Untitled Prison Fic Part III (Silverfish)
Title: Silverfish
Chapter 03/??
Author a_silver_story
Genre: Alternate Universe
Rating: NC-17 overall
Warnings: None for this chapter
Summary: Jack and Ianto in prison - with plot, and lots and lots of smut. Sorry, I can't help it.
Disclaimer: If I owned anything in this, I'd be a rich rich rich bitch. However, I am not a rich rich rich bitch so you may all, therefore, assume I own nothing. Which I don't. It all belongs RTD and the BBC, in case any of you didn't know. Now pass the retcon ...
Torchwood Index
First Chapter
“I can't believe it … I just can't believe it ….”
Ianto watched his sister repeating the same words and over and over again, more to herself than to him.
“Apart from that one time … you were always the good one … you were always the one they had high hopes for ….”
Ianto bit his lip, waiting for her to finish.
“What would mam think?” she fretted. “What would Dad have done?”
“I don't know.”
“You didn't do it, though. You didn't. You should appeal ….”
“I am appealing.”
“They can't lock you up. They can't.”
“They have.”
“You're not gonna survive in this place … how could they put someone like you in a place like this? Don't they realise the dangers.”
Ianto shifted uncomfortably. “Stop it, Rhiannon. It's fine. I've made a couple of friends.”
“Who? What are they in for?”
“I'm not entirely sure. I haven't even been here seventy-two hours!”
Rhiannon leaned forward. “What if you've made friends with a paedophile? Or a murderer? Or … or a drug baron?”
“I think I'm mostly in with petty criminals,” he lied to reassure her. “My cell mate is pretty respected in the wing, so … I'm sure I'll be fine. Really, Rhiannon.”
“I promise to visit once a month,” she told him, wide-eyed. “Right up until you get out - so you better get out soon because it's not exactly a short drive! I'll bring you whatever you need - I have keys to your flat, so if there's anything in there … and I brought the things you already asked for. And some photographs - they said they'll give them to you when you go back in once everything's been security checked and stuff.”
Ianto let out a heavy breath. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “I really appreciate it - but you don't need to visit quite so often. People might notice, and … well … just be safe, 'kay?”
Her eyes went wider, and she nodded. “Okay,” she sniffed.
The visiting room was basically a large hall with lots of single-span tables. Ianto had been forced into a bright orange hi-vis tabard so that 'it was easy to identify the inmates', and it had made him nearly throw up. Rhiannon had managed to at least give his expression a small smile when she had entered the room, but other than that she appeared to be a mess. He tried to persuade her not to worry about him and just carry on, but she stared at him like he was insane. “I know we've drifted apart,” she glared. “but you're still my baby brother and I love you.”
Ianto had stared at her in shock, before snapping at her to keep her voice down.
“I'll write to you,” he promised her. “Just don't visit so often. Really.”
“I don't think once a month is 'often',” she argued.
“That's because you're a mother,” he smiled.
A bell rang signalling the end of allotted time, and chairs began to scrape back, the hum of voices in the room increasing in volume.
Ianto managed to stop Rhiannon hugging him, knowing she'd probably start fawning over and babying him in front of the few other inmates who had visitors. Dodging away, he gave her a meaningful look and she thankfully took the hint. Sullenly, she filed out of the room, and Ianto went to stand in the queue with the other inmates to be signed back into the wing. He kept his head down and quiet, not looking anyone in the eye and trying to become invisible.
He was given a cardboard box with his name and ID number on it, the tape roughly hacked open while security had checked the contents. He knew it was probably best to wait until he was in the safety of his cell before checking it himself, and held it tightly to his chest as he walked briskly back through the cafeteria. He gave a discreet nod to Rhys, and hurried up the iron stairs.
“Back,” he called, walking into the cell and finding Jack lounging on his bed with his book. “My sister sent some things.”
Jack grunted and nodded, barely glancing up from his book, so Ianto set it on the small desk they had to share and opened the top. He pulled out a large bar of chocolate, some photographs and a bottle of two-in-one shampoo and conditioner that Rhiannon must have taken from his flat. His shaving cream was there, but no razor, and his own toothbrush and toothpaste. His beaded necklace was tucked down the side, and a small pot of hair wax lay open on its side at the bottom.
He screwed the lid shut and set it on his part of the shelf. “You can share this if you want,” he told Jack, indicating the product. “And I've got chocolate. I think she's only sent me one blanket though.”
Jack looked up from his book. “What chocolate?”
“Dark. Seventy-five per cent.”
“I prefer something a little sweeter. Keep it for yourself.”
Ianto nodded, and batted Jack out of the way while he tucked the bar under the side of his fitted sheet on the wall side of the bed.
“What should I do with my pictures?” Ianto asked, noting that Jack's - if he had any - weren't on display.
“Ask a guard for blu-tack if you wanna put them up. I keep mine in a box, though. Less chance of being stolen or getting damaged ”
“Mmm,” Ianto agreed, looking down at his photograph of Rhiannon, Mica and David, taken only a few weeks ago. “I think I might find somewhere safe.”
“Put 'em under my box for now if you want.”
