Characters: Capt. Jack H., Ianto J., unless specified.
Pairing: Jack/Ianto always
Rating: T overall for language and content
Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood or any of its characters or plot lines, nor do I receive money from these stories.
A/N: These drabble-esque chapters are taken from Ianto's point of view. Most of them don't have warnings other than canon-related angst and death. If you've seen the episodes that they're related to, you'll know. Only the last two have serious angst triggers. Thanks as always to my muse, my friend and my talented beta, triquetralin. Reviews are extremely appreciated!
The Moments When Ianto Thought:
Summary: Chapter 1 – "I want him"
Spoiler: Cyberwoman
Setting: Pre-Series One
Warnings: Sexual content, swearing
"I want him."
The first time had been when Ianto was lying on top of Jack on that warehouse floor, an unconscious pteranodon lying beside them. That night Ianto had guiltily chalked it up to exhaustion, stress, worry for Lisa, the adrenalin rush, 51st century pheromones (and Jesus fuck, what the hell did Jack mean by THAT?!), and the urgent need to feel somebody's – anybody's – touch for one brief moment.
Four days later, Ianto knew differently. He was still stressed and exhaustion had a grip on him again. It was three a.m. and Lisa was finally as safe and secure and as stable as he could make her, secreted away and locked up in the depths of the Torchwood Hub. As he trudged up slowly through the halls and corridors to the main cavern, he noticed a light was still on in Jack's office. Stopping on the landing, Ianto glanced in.
Jack was sprawled in his office chair, one socked foot up on a corner of his desk. The pure white of his under-shirt seemed to glow in the soft lamplight. His head lolled back and Ianto could just see that his eyes were closed. The desk blocked the rest of Ianto's view but, with a startling burst of desire, he realized that Jack was caressing himself.
Ianto stood there, rooted to the floor, unable to breathe.
A hitch of Jack's shoulders brought Ianto out of his reverie and his foot scraped audibly on the metal mesh of the landing. Jack, exhibiting far less embarrassment than any man should in such a situation, raised his head, eyes focusing on Ianto standing there. He blinked, then seemed to become aware of his surroundings.
"Ianto! What are you still doing here?" He glanced at the clock as if to affirm the lateness of the hour.
"I ... um, lost track of time." Without conscious thought, Ianto followed the steps up to Jack's office, only stopping as he reached the threshold.
Other than his head, Jack hadn't moved. His leg was still draped over the desk, dusty outlines of his toes darkening the sole of his sock. At this angle, Ianto could see Jack's hand, relaxed and quiet in his lap. He wasn't sure just how relieved he was that there wasn't anything untoward to see.
"Is there anything ...?" Jack asked, his voice husky and low, pitched just for the two of them. "Anything I can do for you, Ianto?"
"I was thinking of asking you the exact same thing ... sir." Ianto let his eyes say the rest.
Jack braced his heel on the desk and pushed his chair back, the wheels squeaking. It was all the invitation Ianto needed. One long stride took him across the office and he dropped to his knees in front of the chair.
There was no preamble, no kiss, not a word spoken, just a driving hunger, a need to taste Jack's skin, inhale that intoxicating scent (seriously! What the fuck was it?!) and feel the firmness of his body again. He took Jack with an urgent intensity – absolutely no points for neatness or manners.
Later, on the way home for a shower and a change of clothes, there was no guilt, no litany of excuses. Even with Lisa lying just metres below Jack's office, life-support hissing with every breath, Ianto let it go. He'd seen how Jack had hacked the CCTV cameras to erase their momentary encounter.
Needs must when the devil drives.