupid. Even as a little boy, his curled hair tousling in the wind of the land he had known so well and now could barely remember, they'd all known he was sharp. And he'd kept on proving it, even when he was chained to a wall, even when they took him to within an inch of death and left him hanging…even as the little boy had scurried away to some far depths of his mind, never to return…he'd always been sharp.
He quickly removed the needle, wincing slightly as he dragged it from his skin, before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and taking a few unsteady steps. Luckily, the effects of the sedative seemed to be wearing off quickly, something that wasn't that far from a miracle considering the amount he suspected he'd been given. He stepped forward, testing his weight and shuffling along on the balls of his feet until he was able to balance himself fully.
Drawing himself up to his full height, he stretched out his arms, prostrating himself against the air. A childish glee flooded his mind as he realised that someone hadn't been paying attention…someone hadn't topped up his sedative. Someone had made a mistake, and because of that he was free. He could feel the cold biting his body, the gentle thrumming that hummed in the air telling him exactly where he was.
He knew where he was now.
He also knew where he was going.
As he headed towards the small medical kit that was nestled just by the side of the bed, the muscles of his mouth twitched slightly…
And then he smiled.
x
x
Ianto shot awake, eyes flying open and lungs drawing in great gulps of air. His heart jumped at a frenetic speed, like uneven drumbeats thundering through his chest and into his skull. His eyes were dry, he realised as he quickly put his hand to his face; there were no tears there, just the stone cold terror pummelling through his veins like an icy river.
That smile.
Invading his dream like a knife cutting through his flesh - tearing him open like that serrated edge had done so many times. It hadn't been there to start with, not for most of the dream; in fact, he couldn't actually remember what the rest of it had been about. It didn't seem to matter. All that mattered was that smile, tearing open the fabric of his dream and letting all those words and feelings and memories leak through into his head.
All those thing that he had said to him; all those insane, manic words whispered into the ear amidst the grunts and the hisses of breath; harsh words cutting into him, poison seeping into his flesh as jagged nails punctured his skin. But, more pertinent, those endearments, the softer words, dropped teasingly into the air as Ianto had felt the full weight of him pressing down…
I can make you want this…
I can make you love me…
That wasn't so bad, was it…
Just pretend I'm him…
Ianto suddenly became aware of heat melded against his back and gentle breath sliding through the hair of the nape at his neck. He froze, his blood turning to ice and shattering in his veins as he registered a heavy arm slung across his waist, pinning him down to the bed…
No. Not pinning him. That wasn't what it was doing.
He turned slightly, shifting on the mattress…not the cold floor, not that jagged straw…and tilting his head as far as he could without disturbing the figure behind him. There was a slight hitch in the breaths as he moved, but that gentle in-out motion of the chest soon settled down and Ianto exhaled the air he had been holding in his throat. As his eyes caressed the figure, sliding over the contours and shapes that made up his body, he began to feel some of the ice melting warmly within him. The shape of the man moulded against his side, one hand rested on the curve of his protruding hipbone and the other tucked between them, was strangely comforting.
Amongst the memories of that other body - the thinner one, the scrawnier one - this body wriggled its way in, somehow nestling to form a protective shield between the harsh, angular lines of the madman and the bruised flesh of Ianto's body. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, luxuriating in the warmth before he opened them to watch the not-quite-serene face of the man who had formerly been his lover.
Formerly.
The smile that had been creeping onto his face skittered away, falling to the wayside as the weight of the word pummelled into his chest.
The feel of fingers digging into his flesh, of bony hips crashing hard against his skin, burst through his mind at that thought - the thought that, still, after all this time, it didn't really matter that Jack was lying here next to him, with him. Yes, he was around him, spooned against him and enveloping every inch of his exterior…but it wasn't in his outside skin that the true damage was.
