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Torchwood Fic: In Our Bedroom After The War (Part 4)
Title: In Our Bedroom After the War
Pairing/Characters: Jack/Ianto, Gwen, Mickey, Martha & the rest of the Doctor Who Cast.
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rm & kalichan
Rating/Warning: NC-17, bdsm, d/s,
Summary: Homeward bound. Takes place during and after Doctor Who 4x13: Journey's End.
Wordcount: ~31,700 [posted in 4 parts]
Authors' Notes: This is the seventh installment of our series, I Had No Idea I Had Been Traveling. The title is from a song (and the album) by Stars. This is the first piece of this arc we’ve really had to write concurrent to an episode, because of the woeful lack of Torchwood Hub in DW 4x13. This means if you've not watched Journey's End, that the first part of the story might not make as much sense as it could. Here is a link to a brief recap, a full recap, a funny recap (with captioned pictures) or just the transcript -- in case you want to know what, exactly, is going on. Or you could just dive in and hope for the best! Next up, we'll be posting a Jack/Nine/Rose followed by a few other prequels covering the early education and adventures of both Jack and Ianto before returning to where we’ve left off with them in this timeline.
Previous installments:
A Strange Fashion of Forsaking
Dear Captain, Last Night I Slept in Mutiny
To Learn This Holding and the Holding Back
The Most Beautiful Girl in the World
I Imagine You Now in That Other City
Many of My Favorite Things Are Broken
In Our Bedroom After the War, Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3
Jack stalked through the entrance of the Tourist Information Centre, Mickey following behind him closely. He was not in the best of moods. Probably because he was encrusted with mud from rolling down a hill chasing after what he'd thought must be an alien explosive device, but actually turned out to be a couple of tin-hats with a geiger counter and also thoroughly exasperated from talking to various groups of taciturn Welshmen in pubs, who never seemed to open their mouths wide enough to let any information through. When they finally tracked down the 'stockpile' of guns, only to discover a convention of science fiction aficionados, whose only problem was the lead based paint they were using to paint their models, it had all combined to create one galactic-class temper that he was only managing to prevent from exploding by sheer force of will.
"Fucking morons," he muttered to himself.
"Got that right," Mickey answered, still obscenely cheerful.
Jack was pretty impressed with that actually. It wasn't many men who could be sent off on a 24-hour wild goose chase and still seem so unruffled by it all. He congratulated himself on the addition of Mickey to the team -- he'd do this high strung bunch of prima donnas some good. Prima donnas who, incidentally, Jack couldn't wait to have a few words with about the necessity of properly checking sources and intel before deciding they needed to have someone in the field.
They came through the cog door, and into the main workstation area, and Jack started talking before he even waiting to see if they were all assembled.
"Gwen," he yelled. "We need to have a chat about a little thing I like to call fact-checking--"
He trailed off and looked around. Something didn't seem right. Actually, everything seemed too right and felt very, very wrong. Everything looked very... neat. All present and accounted for, he noted, and staring at him innocently besides, waiting for him to finish his sentence. There was Ianto, Martha, Gwen... Jack narrowed his eyes at Gwen.
"Your hair is wet," he said.
"Yeah," she said. "Spilled something. Had to take a shower."
"You spill something too, Martha?" he asked.
"No," Martha said. "I just like to wash after I do an autopsy. Found a dead weevil while you were gone."
"Where is it?" Jack said, his eyes wandering to the medical facility.
"Incinerated," Ianto supplied. "Natural causes, it turned out to be."
"Ahh," Jack said.
He paused.
"You were saying, Jack?" Gwen asked. "About fact checking? How did it go anyway?"
"Funny you should ask," Jack said. "For an utterly unnecessary trip, it went great. Except for the dry cleaning bill, which I'm thinking about making you pay for, Gwen."
"What do you mean, unnecessary? Did you find the gun runners?"
"The thirteen science fiction fans? Yeah, I did."
"Oh," Gwen said. "God. Sorry. That's terrible! I was sure..."
Jack glared at her. "Yeah. We're gonna have a few words about that. First, I'm getting out of these clothes." He strode towards the stairs.
"Ah, about that, sir," Ianto said, his voice sounding abnormally high pitched. "If I could just speak to you in private for a moment."
Jack had turned his back on them, and was already making his way up the stairs; Ianto made a hysterical, frantic face at the rest of them, before chasing after him.
As they disappeared into Jack's office, and the door shut with a bang, Gwen caught Mickey's eye -- who gave her a quizzical 'did it work' look. She grinned.
"Oh man," Mickey said, sinking into a chair, as they all pricked up their ears, and listened unabashedly. "This is gonna be hilarious."
Martha shook her head, and laughed softly. "That's one word for it," she whispered.
"YOU DID WHAT?" Jack's voice came bellowing out from behind the closed door.
Gwen winced.
