Title: I Have Seen The Rain
Word Count: 3,185
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Ratings/Warnings: M – rated for sexual situations, consensual use of pain as self-punishment.
Spoilers: 2x10: From Out Of The Rain
Summary: Every so often, Jack needs to be looked after as well, and Ianto is willing to give him whatever it is that he needs.
A/N: Another fandom stalwart, second to the Post-Cyberwoman fiction, that I swore I would never do: the Post-From Out Of The Rain fiction. The title comes from the song "I Have Seen The Rain" by Pink.
I Have Seen The Rain
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"I have seen the rain
I have felt the pain
I don't know where I'll be tomorrow"
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x
Jack sighed as he turned the dial, lowering the lights of the Hub to a dim glow. He liked to remind himself of the world outside the base, to pretend that the normality of day and night could filter from above and pierce his underground world. It usually brought him some comfort to know that life was carrying on as normal, just outside of his field of vision.
But somehow, tonight, he couldn't quite bring himself to feel that way. It was as if there was something gnawing insistently on his heart, squeezing ever so slightly; not enough to hurt, but enough to cause some discomfort. He winced, running his thumbs along the length of his braces as he turned to survey the dull glow of the Hub.
They were all gone home for the evening: Owen gone to wander the streets on yet another sleepless night, Tosh left to curl herself within her duvet and think on lost opportunities, and Gwen to bury herself in the of warmth her husband and bask in the sanity of her other life.
There was only one of them left.
Ianto's suit jacket was slung over the edge of one the computers, the man himself slumped awkwardly over his keyboard with his face buried in the crook of his elbow. The computer flashed haphazardly as Jack neared the Welshman's sleeping form, and he made out numbers, dates, a stream of information that he couldn't quite make sense of.
The sleeping man shifted ever so slightly, the thump as his head hit the edge of the computer making Jack wince. Reaching out, Jack rested his hand on Ianto's shoulder, shaking him out of sleep to avoid anymore damage that could be done – there was no point in scarring that pretty face, anyway.
He came to slowly, running a hand through his hair and pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes. It was an action Jack had seen him perform many times before, and he presumed it was an attempt to force his eyes open, or to push away the last remnants of sleep from his brain. Very soon, however, he had composed himself, his shoulders straightening as if a rod had been slid between the blades, his back realigned as he stood up and thrust his hands into his trouser pockets.
"Jack."
"What were you doing?" Jack gestured towards the computer, watching as Ianto followed the movement to stare at the screen. He quickly reached out, tapping a few keys so that the scrolling line of information disappeared.
"Working."
"On what?"
"The boy," Ianto bit his lip, stepping forward slightly awkwardly. "The one you were able to save."
"Ah," Jack ran his hands nervously across his braces again, a movement Ianto recognised; he knew that if Jack finished the movement by hooking his thumbs beneath them, then there was something more than normal niggling at his immortal mind. His eyes followed those fingers as they caressed the fabric, up once, then down, before sliding surreptitiously in between his shirt and the material of his brace.
Bingo.
"Jack, what's wrong?" he took another step forward, keeping a fair distance from Jack as his hands curled into tiny fists into his pockets. Jack shot him a look, a cold fire burning beneath his grey-blue eyes.
"Nothing."
Ianto shrugged.
"Well, in that case, I've been arranging for the boy to be looked after," Ianto turned back to the computer, running a hand calmly through his hair. "I made him a ward of the Institute – he'll get the best care, go to the best schools, have the best possible chance of a future." He glanced up at Jack, gauging his reactions carefully, taking note as a muscle in the man's cheek twitched minutely.
"Oh," he managed eventually as he turned away, thumbs still hooked beneath his braces.
"Jack…"
"What good is that, Ianto?" when Jack spun back to face him, Ianto could see that his face was tight, fingers now gripping the braces with all the force that he could muster. "We saved his life, we sort out his future, but what kind of life is that?"