There was a slight stirring against Ianto's leg as the man draped over him shifted once again, something digging ever so softly into the skin of his thigh. A tiny spark ignited in Ianto's chest, the tiniest of flames licking just beneath his ribcage as he subconsciously pressed his leg downwards against the movement he could feel. When he'd insisted on them sleeping together naked, he hadn't really understood the inclination that had driven him to demand it. He'd just known he'd had to do it. But now, as he lifted the sheet a fraction and glanced down at Jack's unconscious stirring, he began to realise that…
But Jack didn't want it. Didn't want him. Ianto's brow furrowed slightly as his eyes flicked from Jack's groin to his face, noting the steady calmness on his features and contrasting it against…well…dammit, he thought suddenly, his fist clenching at his side. They'd been sleeping in this bed together, unclothed, completely bare, often with one of them draped around the other, for several nights now. Ianto had to admit he'd had to struggle with a mixture of respect at Jack for keeping his hands to himself all this time, and an insane urge to pull his hair out in frustration, to scream for that touch to go just a little deeper.
Something gripped him as the thought of the lack of sex with Jack seemed to feed the memories he wanted to suppress - an aching need to forget that urged him to reach out and curl his cold fingers around the older man's flesh. The warmth only ignited further the fire that was burning within him, the twitch of Jack in sleep and the sudden warm exhalation of breath spurring him on as he reached over to the bedside cabinet with his free hand.
Jack seemed to stir a little more, wakefulness creeping up on him slowly as Ianto gently pushed him onto his back, planting one hand on his chest whilst the other opened the cap of the tube he had just found - not as skilfully as he once had, but he still managed to get his shaking fingers to comply through sheer force of will. There was a hint of smugness thrumming through his brain even as he clumsily applied the clear gel onto his fingers; they all thought he was so changed, so different, so vulnerable, and yet he'd known the exact place to go to find what he needed.
I know Jack, he thought, wincing as he breached himself with first one finger, then two, stretching himself as far as he dared. More than they think. I can do whatever they think I can't…they don't know me…
A pain shot up his lower back as he stretched a little further, further than he had dared a few moments before. The coldness of the gel felt almost new to him now after months of hot, dry rawness; he bit back a grunt at the unfamiliarity, the hiss of air against his teeth stirring Jack further from his now-rather-fragile sleep. The older man twitched slightly against him, his thigh catching Ianto in the groin and sending a wave of…of…something that Ianto hadn't felt in a while…shooting through ever nerve ending in his body.
He may not have felt it in a long time - an eternity it sometimes seemed - but he definitely recognised it. He remembered cool nights blasted with heat; bodies forced together by the claustrophobia of Jack's bunker. The ache ricocheting up his back was all but forgotten as those memories overtook him, overpowering grinning teeth and wild eyes in favour of lust and mutual passion and…
Jack's eyes cracked open slightly as Ianto moved over him, awkwardly swinging a leg over his waist and settling his weight down on him - as easily as he could with the sudden frantic energy that was soaring through his head. It seemed to take a moment for him to recognise just what was going on, his eyelashes fluttering as if trying to wipe the sleep away from the depths of his eyes…and then he saw Ianto, his skinny frame balanced awkwardly on top of him.
The eyes widened.
"Ianto…"
Ianto leant down quickly, forcing his mouth over Jack's lips with a violence that he hoped would communicate just how much he needed this. It wasn't, he thought somewhere in the back of his fogged mind, a question of want anymore. This wasn't desire…this was necessity. He needed this, needed to know that whenever he thought of anything remotely intimate it would be Jack there, invading his thoughts, rather than the feel and touch and eyes of his tormentor.
It wasn't a kiss, not really. It was a crushing of mouths, flesh bulldozed messily together. He wasn't kissing Jack because he wanted to kiss Jack - not because he wanted it to be tender or sweet or affectionate. He didn't care whether those things were there or not. Not anymore, if he ever actually had. This wasn't romance, this was fucking - that's all he wanted; Jack, in him, now. But if kissing Jack was the way towards getting him to agree with what he wanted, with what he needed…if kissing was the only way to get him to shut up and fucking see…then that's what he would do.
