wildestranger | Fic: Been staring down the barrel of a gun Jack/Ianto NC-17

Title: Been Staring Down The Barrel Of A Gun
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: NC-17
Words: 6300
Spoilers:Cyberwoman
Summary: Jack points the gun at him. "Take your clothes off."
Notes:Thanks to

shaggydogstail for the beta! This takes place directly after the episode Cyberwoman. All feedback is most welcome - I'd be particularly curious to hear whether or not you thought this scenario is plausible in light of that episode. :)
Written for

14valentines. Title from Depeche Mode, Yes, I know, I'm shamefully emo.
*g*

Both characters are over 18.

Ianto walks slowly, his every step clumsy and sticking to the ground, as if unwilling to move forward. There is blood on his shoes, and there will be stains all the way from the basement to the top of the stairs. Ianto considers dispassionately whether it would make more sense to stop now to clean his feet, and come back for the rest later. But he keeps moving, Jack's step heavy and loud behind him, Jack's gun pointing at his head.

The others are still in the basement, pulling apart the conversion unit (Tosh) and getting rid of the bodies (Gwen and Owen). Jack had barked his orders, then repeated them more slowly but with no less vehemence, and finally turned to Ianto and pulled out his gun. Nobody had spoken, and Ianto hadn’t moved, still on his knees next to Lisa's body, until Jack had tilted his head and gestured towards the door. "Get up. You've got work to do."

Upstairs is a mess. There is water everywhere, and blood, and electric wires that send sparkling shocks throughout the room. Myfanwy is perched on her nest high above it all, making loud unhappy noises about the trauma she's been through. Not hungry noises, Ianto notes, then pauses to vomit quietly in the nearest pizza box.

He is still crouching, breathing hard, when the noise of a gun being secured and put away registers in his brain. Then Jack's hand on his shoulder, warm and solid, making him twitch.

"Come on."

Jack's hand stays on his back as he is prodded towards the coffee station. Ianto picks up the kettle automatically, and turns to fill it with water before he realises that coffee might not be what he is here for. But Jack only nods, and replaces the coffee beans with teabags when Ianto reaches for them. When it's time to fill the mugs Ianto almost spills boiling water on himself, but after some dexterous twisting of hands and body Ianto ends up with a cup full of tea, warming his hands and heavy enough to keep them from shaking. It would be a comfort, a moment to pause and not think, if not for Jack's careful gaze observing him from behind his own mug.

They sip their tea, and Ianto grows more adept at ignoring Jack's stare. His throat is still sore from throwing up and the tea burns as it goes down, but Ianto doesn't mind. Feeling is starting to return to his fingers and he considers making another cup, if only to avoid thinking about making more long-term plans, when Jack puts his mug down and bumps Ianto's shoulder with his own. "Let's get started," he says, and takes Ianto's cup from his hand and steers him away.

The division of labour involves Ianto picking up dangerous pieces of equipment from the pool and finding them relatively dry corners in which to wait relocation, while Jack sits by Tosh's desk and watches him. It isn't clear whether this business of cleaning is to make use of all available manpower, or just to give Ianto something to do in order to keep him busy, but it evidently isn't optional. Jack appears calm, the stance of his shoulders somewhat less rigid, but there is tension enough even in this relaxed pose, and his eyes never move away from Ianto. The gun is back in its holster, but Ianto is aware that it can and will be pulled out again should he rebel in any way against Jack's orders.

He has no rebellion left in him, though. He clears away the debris and mops out the blood and the water, leaving the floor considerably less stained, if not sparkling. It's only when he notices the trail he is leaving behind that he remembers his ruined shoes. Carefully bending over, Ianto unties his laces and steps out of his shoes. A casual wipe gets rid of the dripping liquids, but there is little to be done with the seeped through wetness and the discolouration. Ianto places them in the corner to dry, hoping that they will be more usable by the time he's allowed to leave.

