fictional | Torchwood Fic: A Strange Fashion of Forsaking

Title: A Strange Fashion of Forsaking.
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Authors:

rm &

kalichan
Rating/Warning: NC-17, porn with a soupçon of plot, d/s, topping from below.
More Specific Warnings That Give the Story Away (for the Squickable Among You): breathplay, snuff
Summary: Ianto hates to see him leave, but loves to watch him go.
Author's Notes: Vague spoilers for 2x05: Adam, 2x12: Fragments & 2x10: From Out of the Rain; takes place somewhere in between 2x05 and 2x06: Reset. Title taken from a poem by Lucie Brock-Broido. 1st installment of I Had No Idea I Had Been Traveling.
Wordcount: ~4300

"You called, sir?" Ianto said, walking into Jack's office. "Or rather, you bellowed? We do have comlinks for....oh. You've...ah...lost your clothes, I see. Well, foreplay not quite dead, just on the critical list."

"You know," Jack said thoughtfully, in the kind of tone that always made Ianto slightly nervous, "it occurs to me, that I've been being a bit selfish, lately."

"Oh yes?" Ianto hated when what was supposed to be his bland disinterest sounded hopeful. But Jack did that to a man.

"Keeping some of the really fun parts all to myself. So, I tell you what, Ianto. What I'm going to do right now, is lie back this way," Jack said, leaning back on the desk with his hands clasped behind his head, "And you're going to pleasure me."

Ianto stood and stared. While it was quite exasperating the way Jack expected that the second he laid himself out on offer, Ianto would be ready, the trouble was - it was sort of true. As soon as Jack touched him, or kissed him...or even (as on that first day) lay underneath him with his cock hardening, as they rolled in the grass, Ianto's knees went all molten - like there was a string attached to them which Jack could pull at will, making him fold like a marionette.

"Chop, chop...time's a wasting...."

“Tell me, Jack, will it be easier for you to stop talking if I put my cock in your mouth?" Ianto asked seriously. It wasn't the retort he had intended. But there was sex and there was Jack and Ianto desperately wanted him to shut up and it all sort of wound up fitting together differently than he had intended.

"You could always try it and see, but I have been known to talk with my mouth full," Jack said, arching his eyebrows suggestively in that way he had. "Notoriously bad mannered, that's me."

"Worst. Sexual. Manners. In the entire GALAXY, Jack. And if you're trying to provoke me, it won't work." Ianto Jones was infuriated. And amused. And very, very stubborn. Or so he liked to tell himself.

"Oh, I think it might," Jack said, stretching lazily. "I mean, after all...you're a practical lad, aren't you? Here I am...naked, willing...and waiting...did I mention waiting? And all you have to do is come over here...and take it. Pretty sad to waste all this on a principle, eh?"

"When the power of command ceases to work, it ceases to be sexy," Ianto muttered as he started picking up Jack's haphazardly discarded clothes.

He surreptitiously watched Jack's reflection in the windowpane; infuriatingly, Jack was laughing under his breath, before raising his head a little – probably so he could see Ianto bending over.

“Are you staring at my arse, Jack?”

“Of course I am,” Jack said matter-of-factly. “Waste not, want not, that's my motto, and this is one view that never gets old.” Then he cleared his throat. "What if I promised to let you do anything you want? You know you'd enjoy it. You could take those braces and lace my hands together, for a start. I'd be at your...mercy."

Ianto had to stop and start three times before he could make a proper response. And not, as Jack surely thought, because he was so overwhelmed with the idea.

"Jack, you're a spectacular shag. But you're bad at this."

Jack gave him that ridiculous confused puppy look that might not have even been feigned innocence. "Bad at what?"

"This, this!" Ianto shouted, so exasperated he didn't even notice he was gesticulating with Jack's clothes flopping about in his hands. "Choose a side or just have a wank for the love of God, but give me some credit for a little bit of initiative at least - if you'd shut up long enough for me to have a thought in my head!"

Ianto paused and looked slightly mortified. He could be fucking Jack. But instead he was shouting at him. And just because it was the right choice, didn't mean it was the fun one. He really, really hoped everyone had left for the day.

Jack sat up, and looked at him. For a split-second, Ianto was almost certain he saw a flash of hurt in Jack's eyes before something in them slid down and whatever he thought he had noticed was gone.

