It'll End in Tears #5: "Method"
Title: "Method"
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: References to Ianto/Andy, Jack/Ianto
Rating: Series is predominantly hard NC-17. This installment is lighter on the smut (mention of sexual acts, mostly not-graphic masturbation) but fills in some story gaps. Let's go with an R rating just to be safe.
Notes/Summary: Part Five of the " It'll End In Tears" cluster, and #3 on the un_love_you prompt table.
Audio: Thanks to darllen, you can now listen to this installment. Download link and commentary here.
Ianto's Journal - Monday.
Gave Jack one of the special files this morning with his coffee. We’re all still a little rattled over last night’s explosion in Penarth, but Tosh has sorted things out with the authorities, and everything should come together over the next couple of days. Apparently, my gut instinct to duck and cover whenever Jack tries to use an unidentified piece of technology in the field is on the mark. Anyway, I thought a new report might cheer him up.
The funny thing was how surprised he was to see it. He laughed and told me that this is how he knew I was having him on, because we’d worked Thursday night, and I’d gone to bed with him Friday and Saturday both. I played coy for a bit, and then suggested he save it until the others went home so he could read it out loud with me under his desk.
Needless to say, everyone was gone by six.
I have been declared a ‘cheating sod’ on the basis that I did ‘that thing’ with my tongue when he hit the bit on page two, and that tonight ‘does not count’. All I have to say about that is four minutes, seventeen seconds. I am on the road to victory, I think.
I am making no satisfactory progress in articulating things where Andy is concerned. I initiated contact based on Jack’s persistent urging that I go out and do something experimental (though how much more experimental he thinks it’s possible to be is a mystery, considering what we two get up to), but the whole thing has developed its own inertia and appeal now.
Yesterday, while in the archives, I tried on a number of clichés to see if any of them fit my circumstances, but I am beginning to think that there’s very little in the way of mass human precedent for ‘my boss/lover thinks it’s hot that I’m acting out my repressed sadistic streak on a policeman and then writing up mission summaries about it, and I’m not sure I could stop now if I wanted to’. It is, however, a relief to see that his desire to see me fumbling about in bed with someone my own age was not some badly-veiled and ill-considered ‘go have a normal life’ spiel. That’s more Gwen’s department, and I’m not sure I’ve got enough of a life outside of Torchwood to even make the attempt. If anything, this makes life more abnormal. I am being fossilized. All of my original components are slowly being replaced. This concept is more appealing than it should be.
Failed efforts to express myself aside, my favorite of the clichés (‘this cancels out the hurt’) sounds like quite a good Nine Inch Nails lyric. Am making a note to import old copy of The Downward Spiral into iTunes for work tomorrow.
Am concerned about retcon issues. Andy did not trigger when he saw me in work clothes on Thursday/Friday, but if I maintain contact, information control will continue to be a consideration. Sooner or later he’s going to remember the crash site, and that we drugged him. Making a note to ask Jack about the possibility of an induction scenario. It may be safer to help him remember, rather than letting it happen on its own.
Speaking of action plans, Owen observed me making contact with Andy. His initial assumption (that I was texting a female date) is too close to the mark for comfort. Jack says not to worry about it, but word travels very quickly in the office, and too much information in circulation increases the chances of a security breach/trigger event for Andy. While I don’t anticipate him calling Gwen to wax poetic about being sodomized by an overly aggressive office manager (though the faces she’d make if he described blue files #2 and #4 might be worth catching on camera), this sort of social networking is extremely awkward.
I shouldn’t have chosen Andy. Don’t know what I was thinking there. Actually, I do, but am mildly ashamed to admit it on the basis that I can no longer fault Jack for thinking with the wrong organ ever again without being a hypocrite.
Making a note to Google various extant forms of plural and subculture relationships on the off-chance that Gwen finds out and has questions. I suspect ‘purely sexual’ is insufficient as an answer if she should happen to ask what the nature of my involvement with Andy is. Should probably not mention it to Jack unless I want another lecture on quaint 21st century social behavior. On the other hand, the last time he called something I did ‘quaint’, I asked for a demonstration on the alternative. The resulting experience was extremely pleasant. Probably best that I don’t write down everything I do with him. A solid half of it might not have been invented yet. Making note to do Google search where/when Jack is likely to walk in on me. Ensuing discussion is bound to be amusing.