Ianto smiled and thanked him, but he didn't look up to see. Carefully, Ianto put his photographs on Jack's shelf, safely under the little tin. He put his shampoo, toothbrush and paste by the sink and pulled his blanket out of the box.
It was bright red and fleeced, and looked very cosy - he really, really hoped Jack didn't try and steal it.
“That looks warm,” the Captain observed, finally glancing away from his novel.
“I … erm … my sister sent it,” Ianto said lamely.
“Wanna share alternate nights?” Jack suggested.
Ianto nodded.
“Thanks,” Jack said, then returned to his book.
Things put away, Ianto felt at a loss with what to do with himself. Jack was on his bed, and the chair by the desk had no seat (Ianto decided it was probably best not to ask).
He blew air out of his mouth, puffing his cheeks slightly and putting his hands on his hips in a nervous gesture. He was fairly sure Jack was smirking at his behaviour, but continued pretending to read nonetheless.
Decisively, Ianto started towards the bunks, putting his hands on the edge of the topmost one with the intention of hauling himself up.
“... no you don't,” Jack said pointedly, with a raised eyebrow.
“You're sat on my bunk,” Ianto scowled in reply.
“... and?”
“Well … I … um ….” Ianto stuttered, then folded his arms, scowling again.
“You could ask me to move?” suggested Jack.
“Oh … um … right. Could you move so I can sit down, please?”
“Nope. I'm reading.”
“Can't you read on your own bunk?”
“Can't be bothered moving.”
Ianto glared at Jack as the Captain tried not to laugh, staring intently at his book despite his eyes not moving or reading.
“So what am I supposed to do?” sulked Ianto.
“Sit on the floor?”
“Let me sit on my bed, Jack!”
Jack sighed heavily, and shifted until his legs were curled to the side, leaving part of the bed spare for Ianto to sit. Ianto thanked him, went to lower himself down and found Jack had extended his legs again. Making frustrated sound, Ianto straightened, pulled the book from Jack's hands and stepped back sharply.
“Hey!” the Captain snapped, indignant. “What you think you're doing?”
“Move,” Ianto demanded.
“Give me my book back!”
“Move!”
“Book! Now!”
“Come and get it,” Ianto challenged, and paused to look down at it. The covers were bound in plain green canvas, so he went to flick open the front page to see what it was that had Jack so enthralled. He was too slow, however, and the book was snatched from him.
“Don't you ever do that again!” Jack glowered.
“Oh, grow up then!” Ianto snapped in reply, darting behind him and throwing himself onto his stomach on his own bunk. He turned his head so that it was facing the wall and he didn't have to look at Jack, and waited to see what would happen.
“Shift your legs,” was all Jack said.
Ianto curled onto his side, still facing the wall and allowing space for Jack to sit. He did,and rested his book open on his thighs as he continued to read. Ianto closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, and allowing himself time to think. It was strangely peaceful, lying on his bed with his eyes shut, listening to the distant hum of people in the cafeteria, the sound of Jack turning the pages of his book, the sound of Jack yawning, the sound of Jack breathing, the sound of Jack shuffling to get a little more comfortable … Actually … Ianto didn't feel that peaceful at all. God, Jack was noisy, he decided. He could hardly hear himself think over the sounds of Jack at the end of his bed.
Ianto's eyes flew open. He realised he was lying on the same bed as the man was sitting on, but surely he couldn't be that loud, even so close together. Why couldn't he think? Why was he so aware of him?
He squeezed his eyes shut again, and heard Jack laugh softly as he read. Briefly, Ianto entertained the idea of going to Owen's cell for a bit, but then remembered that John would probably be there and thought against it. He checked his watch - just gone two 'o' clock. Maybe he could have a siesta?
“So ...” he started. “What do we generally do during the day? I mean … like … y'know … ?”
“Well, it's Saturday. Not much happens on Saturday,” Jack replied, raising his head from his book to look down to him. “But on weekdays, we have jobs during the day most usually. If you don't have a job you'd probably just hang around with the other guys who don't have jobs.”
“I don't have a job,” Ianto pointed out. “How do I get one? What do I get for getting one?”
“Money tokens to spend on books or sweets and stuff. Paper, pens, stamps. I buy batteries for my CD player and cigarettes, usually.”
“I haven't seen you smoke.”
“Nope. Don't touch the things. I'm hoarding them in case I can trade them for something I need from one of the other inmates.”
“What like?”
“Owen's brewing his own hooch, and sometimes an inmate or other might be able to lay his hands on some porn.”
Ianto lifted his head a little. “I thought you were gay?”
“Mmm?”
“Well … like … y'know … won't they have like … straight porn?”
“Ianto, love - I mentioned it for your benefit. I have John, remember?”
Ianto looked away quickly, the brick in front of him becoming suddenly very interesting. “I though you were … off him?” he asked, his voice finding itself rising a little.
“He doesn't know that,” shrugged Jack, opening his book again.
“So … you … you're leading him on? You're using him?”
“Look on the bright side!” Jack grinned, his eyes twinkling in what Ianto thought was a well-practiced expression. “If he's concentrating on me, he won't be bothering you.”