Jack coughs behind him and Ianto stands up slowly, his back towards Jack. When he turns around, the gun is again facing him.

"That really isn't necessary, sir."

Jack cocks his head, and curves his mouth in a chilly smile.

"Perhaps I've started to like it. And how else could I make you do what I want?"

Jack's voice turns humorous and self-deprecating, as if stating a private joke he didn't find that funny but felt compelled to make anyway. Ianto swallows and nods.

"Yes, sir."

Jack leads him down the stairs, to the left, and down again to the communal bathroom. Here, it occurs to Ianto, is a good place for an execution. Jack won't want to make any more of a mess for them to clean.

Yet Jack doesn't tell him to face the wall. Not precisely.

"Take your clothes off."

Ianto blinks. "What?"

Jack cocks his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Your suit is soaked through and covered in blood. The only reason you're not rattling your teeth from the cold is that you're still in shock, but that'll wear off. We need to get you warm. So take off your clothes."

Sounds reasonable, if not for the gun still pointed at him, and Jack's clear intention not to look away.

"Are you going to watch?"

This is a smile Ianto remembers, a flash of teeth and evident enjoyment of what he's about to say.

"Have to make sure you don't drown yourself, don't I? Not to mention," the smile disappears as Jack steps closer, his left hand rising to support the gun, "make sure that you're not hiding anything else."

It doesn't make sense, and at another time Ianto would make loud complaints about Jack's prurient interest, but for now it seems best to do as he says. He has nothing left to hide, anyway, and the idea of warm water seems too good to be imagined.

Stripping down isn't easy. Ianto's fingers are still cold and clumsy from the pool, and somehow the familiar motions of pulling off his tie and opening the buttons on his shirt are far too difficult. He manages to get rid of his jacket, but is finally defeated by the cuff links. Ianto starts cursing, and tries to just pull out of his sleeves, but the shirt won't cooperate and gets even more stuck the more he pulls. He gives up.

He offers his entangled wrists to Jack. "Give me a hand?"

Jack stares. There's something enjoyable, Ianto finds, in surprising Jack. No less in asking for help when he should be meek and resentful, than in hiding a cyberwoman behind his quiet surface. Jack clearly has expectations about people. Ianto has nothing to lose.

Eventually, Jack looks down and smirks at the mess Ianto has made, as if realising only now the struggle Ianto has been engaged in for the past ten minutes. He puts the gun in the holster, and moves closer.

"And here I thought that divesting yourself of fine suits was your specialty, Ianto."

"Really, sir? When have you seen me do that?"

It comes automatically, as does the lightning-quick grin on Jack's face, but they both remember, too late, that this isn't what they do now. Frowning, Jack grabs hold of Ianto's hands and begins to extricate him from the wet cloth, still dripping blood and cold water on the floor.

It wouldn't do to pay attention to how warm Jack's hands are. Ianto waits quietly and nods a brief thank you when Jack is done. He turns away, facing the showers, and starts removing his trousers.

All his clothes from today are ruined, but there should be a few more shirts stacked away somewhere and a pair of jogging pants he's hidden in a cupboard in level six. Ianto has several hideaways within the Hub, in case one of them is compromised, or suffers a weevil-attack. As it looks like he isn't to be executed against the wall (probably), he should really start thinking about going home. When Jack is done with him.

The water, in direct opposition to Ianto's fervent fantasies, is lukewarm at best. Probably the power loss from earlier; their energy system will be fucked up for days. The water is warm enough not to chill him further, just warm enough to remember what hot water would be and feel the cold all the more.

In the end his skin is clammy with only water, not blood, and that's what matters. He turns around, intent on finding a spare towel from one of the lockers, when the sight of Jack makes him pause. Jack is a few feet closer from where Ianto last saw him, his gun still safely tucked away (Ianto makes a point of looking), a towel and a dressing gown over his arm. He is staring, and the look on his face holds more regret than Ianto has ever seen. It passes, quickly, and then Jack is inscrutable and self-possessed again, handing out the towel.