"I don't…"
"His whole family is gone, Ianto," the words were a hiss, quite unlike the normal tone of Jack's voice, and Ianto took a small step forward, closing the distance between them ever so slightly. "He has no mother, no father, no sister. It's our job to save people, that's what we're here for."
"And we did, Jack."
"Did we though? I know what it's like, being alone in the world. Perhaps it would have been kinder if he'd have died with the rest of them."
Sucking in a sharp breath and striding forward, Ianto took a firm hold of the crook of Jack's elbow, his now tousled hair falling out of place as he all but dragged the immortal man back towards the stifling familiarity of his office. Jack didn't resist as he was pulled through the doorway, unnaturally pliant and willing under Ianto's hands. He allowed himself to be steered towards his chair and pushed down into it, resting his head on his crooked arm as the Welshman made his way towards the small cabinet on the wall of the office.
When he returned with a bottle and two whisky glasses, Jack finally managed to raise his head, a frown colouring his clear features as he watched Ianto place the glasses down and fill them. He watched darkly as Ianto raised his own to his lips, taking a small sip and gesturing for Jack to do the same.
Jack had never been a big drinker, but he would never object to a small drop of alcohol, especially at times like these, so he lifted his glass and swallowed thickly, feeling the amber liquid burning down his throat pleasantly. A smile spread across Ianto's face as he settled himself on the edge of Jack's desk, his knee brushing minutely against Jack's thigh.
"We did save him," he said quietly, yet confidently, taking another sip. "Trust me, he'll survive."
Jack shot him a look that would have been withering if it wasn't so damned tired.
"Don't be idealistic, it doesn't suit you."
"I'm not being idealistic, I'm being realistic," Ianto fixed Jack with a look that let out a little of his inner fire. "It's amazing what we can survive, when we put our minds to it. You don't need a family to survive, trust me."
Jack caught something in Ianto's eyes before he turned away, shielding himself from Jack's gaze. He'd read Ianto's files, he knew a little of Ianto's past, and as such he had some inkling that it was not as idyllic or normalised as the Welshman had led those around him to believe. He decided not to push it further, settling for scooting forward on the chair so that his leg nudged at Ianto's knee with more force.
"Maybe you're right," he whispered, his tone decidedly not convinced as he lifted his glass and sent the last few droplets down into his stomach.
"I always am."
Ianto smiled as he spoke, draining his own glass and setting it down onto the top of the desk. The liquid had sent a slight warmth running through his veins, and he could see that it had a similar effect on Jack. Jack was always more lucid after he'd had a drink, however small a drink it was; more calm and open to suggestion. Ianto didn't see it as exploitation. If anything, Jack was often grateful that he'd found a way to loosen his tongue, rather than regretting what he'd let out at a later date.
"We should go to the cinema at some point," Jack's voice was lighter than it had been a few moments before. "I mean, a modern one."
"Maybe we should," Ianto smiled, knowing that that would never happen; Jack, for all he had asked Ianto out on a date, would never enjoy something as simple as a cinema trip, and he didn't regret that for one second. "Though I'd be more interested to hear more about your circus career – it would explain a lot."
Jack grinned.
"About what? My out-going nature? My showman-like qualities? My ability to hold the attention of a room without even trying?"
"Your flexibility."
"Ah yes," Jack's eyes glazed, lost in a haze of wistful melancholy. "There was this trapeze artist who taught me a few tricks. Twins, actually…"
He laughed as Ianto's knee collided with his leg, knocking his legs open so that Ianto could settle himself between them on the desk.
"You know, it's considered against social etiquette to talk about past fucks when in the presence of your latest fuck."
A look that was difficult to fathom passed momentarily over Ianto's face, despite the teasing edge to his voice. Jack inched forward on his chair, so that his backside was barely hovering on the edge of the seat, his hands creeping onto Ianto's knees as he neared the bulk of the other man. The Welshman glanced down at his hands, resting one of his own on top of Jack's fingers before pushing them away and moving to grip his wrist.