“So you're whoring yourself out to do me a favour?” Ianto asked, eyebrow raised.
“Nahhh - you got me! I'm just a guy who has another guy to have sex with. You honestly think I'm going to turn him down just because I despise everything he is?”
“Are you really that lonely in here?”
Jack's expression didn't change, and his answer came after a moment's hesitation. “I'm not lonely,” he insisted, turning his head to stare into his book. “I'm not lonely.”
Ianto could sense that he'd hit a nerve, and even though it had been partially unintentional he felt guilty. He sat up slowly, and hugged his knees, then remembered Jack commenting on him doing that and tried to sit cross-legged. “I … I'm sorry,” he muttered.
Jack glanced up. “For what?” he asked, blank.
“I didn't mean to … y'know?”
“What?” Jack asked again, and Ianto was pretty certain his pretending not to know was a defence mechanism. He decided to leave it.
“Nothing,” sighed Ianto. “What are you reading, anyway?”
“A novel,” Jack replied.
“What happens in it?”
“Well … you sure you wanna know?”
Ianto shrugged. “Don't see why not.”
“It's a love story, really. Though … different types of love. Love for another, love for a friend, love of art - but mainly, love for oneself.”
“Wow. Sounds pretty deep.”
Jack gave a small laugh. “Yeah. I suppose.”
“What happens?”
“Well … an artist meets this man. The perfect man - and I mean perfect. He meets him and falls in love with him, but … the perfect man is straight.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah. The artist introduces him to his other friend, who also falls in love with him, and the perfect man favours the new friendship over the old one, drifting away from the first.”
“... and the Perfect Man doesn't realise that the two guys are in love with him?”
“It's … unclear.”
The metal of the cell door reverberated, Owen leaning in through the frame to knock heavily. “Jack … could you do me a favour? John's … having a moment. I think he might actually kill someone this time.”
Jack sighed and marked his page, stood and tucked his book under his pillow. “Keep your eye on the kid, yeah? Make sure he doesn't wander.”
Owen pursed his lips and shouted down the walkway as Jack hurried to his cell. “I'm not your fucking babysitter!” He entered the cell and threw himself down on the bed, practically growling. “Keep your eye on John … keep your eye on New Boy … when am I supposed to be looking out for myself, exactly?”
“Sorry,” Ianto muttered, and returned to his new default position of hugging his knees. “Um … so … how long have Jack and John been … y'know … ?”
“Whaddya mean? What about Jack and John? Who've you been talking to?”
“... Jack told me.”
Owen calculated for a second, then relaxed a bit and shrugged. “Can't be entirely certain. They were here before I was, and already … y'know … but as a doctor … I have to say … it makes my skin crawl ….”
“Oh?”
“Think about it … they don't exactly have any … hygienic lotion for the motion, so to speak. Lord knows what they use - though I definitely know it's not toothpaste. After a moment of desperation they tried that once, and John's cock was inflamed for days - I'll tell you that for free, as long as the next time you mention it is in a very quiet but public place.”
Ianto sniggered softly. “He'd actually murder me.”
“At least he'd be out of my cell,” Owen shrugged.
Ianto fidgeted with his shoe lace, the conversation running a little dry. “So … erm ….” he tried. “You thought of a nickname for me yet?”
Owen sighed. “Well … the lads keep calling you Little Fish.”
“'Fish'? What the fuck?”
“'Fish' is prison slang for 'new boy', and you're small and weedy at the moment. Even though you managed to sneak your way to the head of the shoal, I'm sure the name won't stick.”
“What if it does? I don't like it!”
Owen shrugged again. “Tough luck, Little Fish. Actually, I think it's growing on me. Didn't you ever have a goldfish growing up?”
“No. But my Da had a little tank of silverfish in his study that I used to feed.”
“Adorable,” Owen smirked sarcastically. “Aren't silverfish little fish, too?”
“They're tiny.”
Owen's smirk widened. “I'll find out from Jack whether you're 'tiny', too.”
Ianto reached for his pillow and whacked Owen with it. “Don't even joke about it!” he snapped, whacking him again while Owen laughed and laughed.
“All I meant was that sooner or later you're gonna have a nice dream … and you honestly think Jack isn't going to have a peek?”
Ianto put his head in his hands. “Stop it!” He knew he was turning red.
Owen frowned at him. “What you so embarrassed for? … is it really that small?”
“No! I mean … it's not that! It's … I ….”
“Does it weird you out that he likes cock?”
“No!” Ianto shook his head. “It's just … I'm not comfortable with him … like ….”
“Objectifying you?”
“Yeah. That's it, I think.”
“Have you ever looked at a woman and thought 'wow, nice rack'?”
“Erm … not quite that turn of phrase, but I get your gist.”
“So … if you think about it … you're uncomfortable with Jack thinking of you as attractive using the parallel mark scheme of the way you think of a woman?”
“I … I ….” Ianto bit his lip. “I never thought … I never … I don't mean ….”
“Just relax, Ianto. Jack's naturally the alpha male; naturally predatory. He most likely won't even act on it. You're straight.”