"Think he'll give you up?" Mickey said softly. "It was your idea, wasn't it?"
"No," Gwen whispered. "He won't."
"Lucky you," Mickey said.
"Yeah," Gwen said smugly. "I know."
And then they heard, even louder than before, "YOU FUCKED WITH THE STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY OF THE HUB?"
They all jumped, and Martha giggled helplessly.
"Captain's got a pair of lungs on him," Mickey said, shaking his head. "And Ianto. He's got stones, I'll give him that."
***
Meanwhile, in Jack's office, Ianto was feeling his bollocks shrink up into his stomach.
He'd got the information out, and now Jack was staring at him as if he'd been replaced by some sort of strange alien creature, and he was trying to decide if Ianto were insane, dangerously insane, or just needed to be put down.
"It was perfectly safe, really," Ianto said feebly.
Jack stared at him, and then looked around at the office for some inspiration. "How the hell did you do it?"
"Well, I tried to use the sonic blaster, but it... didn't work. So, dynamite, really the only option."
"YOU BLEW UP THE HUB? ARE YOU CRAZY? DYNAMITE IS NEVER THE ONLY OPTION."
"It was controlled," Ianto protested. "It's just the same down there, really. Only bigger."
Jack looked at him in absolute, flabbergasted silence.
"If you'd just take a look, sir," Ianto pleaded.
Jack took a deep breath, obviously trying to retain some semblance of calm. Then he went to the hatch door, pulled it up, and peered down at the cavernous, dark space beneath, and the first few rungs of the ladder, which were all that could be seen.
He looked back at Ianto, and shook his head in disbelief, before climbing down into the hatch and making his way down.
Ianto found himself babbling after him, "It's still a ladder, see. It's just, you know, longer... and your office is still the same. It wasn't a load bearing ceiling or floor, or anything. I checked."
"Ianto," he heard Jack's voice echo from below. "Get your ass down here."
"Oh," Ianto said. He looked down into the dark. The lights had been on the last time he'd done this.
"Jack, could you... do you mind turning on the light?"
"No," Jack said blandly. "I think I'll wait for you. Wouldn't want me to see this masterpiece you've created without you, would you?"
Ianto gulped. Then, because there was clearly nothing else to be done, he gripped the top rung of the ladder, and swung himself down into the hole.
As he gingerly felt for the next rung with his feet, he heard Jack say conversationally, "You know, I could be wrong, but for someone who's scared of heights, this doesn't seem like the most brilliant idea."
Ianto didn't answer, certain anything he said would just make things worse.
It was strange, because he’d known it would be like this, Jack furious and him terrified, but he was still hating it, still holding his breath for the moment it would be worse before the moment it would be better.
As he reached the bottom of the ladder he wished that he would feel Jack's arm snaking around his waist in the dark, but knew that was the last thing he should expect, at least right now. It would come in time though, at least, so he assumed. Jack had, after all, forgiven him for a lot worse.
As his feet finally hit the ground, Jack turned on the light.
It was hard to know whether to be furious or touched, or even what question Ianto should be asked first. There was a lot to be said for a ceiling that was more than a mere foot above his head and the meticulousness -- expected, of course -- with which Ianto had moved his possessions. Even the camp bed was disassembled and folded neatly in the corner. And there were thankfully no embellishments to speak of. Well, except for the bed, which wasn't anything flash, but was clearly intended for two people. Silly really when he didn't sleep, although he knew that wasn't the point. The gesture was so many things, frail and fragile and young among them. Just, apparently, involving explosions.
"Awfully presumptuous, don't you think?" Jack asked, folding his arms across his chest.
Ianto straightened himself up, set his gaze in the way that Jack knew was never really for anyone's benefit but the man's own and said, "Yes."
It was hard work then for Jack not to smile.
After the ‘yes,’ somehow it all felt better, though he was still terrified, and it was hard not to babble, and so babble he did while Jack stood there with his arms crossed looking grim. Ianto explained both reasoning and logistics, assured Jack that he tried to make everything as simple and utilitarian as possible and made it clear that the rest of the team had only helped by keeping silent once he'd been entirely unable to keep the secret despite his best efforts. It was a lie, of course, and Jack would know it with or without the CCTV footage, but Ianto thought it was all right, that Jack would see the honour in it.
"So I guess I should expect you to be moving some things down here," Jack said, his voice still hard.
"No, sir. I meant what I said. I like my flat and the locker room's fine for my extra clothes. But we can squeeze another hour or so out of the day this way, and you have somewhere to retreat to again, and maybe I could live in my flat from time to time instead of just fucking there," he blurted, thinking that he missed eating a late breakfast, alone, in the Sunday sun of his sitting room.
"Is this because I said you should move?" Jack asked incredulously.
