Torchwood Smut: "A Creature of Habit"
Title: "A Creature of Habit"
Author: Spiderine
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: NC-17 (Adults Only)
Warnings: D/s
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Author's Notes: If you don't watch Torchwood you won't know who these people are. I am trying to keep the characterizations true to form as I see them, but there is no attempt being made to include current Torchwood plotline canon at this point (for example, "Cyberwoman" and onward). In other words, consider this an AU. This story follows my stories Proper For The Workplace and Adaptive Evolution. If you don't like them, you really won't like this. Massive thanks go to femmequixotic for beta'ing even though she was insanely busy with other things. Thank you for reading, and for your comments.
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How still it was in the Hub, in the dark, when everyone had gone. Tiny little nighttime sounds echoed far too loudly in Ianto's ears. Water dripping slowly down the central column, drop by drop. The rustling of the pterodactyl leaving her lair for a night's hunting. Hushed whirring and pinging from the equipment - always on, always working, always listening. Jack's footsteps somewhere behind him. If Ianto turned, if he looked up, Jack would surely be close by. He'd said he'd stay close by.
Ianto didn't turn. He didn't look up.
Cold, too, it was. Probably no more than usual, to be honest. But it wasn't Ianto's habit to go without clothing during the day, so there was no way to compare. He wasn't uncomfortable, and he didn't want to squirm, to turn around, to look up, but he did wish he were wearing socks. Perhaps next time, he would ask Jack if he might wear socks.
Ianto shifted slightly on his heels. He felt he had been here for quite some time, kneeling naked on the cold metal floor, but he had no way to tell. Jack had said it wouldn't be for long, and so it must not have been. Surely not.
Jack had said, relax. Don't try to think. Don't try to wait. Don't wonder and don't worry. He said the rope would make it easier. It would keep Ianto in place, his wrists tied behind his back, and then tied to his ankles so he rested on his knees, sitting back on his heels. It was quite a comfortable position, really. It could have been much worse. And Jack had said, relax. If Ianto relaxed into the bonds, they wouldn't tighten. If he didn't squirm, didn't turn, he could stay like that for some time. But it wouldn't be for long, Jack had said. And he would always be close by.
Why Jack was doing this, Ianto couldn't guess, leaving him here in the dark of night, tied motionless, with Jack off behind him as if Ianto wasn't even there. Like a new piece of equipment (whirring, purring in the night), Jack had installed him in the Hub, set him up and put him on stand-by. Jack had said, don't worry, don't try to think. But Ianto couldn't help it. He wanted to be useful. And he couldn't think how he was being of any use at all.
*************
First thing in the morning, the Hub had been bustling, people taking off their coats and settling in for the day. As Ianto passed around the coffee, Owen had told him, "Christ, you look like hell, what did you pull last night?" and Tosh had told him to shut his mouth. "Don't mind him, he's just jealous," she'd said to Ianto, accepting her mug. "You always look so sharp, and Owen looks like something salvaged from a bin."
Jack, standing on the catwalk, called down to them, "All right, people, listen up, bit of an announcement!" They all looked up at him as he continued, "Ianto has generously agreed to move into the Hub for a while, so we now have 24-hour communications on-call. Thank you, Ianto!" He gave a few little claps of applause as he came down the stairs.
"Teacher's bleeding pet," Owen groused.
Ianto shrugged and buried a secret smile. "Bit of trouble with my flat at present," he admitted. "Here's your coffee, Gwen. Light, one sugar."
"Thanks," she'd said, looking concerned. "You know, if you're having a spot of trouble, I could lend you some cash."
"Oh, no, not at all," he smiled. "I'm glad I can be of use. It's my pleasure," he added, and handed her a serviette when she choked and snorted coffee out her nose. Gwen was very sweet, Ianto thought, and it was nice that he could share these things with her, but she really could stand to learn some composure.
By the end of that first day, when the Hub was finally quiet, when everyone but he and Jack were gone, he'd been so nervous his hands were shaking. He went to Jack's workstation, just as on any other day, expecting to be bent over the desk and buggered. It was a little habit they'd evolved, and Ianto was a creature of habit. But before he could remove his jacket and drop his trousers, Jack had stopped him.
"You in some kind of rush?" Jack chuckled. "We've got plenty of time." He sat in his chair and leaned back, his fingers laced behind his head. "Do me a favour and get my boots off, all right?"
Ianto nodded, "Yes, sir," and knelt to the task. His fingers fumbled as he untied the laces and tried to pull the boots off without yanking, but he managed it, and tucked them neatly in a pair under Jack's desk.
"Thanks," Jack said with a warm smile. "Hey, do you know how to mix a martini?"
Ianto sat back on his heels and smiled slyly back at him. "If I recall, sir, it entails pouring a glass of cold gin while having fond memories of vermouth."
Jack laughed out loud. "And they say you're just a pretty face. Go on then, let's see what you can do. Two olives."
So he had, using just a drop more than fond memories of vermouth, and Jack had taken it, and tasted it, and approved, which made Ianto quite pleased with himself. And that had been that. Jack had dismissed him, wished him a good night, and climbed down through the hatch into his private quarters, leaving Ianto alone in the echoing silence of the Hub.
It had been very discomfiting indeed. After spending a couple of minutes at a loss, though, he'd decided he may as well settle into his new digs. Jack had set him up a locker and a camp bed in a corner. It was out of the way and comfortable enough. He had room for some clothes, his toiletries and a few books, which in the end was all he required. Jack had been right; he really didn't need that much space at all.
He stripped down to his shorts and went to bed with Death On The Nile. Once he'd started working for Torchwood, he'd had to modify his taste in fiction. What on earth could he possibly read? The new technological thrillers? Science fiction? How utterly absurd. He found himself revisiting old classics - Agatha Christie, Conan Doyle and so on, where the detectives were infallible, the clues were there for the finding and the mystery always satisfyingly solved by the final page. Compared to real life, it was a great comfort.
