Fic: The Smell of Black Currants (S1: Chap 4, SoI 11), Jack/Ianto
Chapter Title: The Smell of Black Currants (S1: Chap 4, SoI 11)
Author: sarcasticchick
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: NC17
Spoilers: TW S1
Fluffers/Betas: lilithilien, fivealive
Summary: Pizza, lifts and fear...
A/N: Loosely touches epi 7. This is the massive chapter o'smut (and plot, can't ever forget the plot ;) ) due to fivealive's incredible skills creating a gorgeous new SoI-themed layout and banner. And for putting up with my "can you move Ianto like a fraction of a percent of a fraction to the right?" Go see! It's lovely Fic Journal And this is just a heads up - due to HP book 7 coming out July 21, I will be taking that weekend off from fic writing. Pleeeease. You know how these fandom things go. It's HP! Last book! I must read it all in a weekend. *g*
For Shades of Ianto series information, please see Prologue, Chapter 1
Previous Chapters:
Prologue: Chapters 1-7 (Complete)
S1: Chap 1
S1: Chap 2
S1: Chap 3
Ianto listened to the team while he picked up the remains of the day. They were in the lounge area, talking and laughing loudly -- Tosh the loudest of them all. Four days had passed since Mary had been sent to visit Sol, and now Gwen and Owen had taken it upon themselves to draw her out -- via unadulturated alcohol, it would seem. They'd been laughing for an hour now, the sound echoing off the Hub's walls and carrying throughout the base as Jack filled the silence with another jovial anecdote from his past, though if he ever stopped to consider the sheer number of years it would have taken to perform said stories, he might have refrained. Ianto had tallied them up, all the stories, the travels; he believed Jack was far older than even Torchwood thought. And most certainly didn't originate from this century, not with the current limits of space travel.
"Ianto! Come join us!"
Realizing he'd been spotted and lacked a decent excuse to feed Gwen, Ianto made his way towards the landing, depositing the bag of rubbish on Owen's chair as he passed by. He'd remember it later, and if he didn't, Owen would eloquently remind him in the morning. There wasn't nearly enough seating -- Gwen and Tosh sat together on the couch and Owen and Jack sat in office chairs, looking equally amused.
Ianto knew he shouldn't have worried, however. Worrying led to situations one didn't expect because life never played as it ought.
The moment he set foot in the lounge area behind the desks, he had an arm full of inebriated Toshiko, which was definitely not what he had expected. He had pictured gracefully sitting on the arm of the sofa near Tosh, maintaining a relative casual indifference to the conversation while displaying his quiet support. Tosh had other notions, however, which included wrapping him in a tight hug that was slowly driving the air out of him. He was familiar with the action, having sat with Elaine for countless hours, which made his response easier, returning the hug with a warmth he hoped Tosh could feel.
"My sad Ianto. We need to get you a drink. They're all conspiring to get me drunk, I think. You need to join me!"
Elaine had gotten drunk, too. Jean-Luc hadn't permitted him to drink. Bastard.
He guided Tosh back to the couch, ignoring the others, focusing on Tosh since she was the reason he'd joined the soiree. She believed him sad, and he supposed he was, but not entirely in the sense that she believed him to be. He'd felt the awareness and probing long before they'd learned of Mary, and embellished memories in his public mind were no difficult task. (Rule one in psychic training: never let them see you lie. Numbers two through ten had been forgettable mumbo-jumbo that made no sense given how Jean-Luc had trained him, but rule one had merit in any situation.) He'd informed Jack, of course, who was as confused as Ianto as to who was responsible. But when Ianto had discovered the police report, the pieces had fallen quickly into place.
But not quick enough to save Tosh the heartbreak. Ianto understood the intimacy with a connection like Mary and Tosh's.
Ianto sat on the couch and Tosh followed, curling up beside him (just like Elaine). This was easy. The following morning would be difficult, at least for Tosh. "You seem to be doing fine with your bottle of ... apple vodka?" Ianto glanced up at Owen who looked at Gwen who shrugged. They could have at least provided her a mixer. Or something more palatable. Trust Gwen and Owen to give her something which would leave her feeling ill.
"Tastes like candy."
"It won't tomorrow."
Jack just looked for all intent and purpose amused. He would be; he was drinking water.
Gwen turned towards Ianto and Tosh, her expression reading far too 'look, how adorable!' for Ianto's liking. The concept of love, death, and comfort seemed to escape them all. Hopefully they would never learn it. "So Ianto, we were sharing stories. Jack's currently got the best story for most outrageous public sex-"
"In front of a bunch of nuns! And a foreign dignitary!" Tosh nearly spilled out of the couch reaching for her drink, but Ianto saved her, his longer arms easily reaching the table.
"His skills in diplomacy are astounding."
"Yes, well..." Gwen hinted as Jack laughed, encouraging Ianto to continue. He didn't; rather, he settled Tosh back against the couch once she had drunk the remains of her glass. Her tastebuds must have been shot by that point, she didn't even hesitate. Owen moved to pour more vodka into the glass, but Ianto's glare and throat-clearing had him backing away. She was drunk enough, she didn't need to be sick.
Gwen never lost sight of an objective, it would appear. "Ianto? So what's your most outrageous story?"
He didn't look at Jack, fearing he'd somehow give himself away. Ianto knew that his answer was on top of the Millennium Centre. He never doubted it. He wasn't one for public affairs; quick shags in a loo were a bit different. And he would not share that story with the rest of the team. No matter what, if anything, it had meant to Jack, no matter what it meant to himself, it was too...personal...to share, and he really didn't have any stories beyond that. But he wouldn't lie. "I prefer to maintain my privacy. There are no CCTV cameras in that location and I'd rather it stay that way."
Owen yelled "Bollocks!" and Gwen was convinced Ianto had a new girlfriend. Tosh looked up with sad (intoxicated) eyes from his chest, which had become her pillow, and gave his sides a squeeze -- obviously thinking he was referencing Lisa based on what she had heard in his public thoughts. Only Jack did nothing, said nothing, just watched while Ianto silently rubbed Tosh's shoulder.
***
Ianto watched as Gwen, Owen, and Tosh trailed out of the Hub. Actually, it was more Gwen and Owen carrying Tosh out of the Hub -- she didn't even protest. He hoped Tosh wouldn't wake up in the morning with too great a hangover; he made a mental note to have aspirin ready for her in the morning. No point in her suffering through the day. At least it appeared that she'd had a good time -- she had smiled.
Sometimes, that was the best one could ask for.
As he finished picking up the glasses and the nearly-empty bottle of vodka, Ianto caught sight of Jack in his office. He felt a bit guilty; it wasn't too often that their job was finished before morning, much less six o'clock in the evening. "Would you like me to phone for takeaway, sir?"
Jack leaned in the doorway of his office, arms crossed, watching Ianto. "Ianto, the next time you call me sir you'll be wearing a collar with a chain attached to my wrist. Until then, it's Jack."
Ianto's eyes opened fractionally, unable to not be shocked by what Jack had just said. Though it wasn't anything new, it still caught him off guard. He collected himself quickly, picking up the remaining rubbish with a casual, practiced ease. "The last time someone said that to me they had to have the collar removed by a medic with forceps, Jack."
"Uncomfortable."
Nodding at Jack's beaming grin, Ianto held up his phone, "I would imagine. Takeaway?"
Jack didn't even bother hiding his grimace. So the weeks of Chinese and Indian the food were beginning to take their toll. With Jubilee's they'd had a bit more variety, but for the time he couldn't bring himself to even consider ordering from there. Or pizza in general. Some day.
"Nope, We're going to dinner."
Not that Ianto had anything against dinner; he actually was just considering picking something up on the way to his flat. But Jack willingly stepping out of the Hub for non-Torchwood related activities? It must be the end of the world. Or the second coming. Or the apocalypse. Something in the water? "Jack?"
"What?" Jack asked as he exited his office, slipping on his coat. So he was serious about leaving the Hub. "You have plans for the evening?"
"No, but-"
"Good. I hate eating alone."
Jack turned and walked away before Ianto could think of a response in support or protest, much less vocalize it. He grabbed the suit jacket he'd draped over the railing to follow Jack, but stopped as soon as he realized where Jack was heading. "Ah ... my keys are up in the Information Center. I'll meet you topside?"
"Don't be ridiculous -- you don't need your keys. You've got me. Besides," Jack glanced upward at the point in the ceiling, which retracted to allow the passengers on the lift through to the pavement in the Plass, "this place is just steps from this lift."
The captain was a devious, conniving, evil, arrogant and ... insane undying son of a bitch in period military ... and who the hell wore period military these days? Ianto closed his eyes as he stepped onto the platform, cycling through the number of ways he could get his revenge on him. Ianto had access to all places in the Hub; it wouldn't be difficult. Jack was a vain man and Ianto knew of a few chemicals perfect for hair removal. Or green teeth. Or....
Ianto felt the wool of Jack's coat beneath his fingers, clutching it like a lifeline as the platform made its way up through the levels of the Hub. He hadn't meant to grab it; he wasn't quite sure when he had. But it was in his hand now, and he wasn't letting go, no matter how much Ianto wished to. "I hate you."
"No, you don't."
Jack was right -- Ianto didn't. Not exactly. That didn't mean Ianto opened his eyes until the lift stopped, nor did it mean he spoke a word as he stepped off the lift or that his knees weren't just a bit shaky. Like pizza, there were a few things that Ianto didn't do anymore. Taking the lift to the Plass was apparently being removed from that list whether Ianto had any say or not.
Revenge was still an option, however.
"I'd watch your coffee for the next week, Jack."
***
"Any news on Lana?"
Dinner was finished and the plates were cleared, the last crust of bread eaten, and only smudges of wine rested in the bottoms of their glasses. Ianto had to admit, the food was better than takeaway, and the company had been better than his telly. Conversation had scattered across topics, mostly amusing, Jack regaling stories so extreme Ianto wondered if they were even true and who exactly he was trying to impress. Ianto had swallowed them all with a glass (or two) of wine, carefully deflecting personal questions while he encouraged Jack to speak about himself. Not that Jack shared anything personal either; it seemed both of them were adept in redirection. But where Ianto avoided by saying nothing, Jack avoided by saying everything about nothing. It was a good combination for dinner -- the conversation never lagged and it was far from boring.
In fact, Ianto had laughed, the sound slipping past his lips after a particular tale involving Jack, fish paste, and Ms. White's coffee. Jack's answering grin measured an 8.9 on the Jack scale of smiles, brilliant and disarming and attracting quite a few interested looks from the surrounding tables, men and women alike. Oddly enough for Jack, he ignored them, surprising Ianto. Jack had tried hard after that to get Ianto to laugh again; Ianto noticed, he wasn't entirely devoid of perception, and occasionally Jack succeeded. Turnabout was fair play, and Ianto had actually gotten Jack to inhale a sip of wine while remarking on Owen's uncanny resemblance to a monkey, which could explain the doctor on an evolutionary scale.
After Jack had regained his breath, he questioned Ianto regarding Owen. Simple, but straight to the point. Not that Owen's treatment of Ianto was excusable, but Ianto could sympathize on a level. Torchwood had touched Owen, just as it had touched them all. He was still a twat who played dangerous games but ... he was part of the team. And as Ianto was beginning to understand, no matter how fucked up he might be, Torchwood Three stood by each other. Even Owen.
Talk had then returned to its light, Jack-filled stories. And now that they were waiting for their after-dinner coffee, it apparently was time to return to a more serious topic.