It's soft, better quality than the emergency staff ones they keep in the lockers, and smells lightly of Jack's aftershave. Ianto doesn't know where he conjured that up from – Jack never showers in the communal bathroom, having his own private one tucked away somewhere. But the piece of cloth scrunched up in his hands is undoubtedly Jack's, blue embroidered monograms and all. Another time, Ianto would smirk at that.

He rubs himself dry quickly, ignoring the bruises on his chest and arms that are only now making themselves known. Wrapping the towel around his hips, he takes an inquisitive step (with the accompanying raised eyebrow) towards Jack, and is presented with a dressing gown. Which, as he notes, is pink.

Ianto raises his eyebrow higher.

"Shut up. It got discoloured in the wash."

"Indeed, sir."

Never mind the colour, at least the thing is warm. Ianto wraps it tightly around himself, ties the bow, and looks up at Jack. The gun is pointed at his face, again.

"And now, we go to my office."

Ianto swallows. "Yes, sir."

: :

The office is warmer than the rest of the Hub, but Ianto can't stop clenching and unclenching his muscles, still shaking a little from the cold. He sits on the sofa, his hands tucked under his legs, and watches the floor as Jack watches him. He's getting tired of this.

"Are you going to make me take retcon?"

Jack shakes his head. "No. You don't get off that easy. And I'm not going to fire you, either. You still have the job, if you want it."

Somehow that isn't as reassuring as it should be. Then again, why would it be? Jack doesn't offer comfort, and the look on his face reminds Ianto that he shouldn't want any.

"You'll need to prove to me that you can be trusted. No more hiding."

Ianto goes still. "What do you mean?"

Jack shrugs. The gun is hanging loosely from his hand, almost forgotten, but Ianto can't look away.

"I'll keep a closer eye on you. And you'll need to do more than stay at the Hub and make coffee. Torchwood can't afford to keep passengers, and we need more people out on the field. And it would be a shame to let you go to waste since you already know everything about us."

There is something almost malicious in Jack's grin, yet Ianto can't find the difference between this and any other smile.

"Whisky?"

Ianto says nothing, but receives a crystal glass half-full of golden liquid nevertheless. He takes a sip in the hope that it will make him warmer, and starts coughing at the burn. In the corner of his eye he sees Jack putting the gun away, locking it in a drawer on his desk.

"What makes you think I won't take it and shoot you?"

Jack stops, his hand still in the locker. When he turns to Ianto, his eyes are crinkling with cold amusement.

"No. Not when I'm the only thing keeping you alive."

"What?"

"Don't think I don't know that if I let you leave here you'll go and crash yourself into any one of the many tempting lampposts on the way home."

Ianto stares, mouth opening in denial. But then he thinks about it, imagines himself behind a wheel, the smell of blood on his suit, on his skin. The darkness gleaming and cold behind the windows, pools of rainwater shining on the ground. Slippery roads, his tires old and worn, so many excuses for accidents to happen.

Ianto says nothing.

"You’re not getting out of the Hub tonight. You can either choose a room in one of the lower levels – and not the one with the sleeping bag and the change of underwear and the pictures of your girlfriend, another one, we have plenty of rooms with beds – or you can stay here. Your choice."

Ianto swallows, then swallows again to quell the bile rising in his throat. Jack is still watching him, and it occurs to Ianto only now how rare it is for Jack to watch him without some kind of warmth; a smile, a glint of passion, a delighted surprise.

"Is that how I’m going to earn back your trust? By sucking you off?"

Jack smiles but there is no joy in it.

"It’s not going to be that easy, Ianto. And when you suck my cock it will be because you want it so badly you can’t help yourself. Not because of your job, not for this."

He can’t help but shiver at that, the intentionally pleasurable crudeness in Jack’s voice making him twitch. Jack speaks as if there is no doubt that this will happen, one day.