He broke away suddenly, his face hovering for a few seconds as if to gauge Jack's reaction as he lifted his hips, lining himself up and…
"Ianto…" Jack interrupted again, catching hold of his waist lightly and gripping him in place. "…we can't…"
Ianto was down in a flash, every inch of him thrumming with a nervous energy as he pressed their cheeks together and brushed his lips over the ridge of Jack's ear. Jack shuddered ever so slightly at the touch, an obvious battle going on between his head and his body as Ianto's shaky breath tickled at his hair. Ianto remembered his own trembling body, that first night that he had slept with Jack; his need to milk the rough bluntness, to take that pain that he craved so much from the encounter, and yet still, at the same time, eager for some form of gentleness along the way.
"Just say no…" he whispered softly, mimicking those words Jack had whispered into his ear all that time ago. "…and I'll stop."
Jack opened his mouth to protest…but in one quick motion Ianto had impaled himself on him, a wave of pressure building in his lower half as he furrowed his brow against the invasion and clenched uncomfortably. Jack's mouth snapped shut, his lips rolling together as he tightened his grip on the younger man's waist; as if not quite sure whether he wanted to push him away or pull him down deeper, harder, further…
A litany of words escaped his mouth as Ianto began to move, mumbled from between clenched teeth and pliant lips:
Shouldn't…
Can't…
Musn't…
But not once did the word no fall from his lips.
As if he couldn't say it.
As if he didn't want to say it.
Not really.
So Ianto carried on, rolling his hips with more ferocity as he sat up straight, planting one hand firmly on Jack's heaving chest to give himself more leverage. He closed his eyes, nails clawing at flesh as he allowed the invasion to completely overwhelm him - it was a pain, but not the pain that signified the loss of control, not the pain that tore him apart and ripped down deeper than his flesh. Not the kind of pain that cut away at his soul a little bit more, forcing a gaping wound with each thrust and parry.
A battle.
Yes, that was it.
A battle in his head and in his body; only this time he was warring with himself, fighting away those demons from inside his own mind. That sensation, that fullness that was at the same time uncomfortable and yet…good…was forcing away the ripping, the tearing, blocking all those unwanted memories and sensations with the sword of control. This might hurt, but it didn't hurt in his head.
I am in control.
The word echoed through his head as he scrabbled for purchase with his fingers, colours and images running like the blood of a battlefield across the closed lids of his eyes. He caught something in his hand, holding down hard and pushing with all his might. His lower half was thrumming with the excitement of control, singing in the knowledge that the madman was not there, not anymore, not there to tell him what to do and feel and to decide just when he would do and feel those things. In the back of his mind he registered noises, but the pulsating whoosh of blood rushing through his body drowned it out.
He didn't want to hear it anyway.
That wasn't important.
This was him. This was his. He was in control here. He was the one with the power; he called the shots and he didn't want anyone else fighting through that. A mist descended over his vision, the blood red colour clouding over his sight - if he opened his eyes, he would have hazarded a guess that the very whites of his eyes would be stained crimson, the colour seeping into his very soul.
Something scrabbled at his waist, as if trying to fight back for that control. He clenched his fists against flesh and refused to allow it in. It was his control and it was hard won. No one else could have it. He'd fought too hard to have it snatched away by anyone.
His eyes opened just a little as he felt the blood pulsing through him, the determination to stare down the figure - the figure threatening whatever control he had gained - stoking the fire within the pit of his stomach. Through his foggy eyes and the misty frame of his eyelashes he could make out the outline of a figure, a figure so similar…jaw-line, chin, mouth, lips…those lips…but in those eyes there was fear, panic, something that swept through him to strike at the very heart of his arousal.
You're not in control anymore, he though gleefully, fingers looping around their prize and thumbs pressing down hard at the gulping flesh. You don't have me anymore. I'm not yours. You're mine.