Perhaps he had fallen asleep over his reading, because the next he knew he was awake with a start, face down on the bed in absolute darkness with his shorts stripped off and the weight of a man straddling his thighs. When he tried to turn around, his face was pushed roughly into the pillow and Jack's voice hissed in his ear: "Not a sound. Not a twitch."
Ianto didn't say a word. He tried not to move a muscle. He clutched the sheets and stared into the dark, panting, as Jack brusquely parted Ianto's cheeks and stuffed his cock into his unstretched arse. Ianto pressed his lips together to stop himself from protesting or even moaning; the burn of it was brutal, with only a thin slippery film of gel between him and unbearable pain. He felt as though he were being gutted like a fish. Above him, Jack collapsed heavily on his back, covering him, his sweaty torso slick on Ianto's skin. Jack worked him mercilessly, in silence, grunting into Ianto's ear. His hands grabbed Ianto's wrists and pinned them to the mattress, and the weight of him on Ianto's back, flexing and pushing into Ianto's arse, ground Ianto's own cock and bollocks down against the sheets so roughly that Ianto wanted to scream, but instead he sank his teeth into the pillow. And in the midst of everything, a random, surreal thought floated to the surface of his mind: "Pillow biting. Of course. How droll." Then he had to bite the pillow even harder to keep from breaking into hysterical giggles.
It may have been the spasm of his body trying to resist laughter that made Jack buck against him even harder, growling with hot huffs of breath against Ianto's neck, thrusting again and again until he came with a long, low groan. For a moment they both lay there, gasping, motionless; then Jack pulled out quickly and climbed off him, the burning sensation of sudden withdrawal causing Ianto to catch his breath sharply. He heard a wet splat as Jack threw the used condom to the floor beside Ianto's bed, and Jack's footsteps receding as he climbed back down to his quarters, and then Ianto was alone again, in the dark. He felt reamed out, hollow; his arse throbbed, his cock and bollocks were rubbed raw, and the cold air across his sweaty back made him shiver. Still, it took a few minutes before he could bring himself to move. He loosed his grip on the sheets and realized his hands were aching from it. His whole body was aching. He rolled over on his back, looked over at his alarm clock, and groaned aloud. It was 4:47 in the morning; in just over two hours, he'd have to get up and prepare for the day.
And so he did. He woke up in plenty of time to shower, dress and start the coffee, and when Jack came up the ladder from his quarters there was no sign that anything had passed between them the night before. He gave Jack his mug (no sugar, just a touch of cream) and, at Jack's nod, knelt to suck Jack's cock, as he'd done every morning almost as long as he'd been employed at Torchwood Three. All considered, the routine was very soothing. It was a little habit they'd evolved, and Ianto was a creature of habit.
That day gave Ianto reason to reflect that, sometimes, being a creature of habit was a right ruddy bitch. The Loch Ness Monster had gone a bit stroppy due to being antagonized by a bunch of American students; the Glasgow Hub had called for back up, and it had taken the entire team a long day to settle her down. Fortunately the pterodactyl had been a great help in that regard. The others had gone straight home; he and Jack had returned to the Cardiff Hub, where Jack had wanted his boots off and his martini dry and then, once again, had left Ianto on his own.
Ianto had gone to bed trembling, and could not fall asleep. He kept waiting to hear Jack's footfalls on the ladder. He started awake at every little sound. He'd barely got any sleep at all.
And there had been nothing. Not a thing. Not a single footstep, not so much as a whisper. For all he'd been disturbed, he could have slept the night through like a baby.
He could have kicked himself for being so bloody stupid.
So, another morning, another blow job. And that was something that Ianto could never have imagined thinking before. His lack of enthusiasm must have shown in his performance; it earned him a little yank on the hair from Jack, who sighed, "Mind on your work, Ianto," with such evident disappointment that Ianto was ashamed of himself. He was many things, but not a slacker. So he concentrated and applied himself anew, and brought Jack off quickly with diligence, if not lively interest. A job worth doing was worth doing well, after all.
He repeated that old saw to himself many times as he went through the motions of the day, accomplishing the numerous tedious tasks that made up his role at Torchwood. He went to the shops: toilet rolls, coffee filters, enormous boxes of batteries for all their little gadgets. He stopped in at the butcher for offal to feed the Weevil and the pterodactyl. He took out the rubbish and shredded the documents. He compiled the expense reports and paid the bills. He cleaned the Weevil's cell, knocking the creature out with sleeping gas, changing its coverall, mucking out its droppings. The Weevil was a sewer dweller and happiest in its own filth, but unless Ianto kept on top of the situation the stench would become unendurable.
A thousand and one little things, necessary to all, noticed by none. Ordinarily he took quite a bit of pride in what he did. It wasn't glamorous; it wasn't fighting aliens or defending the Earth, but Ianto and his toilet rolls kept the Cardiff Hub ticking. Without him, Torchwood Three would cease to function. He knew that. He simply felt, at least that day, that noone else did.
Jack had known that something was off. Watching Ianto remove his boots and make his martini without complaint, but without a word, Jack had eyed him carefully, and quietly asked him if he were all right. Ianto had replied, "Fine, sir. Never better," and that appeared to satisfy Jack enough to dismiss him for the evening, although not without giving Ianto a long, speculative gaze.
And so, as Pepys said, to bed. Hercule Poirot was on the case; Jacqueline's pistol had been recovered from the Nile wrapped in a shawl with a bloody handkerchief. In the refined world of Agatha Christie, all was as it should be.
Then without warning, in the dark hours of the night, Jack had dragged Ianto from a sound sleep and left him tied, kneeling and naked in the cold silence of the Hub. Jack had said it wouldn't be for long. He'd said he would never be far away.