It had been a nearly off-hand comment on his part, although it had hovered in the back of his mind ever since he had said it. There'd been a look on Ianto's face, one that necessarily had to be disappointed, and just because they'd both known it, hadn't made Jack feel better about any of it.
"No. I knew it still bothered you to come down here. Which made it bother me to sleep here. Leftovers," he said.
"I should have told you a long time ago to get the hell out of here and get yourself a nice girl, Ianto Jones."
"Yes, sir. But I'd already done that. More than once. So I'm glad you didn't."
"I'll regret it one day, you know," Jack said.
"I know. But I won't."
Jack's rage seemed to be gone, much to Ianto's relief. There was a sort of sorrow there instead, but he knew how to do sorrow. Knew how to do it with Jack, just as he had known how to do it with Lisa, just as he knew how to do it with himself and he couldn't help but smile just a little.
"I see that I've let things get out of hand," Jack said, and Ianto frowned, beginning to expect some cruel retraction of sentiment. "Gave you too much power all at once. You have had fun these last couple of weeks, haven't you?" he asked, his smile becoming predatory.
"Um, yes sir?" Ianto said, not entirely sure where this was going or how to navigate it.
"Yes, absolutely," Jack clarified for him. "All right, play time's over."
"Sir?"
"Take off your clothes. I think we'll have a chat in language I know you can understand."
Ianto swallowed, feeling his knees go weak. And then as Jack stood there, waiting for him to obey, he began to undo his tie and unbutton his shirt.
After the past few weeks, this felt strange, nerve-racking even, undressing under Jack's eyes, Jack who had slipped back effortlessly into the easy confidence and decadent swagger that he'd not put aside, exactly -- Jack, Ianto knew, couldn't turn it on, because he couldn't turn it off -- but had sort of managed to ignore. Now it was on full display, and it seemed as if all of a sudden, Jack was too large for the room -- even with its newly high ceiling.
The force of his attention was like a spotlight, shining uncompromisingly on Ianto, and he wondered how he could ever have forgotten, even for a second, what this felt like. His skin crawled, and his belly knotted, and underneath it all, he felt the heat begin to rise.
Soon he was naked, and remembering how much more naked he felt when Jack was staring at him, still fully clothed and apparently unmoved. It was cold down here, and Ianto felt goosebumps on his skin.
Jack crooked his finger and beckoned; as if mesmerized, Ianto came forward to stand directly in front of him. Jack just looked him up and down for a few moments, and then with a jerk of his head, he indicated that Ianto should go over to the bed.
Ianto swallowed hard, feeling blood pounding in his wrists and temples, and literally felt unable to move. Jack shook his head and then seized his hair. Leading him along by it, he shoved Ianto roughly onto the bed.
"Turn over," he ordered, and Ianto did as he was told.
"You know," Jack said conversationally. "I've given you a pretty long leash, wouldn't you say?"
"Yes, sir," Ianto got out, his words muffled into the mattress, but not wanting to turn to look at Jack until he knew it was okay to do so.
"And we see the result of that," he went on.
"Yes, sir," Ianto agreed, and then yelped with surprise, as Jack laid a sharp blow on his arse.
"Well, it's gonna be a short one for a while now," Jack remarked, before spanking him again, harder this time. "But you knew that, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir," Ianto gasped.
Before, when asked, he had said that he suspected he'd find this sort of thing unappealing and he and Jack had had a peculiar conversation about their childhood sins. But now he was doing it anyway and it hurt. Yet something about Jack's voice and manner caused the stinging pain to settle in his mind as hot sparks of arousal, and Ianto bit the pillow in a desperate bid to silence himself as Jack hit him again.
He felt the bed creak as Jack sat down on it and manhandled him so that he was draped over his lap. Ianto felt himself blush; the position was so ignominious. Jack had a hand on the back of his neck, forcing it down and then he laid on a series of hard, punishing spanks, and Ianto writhed under them, feeling tears well up in his eyes, but at the same time, his cock jerk and swell with each blow.
He was pushed off Jack's lap, and there was the sound of a zipper unfastening, the sound of the opening and shutting of a drawer, and then something cold and slick and wet -- Jack's fingers, greasing him. Then Jack's cock, shoving inside him, and Ianto gave a short, desperate, imploring cry, unable to imagine how he'd gone so long -- infinities, it felt like -- without this utterly essential feeling.
He knew his groans must be echoing throughout the room as Jack fucked him, the roughness of Jack's trousers against his welted arse making him shudder -- he hadn't even bothered to undress, Ianto thought, shivering with the shame of it. And yet, he wanted time to stop right here, so he could stay just like this, poised on the cusp of orgasm, with Jack, always Jack, above him, inside him, using him, writing and rewriting him with each stroke.
