Bind
Title: Bind (Sequel to Captain)
Wordcount: ~4000
Rating: Strong R
Summary: The captain has come back to the club, but he's proving a little harder to break than last time...
Warnings: D/s, flogging, some pain play. If I've left anything out file it under "This is kinky".
Pell -- the Captain -- didn't come back to the club for two weeks.
Ianto had other things to be concerned with, and many of them; running a business was time-consuming and after Costello shot herself in the middle of the bar there had been a dip in membership renewals and purchases. The crowd that Bind attracted valued stability, sanity, and discretion, after all, and Suzie Costello had managed in one fell swoop to violate all three unwritten rules of the Lifestyle.
But, after all, he'd got the place for a song because of it, and if he couldn't build it back up then he didn't deserve to keep it. Cardiff didn't have many bars that catered to people looking for more than a quick missionary fuck. They'd come around, given time.
So Ianto worked. He did accounts, he glad-handed around the bar during happy-hour, he made sure all the health and safety codes were immaculately up to snuff, and he didn't spend all that much time on Pell. Toshiko knew where to find him if for some reason he defaulted on his membership dues.
And two weeks after Ianto had belted Pell's real name out of him, the captain came back. Swaggering in through the door, that ridiculous, aren't-I-fuckable coat swinging from his shoulders, perfect hair, perfect teeth, just waiting to be messed up.
"Boss," Owen said on the intercom, and Ianto clicked the reply toggle.
"I see him," he said. "Thank you, Owen."
"Listen, if you fuck him against the glass again could you -- "
"Do I pay you to perv on my property?" Ianto asked sharply.
"Fucking arsehole," Owen answered, but when Ianto looked out through the smoked-glass wall, he'd gone back to his post and was leaning on the bar, whispering something to Gwen.
The captain was just standing there, unobtrusive, out of the way, and yet somehow drawing the attention of everyone in the room. He was positively magnetic.
He was also staring up at the glass wall of Ianto's office, hardly blinking, not moving, chin lifted slightly. Ianto, unseen, watched as a woman passed him and propositioned him. He shrugged her off and kept staring. A man brought him a drink, and he waved it away. Just stared and stared, waiting patiently.
Uppity toppy bottom, Ianto thought. He was trying to force Ianto to come down and greet him, in the open bar floor where anyone not visibly collared to someone was equal. Fuck that for a lark.
Ianto took out his stopwatch, set it to run, and went back to his accounts. After twenty minutes, he checked again. Still standing there, waiting.
Apparently, having found what he was looking for, the captain didn't care to investigate other opportunities. He'd come to Bind for a reason. Ianto could appreciate the direct approach, at least.
"Owen," he said, into the intercom.
"Look, can you come down here and make him suck your cock already, he's freaking me out," Owen replied. From where he stood, the captain could almost certainly hear him.
"Coffee service," Ianto replied. "Cream and sugar. A shot of Bailey's on the side and a couple of chocolate biscuits. Send the captain up with it. Just one cup."
Owen threw him a two-fingered salute from the bar, but five minutes later there was a gentle knock at the door.
"Come in," Ianto said, not looking up from his work. The door opened and the captain walked in, carrying an elegant white tray with a small coffee pot, porcelain cup, sugar bowl, shot glass, creamer, and a plate of biscuits on it.
"On the desk," Ianto ordered, signing an invoice. "Then strip off."
"Sure you don't want that in reverse order?" the captain asked. Ianto glanced up.
"Listen, I can go without you for two weeks. I can only go without coffee for three hours. Put the coffee on the desk and take off your clothes," he retorted.
As the captain undressed he didn't offer to explain his absence, which was at least something, and Ianto had to admit that there was a certain twisted charm in how unabashedly naked this man could be. He didn't cup his hands in front of him or cross his arms, just folded his clothes, hung up his coat, and stood in front of the desk with his body on display, cock already hard. He was wearing the little silver choke-collar Ianto had given him last time, the one with the Property of I. Jones tag on it.
"Pour," Ianto indicated the coffee pot with his pen. "Fill halfway, add the shot, a little cream."
"Sugar?" the captain asked.
"No, I just like making Owen do things properly."
Point to the captain; he didn't laugh. Just poured the coffee, added the alcohol and the cream, and stirred. When it was ready, Ianto sat back and tossed his pen down.
"Kneel," he ordered. The captain dropped to his knees, still not bothering with any particular modesty. Ianto picked up the coffee, cradling it in his hands, and came around to the other side of the desk. He leaned against it, hips out, legs spread, well aware that he was taunting the other man. And he sipped.
"So," he said. "Did I scare you off?"
The captain shook his head.
"Did I do anything you didn't want me to do?"
Another headshake.
"Did you maybe forget how to get here?"
"No."
"No what?"
"Nosir."
Ianto sipped again. "I realise I didn't make it clear that I expected to see you sooner than this, but I thought you probably enjoyed getting fucked on a more than twice-monthly basis. Especially as we're so new to this, and all."