Lana.
Ianto hadn't heard from Jean-Luc in weeks, but he wasn't worried. Jean-Luc had his hands full searching, and Ianto hardly expected contact until they were found. He knew Avalon was working on it, he knew they wouldn't allow their own to be taken. That was the whole purpose of Avalon -- to protect the gifted. They had the people and the resources; they would find Lana and the others who had been at the club. But with each passing day hope dwindled, and Ianto was concerned they might never be found.
"No," Ianto answered sadly, smiling a polite smile at Tamsin, the waitress who had arrived to serve their coffee. She looked between he and Jack and knew she had interrupted something, seeming to put even more cheer into her talk than when Jack had commented on her eyes. They were a rather unusual shade, hazel, almost golden and framed by dark lashes. Ianto had agreed, they were lovely, and Tamsin had transformed from a tired waitress into a smiling, blushing woman. Jack seemed to have that effect on people. It was rather remarkable. Ianto figured he'd leave that out of his reports to Ms. White as well; there was no need to open a study on the effects of Jack's charisma and how it could be bottled to use in defense of Britain.
Jack took a sip of the coffee, directing his comment at Ianto. "Not as good as yours."
Tamsin took no offense, smiling knowingly as she nudged Jack's shoulder. "Found yourself a good one then, didn't you?"
Ianto nearly choked on his own coffee as Jack watched him over his coffee mug, the mug certainly hiding a smirk if Ianto knew anything about Jack. She thought they were on a date. A date. They weren't on a date. They were just having dinner together rather than eating alone. Denying it, though, would only draw attention, probably resulting in another knowing smile shared with Jack.
"I'm just lucky he'll have me -- coffee's not his only specialty."
Tamsin's laughter at Jack's coy wink rang all the way back to the kitchen, a melodious sound drawing Ianto's lips into a smile, despite the turn in conversation. After she deposited their bill on the table, he whispered, "She thinks we're dating."
"She's probably telling the staff of your remarkable abilities. They're going to be curious." Jack flipped open the bill and threw in a few notes; it didn't escape Ianto that they totalled his share of the meal as well.
"God, I can never come back."
***
Jack didn't head back immediately for the Hub; instead he meandered towards the Millennium Centre. They walked in silence, mostly, enjoying the cool night and the Torchwood-free moment. No alarms, no aliens, no danger, just a peaceful calm. Ianto wondered if this was what most people felt on a daily basis, and for that he was jealous To be able to enjoy the quiet and the peace and the blissful ignorance, well, that was a tempting life. But as tempting as it was, he couldn't bring himself to seriously consider it. Torchwood had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember. Giving it up was simply not fathomable.
As they walked along the Plass, Ianto remembered the words spoken that night, spoken in fear and desperate obsession. He'd been a wreck, knowing he was leaving Lisa to her death, while at the same time hating himself for the relief that she wouldn't harm anyone else. He still couldn't believe he'd struck Jack, though at the time it had seemed a very wise action to take. They were all a bit broken at Torchwood Three, Ianto's fracture was just a bit more world-threatening. Once Torchwood One, always Torchwood One, it would seem. "I couldn't, you know."
"What, go back to the resturaunt?"
Ianto smiled at Jack's quip, staring at his feet as they walked. There was a concert being held in the Millennium Center that night; Ianto could faintly make out music. "No. I couldn't stand back and watch you die."
"Yes, you could."
The reply made Ianto draw up in confusion. "Sorry?" After all the time and the apologies, Jack's use of the ghost machine and their conversations, could Jack really think Ianto had meant what he said that night? Ianto felt he'd terribly misconstrued everything, and he hadn't meant to. He'd tried to maintain a distance of sorts. Jack was Jack. And with Jack came the swooning and broken hearts when those who fell for his charm fell too hard. Ianto had kept himself away from that, he'd understood what this was -- a quick shag here and there, a boss looking out for someone in his employ. But he had believed Jack thought better of him, that Jack might actually have considered him...well, maybe not a friend. But he was the closest thing Ianto had to one in Cardiff, as fucked up as their relationship might be.
Ianto had been terribly wrong.
He hadn't moved, hadn't been able to breathe in his shame for having so grossly misread Jack's intent. And he was still standing still when Jack approached him, looking as serious as Ianto had seen him.
"You might not have meant it exactly as you said it that night. But you know I can't die. If you had to, you would stand aside and watch because you knew you must."
Ianto was sickened by the thought. But if he did consider what Jack said, the other man was correct, and that was far easier to swallow than believing Jack had thought he would do it out of hatred or revenge. As great as his nightmares would be from making that choice, Ianto knew he would do it. He would stand aside. And watch until perhaps Jack's ability to come back no longer worked. It was devastating to think about, and left him feeling every bit as cold as those actions would be considered.
"I don't know that I could, if it were you."
He felt his head jerk in surprise, his eyes immediately seeking Jack, who was standing with his hands in his pockets, long coat swirling. The doors of the Millennium Center swung open, the ruckus of exiting patrons deafening in what had been quiet stillness, and yet all Ianto could do was stare at Jack. Jack was the one who saw the grand picture, the universal view, the one who knew the sacrifice and costs of the world they lived in and what it took to keep it safe and free. Jack, who believed Ianto capable of standing back if for the greater good.
It was Jack who had bought him dinner.
People were pouring out of the Center in their formal clothes, reviewing the concert and their neighbors' poor choice in fashion. But there was Jack, standing amidst them all, looking as honest as he ever had and perhaps a bit unsure. It surprised Ianto into moving, taking the two steps forward so Jack could hear him. "But you've stood back for others."
"None of them looked nearly as good in a suit."
Dark as the theme had become, Ianto smiled. A true Captain Jack Harkness response, and a nice deflection. It was ridiculous to consider Jack knowing the rules and the consequences of not following. It had to be hard; Ianto wasn't sure how long Jack had lived, but in all those years, across whatever time and space, he had to have loved. Loved and lost. Jack understood, better than Ianto.
But, perhaps Ianto hadn't misunderstood things as much as he believed he had.
Feeling brazen, despite the crowd, Ianto took another step forward and pulled Jack into a kiss. It wasn't much more than a press of lips, a tease, but even knowing they were two of hundreds and hidden from CCTV, Ianto still wasn't one to make a spectacle for a public audience. "Your place?" Ianto suggested, quite the inane question as they were a matter of meters from the Hub, but it felt the question to ask.
Jack laughed all the same, dragging Ianto with him as he ran towards the lift.
***
"Stop."
Jack froze with far more concern than was necessary. Ianto rolled his eyes; he had been as equal a participant in the race towards the Hub and then to the tiny bedroom as Jack. It wasn't like he was going to beg Jack off now. He took Jack's hands which had been working on removing Ianto's jacket and pushed them to his sides. In their quick times before, Ianto had rarely gotten to see Jack. In fact, he really wasn't certain what the man looked like beneath his clothes. Tonight he was going to take his time and enjoy. Which meant Jack had to stop with his participation, at least for the moment.
Ianto removed his jacket and threw it over the single chair in the room. He left the rest of his clothes on, wanting nothing to distract Jack, who looked confused but willing. The wool coat had been discarded long ago, making the slide of the braces easy and uncomplicated. Buttoned pale blue shirt, white tee, shoes, trousers, briefs, socks, everything was efficiently removed and thrown in a pile on the floor. Jack stood naked and unashamed in front of him, proud as ever and displaying his erection like Ianto would never see better. Which might be true in a relative sense, but Ianto wasn't going to comment as he let his eyes roam down Jack's body, down to his bare feet, and back up again.
Jack's vanity really wasn't misplaced, if not a bit strong at times, and neither was his confidence. He was lines and curves, a sculptor's dream. Strong arms and broad shoulders, tapering to narrow hips implying exercise but Ianto wasn't aware Jack ever ventured to a gym. Muscled thighs from far too much running while on the job, flowing into calves lined with use, down to feet that Ianto wouldn't call pretty, but then, there had to be an imperfection. Because there really wasn't; his legs were topped by a full arse and his back echoed the physical strength of the rest, though one thing stood out above the rest.
There were no scars.
He pushed Jack back until he tumbled onto the bed; Ianto toed off his shoes before joining. He didn't stop looking once he had straddled Jack's hips. The position just gave him a closer inspection, a reason to touch. Ianto let his fingers drift over Jack's tanned skin, standing out dark against the white of Ianto's shirt -- another mystery given the climate of Cardiff. Maybe he tanned in one of those beds. Or maybe wherever he was from, an ever-present tan was natural. Ianto wasn't sure where that might be, but Jack's skin felt the same as his own, lightly haired and hot to the touch. He reassured himself, tasting the dip of Jack's collarbone, running his tongue over skin which felt the same and tasted of Jack, timeless and foreign, yet as familiar as the scent of black currants in the summer.
Ianto touched it all, fingers mapping Jack's arms, following the curves and the lines down to his fingertips. The pads had calluses from the gun he carried, the occurrence striking Ianto as unusual as the lack of scarring. He kissed the callus of Jack's forefinger, willing away the violence, licking the slight raise before sucking the whole digit into his mouth, to the delight of Jack if the rise of his hips were any indication. Ianto could feel the press of Jack's cock against his arse, could feel when he hit a sensitive spot -- the underside of a wrist, the dip of a bicep, the skin just above the beating pulse in his neck.
Faint memory of flashes of navy blue, of awareness gifted by artificial pheromones matched what Ianto tasted, fingers now trailing down Jack's chest. A wall indeed, but pliable, giving just a bit beneath his hands and burning with heat, casting a sheen of sweat that slicked his path. Ianto shifted and slid down Jack's body, feeling hard fire trace a line from his arse to his stomach. Jack's erection pressed flat between their stomachs, his hips less mobile as Ianto's thighs squared against Jack's. The new position gave Ianto access to Jack nipples, dark rings pulled tight against the curved wall of skin. He nipped down on one and was nearly thrown from Jack's bed as Jack bucked beneath him.
"Fuck! Christ, Ianto."
Intriguing -- Jack had picked up a deity during this time. Jack's shout reminded Ianto to listen; he'd forgotten to listen as he touched and tasted, licked and smelled. Ianto kept a careful ear tuned to Jack, drinking in all the groans and pleading, what made Jack growl deep in his throat (hands firmly on hips holding him down, Ianto's body out of reach, the bud of a nipple held between his teeth, tongue flicking the end) and what made Jack beg ("Please, Ianto! Christ, just touch me, lean forward, let me touch you don't stop but fuck I need you to touch me!"). Ianto even made him squeak, just the once, Jack's voice slipping octaves (fingers squeezing his arse, pulling Jack up to meet his body, white silk/cotton blend rubbing down the length of Jack's cock, tongue delving into his navel).
Ianto felt Jack's breath quicken, saw his chest rise and fall in rapid pace, anticipation and want pushing his hips to find any touch, any brush. He wondered if Jack could come like that, hips straining against Ianto's hands while his lips sucked a blushed mark on the skin. Probably, but Ianto was not curious to test the theory. He slid further down Jack's legs, making sure his trouser-clad legs rubbed against Jack's skin. Jack might have whimpered. Ianto was distracted from his listening by the sight of Jack's cock before him, straining up in the cool air of Jack's room, hot and heavy and flushed dark with want. Ianto looked, lips just out of reach, Jack's erection twitching as each breath flowed around it.