From somewhere distant, he found himself thinking that this was funny because nothing had changed. This thing between them, whatever face it wore, was always the same; whatever it might look like to other people, it was always Jack who made things happen, Jack who defined him and who had sculpted him 'til he was his alone, made him a creature solely of Jack's creation, completely at his mercy. And as Ianto cried out into the pillow in mingled pain and pleasure and also with a strange sense of mourning, he had never felt so completely grateful in his entire life.
Because it meant that in addition to thanking Jack for everything, he could blame him for everything too.
In a way, Jack was grateful that Ianto had given him something to be so angry about, above and beyond the investigatory mess of the last 24 hours, because it relieved Jack of any and all misgivings about fucking him like he was merely a body to use.
Except he wasn't, not really. Because he was still Ianto who had done this entirely ridiculous thing for him; Ianto who had made a completely psychotic judgment call which, he had to admit, did actually make sense in a certain light; Ianto who had more force in him than most people Jack had ever known and yet still always needed Jack to be stronger than him in the end, at least for now; and Ianto who had been made, it seemed, for Jack to be mesmerized by -- the rest of it, the emotions, that had just been random bad luck and human nature, the cruelty of circumstances. But the fascination? That part had always been some sort of unavoidable fact. Much like himself, he mused, wryly, as he slammed into the man, determined to come fast and hard.
Once he had, the temptation to just leave Ianto aching for his own release was more than a little seductive. So much so that he knew it was just a matter of time before he did tie the man to a bed and let him whimper and writhe while Jack contented himself with a book or caught up on his endless stack of paperwork. But this wasn't the moment for that. Rather he wanted Ianto to feel that leash shortening, tightening and dragging him to exactly where he wanted to be, regardless of how ready to admit it or not he was.
Jack pulled out of him and rolled him over and he leaned down in his face as he jerked him off.
"You're lucky I like you," he murmured. "And you're lucky I don't have time right now to torture you the way you deserve."
"Yes, sir," Ianto gasped, his voice strained.
"None of that," Jack said, not wanting things to get even more muddled between them than they'd always been. "That's not for this."
"Mean it anyway," Ianto said.
"I suppose you do," Jack said fondly and then twisted and squeezed and grinned as Ianto came all over his hand.
He watched Ianto quietly as the man gulped for air and seemed to relax towards sleep almost instantly. Jack chuckled. He supposed Ianto, and probably the rest of the team, had been up all night in perpetration of this particular horror.
It was strange to be loved in so many ways, he thought. And strange too, not to feel like he didn't deserve it. It just was, and he was lucky. And if they could do good work and he could keep them even halfway happy, the exchange might somehow manage to border on fair.
"Go to sleep," he said, wiping his hand on the simple, yes, but obviously expensive sheets Ianto had bought. He shook his head and ruffled Ianto's hair. "I'll wake you for dinner."
Ianto made a noise that never turned into words.
"And thank you," Jack said, as he killed the light and began to climb the ladder.
He never saw Ianto smile against the pillow in the dark.
***
When Jack came out of his office, he found the rest of the team as he'd expected -- making a pretence of work -- as much as you could with ears peeled for any noises from below.
He cocked an eyebrow at them, but didn't speak.
The silence drew out until Gwen obviously couldn't bear it anymore. "Where's Ianto?" she asked.
Jack smirked at her.
"He's not... dead, is he?" she asked, the joking tone masking real worry.
"Literally or metaphorically?" Jack inquired. When they stared, he laughed. "He's fine. He's asleep. And you all should be too, by the looks of things."
"You're not angry?" Martha asked.
"Oh, we'll have a little chat tomorrow," Jack said, with as much cheerful menace as he could muster. "With all of you. Ianto too. About mutiny. And lying. And explosive devices. And about how sneaking things into the Hub when I'm not paying attention isn't good for my trust issues, as you should know, Gwen, from the last time that happened."
They all winced, and Jack smiled.
"Think about that while you're falling asleep tonight," he advised, and, as they all just sat there, he added, "that means you're done for the day. Go on. Take the night off."
"But Jack--" Gwen began to protest.
"It wasn't a suggestion," Jack said cheerfully. "Get the hell out. I'll see you all bright and early, when we can continue this fascinating discussion and explore the consequences of your little foray into architectural planning."
He watched, arms folded, as they collected their things, and made their way sheepishly past him towards the lift. They exchanged some nervous glances, and Jack grinned.
"Don't worry about the Rift," he said, having seen them all look back towards their workstations -- probably thinking of all the work they still had to do. "I'll be here to take care of things."
As the lift carried them upward, Jack looked down towards where he knew Ianto was sleeping the sleep of the truly worn out and then back at the rest of his team, who were still steadily rising out of the Hub. He blew them a kiss.
"I promise," he added under his breath, knowing they couldn't hear him. "I'll always be here. Go be at home, just for a bit." He looked back again towards his office, thinking of the new space underneath it. "If I can have it, you should too."
end
Continue to the Jack/Nine/Rose prequel, And I Cannot Know How Long She Has Dreamed of All of You
Pairing/Characters: Jack/Ianto, Gwen, Mickey, Martha & the rest of the Doctor Who Cast.