He wasn't especially infuriated, but this was part of the game; and after all, he couldn't let this man go thinking he could come and go when he pleased.
"My time isn't always my own," the captain replied, eyes cast downwards.
"You're not actually a soldier, no military man's fucking stupid enough to wear a uniform here."
"I was on assignment."
Which was interesting; he could be a journalist, or perhaps a photographer. Maybe he was something with the government, worked with soldiers.
"Where?" he barked. A muscle in the captain's jaw jumped.
"Can't say," he muttered.
"Won't say," Ianto corrected. "Yet."
A truly monumental, epic silence filled the room. Ianto took another sip of his coffee, set it down, and sighed.
"If you're not going to tell me, there are better uses for that mouth," he decided. A slight upturn of the captain's lips was a warning not to take it too fast. "I'll discipline you later. Right now you have a puzzle to solve."
The smile vanished.
"Stand up. Undress me," Ianto said. "Mouth only. That ought to keep it occupied."
The captain's blue eyes lifted a little, traveling slowly up Ianto's thighs, settling on his groin.
"All the way," Ianto added, and the eyes moved up again, taking in the immaculate waistcoat, the oxford shirt, the necktie, the collar of his jacket. He stood up and moved in close, hands firmly at his sides (in fists, for all of his self control). Ianto tilted his chin up as the captain's hair tickled at his throat.
To his pleased surprise, he didn't pull the coat off clumsily with his teeth; instead he pushed his nose against the gap between jacket and shirt, inching it off over Ianto's shoulder, inhaling sharply as he buried his face in the cloth. First one shoulder, then the other, until the jacket fell back on the desk. Then he stopped and studied the knot of the tie.
"I could threaten to make you do this downstairs in front of everyone, but I think you'd like that," Ianto said, nudging the captain's naked thigh with his knee -- not gently, either. Before he could continue there was a hot puff of breath at his throat, and the tie was slithering around his neck, slowly coming undone. Good thing he'd tied it four-in-hand that morning.
It fell to the ground and the Captain's teeth clicked on his collar button, easing it through the hole with actually rather surprising deftness. A split second after it came undone, however, there was the soft warm press of tongue on his clavicle, brief but disobedient. Ianto slapped him hard -- under the chin, where it wouldn't show -- and caught him by the jaw.
"That tongue belongs to me," he said. "I'll tell you if I want you to use it."
The captain's eyes were wide with surprise and a hint of pain, but when he worked the next button free he was careful not to touch Ianto's skin even with his lips. One more and he'd reached the limit; he started on the waistcoat instead.
It was soothing, almost meditative really, to lean back and clear his mind while a handsome naked man undressed him with his teeth. It took some time, but not as much as he'd expected, and the captain came so delightfully undone the further he went. With the waistcoat hanging open the captain returned to the shirt, nose bumping against his skin as he worked, a sly way of covering the closed-mouth kisses he was pressing to the sensitive skin of Ianto's belly.
Well, he had only forbidden the tongue, after all, and the closer the captain got to his belt the more frantic his work became. He tugged the buckle open almost roughly and didn't bother to pull it out of the loops before working the button on his trousers and the cold metal tag of his zip. Ianto hitched his hips a little, rubbing his erection against the bottom of the captain's chin where he'd slapped him a few minutes before. The captain nuzzled against his cock through his boxers, tugging them as low as they would go with his trousers still half-on. Enough to expose him to the air --
And then the captain sat back on his heels again, head bowed, waiting. Bloody uppity bossy toppy bottom.
"Now you can use your tongue," Ianto said, and the captain let just the pink tip of it slide through his lips and licked once, playfully, at the dark smooth head of his cock.
"Listen," Ianto said, affecting his most bored tone and reaching again for his coffee. "Did you come here to suck my cock?"
"Yeah," he mumbled.
"So you do want to have my cock in your mouth?"
"Uh-huh."
"Am I going to have to slap you again to make you actually do it?"
The captain shook his head and leaned forward, properly this time, tongue slicking across Ianto's skin as he sucked his cock into his mouth. Filthy man -- all soft and hot and eager.
"Much better," Ianto murmured, and cupped the back of his head so he could really make the most of his beautiful toy. The captain was eager enough, sucking gently when he could, tongue working constantly, letting Ianto set the pace. Nothing more than taking the edge off, because there was so much he had planned for tonight. The soft clatter of the choke-chain as the captain shifted his weight occasionally kept them both grounded. Ianto slowed his pace gradually, until the captain stilled and let the head of his cock slip out past his lips.
Ianto hooked a thumb over the captain's teeth, stroking his tongue in small circles.
"Last time you told me your name," he said softly. "But that's a secret thing, isn't it?"
The captain nodded slightly, sucking on Ianto's thumb, eyes slitted.
"And I can't go on calling you captain. That's a little too much of a rank, isn't it? Bit too close to sir," Ianto continued. "You'll have to have some kind of name. Didn't you try to lie to me? You gave me some other name. John? James? No -- Jack, wasn't it."