It appeared, Ianto thought, that Jack had lied.
Ianto was sleepy and starting to feel the chill. He had no way of telling how much time had passed, and he was beginning to cease to care. He listened to the water drip, and drifted in and out of dreams.
"Hello," Jack said. Ianto looked up.
Jack was naked. He was beautiful. The little blinking lights of the electronics were barely enough to see by, but Jack practically glowed against the shadows, all pale skin and taut smooth muscle. His cock rose half-hard, plump and curved above his tight balls and wiry dark hair. Ianto had never seen anything so beautiful.
"Beautiful," Ianto breathed.
The smile that lit up Jack's face warmed Ianto from head to toe. "Enjoying yourself?" Jack asked.
What kind of a question was that? Ianto was naked on the floor. His knees ached and his feet were cold. Still, he couldn't say he hadn't asked for it. Or rather, he hadn't asked for it specifically, but he had certainly asked for it generally. Begged for it, to be strictly honest with himself. So he supposed there was really only one possible answer to that question. "Um, yes? Sir?"
That earned him a quiet chuckle. "Where were you before, when you were alone? Where were you in your head?"
Just as quietly, Ianto answered, "I don't rightly know, sir. Just drifting, I suppose."
"That's good. That's exactly what we want." Jack knelt in front of Ianto and stroked his hair, his face, his neck. He was so close that Ianto could see his eyes clearly in the dim light, greyish blue like mist over the bay. Ianto leaned into the caress and sighed. The last time they'd been together, Jack had been so ruthless - almost savage. It occurred to Ianto that he'd been blaming himself for some reason; he couldn't imagine what he'd done to deserve it, but he must have done something. This, now, Jack's hands gentle against his skin - it was like every caress was an absolution, every touch lifting a hundredweight of worry from his mind. He could spend every night of his life on his knees with freezing feet if only it would lead to this.
"You're so clever," Jack whispered, so close that Ianto could feel Jack's breath against his ear like a kiss. "Sharp as a tack. We couldn't do without you, you know. How do you do it?"
His words filled Ianto with a yearning that he hoped Jack could see in his eyes. "It's my job, sir. I need it. I want to feel -"
"Useful," Jack cut him off with a grin. "Yeah, I know." He ran his hand along Ianto's jaw and up through his hair. "But you can't keep at it all the time." He took Ianto's chin in his hand and waggled his face back and forth, gently teasing. "You gotta know when to turn it off."
"Sir? I don't understand."
"I know you don't. You're wound tight as a spring." Jack's grin grew almost dangerous. "And I'm gonna take you down."
That sounded perturbing, and it must have shown on his face. Jack flicked him on the nose. "Uh-uh. That's what I mean. You're thinking too much." Jack's voice was mild, but there was an edge of command to it that Ianto recognized with a thrill that ran right down his spine.
Still, he didn't quite understand. "But it's my job. I need to anticipate -"
Jack "shh'd" him with a finger on Ianto's lips. "You do. And you're great at it. But there comes a time to turn it off. Let it go," he whispered. "Give it up."
"Give what up?"
Jack's eyes went dark and his voice cracked like a whip. "Everything." He took Ianto's face in both his hands and stared at him intensely. "Your worries, your decisions, your wants. It's time to give them to me." He smiled kindly and started caressing Ianto again, softly running his fingers over the skin of Ianto's face. Ianto sighed and shuddered and closed his eyes.
"That's right," Jack whispered. "Relax. Just relax. Let go. That place you were before, that drifting place. That's where we want you to be. I'll take care of you, you know that, don't you?"
"I hope so," Ianto whispered, his eyes still closed.
"Don't hope. Know. You have to trust me. Can you trust me?"
"Yes, sir." Jack's voice was so soothing, his words so heartfelt, it would have been cruel to answer any other way.
"Good. That's good. That's what we want. Because we both want the same thing, don't we?"
"Yes, sir." Ianto hadn't realized how tightly he'd been holding himself until he felt the tension in his muscles start to loosen. His body sagged a bit and he leaned into Jack's gentle touch.
"That's right," Jack purred. "We both want the same thing, and I think you know that there are times when I know what we want better than you do, isn't that right?"
"Yes, sir," Ianto murmured, beginning to drift off again.
"Good boy. So here's what we want. Here's what we going to do. You're going to do everything you usually do, be clever and indispensable and sharp as a tack. And then, sometimes, when the time is right, when it's just you and me, you're going to let go. You're going to give it all to me."
Feeling rather confused, Ianto blinked his eyes open a couple of times. "I don't see how that's being very useful to you, sir."
Jack's smile lost all danger and filled with warmth. "It's more than useful. It's a gift. You're going to give yourself to me like a gift. And my gift to you is to take you, and take care of you. I'll make all your decisions, and do all your thinking, and I'll give you everything you want, even when you don't know you want it. Because we both want the same thing, isn't that right?"
Ianto looked at Jack - so close, so unwavering, so strong and so very, very beautiful - and breathed, "Oh, yes." He felt the last bit of tension leave his body - his mind, even - and felt lighter somehow, as though Jack were anchoring him and if he let go Ianto would float away.
Jack stood, and Ianto swayed toward him, losing his balance a bit - he'd entirely forgot he was still tied up. Jack reached behind him and released the bonds connecting his wrists to his ankles. His hands were still tied behind his back but with Jack's help he could kneel up. It wasn't until he moved that he realized how stiff and aching his arms and legs still were. But it didn't matter. He looked into Jack's eyes, and nothing else mattered at all.
Jack met his gaze, and Ianto could see pride and tenderness and mischief. Jack ran one finger over Ianto's lips. "You know what we want right now?" he asked with a sly grin.
Ianto hadn't the slightest idea, but he knew Jack did, and that was enough. "What do we want, sir?"
"We want me to fuck that pretty mouth of yours."
