Notes: Takes place prior to "Everything Changes". God, smut, finally. It took me far too long. This is pretty much a PWP with a little bit of character analysis on top.
Rating: R for sexin'.
Disclaimer: Torchwood and its characters are the property of the BBC and Russell T. Davies. I make no profit from this fanfic.
Ianto knows the others must suspect that he's sleeping with Jack. It doesn't bother him nearly as much as he'd thought it might, to be the subject of office gossip. His flirting with Jack is deliberate and public, after all; it's a handy diversion. If they all think he's just the office boy, sleeping with the boss as part of his job, they won't think about what else he is or might be.
The thing that makes it OK for him is that he's not. Sleeping with Jack, that is. Not that he isn't interested (putting aside the minor fact that Ianto has never before been interested in men). But every time he considers giving in to Jack's innuendo, he remembers Lisa's pained face, crowned by metal. Her tears are lubricant rather than salt.
He's broken. In that, he seems to fit perfectly into Torchwood Three.
The thing that surprises Ianto is how long it takes for something to actually happen between himself and Jack. Though the pterodactyl-catching incident that led Jack to hire him also resulted in a clear case of mutual interest (at least, Ianto figures it's mutual if mutual erections are anything to go by), Jack -- for all his flirting and casual talk of threesomes with aliens -- doesn't make a move on him.
Ianto's very confused by this. Jack's interested, or else Ianto's really bad at reading signals (and he may be reserved, but he's not slow); but Jack never does anything. He'll make some innuendo-laden comment before sidling politely around Ianto to get out of his office. Sometimes Ianto wishes Jack would just grab him. It'd make the whole affair a hell of a lot easier.
After a while, he starts to think Jack is baiting him. Jack makes a comment about the use of some Rift-gleaned artefact as a sex toy just to see Ianto blush; he tells Ianto about how much he loves the ties he wears, that he always looks forward to seeing him each day just to see which one he'll be wearing. Then there's the way he takes his coffee. The first sip is almost obscene. Watching Jack lick his lips, Ianto has to turn away and hide in the Archives for at least an hour.
Three months since he's come to Torchwood Three and Ianto Jones starts to think he's suffering from torment by sexual frustration. He masturbates a lot, usually in the shower in the morning, thinking about Jack drinking coffee and how that hot mouth would feel on his cock. He doesn't even think about the fact that it's Jack he fantasises about in the shower, not Lisa. This isn't cheating. This is base relief. But it doesn't help.
"Weevil hunting," Jack says one night, emerging from the secret door leading to the lift. Ianto nearly falls off his stool behind the desk of the Information Centre.
"What?" he asks.
"I'm taking you Weevil hunting." Jack props himself on the counter and grins that shining grin at Ianto. "Past time you learned the proper way of doing it."
"I've read the protocols," Ianto says.
"So you'll be perfectly prepared. Here." Jack hands over a stungun, spray, a hood, handclamps, all of which were apparently tucked into a pocket until needed. "Come on. Lock up. There's been a sighting in Splott."
"And they say romance is dead," Ianto mutters, grabbing his jacket and following Jack out the door.
The clattering in the alley behind a long row of houses alerts them to the Weevil's location. Once, Ianto might have put that sound off to cats fighting or mating. He knows better these days. The tall, humanoid shape is dark against the darkness of the alley, but it's visible when it moves -- as it does now, searching through a rubbish bin for some unknown necessity.
Jack is further past it, approaching from the other side. There's not much space for it to run, unless it jumps one of the walls; Jack doesn't expect it will, though, since Weevils aboveground tend to be aggressive rather than wary.
The only hitch in the plan is when Ianto shines his torchlight into the Weevil's face, it gives an unearthly wail and leaps straight for him. He struggles with the stungun; it knocks the gun out of his hands before he can get a proper grip on it, pins him to the ground. The spray is deep in a pocket; might as well be on Mars for all the good it's doing him right now. The huge barbarous teeth descend on his neck -- then jerk sharply back as the Weevil utters a pained grunt. Jack looms over it, the Webley service revolver held by the barrel. He thwacks the Weevil again in the back of the head.