But Ianto hasn't been overcome yet.

"Then how can you think I’d want to stay here with you? When you’ve just…when she’s barely…fuck."

His voice starts to break and it isn’t just the memory of Lisa, screaming and bleeding into the ground, that makes him choke. He doesn’t want to be here, wet and cold and wearing Jack’s dressing gown, Jack’s smell on his skin. He never used to think about what would happen if he failed, if Lisa couldn’t be cured, and he doesn’t want to start thinking about it now. With Jack watching him, making sure he doesn’t hide anything, observing every pained breath and shudder.

"Because you should know that despite betraying Torchwood and almost getting us all killed, not to mention almost setting Cybermen loose in the world, I've not given up on you. You're still wanted here."

There is no desire in Jack's voice, and this more than anything else reminds Ianto of what used to be. It turns out it meant more than he thought it did, and this is yet another part of the brave new world Ianto needs to learn to live in. A world without Lisa. A world where Jack wants him.

It's not that he hasn't thought of it. Jack hasn't been subtle about his interest, although he's never pushed that much, a sign of delicacy or disinterest, Ianto had thought. But there has been enough for Ianto to consider the idea of sleeping with a man, not that he'd have done it, of course, not with Lisa and all, but it had been something to think about, in theory. Jack is a beautiful man, attractive in ways different from anyone else Ianto has met. It would be easy with him.

Apart from the inevitable heartbreak, of course. Ianto has seen Gwen move from giddy crush to curiosity to uneasy camaraderie; has watched Toshiko unfurl under Jack's praise and wilt when it's removed; noticed how Owen, obnoxious sarcasm and all, grows warmer when Jack's around. He has considered himself immune, and lucky to be so, protected by Lisa, by his professional distance, by the fact that he doesn't have to care. Except maybe he does.

Ianto looks up to find Jack still watching him. It won't be about loneliness, he decides. But Jack, despite his easy charm and smooth talk, is always a struggle, and struggling is what's keeping Ianto going right now. That, and the fact that Jack won't expect him to say yes.

He still has to ask.

"Why?"

"So that I'll know that you're not hiding anything else. You said I wasn't paying enough attention to you. I'm willing to give you all my attention now."

"Lucky me."

"Oh yes. Imagine how jealous the others will be."

They would be. Ianto can imagine the look on Gwen's face.

"What makes you think that shagging me will tell you anything? How would you know I wasn't faking it?"

"I'd know. And you can't hide from me."

"What about you? It's not like you'd reveal anything about yourself."

"Well. You'll have to find out, won't you?"

Another lazy grin, and it occurs to Ianto that Jack isn't nearly as calm as he appears. The anger that turned the usually unflappable Jack into a screaming monster is still there, as is the uncontrollable energy that causes Jack to flirt with everything and everyone and makes him so seductive.

Yet he isn't trying to seduce Ianto now.

"Well? Do you want another room?"

Ianto looks up, lifts his chin. "No."

The look on Jack’s face becomes even more guarded, more careful. Ianto notes the slight movement of his Adam’s apple, the flick of a tongue to wet his lips, the almost imperceptible tightening of his usually generous mouth. Then Jack nods, stands up. "Good."

He reaches out a hand, and Ianto stares at it stupidly before realising that Jack wants him to get up. He offers his own hand as he rises.

There is no reason why this should make him crumble, but suddenly he is shaking again, lowering his head and closing his eyes and biting his lips together. When Jack’s arms come to rest on his shoulders, pulling him closer, Ianto recoils but doesn’t manage to pull free, and then Jack is holding him tight, his hands spreading heat over Ianto’s back, shoulders, arms, Jack’s mouth warm under his ear.

"I’m sorry she’s dead. I’m sorry you couldn’t save her. I’m sorry I had to kill her."

There's nothing he can say to that.