Ianto blinked. "Oh. Yes, sir, if you say so, sir."
Jack chuckled. "Oh, I say so." He took his cock in his hand and held it before Ianto's face, tantalizingly close. It was thickening in Jack's hand, the head beginning to emerge from the hood. It seemed to fill Ianto's entire field of vision. He wanted it desperately; he licked his lips and leaned towards it, but Jack held Ianto under the jaw with his other hand and said, "Uh-uh. I'm driving. You open your mouth, and you relax. This won't work unless you relax."
Ianto looked up. The view from this angle was strange, all foreshortened - he saw Jack's cock, and above it Jack's face looking down at him, as distant and beautiful as a god. He licked his lips again and nodded. "I'll do my best, sir."
"I know you will. Now open."
Ianto closed his eyes so he could concentrate on the feeling of Jack's cock pushing slowly past his lips. It felt so warm, so soft and hard all at once, swelling as it entered. With a little sigh, he let it slide over his tongue as it hardened. He wanted to lean into it, grab it with both hands, suck it, gobble it down. This was bloody torture, it was; it felt like every muscle in Ianto's body was trembling with the effort it took to hold himself back. Jack must have felt it too, because he grasped the sides of Ianto's head in both hands like a football and gave him one last warning to relax before pumping his groin forward and pushing his cock into Ianto's mouth, pulling back and pumping again, then again, slowly developing a measured, driving rhythm.
When Jack's cock hit the back of Ianto's throat he gagged; he struggled to swallow, but Jack held his head still and didn't let up even as Ianto's throat filled with saliva that dribbled uncontrollably from the corners of his mouth. Still, Ianto kept his lips locked in suction around Jack's cock, never mind how his jaw was beginning to ache, his nose to run and his eyes to water. Struggling for each breath through his nose and completely unable to keep his balance without his hands, he felt as if he were going to panic, that it could be only moments before he scrambled free and vomited all over the floor.
Then, through his own gargled, choking snorts, he heard Jack moaning and murmuring: "Shh, shh, steady now... good, so good, just like that..." Ianto blinked to clear his tears and looked up to see Jack with his eyes closed and his head thrown back, hair plastered to his head, sweat running down his neck and chest. He was fucking with pure abandon, and the sight made Ianto reel and groan. It was like time froze for a moment, and in that moment he suddenly felt how hard his own cock was - agonizingly, desperately hard - and it pushed every other sensation into the background. He didn't give a bloody blue damn about his sore throat and aching jaw, the cock that seemed to block his whole throat and make every tortured breath a battle - the whole idea of being an active participant in these goings-on was highly overrated, come to think of it. He moaned and the frozen moment was over, but now he just went limp and let Jack hold him up by the head and rock him back and forth like a rag doll as the drool ran down his chin, making his mouth into a nice wet hole for Jack to fuck.
Almost as soon as that image popped into Ianto's mind, Jack grimaced and yanked Ianto's hair and came, pumping and grunting and filling Ianto's mouth with jism faster than Ianto could swallow. When Jack finally pulled out, Ianto's jaw muscles were too sore to react; all Ianto could do was take huge, rasping breaths through his suddenly unblocked mouth as gobbets of spittle and come dribbled out between his lips, down his neck and onto his chest.
He rocked back onto his heels and toppled over onto his side, goggling wide-eyed and gasping like a gaffed fish. And Jack was right beside him, plopping down to sit on the floor, panting and giggling in a way that verged on hysterics.
Jack dragged Ianto up to lay his head in his lap and started untying the ropes around his wrists. "Holy shit," he laughed. "That was incredible."
Ianto nodded weakly but said nothing. His balls were still aching and tight, his cock felt hot enough to blister and hard enough to split like an overcooked sausage; he couldn't formulate a single bloody thought and his throat was too sore to allow speech anyway.
Jack tossed the rope to the side and rubbed Ianto's wrists. Ianto groaned as the pins and needles spread up his arms, his shoulders stretched and cramped and started to tremble, and the erection he thought he'd never lose started to go limp from sheer pain and fatigue. Jack kissed his cheek, stood up and held out his hand. "Bedtime, Ianto."
Ianto nodded again and tried to stand, but quickly realized what a stupid idea that was as his knees gave out and Jack had to catch him. Jack supported him, Ianto's arm across Jack's shoulder and Jack's arm around Ianto's waist, as they slowly walked over to Ianto's camp bed in the corner. It had been made up with flannel sheets, and there was a bottle of massage oil next to it on the floor.
Jack helped Ianto lie down on his stomach and proceeded to give him the most rapturous massage Ianto had ever experienced. At least the part that Ianto was awake for was rapturous. Jack tended to Ianto with such devotion, and whispered such beautiful, tender things, his lips so close to Ianto's ear that his breath was like a kiss, that Ianto really didn't know when he drifted off to sleep. But he dreamed he was flying, swooping and soaring like a pterodactyl until the alarm rang and he woke to find he'd come all over his sheets.
When Jack climbed out of his quarters that morning and Ianto greeted him with his usual mug of coffee (no sugar, touch of cream), they grinned at each other like a pair of schoolboys.
"Sleep well?" Jack asked smugly, settling down at his desk.
"Like an infant," Ianto said with equal complacence. Then, with a bit of a blush but no less satisfaction, he murmured, "I had an emission last night, sir."
Jack smiled proudly, "That's my boy." It made the blush spread over Ianto's neck and ears, but couldn't wipe the smirk off his face.
Jack's laughed. "Don't let it go to your head." Then, with a sly look, he added, "Speaking of which..." He undid the buttons of his fly and raised his eyebrows. "Forgetting something?"
"Not in the least, sir," said Ianto as he sank to his knees, licked his lips and eyed Jack's crotch like a starving man at a buffet.