"Sides... how quaint," Jack said. "We don't really have those where I come from. But if you insist, I'm sure I can improvise."

He slid off the desk, walked over to where Ianto was standing -still clutching Jack's shirt and socks- and dropped to his knees. He rubbed his cheek confidingly against the wool of Ianto's trousers, and Ianto felt his cock stiffening unwillingly inside them.

Ianto almost laughed, his simultaneous feelings of both guilt and arousal being that precise and ridiculous. He dropped Jack's clothes again, a little bit stunned and definitely off-balance. If Jack hadn't acquiesced, and he hadn't expected him to, Ianto had been planning to just gag him with his shirt next.

But this was sweet and seemed sincere and Ianto didn't know if he wanted Jack to notice that he was shaking or not as he threaded his fingers through his hair.

"Thank you," he said as gently as he could. "If you want me to be in control, you have to let me." It was like talking to a wild animal. A scared wild animal. Ianto just wasn't sure which of them that referred to.

Jack looked up at him through those eyelashes as thick as a girl's, and smiled. "True," he said. "But then again, if you want to be in control, you have to take it. Don't you?"

Ianto swallowed. What had he let himself in for? And would Jack ever stop baiting him?

"Go on, then," Jack said, softly. "Have at me."

If his voice hadn't been so soft, it would have infuriated Ianto. And maybe it did anyway, a little. It made him feel naive. Embarrassed. Then again, he was naive. Compared to Jack anyone was.

Ianto took a deep breath and let it out, because that's what one did before walking off a cliff, he was pretty sure (he'd have to ask Jack about that sometime) and then fisted his hand tightly in Jack's hair without warning before dragging him over to the desk. Ianto needed something to lean on. Falling over because of the wonder of Jack's mouth was not a valid option. Neither was another member of the team getting a free show, so he leaned over and pulled the cord to close the office blinds because of course Jack hadn't bothered to before stripping off.

Ianto opened his trousers with his free hand. He'd make Jack do it, but he didn't trust him not to be excessively rough with the expensive fabric just to be spiteful.

He heard Jack made a small, needy sound as Ianto pulled his head back by his hair and slowly, steadily fed him his half-hard cock.

For once, Jack did not immediately begin to do that fabulous thing with his tongue which Ianto had never been able to figure out, but which (Jack had surely noticed on several occasions) had the effect of sending him into immediate waves of unthinking bliss. Instead, he simply breathed in deeply as if smelling something wonderful for the first or last time.

What was it like, Ianto wondered, to have been in this place with so many? Did they all – scents and partners - blend together after the millionth (literally?) time – telling you species and sex and not much more? Or was it like reading a fingerprint – no two exactly the same?

Meanwhile Jack was barely moving at all, just letting Ianto's cock harden in his pliant mouth. In fact, Jack seemed to be zoning out. And while that was charming, it wasn't exactly useful. Ianto gave a sharp tug on Jack's hair.

"We both know you know what to do," he said, taking a deep breath so as not to get overwhelmed by the mere thought of it. "Slowly," he added, knowing just how likely Jack was to use this as an opportunity to break his brief control. And while that would no doubt be fun, he now had something to prove.

Jack moaned, and took him into his throat in what felt like one agonizingly slow, smooth movement. Ianto could feel the underside of his cock scrape against Jack's tongue. And then Jack swallowed convulsively around him, and he thought his heart might beat out of his chest at the tight, hot wetness now wrapped around him like a glove made of liquid metal.

Ianto sucked in a deep breath, tried to think of something else, failed – then abruptly and ungently shoved Jack off of him. "I don't want to come in your mouth, Jack," he said, shortly.

"Guess I'm too good for my own good," Jack said with a bemused twist of his mouth before he sat back on his heels.

"Only in some ways." Ianto smirked and started to haul Jack up. "Over the desk," he ordered shortly, wondering if there was anyway to get Jack lost or if that wasn't what he liked about sex. It was what Ianto liked about sex, even though it terrified him sometimes.

Jack laughed, but still went obediently.

He was definitely starting to wonder if Jack was being docile in some pointed, ironic fashion that would end in backfiring on Ianto as spectacularly as most of his previous attempts in life to take the initiative. But then, Jack looked over his shoulder at him and smiled, and Ianto knew he couldn't help himself anyway, so why not just go with it?

He stood behind Jack, idly running his fingers over the curve of his hip, until Jack bucked back against him and made an encouraging noise.

