Okay, this one is... odd.
Title: Absolution. 1/1
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Jack/Ianto. Jack/others mentioned
Summary: Guilt. Or the lack of it.
Warnings: This fic needs a warning. But it works better without, so the choice is yours;
Highlight to read warning:
[Incest.]
Disclaimer: This storyline is never going to happen. I would put money on it
Mother used to say, tidy up as you go, then being tidy is just part of the game.
I have to wonder if it would have stopped me, if I had known before.
Ianto arches his back and groans; that perfect little broken gasp that means Jack’s winning. Jack’s inside him.
It’s abuse, it’s assault, it’s practically rape. No matter how much he wants me. As long as I lie to him, every kiss is a stolen one.
I’ve been alive a long time. I’ve skipped places, planets and planes like a well-thrown stone. I’ve fellated glorified jellyfish to buy the freedom of a planet. I’ve acted as surrogate for a princess who was too weak to carry. I’ve had love that’ll last forever and encounters nobody would believe.
I’ve never been able to resist the natural beauty of an innocent smile when a comely fool puts their trust in me.
Ianto grips Jack, his fingernails sinking into Jack’s shoulders like claws-possessing, driving. His heels are spurs in Jack’s thighs, begging ‘Deeper, Harder, Now’ And Jack’s nothing if not obliging.
Why would I ever wonder? Would I not be forgiven for ignoring the signs?
A warm smile here, the shape of his eyes, the wisdom on his lips, they were all beautiful, and if they were a little familiar, it was all coincidence.
Ianto’s fingers skirt his own skin, lingering on bright, hard nipples, scratching at his collarbone, his eyes closing briefly with each thrust, breaking a gaze that is otherwise locked with Jack’s. And he asks for nothing but ‘Jack, Jack, Jack.’
It’s his fault and it’s my fault.
It’s my fault for caring; it’s my fault for asking about him, after he accused me of never doing so.
And it’s his fault for sharing, for offering up anecdotes of youth in such an intimate, pitiful way that this old ghost couldn’t help but absorb every tear-promising word.
And by the time we were there, I’d already kissed him. I’d already held him in my arms, warmed myself in his breath, taken him into my mouth and drunk him down.
What a small push it was to let myself drift, in deliberate ignorance, over the last line.
Mother always used to say, ‘follow your heart, but do let your head have an opinion. It’s there for a reason.’
Ianto’s whole body shakes as he gasps, shivering in his shawl of sweat, so wonderfully tense, so desperate to come, so lost in Jack that nothing else matters. Every time Jack drives in to the root, Ianto breaks a little more, finds a new nerve to strike, finds a new definition of ‘close’.
He talks about her, on occasion, and always smiles, wondering at the curiosity of his ease with me, to talk with such comfort about someone who meant so much to him.
I don’t stop him. I wouldn’t dream of it. I’ve held him and let him paint his romantic picture of a beautiful, wise woman who missed his long dead father and gave him a childhood in which he couldn’t find a single fault.
I let him talk and pretend I’ve no idea if he’s telling the truth. I pretend I’ve never met her, never saved her life, never shamelessly accepted the expressions of gratitude she offered.
Ianto pulls Jack to him, and Jack sees his tongue before they’ve even met. Ianto feeds off him, fucking Jack’s mouth, pushing his tongue against Jack’s so they wrestle, as hotly, as wetly as the bodies that roll against each other, slamming into connection again and again.
Maybe it would have been different if I’d been sure. Maybe if I’d really known, I would have stopped myself, would have kept this side of the line.
Maybe if I’d never touched him, never felt it the hunger of his lips, the kindness of his fingers or the sound he makes when his come spills into my hands. Maybe I could have resisted the temptation to find out.
Perhaps.
But I did, and I do, and once I’d known him I knew I’d have to be inside him, to have it all, to make him love me, if he didn’t already.
It might, it might, it fucking might have been different. But it isn’t. And I’m not magnanimous enough to let this go. Judge me as you want to, but that won’t make me tell him.
Jack tells him all the time. Almost every time they fuck, every time restraint collapses and Ianto’s stomach turns into a knot of tight muscles. Then, with a cry or a curse or a gasp of Jack’s name, Ianto comes. And Jack tells him, as he runs his fingers through Ianto’s come, grinding into him as he twists and spasms, Jack whispers into Ianto’s neck, ‘You’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine.’
Mother always used to say, ‘Your father was a soldier, and he had to go and live in the stars. But he loves you. He’ll always love you.’