And then he tasted, not bothering with touch as he knew this part of Jack, but he tasted, licking a swirl around the head before mouthing down the shaft, feeling the rise and fall of the vein with his lips, tracing the curve and slight bend, fighting with his body to keep Jack from pitching him onto the floor. Jack was rather vocal, though none of it too nice, calling Ianto a cocktease, a son of a bitch, and Ianto was fairly certain there was a language not native to earth thrown in. Ianto just ignored him, sucking one of Jack's balls into his mouth and rolling it gently with his tongue before moving to the other, showing the same attention to detail as the other, noting that the one was slightly smaller, more round. Not an imperfection but another reassuring mark against perfection.
He retraced his path, sucking and licking the length of Jack's cock before he mouthed just the head, tasting the pre-cum beading on the tip -- bitter, salty, just a concentration of Jack that Ianto had tasted before. Relenting to Jack's pleas, the hand in his hair urging Ianto down, Ianto slowly slid his mouth over the length, applying an increasing pressure as he moved. Jack's erection felt as it had tasted, a fiery heat and silken skin, heavy against his tongue. Ianto traced the curve as his head rose, then fell again, spit slicking the way and making them move quicker, faster. God, Jack's intensity was poured into his cock. Ianto could feel the passion that drove him and the love for life thrumming beneath the surface, as tightly wound as his speech, his actions, even in sex.
There was no warning -- a surprised cry indicated that Jack's orgasm had caught even himself off guard. It didn't matter as Ianto's fingers curled into the skin of Jack's hips, holding him firmly in place as Ianto swallowed. Jack's whole body trembled, cock slowly softening as Ianto continued to gently lick every trace of cum. That was until a hand tugged his hair, pulling Ianto up Jack's body not with force but an urgency, a desperate need as Jack kissed him, ravaging Ianto's mouth for every last taste before dropping into a lazy press of lip and tongue.
"Fuck, Ianto."
"Not to be presumptuous, Jack, but I had rather hoped you might follow with that."
Laughter followed, Jack's words hot over Ianto's ear as he nuzzled and tugged. "Give me a moment to recover. I've not got your youth."
"To be honest, I don't believe you've had my youth for a very long time."
The hands that had been rubbing slow circles over his back stilled for a moment before resuming. "Are you calling me old?"
Ianto pushed off the mattress so he could look Jack in the eye without going crossed, a smile twitching at his lips. "I'm calling you special, Jack. I'm just lucky you're not using a walker to get about, that fall into bed might have fractured your hip."
Jack silenced him with a kiss, preventing further comment from Ianto but not punishing (or denying) the knowledge. Which suited Ianto perfectly fine; he didn't want Jack to lie either.
"Up." A slap on his arse drew Ianto's attention from Jack's lips. For a moment Ianto was confused until he realized he was still dressed. He crawled off Jack, taking note of the renewed interest as he slid over Jack's skin with as much contact as possible.
"Hedonist."
"Pot, kettle."
"Eyes closed."
"What?" Ianto turned to find Jack but he received a finger-poke in his shoulder for the effort.
"Eyes closed."
He closed his eyes dutifully, standing still as he heard all the silence in the Hub but couldn't hear Jack. Whatever Ianto had planned to say next was lost as Jack came up behind him, pressing his body full against Ianto's back. The sudden sensation rang every nerve in his body. In the dark behind his eyes, he could hear the steady breathing of Jack's, the increase in his own ... even his heart racing sounded louder. He felt a tug at his tie, could feel it snaking its way around his neck as Jack removed it. Jack enveloped him, pressed hard against his back and arms around Ianto's, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, button by button, rounded edge dipping slightly into his skin before popping away. God, it was going to drive Ianto mad before Jack undid them all, so he pressed back against Jack to emphasize his point.
"Pushy," was laughed into his ear, startling him but distracting him from the slow dip-pop of the buttons. Ianto tried to help, but his hands were pushed away, noticing first the absence of Jack's body against his and then chill air as his shirt was pulled away. Jack's chest returned, skin against skin, and Ianto would have cum right then if not for a will-power built by Jean-Luc's thoughts and phantom touches at the most inopportune time.
Jack noticed though, chuckling as he kissed Ianto's shoulder while he unbelted his pants. "I wonder if I could make you cum just from touching your back."
"Considered the same thing about you and your hips..." Ianto's voice trailed off into a groan, Jack had squeezed his cock and it nearly sent all restraint fleeing as he arched against Jack hand, pushing into it with as much leverage as Ianto had. As it was, he felt his trousers and briefs slip to his ankles and an answering need pressing into his hip.
"Lift your foot."
Ianto did, feeling Jack kick away his trousers, automatically lifting the other to receive the same treatment. No sense tripping over himself as they moved to the bed. He didn't think Jack would allow him to fall, but it was a nice comfort, nearly as comforting as the solid wall against his back. He was guided to the bed; Ianto only knew when the mattress hit his knees. He kept his eyes closed, though, more from curiosity than anything.
He knew Jack had joined him on the bed, a heavy dip in the mattress as Jack settled between his legs, soft hair tickling at his inner thighs. Ianto couldn't tell what he was doing, however. Even Jack's breath was silent. "Jack?" He heard a drawer click shut near his head and Ianto stilled, a hundred different toys and gadgets flipping through his mind quicker than he could name, and that didn't count any alien tech Jack might have stored away for personal use...
"Easy," Jack whispered in his ear, sounding so loud in the quiet of the room that Ianto figured he might have been speaking normally if not for the hushed sound, having apparently deduced Ianto's discomfort. "I'll never use anything without asking first, and then you can always tell me to stop."
With a nod, Ianto melted back into the bedding, relaxing despite still not having a visual of what Jack was doing.
"Beautiful," partnered with a tickle of fingers down his sides, Ianto squirming at the touch. Ianto knew he had heard it for sure this time. There was no club noise he could blame it on.
It made him blush, straight down to his toes.
"Jack, please."
It wasn't a beg, Ianto didn't beg. But he wanted Jack to move, to do something, to do anything. On some level he comprehended that this delay was similar to what he had done to Jack earlier, but Ianto had waited so long. Lips crushed his, tongue twining just as he felt two slicked fingers slip inside him, moving in time and motion, mimicking each other until Ianto could no longer tell the difference between them.
And then they went away, fingers, tongue, lips, abandoning Ianto to silence and bereftness so keen he felt it to his core. He might have whimpered as well, but he would never admit it. No matter how Jack blackmailed him.
"Open your eyes, Ianto."
Ianto listened, opening his eyes quickly and blinking at the sudden yet dim light. Jack came into focus. A desperate Jack, anticipation broken and pure need bringing a flush to his face. As soon as Jack realized he had Ianto's attention, he moved and Ianto felt. His legs were splayed, his hips raised (how and when he arrived in that position he couldn't remember), and fuck he felt as Jack slid inside him, slick and fire at once. And Jack watched, watched it all, and Ianto knew because he was looking back. The movement in the corner of his eye matched the increasing thrusts of Jack's hips, which he rose to meet. It was too close to perfect and too long in coming. The bare touch of Jack's hand against Ianto's erection sent him crying out, coming hard enough to blur Jack's face in front of him.
He felt Jack's head fall on the pillow beside his, his breath tickling down Ianto's throat, lips moving but saying nothing for a time before Jack braced his arms above Ianto's head and resumed his quick, hard thrusts until Ianto felt him shudder, groaning his release into Ianto's shoulder.
They didn't move, neither one. Ianto didn't think he could move, be it fatigue or the weight of Jack's body, he wasn't sure. And he didn't quite care. Jack mumbled something about dates but Ianto didn't pay attention, nose pressed against the rapid pace of Jack's pulse. He could hear that, he understood that language, and it lulled him to sleep.
***
Jack had given him a stupid grin when he heard Ianto placing the lunch order for the day; Ianto pretended not to notice. It wasn't from Julbilee's; he wasn't sure if he could ever order from there again, even if they were the closest and really had the best pizza in the neighborhood. Ianto wasn't sure what story had been told to cover the girl's abscense -- Vicki Weber had been her name -- but he didn't ask. He really didn't want to know.
But he'd ordered pizza. And Ianto refused to allow Jack and his wide, full-toothed grin to make him believe his actions had been anything more than simply ordering pizza.
Ianto smiled anyway.
He had woken in the middle of the night in a strange bed, confused and startled but, oddly enough, without the terrors that often drove him to wakefulness. It was only the linens that smelled different, and that had apparently been enough to draw him from sleep. Lying back to familiarize himself, Ianto stared up at the ceiling of Jack's room and chided his foolish reaction. The bed was empty; the spot next to him not even warm, but Ianto hardly found that surprising. He knew Jack's sleeping habits as well as he knew his own.
Ianto had dressed and collected his things with reluctance -- he was loathe to leave but he needed a change of clothes, a shower, and maybe a short nap before returning to work. He had found Jack staring at one of Tosh's monitors displaying rift activity (or lack thereof), rolling a rose petal between his fingers. Ianto didn't have to ask where it was from. He only wished he had found it before Jack, before the scowl had permanently etched itself within Jack's features.
Ianto had done his best to ignore the blood-red dying Jack's fingers when he'd made enough noise to draw Jack's attention, feeling a bit awkward at the reminder of their job and their duties, yet pleasantly sore and smelling of sex. God, Ianto didn't think he'd ever forget that smell: Jack and sweat and colored with heat, different from the times before, those quick shags stolen in whatever location they could find offering a modicum of privacy. Maybe it had been the confines of the room. The smell of sex had suffused Jack's room and now was bursting into the Hub, following Ianto's path and bringing with it memory of skin gliding over skin, Jack's breath tickling fire across his neck. When Myfanwy squawked overhead, Ianto was fairly sure the pterodactyl could smell it, too.
Jack's brow had risen, eyes drifting down Ianto's body to the tent of his trousers, a salacious smirk replacing the scowl. With a casual shrug, a natural response to remembering the night before was not something he was particularly ashamed of as it had been a quite memorable evening. Ianto had been happy to provide a distraction.
Amid the slow morning kisses and the roll of hips, Ianto had pried the petal from Jack's fingers, slipping the crushed remains into his pocket to dispose of later. Jack hadn't said anything, and their kiss never broke, but his hand that had wound itself through Ianto's hair tightened for just a moment.
The pizza arrived without flourish or delay, the greasy cheese smell turning Ianto's stomach. He'd probably never eat the stuff again, but the team didn't have to suffer his hang-ups. The delivery person was a freckled boy, looking just old enough to operate a scooter. Ianto was sorely tempted to urge him to quit, to give up the life of a delivery boy and take up surfing the Internet for porn. It was far safer. He didn't, however, just tipped him generously and fervently hoped never to see the boy again.
Owen let out a "whoop!" when Ianto carried the pizza into the Hub, and Gwen and Tosh shared a relieved look. Either they had truly missed pizza as an option for lunch (likely), or Ianto had been more transparent than he had thought and they had picked up on his phobia (possible, though Ianto was hesitant to call it probable). The fact that Owen had never mocked him or commented led Ianto to believe it had at least been acknowledged, and quite possibly tolerated. Frightfully disturbing and almost as warming as Gwen and Owen's bid to help Tosh.
He still couldn't believe that he had hid it as poorly as he apparently had. Jack catching on, sure. But the others?
