Title: Unfold your paper heart (and wear it on your sleeve)
Rating: NC-17
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Jack, Ianto; Jack/Ianto
Summary: Five times Jack and Ianto have coat sex. But it's more than a coat, and more than just sex.
Disclaimer: If I owned Torchwood, the boys would have had more screentime together, more sex, and Ianto would still be alive. Title from the Owl City song, "Tidal Wave".
Warning: angst, explicit sex, COE

I
Ianto loves the coat but he decides now that he likes it even better when Jack's on it, naked and moaning his name between gasps. He loves more the power he feels now, the knowledge that he, Ianto Jones, has Captain Jack Harkness at the mercy of a finger. Then two. Three.

And it's amazing really, how undone Jack is right now, legs spread with Ianto's fingers up his arse; wanton, but beautiful.

"Shit," Jack groans, "Ianto," and grabs the red silk tie hanging from Ianto's neck, the only item of clothing he's still wearing, and pulls him down for a bruising kiss. Ianto curls his fingers and Jack arches up to him. "Just fuck me already."

Ianto pushes up, withdraws his fingers and even as Jack moans from the loss he's already fumbling with the lube and slicking up his cock. He lines himself up, then pauses. Lisa flickers through his mind for a second, then Jack moans his name again, his voice rough with lust and want and Ianto takes the plunge, pushes into Jack's tight heat and lets himself fall.

II
Jack always looks good in the coat, but Jack in the coat and nothing else is downright delectable.

And Jack knows this perfectly well because the bastard simply leans against the dusty Archives wall, hands in his pockets, letting the coat fall open to reveal his straining erection.

Ianto feels his own cock twitch at the sight but resolutely remains at the drawer and returns each and every file to its proper place, just for the satisfaction of watching that confident smirk turn into something more desperate, almost pleading.

With his work complete, he undresses slowly in front of Jack, slipping each button of his jacket, then his waistcoat and finally his shirt, allowing each garment to slide down his arms as seductively as he can (Jack would laugh to know he practiced strip teasing in front of a mirror).

He slides the length of his tie between his fingers. Says, "Turn around," and his voice comes out low and husky. He can see Jack swallow before he pushes himself away from the wall and slowly turns to face it.

Ianto slips the tie over Jack's face and across his lips. Its almost a shame, because it's a nice tie, but he likes Jack gagged, likes hearing those choked moans and muffled whimpers, and the blue looks so good against his skin too.

The cool air of the Archives and the cold metal of the filling cabinets have chilled his hands and Jack gasps when Ianto slowly slides them up the insides of his thighs. He drags his freezing digits up, up and the back of the coat parts beneath him as he slides them across Jack's arse.

Then he pulls back, gives each cheek a sharp smack and both of Jack's muffled groans go straight to his cock. Right now, he's sorely tempted to just push the older man against the wall and fuck him but instead he drops to his knees behind Jack and slowly, pulling apart both cheeks, licks a stripe across his hole. He alternates between licking and blowing cool air over it, then slowly probes it with his tongue.

As Jack starts to slowly fall apart beneath his ministrations, he steps back and slips the tube of lube from a coat pocket. The sight of Jack, splayed against the wall with the back of his coat parted to reveal him so ready and wanting almost makes Ianto come in his pants. He quickly shucks them off with his shoes and socks, and once he's slicked himself up, pushes his way in. Unprepared, Jack is a little tighter than usual but Ianto's rimmed him enough and used enough lube to make it a smooth but slow entrance.

For a moment, he stands flush against Jack, revelling in the feel of Jack clenched around him, the rough scrape of the wool against his nipples and Jack's own cold hands sliding back and up his thighs to cup his arse and pull him closer.

Moving together they soon find a rhythm that suits them, pushing forward and thrusting back in tandem. Jack breathes harshly through his gag and Ianto pants against his neck as he slides his hands across the smooth expanse of Jack's chest and thumbs his nipples.

They come, one after the other, Jack digging his fingers into the crumbling mortar of the wall while Ianto bites down on his shoulder.

Ianto pulls out and helps Jack undo the gag, then allows himself to be drawn into a warm embrace. His teeth have left an imprint on Jack's shoulder even through the thick wool and Ianto sucks on it, determined to mark his lover as his, even when he knows it will be gone in a few hours. The air is chilly and Jack pulls the coat around them both, but Ianto has never felt warmer.

III
The day started out fine, with forecasted sunny skies, but halfway through their picnic, grey clouds start looming above and soon fat droplets of water start raining upon them. Jack and Ianto hurriedly pack away what's left of the picnic. For a moment Ianto contemplates retreating to the dry interior of the SUV, but then he feels Jack's hand curl around his wrist, pulling him down onto the already drenched picnic blanket. Jack is smiling, even as rain drips down his face, weighing down his eyelashes and plastering his usually spiky hair against his head.