Ianto always believed her.
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Jack/Ianto. Jack/others mentioned
Summary: Guilt. Or the lack of it.
Warnings: This fic needs a warning. But it works better without, so the choice is yours;
Highlight to read warning:
[Incest.]
Disclaimer: This storyline is never going to happen. I would put money on it
Mother used to say, tidy up as you go, then being tidy is just part of the game.
I have to wonder if it would have stopped me, if I had known before.
Ianto arches his back and groans; that perfect little broken gasp that means Jack’s winning. Jack’s inside him.
It’s abuse, it’s assault, it’s practically rape. No matter how much he wants me. As long as I lie to him, every kiss is a stolen one.
I’ve been alive a long time. I’ve skipped places, planets and planes like a well-thrown stone. I’ve fellated glorified jellyfish to buy the freedom of a planet. I’ve acted as surrogate for a princess who was too weak to carry. I’ve had love that’ll last forever and encounters nobody would believe.
I’ve never been able to resist the natural beauty of an innocent smile when a comely fool puts their trust in me.
Ianto grips Jack, his fingernails sinking into Jack’s shoulders like claws-possessing, driving. His heels are spurs in Jack’s thighs, begging ‘Deeper, Harder, Now’ And Jack’s nothing if not obliging.
Why would I ever wonder? Would I not be forgiven for ignoring the signs?
A warm smile here, the shape of his eyes, the wisdom on his lips, they were all beautiful, and if they were a little familiar, it was all coincidence.
Ianto’s fingers skirt his own skin, lingering on bright, hard nipples, scratching at his collarbone, his eyes closing briefly with each thrust, breaking a gaze that is otherwise locked with Jack’s. And he asks for nothing but ‘Jack, Jack, Jack.’
It’s his fault and it’s my fault.
It’s my fault for caring; it’s my fault for asking about him, after he accused me of never doing so.
And it’s his fault for sharing, for offering up anecdotes of youth in such an intimate, pitiful way that this old ghost couldn’t help but absorb every tear-promising word.
And by the time we were there, I’d already kissed him. I’d already held him in my arms, warmed myself in his breath, taken him into my mouth and drunk him down.
What a small push it was to let myself drift, in deliberate ignorance, over the last line.
Mother always used to say, ‘follow your heart, but do let your head have an opinion. It’s there for a reason.’
Ianto’s whole body shakes as he gasps, shivering in his shawl of sweat, so wonderfully tense, so desperate to come, so lost in Jack that nothing else matters. Every time Jack drives in to the root, Ianto breaks a little more, finds a new nerve to strike, finds a new definition of ‘close’.
He talks about her, on occasion, and always smiles, wondering at the curiosity of his ease with me, to talk with such comfort about someone who meant so much to him.
I don’t stop him. I wouldn’t dream of it. I’ve held him and let him paint his romantic picture of a beautiful, wise woman who missed his long dead father and gave him a childhood in which he couldn’t find a single fault.
I let him talk and pretend I’ve no idea if he’s telling the truth. I pretend I’ve never met her, never saved her life, never shamelessly accepted the expressions of gratitude she offered.
Ianto pulls Jack to him, and Jack sees his tongue before they’ve even met. Ianto feeds off him, fucking Jack’s mouth, pushing his tongue against Jack’s so they wrestle, as hotly, as wetly as the bodies that roll against each other, slamming into connection again and again.
Maybe it would have been different if I’d been sure. Maybe if I’d really known, I would have stopped myself, would have kept this side of the line.
Maybe if I’d never touched him, never felt it the hunger of his lips, the kindness of his fingers or the sound he makes when his come spills into my hands. Maybe I could have resisted the temptation to find out.
Perhaps.
But I did, and I do, and once I’d known him I knew I’d have to be inside him, to have it all, to make him love me, if he didn’t already.
It might, it might, it fucking might have been different. But it isn’t. And I’m not magnanimous enough to let this go. Judge me as you want to, but that won’t make me tell him.
Jack tells him all the time. Almost every time they fuck, every time restraint collapses and Ianto’s stomach turns into a knot of tight muscles. Then, with a cry or a curse or a gasp of Jack’s name, Ianto comes. And Jack tells him, as he runs his fingers through Ianto’s come, grinding into him as he twists and spasms, Jack whispers into Ianto’s neck, ‘You’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine.’
Mother always used to say, ‘Your father was a soldier, and he had to go and live in the stars. But he loves you. He’ll always love you.’
Ianto always believed her.