Continuance (4/13)
Title: Continuance (4/13)
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Characters: Jack, Ianto, Gwen, Rhys, Rhiannon, OCs
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: CoE
Summary: My response to the horrors of series 3. Sequel to Restoration
Well, here's the next bit. Just a couple of things: the weather described here (reasonable in September, absolute hell in October) is genuine, and since I've lived in Wales all my life, I should know *sigh* Also, there's smut this chapter, and I hope that I've done alright with it. Otherwise, thanks for all you comments and encouragement, and I hope you enjoy this bit! There's a little companion that I'm writing that I'll post tomorrow, because the next chapter is long and difficult to write and I'm hoping that it'll provide some insight. Anyway, enjoy! :-)
They are sitting on a bench in the park a few streets from their flat, sides pressed lightly together. The weather is bright and mild, fairly typical for September, although Ianto’s nor looking forward to October, which is generally characterised by constant rain for the entire month. Regardless, the sun has brought people and there are plenty walking around the park, enjoying the weekend.
‘Do we have to do this?’
‘Ianto, you really should learn more about your empathy - I can’t believe One never pressed the issue. ‘Anyway,’ he adds, leering. ‘I’ll make it up to you later.’
He laughs. ‘Alright, but I’m holding you to that. What do you want me to do?’
‘Pick out someone and try to sense their emotions, while shielding against everyone else.’
Ianto gives him a dubious look.
‘I’ll help you shield if something goes wrong. You’ll be fine.’ Jack squeezes his hand reassuringly.
He sighs and nods, turning to focus on a young blonde woman, lowering his shields ever so slightly, forcing himself to ignore the increased sense of other people’s emotions as he pushes his consciousness towards her. All he gets is a stronger sense of everybody else, which is unpleasant and a little overwhelming. Drawing back he takes a breath and forces himself to focus entirely on her. A moment, and then there is a sideways-slip sort of feel. He gasps; it’s like some part of him is in her, or she’s set up residence in his chest, the emotions foreign, but somehow entwining with his own.
‘Yan?’
‘Umm ... boredom. A little irritation. She’s tired, but the sun’s nice and it’s cheered her up a bit.’ He shakes his head, raising his shields again.
‘You okay?’ Jack’s fingers a resting lightly on his shoulder, the touch solid and comforting.
‘Yeah, I think so. It feels a bit odd.’
‘Bad odd?’
He shakes his head. ‘Just ... odd. I’m going to try again.’ Now that he’s started this he’s committed to developing his empathy to the best of his abilities, and a committed Ianto is a determined, possibly slightly obsessive one. He picks another target at random, this one a child of about nine, and focuses all his attention on him. Another strange side-slip and there is a sense of innocence and fun, a bright, childish happiness that he finds soothing and soul-warming. He smiles. ‘Happiness ... just happiness.’ And he wants Jack to experience this, so he twines their hands together and opens the link, and then Jack is smiling too.
‘Wow.’
They stay like that for a couple of minutes, just enjoying it, but then the boy begins yo move away. The link becomes strained; Ianto can feel white noise building as other people begin to leak in, and he has to throw his shields back up and regain his equilibrium.
Jack is looking at him consideringly. ‘You’re good at this, Ianto. We should try projecting.’
‘Maybe next time Jack. You owe me, remember?’ He has quite enjoyed this exercise, but his shields feel a little fragile and he doesn’t want to push it. Besides, he’s quite looking forward to finding out what Jack had in mind when he said he’d make it up to him.
The look Jack gives him sends a shiver of anticipation up his spine. ‘Home, now.’
Break
Almost as soon as the door shuts behind them, Jack has him up against the wall, but the kiss is strangely slow and sensuous, without the urgency Ianto might have expected. Thought, however, is soon swept away and he becomes entirely focussed on their mouths, tongues sliding together, bodies pressed close.
The lack of urgency is strangely nice, heat building slowly as they move towards the couch, still kissing, still locked together as they stretch out on it, Jack hovering above him with a smile that starts soft and becomes mischievous. It probably should have made him nervous - most sane people would be nervous, faced with such a devious smirk - but all he felt was a shiver of arousal, of anticipation.