Ianto rolled his eyes. "This is not a war of wills you want to have, Jack."

He ran his nails harshly down the center of the other man's back, pleased to get a moan and a sigh and a hiss out of it. He did it a second time and watched the marks appear and then disappear, because on Jack all marks disappeared far too quickly.

He leaned over the other man and breathed against his ear. "I can't mark you," he said as he bit at the lobe. "And it's incredibly disappointing. Might make me keep trying though."

He was actually surprised at the acquiescent moan that he got in reply. "You like that," he said, just managing to keep it a statement and not a question.

Jack nodded, and Ianto smiled. "Not that it matters," he continued. "This isn't about what you want, is it?" He reached down to touch Jack's cheek, and Jack turned his head so he could suck Ianto's fingers into his mouth.

"Only when I tell you," Ianto said, with a hint of reprimand in his voice, as he pulled his fingers away and fastened them over the pulse in Jack's throat.

Jack jumped. Jack actually jumped, and Ianto did his best not to immediately react or withdraw in kind. It was the right call, somehow, because Jack settled quickly, even though his breathing stayed fast and shallow. Instinctively alarmed even though there wasn't actually any danger at all in this for him.

Ianto pressed his hand up slightly, just beginning to choke him. Jack took a big, noisy gulp of a breath and then closed his eyes, stretching his neck out long and pressing into Ianto's hand.

"You're really beautiful when you're good for me like this," Ianto whispered against Jack's ear and hoped it would work. It was true, of course, but saying it... well, that was just Ianto following Jack's advice about dealing with other people during field work: always act like you've always had control and then you always will.

Jack gasped – although Ianto couldn't be sure if it were at his words or just for air. Still he tightened his grip, and went on talking. "Look at you now, Jack. You're all spread out and naked before me. You're practically gagging for it, aren't you?"

He could feel his cock jutting against Jack's rear; it felt impossibly swollen and almost obscene with his shirt still on, and his trousers merely unbuttoned, while Jack writhed naked beneath him, with his hands laid flat beside his head, palms down, showing no signs of struggle.

"You're going to let me do whatever I want to you. You'd lie there and spread those cheeks for me while I fucked you, wouldn't you? You'd take anything up there and work your arse onto it, if I told you to. You'd let me bugger you till you bled and then you'd beg for more. What a slut you are, Jack."

Ianto paused, unsure of where this torrent of words was coming from – or why his fingers were clamping down so vehemently on Jack's throat. All he knew was that sweat was beading on his forehead, and dripping onto Jack's beautiful back, which shone like it was polished, and when Jack tried to gulp for air against the pressure of his fingers, he could feel it reverberate in a wild, electric shiver down his spine and through his cock.

Oh, Jack, it's not just you; we all have our secrets and our dark places, Ianto thought, remembering a distant dream of an alleyway in the rain, and for a moment, he was really, truly afraid.

But Jack made a noise that could have been meant to indicate affirmation, and encouraged, Ianto went on. Keeping hold of Jack's throat with his right hand, he took Jack's left hand in his own, and spit in it.

"You're lucky I'm a kind man," Ianto said. "Why don't you lube yourself up for me?"

Jack made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a moan and Ianto noted some of the tension briefly go out of his body, as if this were surrender.

As far as lube went, this situation was blindingly inadequate, but Jack's mind was only supplying that commentary at great distance, and he was glad to have something in him even if it was merely his own fingers, even if the way he had to twist his back and shoulders was ridiculously awkward, even if all he really wanted was to drown in the darkness that was just. so. close. and tight and warm and perfect around his throat.

Jack moaned. And Ianto's cock leapt against him.

"So good," Ianto murmured as he massaged the back of Jack's head with one hand even as he choked him with the other. "So, so good for me."

Then Ianto seized his wrist, and stopped him from fingering himself. "I think you're ready now," he said hoarsely, and Jack felt Ianto's cock replace his own fingers. Jack's head went back as Ianto speared his cock into him; and it felt as though it scratched and burned like a rod of thorns rammed up inside, and Jack felt himself open and spilt as his back arched instinctively into a concave curve.

His fingers scrabbled at Ianto's hand still wrapped around his throat, not to pry them loose, but to dig them in deeper. "Do it," he managed to croak desperately with his last bit of air. He was like a wire drawn and refined through the heart of a flame into one impossibly thin line of need - just this close to snapping and plunging down into that dark pool that was waiting to close over him with its dull, rippling waves of blackness, nothingness, peace.