“Oh. Right. Yeah. Are you … ?”
Owen's eyebrows shot up. “Am I gay?”
Ianto shrugged. “Doesn't matter.”
“I'm … I dunno. Sometimes I start thinking … but then I'm trapped in here with nothing but men to stare at every day.”
“Well … there's always Guppy and Holroyd,” joked Ianto, and Owen looked like he was about to throw up.
“You're sick! You're wrong in the head! Ew, ew, ew! Don't even joke!”
Ianto laughed, trying to hide it behind his hand as Owen continued to glare and glare. Indignant, Owen reached for the pillow Ianto had hit him with, but Ianto could barely stop laughing to defend himself.
“Heyy!” Jack's voice called from the door. “You're starting the Hot Young Guy Pillow Fight Competition without me?”
“Jack … discretion?” Owen reminded him.
“Oops,” grinned Jack, and sandwiched himself in between the two of them. “A rose between two thorns,” he joked. “Has anyone got a drink? I've got this taste in my mouth ….”
Ianto passes him a glass of water from the desk, realising only after he'd handed it over and adding together the fact that Jack had gone to 'calm John down', then returned with a 'taste in his mouth' probably meant that he and John had been ….
The mental image popped into Ianto's head, and refused to go away. He returned to hugging his knees, in case anything decided to … happen. It didn't help that Jack had decided to use the top his his knees as an arm rest, and Ianto could feel the heat from the side of Jack's torso all down the front of his legs. The Captain's arm hung down near Ianto's thigh as Jack relaxed, and Ianto found himself yet again acutely aware of him and every sound or movement he made.
Ianto tried to shake off the hyper-awareness, staring at the wall as Owen and Jack spoke, losing himself in thought as best he could.
It seemed to work, as it was at least five minutes before he realised that Jack was rubbing the material of Ianto's boiler-suit between his thumb and forefinger, very close to the front of his thigh where the material hung slightly loose on his frame. The action was flirtatious and intimate at the same time, and Ianto calmly acknowledged that he was silently freaking out.
Freaking out … in a strangely good way. It must have been good - his body was definitely thinking so - and rather than tensing, Ianto found himself relaxing without properly clocking it. Jack's fingers stopped playing for a second, and a minute pressure of finger and thumb pressing into soft muscle made Ianto tense again, then slowly relax. The fingers became a hand, and the hand squeezed gently.
It took Ianto a moment to remember that Owen was still with them.
He cleared his throat nervously, and they both turned to look at him expectantly, Jack's hand moving away from his thigh and so that Owen wouldn't see - or wouldn't obviously see, at any rate.
“I … um. Jack: tell Owen he's not allowed to call me Little Fish!”
Jack sniggered.
“I'm not gonna call him 'Little Fish',” Owen replied. “I'm going to call him 'SilverFish' - apparently he's tiny,” he whispered on his final words.
Jack gave Ianto a little wink. “Communal showers shall be the arena of truth, or so the saying goes.”
“Do we have to shower communally?” Ianto asked. “I mean … really have to?”
“You could just not shower,” suggested Jack, and smiled as Ianto shuddered at the thought. “Don't worry, SilverFish. You'll get used to it.”
“Don't. Call. Me. That.”
Owen grinned from behind Jack, and narrowly missed the pillow being thrown in his direction yet again. “I better be off,” Owen sighed. “Gotta … see a man about a dog.”
He got up from the bunk.
“Oh … Jack? Quick word?”
Jack shrugged and got up, too, and he and Owen left the room. Ianto took the opportunity to re-adjust his god-awful boiler-suit over his Jack-induced erection, telling himself it was unfamiliar physical contact that had done it (despite knowing lying to himself probably wasn't a healthy pastime).
He pulled his red blanket off the table and wrapped himself up in it, again thinking about a siesta opportunity. Closing his eyes, he started thinking of not-Jack thoughts, and regulated his breathing until he found himself drifting off. A few minutes of quiet, and he was aware on his peripheral that Jack had come back, and listened to him entering the cell, hesitating, and creeping towards him.
“Ianto?”
“Mmf,” Ianto replied, prising an eye open to glance over his shoulder at him. “What?”
Jack's demeanour seemed subdued, and he knelt by Ianto's bunk. Slowly, he started pulling the red blanket back and Ianto grabbed it on reflex. “What are you doing?”
Jack ignored him, save for making eye contact as he rested a hand on his thigh. Ianto stared at him, a little afraid, a little excited and a little unsure. He gasped and arched his back as Jack's hand slid down and grasped his still-prominent erection, the unexpected, sudden movement sending a jolt of pleasure and electricity through his body.
“Hm,” was all Jack said, letting go. “That's … that's all I needed to know.” He looked at Ianto sadly for a second, then stood and hauled himself up onto his bunk. “Sleep tight,” he called down, and Ianto remained frozen on his mattress, listening to the shuffle of pages and the blood racing through his ears.
Having a slow day, it took him far too long to realise what Owen's 'quick word' with Jack had most likely been about.
Finally ... we have a title! This fic is now called
SilverFish
I think the reasons were pretty obvious within the fic itself!
Credit goes to kholran!
