Fic: Held a Little Tighter
Title: Held a Little Tighter
Author: Kei
Characters: Ianto, Jack
Rating: PG-13
Kink: service, mind control/amnesia
Notes: Done for kink_bingo. I have no idea if this manages to stand on its own or not, so here's a bonus cute rabbit picture (not my rabbits).
Ianto Jones was a big fan of facts. Book learning, they called it, information you could find without ever bothering to apply it in real life. In theory, he knew how to dock a sheep's tail, but in reality he'd only ever been out of the city on day trips and maybe a sleepover camping trip and he rather had the feeling he wouldn't last three hours on a farm. It was enough to be able to answer questions with the utmost confidence in what he was saying, to tell people, "I know everything," and have it be believable - if an obvious hyperbole. Because underneath the facts, Ianto didn't know shit.
His sister was leaving increasingly irritated messages on his answering machine because he hadn't called her in weeks. The walls of his flat were about as bare as his fridge - he told himself he didn't spend enough time there to justify decorating or stocking the cupboards, then stayed late at work to prove the lie true. He refused to admit that as the reason, instead fiercely insisting, in his own mind, that he was simply trying to make up for his epic, colossal, potentially world-shattering fuck ups, when really he didn't have the first damn clue what he ought to be doing on that front - or even if he believed he should.
The only thing, the single sure thing, that was crystallised fully in his confusing mess of a brain, was that he had to make things right. Whether trying to save Lisa had been wrong or not, he'd lied to Jack, betrayed him, taken advantage of him, and in return been allowed back into his very home barely a month later. It was terribly humbling, he thought, and even if all he could do was simple things, it was his duty to do so.
*
There was a kind of dignity in being the man behind the scenes. Public figures got so much attention, and Ianto was sure that that was attractive to some, but it was far more satisfying really to watch someone take centre stage and know that the reason they could do it was because they didn't have to worry about all the petty little difficulties of an average person's day. It struck him that it was the same as humour, in a way - the most obvious of jokes were crass, things that people might laugh at out of puerile views or shock, but sly asides that threatened to drift straight past the inattentive showed more depth of character than anything that could be memorised and repeated. He paused when that occurred to him, thumb moving in small circles still as he wiped clean the pieces of the Hub's eccentric coffee machine, and smiled a very small smile.
So he'd never been to university. So he had a criminal record. But at least he was good at his job and he had the ability to make Jack look back at him with amusement surprised into his eyes. There was something important in that, wasn't there? It didn't matter if you had the basic necessities accounted for, things weren't really right if you couldn't laugh.
Only once every part of the machine was spotless did he begin to slot them back into place, one by one, each designed perfectly to suit its place and function. He worked from habit and instinct stemming from some place deep inside and when he was done it was the simplest thing to continue on to set the first pot brewing. He didn't bother to change any of the settings, each one already optimised just how Jack liked it.
*
He didn't even need to think anymore. It was almost as though Ianto were two different people, completely disconnected from each other - one competent and placid and content to simply keep everything running smoothly, the other--
*
He didn't even need to think anymore. He was good at this, after all, spotting what was out of place and inconvenient and tidying it away. A couple of feet to his right Toshiko was fiddling with her pendant while she worked, and though he wasn't sure if she had noticed him he paused to offer her a cup of coffee. People overlooked Tosh a lot of the time. Though she rejected the offer, she thanked him, which was nice - even if there was something a little strange about her voice. It was almost like she was trying not to cry.
*
Something hummed inside him now. It was a buzz at the back of his mind at work, a murmur distinct from the voices of people passing on the street while he did errands. He stood in his kitchen playing with the twisted cord of the phone as Rhiannon talked into his left ear and the hum settled in below his right, leaking thoughts into the rest of his brain, like he should pick up a pack of dark chocolate digestives for Jack to find as he prowled the Hub in the middle of the night, and would the red tie he'd spotted in the window at the store be too much? There was a fine line between good dressing and bad and Jack would notice if he crossed it.
"It's tomorrow night," Rhiannon said, and Ianto remembered that she'd mentioned something about David and a school play. "At seven."
He grabbed for a pen, hastily like if he could get it in his hand he could pretend it had been there already, and scribbled down information as she passed it. "Right. Okay. No, that's fine."