Authors:
rm & kalichanRating/Warning: NC-17, bdsm, d/s,
Summary: Homeward bound. Takes place during and after Doctor Who 4x13: Journey's End.
Wordcount: ~31,700 [posted in 4 parts]
Authors' Notes: This is the seventh installment of our series, I Had No Idea I Had Been Traveling. The title is from a song (and the album) by Stars. This is the first piece of this arc we’ve really had to write concurrent to an episode, because of the woeful lack of Torchwood Hub in DW 4x13. This means if you've not watched Journey's End, that the first part of the story might not make as much sense as it could. Here is a link to a brief recap, a full recap, a funny recap (with captioned pictures) or just the transcript -- in case you want to know what, exactly, is going on. Or you could just dive in and hope for the best! Next up, we'll be posting a Jack/Nine/Rose followed by a few other prequels covering the early education and adventures of both Jack and Ianto before returning to where we’ve left off with them in this timeline.
Previous installments:
A Strange Fashion of Forsaking
Dear Captain, Last Night I Slept in Mutiny
To Learn This Holding and the Holding Back
The Most Beautiful Girl in the World
I Imagine You Now in That Other City
Many of My Favorite Things Are Broken
In Our Bedroom After the War, Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3
Jack stalked through the entrance of the Tourist Information Centre, Mickey following behind him closely. He was not in the best of moods. Probably because he was encrusted with mud from rolling down a hill chasing after what he'd thought must be an alien explosive device, but actually turned out to be a couple of tin-hats with a geiger counter and also thoroughly exasperated from talking to various groups of taciturn Welshmen in pubs, who never seemed to open their mouths wide enough to let any information through. When they finally tracked down the 'stockpile' of guns, only to discover a convention of science fiction aficionados, whose only problem was the lead based paint they were using to paint their models, it had all combined to create one galactic-class temper that he was only managing to prevent from exploding by sheer force of will.
"Fucking morons," he muttered to himself.
"Got that right," Mickey answered, still obscenely cheerful.
Jack was pretty impressed with that actually. It wasn't many men who could be sent off on a 24-hour wild goose chase and still seem so unruffled by it all. He congratulated himself on the addition of Mickey to the team -- he'd do this high strung bunch of prima donnas some good. Prima donnas who, incidentally, Jack couldn't wait to have a few words with about the necessity of properly checking sources and intel before deciding they needed to have someone in the field.
They came through the cog door, and into the main workstation area, and Jack started talking before he even waiting to see if they were all assembled.
"Gwen," he yelled. "We need to have a chat about a little thing I like to call fact-checking--"
He trailed off and looked around. Something didn't seem right. Actually, everything seemed too right and felt very, very wrong. Everything looked very... neat. All present and accounted for, he noted, and staring at him innocently besides, waiting for him to finish his sentence. There was Ianto, Martha, Gwen... Jack narrowed his eyes at Gwen.
"Your hair is wet," he said.
"Yeah," she said. "Spilled something. Had to take a shower."
"You spill something too, Martha?" he asked.
"No," Martha said. "I just like to wash after I do an autopsy. Found a dead weevil while you were gone."
"Where is it?" Jack said, his eyes wandering to the medical facility.
"Incinerated," Ianto supplied. "Natural causes, it turned out to be."
"Ahh," Jack said.
He paused.
"You were saying, Jack?" Gwen asked. "About fact checking? How did it go anyway?"
"Funny you should ask," Jack said. "For an utterly unnecessary trip, it went great. Except for the dry cleaning bill, which I'm thinking about making you pay for, Gwen."
"What do you mean, unnecessary? Did you find the gun runners?"
"The thirteen science fiction fans? Yeah, I did."
"Oh," Gwen said. "God. Sorry. That's terrible! I was sure..."
Jack glared at her. "Yeah. We're gonna have a few words about that. First, I'm getting out of these clothes." He strode towards the stairs.
"Ah, about that, sir," Ianto said, his voice sounding abnormally high pitched. "If I could just speak to you in private for a moment."
Jack had turned his back on them, and was already making his way up the stairs; Ianto made a hysterical, frantic face at the rest of them, before chasing after him.
As they disappeared into Jack's office, and the door shut with a bang, Gwen caught Mickey's eye -- who gave her a quizzical 'did it work' look. She grinned.
"Oh man," Mickey said, sinking into a chair, as they all pricked up their ears, and listened unabashedly. "This is gonna be hilarious."
Martha shook her head, and laughed softly. "That's one word for it," she whispered.
"YOU DID WHAT?" Jack's voice came bellowing out from behind the closed door.
Gwen winced.
"Think he'll give you up?" Mickey said softly. "It was your idea, wasn't it?"