Ianto set the pizza boxes on the table in the conference room, the only table large enough to hold everyone for lunch. Like moths to a flame the team swarmed, grabbing spots at the table and plates (only Tosh bothered with a napkin -- he would be cleaning grease from the table, chairs, doors, and keyboards all afternoon). Something of his disgust must have shown, Jack was suddenly handing out napkins to the others like he was dealing a hand of cards. Three apiece, slight overkill. Apparently "don't spook the spooked" was the theme for the day. Ianto just wished he wasn't the one the others were dancing around. It was a disgusting bit of unwanted attention, though he was sure standing off to the side of the room was drawing enough attention as well.
But he really despised the smell of pizza..
"I'll see to the drinks, then." Ianto's clipped statement of intent returned their focus to him, guilty eyes rising from the food long enough to remind Ianto why he had enjoyed being a shadow for so long. Of course none of them had considered fetching beverages for lunch, just another of Ianto's duties. Tosh moved to stand, Gwen following in kind.
"We can get the drinks. Sit and grab yourself a slice. The pepperoni's not as good as Jubilee's, but it's really quite delicious."
Ianto counted to ten, slowly -- the first time he had resorted to his father's advice doled out when Elaine and he had been children, about to lash out at the other in true sibling fashion. Their father had always intervened, always knowing when the storm was about to burst and someone would end up crying. "Always count to ten a'fore you yell at kith and kin," he'd rhyme as Elaine and Ianto glared at each other for whatever infinitely small reason they had been angry with the other. Gwen deserved the counting now, though Ianto would hardly call it a sibling spat. More a low tolerance of "humanity," as Jack liked to excuse it.
"No, enjoy your lunch. I had a late breakfast."
"Oh, we can save you a slice for supper then!"
He wasn't sure who had struck her, but Gwen's muffled "ouch!" followed him down to the kitchen.
Humanity indeed.
***
Ianto loaded the serving tray with a glass of water for Jack, colas for the other three. It was ridiculous, he knew, feeling slighted for what had always been his job. The assumptions were borne of his role within Torchwood Three as teaboy, not any intentional slight of character. Which, as Ianto understood his unwritten job description, meant he did everything and anything. Including fetch drinks other than tea (or coffee).
He drew the line at tearing squares of toilet paper for Tosh and Gwen, though.
"Ianto!!"
Jean-Luc's voice ripped through Ianto's skull, piercing through any barriers Ianto held in place and shattering all thought. It was deafening, it was constricting ... his mind felt like it was shrinking in on itself, building inward. God, it hurt, pain like a sword stabbing at his mind, despite knowing somehow rationally that the brain held no nerve endings and therefore he shouldn't feel pain. But rationality no longer existed, just a fight to remain conscious and to stuff out the burning fire racing through his mind. He could feel Jean-Luc's shout in his toes, in his fingers, in his lungs where he might as well have been sucker punched for all he could breathe. His name silenced all things. The world collapsed around him, splintering into brilliant shards of light and color, fractions of a whole that mashed and squeezed the melted remains of his mind. Everything Ianto considered "him" was gone and nothing remained but the black of pain.
It was all that existed behind closed eyes, his name pinballing around in the dark hollow, echoing again and again, diminishing with each ping, a softening cry. Awareness crept in, slowly, steathily, until Ianto could feel hands trying to pry his hands from his head, and others trying to force open his eyes. One succeeded, one hand, one eye, a flash of light so bright the pain returned, making him rear back into the hands still struggling to hold him. Everything was too much. All the touching. He could feel the pressure of the air on his skin, the heat of hands holding his arms, burning, trying to force him supine. The world swirled and spun, despite the dark behind his eyes, and Ianto pulled away, finding what he knew was the counter and pushing himself up, half-standing, half-crouched, fists smashing into his temples as if sheer force could kill the pain in his head.
He could feel, could sense the cabinets behind him, but he could hear nothing. Nothing. What the hell just happened? Ianto slowly opened his eyes, cracking them just a little to allow some light in while dreading the strike of light that would soon meet his eyes. But the room was dark, or rather, dim. The lights were off; a small light over the sink provided enough to see. His eyes refused to cooperate, however, blurring and tearing as colors swam blues into golds and greens into reds. As did his balance, the world refusing to remain still beneath him. He saw movement, a white blob, and stuck out his hand to prevent them from getting closer. Ianto knew he didn't need to be medicated right now; he didn't need whatever drugs Owen was planning on giving him (that could only be Owen, Jack didn't wear white often, and not that day, and neither did Tosh, and Gwen ... well, there was no reason Gwen would be approaching him). He might have said "stop." Ianto knew he thought it at the very least, and the blob complied, allowing Ianto to will his vision back into line.
Shaking his head, Ianto realized what an error he'd made as the world slanted in dizzying displays of lurching color. God, he was going to be sick. Something held him upright, a hand (probably Jack's, as Owen's were smaller) and Ianto could feel the pressure from each finger, each joint, the thumb digging into his arm. Blinking rapidly, his vision began to come together, zigzagged lines straightening, pieces slanting into place and colors becoming whole - blue into blue, green into green. Owen was talking, lips moving too fast at the moment for Ianto to catch. He didn't think Owen was talking to him anyways. Fuck, his head hurt. As much as Ianto hoped Jean-Luc would follow up with an explanation, he feared any touch to his mind. It felt wobbly as his knees, and for the moment they remained very shaky. What had happened?
Ianto's ears began to ring, a loud, insistent ring that struck a frighteningly loud note before ebbing, slowly fading until he could start making out shapes of words, phrases, voices. If he didn't know any better (and at the moment he was fairly uncertain of anything), it was like all his senses had gone offline and were rebooting, leading to an irrational fear that he was actually connected to the Matrix. Which was ridiculous, but he couldn't stop the suspicion that Neo was going to walk through the door.
Dimly, Ianto could tell Owen was asking him a quesiton. Repeated questions. Repeated inane questions regarding the year and the date and who the hell would remember the phone number of their neighbor's house when they were ten? (1792 516750 oh fuck it hurt to think; Owen was a dead man). Laughter curled around him, he could hear that, laughter wasn't difficult to understand. Ianto realized he'd spoken out loud, though what he had said he wasn't sure. It was taking a great deal to focus on hearing and it was easier not to. That, and he was still feeling rather green.
Jean-Luc.
He straightened, focusing his attention on Owen's hand dancing in front of his face. Ianto slapped it away, annoyed that Owen kept trying to treat him for concussion when he'd not struck his head. At least he didn't think he had. Ianto couldn't remember ever kneeling on the ground. The tray was gone from the counter; it was on the floor not far from where he stood. That would explain the damp knees of his trousers. And why everyone was crowded into the kitchen. The noise must have brought them.
Anger at Jean-Luc rapidly cleared his head -- anger that blanketed the terror of considering what may have happened. A damp flannel was pressed to his nose. For a moment Ianto struggled, but then caught sight of the red coloring the cloth. A nosebleed? He didn't remember, but then, Ianto had problems remembering the immediate details following Jean-Luc's voice filling his mind. Ianto held still, letting Jack (Jack's hand) clean the blood from his face. Embarrassing, yes. But Ianto didn't have the time to worry about things like finding a mirror and cleaning up.
He had to find Jean-Luc. And then yell at him for a very, very long time until his head hurt as badly as Ianto's did.
Owen kept asking him questions, where it hurt ("everywhere") and what happened ("migraine") and could he move ("no, I rather like my flat"). The scrubbing flannel disappeared and Ianto assumed he was cleaned up enough to leave without startling passersby. He had put on a dark dress shirt that morning and was now rather glad for the choice. It hopefully hid any stain. Pushing away from the wall, fighting the hands trying to keep him in place, Ianto took a few cautious steps away from the counter, making sure the floor didn't tilt on its axis to reacquaint itself with him again.
"Just where do you think you're off to?"
His steps didn't falter (much, though he may have leaned against the wall rather heavily at points), reaffirming Ianto's belief that whatever it was was passing and alleviating the pain, although leaving lingering aches in his head and body as a (not-so) gentle reminder to yell at Jean-Luc when Ianto found him. Because he would find him. And yell at him. Loudly. "Going home, migraine." Ianto ignored Owen as he trailed behind him down to the medical shelves where Ianto knew aspirin was kept. Not that he thought it would actually help the throbbing pain in his head, but maybe it'd have a placebo effect. A bottle of paracetymol was slapped into his hand. Good doctor, concerned for the nose bleed. Aspirin might not be the best choice right now and Ianto didn't want anything stronger that would cloud his mind.
Ianto swallowed three pills and stuffed the bottle in his pocket with a mental note to order a replacement bottle as he fled Owen's labs.
"Ianto!"
He ignored Owen, pace picking up as Ianto grew more confident he wasn't going to vomit spectacularly on someone's desk or trip over his own feet, giving himself a head injury for real. He shouldn't run, he shouldn't raise anyone's curiosity, but the more clear his head felt, the more wrong the situation was. Jean-Luc would never harm him. Not with intent. Ianto ignored the tickles of thought growing like kudzu across his mind, of Lana, of Kjetil, of Rani, of whatever had Jean-Luc frightened when he'd shown up at the Information Center. Of his mother's call ...
Something wasn't right. In fact, something was incredibly wrong.
Ianto reached the rolling door, hitting it open long enough to slip through and closing it as he passed to slow Owen down who was still following him, insisting he stay. Owen couldn't help him. In fact, his problem wasn't really medical.
Jean-Luc was in trouble.
It took forever to reach the Information Center, time Ianto desperately knew he didn't have to waste. He'd phoned Jean-Luc's mobile and was unsurprised when he received no answer. Likewise the main number for Avalon. He grabbed his keys from the Desk and turned to race out the door, stopping suddenly when Jack appeared in front of him. It nearly sent him reeling, unsteady as he was, but he maintained his balance and warily eyed Jack.
"Can we help?"
The question surprised Ianto, though in truth it really shouldn't have. Jack must have figured it out, somehow put two and two together to equal Jean-Luc. Ianto would have appreciated the help, would have appreciated Jack's steady calm under pressure, but as much as Ianto wanted Jack to come with, to have everyone with Torchwood join him, he couldn't. There were secrets and he just...couldn't.
"No."
Jack nodded, having expected the response it seemed. Ianto thought for a moment he saw respect, but his eyes still weren't entirely unblurred and he might have confused it with mistrust. Or doubt. But maybe it had been respect.
Two handguns were held out to Ianto, both cased and heavy with ammunition. Blinking in surprise, he took them. They were part of Torchwood's arsenal, but Torchwood wasn't going with him. He didn't even know that he needed ....and then he remembered Lana's. And Kjetil. And Rani. And Jack must have remembered them, too. Ianto gripped the weapons tightly, hoping he wouldn't have to use them, but knowing that if Jean-Luc was in danger, he would without question. Because that's what they did, nevermind who the other worked for.
"Thank you."
Jack didn't smile, didn't say anything, just nodded once and stepped aside, clearing the path for the door. Ianto walked forward, then thought better of it, turning around to push Jack backwards against the wall into the calculated area of CCTV deadspace. The guns and his keys jabbed into his stomach, but they most certainly dug into Jack's as well and he made no sound. Ianto didn't either. His kiss was returned with equal fervor tasting of desperation and reassurance, banishing the last weakness Ianto felt from having his head threatening to implode. It could have been the paracetymol; Ianto liked to believe it was the kiss. Knowing he was losing time, Ianto pulled away, nipping gently at Jack's lower lip before straightening.
"Come back," was all Jack said, pushing his hands into his pockets, looking small without his greatcoat.
Ianto returned the nod, not sure if it was an avowal or merely agreeing to haunt the place if he died. With one last look at Jack, he turned and sprinted out the door.