Ianto was buried in him now, balls deep and slapping against his cheeks; now Ianto's forearm pressed against his throat like a vise as he found Jack's sweet spot and hammered into it. There was quiet, and it was roaring in his ears. The long deaths always had that and he smiled for it, for Ianto gasping against him, for the whole world gone slow. And then his orgasm slammed into him, a sharp and agonizing last burst of life leaving him so perfectly he could have wept, had he been there, or been at all anymore.

Ianto made a little noise of triumph when Jack came, but didn't let up, not with his hands and not with his hips. And when Jack went still, he was smug to have done that to him, until he noticed the man wasn't breathing at all.

He froze, too far gone to consciously react, his body torn between the instinct to rut and the need to flee in the face of death, lest he see and somehow understand it too well. Beautiful, beautiful Jack, still and peaceful and spent like he'd never existed at all, but was just some idea, forgotten.

It filled Ianto with grief even as his hips still pumped. He couldn't help it really. He was still Jack like this, still his and there weren't many moments where that possessive had been true. But it was strange, fucking Jack and wondering where he was. Then his hands eased around Jack's throat as he realized what he'd done – he'd killed him. Not a bullet this time, not an accident, or an alien adversary, or even Jack's worst enemy – himself; no, this time, it was him. And worst of all, Ianto could feel himself thrilling at the thought, revelling in it, that this time, he'd left a mark, that he wouldn't just vanish away from memory like a footprint in the sand, but he'd made some impression, that Jack couldn't now just vanish away, as if he'd never been; they were here in this moment together and Jack was dead, and his, all his, and the horror and unholy joy washed over him in great waves that shook him to his core.

And then all of a sudden, Ianto felt Jack clamp down on him, as he gasped for air, gulping in great noisy gulps as if he wanted to swallow life whole and all at once, and at the wet, desperate sounds of Jack sucking oxygen into his lungs once more, Ianto flooded him, feeling the come torn out of him in helpless, convulsive, earth-shaking spurts, that seemed to empty his entire being.

"Oh god," he somehow managed as he came down from it, more stunned and confused and utterly perfect than he'd ever been in his entire life.

He bent over the other man, resting his forehead between Jack's shoulder blades as he tried to catch his breath and felt Jack trying to find his again. Deep and gulping to quick and rasping and eventually to slow and even.

Ianto didn't want to move. He was exhausted and ashamed and didn't want to face this, except for the part where it really was beautiful, even if that were sick.

He pressed his lips to Jack's back. He couldn't help it. It was a way to say thank you. Apology, he thought, he'd have to muster the courage to do to the man's face.

"Are you all right?" he asked, still taking some shelter in his own rough breathing as he slowly eased himself out of the other man.

There was a long pause, and Ianto tried desperately to calculate what he should do; how should he make it right, how could he get Jack through this, how long before he could go away and die a thousand deaths of shame, but then he realized that Jack...Jack was chuckling.

"Don't sound so worried, Ianto, of course I am." He turned his head to meet Ianto's eyes, and went on, "I'm always all right."

Somehow, Ianto did not find this reassuring.

"It was only a little death," Jack said lightly. "Get it?"

Ianto laughed. First nervously, then hysterically, and then somehow managed to force himself to go silent.

"Still," he said, lightly ghosting his fingers over Jack's cheek, then down along his neck before snatching his hand away.

"I -- are you --" he stuttered as he stood up, "Do you need anything?" Ianto wanted to pull the other man into his arms. But it felt selfish and unfair. "Do you hurt?" he blurted, knowing that even though the wounds healed quickly, Jack's deaths sometimes left long lingering pain.

Jack looked at him quizzically. "Only in that good way. I'd almost forgotten. It's nice, actually. To have a pain that lasts after....hey, where are you going?"

Ianto had shuddered and edged away at Jack's words, wanting to scurry and hide, to get out of there as fast as possible, find some corner that he could hide in, and possibly pull in after him. He felt small and naked under Jack's gaze, like some insect without its carapace, roasting under Jack's terrible, light-hearted smile, even while his clothes clung to him, crumpled, sticky and stained with sweat.

Jack shook himself mentally. He felt more alive and glad of it than he had in years, decades...even, maybe since this thing happened to him, but that wasn't what was important right now. Jack had time to feel like that later, after all. A lot of time. He hoped it would last.