Another little nod, and a greedy tug against Ianto's thumb. Ianto crouched -- not quite on a level, still a little above, and used his leverage to tip the captain's head up until their eyes met.
"Then I'll call you Jack," he said. Jack's eyes closed. "Except on very special occasions. Do you know what we're going to do tonight, Jack?"
A slight shake of his head.
"Tonight you're going to tell me what it is you do. Not that I don't have my suspicions, but that's the whole point, isn't it? Secrets," Ianto whispered, pulling his thumb away and straightening again. Jack whimpered. "So, Jack, my Jack, my pretty boy. What exactly is it that you do, where your time isn't your own?"
Jack lowered his face, staring down at the floor. His hands curled and uncurled against his thighs.
"Be as difficult as you like," Ianto sighed, and wrenched Jack's head up by his hair. He thumbed open his mouth, held his head still, and shoved his cock into it roughly -- two, three, four strokes, and came with a grunt, letting Jack swallow convulsively a few times before releasing him.
"That was so I won't be distracted," he growled, and reached for the studded belt coiled on the corner of the desk.
***
By the time he'd gone from the flat of the belt to the studded side, to a riding crop and then the threat of a single-tail, Ianto reckoned he was getting almost as thorough a working-over as Jack. Certainly they were both breathing heavily, Ianto from exertion and Jack -- he could see him counting his breaths, each inhale and exhale. He'd seen it before, once, in London, late at night in one of the clubs Lisa was so fond of. Past pain, past pleasure, into some other place where Ianto hadn't ever dared go, Jack had collapsed to his knees with his forehead against the smoked-glass window, fingers still scrabbling to keep purchase on the sweat-slick surface.
He was bleeding in a few places, nothing that wouldn't scab up quickly. Ianto was more concerned with the speed of his breath, and the quickbeat flutter of his pulse when he checked it under the guise of straightening Jack's posture. He would have stopped long ago, but Jack knew the safeword and every time Ianto had checked him, it was still unsaid. He was still hard, too, so hard Ianto had strapped a leather ring around his cock and a hard metal one around his balls.
This was rather more extreme than he was used to -- certainly nothing more than he'd seen in the club, but personally he didn't like to draw blood. It seemed to lack finesse. There was some angle he hadn't considered here, some mind game he was missing out on. So he stopped, stepped back and lit a cigarette, let Jack slump forward a little and rest.
"Do you like it, then, this kind of pain?" he asked. Jack didn't answer, except for a whine of response on his next exhale. "You're making me angry, Jack. Perhaps I ought to toss you back into the club, let some big muscle boy break a few bones. Eh? No?"
Jack whined again, and tried to get to his feet. Ianto shoved him down and leaned against the glass, sliding down it to sit next to him. He took a pull on the cigarette and then transferred it to his left hand. With his right hand he carefully cupped Jack's cock.
"I could move on to your wrists next," he said, stroking slowly. Jack moaned, which was at least a bit more sign he was in this reality. "Or your thighs. I don't think you enjoy pain, Jack, I really don't. So why don't you just tell me?"
Jack heaved and tried to stand up again. Ianto tightened his hand, fingernails digging into skin. It stopped the other man instantly.
"I thought you might be a journo," he said. "Doing a story on the club. Photographer, maybe? On assignment, you said. I still don't think you're a soldier -- well, not anymore, anyway. Why don't you just tell me?"
Jack opened his mouth, but only drew in another deep breath.
"I'm not enjoying this, you know," Ianto said, and was surprised to find he meant it. He was of course unsatisfied that his work was getting no results, but more than that...there was no thrill in beating a man senseless when he obviously didn't really want it. When it was just a tool to some other goal. "Can't you just tell me, pet?"
Jack turned his head to the side, squeezing his eyes shut. Ianto thumbed away a bead of sweat on his temple.
But then...those electric blue eyes opened again, tracked down the line of Ianto's bare shoulder to his chest, across his other arm and out to the flickering, glowing ember of the cigarette.
"Oh, bloody fuck no," Ianto said sharply. Jack's chest heaved.
"Just -- " he managed. "Just. Just."
Ianto considered the cigarette, and then Jack's body.
"Jack," he said in a low voice, "This isn't going to work if you won't give. So. Here's how it is. I give you this, you give me what I want. I am going to burn you once, and I'm never going to do it again. Next time we'll break you in a new way. If there is a next time, because there won't be, if you can't give me what I want."
Jack nodded and turned a little more. Ianto studied his chest and then, without warning, dipped his right hand down to undo the cock ring even as he flicked his left arm across, burying the embers in Jack's pectoral, just above the nipple.
Jack didn't make a noise until he pulled it back, and then he screamed. More of a bellow, actually, a long single expression of rage and pain, even as what must have been a powerful orgasm pushed through him.
Ianto smashed the cigarette against the glass, extinguishing it, and caught Jack's shoulders as he tumbled over, cradling him in his lap. He checked his pulse, pulled one eyelid back, satisfied himself that Jack was still at least nominally conscious, and then held him close.