When he hung up he left the pad there, and there it sat for long hours, as lights flicked off and sounds of life faded away into the gentle sighing and whispering of the night. The clock on the wall ticked, measuring time, and the sound echoed through the silent flat.
In the morning, Ianto spotted his shopping list on the kitchen bench next to the phone, and grabbed it as he bustled out the door. He'd have time to pick up the biscuits and milk before work, but the tie would have to wait until lunch - there was never any guarantee the shops would still be open when he finally locked the tourist office behind him and headed home in the evenings. As he turned the key to start his car, the rumble of the engine settled into the back of his mind and curled up comfortably there with the knowledge that he was finally doing something right.
*
There was a kind of expectation in the air as the day began to draw to a close, as co-workers packed up their work and said their goodbyes. Ianto, ever aware of this sort of thing, knew that Jack was in his office, pacing as he talked into the air to be picked up by the speaker phone. A quick glance proved him right, though the second look lingered a little, trying to tease out any nuance in Jack's posture, body language, that might suggest he needed something. The whiskey decanter sat on his desk, but he was getting out two glasses, ice cube in each one, two white pills in the one on his right - a headache, perhaps. He watched as Jack poured, stirring the one with the pills in it a little more. One really shouldn't take those with alcohol, but Jack knew Jack best, he supposed. He'd handle the system shut down himself though - the mechanical whir of the computers was annoying when your head was already aching, creeping in through your ears to seep into the cracks.
Time was starting to move just slightly strange so that it almost felt like he was turning before Jack called his name. Strange, definitely, but he looked up at the doorway where Jack stood and it felt right to walk towards him and take the proffered glass. Mostly, he was just glad for the invitation. They'd never done this before - alone, after hours, with warm pride in his belly as he swallowed Jack's personal choice of whiskey and let himself realise how tired he was. It made Jack's voice wash over him, soak into him, and the words didn't matter as much as the meaning and want and need and yes, he could do this, he could make things right.
This entry was originally posted at http://keieeeye.dreamwidth.org/124819.html. Feel free to comment there instead because LJ is a poo.
Author: Kei
Characters: Ianto, Jack
Rating: PG-13
Kink: service, mind control/amnesia
Notes: Done for kink_bingo. I have no idea if this manages to stand on its own or not, so here's a bonus cute rabbit picture (not my rabbits).
Ianto Jones was a big fan of facts. Book learning, they called it, information you could find without ever bothering to apply it in real life. In theory, he knew how to dock a sheep's tail, but in reality he'd only ever been out of the city on day trips and maybe a sleepover camping trip and he rather had the feeling he wouldn't last three hours on a farm. It was enough to be able to answer questions with the utmost confidence in what he was saying, to tell people, "I know everything," and have it be believable - if an obvious hyperbole. Because underneath the facts, Ianto didn't know shit.
His sister was leaving increasingly irritated messages on his answering machine because he hadn't called her in weeks. The walls of his flat were about as bare as his fridge - he told himself he didn't spend enough time there to justify decorating or stocking the cupboards, then stayed late at work to prove the lie true. He refused to admit that as the reason, instead fiercely insisting, in his own mind, that he was simply trying to make up for his epic, colossal, potentially world-shattering fuck ups, when really he didn't have the first damn clue what he ought to be doing on that front - or even if he believed he should.
The only thing, the single sure thing, that was crystallised fully in his confusing mess of a brain, was that he had to make things right. Whether trying to save Lisa had been wrong or not, he'd lied to Jack, betrayed him, taken advantage of him, and in return been allowed back into his very home barely a month later. It was terribly humbling, he thought, and even if all he could do was simple things, it was his duty to do so.
*
There was a kind of dignity in being the man behind the scenes. Public figures got so much attention, and Ianto was sure that that was attractive to some, but it was far more satisfying really to watch someone take centre stage and know that the reason they could do it was because they didn't have to worry about all the petty little difficulties of an average person's day. It struck him that it was the same as humour, in a way - the most obvious of jokes were crass, things that people might laugh at out of puerile views or shock, but sly asides that threatened to drift straight past the inattentive showed more depth of character than anything that could be memorised and repeated. He paused when that occurred to him, thumb moving in small circles still as he wiped clean the pieces of the Hub's eccentric coffee machine, and smiled a very small smile.