(she draws dinosaurs.)
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Chapter 03/??
Author a_silver_story
Genre: Alternate Universe
Rating: NC-17 overall
Warnings: None for this chapter
Summary: Jack and Ianto in prison - with plot, and lots and lots of smut. Sorry, I can't help it.
Disclaimer: If I owned anything in this, I'd be a rich rich rich bitch. However, I am not a rich rich rich bitch so you may all, therefore, assume I own nothing. Which I don't. It all belongs RTD and the BBC, in case any of you didn't know. Now pass the retcon ...
Torchwood Index
First Chapter
“I can't believe it … I just can't believe it ….”
Ianto watched his sister repeating the same words and over and over again, more to herself than to him.
“Apart from that one time … you were always the good one … you were always the one they had high hopes for ….”
Ianto bit his lip, waiting for her to finish.
“What would mam think?” she fretted. “What would Dad have done?”
“I don't know.”
“You didn't do it, though. You didn't. You should appeal ….”
“I am appealing.”
“They can't lock you up. They can't.”
“They have.”
“You're not gonna survive in this place … how could they put someone like you in a place like this? Don't they realise the dangers.”
Ianto shifted uncomfortably. “Stop it, Rhiannon. It's fine. I've made a couple of friends.”
“Who? What are they in for?”
“I'm not entirely sure. I haven't even been here seventy-two hours!”
Rhiannon leaned forward. “What if you've made friends with a paedophile? Or a murderer? Or … or a drug baron?”
“I think I'm mostly in with petty criminals,” he lied to reassure her. “My cell mate is pretty respected in the wing, so … I'm sure I'll be fine. Really, Rhiannon.”
“I promise to visit once a month,” she told him, wide-eyed. “Right up until you get out - so you better get out soon because it's not exactly a short drive! I'll bring you whatever you need - I have keys to your flat, so if there's anything in there … and I brought the things you already asked for. And some photographs - they said they'll give them to you when you go back in once everything's been security checked and stuff.”
Ianto let out a heavy breath. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “I really appreciate it - but you don't need to visit quite so often. People might notice, and … well … just be safe, 'kay?”
Her eyes went wider, and she nodded. “Okay,” she sniffed.
The visiting room was basically a large hall with lots of single-span tables. Ianto had been forced into a bright orange hi-vis tabard so that 'it was easy to identify the inmates', and it had made him nearly throw up. Rhiannon had managed to at least give his expression a small smile when she had entered the room, but other than that she appeared to be a mess. He tried to persuade her not to worry about him and just carry on, but she stared at him like he was insane. “I know we've drifted apart,” she glared. “but you're still my baby brother and I love you.”
Ianto had stared at her in shock, before snapping at her to keep her voice down.
“I'll write to you,” he promised her. “Just don't visit so often. Really.”
“I don't think once a month is 'often',” she argued.
“That's because you're a mother,” he smiled.
A bell rang signalling the end of allotted time, and chairs began to scrape back, the hum of voices in the room increasing in volume.
Ianto managed to stop Rhiannon hugging him, knowing she'd probably start fawning over and babying him in front of the few other inmates who had visitors. Dodging away, he gave her a meaningful look and she thankfully took the hint. Sullenly, she filed out of the room, and Ianto went to stand in the queue with the other inmates to be signed back into the wing. He kept his head down and quiet, not looking anyone in the eye and trying to become invisible.
He was given a cardboard box with his name and ID number on it, the tape roughly hacked open while security had checked the contents. He knew it was probably best to wait until he was in the safety of his cell before checking it himself, and held it tightly to his chest as he walked briskly back through the cafeteria. He gave a discreet nod to Rhys, and hurried up the iron stairs.
“Back,” he called, walking into the cell and finding Jack lounging on his bed with his book. “My sister sent some things.”
Jack grunted and nodded, barely glancing up from his book, so Ianto set it on the small desk they had to share and opened the top. He pulled out a large bar of chocolate, some photographs and a bottle of two-in-one shampoo and conditioner that Rhiannon must have taken from his flat. His shaving cream was there, but no razor, and his own toothbrush and toothpaste. His beaded necklace was tucked down the side, and a small pot of hair wax lay open on its side at the bottom.
He screwed the lid shut and set it on his part of the shelf. “You can share this if you want,” he told Jack, indicating the product. “And I've got chocolate. I think she's only sent me one blanket though.”
Jack looked up from his book. “What chocolate?”
“Dark. Seventy-five per cent.”
“I prefer something a little sweeter. Keep it for yourself.”
Ianto nodded, and batted Jack out of the way while he tucked the bar under the side of his fitted sheet on the wall side of the bed.
“What should I do with my pictures?” Ianto asked, noting that Jack's - if he had any - weren't on display.
“Ask a guard for blu-tack if you wanna put them up. I keep mine in a box, though. Less chance of being stolen or getting damaged ”
“Mmm,” Ianto agreed, looking down at his photograph of Rhiannon, Mica and David, taken only a few weeks ago. “I think I might find somewhere safe.”
“Put 'em under my box for now if you want.”