They undress slowly in the pouring rain, removing each item of clothing in between kissing like breathing has gone out of fashion. It's a lovely feeling, the contrast of the cool rain and Jack's blazing warmth. He straddles Jack, their cocks brushing, and leans down to pin his arms next to his head. He doesn't expect Jack to thrust up, catch him of balance, and reverse their positions.

The cold wetness of the grass makes Ianto arch up against his lover and then he feels a slicked finger slide slowly into him, and then another and another. Jack drags them slowly across his prostrate and he moans and throws his head back, rain falling into his face.

It is hard to see with rain getting into his eyes, so Jack drags his sodden coat over their heads. It feels strange, his head and upper body cocooned in the wet, blue cave the coat creates, while their entangled legs lie exposed to the elements.

There's a sensory overload that almost overwhelms him. Jack's hot tongue licking the cold rain off his chest, the chilly drops that rain onto his hot, hard erection, and the tickle of the water that trails down his back between his legs where Jacks fingers are moving in and out, twisting, scissoring and brushing against his sweet spot ever so often.

Then he is slowly breached and as they slot together like puzzle pieces, everything else fades away and there is just Jack, Jack, Jack.

IV
Ianto still makes coffee for five.

The first time, he doesn't notice until he's the boardroom and Gwen's eyes fill with tears while Jack's face slowly shutters close. He mumbles a hasty apology, retreats back to the kitchenette where he dumps the mugs into the sink and then flees to the Archives.

The second time, he gets as far as the stairs. The third time he's at the door. After that he makes sure to count, every single time, the exact number of mugs on the tray. It works, and for a week he's made just right number of coffees for the people in the Hub, until after a long day, he finds himself drifting.

There are five cups of coffee.

Ianto fights the urge to just drop the tray onto the floor and run away to the archives, or to shoot, break, hit something. Jack wanders by minutes later, probably looking for the long awaited coffee, and finds him slumped dejectedly on a chair, the coffee already cold.

"Come," is all he says, and Ianto takes his proffered hand.

They descend into Jack's bunker. "Strip," says Jack, the moment Ianto's feet touch the floor, his voice firm but not quite commanding. Ianto does as he is told, quietly and quickly and without the usual care he has for his clothes. He steps out of the puddle of his suit and stands next to the bed, silent, waiting.

Jack picks up his tie from the folds of his shirt. Pearly grey today. Jack pulls the smooth silk through his fingers, once, twice, then steps into Ianto personal space and, without touching him at all, slips it over his eyes, loops it twice around his head and ties it in a double knot at his temple.

Ianto expects the cuffs to come out next. Jack knows that in times of stress, when Ianto is wound so tightly like a spring about to snap, the best way to work out all the tension, pain and anger is to take away his control. Right now, Ianto is both looking forward to it and fearing it, to being tied to the bed, blinded and gagged, his body and pleasure in the hands of his lover.

He hears the heavy slide of Jack's coat, then to his surprise, feels it draped over his shoulders, back to front, from the feel of it. The lining of it is warm from Jack's heat, and, and the collar, which brushes his chin, makes him dizzy with the heady scent of pheromones.

The heavy wool stretches across his chest as Jack starts to button it up behind him, Ianto's arms still at his sides. Slipping the last button through it's hole, Jack slips his hand through the fold of the coat to stroke Ianto's flank soothingly. Then he reaches around, and the belt that usually hangs loose or is buckled back to allow the coat to flap free is now brought to the front -Ianto's back- and buckled tightly, effectively pinning his hands to side. The sleeves, flapping loosely at his side are too, brought to the back and tied tightly between his shoulder blades. The collar is turned up and the edge pushed into his mouth. He bites and tastes the salt of Jack's sweat.

Thus blindfolded and straightjacketed, Ianto is guided to the bed only by the gentlest of pressure of Jack's fingers against his breastbone. Two steps back and the edge of the bed bumps against the back of his knees. Jack's hands move to his back now and he's slowly laid back onto the mattress.

He can't see. He can't touch. He can't speak. It's hard to hear. And as Jack touches him, bites him, opens him, enters him, Ianto lets himself fall apart while the coat hold the pieces of him together.

V
Bloody beans.

And bloody Rhys for obtuse. And Jack, Jack is quiet and distant, and rebuffing every attempt Ianto makes to get closer to him. And he's tired, just so bloody tired of it all; of running, of fighting, of Jack being a prat.