He had a long road before he reached Avalon.
Next Chapter
Author: sarcasticchick
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: NC17
Spoilers: TW S1
Fluffers/Betas: lilithilien, fivealive
Summary: Pizza, lifts and fear...
A/N: Loosely touches epi 7. This is the massive chapter o'smut (and plot, can't ever forget the plot ;) ) due to fivealive's incredible skills creating a gorgeous new SoI-themed layout and banner. And for putting up with my "can you move Ianto like a fraction of a percent of a fraction to the right?" Go see! It's lovely Fic Journal And this is just a heads up - due to HP book 7 coming out July 21, I will be taking that weekend off from fic writing. Pleeeease. You know how these fandom things go. It's HP! Last book! I must read it all in a weekend. *g*
For Shades of Ianto series information, please see Prologue, Chapter 1
Previous Chapters:
Prologue: Chapters 1-7 (Complete)
S1: Chap 1
S1: Chap 2
S1: Chap 3
Ianto listened to the team while he picked up the remains of the day. They were in the lounge area, talking and laughing loudly -- Tosh the loudest of them all. Four days had passed since Mary had been sent to visit Sol, and now Gwen and Owen had taken it upon themselves to draw her out -- via unadulturated alcohol, it would seem. They'd been laughing for an hour now, the sound echoing off the Hub's walls and carrying throughout the base as Jack filled the silence with another jovial anecdote from his past, though if he ever stopped to consider the sheer number of years it would have taken to perform said stories, he might have refrained. Ianto had tallied them up, all the stories, the travels; he believed Jack was far older than even Torchwood thought. And most certainly didn't originate from this century, not with the current limits of space travel.
"Ianto! Come join us!"
Realizing he'd been spotted and lacked a decent excuse to feed Gwen, Ianto made his way towards the landing, depositing the bag of rubbish on Owen's chair as he passed by. He'd remember it later, and if he didn't, Owen would eloquently remind him in the morning. There wasn't nearly enough seating -- Gwen and Tosh sat together on the couch and Owen and Jack sat in office chairs, looking equally amused.
Ianto knew he shouldn't have worried, however. Worrying led to situations one didn't expect because life never played as it ought.
The moment he set foot in the lounge area behind the desks, he had an arm full of inebriated Toshiko, which was definitely not what he had expected. He had pictured gracefully sitting on the arm of the sofa near Tosh, maintaining a relative casual indifference to the conversation while displaying his quiet support. Tosh had other notions, however, which included wrapping him in a tight hug that was slowly driving the air out of him. He was familiar with the action, having sat with Elaine for countless hours, which made his response easier, returning the hug with a warmth he hoped Tosh could feel.
"My sad Ianto. We need to get you a drink. They're all conspiring to get me drunk, I think. You need to join me!"
Elaine had gotten drunk, too. Jean-Luc hadn't permitted him to drink. Bastard.
He guided Tosh back to the couch, ignoring the others, focusing on Tosh since she was the reason he'd joined the soiree. She believed him sad, and he supposed he was, but not entirely in the sense that she believed him to be. He'd felt the awareness and probing long before they'd learned of Mary, and embellished memories in his public mind were no difficult task. (Rule one in psychic training: never let them see you lie. Numbers two through ten had been forgettable mumbo-jumbo that made no sense given how Jean-Luc had trained him, but rule one had merit in any situation.) He'd informed Jack, of course, who was as confused as Ianto as to who was responsible. But when Ianto had discovered the police report, the pieces had fallen quickly into place.
But not quick enough to save Tosh the heartbreak. Ianto understood the intimacy with a connection like Mary and Tosh's.
Ianto sat on the couch and Tosh followed, curling up beside him (just like Elaine). This was easy. The following morning would be difficult, at least for Tosh. "You seem to be doing fine with your bottle of ... apple vodka?" Ianto glanced up at Owen who looked at Gwen who shrugged. They could have at least provided her a mixer. Or something more palatable. Trust Gwen and Owen to give her something which would leave her feeling ill.
"Tastes like candy."
"It won't tomorrow."
Jack just looked for all intent and purpose amused. He would be; he was drinking water.
Gwen turned towards Ianto and Tosh, her expression reading far too 'look, how adorable!' for Ianto's liking. The concept of love, death, and comfort seemed to escape them all. Hopefully they would never learn it. "So Ianto, we were sharing stories. Jack's currently got the best story for most outrageous public sex-"
"In front of a bunch of nuns! And a foreign dignitary!" Tosh nearly spilled out of the couch reaching for her drink, but Ianto saved her, his longer arms easily reaching the table.
"His skills in diplomacy are astounding."
"Yes, well..." Gwen hinted as Jack laughed, encouraging Ianto to continue. He didn't; rather, he settled Tosh back against the couch once she had drunk the remains of her glass. Her tastebuds must have been shot by that point, she didn't even hesitate. Owen moved to pour more vodka into the glass, but Ianto's glare and throat-clearing had him backing away. She was drunk enough, she didn't need to be sick.
Gwen never lost sight of an objective, it would appear. "Ianto? So what's your most outrageous story?"
He didn't look at Jack, fearing he'd somehow give himself away. Ianto knew that his answer was on top of the Millennium Centre. He never doubted it. He wasn't one for public affairs; quick shags in a loo were a bit different. And he would not share that story with the rest of the team. No matter what, if anything, it had meant to Jack, no matter what it meant to himself, it was too...personal...to share, and he really didn't have any stories beyond that. But he wouldn't lie. "I prefer to maintain my privacy. There are no CCTV cameras in that location and I'd rather it stay that way."
Owen yelled "Bollocks!" and Gwen was convinced Ianto had a new girlfriend. Tosh looked up with sad (intoxicated) eyes from his chest, which had become her pillow, and gave his sides a squeeze -- obviously thinking he was referencing Lisa based on what she had heard in his public thoughts. Only Jack did nothing, said nothing, just watched while Ianto silently rubbed Tosh's shoulder.
***
Ianto watched as Gwen, Owen, and Tosh trailed out of the Hub. Actually, it was more Gwen and Owen carrying Tosh out of the Hub -- she didn't even protest. He hoped Tosh wouldn't wake up in the morning with too great a hangover; he made a mental note to have aspirin ready for her in the morning. No point in her suffering through the day. At least it appeared that she'd had a good time -- she had smiled.
Sometimes, that was the best one could ask for.
As he finished picking up the glasses and the nearly-empty bottle of vodka, Ianto caught sight of Jack in his office. He felt a bit guilty; it wasn't too often that their job was finished before morning, much less six o'clock in the evening. "Would you like me to phone for takeaway, sir?"
Jack leaned in the doorway of his office, arms crossed, watching Ianto. "Ianto, the next time you call me sir you'll be wearing a collar with a chain attached to my wrist. Until then, it's Jack."
Ianto's eyes opened fractionally, unable to not be shocked by what Jack had just said. Though it wasn't anything new, it still caught him off guard. He collected himself quickly, picking up the remaining rubbish with a casual, practiced ease. "The last time someone said that to me they had to have the collar removed by a medic with forceps, Jack."
"Uncomfortable."
Nodding at Jack's beaming grin, Ianto held up his phone, "I would imagine. Takeaway?"
Jack didn't even bother hiding his grimace. So the weeks of Chinese and Indian the food were beginning to take their toll. With Jubilee's they'd had a bit more variety, but for the time he couldn't bring himself to even consider ordering from there. Or pizza in general. Some day.
"Nope, We're going to dinner."
Not that Ianto had anything against dinner; he actually was just considering picking something up on the way to his flat. But Jack willingly stepping out of the Hub for non-Torchwood related activities? It must be the end of the world. Or the second coming. Or the apocalypse. Something in the water? "Jack?"
"What?" Jack asked as he exited his office, slipping on his coat. So he was serious about leaving the Hub. "You have plans for the evening?"
"No, but-"
"Good. I hate eating alone."
Jack turned and walked away before Ianto could think of a response in support or protest, much less vocalize it. He grabbed the suit jacket he'd draped over the railing to follow Jack, but stopped as soon as he realized where Jack was heading. "Ah ... my keys are up in the Information Center. I'll meet you topside?"
"Don't be ridiculous -- you don't need your keys. You've got me. Besides," Jack glanced upward at the point in the ceiling, which retracted to allow the passengers on the lift through to the pavement in the Plass, "this place is just steps from this lift."
The captain was a devious, conniving, evil, arrogant and ... insane undying son of a bitch in period military ... and who the hell wore period military these days? Ianto closed his eyes as he stepped onto the platform, cycling through the number of ways he could get his revenge on him. Ianto had access to all places in the Hub; it wouldn't be difficult. Jack was a vain man and Ianto knew of a few chemicals perfect for hair removal. Or green teeth. Or....
Ianto felt the wool of Jack's coat beneath his fingers, clutching it like a lifeline as the platform made its way up through the levels of the Hub. He hadn't meant to grab it; he wasn't quite sure when he had. But it was in his hand now, and he wasn't letting go, no matter how much Ianto wished to. "I hate you."
"No, you don't."
Jack was right -- Ianto didn't. Not exactly. That didn't mean Ianto opened his eyes until the lift stopped, nor did it mean he spoke a word as he stepped off the lift or that his knees weren't just a bit shaky. Like pizza, there were a few things that Ianto didn't do anymore. Taking the lift to the Plass was apparently being removed from that list whether Ianto had any say or not.
Revenge was still an option, however.
"I'd watch your coffee for the next week, Jack."
***
"Any news on Lana?"
Dinner was finished and the plates were cleared, the last crust of bread eaten, and only smudges of wine rested in the bottoms of their glasses. Ianto had to admit, the food was better than takeaway, and the company had been better than his telly. Conversation had scattered across topics, mostly amusing, Jack regaling stories so extreme Ianto wondered if they were even true and who exactly he was trying to impress. Ianto had swallowed them all with a glass (or two) of wine, carefully deflecting personal questions while he encouraged Jack to speak about himself. Not that Jack shared anything personal either; it seemed both of them were adept in redirection. But where Ianto avoided by saying nothing, Jack avoided by saying everything about nothing. It was a good combination for dinner -- the conversation never lagged and it was far from boring.
In fact, Ianto had laughed, the sound slipping past his lips after a particular tale involving Jack, fish paste, and Ms. White's coffee. Jack's answering grin measured an 8.9 on the Jack scale of smiles, brilliant and disarming and attracting quite a few interested looks from the surrounding tables, men and women alike. Oddly enough for Jack, he ignored them, surprising Ianto. Jack had tried hard after that to get Ianto to laugh again; Ianto noticed, he wasn't entirely devoid of perception, and occasionally Jack succeeded. Turnabout was fair play, and Ianto had actually gotten Jack to inhale a sip of wine while remarking on Owen's uncanny resemblance to a monkey, which could explain the doctor on an evolutionary scale.
After Jack had regained his breath, he questioned Ianto regarding Owen. Simple, but straight to the point. Not that Owen's treatment of Ianto was excusable, but Ianto could sympathize on a level. Torchwood had touched Owen, just as it had touched them all. He was still a twat who played dangerous games but ... he was part of the team. And as Ianto was beginning to understand, no matter how fucked up he might be, Torchwood Three stood by each other. Even Owen.
Talk had then returned to its light, Jack-filled stories. And now that they were waiting for their after-dinner coffee, it apparently was time to return to a more serious topic.
Lana.