Ianto smiled and thanked him, but he didn't look up to see. Carefully, Ianto put his photographs on Jack's shelf, safely under the little tin. He put his shampoo, toothbrush and paste by the sink and pulled his blanket out of the box.
It was bright red and fleeced, and looked very cosy - he really, really hoped Jack didn't try and steal it.
“That looks warm,” the Captain observed, finally glancing away from his novel.
“I … erm … my sister sent it,” Ianto said lamely.
“Wanna share alternate nights?” Jack suggested.
Ianto nodded.
“Thanks,” Jack said, then returned to his book.
Things put away, Ianto felt at a loss with what to do with himself. Jack was on his bed, and the chair by the desk had no seat (Ianto decided it was probably best not to ask).
He blew air out of his mouth, puffing his cheeks slightly and putting his hands on his hips in a nervous gesture. He was fairly sure Jack was smirking at his behaviour, but continued pretending to read nonetheless.
Decisively, Ianto started towards the bunks, putting his hands on the edge of the topmost one with the intention of hauling himself up.
“... no you don't,” Jack said pointedly, with a raised eyebrow.
“You're sat on my bunk,” Ianto scowled in reply.
“... and?”
“Well … I … um ….” Ianto stuttered, then folded his arms, scowling again.
“You could ask me to move?” suggested Jack.
“Oh … um … right. Could you move so I can sit down, please?”
“Nope. I'm reading.”
“Can't you read on your own bunk?”
“Can't be bothered moving.”
Ianto glared at Jack as the Captain tried not to laugh, staring intently at his book despite his eyes not moving or reading.
“So what am I supposed to do?” sulked Ianto.
“Sit on the floor?”
“Let me sit on my bed, Jack!”
Jack sighed heavily, and shifted until his legs were curled to the side, leaving part of the bed spare for Ianto to sit. Ianto thanked him, went to lower himself down and found Jack had extended his legs again. Making frustrated sound, Ianto straightened, pulled the book from Jack's hands and stepped back sharply.
“Hey!” the Captain snapped, indignant. “What you think you're doing?”
“Move,” Ianto demanded.
“Give me my book back!”
“Move!”
“Book! Now!”
“Come and get it,” Ianto challenged, and paused to look down at it. The covers were bound in plain green canvas, so he went to flick open the front page to see what it was that had Jack so enthralled. He was too slow, however, and the book was snatched from him.
“Don't you ever do that again!” Jack glowered.
“Oh, grow up then!” Ianto snapped in reply, darting behind him and throwing himself onto his stomach on his own bunk. He turned his head so that it was facing the wall and he didn't have to look at Jack, and waited to see what would happen.
“Shift your legs,” was all Jack said.
Ianto curled onto his side, still facing the wall and allowing space for Jack to sit. He did,and rested his book open on his thighs as he continued to read. Ianto closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, and allowing himself time to think. It was strangely peaceful, lying on his bed with his eyes shut, listening to the distant hum of people in the cafeteria, the sound of Jack turning the pages of his book, the sound of Jack yawning, the sound of Jack breathing, the sound of Jack shuffling to get a little more comfortable … Actually … Ianto didn't feel that peaceful at all. God, Jack was noisy, he decided. He could hardly hear himself think over the sounds of Jack at the end of his bed.
Ianto's eyes flew open. He realised he was lying on the same bed as the man was sitting on, but surely he couldn't be that loud, even so close together. Why couldn't he think? Why was he so aware of him?
He squeezed his eyes shut again, and heard Jack laugh softly as he read. Briefly, Ianto entertained the idea of going to Owen's cell for a bit, but then remembered that John would probably be there and thought against it. He checked his watch - just gone two 'o' clock. Maybe he could have a siesta?
“So ...” he started. “What do we generally do during the day? I mean … like … y'know … ?”
“Well, it's Saturday. Not much happens on Saturday,” Jack replied, raising his head from his book to look down to him. “But on weekdays, we have jobs during the day most usually. If you don't have a job you'd probably just hang around with the other guys who don't have jobs.”
“I don't have a job,” Ianto pointed out. “How do I get one? What do I get for getting one?”
“Money tokens to spend on books or sweets and stuff. Paper, pens, stamps. I buy batteries for my CD player and cigarettes, usually.”
“I haven't seen you smoke.”
“Nope. Don't touch the things. I'm hoarding them in case I can trade them for something I need from one of the other inmates.”
“What like?”
“Owen's brewing his own hooch, and sometimes an inmate or other might be able to lay his hands on some porn.”
Ianto lifted his head a little. “I thought you were gay?”
“Mmm?”
“Well … like … y'know … won't they have like … straight porn?”
“Ianto, love - I mentioned it for your benefit. I have John, remember?”
Ianto looked away quickly, the brick in front of him becoming suddenly very interesting. “I though you were … off him?” he asked, his voice finding itself rising a little.
“He doesn't know that,” shrugged Jack, opening his book again.
“So … you … you're leading him on? You're using him?”
“Look on the bright side!” Jack grinned, his eyes twinkling in what Ianto thought was a well-practiced expression. “If he's concentrating on me, he won't be bothering you.”