: :

The room below is smaller than Ianto had imagined, almost claustrophobic in its utilitarianism. Jack had simply opened the latch and jumped down, leaving Ianto to hover uncertainly in the office above and to wonder whether Jack was looking up his dressing gown. He'd hesitated then, considered snapping the latch closed and making a run for it, taking his car and running away from Cardiff, away from Torchwood and aliens and all. It was as much the likelihood of Jack catching him anyway as the surge of desire in his belly at the thought of that that had convinced Ianto to follow in the end, step by step on the ladder, moving slowly and clutching each rung with slightly too much force. Jack had said nothing during his descent, although whether that was out of patience or the skills of a predator Ianto doesn't know.

He turns around, finally, and leans back on the ladder, facing Jack's stare. Jack grins, a smile calculated to reassure wild animals that really, this net isn't going to harm you. Ianto lifts his chin. Jack smiles wider.

"As much as the dressing-gown suits you, I think you'd look better out of it."

And before Ianto can notice or protest, an insidious hand has curled around his waist and opened the sash, letting the gown hang open. Jack doesn't pull it off, but he looks, long enough and with too much intensity for Ianto to be comfortable. He's about to say something, or pull the gown together when Jack looks up with a genuine smile and says: "Take off my clothes?"

Jack is good at keeping people out of balance. Ianto had thought that he'd trained himself to handle it, to never let Jack see him discomfited, but there is only so much you can do when your boss asks you to undress him. And with an honest grin at that. This is a challenge he can't back away from, not that Jack would let him. And who wouldn't want to see Captain Jack bared?

Ianto lifts his hands to Jack's shoulders, takes a deep breath and starts undressing him quickly and methodically. He pulls down the braces, opens the buttons in Jack's shirt, takes hold of his wrists to finger the cuff links loose. Pulls off the shirt without letting his hands linger, without looking Jack in the eye, and ignores Jack's eyes on him. At another time he might have enjoyed this, the slow uncovering of a beautiful body (and Jack is beautiful, without a doubt), but there are too many nerves, too much awareness of the weaknesses in his own battered frame. He opens Jack's belt, tugs while Jack lets out a muffled noise, then opens Jack's trousers, and pulls them down. "Kick off your shoes," he says, crouching, and doesn't look up. Jack complies (Ianto imagines with a smirk), and allows Ianto to completely remove his trousers.

Ianto stands up, looks down at the incongruously white boxers, and lifts his chin.

"You can manage those yourself."

"No, I can't."

Jack's grin is deliberately wicked, and Ianto decides he doesn't like his role in this game. "Fine."

Jack's skin is softer than he expected, with little hair and enough flesh to fill his hands. Ianto places two fingers on Jack's sides, then slides them down under the boxes, pulling them to Jack's ankles. Standing up, it seems important that he look at it, so Ianto does. Jack smirks.

He remembers a few drunken conversations with the team about whether Jack really was well-endowed enough to account for all that confidence. Seeing Jack's cock, Ianto thinks that explains so much, and tries to stifle the urge to giggle. Some kind of snort escapes his mouth, and Jack looks slightly offended.

"Disappointed?" Jack speaks with the cockiness of a man who knows he never has to fear disappointment over his size. Ianto shakes his head, and looks away.

He doesn't want to be here. He can't – he's not got a clue about what to do with Jack's cock, and he's not sure he wants to – it's Jack, and it's a cock, and it's far too close and nobody comes that close to him anymore, and it's almost touching him and oh god–

A gentle hand on his jaw, Jack's thumb softly pressing into his cheek, then Jack's mouth on his, drinking him, stealing his breath. Ianto's eyes fall closed as Jack tugs on his lower lip with his teeth, then licks the abused skin, licks again and over and everywhere until Ianto can't stand straight. Jack's body is warmer than anything has ever been and Ianto is wrapped up in him, Jack's arm around his waist, one hand cupping his face while another strokes his back, Jack's legs between his thighs.