Ianto hadn't heard from Jean-Luc in weeks, but he wasn't worried. Jean-Luc had his hands full searching, and Ianto hardly expected contact until they were found. He knew Avalon was working on it, he knew they wouldn't allow their own to be taken. That was the whole purpose of Avalon -- to protect the gifted. They had the people and the resources; they would find Lana and the others who had been at the club. But with each passing day hope dwindled, and Ianto was concerned they might never be found.
"No," Ianto answered sadly, smiling a polite smile at Tamsin, the waitress who had arrived to serve their coffee. She looked between he and Jack and knew she had interrupted something, seeming to put even more cheer into her talk than when Jack had commented on her eyes. They were a rather unusual shade, hazel, almost golden and framed by dark lashes. Ianto had agreed, they were lovely, and Tamsin had transformed from a tired waitress into a smiling, blushing woman. Jack seemed to have that effect on people. It was rather remarkable. Ianto figured he'd leave that out of his reports to Ms. White as well; there was no need to open a study on the effects of Jack's charisma and how it could be bottled to use in defense of Britain.
Jack took a sip of the coffee, directing his comment at Ianto. "Not as good as yours."
Tamsin took no offense, smiling knowingly as she nudged Jack's shoulder. "Found yourself a good one then, didn't you?"
Ianto nearly choked on his own coffee as Jack watched him over his coffee mug, the mug certainly hiding a smirk if Ianto knew anything about Jack. She thought they were on a date. A date. They weren't on a date. They were just having dinner together rather than eating alone. Denying it, though, would only draw attention, probably resulting in another knowing smile shared with Jack.
"I'm just lucky he'll have me -- coffee's not his only specialty."
Tamsin's laughter at Jack's coy wink rang all the way back to the kitchen, a melodious sound drawing Ianto's lips into a smile, despite the turn in conversation. After she deposited their bill on the table, he whispered, "She thinks we're dating."
"She's probably telling the staff of your remarkable abilities. They're going to be curious." Jack flipped open the bill and threw in a few notes; it didn't escape Ianto that they totalled his share of the meal as well.
"God, I can never come back."
***
Jack didn't head back immediately for the Hub; instead he meandered towards the Millennium Centre. They walked in silence, mostly, enjoying the cool night and the Torchwood-free moment. No alarms, no aliens, no danger, just a peaceful calm. Ianto wondered if this was what most people felt on a daily basis, and for that he was jealous To be able to enjoy the quiet and the peace and the blissful ignorance, well, that was a tempting life. But as tempting as it was, he couldn't bring himself to seriously consider it. Torchwood had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember. Giving it up was simply not fathomable.
As they walked along the Plass, Ianto remembered the words spoken that night, spoken in fear and desperate obsession. He'd been a wreck, knowing he was leaving Lisa to her death, while at the same time hating himself for the relief that she wouldn't harm anyone else. He still couldn't believe he'd struck Jack, though at the time it had seemed a very wise action to take. They were all a bit broken at Torchwood Three, Ianto's fracture was just a bit more world-threatening. Once Torchwood One, always Torchwood One, it would seem. "I couldn't, you know."
"What, go back to the resturaunt?"
Ianto smiled at Jack's quip, staring at his feet as they walked. There was a concert being held in the Millennium Center that night; Ianto could faintly make out music. "No. I couldn't stand back and watch you die."
"Yes, you could."
The reply made Ianto draw up in confusion. "Sorry?" After all the time and the apologies, Jack's use of the ghost machine and their conversations, could Jack really think Ianto had meant what he said that night? Ianto felt he'd terribly misconstrued everything, and he hadn't meant to. He'd tried to maintain a distance of sorts. Jack was Jack. And with Jack came the swooning and broken hearts when those who fell for his charm fell too hard. Ianto had kept himself away from that, he'd understood what this was -- a quick shag here and there, a boss looking out for someone in his employ. But he had believed Jack thought better of him, that Jack might actually have considered him...well, maybe not a friend. But he was the closest thing Ianto had to one in Cardiff, as fucked up as their relationship might be.
Ianto had been terribly wrong.
He hadn't moved, hadn't been able to breathe in his shame for having so grossly misread Jack's intent. And he was still standing still when Jack approached him, looking as serious as Ianto had seen him.
"You might not have meant it exactly as you said it that night. But you know I can't die. If you had to, you would stand aside and watch because you knew you must."
Ianto was sickened by the thought. But if he did consider what Jack said, the other man was correct, and that was far easier to swallow than believing Jack had thought he would do it out of hatred or revenge. As great as his nightmares would be from making that choice, Ianto knew he would do it. He would stand aside. And watch until perhaps Jack's ability to come back no longer worked. It was devastating to think about, and left him feeling every bit as cold as those actions would be considered.
"I don't know that I could, if it were you."
He felt his head jerk in surprise, his eyes immediately seeking Jack, who was standing with his hands in his pockets, long coat swirling. The doors of the Millennium Center swung open, the ruckus of exiting patrons deafening in what had been quiet stillness, and yet all Ianto could do was stare at Jack. Jack was the one who saw the grand picture, the universal view, the one who knew the sacrifice and costs of the world they lived in and what it took to keep it safe and free. Jack, who believed Ianto capable of standing back if for the greater good.
It was Jack who had bought him dinner.
People were pouring out of the Center in their formal clothes, reviewing the concert and their neighbors' poor choice in fashion. But there was Jack, standing amidst them all, looking as honest as he ever had and perhaps a bit unsure. It surprised Ianto into moving, taking the two steps forward so Jack could hear him. "But you've stood back for others."
"None of them looked nearly as good in a suit."
Dark as the theme had become, Ianto smiled. A true Captain Jack Harkness response, and a nice deflection. It was ridiculous to consider Jack knowing the rules and the consequences of not following. It had to be hard; Ianto wasn't sure how long Jack had lived, but in all those years, across whatever time and space, he had to have loved. Loved and lost. Jack understood, better than Ianto.
But, perhaps Ianto hadn't misunderstood things as much as he believed he had.
Feeling brazen, despite the crowd, Ianto took another step forward and pulled Jack into a kiss. It wasn't much more than a press of lips, a tease, but even knowing they were two of hundreds and hidden from CCTV, Ianto still wasn't one to make a spectacle for a public audience. "Your place?" Ianto suggested, quite the inane question as they were a matter of meters from the Hub, but it felt the question to ask.
Jack laughed all the same, dragging Ianto with him as he ran towards the lift.
***
"Stop."
Jack froze with far more concern than was necessary. Ianto rolled his eyes; he had been as equal a participant in the race towards the Hub and then to the tiny bedroom as Jack. It wasn't like he was going to beg Jack off now. He took Jack's hands which had been working on removing Ianto's jacket and pushed them to his sides. In their quick times before, Ianto had rarely gotten to see Jack. In fact, he really wasn't certain what the man looked like beneath his clothes. Tonight he was going to take his time and enjoy. Which meant Jack had to stop with his participation, at least for the moment.
Ianto removed his jacket and threw it over the single chair in the room. He left the rest of his clothes on, wanting nothing to distract Jack, who looked confused but willing. The wool coat had been discarded long ago, making the slide of the braces easy and uncomplicated. Buttoned pale blue shirt, white tee, shoes, trousers, briefs, socks, everything was efficiently removed and thrown in a pile on the floor. Jack stood naked and unashamed in front of him, proud as ever and displaying his erection like Ianto would never see better. Which might be true in a relative sense, but Ianto wasn't going to comment as he let his eyes roam down Jack's body, down to his bare feet, and back up again.
Jack's vanity really wasn't misplaced, if not a bit strong at times, and neither was his confidence. He was lines and curves, a sculptor's dream. Strong arms and broad shoulders, tapering to narrow hips implying exercise but Ianto wasn't aware Jack ever ventured to a gym. Muscled thighs from far too much running while on the job, flowing into calves lined with use, down to feet that Ianto wouldn't call pretty, but then, there had to be an imperfection. Because there really wasn't; his legs were topped by a full arse and his back echoed the physical strength of the rest, though one thing stood out above the rest.
There were no scars.
He pushed Jack back until he tumbled onto the bed; Ianto toed off his shoes before joining. He didn't stop looking once he had straddled Jack's hips. The position just gave him a closer inspection, a reason to touch. Ianto let his fingers drift over Jack's tanned skin, standing out dark against the white of Ianto's shirt -- another mystery given the climate of Cardiff. Maybe he tanned in one of those beds. Or maybe wherever he was from, an ever-present tan was natural. Ianto wasn't sure where that might be, but Jack's skin felt the same as his own, lightly haired and hot to the touch. He reassured himself, tasting the dip of Jack's collarbone, running his tongue over skin which felt the same and tasted of Jack, timeless and foreign, yet as familiar as the scent of black currants in the summer.
Ianto touched it all, fingers mapping Jack's arms, following the curves and the lines down to his fingertips. The pads had calluses from the gun he carried, the occurrence striking Ianto as unusual as the lack of scarring. He kissed the callus of Jack's forefinger, willing away the violence, licking the slight raise before sucking the whole digit into his mouth, to the delight of Jack if the rise of his hips were any indication. Ianto could feel the press of Jack's cock against his arse, could feel when he hit a sensitive spot -- the underside of a wrist, the dip of a bicep, the skin just above the beating pulse in his neck.
Faint memory of flashes of navy blue, of awareness gifted by artificial pheromones matched what Ianto tasted, fingers now trailing down Jack's chest. A wall indeed, but pliable, giving just a bit beneath his hands and burning with heat, casting a sheen of sweat that slicked his path. Ianto shifted and slid down Jack's body, feeling hard fire trace a line from his arse to his stomach. Jack's erection pressed flat between their stomachs, his hips less mobile as Ianto's thighs squared against Jack's. The new position gave Ianto access to Jack nipples, dark rings pulled tight against the curved wall of skin. He nipped down on one and was nearly thrown from Jack's bed as Jack bucked beneath him.
"Fuck! Christ, Ianto."
Intriguing -- Jack had picked up a deity during this time. Jack's shout reminded Ianto to listen; he'd forgotten to listen as he touched and tasted, licked and smelled. Ianto kept a careful ear tuned to Jack, drinking in all the groans and pleading, what made Jack growl deep in his throat (hands firmly on hips holding him down, Ianto's body out of reach, the bud of a nipple held between his teeth, tongue flicking the end) and what made Jack beg ("Please, Ianto! Christ, just touch me, lean forward, let me touch you don't stop but fuck I need you to touch me!"). Ianto even made him squeak, just the once, Jack's voice slipping octaves (fingers squeezing his arse, pulling Jack up to meet his body, white silk/cotton blend rubbing down the length of Jack's cock, tongue delving into his navel).
Ianto felt Jack's breath quicken, saw his chest rise and fall in rapid pace, anticipation and want pushing his hips to find any touch, any brush. He wondered if Jack could come like that, hips straining against Ianto's hands while his lips sucked a blushed mark on the skin. Probably, but Ianto was not curious to test the theory. He slid further down Jack's legs, making sure his trouser-clad legs rubbed against Jack's skin. Jack might have whimpered. Ianto was distracted from his listening by the sight of Jack's cock before him, straining up in the cool air of Jack's room, hot and heavy and flushed dark with want. Ianto looked, lips just out of reach, Jack's erection twitching as each breath flowed around it.