Jack bellowed again, into Ianto's body, and then began mumbling, over and over, a single word -- at first Ianto thought it was "trusted" or possibly "tortured" but with repetition he sorted it.
"Torchwood. Torchwood. Torchwood."
He rocked Jack gently, waiting for the shaking to subside, as he turned this over in his mind. Torchwood.
Where do you work? I work for Torchwood. If your time isn't your own, whose is it? Torchwood's.
Torchwood wasn't spoken of in Cardiff, not in voices above a whisper, but Ianto had heard things here and there. Anti-terrorist ops, some people said. Others said it was MI-5's Welsh branch, with a little laugh, as if spies would bother with Cardiff. Some said they were the Men In Black. Some said they were the mafia.
And his little pet, his pretty Jack, worked for Torchwood. Would rather suffer to a dangerous point than admit it. Got off on keeping the secret. More and more interesting by the moment.
When Jack was finally limp in his arms, relaxed into the body-rush of relief after pain, Ianto eased him to the floor and got up, got dressings for his wounds and a cloth to clean him with and cream for the burn. Jack laughed half-consciously as he cleaned the wound and taped a bandage over it. When Ianto hauled him to his feet he laughed again, nuzzling into Ianto's skin affectionately, high as a kite.
Ianto wrestled him across the room and into the cot against his office wall, covering him with the coat he seemed so fond of before bringing him a glass of water and a couple of aspirin. Jack took them obediently and then relaxed into an almost immediate sleep.
Ianto was just pulling his trousers back on when there was a knock at the door.
"Come in," he called, and Gwen stepped inside.
"You look wrung out," she said, as Ianto pulled his shirt on. "How's the pet?"
Ianto tipped his head at the cot. "More challenge than I expected. What's going on?"
"Bit of a fight, thought I should tell you. I took care of it, but..." she held out a pair of slim folders, dossiers on their club members. "Husband and wife, pulled someone else into their domestic. I'm not sure they should stay on."
"Domestics. Really," Ianto drawled, flipping through one of them. "Right then. I'll look these over, let you know in the morning. Gwen," he added, as she turned to go. "You're a copper. What do you know about Torchwood?"
"Torchwood?" she frowned. "Not much."
"Don't suppose you could dig a bit for me? On the sly, like," Ianto asked, pretending unconcern as he buttoned his waistcoat.
She shrugged. "Could do. Any rush on it?"
"No. Whenever you've a moment."
She nodded and left, with one last glance at the man sleeping on the cot in the corner. Ianto ran his hands through his hair, sighed, and settled into the chair behind the desk. He watched Jack sleep for a while, then turned to the glass. The bar was nearly empty. This time of night, people were packing it in and going home, well-fucked or well-flogged or whatever it was they fancied.
No, this brooding wouldn't do. He'd send Jack off and tell him not to come back for a little while, make it part of the game, and then he'd go down and put in some face time with the regulars, work a little anxiety out of his system. Next time when Jack came back they wouldn't go this far. He'd make sure he could break Jack some other way. None of this man's mental anguish was worth him dying over, and sooner or later it looked like that was where Jack would try to go. Better to nip it in the bud.
He poured out some of the now-cold coffee, sipped his way through a cup, and then woke Jack gently.
"Off you go home, pet, unless you need something else," he said, helping Jack into his clothing as the other man groggily looked around. "You have someone to go to?"
Jack shook his head.
"You feel all right?"
"Did I tell you?" Jack asked. Ianto paused in buttoning Jack's shirt to look at his face.
"Torchwood, yes," he said. Jack flinched. "That is what you wanted, isn't it?"
"I don't know what I want," Jack whispered. Ianto considered matters.
"You could go home," he said. "You'll be sore for a bit but nothing worse than that. Sounds like home's a bit lonely, though."
Jack nodded, looking ashamed.
"Well, I'm not taking lost puppies home with me," Ianto told him. "You asked for this."
"I wanted it," Jack agreed. His hand went up almost unconsciously, tightening the choke-collar slightly as he tugged at the tag.
"You're not going to off yourself or anything, are you?" Ianto asked.
Jack gave a mirthless, totally unreassuring laugh. "No."
Ianto sat back on his heels.
"You can stay the night here, if you want," he said. "Cot's yours. But I want you out of the club by noon tomorrow when I get here."
Jack looked crushed. "Out?" he asked. Ianto nodded.
"Go home, and stay off this place for a while. Get that burn looked at. Heal up. Don't come back for at least four days."
"Oh," Jack said, looking relieved. Ianto stood up and began pulling on his coat. Jack relaxed back onto the cot again, watching him.
"By the way," Ianto said, knotting his tie neatly and turning towards the door. "Given you've nobody at home, I don't feel at all bad telling you not to touch yourself or anyone else until you get back."
Jack nodded.
"I mean it, Pell," Ianto said, using the power of his real name to what he hoped was its best effect. "No jerking off, no fucking, no sucking, no coming."
"Yessir," Jack murmured.
"Very well then. Out of here by noon. See you in a week," Ianto said, and left Jack alone in the office in the dark.