“So you're whoring yourself out to do me a favour?” Ianto asked, eyebrow raised.
“Nahhh - you got me! I'm just a guy who has another guy to have sex with. You honestly think I'm going to turn him down just because I despise everything he is?”
“Are you really that lonely in here?”
Jack's expression didn't change, and his answer came after a moment's hesitation. “I'm not lonely,” he insisted, turning his head to stare into his book. “I'm not lonely.”
Ianto could sense that he'd hit a nerve, and even though it had been partially unintentional he felt guilty. He sat up slowly, and hugged his knees, then remembered Jack commenting on him doing that and tried to sit cross-legged. “I … I'm sorry,” he muttered.
Jack glanced up. “For what?” he asked, blank.
“I didn't mean to … y'know?”
“What?” Jack asked again, and Ianto was pretty certain his pretending not to know was a defence mechanism. He decided to leave it.
“Nothing,” sighed Ianto. “What are you reading, anyway?”
“A novel,” Jack replied.
“What happens in it?”
“Well … you sure you wanna know?”
Ianto shrugged. “Don't see why not.”
“It's a love story, really. Though … different types of love. Love for another, love for a friend, love of art - but mainly, love for oneself.”
“Wow. Sounds pretty deep.”
Jack gave a small laugh. “Yeah. I suppose.”
“What happens?”
“Well … an artist meets this man. The perfect man - and I mean perfect. He meets him and falls in love with him, but … the perfect man is straight.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah. The artist introduces him to his other friend, who also falls in love with him, and the perfect man favours the new friendship over the old one, drifting away from the first.”
“... and the Perfect Man doesn't realise that the two guys are in love with him?”
“It's … unclear.”
The metal of the cell door reverberated, Owen leaning in through the frame to knock heavily. “Jack … could you do me a favour? John's … having a moment. I think he might actually kill someone this time.”
Jack sighed and marked his page, stood and tucked his book under his pillow. “Keep your eye on the kid, yeah? Make sure he doesn't wander.”
Owen pursed his lips and shouted down the walkway as Jack hurried to his cell. “I'm not your fucking babysitter!” He entered the cell and threw himself down on the bed, practically growling. “Keep your eye on John … keep your eye on New Boy … when am I supposed to be looking out for myself, exactly?”
“Sorry,” Ianto muttered, and returned to his new default position of hugging his knees. “Um … so … how long have Jack and John been … y'know … ?”
“Whaddya mean? What about Jack and John? Who've you been talking to?”
“... Jack told me.”
Owen calculated for a second, then relaxed a bit and shrugged. “Can't be entirely certain. They were here before I was, and already … y'know … but as a doctor … I have to say … it makes my skin crawl ….”
“Oh?”
“Think about it … they don't exactly have any … hygienic lotion for the motion, so to speak. Lord knows what they use - though I definitely know it's not toothpaste. After a moment of desperation they tried that once, and John's cock was inflamed for days - I'll tell you that for free, as long as the next time you mention it is in a very quiet but public place.”
Ianto sniggered softly. “He'd actually murder me.”
“At least he'd be out of my cell,” Owen shrugged.
Ianto fidgeted with his shoe lace, the conversation running a little dry. “So … erm ….” he tried. “You thought of a nickname for me yet?”
Owen sighed. “Well … the lads keep calling you Little Fish.”
“'Fish'? What the fuck?”
“'Fish' is prison slang for 'new boy', and you're small and weedy at the moment. Even though you managed to sneak your way to the head of the shoal, I'm sure the name won't stick.”
“What if it does? I don't like it!”
Owen shrugged again. “Tough luck, Little Fish. Actually, I think it's growing on me. Didn't you ever have a goldfish growing up?”
“No. But my Da had a little tank of silverfish in his study that I used to feed.”
“Adorable,” Owen smirked sarcastically. “Aren't silverfish little fish, too?”
“They're tiny.”
Owen's smirk widened. “I'll find out from Jack whether you're 'tiny', too.”
Ianto reached for his pillow and whacked Owen with it. “Don't even joke about it!” he snapped, whacking him again while Owen laughed and laughed.
“All I meant was that sooner or later you're gonna have a nice dream … and you honestly think Jack isn't going to have a peek?”
Ianto put his head in his hands. “Stop it!” He knew he was turning red.
Owen frowned at him. “What you so embarrassed for? … is it really that small?”
“No! I mean … it's not that! It's … I ….”
“Does it weird you out that he likes cock?”
“No!” Ianto shook his head. “It's just … I'm not comfortable with him … like ….”
“Objectifying you?”
“Yeah. That's it, I think.”
“Have you ever looked at a woman and thought 'wow, nice rack'?”
“Erm … not quite that turn of phrase, but I get your gist.”
“So … if you think about it … you're uncomfortable with Jack thinking of you as attractive using the parallel mark scheme of the way you think of a woman?”
“I … I ….” Ianto bit his lip. “I never thought … I never … I don't mean ….”
“Just relax, Ianto. Jack's naturally the alpha male; naturally predatory. He most likely won't even act on it. You're straight.”
“Oh. Right. Yeah. Are you … ?”