Ianto knows they really don't have the time for the long cathartic sex he craves, but this subdued and morose Jack worries him. Jack always worries him, especially since his two-thousand year burial under Cardiff. And how it must have been to be trapped again, this time in concrete, by the very government that should have been asking them for help instead of hunting them like they're terrorists . And now Jack has a daughter, and a grandson, and they're in danger. (Ianto isn't very surprised by the revelation. But what does that make him? Grand-uncle-something?)

It isn't just about sex, though. Is a little comfort too much to ask for? Especially now, in these dangerous, uncertain times. And he's scared; scared for Jack, scared for Gwen and Rhys and their unborn child, scared for Rhi and the kids and for that oaf Johnny too (there's no more room to be scared for himself). But he'd just like Jack to hold him for a bit, and to forget. He'd like to hold Jack, and tell him it's all right, and never let go.

In the end, the truth doesn't matter. Whatever Jack did, he can't fix it and the man he was back then isn't the man he is now. And Ianto wants to shake some sense into him and tie him up and tell him it's not his fault, that he is forgiven, wants to drive it into him, drive into him, because sometimes the best way to fix Jack is to break him apart (controlled demolition, haha) and then carefully put him back together again. Ianto's good at fixing things (he's made sure of it).

Ianto gets his chance at that quiet hour that his watch tells him is three in the morning. He wakes from an uneasy doze and it takes him a while to reorient himself. A familiar scent and texture catches his senses and he crushes the heavy wool of Jack's coat in his hands. It's not the same coat, it will never be, but there's still something comforting about slipping it over his shoulders and wrapping Jack around him. Then he sets off in search of Jack.

There's no way to get onto the roof of the warehouse, so Ianto finds that his errant lover has settled for the next best thing. There's an empty shipping container outside and has Jack climbed onto it and is now sitting on the edge, staring at the night sky. Ianto ignores the thoughts of the 456 lurking around in the inky blackness and beckons Jack down. When he finds himself ignored, Ianto pulls on Jack's leg until the older man tries to twist away, looses his balance and drops to the ground, staggering upon landing.

"What the fuck?" he snarls, face ugly with anger, but with him off balance, it's easy for Ianto to spin him around and slam him against the cold metal wall. The tie, previously hanging loose from his neck, is wound swiftly around Jack's wrists as he struggles. Then Ianto stuffs a tea towel in his mouth. Jack fights back furiously for a while, but Ianto leans all his weight against him, pinning him, and soon he falls still and gives in.

Ianto turns him around. He brushes his hand over Jack's lids, closing his eyes. He kisses them. (There's nothing here. Just you and me. My touch. That's me. Just feel me, only me.) Then he slips the coat from his shoulders and puts it on Jack. (Almost like old times, the butler with his master's coat, always at the ready.) Ianto brings the sleeves together and ties them loosely over Jack's chest to prevent the coat from slipping off. He buttons the top two buttons. Then he drops to his knees, and slips under the coat.

The wool is heavy as it drapes over his back and it's warm in this small, dark cocoon that hides Jack's legs and his torso. His face pressed to Jack's thigh, he can smell Jack's growing arousal and feels a rush of heat to his own groin.

He slides his hands up Jack's clothed thighs before trailing his fingers along the waistband of the trousers. He unbuckles the belt and they slip down easily. Since Gray, Jack has lost weight. The smell of pheromones is stronger now, almost overwhelming. He presses a soft kiss to the hardening bulge, and Jack jerks beneath his hands.

The underwear is slowly peeled off and pushed down to Jack's ankles, hobbling him (now he cannot run away). Ianto takes the half-hard erection into his mouth, enjoying it's familiar weight (all there) on his tongue, suckling it into hardness. He can't hear Jack panting but he can feel the vibrations from the rapid breaths expanding his chest tremble down to the smooth thighs beneath his hands. He can feel Jack's heart pound (alive and strong) down though the thick vein that throbs against his tongue.

He focuses on all that, on Jack's racing heart and huge sobbing breaths, on the muffled noises that escape the gag and drift down between the folds of the coat.

That's Jack, shaking under his roaming touch, struggling in pleasure against his bonds, thrusting into his mouth.

That's Jack, shuffling in the gravel, trying to hold him, clenching tight and hot around Ianto's intruding finger.

That's Jack, bitter and salty and thick on his tongue. Jack, still Jack (still my Jack).

Later, he fucks Jack hard and rough against the cold metal surface until he screams his release into Ianto's hand. And when Jack breaks down into choked sobs and angrily suppressed tears, Ianto holds him and says nothing.

Gwen finds them in the car the next morning, squished together in one seat. If she notices their disheveled clothing and the tie that binds their wrists together, she doesn't say anything. Just picks up the coat from where it has puddled on the floor, drapes over them and leaves them be for ten more minutes.

fin