END
Wordcount: ~4000
Rating: Strong R
Summary: The captain has come back to the club, but he's proving a little harder to break than last time...
Warnings: D/s, flogging, some pain play. If I've left anything out file it under "This is kinky".
Pell -- the Captain -- didn't come back to the club for two weeks.
Ianto had other things to be concerned with, and many of them; running a business was time-consuming and after Costello shot herself in the middle of the bar there had been a dip in membership renewals and purchases. The crowd that Bind attracted valued stability, sanity, and discretion, after all, and Suzie Costello had managed in one fell swoop to violate all three unwritten rules of the Lifestyle.
But, after all, he'd got the place for a song because of it, and if he couldn't build it back up then he didn't deserve to keep it. Cardiff didn't have many bars that catered to people looking for more than a quick missionary fuck. They'd come around, given time.
So Ianto worked. He did accounts, he glad-handed around the bar during happy-hour, he made sure all the health and safety codes were immaculately up to snuff, and he didn't spend all that much time on Pell. Toshiko knew where to find him if for some reason he defaulted on his membership dues.
And two weeks after Ianto had belted Pell's real name out of him, the captain came back. Swaggering in through the door, that ridiculous, aren't-I-fuckable coat swinging from his shoulders, perfect hair, perfect teeth, just waiting to be messed up.
"Boss," Owen said on the intercom, and Ianto clicked the reply toggle.
"I see him," he said. "Thank you, Owen."
"Listen, if you fuck him against the glass again could you -- "
"Do I pay you to perv on my property?" Ianto asked sharply.
"Fucking arsehole," Owen answered, but when Ianto looked out through the smoked-glass wall, he'd gone back to his post and was leaning on the bar, whispering something to Gwen.
The captain was just standing there, unobtrusive, out of the way, and yet somehow drawing the attention of everyone in the room. He was positively magnetic.
He was also staring up at the glass wall of Ianto's office, hardly blinking, not moving, chin lifted slightly. Ianto, unseen, watched as a woman passed him and propositioned him. He shrugged her off and kept staring. A man brought him a drink, and he waved it away. Just stared and stared, waiting patiently.
Uppity toppy bottom, Ianto thought. He was trying to force Ianto to come down and greet him, in the open bar floor where anyone not visibly collared to someone was equal. Fuck that for a lark.
Ianto took out his stopwatch, set it to run, and went back to his accounts. After twenty minutes, he checked again. Still standing there, waiting.
Apparently, having found what he was looking for, the captain didn't care to investigate other opportunities. He'd come to Bind for a reason. Ianto could appreciate the direct approach, at least.
"Owen," he said, into the intercom.
"Look, can you come down here and make him suck your cock already, he's freaking me out," Owen replied. From where he stood, the captain could almost certainly hear him.
"Coffee service," Ianto replied. "Cream and sugar. A shot of Bailey's on the side and a couple of chocolate biscuits. Send the captain up with it. Just one cup."
Owen threw him a two-fingered salute from the bar, but five minutes later there was a gentle knock at the door.
"Come in," Ianto said, not looking up from his work. The door opened and the captain walked in, carrying an elegant white tray with a small coffee pot, porcelain cup, sugar bowl, shot glass, creamer, and a plate of biscuits on it.
"On the desk," Ianto ordered, signing an invoice. "Then strip off."
"Sure you don't want that in reverse order?" the captain asked. Ianto glanced up.
"Listen, I can go without you for two weeks. I can only go without coffee for three hours. Put the coffee on the desk and take off your clothes," he retorted.
As the captain undressed he didn't offer to explain his absence, which was at least something, and Ianto had to admit that there was a certain twisted charm in how unabashedly naked this man could be. He didn't cup his hands in front of him or cross his arms, just folded his clothes, hung up his coat, and stood in front of the desk with his body on display, cock already hard. He was wearing the little silver choke-collar Ianto had given him last time, the one with the Property of I. Jones tag on it.
"Pour," Ianto indicated the coffee pot with his pen. "Fill halfway, add the shot, a little cream."
"Sugar?" the captain asked.
"No, I just like making Owen do things properly."
Point to the captain; he didn't laugh. Just poured the coffee, added the alcohol and the cream, and stirred. When it was ready, Ianto sat back and tossed his pen down.
"Kneel," he ordered. The captain dropped to his knees, still not bothering with any particular modesty. Ianto picked up the coffee, cradling it in his hands, and came around to the other side of the desk. He leaned against it, hips out, legs spread, well aware that he was taunting the other man. And he sipped.
"So," he said. "Did I scare you off?"
The captain shook his head.
"Did I do anything you didn't want me to do?"
Another headshake.
"Did you maybe forget how to get here?"
"No."
"No what?"
"Nosir."
Ianto sipped again. "I realise I didn't make it clear that I expected to see you sooner than this, but I thought you probably enjoyed getting fucked on a more than twice-monthly basis. Especially as we're so new to this, and all."
He wasn't especially infuriated, but this was part of the game; and after all, he couldn't let this man go thinking he could come and go when he pleased.