Owen's eyebrows shot up. “Am I gay?”
Ianto shrugged. “Doesn't matter.”
“I'm … I dunno. Sometimes I start thinking … but then I'm trapped in here with nothing but men to stare at every day.”
“Well … there's always Guppy and Holroyd,” joked Ianto, and Owen looked like he was about to throw up.
“You're sick! You're wrong in the head! Ew, ew, ew! Don't even joke!”
Ianto laughed, trying to hide it behind his hand as Owen continued to glare and glare. Indignant, Owen reached for the pillow Ianto had hit him with, but Ianto could barely stop laughing to defend himself.
“Heyy!” Jack's voice called from the door. “You're starting the Hot Young Guy Pillow Fight Competition without me?”
“Jack … discretion?” Owen reminded him.
“Oops,” grinned Jack, and sandwiched himself in between the two of them. “A rose between two thorns,” he joked. “Has anyone got a drink? I've got this taste in my mouth ….”
Ianto passes him a glass of water from the desk, realising only after he'd handed it over and adding together the fact that Jack had gone to 'calm John down', then returned with a 'taste in his mouth' probably meant that he and John had been ….
The mental image popped into Ianto's head, and refused to go away. He returned to hugging his knees, in case anything decided to … happen. It didn't help that Jack had decided to use the top his his knees as an arm rest, and Ianto could feel the heat from the side of Jack's torso all down the front of his legs. The Captain's arm hung down near Ianto's thigh as Jack relaxed, and Ianto found himself yet again acutely aware of him and every sound or movement he made.
Ianto tried to shake off the hyper-awareness, staring at the wall as Owen and Jack spoke, losing himself in thought as best he could.
It seemed to work, as it was at least five minutes before he realised that Jack was rubbing the material of Ianto's boiler-suit between his thumb and forefinger, very close to the front of his thigh where the material hung slightly loose on his frame. The action was flirtatious and intimate at the same time, and Ianto calmly acknowledged that he was silently freaking out.
Freaking out … in a strangely good way. It must have been good - his body was definitely thinking so - and rather than tensing, Ianto found himself relaxing without properly clocking it. Jack's fingers stopped playing for a second, and a minute pressure of finger and thumb pressing into soft muscle made Ianto tense again, then slowly relax. The fingers became a hand, and the hand squeezed gently.
It took Ianto a moment to remember that Owen was still with them.
He cleared his throat nervously, and they both turned to look at him expectantly, Jack's hand moving away from his thigh and so that Owen wouldn't see - or wouldn't obviously see, at any rate.
“I … um. Jack: tell Owen he's not allowed to call me Little Fish!”
Jack sniggered.
“I'm not gonna call him 'Little Fish',” Owen replied. “I'm going to call him 'SilverFish' - apparently he's tiny,” he whispered on his final words.
Jack gave Ianto a little wink. “Communal showers shall be the arena of truth, or so the saying goes.”
“Do we have to shower communally?” Ianto asked. “I mean … really have to?”
“You could just not shower,” suggested Jack, and smiled as Ianto shuddered at the thought. “Don't worry, SilverFish. You'll get used to it.”
“Don't. Call. Me. That.”
Owen grinned from behind Jack, and narrowly missed the pillow being thrown in his direction yet again. “I better be off,” Owen sighed. “Gotta … see a man about a dog.”
He got up from the bunk.
“Oh … Jack? Quick word?”
Jack shrugged and got up, too, and he and Owen left the room. Ianto took the opportunity to re-adjust his god-awful boiler-suit over his Jack-induced erection, telling himself it was unfamiliar physical contact that had done it (despite knowing lying to himself probably wasn't a healthy pastime).
He pulled his red blanket off the table and wrapped himself up in it, again thinking about a siesta opportunity. Closing his eyes, he started thinking of not-Jack thoughts, and regulated his breathing until he found himself drifting off. A few minutes of quiet, and he was aware on his peripheral that Jack had come back, and listened to him entering the cell, hesitating, and creeping towards him.
“Ianto?”
“Mmf,” Ianto replied, prising an eye open to glance over his shoulder at him. “What?”
Jack's demeanour seemed subdued, and he knelt by Ianto's bunk. Slowly, he started pulling the red blanket back and Ianto grabbed it on reflex. “What are you doing?”
Jack ignored him, save for making eye contact as he rested a hand on his thigh. Ianto stared at him, a little afraid, a little excited and a little unsure. He gasped and arched his back as Jack's hand slid down and grasped his still-prominent erection, the unexpected, sudden movement sending a jolt of pleasure and electricity through his body.
“Hm,” was all Jack said, letting go. “That's … that's all I needed to know.” He looked at Ianto sadly for a second, then stood and hauled himself up onto his bunk. “Sleep tight,” he called down, and Ianto remained frozen on his mattress, listening to the shuffle of pages and the blood racing through his ears.
Having a slow day, it took him far too long to realise what Owen's 'quick word' with Jack had most likely been about.
Finally ... we have a title! This fic is now called
SilverFish
I think the reasons were pretty obvious within the fic itself!
Credit goes to kholran!
(she draws dinosaurs.)
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