And then he tasted, not bothering with touch as he knew this part of Jack, but he tasted, licking a swirl around the head before mouthing down the shaft, feeling the rise and fall of the vein with his lips, tracing the curve and slight bend, fighting with his body to keep Jack from pitching him onto the floor. Jack was rather vocal, though none of it too nice, calling Ianto a cocktease, a son of a bitch, and Ianto was fairly certain there was a language not native to earth thrown in. Ianto just ignored him, sucking one of Jack's balls into his mouth and rolling it gently with his tongue before moving to the other, showing the same attention to detail as the other, noting that the one was slightly smaller, more round. Not an imperfection but another reassuring mark against perfection.
He retraced his path, sucking and licking the length of Jack's cock before he mouthed just the head, tasting the pre-cum beading on the tip -- bitter, salty, just a concentration of Jack that Ianto had tasted before. Relenting to Jack's pleas, the hand in his hair urging Ianto down, Ianto slowly slid his mouth over the length, applying an increasing pressure as he moved. Jack's erection felt as it had tasted, a fiery heat and silken skin, heavy against his tongue. Ianto traced the curve as his head rose, then fell again, spit slicking the way and making them move quicker, faster. God, Jack's intensity was poured into his cock. Ianto could feel the passion that drove him and the love for life thrumming beneath the surface, as tightly wound as his speech, his actions, even in sex.
There was no warning -- a surprised cry indicated that Jack's orgasm had caught even himself off guard. It didn't matter as Ianto's fingers curled into the skin of Jack's hips, holding him firmly in place as Ianto swallowed. Jack's whole body trembled, cock slowly softening as Ianto continued to gently lick every trace of cum. That was until a hand tugged his hair, pulling Ianto up Jack's body not with force but an urgency, a desperate need as Jack kissed him, ravaging Ianto's mouth for every last taste before dropping into a lazy press of lip and tongue.
"Fuck, Ianto."
"Not to be presumptuous, Jack, but I had rather hoped you might follow with that."
Laughter followed, Jack's words hot over Ianto's ear as he nuzzled and tugged. "Give me a moment to recover. I've not got your youth."
"To be honest, I don't believe you've had my youth for a very long time."
The hands that had been rubbing slow circles over his back stilled for a moment before resuming. "Are you calling me old?"
Ianto pushed off the mattress so he could look Jack in the eye without going crossed, a smile twitching at his lips. "I'm calling you special, Jack. I'm just lucky you're not using a walker to get about, that fall into bed might have fractured your hip."
Jack silenced him with a kiss, preventing further comment from Ianto but not punishing (or denying) the knowledge. Which suited Ianto perfectly fine; he didn't want Jack to lie either.
"Up." A slap on his arse drew Ianto's attention from Jack's lips. For a moment Ianto was confused until he realized he was still dressed. He crawled off Jack, taking note of the renewed interest as he slid over Jack's skin with as much contact as possible.
"Hedonist."
"Pot, kettle."
"Eyes closed."
"What?" Ianto turned to find Jack but he received a finger-poke in his shoulder for the effort.
"Eyes closed."
He closed his eyes dutifully, standing still as he heard all the silence in the Hub but couldn't hear Jack. Whatever Ianto had planned to say next was lost as Jack came up behind him, pressing his body full against Ianto's back. The sudden sensation rang every nerve in his body. In the dark behind his eyes, he could hear the steady breathing of Jack's, the increase in his own ... even his heart racing sounded louder. He felt a tug at his tie, could feel it snaking its way around his neck as Jack removed it. Jack enveloped him, pressed hard against his back and arms around Ianto's, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, button by button, rounded edge dipping slightly into his skin before popping away. God, it was going to drive Ianto mad before Jack undid them all, so he pressed back against Jack to emphasize his point.
"Pushy," was laughed into his ear, startling him but distracting him from the slow dip-pop of the buttons. Ianto tried to help, but his hands were pushed away, noticing first the absence of Jack's body against his and then chill air as his shirt was pulled away. Jack's chest returned, skin against skin, and Ianto would have cum right then if not for a will-power built by Jean-Luc's thoughts and phantom touches at the most inopportune time.
Jack noticed though, chuckling as he kissed Ianto's shoulder while he unbelted his pants. "I wonder if I could make you cum just from touching your back."
"Considered the same thing about you and your hips..." Ianto's voice trailed off into a groan, Jack had squeezed his cock and it nearly sent all restraint fleeing as he arched against Jack hand, pushing into it with as much leverage as Ianto had. As it was, he felt his trousers and briefs slip to his ankles and an answering need pressing into his hip.
"Lift your foot."
Ianto did, feeling Jack kick away his trousers, automatically lifting the other to receive the same treatment. No sense tripping over himself as they moved to the bed. He didn't think Jack would allow him to fall, but it was a nice comfort, nearly as comforting as the solid wall against his back. He was guided to the bed; Ianto only knew when the mattress hit his knees. He kept his eyes closed, though, more from curiosity than anything.
He knew Jack had joined him on the bed, a heavy dip in the mattress as Jack settled between his legs, soft hair tickling at his inner thighs. Ianto couldn't tell what he was doing, however. Even Jack's breath was silent. "Jack?" He heard a drawer click shut near his head and Ianto stilled, a hundred different toys and gadgets flipping through his mind quicker than he could name, and that didn't count any alien tech Jack might have stored away for personal use...
"Easy," Jack whispered in his ear, sounding so loud in the quiet of the room that Ianto figured he might have been speaking normally if not for the hushed sound, having apparently deduced Ianto's discomfort. "I'll never use anything without asking first, and then you can always tell me to stop."
With a nod, Ianto melted back into the bedding, relaxing despite still not having a visual of what Jack was doing.
"Beautiful," partnered with a tickle of fingers down his sides, Ianto squirming at the touch. Ianto knew he had heard it for sure this time. There was no club noise he could blame it on.
It made him blush, straight down to his toes.
"Jack, please."
It wasn't a beg, Ianto didn't beg. But he wanted Jack to move, to do something, to do anything. On some level he comprehended that this delay was similar to what he had done to Jack earlier, but Ianto had waited so long. Lips crushed his, tongue twining just as he felt two slicked fingers slip inside him, moving in time and motion, mimicking each other until Ianto could no longer tell the difference between them.
And then they went away, fingers, tongue, lips, abandoning Ianto to silence and bereftness so keen he felt it to his core. He might have whimpered as well, but he would never admit it. No matter how Jack blackmailed him.
"Open your eyes, Ianto."
Ianto listened, opening his eyes quickly and blinking at the sudden yet dim light. Jack came into focus. A desperate Jack, anticipation broken and pure need bringing a flush to his face. As soon as Jack realized he had Ianto's attention, he moved and Ianto felt. His legs were splayed, his hips raised (how and when he arrived in that position he couldn't remember), and fuck he felt as Jack slid inside him, slick and fire at once. And Jack watched, watched it all, and Ianto knew because he was looking back. The movement in the corner of his eye matched the increasing thrusts of Jack's hips, which he rose to meet. It was too close to perfect and too long in coming. The bare touch of Jack's hand against Ianto's erection sent him crying out, coming hard enough to blur Jack's face in front of him.
He felt Jack's head fall on the pillow beside his, his breath tickling down Ianto's throat, lips moving but saying nothing for a time before Jack braced his arms above Ianto's head and resumed his quick, hard thrusts until Ianto felt him shudder, groaning his release into Ianto's shoulder.
They didn't move, neither one. Ianto didn't think he could move, be it fatigue or the weight of Jack's body, he wasn't sure. And he didn't quite care. Jack mumbled something about dates but Ianto didn't pay attention, nose pressed against the rapid pace of Jack's pulse. He could hear that, he understood that language, and it lulled him to sleep.
***
Jack had given him a stupid grin when he heard Ianto placing the lunch order for the day; Ianto pretended not to notice. It wasn't from Julbilee's; he wasn't sure if he could ever order from there again, even if they were the closest and really had the best pizza in the neighborhood. Ianto wasn't sure what story had been told to cover the girl's abscense -- Vicki Weber had been her name -- but he didn't ask. He really didn't want to know.
But he'd ordered pizza. And Ianto refused to allow Jack and his wide, full-toothed grin to make him believe his actions had been anything more than simply ordering pizza.
Ianto smiled anyway.
He had woken in the middle of the night in a strange bed, confused and startled but, oddly enough, without the terrors that often drove him to wakefulness. It was only the linens that smelled different, and that had apparently been enough to draw him from sleep. Lying back to familiarize himself, Ianto stared up at the ceiling of Jack's room and chided his foolish reaction. The bed was empty; the spot next to him not even warm, but Ianto hardly found that surprising. He knew Jack's sleeping habits as well as he knew his own.
Ianto had dressed and collected his things with reluctance -- he was loathe to leave but he needed a change of clothes, a shower, and maybe a short nap before returning to work. He had found Jack staring at one of Tosh's monitors displaying rift activity (or lack thereof), rolling a rose petal between his fingers. Ianto didn't have to ask where it was from. He only wished he had found it before Jack, before the scowl had permanently etched itself within Jack's features.
Ianto had done his best to ignore the blood-red dying Jack's fingers when he'd made enough noise to draw Jack's attention, feeling a bit awkward at the reminder of their job and their duties, yet pleasantly sore and smelling of sex. God, Ianto didn't think he'd ever forget that smell: Jack and sweat and colored with heat, different from the times before, those quick shags stolen in whatever location they could find offering a modicum of privacy. Maybe it had been the confines of the room. The smell of sex had suffused Jack's room and now was bursting into the Hub, following Ianto's path and bringing with it memory of skin gliding over skin, Jack's breath tickling fire across his neck. When Myfanwy squawked overhead, Ianto was fairly sure the pterodactyl could smell it, too.
Jack's brow had risen, eyes drifting down Ianto's body to the tent of his trousers, a salacious smirk replacing the scowl. With a casual shrug, a natural response to remembering the night before was not something he was particularly ashamed of as it had been a quite memorable evening. Ianto had been happy to provide a distraction.
Amid the slow morning kisses and the roll of hips, Ianto had pried the petal from Jack's fingers, slipping the crushed remains into his pocket to dispose of later. Jack hadn't said anything, and their kiss never broke, but his hand that had wound itself through Ianto's hair tightened for just a moment.
The pizza arrived without flourish or delay, the greasy cheese smell turning Ianto's stomach. He'd probably never eat the stuff again, but the team didn't have to suffer his hang-ups. The delivery person was a freckled boy, looking just old enough to operate a scooter. Ianto was sorely tempted to urge him to quit, to give up the life of a delivery boy and take up surfing the Internet for porn. It was far safer. He didn't, however, just tipped him generously and fervently hoped never to see the boy again.
Owen let out a "whoop!" when Ianto carried the pizza into the Hub, and Gwen and Tosh shared a relieved look. Either they had truly missed pizza as an option for lunch (likely), or Ianto had been more transparent than he had thought and they had picked up on his phobia (possible, though Ianto was hesitant to call it probable). The fact that Owen had never mocked him or commented led Ianto to believe it had at least been acknowledged, and quite possibly tolerated. Frightfully disturbing and almost as warming as Gwen and Owen's bid to help Tosh.
He still couldn't believe that he had hid it as poorly as he apparently had. Jack catching on, sure. But the others?
Ianto set the pizza boxes on the table in the conference room, the only table large enough to hold everyone for lunch. Like moths to a flame the team swarmed, grabbing spots at the table and plates (only Tosh bothered with a napkin -- he would be cleaning grease from the table, chairs, doors, and keyboards all afternoon). Something of his disgust must have shown, Jack was suddenly handing out napkins to the others like he was dealing a hand of cards. Three apiece, slight overkill. Apparently "don't spook the spooked" was the theme for the day. Ianto just wished he wasn't the one the others were dancing around. It was a disgusting bit of unwanted attention, though he was sure standing off to the side of the room was drawing enough attention as well.