Sometimes, being a creature of habit was a splendid thing indeed.
~fin~
Author: Spiderine
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: NC-17 (Adults Only)
Warnings: D/s
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Author's Notes: If you don't watch Torchwood you won't know who these people are. I am trying to keep the characterizations true to form as I see them, but there is no attempt being made to include current Torchwood plotline canon at this point (for example, "Cyberwoman" and onward). In other words, consider this an AU. This story follows my stories Proper For The Workplace and Adaptive Evolution. If you don't like them, you really won't like this. Massive thanks go to femmequixotic for beta'ing even though she was insanely busy with other things. Thank you for reading, and for your comments.
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How still it was in the Hub, in the dark, when everyone had gone. Tiny little nighttime sounds echoed far too loudly in Ianto's ears. Water dripping slowly down the central column, drop by drop. The rustling of the pterodactyl leaving her lair for a night's hunting. Hushed whirring and pinging from the equipment - always on, always working, always listening. Jack's footsteps somewhere behind him. If Ianto turned, if he looked up, Jack would surely be close by. He'd said he'd stay close by.
Ianto didn't turn. He didn't look up.
Cold, too, it was. Probably no more than usual, to be honest. But it wasn't Ianto's habit to go without clothing during the day, so there was no way to compare. He wasn't uncomfortable, and he didn't want to squirm, to turn around, to look up, but he did wish he were wearing socks. Perhaps next time, he would ask Jack if he might wear socks.
Ianto shifted slightly on his heels. He felt he had been here for quite some time, kneeling naked on the cold metal floor, but he had no way to tell. Jack had said it wouldn't be for long, and so it must not have been. Surely not.
Jack had said, relax. Don't try to think. Don't try to wait. Don't wonder and don't worry. He said the rope would make it easier. It would keep Ianto in place, his wrists tied behind his back, and then tied to his ankles so he rested on his knees, sitting back on his heels. It was quite a comfortable position, really. It could have been much worse. And Jack had said, relax. If Ianto relaxed into the bonds, they wouldn't tighten. If he didn't squirm, didn't turn, he could stay like that for some time. But it wouldn't be for long, Jack had said. And he would always be close by.
Why Jack was doing this, Ianto couldn't guess, leaving him here in the dark of night, tied motionless, with Jack off behind him as if Ianto wasn't even there. Like a new piece of equipment (whirring, purring in the night), Jack had installed him in the Hub, set him up and put him on stand-by. Jack had said, don't worry, don't try to think. But Ianto couldn't help it. He wanted to be useful. And he couldn't think how he was being of any use at all.
*************
First thing in the morning, the Hub had been bustling, people taking off their coats and settling in for the day. As Ianto passed around the coffee, Owen had told him, "Christ, you look like hell, what did you pull last night?" and Tosh had told him to shut his mouth. "Don't mind him, he's just jealous," she'd said to Ianto, accepting her mug. "You always look so sharp, and Owen looks like something salvaged from a bin."
Jack, standing on the catwalk, called down to them, "All right, people, listen up, bit of an announcement!" They all looked up at him as he continued, "Ianto has generously agreed to move into the Hub for a while, so we now have 24-hour communications on-call. Thank you, Ianto!" He gave a few little claps of applause as he came down the stairs.
"Teacher's bleeding pet," Owen groused.
Ianto shrugged and buried a secret smile. "Bit of trouble with my flat at present," he admitted. "Here's your coffee, Gwen. Light, one sugar."
"Thanks," she'd said, looking concerned. "You know, if you're having a spot of trouble, I could lend you some cash."
"Oh, no, not at all," he smiled. "I'm glad I can be of use. It's my pleasure," he added, and handed her a serviette when she choked and snorted coffee out her nose. Gwen was very sweet, Ianto thought, and it was nice that he could share these things with her, but she really could stand to learn some composure.
By the end of that first day, when the Hub was finally quiet, when everyone but he and Jack were gone, he'd been so nervous his hands were shaking. He went to Jack's workstation, just as on any other day, expecting to be bent over the desk and buggered. It was a little habit they'd evolved, and Ianto was a creature of habit. But before he could remove his jacket and drop his trousers, Jack had stopped him.
"You in some kind of rush?" Jack chuckled. "We've got plenty of time." He sat in his chair and leaned back, his fingers laced behind his head. "Do me a favour and get my boots off, all right?"
Ianto nodded, "Yes, sir," and knelt to the task. His fingers fumbled as he untied the laces and tried to pull the boots off without yanking, but he managed it, and tucked them neatly in a pair under Jack's desk.
"Thanks," Jack said with a warm smile. "Hey, do you know how to mix a martini?"
Ianto sat back on his heels and smiled slyly back at him. "If I recall, sir, it entails pouring a glass of cold gin while having fond memories of vermouth."
Jack laughed out loud. "And they say you're just a pretty face. Go on then, let's see what you can do. Two olives."
So he had, using just a drop more than fond memories of vermouth, and Jack had taken it, and tasted it, and approved, which made Ianto quite pleased with himself. And that had been that. Jack had dismissed him, wished him a good night, and climbed down through the hatch into his private quarters, leaving Ianto alone in the echoing silence of the Hub.
It had been very discomfiting indeed. After spending a couple of minutes at a loss, though, he'd decided he may as well settle into his new digs. Jack had set him up a locker and a camp bed in a corner. It was out of the way and comfortable enough. He had room for some clothes, his toiletries and a few books, which in the end was all he required. Jack had been right; he really didn't need that much space at all.
He stripped down to his shorts and went to bed with Death On The Nile. Once he'd started working for Torchwood, he'd had to modify his taste in fiction. What on earth could he possibly read? The new technological thrillers? Science fiction? How utterly absurd. He found himself revisiting old classics - Agatha Christie, Conan Doyle and so on, where the detectives were infallible, the clues were there for the finding and the mystery always satisfyingly solved by the final page. Compared to real life, it was a great comfort.