"No," Gwen whispered. "He won't."
"Lucky you," Mickey said.
"Yeah," Gwen said smugly. "I know."
And then they heard, even louder than before, "YOU FUCKED WITH THE STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY OF THE HUB?"
They all jumped, and Martha giggled helplessly.
"Captain's got a pair of lungs on him," Mickey said, shaking his head. "And Ianto. He's got stones, I'll give him that."
Meanwhile, in Jack's office, Ianto was feeling his bollocks shrink up into his stomach.
He'd got the information out, and now Jack was staring at him as if he'd been replaced by some sort of strange alien creature, and he was trying to decide if Ianto were insane, dangerously insane, or just needed to be put down.
"It was perfectly safe, really," Ianto said feebly.
Jack stared at him, and then looked around at the office for some inspiration. "How the hell did you do it?"
"Well, I tried to use the sonic blaster, but it... didn't work. So, dynamite, really the only option."
"YOU BLEW UP THE HUB? ARE YOU CRAZY? DYNAMITE IS NEVER THE ONLY OPTION."
"It was controlled," Ianto protested. "It's just the same down there, really. Only bigger."
Jack looked at him in absolute, flabbergasted silence.
"If you'd just take a look, sir," Ianto pleaded.
Jack took a deep breath, obviously trying to retain some semblance of calm. Then he went to the hatch door, pulled it up, and peered down at the cavernous, dark space beneath, and the first few rungs of the ladder, which were all that could be seen.
He looked back at Ianto, and shook his head in disbelief, before climbing down into the hatch and making his way down.
Ianto found himself babbling after him, "It's still a ladder, see. It's just, you know, longer... and your office is still the same. It wasn't a load bearing ceiling or floor, or anything. I checked."
"Ianto," he heard Jack's voice echo from below. "Get your ass down here."
"Oh," Ianto said. He looked down into the dark. The lights had been on the last time he'd done this.
"Jack, could you... do you mind turning on the light?"
"No," Jack said blandly. "I think I'll wait for you. Wouldn't want me to see this masterpiece you've created without you, would you?"
Ianto gulped. Then, because there was clearly nothing else to be done, he gripped the top rung of the ladder, and swung himself down into the hole.
As he gingerly felt for the next rung with his feet, he heard Jack say conversationally, "You know, I could be wrong, but for someone who's scared of heights, this doesn't seem like the most brilliant idea."
Ianto didn't answer, certain anything he said would just make things worse.
It was strange, because he’d known it would be like this, Jack furious and him terrified, but he was still hating it, still holding his breath for the moment it would be worse before the moment it would be better.
As he reached the bottom of the ladder he wished that he would feel Jack's arm snaking around his waist in the dark, but knew that was the last thing he should expect, at least right now. It would come in time though, at least, so he assumed. Jack had, after all, forgiven him for a lot worse.
As his feet finally hit the ground, Jack turned on the light.
It was hard to know whether to be furious or touched, or even what question Ianto should be asked first. There was a lot to be said for a ceiling that was more than a mere foot above his head and the meticulousness -- expected, of course -- with which Ianto had moved his possessions. Even the camp bed was disassembled and folded neatly in the corner. And there were thankfully no embellishments to speak of. Well, except for the bed, which wasn't anything flash, but was clearly intended for two people. Silly really when he didn't sleep, although he knew that wasn't the point. The gesture was so many things, frail and fragile and young among them. Just, apparently, involving explosions.
"Awfully presumptuous, don't you think?" Jack asked, folding his arms across his chest.
Ianto straightened himself up, set his gaze in the way that Jack knew was never really for anyone's benefit but the man's own and said, "Yes."
It was hard work then for Jack not to smile.
After the ‘yes,’ somehow it all felt better, though he was still terrified, and it was hard not to babble, and so babble he did while Jack stood there with his arms crossed looking grim. Ianto explained both reasoning and logistics, assured Jack that he tried to make everything as simple and utilitarian as possible and made it clear that the rest of the team had only helped by keeping silent once he'd been entirely unable to keep the secret despite his best efforts. It was a lie, of course, and Jack would know it with or without the CCTV footage, but Ianto thought it was all right, that Jack would see the honour in it.
"So I guess I should expect you to be moving some things down here," Jack said, his voice still hard.
"No, sir. I meant what I said. I like my flat and the locker room's fine for my extra clothes. But we can squeeze another hour or so out of the day this way, and you have somewhere to retreat to again, and maybe I could live in my flat from time to time instead of just fucking there," he blurted, thinking that he missed eating a late breakfast, alone, in the Sunday sun of his sitting room.
"Is this because I said you should move?" Jack asked incredulously.
It had been a nearly off-hand comment on his part, although it had hovered in the back of his mind ever since he had said it. There'd been a look on Ianto's face, one that necessarily had to be disappointed, and just because they'd both known it, hadn't made Jack feel better about any of it.