Jack's mouth is greedy on his, and Ianto realises that there is still anger there, curling under his skin and biting into his lips, and it's not all his. This is something he can deal with, he decides, something he can do, and he starts pushing back, licking Jack's lips and biting the corner of his mouth, making Jack moan and twitch against him. Then he gets twisted around and Jack is pulling him towards the bed, rubbing his lips over Ianto's cheeks, murmuring into his ear: "Show me how angry you are. Make me feel it."

He stops thinking for a moment after that and turns into greedy grabby fingers and an all-consuming mouth, biting and licking and sucking its way over any piece of Jack it can reach. He ends up flat on his back, on Jack's bed, breathing hard and growing more apprehensive as Jack leans over him, straddles him, and just looks. Ianto coughs, and tries to control his breathing. Remember how to breathe.

"It's a bit bright in here. Would you mind if we turned off the lights?"

He's glad that his voice doesn't shake, even though he still has difficulty catching his breath. And Jack is still sitting on him.

"But then I wouldn't be able to see you, now would I?"

Ianto wets his lips, lowers his eyes. "Fine."

Jack nods, grins, and moves lower so that he's lying on top of Ianto, his chin coming to rest on Ianto's chest.

"Tell me what you like."

It takes him a while to understand what Jack is asking, then another moment in which to blush over the idea of telling Jack, of handing out a list of preferences as easily as one of requisitions. He doesn't have names for most things he likes, has never thought of them in terms of things he should vocalise and share.

"I, er, I don't know."

Jack smirks a little at that.

"Well, I don't mind finding out for myself," he says, and bends his head to lick at Ianto's nipple. It feels strange, wet and smooth and warm and then cold, and Ianto's not sure what to make of it. He can't remember anyone doing that to him before, not with such clear intent and the expectation that Ianto would, should enjoy it. Then Jack does it again, a quick swirl of the tongue and then a craze of teeth, and Ianto discovers that he really likes having his nipples sucked. Jack tugs one between his teeth and Ianto bucks up against him, hands coming to grab Jack's biceps and legs falling apart under him. Jack doesn't stop, merely brings one hand to stroke Ianto's hipbone.

Ianto lies still as Jack continues his exploration, following the contours of Ianto's belly with his fingers, sucking on the skin above his heart. It feels like too much and it feels like nothing, a warm body touching him, pressing reactions out of him that Ianto isn't sure he wants to give, or to have.

"I see you like to just lie back and make me do all the hard work? Lazy Ianto."

Smiles against his skin, Jack's lips stretching open, writing words with his tongue against Ianto's belly. Ianto closes his eyes, then grabs hold of Jack's shoulders and pulls him up for a kiss. This, at least, he knows how to do, letting his mouth fall open for Jack, plundering Jack's mouth in return. He's holding Jack's face and releasing greedy little moans into his lips when Jack pulls back, kisses him once more, then pulls back again and strokes a finger down Ianto's cheek.

"Hey, Ianto, wake up. Look at me."

It would be cowardly not to, wouldn't it? Ianto wets his lips, and opens his eyes.

Jack isn't smiling but there is a strange openness about him, his lips red and shining, cheeks flushed under the perfect tan, his face too close to form a proper smirk. You can't hide yourself in bed, he'd said, and Ianto wonders what he's about to discover. Whether there is anything private and secret about human need in the end.

Jack licks his lips, then moves to lie on his side, legs still entangled with Ianto's. He waits until Ianto is looking at him, sure to get all of his attention, before leaning back in a way that displays his perfect body.

"Your turn, I think."

When Ianto does nothing, stares dumbly at Jack and tries to parse the sentence, Jack takes hold of his hand and puts it on his chest. "Touch me."

