Notes: I wanted to try writing a slightly darker Jack and this came out of it. Set pre-series, with a mention of the flashback in "Fragments".

Rating: R

Pairing: Jack/Ianto

Disclaimer: Torchwood and its characters are the property of the BBC and Russell T. Davies. I make no profit from this fanfic.

Jack Harkness hasn't survived for over a hundred years without keeping his sense of suspicion finely tuned. Ianto Jones, unsurprisingly, makes all kinds of alarms go off. That he came from Torchwood One is the biggest one, but there's the desperation in his pleas for a job, the way he changes his appearance every time Jack sees him, the coffee (which Jack sips even though he knows he shouldn't; it's just coffee after all, but damn good coffee), the suit. It's the pteranodon, though -- which Jack knows perfectly well Ianto couldn't have possibly engineered just for his benefit -- that seals the deal. The Rift's given them far worse and Jack is fascinated by the creature from a forgotten eon. It's just a pleasing coincidence that Ianto is delectable in a suit.

Jack offers Ianto the job after all, but he doesn't let his guard down around the young man. That'd just be stupid.

Ianto does his work with ruthless efficiency. The Hub will never be anything other than what it is: a cavernous hole in the ground with water running below their feet and Victorian brickwork interspersed with grotty tile set in the walls, but Ianto cleans it all within an inch of its life. He sets up an unobtrusive coffee station, requisitions a better machine (which Jack is glad to approve) and fades into the brickwork. Within a week, the others have stopped noticing him entirely, except when he brings the coffee or asks for their lunch orders.

Not Jack, though. He's had Toshiko put the standard taps on Ianto's phone and Internet at home, keeps an eye on the CCTV outside Ianto's flat and watches him every now and then when he's manning the desk in the Tourist Centre. If Ianto's putting on an act, he's an incredible actor; he doesn't drop his quiet, reserved demeanour even when he's all alone. He makes few telephone calls from home; his Internet usage is limited to checking e-mail, watching the odd video on Youtube, and surfing the web for kitchen gadgets. Jack suspects that Ianto spends little time at home, what with the long hours he logs at Torchwood, but Ianto's so carefully circumspect that, after a month of no suspicious activity, Jack's starting to believe Ianto truly is what he said he was: a man in need of work, with nowhere else to go after witnessing the slaughter at Canary Wharf and losing his girlfriend to the Cybermen.

That very belief keeps Jack watching Ianto.

Not that watching Ianto is a hardship by any stretch of the imagination. Jack's got a thing for tall, slender men with dark hair anyway: Ianto fits the bill to a T. It's easy to flirt with Ianto, especially after the pteranodon dropped him on the younger man -- and, in rolling away, Jack felt Ianto's hard-on through the fine wool of his trousers. Ianto might have only had girlfriends up until now, but he responds to Jack's flirting with pretty blushes and the occasional artful stammer that makes Jack wonder what Ianto would feel like pressed up to his desk, knocking papers and pens and alien artefacts askew.

While Jack has been working hard, since he assumed leadership of Torchwood in 2000, to be a modern kind of boss -- the kind that's supportive and earnest, the kind who embraces current management techniques -- there is a part of him that learned many years ago how to be a very effective torturer. Running Torchwood requires a certain amount of objective ruthlessness, and at the most basic level, Jack is a soldier. He commands his team when they're in the field: he needs to be able to issue orders and have them followed without question, especially knowing the dangers they face. He has to make the really fucking hard decisions. That's not something modern bosses are generally required to do.

He's also fairly sure modern bosses aren't supposed to make advances on their subordinates, which is yet another reason he's glad he's not from this era. Twenty-first century humans and their prudish sexual mores: sometimes it makes him miss his own time with an insatiable longing.

Finding Ianto in the firing range is a happy accident. The others are long gone home, but Ianto, as usual, has stayed, whether out of a sense of duty or from the driving need to prove himself worthy of Torchwood Three. Jack stands in the door of the room, watching Ianto fire round after round into the Weevil-shaped target at the far end of the range. With the headphones on, Ianto can't hear Jack, which is just fine as far as Jack is concerned.

He takes his time observing Ianto. The young man's form is perfect: his feet spread to give him balance, the firearm held firm but not too tight in a confident grip. Ianto brings it up in a smooth line from his body, cups his other hand beneath the one holding the gun, and squeezes off the rest of the clip. Each bullet finds a home in the central circle of the Weevil-target's chest. Impeccable aim.

Ianto lowers the gun and ejects the empty clip easily. Jack takes in Ianto's forearms, sprinkled with dark hair that travels up his narrow wrists to long-fingered hands. It's not often he sees Ianto in less than a full suit; in fact, he thinks this might be the first time he's enjoyed this sight since Ianto brought him coffee on the quay while begging for work. Ianto's shirtsleeves are rolled up; his waistcoat is unbuttoned. Jack admires Ianto's long legs, shapely in the well-fitted trousers.

When Ianto turns and sees Jack, he gives a yelp, yanking off his protective eyegear. Jack holds his hands up in mock surrender, giving Ianto a toothy grin as he saunters into the room. "Didn't mean to startle you," he says, loudly so that Ianto can hear him through the headphones. After a moment, Ianto drags those off as well.

"Sorry," Ianto says. He looks terrified. Jack wonders momentarily what Ianto thinks about when he practises firing a weapon.

"Nothing to apologise for." Jack nods toward the target. "Nice shootin', Tex."

"Oh. It's--" Ianto swallows, rapidly regaining his composure. "I've been working on it in my spare time."

"Well, you're doing great. We'll have you out in the field before you know it."