Other notes for tomorrow:
# # #
Ianto closes and locks his diary and stuffs it into his bag. He’s got a half-empty packet of prawn cocktail crisps and a mostly empty bottle of lager. He finishes the lager before folding the top of the crisps packet closed and securing it with a paperclip. This also goes in his bag - they’ll make good office nibbles - and switches off his television. It’s not quite ten, but he might as well make the effort to sleep when he can. He switches off the lamp, goes to brush his teeth, and then pads across the hall to his bedroom.
He is accustomed to sleeping alone. It’s nice not to, but he’s always been a little bit solitary, and there are advantages to having a bed of one’s own. He fluffs up a pillow, pulls back the duvet, and gets comfortable. He lies on his back, one hand behind his head, the other trailing down his chest and belly, touching himself through his soft t-shirt. Outside, Cardiff murmurs, alive but Monday-night drowsy. Light rain patters against his windowpane.
His fingertips trace the edge of his briefs and he lets his eyes close. He strokes himself through the cotton, playing with seams and elastic while he gets hard. He can nearly feel Jack’s mouth on him again, and he’s overwhelmed by the sense memory. He’s always been astonished by the softness of the human body, the warm malleability of the lips and tongue, and the sensation of penetration. It’s not like his hand, which is always firm no matter how soft his hands might be.
He slips his hand under the elastic and touches himself skin-to-skin. It’s familiar and pleasant and he knows all the right buttons to push. I’ve always been fond of buttons, he thinks with a grin. He sighs under his own caress and wonders how being able to touch all the right places on his own is never quite as satisfyingly electric as another person’s touch.
Electricity, he notes idly. I should try that with Andy.
Jack would say he’s overthinking this. Andy would probably give him that you’ve-lost-your-mind look and accuse him of 'talking bollocks.' Ianto can’t decide between worrying that he’s thought of them in the same sentence and imagining what it’d be like in bed with the both of them.
Oh. Now there’s an idea.
---
Prev (Pt #4) (Warnings: Smut, kink (D/s, spanking/flogging, wax play), and language.)
-
Next (Pt #6) (Warnings: Smut, kink (needle play), questionable consent, and language.)
---
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: References to Ianto/Andy, Jack/Ianto
Rating: Series is predominantly hard NC-17. This installment is lighter on the smut (mention of sexual acts, mostly not-graphic masturbation) but fills in some story gaps. Let's go with an R rating just to be safe.
Notes/Summary: Part Five of the " It'll End In Tears" cluster, and #3 on the un_love_you prompt table.
Audio: Thanks to darllen, you can now listen to this installment. Download link and commentary here.
Ianto's Journal - Monday.
Gave Jack one of the special files this morning with his coffee. We’re all still a little rattled over last night’s explosion in Penarth, but Tosh has sorted things out with the authorities, and everything should come together over the next couple of days. Apparently, my gut instinct to duck and cover whenever Jack tries to use an unidentified piece of technology in the field is on the mark. Anyway, I thought a new report might cheer him up.
The funny thing was how surprised he was to see it. He laughed and told me that this is how he knew I was having him on, because we’d worked Thursday night, and I’d gone to bed with him Friday and Saturday both. I played coy for a bit, and then suggested he save it until the others went home so he could read it out loud with me under his desk.
Needless to say, everyone was gone by six.
I have been declared a ‘cheating sod’ on the basis that I did ‘that thing’ with my tongue when he hit the bit on page two, and that tonight ‘does not count’. All I have to say about that is four minutes, seventeen seconds. I am on the road to victory, I think.
I am making no satisfactory progress in articulating things where Andy is concerned. I initiated contact based on Jack’s persistent urging that I go out and do something experimental (though how much more experimental he thinks it’s possible to be is a mystery, considering what we two get up to), but the whole thing has developed its own inertia and appeal now.
Yesterday, while in the archives, I tried on a number of clichés to see if any of them fit my circumstances, but I am beginning to think that there’s very little in the way of mass human precedent for ‘my boss/lover thinks it’s hot that I’m acting out my repressed sadistic streak on a policeman and then writing up mission summaries about it, and I’m not sure I could stop now if I wanted to’. It is, however, a relief to see that his desire to see me fumbling about in bed with someone my own age was not some badly-veiled and ill-considered ‘go have a normal life’ spiel. That’s more Gwen’s department, and I’m not sure I’ve got enough of a life outside of Torchwood to even make the attempt. If anything, this makes life more abnormal. I am being fossilized. All of my original components are slowly being replaced. This concept is more appealing than it should be.