Now Ianto can reach the spray and he gives the Weevil a faceful. It keens, but the sound is lower, the protest fading. Jack wrestles the hood over its head and Ianto backs himself out from under it. Pushing himself up against the alley wall, Ianto shakes.
"You all right?" Jack stands, too, leaving the Weevil slumped on the ground and coming over to Ianto. Ianto nods weakly, but when Jack's hands come around him, he doesn't fight it. He takes the comfort offered, leans into Jack's warmth and inhales the smell of fine wool and the faint astringent smell of the sedation spray. "Hey, hey," Jack murmurs, one hand brushing over Ianto's hair, soothing and gentle. "You're OK. It didn't get you."
Ianto realises he's shaking. Delayed reaction. If Jack hadn't arrived right when he had, Ianto would have a large chunk of flesh gone from his neck. When Jack pulls back a little to give Ianto a concerned look, Ianto surges forward and kisses him.
It's rough and urgent and anything but romantic. He pushes Jack to the alley wall and Jack lets him. It's anything but passive, though; Jack's hands seek under Ianto's suit jacket, searing through the thin fabric of his dress shirt. Ianto gets a knee between Jack's thighs and grinds, and oh God, yes, there's heat there to match his own.
"Like this, Ianto?" Jack hisses in his ear. "You want me like this?"
"Yes!" Ianto grunts, putting his head down on Jack's shoulder. Jack gets a hand between them, and for a sickening moment Ianto thinks that Jack's going to shove him away; but instead Jack's fingers work his belt open and then tug open the flies on his trousers. Comprehension dawns. Ianto goes to work, too, unthreading Jack's belt, unbuttoning and unzipping until, with a shuddering gasp, he's got Jack's cock in his hand, the heavy shaft feeling strangely natural in his curled fingers. Jack's groan is low and almost, almost pained. In another moment, he's freed Ianto's erection from restraining briefs and has gathered both of them together in one hand.
The shock of pleasure is greater than Ianto could have imagined, even had he imagined something like this happening. He has the briefest thought that there's so much more to this than he'd dreamed; then he's gone, all thought lost in the grinding heat of Jack against him, strong tense thighs and hips rocking together in a needy rhythm they've both caught now. Jack's hand slides over their cocks, hot and fast and slippery with pre-come. Ianto grabs at Jack's nape and holds on. It's all he can do. They kiss again: rough, messy, tongues slipping against each other. Ianto hears Jack's breathing hot and fast in his ear and that's it, he comes in a swift burst of sensation that leaves him wet and dazed and sinking against Jack.
Jack's hand works for a few more frantic strokes before he gasps his release in Ianto's ear, a low rough cry. Ianto's arms slide around Jack and for a few long moments they're peaceful together, catching their breath, Jack's mouth pressing absent kisses behind Ianto's ear. Finally, though, Jack gives Ianto a gentle nudge. Ianto straightens up, fumbling in his pocket for the tissues he keeps there. Jack produces a silk handkerchief, too, and together they clean each other up.
When they're both composed again, tucked back in, buckled, buttoned, Jack gives Ianto a lazy smile. There's a stain on Jack's shirt and a matching one low on Ianto's; Jack glances down at them both and then back up again, chuckling when he sees the flush on Ianto's face. "Now I know what it takes to get you out of your shell," he comments, and cups Ianto's cheek in a broad hand to kiss him once more. "Remind me to take you Weevil hunting more often."
He brushes past Ianto and heads for the half-conscious Weevil still lying on the damp pavement. Swallowing down the growl of frustration, Ianto turns to help him get the Weevil into the SUV. Later, when he's alone in his flat, he'll vent annoyance at Jack Harkness for apparently orchestrating this whole charade and then shake with guilt for his betrayal of Lisa. Right now, though, he has a job to do.
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this page last updated on 20 april 2009