"No. I knew it still bothered you to come down here. Which made it bother me to sleep here. Leftovers," he said.
"I should have told you a long time ago to get the hell out of here and get yourself a nice girl, Ianto Jones."
"Yes, sir. But I'd already done that. More than once. So I'm glad you didn't."
"I'll regret it one day, you know," Jack said.
"I know. But I won't."
Jack's rage seemed to be gone, much to Ianto's relief. There was a sort of sorrow there instead, but he knew how to do sorrow. Knew how to do it with Jack, just as he had known how to do it with Lisa, just as he knew how to do it with himself and he couldn't help but smile just a little.
"I see that I've let things get out of hand," Jack said, and Ianto frowned, beginning to expect some cruel retraction of sentiment. "Gave you too much power all at once. You have had fun these last couple of weeks, haven't you?" he asked, his smile becoming predatory.
"Um, yes sir?" Ianto said, not entirely sure where this was going or how to navigate it.
"Yes, absolutely," Jack clarified for him. "All right, play time's over."
"Sir?"
"Take off your clothes. I think we'll have a chat in language I know you can understand."
Ianto swallowed, feeling his knees go weak. And then as Jack stood there, waiting for him to obey, he began to undo his tie and unbutton his shirt.
After the past few weeks, this felt strange, nerve-racking even, undressing under Jack's eyes, Jack who had slipped back effortlessly into the easy confidence and decadent swagger that he'd not put aside, exactly -- Jack, Ianto knew, couldn't turn it on, because he couldn't turn it off -- but had sort of managed to ignore. Now it was on full display, and it seemed as if all of a sudden, Jack was too large for the room -- even with its newly high ceiling.
The force of his attention was like a spotlight, shining uncompromisingly on Ianto, and he wondered how he could ever have forgotten, even for a second, what this felt like. His skin crawled, and his belly knotted, and underneath it all, he felt the heat begin to rise.
Soon he was naked, and remembering how much more naked he felt when Jack was staring at him, still fully clothed and apparently unmoved. It was cold down here, and Ianto felt goosebumps on his skin.
Jack crooked his finger and beckoned; as if mesmerized, Ianto came forward to stand directly in front of him. Jack just looked him up and down for a few moments, and then with a jerk of his head, he indicated that Ianto should go over to the bed.
Ianto swallowed hard, feeling blood pounding in his wrists and temples, and literally felt unable to move. Jack shook his head and then seized his hair. Leading him along by it, he shoved Ianto roughly onto the bed.
"Turn over," he ordered, and Ianto did as he was told.
"You know," Jack said conversationally. "I've given you a pretty long leash, wouldn't you say?"
"Yes, sir," Ianto got out, his words muffled into the mattress, but not wanting to turn to look at Jack until he knew it was okay to do so.
"And we see the result of that," he went on.
"Yes, sir," Ianto agreed, and then yelped with surprise, as Jack laid a sharp blow on his arse.
"Well, it's gonna be a short one for a while now," Jack remarked, before spanking him again, harder this time. "But you knew that, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir," Ianto gasped.
Before, when asked, he had said that he suspected he'd find this sort of thing unappealing and he and Jack had had a peculiar conversation about their childhood sins. But now he was doing it anyway and it hurt. Yet something about Jack's voice and manner caused the stinging pain to settle in his mind as hot sparks of arousal, and Ianto bit the pillow in a desperate bid to silence himself as Jack hit him again.
He felt the bed creak as Jack sat down on it and manhandled him so that he was draped over his lap. Ianto felt himself blush; the position was so ignominious. Jack had a hand on the back of his neck, forcing it down and then he laid on a series of hard, punishing spanks, and Ianto writhed under them, feeling tears well up in his eyes, but at the same time, his cock jerk and swell with each blow.
He was pushed off Jack's lap, and there was the sound of a zipper unfastening, the sound of the opening and shutting of a drawer, and then something cold and slick and wet -- Jack's fingers, greasing him. Then Jack's cock, shoving inside him, and Ianto gave a short, desperate, imploring cry, unable to imagine how he'd gone so long -- infinities, it felt like -- without this utterly essential feeling.
He knew his groans must be echoing throughout the room as Jack fucked him, the roughness of Jack's trousers against his welted arse making him shudder -- he hadn't even bothered to undress, Ianto thought, shivering with the shame of it. And yet, he wanted time to stop right here, so he could stay just like this, poised on the cusp of orgasm, with Jack, always Jack, above him, inside him, using him, writing and rewriting him with each stroke.
From somewhere distant, he found himself thinking that this was funny because nothing had changed. This thing between them, whatever face it wore, was always the same; whatever it might look like to other people, it was always Jack who made things happen, Jack who defined him and who had sculpted him 'til he was his alone, made him a creature solely of Jack's creation, completely at his mercy. And as Ianto cried out into the pillow in mingled pain and pleasure and also with a strange sense of mourning, he had never felt so completely grateful in his entire life.