So he'd never been to university. So he had a criminal record. But at least he was good at his job and he had the ability to make Jack look back at him with amusement surprised into his eyes. There was something important in that, wasn't there? It didn't matter if you had the basic necessities accounted for, things weren't really right if you couldn't laugh.
Only once every part of the machine was spotless did he begin to slot them back into place, one by one, each designed perfectly to suit its place and function. He worked from habit and instinct stemming from some place deep inside and when he was done it was the simplest thing to continue on to set the first pot brewing. He didn't bother to change any of the settings, each one already optimised just how Jack liked it.
*
He didn't even need to think anymore. It was almost as though Ianto were two different people, completely disconnected from each other - one competent and placid and content to simply keep everything running smoothly, the other--
*
He didn't even need to think anymore. He was good at this, after all, spotting what was out of place and inconvenient and tidying it away. A couple of feet to his right Toshiko was fiddling with her pendant while she worked, and though he wasn't sure if she had noticed him he paused to offer her a cup of coffee. People overlooked Tosh a lot of the time. Though she rejected the offer, she thanked him, which was nice - even if there was something a little strange about her voice. It was almost like she was trying not to cry.
*
Something hummed inside him now. It was a buzz at the back of his mind at work, a murmur distinct from the voices of people passing on the street while he did errands. He stood in his kitchen playing with the twisted cord of the phone as Rhiannon talked into his left ear and the hum settled in below his right, leaking thoughts into the rest of his brain, like he should pick up a pack of dark chocolate digestives for Jack to find as he prowled the Hub in the middle of the night, and would the red tie he'd spotted in the window at the store be too much? There was a fine line between good dressing and bad and Jack would notice if he crossed it.
"It's tomorrow night," Rhiannon said, and Ianto remembered that she'd mentioned something about David and a school play. "At seven."
He grabbed for a pen, hastily like if he could get it in his hand he could pretend it had been there already, and scribbled down information as she passed it. "Right. Okay. No, that's fine."
When he hung up he left the pad there, and there it sat for long hours, as lights flicked off and sounds of life faded away into the gentle sighing and whispering of the night. The clock on the wall ticked, measuring time, and the sound echoed through the silent flat.
In the morning, Ianto spotted his shopping list on the kitchen bench next to the phone, and grabbed it as he bustled out the door. He'd have time to pick up the biscuits and milk before work, but the tie would have to wait until lunch - there was never any guarantee the shops would still be open when he finally locked the tourist office behind him and headed home in the evenings. As he turned the key to start his car, the rumble of the engine settled into the back of his mind and curled up comfortably there with the knowledge that he was finally doing something right.
*
There was a kind of expectation in the air as the day began to draw to a close, as co-workers packed up their work and said their goodbyes. Ianto, ever aware of this sort of thing, knew that Jack was in his office, pacing as he talked into the air to be picked up by the speaker phone. A quick glance proved him right, though the second look lingered a little, trying to tease out any nuance in Jack's posture, body language, that might suggest he needed something. The whiskey decanter sat on his desk, but he was getting out two glasses, ice cube in each one, two white pills in the one on his right - a headache, perhaps. He watched as Jack poured, stirring the one with the pills in it a little more. One really shouldn't take those with alcohol, but Jack knew Jack best, he supposed. He'd handle the system shut down himself though - the mechanical whir of the computers was annoying when your head was already aching, creeping in through your ears to seep into the cracks.
Time was starting to move just slightly strange so that it almost felt like he was turning before Jack called his name. Strange, definitely, but he looked up at the doorway where Jack stood and it felt right to walk towards him and take the proffered glass. Mostly, he was just glad for the invitation. They'd never done this before - alone, after hours, with warm pride in his belly as he swallowed Jack's personal choice of whiskey and let himself realise how tired he was. It made Jack's voice wash over him, soak into him, and the words didn't matter as much as the meaning and want and need and yes, he could do this, he could make things right.
This entry was originally posted at http://keieeeye.dreamwidth.org/124819.html. Feel free to comment there instead because LJ is a poo.