"My time isn't always my own," the captain replied, eyes cast downwards.
"You're not actually a soldier, no military man's fucking stupid enough to wear a uniform here."
"I was on assignment."
Which was interesting; he could be a journalist, or perhaps a photographer. Maybe he was something with the government, worked with soldiers.
"Where?" he barked. A muscle in the captain's jaw jumped.
"Can't say," he muttered.
"Won't say," Ianto corrected. "Yet."
A truly monumental, epic silence filled the room. Ianto took another sip of his coffee, set it down, and sighed.
"If you're not going to tell me, there are better uses for that mouth," he decided. A slight upturn of the captain's lips was a warning not to take it too fast. "I'll discipline you later. Right now you have a puzzle to solve."
The smile vanished.
"Stand up. Undress me," Ianto said. "Mouth only. That ought to keep it occupied."
The captain's blue eyes lifted a little, traveling slowly up Ianto's thighs, settling on his groin.
"All the way," Ianto added, and the eyes moved up again, taking in the immaculate waistcoat, the oxford shirt, the necktie, the collar of his jacket. He stood up and moved in close, hands firmly at his sides (in fists, for all of his self control). Ianto tilted his chin up as the captain's hair tickled at his throat.
To his pleased surprise, he didn't pull the coat off clumsily with his teeth; instead he pushed his nose against the gap between jacket and shirt, inching it off over Ianto's shoulder, inhaling sharply as he buried his face in the cloth. First one shoulder, then the other, until the jacket fell back on the desk. Then he stopped and studied the knot of the tie.
"I could threaten to make you do this downstairs in front of everyone, but I think you'd like that," Ianto said, nudging the captain's naked thigh with his knee -- not gently, either. Before he could continue there was a hot puff of breath at his throat, and the tie was slithering around his neck, slowly coming undone. Good thing he'd tied it four-in-hand that morning.
It fell to the ground and the Captain's teeth clicked on his collar button, easing it through the hole with actually rather surprising deftness. A split second after it came undone, however, there was the soft warm press of tongue on his clavicle, brief but disobedient. Ianto slapped him hard -- under the chin, where it wouldn't show -- and caught him by the jaw.
"That tongue belongs to me," he said. "I'll tell you if I want you to use it."
The captain's eyes were wide with surprise and a hint of pain, but when he worked the next button free he was careful not to touch Ianto's skin even with his lips. One more and he'd reached the limit; he started on the waistcoat instead.
It was soothing, almost meditative really, to lean back and clear his mind while a handsome naked man undressed him with his teeth. It took some time, but not as much as he'd expected, and the captain came so delightfully undone the further he went. With the waistcoat hanging open the captain returned to the shirt, nose bumping against his skin as he worked, a sly way of covering the closed-mouth kisses he was pressing to the sensitive skin of Ianto's belly.
Well, he had only forbidden the tongue, after all, and the closer the captain got to his belt the more frantic his work became. He tugged the buckle open almost roughly and didn't bother to pull it out of the loops before working the button on his trousers and the cold metal tag of his zip. Ianto hitched his hips a little, rubbing his erection against the bottom of the captain's chin where he'd slapped him a few minutes before. The captain nuzzled against his cock through his boxers, tugging them as low as they would go with his trousers still half-on. Enough to expose him to the air --
And then the captain sat back on his heels again, head bowed, waiting. Bloody uppity bossy toppy bottom.
"Now you can use your tongue," Ianto said, and the captain let just the pink tip of it slide through his lips and licked once, playfully, at the dark smooth head of his cock.
"Listen," Ianto said, affecting his most bored tone and reaching again for his coffee. "Did you come here to suck my cock?"
"Yeah," he mumbled.
"So you do want to have my cock in your mouth?"
"Uh-huh."
"Am I going to have to slap you again to make you actually do it?"
The captain shook his head and leaned forward, properly this time, tongue slicking across Ianto's skin as he sucked his cock into his mouth. Filthy man -- all soft and hot and eager.
"Much better," Ianto murmured, and cupped the back of his head so he could really make the most of his beautiful toy. The captain was eager enough, sucking gently when he could, tongue working constantly, letting Ianto set the pace. Nothing more than taking the edge off, because there was so much he had planned for tonight. The soft clatter of the choke-chain as the captain shifted his weight occasionally kept them both grounded. Ianto slowed his pace gradually, until the captain stilled and let the head of his cock slip out past his lips.
Ianto hooked a thumb over the captain's teeth, stroking his tongue in small circles.
"Last time you told me your name," he said softly. "But that's a secret thing, isn't it?"
The captain nodded slightly, sucking on Ianto's thumb, eyes slitted.
"And I can't go on calling you captain. That's a little too much of a rank, isn't it? Bit too close to sir," Ianto continued. "You'll have to have some kind of name. Didn't you try to lie to me? You gave me some other name. John? James? No -- Jack, wasn't it."