Because it meant that in addition to thanking Jack for everything, he could blame him for everything too.
In a way, Jack was grateful that Ianto had given him something to be so angry about, above and beyond the investigatory mess of the last 24 hours, because it relieved Jack of any and all misgivings about fucking him like he was merely a body to use.
Except he wasn't, not really. Because he was still Ianto who had done this entirely ridiculous thing for him; Ianto who had made a completely psychotic judgment call which, he had to admit, did actually make sense in a certain light; Ianto who had more force in him than most people Jack had ever known and yet still always needed Jack to be stronger than him in the end, at least for now; and Ianto who had been made, it seemed, for Jack to be mesmerized by -- the rest of it, the emotions, that had just been random bad luck and human nature, the cruelty of circumstances. But the fascination? That part had always been some sort of unavoidable fact. Much like himself, he mused, wryly, as he slammed into the man, determined to come fast and hard.
Once he had, the temptation to just leave Ianto aching for his own release was more than a little seductive. So much so that he knew it was just a matter of time before he did tie the man to a bed and let him whimper and writhe while Jack contented himself with a book or caught up on his endless stack of paperwork. But this wasn't the moment for that. Rather he wanted Ianto to feel that leash shortening, tightening and dragging him to exactly where he wanted to be, regardless of how ready to admit it or not he was.
Jack pulled out of him and rolled him over and he leaned down in his face as he jerked him off.
"You're lucky I like you," he murmured. "And you're lucky I don't have time right now to torture you the way you deserve."
"Yes, sir," Ianto gasped, his voice strained.
"None of that," Jack said, not wanting things to get even more muddled between them than they'd always been. "That's not for this."
"Mean it anyway," Ianto said.
"I suppose you do," Jack said fondly and then twisted and squeezed and grinned as Ianto came all over his hand.
He watched Ianto quietly as the man gulped for air and seemed to relax towards sleep almost instantly. Jack chuckled. He supposed Ianto, and probably the rest of the team, had been up all night in perpetration of this particular horror.
It was strange to be loved in so many ways, he thought. And strange too, not to feel like he didn't deserve it. It just was, and he was lucky. And if they could do good work and he could keep them even halfway happy, the exchange might somehow manage to border on fair.
"Go to sleep," he said, wiping his hand on the simple, yes, but obviously expensive sheets Ianto had bought. He shook his head and ruffled Ianto's hair. "I'll wake you for dinner."
Ianto made a noise that never turned into words.
"And thank you," Jack said, as he killed the light and began to climb the ladder.
He never saw Ianto smile against the pillow in the dark.
When Jack came out of his office, he found the rest of the team as he'd expected -- making a pretence of work -- as much as you could with ears peeled for any noises from below.
He cocked an eyebrow at them, but didn't speak.
The silence drew out until Gwen obviously couldn't bear it anymore. "Where's Ianto?" she asked.
Jack smirked at her.
"He's not... dead, is he?" she asked, the joking tone masking real worry.
"Literally or metaphorically?" Jack inquired. When they stared, he laughed. "He's fine. He's asleep. And you all should be too, by the looks of things."
"You're not angry?" Martha asked.
"Oh, we'll have a little chat tomorrow," Jack said, with as much cheerful menace as he could muster. "With all of you. Ianto too. About mutiny. And lying. And explosive devices. And about how sneaking things into the Hub when I'm not paying attention isn't good for my trust issues, as you should know, Gwen, from the last time that happened."
They all winced, and Jack smiled.
"Think about that while you're falling asleep tonight," he advised, and, as they all just sat there, he added, "that means you're done for the day. Go on. Take the night off."
"But Jack--" Gwen began to protest.
"It wasn't a suggestion," Jack said cheerfully. "Get the hell out. I'll see you all bright and early, when we can continue this fascinating discussion and explore the consequences of your little foray into architectural planning."
He watched, arms folded, as they collected their things, and made their way sheepishly past him towards the lift. They exchanged some nervous glances, and Jack grinned.
"Don't worry about the Rift," he said, having seen them all look back towards their workstations -- probably thinking of all the work they still had to do. "I'll be here to take care of things."
As the lift carried them upward, Jack looked down towards where he knew Ianto was sleeping the sleep of the truly worn out and then back at the rest of his team, who were still steadily rising out of the Hub. He blew them a kiss.
"I promise," he added under his breath, knowing they couldn't hear him. "I'll always be here. Go be at home, just for a bit." He looked back again towards his office, thinking of the new space underneath it. "If I can have it, you should too."
Continue to the Jack/Nine/Rose prequel, And I Cannot Know How Long She Has Dreamed of All of You
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