Failed efforts to express myself aside, my favorite of the clichés (‘this cancels out the hurt’) sounds like quite a good Nine Inch Nails lyric. Am making a note to import old copy of The Downward Spiral into iTunes for work tomorrow.
Am concerned about retcon issues. Andy did not trigger when he saw me in work clothes on Thursday/Friday, but if I maintain contact, information control will continue to be a consideration. Sooner or later he’s going to remember the crash site, and that we drugged him. Making a note to ask Jack about the possibility of an induction scenario. It may be safer to help him remember, rather than letting it happen on its own.
Speaking of action plans, Owen observed me making contact with Andy. His initial assumption (that I was texting a female date) is too close to the mark for comfort. Jack says not to worry about it, but word travels very quickly in the office, and too much information in circulation increases the chances of a security breach/trigger event for Andy. While I don’t anticipate him calling Gwen to wax poetic about being sodomized by an overly aggressive office manager (though the faces she’d make if he described blue files #2 and #4 might be worth catching on camera), this sort of social networking is extremely awkward.
I shouldn’t have chosen Andy. Don’t know what I was thinking there. Actually, I do, but am mildly ashamed to admit it on the basis that I can no longer fault Jack for thinking with the wrong organ ever again without being a hypocrite.
Making a note to Google various extant forms of plural and subculture relationships on the off-chance that Gwen finds out and has questions. I suspect ‘purely sexual’ is insufficient as an answer if she should happen to ask what the nature of my involvement with Andy is. Should probably not mention it to Jack unless I want another lecture on quaint 21st century social behavior. On the other hand, the last time he called something I did ‘quaint’, I asked for a demonstration on the alternative. The resulting experience was extremely pleasant. Probably best that I don’t write down everything I do with him. A solid half of it might not have been invented yet. Making note to do Google search where/when Jack is likely to walk in on me. Ensuing discussion is bound to be amusing.
Other notes for tomorrow:
- Almost out of 'barbecue' sauce
- Submit loss/compensation paperwork for suit
- Contact body shop and order new driver's side quarter panel for SUV
- Complete/archive Penarth blast report
- Record (unintentionally hilarious) documentary about Menai Strait cryptids for Toshiko, Jack
# # #
Ianto closes and locks his diary and stuffs it into his bag. He’s got a half-empty packet of prawn cocktail crisps and a mostly empty bottle of lager. He finishes the lager before folding the top of the crisps packet closed and securing it with a paperclip. This also goes in his bag - they’ll make good office nibbles - and switches off his television. It’s not quite ten, but he might as well make the effort to sleep when he can. He switches off the lamp, goes to brush his teeth, and then pads across the hall to his bedroom.
He is accustomed to sleeping alone. It’s nice not to, but he’s always been a little bit solitary, and there are advantages to having a bed of one’s own. He fluffs up a pillow, pulls back the duvet, and gets comfortable. He lies on his back, one hand behind his head, the other trailing down his chest and belly, touching himself through his soft t-shirt. Outside, Cardiff murmurs, alive but Monday-night drowsy. Light rain patters against his windowpane.
His fingertips trace the edge of his briefs and he lets his eyes close. He strokes himself through the cotton, playing with seams and elastic while he gets hard. He can nearly feel Jack’s mouth on him again, and he’s overwhelmed by the sense memory. He’s always been astonished by the softness of the human body, the warm malleability of the lips and tongue, and the sensation of penetration. It’s not like his hand, which is always firm no matter how soft his hands might be.
He slips his hand under the elastic and touches himself skin-to-skin. It’s familiar and pleasant and he knows all the right buttons to push. I’ve always been fond of buttons, he thinks with a grin. He sighs under his own caress and wonders how being able to touch all the right places on his own is never quite as satisfyingly electric as another person’s touch.
Electricity, he notes idly. I should try that with Andy.
Jack would say he’s overthinking this. Andy would probably give him that you’ve-lost-your-mind look and accuse him of 'talking bollocks.' Ianto can’t decide between worrying that he’s thought of them in the same sentence and imagining what it’d be like in bed with the both of them.
Oh. Now there’s an idea.
---
Prev (Pt #4) (Warnings: Smut, kink (D/s, spanking/flogging, wax play), and language.)
-
Next (Pt #6) (Warnings: Smut, kink (needle play), questionable consent, and language.)
---