Fic - Definition 1. To hesitate as a result of conscience or principle

Jan 15, 2007 23:08

Title: Definition 1. To hesitate as a result of conscience or principle
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Setting: Post-Countrycide
For smut_69 - prompt #23, handcuffs
Progress: 9/69
My Jack/Ianto Smut Table


Definition 1. To hesitate as a result of conscience or principle

Jack's eyes flick from the computer screen to the handcuffs on his desk, and back again. The man is a mystery still. He knows Ianto isn't sleeping much, and when he does he has nightmares about his experiences, yet he always finds a way to make someone else feel better. How does Jack know? Because he's been 'eavesdropping' on Ianto's IM conversations with Toshiko for the past few weeks, that's how, and he believes he maybe shouldn't do that but how else is he going to get a handle on his state of mind? Ianto sure isn't giving him much, these days…

But if spying is an abuse of sorts then this is so much worse. Jack picks up the cuffs, smiling ruefully as he reflects on Ianto's recent cravings for Prawn Cocktail crisps and green salads; he can't recall seeing him eat red meat, any meat, lately and who could blame him? So he knows this is wrong, very wrong, but the image keeps on coming back to him. Ianto sprawled in the dirt, face shiny with sweat and blood, eyes wide and wild, gag biting into the flesh of his cheeks, hands cuffed behind his back.

Thing of it is, he very much wants to see Ianto like that again. Only, maybe, without the blood. And certainly, eventually, without the gag; he has plans for that beautiful mouth, afterall. And he should be naked; definitely naked. Brow pressed to the ground as if in fervent supplication; shoulder muscles bunching as his arms are stretched behind him; long spine curving from lowered nape to raised-up ass, leading Jack to where he wants to be. Jack is holding his breath, stroking the cuffs as he might caress a lover; he can see it all so very clearly he could almost touch...

Muffled noises disturb him. He is only dimly aware of how late it is now, but one by one the team are leaving to go do whatever it is they do when duty doesn't call. He'd bet anything, though, that Ianto is still here. Somewhere. Jack shifts in his seat, pinches the bridge of his nose, tries to snap himself out of it. Although he's lost time before, and then some, it's been a long while since he's fantasised away an entire working hour. Or has it been two? He takes a deep, slow inhalation of air to clear his head and refocus, but it doesn't help. The aroma of good, rich coffee floats on a seductive, invisible cloud throughout the Hub. Ah, what the hell! Ianto is casting spells; why not just give in to them?

Jack settles back, spreads his legs, indulges himself. He knows from painful experience that Ianto is physically stronger than he looks, will require careful handling. There'll need to be reassurances, at first, that he isn't going to hurt him. Much. But once he is secured, Jack will be at pains to remind him of his clever, cunning, treacherous deceptions, forcing each point home as he stretches and tears and pounds him; and deep down Ianto will be desperate for the punishment. And because old habits die hard, and he was an expert at this long ago and far away, Jack will help him to exorcise the demons of the Brecons by keeping him trussed up for hours, alone and confused, and eventually by his judicious use of a blade; and Ianto will be grateful.

But Jack's a different man now, isn't he?

Later, he'll confess how much he cares for Ianto; because he really does. And he'll soothe him, stroke him, hold him, make love to him as passionately and sincerely as he's ever made love to anyone; because he wants to, he really wants to.

This is all so fucked up! Seriously! He brushes the cuffs across his bare forearm. The metal is warm now...

Jack doesn't know how long Ianto has been standing there on the other side of the glass, but he guiltily slips the handcuffs into the top right-hand drawer of his desk and tries to affect a mild, relaxed expression as Ianto approaches. For a moment he thinks he's getting away with it, but Ianto keeps on coming.

"Anything you want, sir?" he asks, face in neutral as he steps around the desk.

"No, nothing at all" Jack beams, perhaps too broadly.

"Nothing?" Ianto doesn't look at him, just pulls open the drawer, places the handcuffs on the desk, shrugs off his jacket and sinks down to his knees on the office floor. Facing away from Jack, holding his hands out behind him, bowing his head. In this position his shirt collar stands a little way from his neck; there's a tantalising glimpse of pale flesh, and for a moment, just a moment, Jack is tempted. This is so fucked up! His fingers tentatively reach out, then withdraw; his lips part, but he doesn't know what he's about to say until he actually says it.

"Ianto, please. Don't." His voice doesn't feel or sound like his own; it rasps, it grates, it sounds like he is choking. He discovers that he has scruples; who knew?!

Ianto turns, just a little, enough for Jack to register the slightly raised eyebrow; and then with feline grace he is on his feet again, picking up his jacket, and moving away. His back is straight, his head held high, and Jack guesses that he is wearing that tiny, secretive smile. The others may not realise this, but aside from Jack no-one here sees as much, knows as much about what they do, or is trusted as much despite everything that has gone before, as Ianto. He really shouldn't forget that.

"Ianto!"

Ianto hesitates, but doesn't turn back. Jack figures Ianto knew. Knew that he wouldn't, or couldn't. Not now, not like this, probably not ever. And Ianto has just served him a reminder, in the most straightforward way he could without having to speak about it.

"Ianto, make me an offer when…" Jack's voice trails off. When you're okay with yourself again. When we're okay.

Ianto gives a terse nod, and is gone.

***

Why anything about Ianto Jones should surprise him now is beyond him. All the same…

Weeks later, when Jack is burdened by the knowledge of all the corpses they hide away, of all the unspeakable things they are forced to do, it's Ianto who comes to his aid. Over the body of a dead colleague, Ianto is suddenly acting like the most enormous weight has been lifted from him, and his mood seems to be infectious. All the same, when the offer comes, in these most macabre of surroundings and circumstances, Jack takes a few seconds to grasp it. And when he does, he can barely contain the excitement. He hasn't felt this alive in a long time and all he wants is to share it, revel in it; but because he gets that Ianto isn't one for public displays, he tries to conceal it, at least until the others have gone home. Ianto's crooked smile tells him that he isn't fooled.

A mere ten minutes later, Ianto makes him very glad they waited.

jack/ianto, smut_69, fic-slash, torchwood fic, torchwood

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