Jack could feel the pulse thrumming through Ianto's fingers as he hauled him to his feet once more, leading him to the small hatch in the corner of the room and gesturing for Jack to go down first. By the time Ianto's feet had thudded onto the cold, stone floor of the space, Jack had already unbuckled his braces and slipped off his blue cotton shirt, quickly folding them together and placing them by the side of the bed. Ianto watched approvingly, his own hands coming up to fumble with the knot of his tie, fingers sliding over the silken fabric clumsily.
Despite his less than dextrous fingers, Ianto's face remained controlled and calm, his eyes fixed on Jack as the immortal hooked his fingers underneath the white undershirt and pulled it over his head. There was an almost determined glint in Ianto's eyes as he slipped the tie from his neck and shucked it to one side, fingers quickly moving to rid himself of the red shirt. Virtually ripping it from his shoulders, he made to fling it to the corner to join his tie, only to be stopped by Jack's hands on his own.
"That's my favourite."
Taking the shirt from Ianto's hands, Jack folded the crimson material almost tenderly and set it down on top of his own pile of clothes. He could feel Ianto's eyes on him as he handled the clothing carefully, catching a small smirk creeping onto the Welshman's features as he turned back to him. He cocked an eyebrow.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Ianto reached out his hand, splaying his fingers onto Jack's chest and pushing him gently, yet forcibly, onto the bed, before pulling his belt from the loops of his trousers with a snick of leather against cotton. Jack copied him almost obediently, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his slacks and hauling them down his legs, not bothering to fold them as Ianto joined him on the bed, settling between his thighs.
He would never admit it – well, probably – but he really did enjoy those nights when Ianto would take control. Being the Captain was a tiring occupation, one rife with heavy responsibility; each failure was felt more acutely than the last, and sometimes it felt good to just lie back and let somebody else take on the mantel of control. Tonight, with the face of the orphaned little boy playing on his mind like a broken record, he willingly let himself sink back into the pillows and rested his hands on Ianto's waist, waiting for him to make the first move.
Ianto must have noticed his slight slip back into despondency, as he leant forward quickly and pressed his lips to Jack's for the first time that night, his tongue stroking questioningly against his lips. As Jack opened his mouth willingly, one of Ianto's hands moved to the tiny bedside cabinet, scrabbling across the top blindly as his fingers searched for that bloody elusive…
"Aha!"
Jack grinned as Ianto pulled back, brandishing his prize with a look of triumph stretching his pale features.
"You got it, then?"
"Well, if you would only put it somewhere more accessible, so that I can find it when I'm otherwise…well…"
"Distracted?"
Ianto smiled; Jack couldn't quite describe it as a grin, because the word just didn't seem to fit his features, but it was as close to a grin as he was sure Ianto would ever get. He hooked an arm behind his neck, lifting his head minutely to watch as Ianto slid a pillow beneath his hips and coated his fingers in the clear gel. Before he could breach him, however, Jack leaned forward and caught hold of his wrist, stopping his hand in its path.
Ianto shot him a dark look.
"Jack…"
The immortal shook his head.
"It wasn't you fault, Jack, please don't…" he was cut off as Jack led his lube covered fingers to his cock, keeping his calloused hand atop of his own to spread the gel over his straining flesh. He closed his eyes, his face tight as he tried to ignore the gentle, insistent touch and focus on his point, forcing his eyes back open to meet Jack's gaze. His eyes shone, the ice of his glare meeting the fire of Jack's.
"Jack, let me…"
"No…in me…now…"
Sighing deeply, he realised that there was no way he was going to be able argue the point with Jack, especially as those talented fingers still lingered over his aching erection, seeming to block the path between his brain and his mouth. He bit his lip as he gripped Jack's thighs, ushering his legs to rest around his body and under his armpits, feeling the tremors of anticipation running through the olive flesh.
A groan pushed its way from Jack's throat as Ianto pushed inside him, his unprepared flesh stretching uncomfortably to accommodate the Welshman's length. He could see Ianto's face contorting, struggling to keep control of his body and continue the slow pace; Jack brought his ankles together across Ianto's back, flexing his muscles and forcing him deeper, harder. A sharp pain shot through the lower half of his body, and he found himself luxuriating ever so slightly in the stabbing sensation.