Ianto, on the other hand, was in way over his head, having done something he didn't expect and didn't understand and certainly couldn't have guessed the ramifications of and now was too freaked out to even see.

While Jack didn't feel like moving, he did, quickly grabbing onto Ianto, who struggled, of course. Jack rolled his eyes and kissed him. And didn't want to stop, ever. Because this -- indulging his oral fixation -- was apparently exactly what he needed.

Ianto, though, probably needed reassurance. With words. Jack sighed.

"I'm fine," he said firmly, after finally pulling away from the kiss. "I'm fine, and you're more than fine."

Ianto just hung his head and refused to meet his eyes. Jack cupped his cheek with his hand, and then forced his chin up so that Ianto could no longer stare at the floor.

"Look," Jack started, not sure exactly where the sentence was going to end up, but knowing he had to say something. When in doubt, he thought, interrogate. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"You have to ask?" Ianto finally got out. "I...I killed you."

"I get killed all the time. Where's the harm? I've done it as a carney trick, for fuck's sake. It doesn't matter. It's not like you did it on..."

"Don't say that. I did...I did do it on purpose," Ianto said, his voice tearing on a sob. "I killed you and I got off on it, and now I'm making you comfort me. I'm a fucking monster, Jack!"

Jack couldn't stop his lips from quirking into a smile. "No, you're not. Hell, you came when I came back, Ianto. Don't you get it?"

"What, I'd only be a monster if I'd gone off when you died?"

Jack brushed the sentiment aside; somehow he knew Ianto would find a way to circle back to it later anyway.

"How long was I gone?" he asked.

"I don't know," Ianto said sullenly.

"Well, I certainly don't know. But it couldn't have been long. You were close."

Ianto shrugged and Jack mentally cursed him for forcing him to speak.

"I never wanted to come back before," he said and kissed Ianto again, in part as thanks, but in part so he wouldn't have to keep talking, but he did anyway. "The first breath never felt good before," he whispered.

Ianto stared at him, tears leaking down his face. Jack thought he looked luscious.

"You used me," Ianto said.

"I did."

"You like it," he said, in disbelief. "You want to leave, to go there, and just stay dead."

"I do," Jack said, and before Ianto could speak again, he put a finger on his lips and went on, "but not that time."

"I don't un--" Ianto shook his head, unable to finish, confused by the weird, relucant hope he was feeling.

Jack smiled, and it wasn't like his usual grins. It was small and quiet, as opposed to bright and usually mostly false. "I don't either. But what a gift, Ianto Jones." Jack closed his eyes and grabbed Ianto's face and leaned their foreheads together.

"I hated it, but I wanted it to go on forever," Ianto mumbled. "Just that moment when you were...there. Really there. You always feel like you're slipping away, Jack, and I can't...I can't hold on."

"Nothing lasts forever," Jack said. "But I'm really here now, and you're holding on just fine."

Ianto buried his face in Jack's shoulder, more tired than he remembered ever being, or thought a human being should ever have to be.

"I might be slipping away," Jack murmured into his hair. "But this time, I promise you, I'm trying to come back. They won't get me without a fight."

After what seemed like a long while, Jack pulled away from him just far enough so Ianto could see his face.

"So," Jack said, grinning at him devilishly, "want to do it again?"

Ianto stared at him for a long time, searching his face, and eventually gave a small, slight nod.

"Not for a while," he said softly. "Not all the time. But yes." And at that, Jack kissed him quick and hard.

"Let's get cleaned up. I think I owe you a date," Jack said, knowing he was still stupidly and ridiculously on top of the world.

Ianto gave a hesitant smile. "One condition," he said.

"Anything," Jack said, not caring about the risk of promising such a thing.

"You come home with me tonight and you sleep in my bed," Ianto said, totally serious and just ever so slightly nervous.

Jack squelched the errant desire to make a joke about Ianto killing him in his sleep, and gave a firm nod instead.

"Yes, sir," he said and grinned. "Yes, sir."

end

Continue to Dear Captain, Last Night I Slept in Mutiny.

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From:

redstapler.livejournal.com

::applause::

That's about all the coherence I have left.

From:

rm.livejournal.com

Thank you!

It started as a joke, but apparently Kali and I can only write really sick love stories.

lies, damned lies, and fiction

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