Perhaps he had fallen asleep over his reading, because the next he knew he was awake with a start, face down on the bed in absolute darkness with his shorts stripped off and the weight of a man straddling his thighs. When he tried to turn around, his face was pushed roughly into the pillow and Jack's voice hissed in his ear: "Not a sound. Not a twitch."
Ianto didn't say a word. He tried not to move a muscle. He clutched the sheets and stared into the dark, panting, as Jack brusquely parted Ianto's cheeks and stuffed his cock into his unstretched arse. Ianto pressed his lips together to stop himself from protesting or even moaning; the burn of it was brutal, with only a thin slippery film of gel between him and unbearable pain. He felt as though he were being gutted like a fish. Above him, Jack collapsed heavily on his back, covering him, his sweaty torso slick on Ianto's skin. Jack worked him mercilessly, in silence, grunting into Ianto's ear. His hands grabbed Ianto's wrists and pinned them to the mattress, and the weight of him on Ianto's back, flexing and pushing into Ianto's arse, ground Ianto's own cock and bollocks down against the sheets so roughly that Ianto wanted to scream, but instead he sank his teeth into the pillow. And in the midst of everything, a random, surreal thought floated to the surface of his mind: "Pillow biting. Of course. How droll." Then he had to bite the pillow even harder to keep from breaking into hysterical giggles.
It may have been the spasm of his body trying to resist laughter that made Jack buck against him even harder, growling with hot huffs of breath against Ianto's neck, thrusting again and again until he came with a long, low groan. For a moment they both lay there, gasping, motionless; then Jack pulled out quickly and climbed off him, the burning sensation of sudden withdrawal causing Ianto to catch his breath sharply. He heard a wet splat as Jack threw the used condom to the floor beside Ianto's bed, and Jack's footsteps receding as he climbed back down to his quarters, and then Ianto was alone again, in the dark. He felt reamed out, hollow; his arse throbbed, his cock and bollocks were rubbed raw, and the cold air across his sweaty back made him shiver. Still, it took a few minutes before he could bring himself to move. He loosed his grip on the sheets and realized his hands were aching from it. His whole body was aching. He rolled over on his back, looked over at his alarm clock, and groaned aloud. It was 4:47 in the morning; in just over two hours, he'd have to get up and prepare for the day.
And so he did. He woke up in plenty of time to shower, dress and start the coffee, and when Jack came up the ladder from his quarters there was no sign that anything had passed between them the night before. He gave Jack his mug (no sugar, just a touch of cream) and, at Jack's nod, knelt to suck Jack's cock, as he'd done every morning almost as long as he'd been employed at Torchwood Three. All considered, the routine was very soothing. It was a little habit they'd evolved, and Ianto was a creature of habit.
That day gave Ianto reason to reflect that, sometimes, being a creature of habit was a right ruddy bitch. The Loch Ness Monster had gone a bit stroppy due to being antagonized by a bunch of American students; the Glasgow Hub had called for back up, and it had taken the entire team a long day to settle her down. Fortunately the pterodactyl had been a great help in that regard. The others had gone straight home; he and Jack had returned to the Cardiff Hub, where Jack had wanted his boots off and his martini dry and then, once again, had left Ianto on his own.
Ianto had gone to bed trembling, and could not fall asleep. He kept waiting to hear Jack's footfalls on the ladder. He started awake at every little sound. He'd barely got any sleep at all.
And there had been nothing. Not a thing. Not a single footstep, not so much as a whisper. For all he'd been disturbed, he could have slept the night through like a baby.
He could have kicked himself for being so bloody stupid.
So, another morning, another blow job. And that was something that Ianto could never have imagined thinking before. His lack of enthusiasm must have shown in his performance; it earned him a little yank on the hair from Jack, who sighed, "Mind on your work, Ianto," with such evident disappointment that Ianto was ashamed of himself. He was many things, but not a slacker. So he concentrated and applied himself anew, and brought Jack off quickly with diligence, if not lively interest. A job worth doing was worth doing well, after all.
He repeated that old saw to himself many times as he went through the motions of the day, accomplishing the numerous tedious tasks that made up his role at Torchwood. He went to the shops: toilet rolls, coffee filters, enormous boxes of batteries for all their little gadgets. He stopped in at the butcher for offal to feed the Weevil and the pterodactyl. He took out the rubbish and shredded the documents. He compiled the expense reports and paid the bills. He cleaned the Weevil's cell, knocking the creature out with sleeping gas, changing its coverall, mucking out its droppings. The Weevil was a sewer dweller and happiest in its own filth, but unless Ianto kept on top of the situation the stench would become unendurable.
A thousand and one little things, necessary to all, noticed by none. Ordinarily he took quite a bit of pride in what he did. It wasn't glamorous; it wasn't fighting aliens or defending the Earth, but Ianto and his toilet rolls kept the Cardiff Hub ticking. Without him, Torchwood Three would cease to function. He knew that. He simply felt, at least that day, that noone else did.
Jack had known that something was off. Watching Ianto remove his boots and make his martini without complaint, but without a word, Jack had eyed him carefully, and quietly asked him if he were all right. Ianto had replied, "Fine, sir. Never better," and that appeared to satisfy Jack enough to dismiss him for the evening, although not without giving Ianto a long, speculative gaze.
And so, as Pepys said, to bed. Hercule Poirot was on the case; Jacqueline's pistol had been recovered from the Nile wrapped in a shawl with a bloody handkerchief. In the refined world of Agatha Christie, all was as it should be.
Then without warning, in the dark hours of the night, Jack had dragged Ianto from a sound sleep and left him tied, kneeling and naked in the cold silence of the Hub. Jack had said it wouldn't be for long. He'd said he would never be far away.