‘No touching.’
Ah, so that’s how they’re going to play it. He doesn’t have much chance to think anything else, though, because then Jack’s fingers are stroking lightly down his sides as he licks and nibbles at his throat, pausing occasionally to suck, and soon all Ianto can focus on is sensation and not touching.
It is difficult, keeping his hands to himself when all he wants to do is bury them in Jack’s hair, or possibly use them to ease the ever-increasing pressure of his erection. ‘God!’ he yelps suddenly when Jack, who has slowly been unbuttoning his shirt, begins laving at his nipple, fingers moving to the other. He squirms, breath quickening, and all he can focus on is this, the desire and torturous pleasure.
He strips him slowly, pushing the shirt off his shoulders, the brush of fabric on overly-sensitised skin driving him just a little bit more insane. And then, even while he continues to lick and suck his way down his chest, Jack moves to the fly of his trousers, and Ianto isn’t sure how much more unfulfilled desire he can take as the movement brushes lightly across his erection, not enough to provide any relief, only arousing him more.
And then, just when he thinks he might get some relief, because finally all his clothes are gone and he’s so past caring that they’ve just been tossed aside, Jack continues his torture, traveling past his cock and nipping at his thighs, coming painfully close but never quite touching him.
‘Jack, please.’ The words are strangled, breathless, but the pleading works, because with a grin Jack bends his head and the next thing he knows his cock is engulfed in wet heat, and he almost comes right there, the only thing stopping him the last shreds of his self-control.
He forgets no touching, one hands moving to tangle in Jack’s hair while the other fists into the fabric of the sofa, and his attention, his mind, is focused on the feel of Jack’s mouth surrounding him, sucking and licking, and hell, he can’t last, doesn’t even care about lasting. Pleasure pools and expands until it’s the only thing in his awareness. He can feel his orgasm building, and then Jack swallows him to the root and it explodes, washing across him, and he loses himself in it.
It takes him a few minutes to actually string together a coherent sentence, but he’s smiling and happy. ‘I think you made it up to me,’ he managed, and Jack just chuckles against him, warm breath huffing against his slowly cooling skin.
Break
Ianto is sitting at Rhiannon’s kitchen table, cup of tea in hand. He sees more of her now, once or twice with Jack, usually without. It provides him with a little normalcy, and yet he doesn’t have to lie anymore because she knows about Torchwood, if not the details. They’ve been chatting about nothing in particular, and then, suddenly, the whole tone of the conversation changes and Rhi’s dark eyes are fixed on his face.
‘You know when they were taking the children? And that woman came?’
‘Yes. Gwen.’ He is tense, wondering where she is going with this. He generally prefers not to think about the 456, his death, Jack’s sacrifice.
‘She told me she knew you. That you’d told her all about your dad. The master tailor.’ Her voice is brittle, hurt, and he winces. ‘Why, Ianto?’
‘I didn’t - they always push to know more, and I don’t -’
‘You’re private, I get that, but are you really so ashamed of us?’
‘I’m not ashamed!’ he snaps, fingers tightening reflexively around the mug.
‘Does Jack know?’
He sighs; nods. ‘Yes.’
‘So it’s only your friend you lied to. She was hurt, you know, when I told her he worked in Debenhams, that you’d lied. I’m surprised she hasn’t mentioned it to you.’
Actually, so is Ianto. Gwen is nothing if not nosy. ‘Rhi ...’
‘Look, I get that you have your reasons, god knows what they are, but I think she deserves the truth. You are friends, aren’t you?’
‘We didn’t used to be, but yes, now we are.’
‘Then tell her.’
He pauses and then nods. He feels guilty, far guiltier than he usually does. It’s not that he’s ashamed, not really, but that life, and the varied, complicated reasons for creating it, have become a part of him, and his feelings about it are nothing short of a tangled mess. She must see something of this on his face because after a long, intense look she changes the subject to Mica and Daniel, for which he is incredibly thankful, although he remains distracted and a little tense for the rest of the afternoon.