Another little nod, and a greedy tug against Ianto's thumb. Ianto crouched -- not quite on a level, still a little above, and used his leverage to tip the captain's head up until their eyes met.
"Then I'll call you Jack," he said. Jack's eyes closed. "Except on very special occasions. Do you know what we're going to do tonight, Jack?"
A slight shake of his head.
"Tonight you're going to tell me what it is you do. Not that I don't have my suspicions, but that's the whole point, isn't it? Secrets," Ianto whispered, pulling his thumb away and straightening again. Jack whimpered. "So, Jack, my Jack, my pretty boy. What exactly is it that you do, where your time isn't your own?"
Jack lowered his face, staring down at the floor. His hands curled and uncurled against his thighs.
"Be as difficult as you like," Ianto sighed, and wrenched Jack's head up by his hair. He thumbed open his mouth, held his head still, and shoved his cock into it roughly -- two, three, four strokes, and came with a grunt, letting Jack swallow convulsively a few times before releasing him.
"That was so I won't be distracted," he growled, and reached for the studded belt coiled on the corner of the desk.
***
By the time he'd gone from the flat of the belt to the studded side, to a riding crop and then the threat of a single-tail, Ianto reckoned he was getting almost as thorough a working-over as Jack. Certainly they were both breathing heavily, Ianto from exertion and Jack -- he could see him counting his breaths, each inhale and exhale. He'd seen it before, once, in London, late at night in one of the clubs Lisa was so fond of. Past pain, past pleasure, into some other place where Ianto hadn't ever dared go, Jack had collapsed to his knees with his forehead against the smoked-glass window, fingers still scrabbling to keep purchase on the sweat-slick surface.
He was bleeding in a few places, nothing that wouldn't scab up quickly. Ianto was more concerned with the speed of his breath, and the quickbeat flutter of his pulse when he checked it under the guise of straightening Jack's posture. He would have stopped long ago, but Jack knew the safeword and every time Ianto had checked him, it was still unsaid. He was still hard, too, so hard Ianto had strapped a leather ring around his cock and a hard metal one around his balls.
This was rather more extreme than he was used to -- certainly nothing more than he'd seen in the club, but personally he didn't like to draw blood. It seemed to lack finesse. There was some angle he hadn't considered here, some mind game he was missing out on. So he stopped, stepped back and lit a cigarette, let Jack slump forward a little and rest.
"Do you like it, then, this kind of pain?" he asked. Jack didn't answer, except for a whine of response on his next exhale. "You're making me angry, Jack. Perhaps I ought to toss you back into the club, let some big muscle boy break a few bones. Eh? No?"
Jack whined again, and tried to get to his feet. Ianto shoved him down and leaned against the glass, sliding down it to sit next to him. He took a pull on the cigarette and then transferred it to his left hand. With his right hand he carefully cupped Jack's cock.
"I could move on to your wrists next," he said, stroking slowly. Jack moaned, which was at least a bit more sign he was in this reality. "Or your thighs. I don't think you enjoy pain, Jack, I really don't. So why don't you just tell me?"
Jack heaved and tried to stand up again. Ianto tightened his hand, fingernails digging into skin. It stopped the other man instantly.
"I thought you might be a journo," he said. "Doing a story on the club. Photographer, maybe? On assignment, you said. I still don't think you're a soldier -- well, not anymore, anyway. Why don't you just tell me?"
Jack opened his mouth, but only drew in another deep breath.
"I'm not enjoying this, you know," Ianto said, and was surprised to find he meant it. He was of course unsatisfied that his work was getting no results, but more than that...there was no thrill in beating a man senseless when he obviously didn't really want it. When it was just a tool to some other goal. "Can't you just tell me, pet?"
Jack turned his head to the side, squeezing his eyes shut. Ianto thumbed away a bead of sweat on his temple.
But then...those electric blue eyes opened again, tracked down the line of Ianto's bare shoulder to his chest, across his other arm and out to the flickering, glowing ember of the cigarette.
"Oh, bloody fuck no," Ianto said sharply. Jack's chest heaved.
"Just -- " he managed. "Just. Just."
Ianto considered the cigarette, and then Jack's body.
"Jack," he said in a low voice, "This isn't going to work if you won't give. So. Here's how it is. I give you this, you give me what I want. I am going to burn you once, and I'm never going to do it again. Next time we'll break you in a new way. If there is a next time, because there won't be, if you can't give me what I want."
Jack nodded and turned a little more. Ianto studied his chest and then, without warning, dipped his right hand down to undo the cock ring even as he flicked his left arm across, burying the embers in Jack's pectoral, just above the nipple.
Jack didn't make a noise until he pulled it back, and then he screamed. More of a bellow, actually, a long single expression of rage and pain, even as what must have been a powerful orgasm pushed through him.
Ianto smashed the cigarette against the glass, extinguishing it, and caught Jack's shoulders as he tumbled over, cradling him in his lap. He checked his pulse, pulled one eyelid back, satisfied himself that Jack was still at least nominally conscious, and then held him close.