He could feel the pressure build within him as he began to jerk, his movements frenetic and disjointed as something pooled deep down. There was something thrumming against his fingertips, something slowing down against the pads of his skin as if to juxtapose his own heart rate. The contrast was good. He liked the contrast. It somehow made him feel as though he had won, even as that pressure released - his pulse skyrocketed, just as the thrum-thrum-thrum of the drum beat he could feel beneath him slowed to a steady stop.
And then everything went black.
It was a while before Ianto came back to himself, his body lying spread-eagled across a firm figure and his stomach coated in wetness. He grimaced at the sensation as he stirred, shifting his body slightly to let the cold air catch at his exposed skin. The coolness felt good in contrast to the unbearable heat that permeated his body, his skin throbbing with a contented numbness as he settled himself into a comfier position.
A smile danced across his lips, playing at the corners of his mouth as he buried his face triumphantly into the warm flesh beneath him. Triumph flushed through him as he rested his cheek against the heart of the man on the bed. They'd been wrong. He'd done it. They'd done it. They'd…
"Jack?"
Ianto's voice rasped at his throat as a sudden notion shot through him, panic slicing through his heart as the other man entered his thoughts for the first time. Panic that gripped him by the throat and shook him to his very core as his cheek picked up just what was wrong with the flesh beneath it…
It wasn't warm.
The body beneath him - not warm at all. It was not quite cold, but cooling; he could feel the air snatching the heat away from it, dragging it further into the lifelessness that sent a chord of terror reverberating through Ianto's skull. His hands, raised above his head, finally relaxed, fingers falling away from whatever it was that they had been clinging to…
"Jack?"
The tremor in his voice cut deep as he realised just what he had been holding onto; the timbre raising a few decibels as he hauled himself away from Jack's body. He could see now, from his new vantage point, the blank stare of Jack's eyes and the long, finger-shaped ladder of purple bruises that trailed from his jaw to his throat. The panic within shook him, clutching at his stomach like a knife twisting deep.
No…no…no…nonononono...
He scrambled from the bed, his whole body throbbing as he fell onto the hard floor - the cold surface scratched at his back but he didn't care, his whole being fixated on the sight of the body before him. Jack's body. Jack's dead body.
Dead because of him.
And, suddenly, Ianto realised he had never felt so out of control in his life.
All that feeling, all that power - not real, never real, just a mask…so fabricated, so fake and so all-consuming. He'd never lost control so completely, never really experienced just what it felt like to have every single inch of power drained from him. That hadn't been power. He'd thought that those few minutes had been the moment he'd cut the links of the chain holding him to his captor, but now he realised that every single second had been powered by that same man.
He was exactly the man that his tormenter wanted him to be.
How could he ever go back?
With that thought ringing in his ears, Ianto clawed himself to his feet, scrabbling at the cabinet and the walls; anything that could help him to stand up, to get as far away as he could from the scene of his crime. He didn't care that he was naked, not anymore. Maybe, at one time, he would have cared…but right now he didn't know how to care for anything other than Jack's dead eyes staring out at him.
A sob choked in his throat, one single tear spilling down his cheek as he wrenched open the door, a blast of cold air raising goosepimples across the length of his flesh. He glanced back one last time, knowing that even if Jack would come back - and who knew if that had changed...so much else had - then there was no way he could fix this. He couldn't pick up the pieces and be Ianto Jones again, the Ianto Jones that Jack had wanted to rescue.
Ianto Jones was gone. There was nothing left to fix. No one left to rescue.
And, with that, he fled the room; the lingering, lifeless eyes of the man he had killed following him until the door slammed shut behind him.
TBC...
Chapter 19 | Masterlist | Chapter 21
Oh dear. Only a few more chapters of this, I promise. I can't keep doing this to them forever...at least, I don't think I can.
Plus, what do we think of the figure stirring somewhere in the depths of the Tardis? What could this mean for our broken boys?
Thank you for reading. If you have any comments, please feel free to leave them.