It appeared, Ianto thought, that Jack had lied.
Ianto was sleepy and starting to feel the chill. He had no way of telling how much time had passed, and he was beginning to cease to care. He listened to the water drip, and drifted in and out of dreams.
"Hello," Jack said. Ianto looked up.
Jack was naked. He was beautiful. The little blinking lights of the electronics were barely enough to see by, but Jack practically glowed against the shadows, all pale skin and taut smooth muscle. His cock rose half-hard, plump and curved above his tight balls and wiry dark hair. Ianto had never seen anything so beautiful.
"Beautiful," Ianto breathed.
The smile that lit up Jack's face warmed Ianto from head to toe. "Enjoying yourself?" Jack asked.
What kind of a question was that? Ianto was naked on the floor. His knees ached and his feet were cold. Still, he couldn't say he hadn't asked for it. Or rather, he hadn't asked for it specifically, but he had certainly asked for it generally. Begged for it, to be strictly honest with himself. So he supposed there was really only one possible answer to that question. "Um, yes? Sir?"
That earned him a quiet chuckle. "Where were you before, when you were alone? Where were you in your head?"
Just as quietly, Ianto answered, "I don't rightly know, sir. Just drifting, I suppose."
"That's good. That's exactly what we want." Jack knelt in front of Ianto and stroked his hair, his face, his neck. He was so close that Ianto could see his eyes clearly in the dim light, greyish blue like mist over the bay. Ianto leaned into the caress and sighed. The last time they'd been together, Jack had been so ruthless - almost savage. It occurred to Ianto that he'd been blaming himself for some reason; he couldn't imagine what he'd done to deserve it, but he must have done something. This, now, Jack's hands gentle against his skin - it was like every caress was an absolution, every touch lifting a hundredweight of worry from his mind. He could spend every night of his life on his knees with freezing feet if only it would lead to this.
"You're so clever," Jack whispered, so close that Ianto could feel Jack's breath against his ear like a kiss. "Sharp as a tack. We couldn't do without you, you know. How do you do it?"
His words filled Ianto with a yearning that he hoped Jack could see in his eyes. "It's my job, sir. I need it. I want to feel -"
"Useful," Jack cut him off with a grin. "Yeah, I know." He ran his hand along Ianto's jaw and up through his hair. "But you can't keep at it all the time." He took Ianto's chin in his hand and waggled his face back and forth, gently teasing. "You gotta know when to turn it off."
"Sir? I don't understand."
"I know you don't. You're wound tight as a spring." Jack's grin grew almost dangerous. "And I'm gonna take you down."
That sounded perturbing, and it must have shown on his face. Jack flicked him on the nose. "Uh-uh. That's what I mean. You're thinking too much." Jack's voice was mild, but there was an edge of command to it that Ianto recognized with a thrill that ran right down his spine.
Still, he didn't quite understand. "But it's my job. I need to anticipate -"
Jack "shh'd" him with a finger on Ianto's lips. "You do. And you're great at it. But there comes a time to turn it off. Let it go," he whispered. "Give it up."
"Give what up?"
Jack's eyes went dark and his voice cracked like a whip. "Everything." He took Ianto's face in both his hands and stared at him intensely. "Your worries, your decisions, your wants. It's time to give them to me." He smiled kindly and started caressing Ianto again, softly running his fingers over the skin of Ianto's face. Ianto sighed and shuddered and closed his eyes.
"That's right," Jack whispered. "Relax. Just relax. Let go. That place you were before, that drifting place. That's where we want you to be. I'll take care of you, you know that, don't you?"
"I hope so," Ianto whispered, his eyes still closed.
"Don't hope. Know. You have to trust me. Can you trust me?"
"Yes, sir." Jack's voice was so soothing, his words so heartfelt, it would have been cruel to answer any other way.
"Good. That's good. That's what we want. Because we both want the same thing, don't we?"
"Yes, sir." Ianto hadn't realized how tightly he'd been holding himself until he felt the tension in his muscles start to loosen. His body sagged a bit and he leaned into Jack's gentle touch.
"That's right," Jack purred. "We both want the same thing, and I think you know that there are times when I know what we want better than you do, isn't that right?"
"Yes, sir," Ianto murmured, beginning to drift off again.
"Good boy. So here's what we want. Here's what we going to do. You're going to do everything you usually do, be clever and indispensable and sharp as a tack. And then, sometimes, when the time is right, when it's just you and me, you're going to let go. You're going to give it all to me."
Feeling rather confused, Ianto blinked his eyes open a couple of times. "I don't see how that's being very useful to you, sir."
Jack's smile lost all danger and filled with warmth. "It's more than useful. It's a gift. You're going to give yourself to me like a gift. And my gift to you is to take you, and take care of you. I'll make all your decisions, and do all your thinking, and I'll give you everything you want, even when you don't know you want it. Because we both want the same thing, isn't that right?"
Ianto looked at Jack - so close, so unwavering, so strong and so very, very beautiful - and breathed, "Oh, yes." He felt the last bit of tension leave his body - his mind, even - and felt lighter somehow, as though Jack were anchoring him and if he let go Ianto would float away.
Jack stood, and Ianto swayed toward him, losing his balance a bit - he'd entirely forgot he was still tied up. Jack reached behind him and released the bonds connecting his wrists to his ankles. His hands were still tied behind his back but with Jack's help he could kneel up. It wasn't until he moved that he realized how stiff and aching his arms and legs still were. But it didn't matter. He looked into Jack's eyes, and nothing else mattered at all.
Jack met his gaze, and Ianto could see pride and tenderness and mischief. Jack ran one finger over Ianto's lips. "You know what we want right now?" he asked with a sly grin.
Ianto hadn't the slightest idea, but he knew Jack did, and that was enough. "What do we want, sir?"
"We want me to fuck that pretty mouth of yours."