It probably wasn't fair on Ianto, as the tiny gasp that escaped his lips let the Welshman know that he was hurting him, but he couldn't help it. He was a soldier. His centuries working for the army, for Torchwood, his many lifetimes of losing those he loved, had taught him that sometimes pain was the only way he could deal with it the guilt.
On the first night back after his time on the Valiant, in that hotel with the rest of the team in rooms all around them, he'd encouraged Ianto fuck him as hard and as painfully as possible, feeding on the anger that already existed within the Welshman. Ianto had hated him for it afterwards, jumping into the showers and refusing to speak to him, but Jack had felt…cleansed, almost, by the punishment he thought he'd received.
He was a glutton for punishment, he realised, as he tightened his legs around Ianto's back, letting the air scrape past his throat as the thrusts grew stronger, faster. Words punctuated each thrust, whistling past his ear as Ianto clung to him:
"Not" – thrust – "Your" – thrust – "Fault."
Jack hooked his arms around Ianto's back, gripping his shoulders and burying his face in his shoulder, using those repeated, gruff words as a mantra. He could feel the burn dissipating a little, replaced with a pleasurable sensation as Ianto began to hit his prostate with each thrust.
He felt Ianto's face contort and tighten against his cheek, his mouth open against the skin of his neck to muffle the sounds coming out of his mouth. Jack knew he was holding back, straining against his own flesh to keep himself together; he didn't want to come before Jack. But Jack fought against him, looping his arms tighter around Ianto, preventing him from moving his arms and touching his straining erection. All Jack had was the friction of their stomachs rubbing together, trapping his cock, but he didn't mind because he didn't want to come first.
Ianto was trying to resist, but he had one hundred and fifty years of sexual experience to contend with. There was no way he was going to win, and he came almost quietly, his breath huffing against the side of Jack's neck as he bit down to silence himself. If Jack strained his ears he could almost hear the annoyed tsk perforating the heavy breath on his skin, and he smiled, loosening his grip just a little.
Eventually, Ianto managed to raise his head, running a hand down Jack's side to grip his waist.
"Are you done?"
Jack nodded, a brief smile fluttering onto his lips before he closed his eyes, falling back onto the pillow as he heard Ianto's voice piercing through the air.
"You want me to…?"
"Yes, please."
It didn't take long for Jack to come as Ianto rolled to the side and wrapped his fingers around Jack's cock, moving far more gently, carefully and tenderly than Jack really felt he deserved. But he let himself melt into it, relaxing his tense muscles and finding his release with a low, guttural groan, his body sinking deep into the sheets as he let it wash over him.
Reaching over Jack, Ianto groped for the cloth that was kept next to the bedside table, running it over the mess on Jack's stomach. Jack didn't respond to the soft touch of the material on his stomach, and Ianto splayed out beside him, curling one hand in the bed sheets as he waited for Jack to open his eyes. Eventually his eyelids cracked open, grey-blue irises swimming in a sea of wisdom and guilt.
"I'm sorry."
"I know."
"I know you don't like it, but…"
"I know."
"I'm…"
"Sorry?" Ianto turned to face him, resting his head on his arm so that he could look Jack in the eye. "Again, I know," he quirked a smile, and Jack was sure it may have been one of the saddest things he'd ever seen. "What happened to the boy still wasn't your fault, but if you needed this, then…"
Jack looked at him, matching the smile both in physical movement and the strange, non-smile lingering behind his eyes.
"Thank you."
Ianto rested a hand on Jack's stomach, hooking a leg over his thigh to settle himself more comfortably on the bed. His fingers drummed a languid pattern over the flesh of Jack's pectoral muscles as he let out a quick sigh, throwing a glance from his discarded clothes to the ladder leading to the upper level.
"D'you want me to stay?"
A hand rested over his wrist, keeping him in place against the solid figure of Jack's body.
"Then I'll stay."
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Fin
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