But he really despised the smell of pizza..
"I'll see to the drinks, then." Ianto's clipped statement of intent returned their focus to him, guilty eyes rising from the food long enough to remind Ianto why he had enjoyed being a shadow for so long. Of course none of them had considered fetching beverages for lunch, just another of Ianto's duties. Tosh moved to stand, Gwen following in kind.
"We can get the drinks. Sit and grab yourself a slice. The pepperoni's not as good as Jubilee's, but it's really quite delicious."
Ianto counted to ten, slowly -- the first time he had resorted to his father's advice doled out when Elaine and he had been children, about to lash out at the other in true sibling fashion. Their father had always intervened, always knowing when the storm was about to burst and someone would end up crying. "Always count to ten a'fore you yell at kith and kin," he'd rhyme as Elaine and Ianto glared at each other for whatever infinitely small reason they had been angry with the other. Gwen deserved the counting now, though Ianto would hardly call it a sibling spat. More a low tolerance of "humanity," as Jack liked to excuse it.
"No, enjoy your lunch. I had a late breakfast."
"Oh, we can save you a slice for supper then!"
He wasn't sure who had struck her, but Gwen's muffled "ouch!" followed him down to the kitchen.
Humanity indeed.
***
Ianto loaded the serving tray with a glass of water for Jack, colas for the other three. It was ridiculous, he knew, feeling slighted for what had always been his job. The assumptions were borne of his role within Torchwood Three as teaboy, not any intentional slight of character. Which, as Ianto understood his unwritten job description, meant he did everything and anything. Including fetch drinks other than tea (or coffee).
He drew the line at tearing squares of toilet paper for Tosh and Gwen, though.
"Ianto!!"
Jean-Luc's voice ripped through Ianto's skull, piercing through any barriers Ianto held in place and shattering all thought. It was deafening, it was constricting ... his mind felt like it was shrinking in on itself, building inward. God, it hurt, pain like a sword stabbing at his mind, despite knowing somehow rationally that the brain held no nerve endings and therefore he shouldn't feel pain. But rationality no longer existed, just a fight to remain conscious and to stuff out the burning fire racing through his mind. He could feel Jean-Luc's shout in his toes, in his fingers, in his lungs where he might as well have been sucker punched for all he could breathe. His name silenced all things. The world collapsed around him, splintering into brilliant shards of light and color, fractions of a whole that mashed and squeezed the melted remains of his mind. Everything Ianto considered "him" was gone and nothing remained but the black of pain.
It was all that existed behind closed eyes, his name pinballing around in the dark hollow, echoing again and again, diminishing with each ping, a softening cry. Awareness crept in, slowly, steathily, until Ianto could feel hands trying to pry his hands from his head, and others trying to force open his eyes. One succeeded, one hand, one eye, a flash of light so bright the pain returned, making him rear back into the hands still struggling to hold him. Everything was too much. All the touching. He could feel the pressure of the air on his skin, the heat of hands holding his arms, burning, trying to force him supine. The world swirled and spun, despite the dark behind his eyes, and Ianto pulled away, finding what he knew was the counter and pushing himself up, half-standing, half-crouched, fists smashing into his temples as if sheer force could kill the pain in his head.
He could feel, could sense the cabinets behind him, but he could hear nothing. Nothing. What the hell just happened? Ianto slowly opened his eyes, cracking them just a little to allow some light in while dreading the strike of light that would soon meet his eyes. But the room was dark, or rather, dim. The lights were off; a small light over the sink provided enough to see. His eyes refused to cooperate, however, blurring and tearing as colors swam blues into golds and greens into reds. As did his balance, the world refusing to remain still beneath him. He saw movement, a white blob, and stuck out his hand to prevent them from getting closer. Ianto knew he didn't need to be medicated right now; he didn't need whatever drugs Owen was planning on giving him (that could only be Owen, Jack didn't wear white often, and not that day, and neither did Tosh, and Gwen ... well, there was no reason Gwen would be approaching him). He might have said "stop." Ianto knew he thought it at the very least, and the blob complied, allowing Ianto to will his vision back into line.
Shaking his head, Ianto realized what an error he'd made as the world slanted in dizzying displays of lurching color. God, he was going to be sick. Something held him upright, a hand (probably Jack's, as Owen's were smaller) and Ianto could feel the pressure from each finger, each joint, the thumb digging into his arm. Blinking rapidly, his vision began to come together, zigzagged lines straightening, pieces slanting into place and colors becoming whole - blue into blue, green into green. Owen was talking, lips moving too fast at the moment for Ianto to catch. He didn't think Owen was talking to him anyways. Fuck, his head hurt. As much as Ianto hoped Jean-Luc would follow up with an explanation, he feared any touch to his mind. It felt wobbly as his knees, and for the moment they remained very shaky. What had happened?
Ianto's ears began to ring, a loud, insistent ring that struck a frighteningly loud note before ebbing, slowly fading until he could start making out shapes of words, phrases, voices. If he didn't know any better (and at the moment he was fairly uncertain of anything), it was like all his senses had gone offline and were rebooting, leading to an irrational fear that he was actually connected to the Matrix. Which was ridiculous, but he couldn't stop the suspicion that Neo was going to walk through the door.
Dimly, Ianto could tell Owen was asking him a quesiton. Repeated questions. Repeated inane questions regarding the year and the date and who the hell would remember the phone number of their neighbor's house when they were ten? (1792 516750 oh fuck it hurt to think; Owen was a dead man). Laughter curled around him, he could hear that, laughter wasn't difficult to understand. Ianto realized he'd spoken out loud, though what he had said he wasn't sure. It was taking a great deal to focus on hearing and it was easier not to. That, and he was still feeling rather green.
Jean-Luc.
He straightened, focusing his attention on Owen's hand dancing in front of his face. Ianto slapped it away, annoyed that Owen kept trying to treat him for concussion when he'd not struck his head. At least he didn't think he had. Ianto couldn't remember ever kneeling on the ground. The tray was gone from the counter; it was on the floor not far from where he stood. That would explain the damp knees of his trousers. And why everyone was crowded into the kitchen. The noise must have brought them.
Anger at Jean-Luc rapidly cleared his head -- anger that blanketed the terror of considering what may have happened. A damp flannel was pressed to his nose. For a moment Ianto struggled, but then caught sight of the red coloring the cloth. A nosebleed? He didn't remember, but then, Ianto had problems remembering the immediate details following Jean-Luc's voice filling his mind. Ianto held still, letting Jack (Jack's hand) clean the blood from his face. Embarrassing, yes. But Ianto didn't have the time to worry about things like finding a mirror and cleaning up.
He had to find Jean-Luc. And then yell at him for a very, very long time until his head hurt as badly as Ianto's did.
Owen kept asking him questions, where it hurt ("everywhere") and what happened ("migraine") and could he move ("no, I rather like my flat"). The scrubbing flannel disappeared and Ianto assumed he was cleaned up enough to leave without startling passersby. He had put on a dark dress shirt that morning and was now rather glad for the choice. It hopefully hid any stain. Pushing away from the wall, fighting the hands trying to keep him in place, Ianto took a few cautious steps away from the counter, making sure the floor didn't tilt on its axis to reacquaint itself with him again.
"Just where do you think you're off to?"
His steps didn't falter (much, though he may have leaned against the wall rather heavily at points), reaffirming Ianto's belief that whatever it was was passing and alleviating the pain, although leaving lingering aches in his head and body as a (not-so) gentle reminder to yell at Jean-Luc when Ianto found him. Because he would find him. And yell at him. Loudly. "Going home, migraine." Ianto ignored Owen as he trailed behind him down to the medical shelves where Ianto knew aspirin was kept. Not that he thought it would actually help the throbbing pain in his head, but maybe it'd have a placebo effect. A bottle of paracetymol was slapped into his hand. Good doctor, concerned for the nose bleed. Aspirin might not be the best choice right now and Ianto didn't want anything stronger that would cloud his mind.
Ianto swallowed three pills and stuffed the bottle in his pocket with a mental note to order a replacement bottle as he fled Owen's labs.
"Ianto!"
He ignored Owen, pace picking up as Ianto grew more confident he wasn't going to vomit spectacularly on someone's desk or trip over his own feet, giving himself a head injury for real. He shouldn't run, he shouldn't raise anyone's curiosity, but the more clear his head felt, the more wrong the situation was. Jean-Luc would never harm him. Not with intent. Ianto ignored the tickles of thought growing like kudzu across his mind, of Lana, of Kjetil, of Rani, of whatever had Jean-Luc frightened when he'd shown up at the Information Center. Of his mother's call ...
Something wasn't right. In fact, something was incredibly wrong.
Ianto reached the rolling door, hitting it open long enough to slip through and closing it as he passed to slow Owen down who was still following him, insisting he stay. Owen couldn't help him. In fact, his problem wasn't really medical.
Jean-Luc was in trouble.
It took forever to reach the Information Center, time Ianto desperately knew he didn't have to waste. He'd phoned Jean-Luc's mobile and was unsurprised when he received no answer. Likewise the main number for Avalon. He grabbed his keys from the Desk and turned to race out the door, stopping suddenly when Jack appeared in front of him. It nearly sent him reeling, unsteady as he was, but he maintained his balance and warily eyed Jack.
"Can we help?"
The question surprised Ianto, though in truth it really shouldn't have. Jack must have figured it out, somehow put two and two together to equal Jean-Luc. Ianto would have appreciated the help, would have appreciated Jack's steady calm under pressure, but as much as Ianto wanted Jack to come with, to have everyone with Torchwood join him, he couldn't. There were secrets and he just...couldn't.
"No."
Jack nodded, having expected the response it seemed. Ianto thought for a moment he saw respect, but his eyes still weren't entirely unblurred and he might have confused it with mistrust. Or doubt. But maybe it had been respect.
Two handguns were held out to Ianto, both cased and heavy with ammunition. Blinking in surprise, he took them. They were part of Torchwood's arsenal, but Torchwood wasn't going with him. He didn't even know that he needed ....and then he remembered Lana's. And Kjetil. And Rani. And Jack must have remembered them, too. Ianto gripped the weapons tightly, hoping he wouldn't have to use them, but knowing that if Jean-Luc was in danger, he would without question. Because that's what they did, nevermind who the other worked for.
"Thank you."
Jack didn't smile, didn't say anything, just nodded once and stepped aside, clearing the path for the door. Ianto walked forward, then thought better of it, turning around to push Jack backwards against the wall into the calculated area of CCTV deadspace. The guns and his keys jabbed into his stomach, but they most certainly dug into Jack's as well and he made no sound. Ianto didn't either. His kiss was returned with equal fervor tasting of desperation and reassurance, banishing the last weakness Ianto felt from having his head threatening to implode. It could have been the paracetymol; Ianto liked to believe it was the kiss. Knowing he was losing time, Ianto pulled away, nipping gently at Jack's lower lip before straightening.
"Come back," was all Jack said, pushing his hands into his pockets, looking small without his greatcoat.
Ianto returned the nod, not sure if it was an avowal or merely agreeing to haunt the place if he died. With one last look at Jack, he turned and sprinted out the door.
He had a long road before he reached Avalon.
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