Ianto blinked. "Oh. Yes, sir, if you say so, sir."
Jack chuckled. "Oh, I say so." He took his cock in his hand and held it before Ianto's face, tantalizingly close. It was thickening in Jack's hand, the head beginning to emerge from the hood. It seemed to fill Ianto's entire field of vision. He wanted it desperately; he licked his lips and leaned towards it, but Jack held Ianto under the jaw with his other hand and said, "Uh-uh. I'm driving. You open your mouth, and you relax. This won't work unless you relax."
Ianto looked up. The view from this angle was strange, all foreshortened - he saw Jack's cock, and above it Jack's face looking down at him, as distant and beautiful as a god. He licked his lips again and nodded. "I'll do my best, sir."
"I know you will. Now open."
Ianto closed his eyes so he could concentrate on the feeling of Jack's cock pushing slowly past his lips. It felt so warm, so soft and hard all at once, swelling as it entered. With a little sigh, he let it slide over his tongue as it hardened. He wanted to lean into it, grab it with both hands, suck it, gobble it down. This was bloody torture, it was; it felt like every muscle in Ianto's body was trembling with the effort it took to hold himself back. Jack must have felt it too, because he grasped the sides of Ianto's head in both hands like a football and gave him one last warning to relax before pumping his groin forward and pushing his cock into Ianto's mouth, pulling back and pumping again, then again, slowly developing a measured, driving rhythm.
When Jack's cock hit the back of Ianto's throat he gagged; he struggled to swallow, but Jack held his head still and didn't let up even as Ianto's throat filled with saliva that dribbled uncontrollably from the corners of his mouth. Still, Ianto kept his lips locked in suction around Jack's cock, never mind how his jaw was beginning to ache, his nose to run and his eyes to water. Struggling for each breath through his nose and completely unable to keep his balance without his hands, he felt as if he were going to panic, that it could be only moments before he scrambled free and vomited all over the floor.
Then, through his own gargled, choking snorts, he heard Jack moaning and murmuring: "Shh, shh, steady now... good, so good, just like that..." Ianto blinked to clear his tears and looked up to see Jack with his eyes closed and his head thrown back, hair plastered to his head, sweat running down his neck and chest. He was fucking with pure abandon, and the sight made Ianto reel and groan. It was like time froze for a moment, and in that moment he suddenly felt how hard his own cock was - agonizingly, desperately hard - and it pushed every other sensation into the background. He didn't give a bloody blue damn about his sore throat and aching jaw, the cock that seemed to block his whole throat and make every tortured breath a battle - the whole idea of being an active participant in these goings-on was highly overrated, come to think of it. He moaned and the frozen moment was over, but now he just went limp and let Jack hold him up by the head and rock him back and forth like a rag doll as the drool ran down his chin, making his mouth into a nice wet hole for Jack to fuck.
Almost as soon as that image popped into Ianto's mind, Jack grimaced and yanked Ianto's hair and came, pumping and grunting and filling Ianto's mouth with jism faster than Ianto could swallow. When Jack finally pulled out, Ianto's jaw muscles were too sore to react; all Ianto could do was take huge, rasping breaths through his suddenly unblocked mouth as gobbets of spittle and come dribbled out between his lips, down his neck and onto his chest.
He rocked back onto his heels and toppled over onto his side, goggling wide-eyed and gasping like a gaffed fish. And Jack was right beside him, plopping down to sit on the floor, panting and giggling in a way that verged on hysterics.
Jack dragged Ianto up to lay his head in his lap and started untying the ropes around his wrists. "Holy shit," he laughed. "That was incredible."
Ianto nodded weakly but said nothing. His balls were still aching and tight, his cock felt hot enough to blister and hard enough to split like an overcooked sausage; he couldn't formulate a single bloody thought and his throat was too sore to allow speech anyway.
Jack tossed the rope to the side and rubbed Ianto's wrists. Ianto groaned as the pins and needles spread up his arms, his shoulders stretched and cramped and started to tremble, and the erection he thought he'd never lose started to go limp from sheer pain and fatigue. Jack kissed his cheek, stood up and held out his hand. "Bedtime, Ianto."
Ianto nodded again and tried to stand, but quickly realized what a stupid idea that was as his knees gave out and Jack had to catch him. Jack supported him, Ianto's arm across Jack's shoulder and Jack's arm around Ianto's waist, as they slowly walked over to Ianto's camp bed in the corner. It had been made up with flannel sheets, and there was a bottle of massage oil next to it on the floor.
Jack helped Ianto lie down on his stomach and proceeded to give him the most rapturous massage Ianto had ever experienced. At least the part that Ianto was awake for was rapturous. Jack tended to Ianto with such devotion, and whispered such beautiful, tender things, his lips so close to Ianto's ear that his breath was like a kiss, that Ianto really didn't know when he drifted off to sleep. But he dreamed he was flying, swooping and soaring like a pterodactyl until the alarm rang and he woke to find he'd come all over his sheets.
When Jack climbed out of his quarters that morning and Ianto greeted him with his usual mug of coffee (no sugar, touch of cream), they grinned at each other like a pair of schoolboys.
"Sleep well?" Jack asked smugly, settling down at his desk.
"Like an infant," Ianto said with equal complacence. Then, with a bit of a blush but no less satisfaction, he murmured, "I had an emission last night, sir."
Jack smiled proudly, "That's my boy." It made the blush spread over Ianto's neck and ears, but couldn't wipe the smirk off his face.
Jack's laughed. "Don't let it go to your head." Then, with a sly look, he added, "Speaking of which..." He undid the buttons of his fly and raised his eyebrows. "Forgetting something?"
"Not in the least, sir," said Ianto as he sank to his knees, licked his lips and eyed Jack's crotch like a starving man at a buffet.
Sometimes, being a creature of habit was a splendid thing indeed.
~fin~