He slow with it, trails his hand across Jack's chest, sliding down to his hip and strokes the curve of the bone there. It's one things not to look at Jack when Jack is touching him, discovering things about his body, and quite another to look away when he is touching Jack. He wants to know what it does to Jack, the tips of his fingers splayed across Jack's belly, but he doesn't want Jack to see what that does to him. There is a different kind of manliness in the skin under his hands, smooth skin, strength and poise and lovely curving lines, things Ianto has never thought about when looking at bodies, when looking at men. Jack doesn't speak, just breathes quietly as Ianto learns his body, not stroking or caressing, just feeling it. Getting used to the idea of living flesh under his hands, and oh god, he can't, can't do this, oh god, Lisa.

A few shattered breaths, and Ianto opens his eyes to find that he has scratched blood from Jack's side. Jack is frowning again, looking at him and looking through him, all the muscles in his body tight with tension. He takes hold of Ianto's hand and presses it back against the pillow, presses Ianto back until he's lying down with Jack poised above him.

"I hope you found what you were looking for," he says, and moves down to lift Ianto's legs on his shoulders. It occurs to Ianto that Jack mouth is barely inches away from his cock, that he is all but spread out and open here, and he can't help the blush that starts from his ears and ends up somewhere around his navel. Judging from the predatory grin on Jack's face he is aware of this too. Jack leans a little closer, breathes warm air across Ianto's cock, and watches with amusement as Ianto twitches.

"I'm going to assume that you've had a blowjob before? Good. Now remember, don't come yet. I want to be inside you when that happens."

Ianto is about to retort that although hard, he's not quite that easy, and who said anything about agreeing to anal sex anyway, but then Jack swallows his cock in one fluid move and he has to reconsider his ability to speak. There are fingers tugging at his balls and breathing has never been this difficult, what with Jack finding greedy nerve-endings with every flick of his tongue. And Jack doesn't give a chance to get used to the sensation; he keeps sucking hard, pressing his tongue on the slit on Ianto's cock, spreading Ianto's legs wider with his shoulders, making hungry noises and pushing him down on the mattress so all he can do is clutch the sheets and try to not to whimper. Ianto keeps biting his lips, shuddering with every brush of lips and teeth, and finally moans out loud when Jack presses one slick finger inside him.

"Keep your mouth open, Ianto. I want to know what this is doing to you."

Jack lifts his head long enough to glare at him, then tilts his head, says "Actually…" and reaches up to push two fingers of his other hand inside Ianto's mouth. Ianto chokes a bit, but can't help sucking at them, not when Jack goes back to sucking him and there is still a finger inside his arse. It feels like there are hands everywhere, pushing into him, finding all kinds of secret places that hadn't been opened before. Jack's fingers pull out of his mouth with a pop and Ianto whines a little, turning his face into the pillow. Then Jack pulls out his other hand, replaces it with fingers wet with Ianto's saliva, and finds a place that sends sparks along Ianto's spine.

It hurts, kind of, although Jack isn't rough by any means. He just keeps pressing on, sucking him deeper, spreading him further, until Ianto can't keep the groans inside and just shudders with every breath. It hurts but he doesn't want it to stop, and when Jack pulls back and removes his hands and mouth Ianto lets out a disappointed, bewildered whimper.

"I'm going to fuck you now."

Ianto stares. Jack's mouth is wet and shiny and he's breathing hard, his skin flushed. There's a determined look on his face.

"You have to say yes, Ianto. You have to admit to wanting it."

Ianto opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He tries to swallow, tries to breathe, but then Jack's thumb comes to stroke his throat and he can't.

"Come on. Tell me what you want. Tell me you need this."

It's the slightest curve of uncertainty on Jack's mouth, a bit of desperation that reminds Ianto that Jack isn't calm about this. That Jack needs this too, wants it as badly, and that it wasn't only anger at Ianto' betrayal of Torchwood that provoked this. Jack too has something to prove.