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Characters: Jack, Ianto, Gwen, Rhys, Rhiannon, OCs
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: CoE
Summary: My response to the horrors of series 3. Sequel to Restoration
Well, here's the next bit. Just a couple of things: the weather described here (reasonable in September, absolute hell in October) is genuine, and since I've lived in Wales all my life, I should know *sigh* Also, there's smut this chapter, and I hope that I've done alright with it. Otherwise, thanks for all you comments and encouragement, and I hope you enjoy this bit! There's a little companion that I'm writing that I'll post tomorrow, because the next chapter is long and difficult to write and I'm hoping that it'll provide some insight. Anyway, enjoy! :-)
They are sitting on a bench in the park a few streets from their flat, sides pressed lightly together. The weather is bright and mild, fairly typical for September, although Ianto’s nor looking forward to October, which is generally characterised by constant rain for the entire month. Regardless, the sun has brought people and there are plenty walking around the park, enjoying the weekend.
‘Do we have to do this?’
‘Ianto, you really should learn more about your empathy - I can’t believe One never pressed the issue. ‘Anyway,’ he adds, leering. ‘I’ll make it up to you later.’
He laughs. ‘Alright, but I’m holding you to that. What do you want me to do?’
‘Pick out someone and try to sense their emotions, while shielding against everyone else.’
Ianto gives him a dubious look.
‘I’ll help you shield if something goes wrong. You’ll be fine.’ Jack squeezes his hand reassuringly.
He sighs and nods, turning to focus on a young blonde woman, lowering his shields ever so slightly, forcing himself to ignore the increased sense of other people’s emotions as he pushes his consciousness towards her. All he gets is a stronger sense of everybody else, which is unpleasant and a little overwhelming. Drawing back he takes a breath and forces himself to focus entirely on her. A moment, and then there is a sideways-slip sort of feel. He gasps; it’s like some part of him is in her, or she’s set up residence in his chest, the emotions foreign, but somehow entwining with his own.
‘Yan?’
‘Umm ... boredom. A little irritation. She’s tired, but the sun’s nice and it’s cheered her up a bit.’ He shakes his head, raising his shields again.
‘You okay?’ Jack’s fingers a resting lightly on his shoulder, the touch solid and comforting.
‘Yeah, I think so. It feels a bit odd.’
‘Bad odd?’
He shakes his head. ‘Just ... odd. I’m going to try again.’ Now that he’s started this he’s committed to developing his empathy to the best of his abilities, and a committed Ianto is a determined, possibly slightly obsessive one. He picks another target at random, this one a child of about nine, and focuses all his attention on him. Another strange side-slip and there is a sense of innocence and fun, a bright, childish happiness that he finds soothing and soul-warming. He smiles. ‘Happiness ... just happiness.’ And he wants Jack to experience this, so he twines their hands together and opens the link, and then Jack is smiling too.
‘Wow.’
They stay like that for a couple of minutes, just enjoying it, but then the boy begins yo move away. The link becomes strained; Ianto can feel white noise building as other people begin to leak in, and he has to throw his shields back up and regain his equilibrium.
Jack is looking at him consideringly. ‘You’re good at this, Ianto. We should try projecting.’
‘Maybe next time Jack. You owe me, remember?’ He has quite enjoyed this exercise, but his shields feel a little fragile and he doesn’t want to push it. Besides, he’s quite looking forward to finding out what Jack had in mind when he said he’d make it up to him.
The look Jack gives him sends a shiver of anticipation up his spine. ‘Home, now.’
Break
Almost as soon as the door shuts behind them, Jack has him up against the wall, but the kiss is strangely slow and sensuous, without the urgency Ianto might have expected. Thought, however, is soon swept away and he becomes entirely focussed on their mouths, tongues sliding together, bodies pressed close.
The lack of urgency is strangely nice, heat building slowly as they move towards the couch, still kissing, still locked together as they stretch out on it, Jack hovering above him with a smile that starts soft and becomes mischievous. It probably should have made him nervous - most sane people would be nervous, faced with such a devious smirk - but all he felt was a shiver of arousal, of anticipation.