Ianto nods a sort of vague acknowledgement of this and turns, moving to the table at the rear of the room. He begins to clean the gun with precise efficiency. Jack's captivated by Ianto's hands. It's almost as good as porn, watching Ianto dismantle, wipe down, reassemble, like some beautifully-performed magic trick.

It's not until Ianto's cleared his throat a couple of times that Jack realises the show's over and Ianto is waiting to be dismissed. Jack looks up from Ianto's hands, the gun resting on the table between them, to meet Ianto's eyes. Blue.

"Something I can do for you, sir?" Ianto asks. Jack takes advantage of that open, guileless look and catches Ianto's nape in one hand, stepping close to kiss him.

Ianto makes a sound, impossible to interpret, but he's not pushing Jack away and so Jack presses the advantage, turning them and pressing Ianto back against the table. It catches high at the back of Ianto's thighs. Ianto's hands come up to Jack's shoulders, curl round, pull him closer. Oh, good, Jack thinks, deliciously pleased. Jack's hand slides inside Ianto's waistcoat, flattens at the small of his back, while the other one skids over the front of Ianto's fine wool trousers and shapes the hardness he feels beneath the zipper. The sound Ianto makes now is quiet and startled, and Jack lifts his head for a moment. Ianto's breathing has gone shallow and his eyes are wide and dark, but he's still clinging to Jack, still letting Jack pin him to the table with his body. When Jack undoes Ianto's belt one-handed, Ianto hisses and mutters a low "yes, please", and Jack grins and licks a wet stripe up Ianto's neck. Too fucking easy.

He gets Ianto's trousers undone in short order, pushes down the boxer-briefs beneath enough to expose -- oh, nice -- a jutting length of thick cock that Jack takes in a greedy hand. Any doubts he might have had about Ianto's interest are laid to rest now, buried by Ianto's gasps, his heaving chest, the whiteness of his knuckles where a hand grips at the table. Jack pulls back for a moment to check Ianto's face for fear or reluctance, but Ianto's mouth chases his; Ianto's eyes are shut and high color marks his pretty cheekbones. Good enough for Jack. He gives in to Ianto's demands for more kissing and jerks him off.

It doesn't take long; twenty strokes at the most and Ianto's sobbing his release in Jack's ear. "Been a while, hm?" Jack murmurs, not unsympathetic. As Ianto pulls away with a shamed nod, Jack shakes his head, catches Ianto's chin in his fingers. "It's all right," he murmurs. Ianto's eyes, still dark with arousal, rise to meet Jack's, and his Adam's apple bobs in his throat.

"Can I-- you?" is more or less what he mumbles. Jack grins and takes Ianto's hand, drawing it to the front of his trousers, distended by his own very interested erection. Ianto makes another sound, impossible to interpret. He takes the hint immediately, though, curving his palm over the fabric to find the shape of Jack's cock, moving in a slow exploratory way that becomes torturously sweet in seconds.

"More would be good," Jack manages to say, with a quick laugh, and Ianto gives him the briefest smile before tugging open Jack's belt, undoing his trousers. Jack doesn't miss that Ianto takes a moment to tuck himself back into his own pants, but then Ianto's hand finds Jack's bare cock and Jack lets out a shaking moan.

As if they've done this a thousand times, Ianto nudges Jack around until they've changed places, Jack's ass now pressed against the table, Ianto pressing him there. Ianto sinks to his knees as easily as if he's done it a thousand times (oh that thought, Ianto's perfect lips on cocks of all shapes and sizes) and Jack's still caught in a haze of imagining when that lovely hot mouth closes on him.

Jack doesn't actually last much longer than Ianto. It's been a hell of a long time for him; he's had a lot of sex in his life, but the twentieth century with its plethora of uncurable sexual diseases and inability (or sometimes even deliberate unwillingness) to prevent them forced him to slow down. These days he finds it's easier to focus on the work when he's not following his dick all the time. It still makes for a good reputation, though, and right now he's actually glad of it because this inexperienced blow job is the best thing that's happened to him in months. He sleeks a hand into Ianto's short hair to guide him and mutters advice along the lines of "Don't use your teeth," and in only a couple of minutes he's pulling Ianto back so that Ianto won't choke on his come.

It does end up on Ianto's chin and neck, though, and the young man kneels back, the vulnerable skin of his throat flushed red. Jack can only grin goofily for a moment, buzzing with post-orgasmic endorphins, before he thinks to take the handkerchief from his pocket and offer it to Ianto. With a nod of thanks, Ianto takes it and wipes himself as clean as he can.

"I'll wash this," he says as he stands.

"You don't have to," Jack says automatically and then allows himself an ironic chuckle because he knows exactly what Ianto will say next.

"I don't mind."

"Of course." Jack hooks a hand on Ianto's nape and draws him back in for one kiss on those lips, bruised now and salty with the taste of himself. Ianto allows the kiss for a moment before pulling back.

"I should. I should go," he says. His voice is low and Jack realises he's embarrassed.

"You could stay," Jack surprises himself by saying.

It surprises Ianto, too; he looks up at Jack again. Those blue eyes are still dark, but this time it's from some other emotion rather than arousal. Jack nods in understanding. "Go on," he says. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Yes, sir." Ianto all but darts from the room, doing his trousers up as he goes. Alone in the armoury again, Jack does the same, lazily smiling to himself. Once he's done, he turns to take the gun Ianto left behind to return it to the weapons room.

He's altogether pleased with the evening's turn of events. He's still planning to keep an eye on Ianto, but now, well. Now he has all new reasons to.

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this page last updated on 24 june 2009