It isn't easy, and then it is, pulling Jack close enough to kiss, whispering "Yes" against his lips, and "Fuck me," and "Come on, Jack, come on." He can feel Jack smile against his lips and there is sweetness there as well as anger, as well as longing and despair. He finds himself pulled downwards a bit, a pillow placed under his hips, a grin pressed into his knee along with a kiss.

When he is finally prepared and positioned, Jack's cock pushing into him and Jack's hand stroking his hip, Ianto considers the meaning and mechanics of sex. Jack can't not be affectionate with it, can't stop touching him, kissing everywhere, his mouth dragging across Ianto's cheek and jaw and collarbone, hands smoothing down tremors across his belly. There are moans pushed out of him by Jack's cock, moans that Jack swallows greedily into his mouth and then returns with half-formed words to Ianto's lips. The fullness growing inside him is almost painful, but Jack distracts him with teasing nips of teeth along his throat and shoulders, making Ianto twitch and shiver with every thrust. He doesn't want to come yet, but then Jack starts playing with Ianto's foreskin, pumping Ianto's cock through his fingers while pushing deeper and harder inside him, biting at his lips and whispering "Come on, come on" against his mouth, and Ianto gives in.

He can feel Jack shudder inside him, feels the bite of teeth that fall on his shoulder as Jack comes. There's a strange tug at his insides when Jack pulls out, but Ianto is too exhausted to care or open his eyes. He's grateful for the wet cloth that Jack uses to wipe off the come on his belly and the stickiness from his thighs, but it would be too much of an effort for him to speak his thanks. Lisa did always complain about how useless he was after sex.

Later, when Jack has wrapped his sheets around them both and himself around Ianto, it occurs to Ianto that he should have left, got up and gone home. But Jack seems content to lie in bed with him, keeps moving his hand lazily across Ianto's belly and snuffling kisses against the back of his neck, and so Ianto decides that he can worry about that tomorrow. He's warm and comfortable, and that's enough for now. That's as much as he can hope for, now.

: :

Ianto wakes up to an empty bed, and an empty room. The alarm clock on the bedside table tells him that it's 7.30, which means that he has already overslept by two hours and that he has thirty minutes before Tosh is expected to come to work. Ignoring his creaking joints, and the bruises that are only starting to make themselves felt, Ianto manages to extricate himself from Jack's sheets (entangled around his feet, sticking to his skin in ways he doesn't want to think about) and gets up.

Jack has left him some clothes, stacked them on a tidy pile on a nearby chair. The t-shirt looks ridiculously big on Ianto and the trousers will need a belt, but they’re still a lot better than his own ruined suit would be. Even though the idea of wearing Jack's clothes makes him uncomfortable.

He climbs the ladder and finds Jack sitting at his desk, reading, two cups of steaming coffee by his elbow. The good kind of coffee, Ianto notes, and is forced to consider the possibility that Jack does actually know how to make coffee. So much for job security.

"Coffee, Ianto?"

Jack hands him a cup without looking up from his papers, and Ianto has no choice but to reach out and take it, warm his hands which are suddenly cold, and drink the coffee. It's not bad.

"I expect you to be back at work tomorrow. You can have today off. Go home and get some rest. And some food. Don't think I haven't noticed how skinny you've become."

Ianto nods, then realises that Jack can't see him. "Yes, Jack."

He takes another sip, then puts the mug down and starts to go. There should be enough time for him to sneak out before the others arrive, and the traffic isn't that bad this time of the morning. Not to the part of town he's going, anyway. Maybe he should get a bus. Or even a taxi. He feels sick enough to justify the expense.

"Ianto?"

Except, of course, Jack wouldn't let him go that easily. Yet there is sense of relief as well as dread when Ianto turns around and sees Jack standing by his desk, looking at him.

"Next time, you'll have to ask for it."

No point in pretending that he doesn't know what Jack is talking about. Ianto nods, gives a wan smile, and walks out the door.

Next time, maybe.

The End.

14 Valentines: Women's Health

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