‘No touching.’
Ah, so that’s how they’re going to play it. He doesn’t have much chance to think anything else, though, because then Jack’s fingers are stroking lightly down his sides as he licks and nibbles at his throat, pausing occasionally to suck, and soon all Ianto can focus on is sensation and not touching.
It is difficult, keeping his hands to himself when all he wants to do is bury them in Jack’s hair, or possibly use them to ease the ever-increasing pressure of his erection. ‘God!’ he yelps suddenly when Jack, who has slowly been unbuttoning his shirt, begins laving at his nipple, fingers moving to the other. He squirms, breath quickening, and all he can focus on is this, the desire and torturous pleasure.
He strips him slowly, pushing the shirt off his shoulders, the brush of fabric on overly-sensitised skin driving him just a little bit more insane. And then, even while he continues to lick and suck his way down his chest, Jack moves to the fly of his trousers, and Ianto isn’t sure how much more unfulfilled desire he can take as the movement brushes lightly across his erection, not enough to provide any relief, only arousing him more.
And then, just when he thinks he might get some relief, because finally all his clothes are gone and he’s so past caring that they’ve just been tossed aside, Jack continues his torture, traveling past his cock and nipping at his thighs, coming painfully close but never quite touching him.
‘Jack, please.’ The words are strangled, breathless, but the pleading works, because with a grin Jack bends his head and the next thing he knows his cock is engulfed in wet heat, and he almost comes right there, the only thing stopping him the last shreds of his self-control.
He forgets no touching, one hands moving to tangle in Jack’s hair while the other fists into the fabric of the sofa, and his attention, his mind, is focused on the feel of Jack’s mouth surrounding him, sucking and licking, and hell, he can’t last, doesn’t even care about lasting. Pleasure pools and expands until it’s the only thing in his awareness. He can feel his orgasm building, and then Jack swallows him to the root and it explodes, washing across him, and he loses himself in it.
It takes him a few minutes to actually string together a coherent sentence, but he’s smiling and happy. ‘I think you made it up to me,’ he managed, and Jack just chuckles against him, warm breath huffing against his slowly cooling skin.
Break
Ianto is sitting at Rhiannon’s kitchen table, cup of tea in hand. He sees more of her now, once or twice with Jack, usually without. It provides him with a little normalcy, and yet he doesn’t have to lie anymore because she knows about Torchwood, if not the details. They’ve been chatting about nothing in particular, and then, suddenly, the whole tone of the conversation changes and Rhi’s dark eyes are fixed on his face.
‘You know when they were taking the children? And that woman came?’
‘Yes. Gwen.’ He is tense, wondering where she is going with this. He generally prefers not to think about the 456, his death, Jack’s sacrifice.
‘She told me she knew you. That you’d told her all about your dad. The master tailor.’ Her voice is brittle, hurt, and he winces. ‘Why, Ianto?’
‘I didn’t - they always push to know more, and I don’t -’
‘You’re private, I get that, but are you really so ashamed of us?’
‘I’m not ashamed!’ he snaps, fingers tightening reflexively around the mug.
‘Does Jack know?’
He sighs; nods. ‘Yes.’
‘So it’s only your friend you lied to. She was hurt, you know, when I told her he worked in Debenhams, that you’d lied. I’m surprised she hasn’t mentioned it to you.’
Actually, so is Ianto. Gwen is nothing if not nosy. ‘Rhi ...’
‘Look, I get that you have your reasons, god knows what they are, but I think she deserves the truth. You are friends, aren’t you?’
‘We didn’t used to be, but yes, now we are.’
‘Then tell her.’
He pauses and then nods. He feels guilty, far guiltier than he usually does. It’s not that he’s ashamed, not really, but that life, and the varied, complicated reasons for creating it, have become a part of him, and his feelings about it are nothing short of a tangled mess. She must see something of this on his face because after a long, intense look she changes the subject to Mica and Daniel, for which he is incredibly thankful, although he remains distracted and a little tense for the rest of the afternoon.