Jack bellowed again, into Ianto's body, and then began mumbling, over and over, a single word -- at first Ianto thought it was "trusted" or possibly "tortured" but with repetition he sorted it.
"Torchwood. Torchwood. Torchwood."
He rocked Jack gently, waiting for the shaking to subside, as he turned this over in his mind. Torchwood.
Where do you work? I work for Torchwood. If your time isn't your own, whose is it? Torchwood's.
Torchwood wasn't spoken of in Cardiff, not in voices above a whisper, but Ianto had heard things here and there. Anti-terrorist ops, some people said. Others said it was MI-5's Welsh branch, with a little laugh, as if spies would bother with Cardiff. Some said they were the Men In Black. Some said they were the mafia.
And his little pet, his pretty Jack, worked for Torchwood. Would rather suffer to a dangerous point than admit it. Got off on keeping the secret. More and more interesting by the moment.
When Jack was finally limp in his arms, relaxed into the body-rush of relief after pain, Ianto eased him to the floor and got up, got dressings for his wounds and a cloth to clean him with and cream for the burn. Jack laughed half-consciously as he cleaned the wound and taped a bandage over it. When Ianto hauled him to his feet he laughed again, nuzzling into Ianto's skin affectionately, high as a kite.
Ianto wrestled him across the room and into the cot against his office wall, covering him with the coat he seemed so fond of before bringing him a glass of water and a couple of aspirin. Jack took them obediently and then relaxed into an almost immediate sleep.
Ianto was just pulling his trousers back on when there was a knock at the door.
"Come in," he called, and Gwen stepped inside.
"You look wrung out," she said, as Ianto pulled his shirt on. "How's the pet?"
Ianto tipped his head at the cot. "More challenge than I expected. What's going on?"
"Bit of a fight, thought I should tell you. I took care of it, but..." she held out a pair of slim folders, dossiers on their club members. "Husband and wife, pulled someone else into their domestic. I'm not sure they should stay on."
"Domestics. Really," Ianto drawled, flipping through one of them. "Right then. I'll look these over, let you know in the morning. Gwen," he added, as she turned to go. "You're a copper. What do you know about Torchwood?"
"Torchwood?" she frowned. "Not much."
"Don't suppose you could dig a bit for me? On the sly, like," Ianto asked, pretending unconcern as he buttoned his waistcoat.
She shrugged. "Could do. Any rush on it?"
"No. Whenever you've a moment."
She nodded and left, with one last glance at the man sleeping on the cot in the corner. Ianto ran his hands through his hair, sighed, and settled into the chair behind the desk. He watched Jack sleep for a while, then turned to the glass. The bar was nearly empty. This time of night, people were packing it in and going home, well-fucked or well-flogged or whatever it was they fancied.
No, this brooding wouldn't do. He'd send Jack off and tell him not to come back for a little while, make it part of the game, and then he'd go down and put in some face time with the regulars, work a little anxiety out of his system. Next time when Jack came back they wouldn't go this far. He'd make sure he could break Jack some other way. None of this man's mental anguish was worth him dying over, and sooner or later it looked like that was where Jack would try to go. Better to nip it in the bud.
He poured out some of the now-cold coffee, sipped his way through a cup, and then woke Jack gently.
"Off you go home, pet, unless you need something else," he said, helping Jack into his clothing as the other man groggily looked around. "You have someone to go to?"
Jack shook his head.
"You feel all right?"
"Did I tell you?" Jack asked. Ianto paused in buttoning Jack's shirt to look at his face.
"Torchwood, yes," he said. Jack flinched. "That is what you wanted, isn't it?"
"I don't know what I want," Jack whispered. Ianto considered matters.
"You could go home," he said. "You'll be sore for a bit but nothing worse than that. Sounds like home's a bit lonely, though."
Jack nodded, looking ashamed.
"Well, I'm not taking lost puppies home with me," Ianto told him. "You asked for this."
"I wanted it," Jack agreed. His hand went up almost unconsciously, tightening the choke-collar slightly as he tugged at the tag.
"You're not going to off yourself or anything, are you?" Ianto asked.
Jack gave a mirthless, totally unreassuring laugh. "No."
Ianto sat back on his heels.
"You can stay the night here, if you want," he said. "Cot's yours. But I want you out of the club by noon tomorrow when I get here."
Jack looked crushed. "Out?" he asked. Ianto nodded.
"Go home, and stay off this place for a while. Get that burn looked at. Heal up. Don't come back for at least four days."
"Oh," Jack said, looking relieved. Ianto stood up and began pulling on his coat. Jack relaxed back onto the cot again, watching him.
"By the way," Ianto said, knotting his tie neatly and turning towards the door. "Given you've nobody at home, I don't feel at all bad telling you not to touch yourself or anyone else until you get back."
Jack nodded.
"I mean it, Pell," Ianto said, using the power of his real name to what he hoped was its best effect. "No jerking off, no fucking, no sucking, no coming."
"Yessir," Jack murmured.
"Very well then. Out of here by noon. See you in a week," Ianto said, and left Jack alone in the office in the dark.
END