Crash Landing

"S'okay, I can walk by myself." The arm from around Ianto's waist disappears, only to return as he stumbles on the low step leading up to his front door.

"Really? You think so? Well, as I'm not willing to risk you braining yourself on the stairs, I think I'll be helping out."

Ianto grumbles under his breath, but soon has to lean into Jack's support as they tackle the staircase up to his flat. Every step takes a gargantuan effort, the stairs looming above him like a forbidding mountain. Jack keeps up a running commentary about how well he's doing, and how few stairs are left to climb, which is probably meant well but makes him want to punch him. Only thing is, his arms don't want to co-operate. His whole body aches, the sharp edges of the pain only dulled by the painkillers they gave him in A&E. The painkillers that right now seem to be turning his brain to mush, all the thoughts unconnected, flapping loose when he tries to follow them.

There's something he wants to tell Jack. Something important.

"Why wouldn't you come back here when I first asked you?" Fuck, no, that wasn't it at all. He doesn't want to remind him of that last day before Dr Tanizaki's visit. That day when he felt reckless enough to invite him back for a final shag. Jack's looking at him quizzically, and Ianto wants to reach out and push him away/pull him closer. He wants to wipe/kiss that little smile from his insufferably smug/gorgeous face.

"You seemed a bit too intense. I think I just realised how young you are and I was worried you were reading too much into it all. I didn't want to take advantage."

"It was a bit too bloody late for being so fucking considerate, wasn't it? You made me feel like scum, and here you are, still acting like a condescending cunt."

Jack's smile seems bemused. "You have a surprisingly foul mouth on you, Ianto Jones."

"Yeah, well I've had a fucking terrible day. I was nearly eaten by cannibals, thanks to you."

"Hey, you're home now. Time to get you cleaned up and then off to bed. Things will look better in the morning."

Accepting Jack's support grudgingly, it isn't until they make it to his bathroom that Ianto realises just how dependent he is right now. His head's woozy and his sense of balance has gone missing in action. Combined with the aching in his muscles and the bruises and abrasions on his flesh, he doubts his ability to get undressed, let alone take a shower.

"Okay, you can leave now. I'll be fine." Jack just stares levelly, his eyebrows raised. "I said you can fuck off. I'll be fine on my own." The snarl shocks him, but he wants Jack out of there. Wants to lick his wounds in private.

"Tell you what, you prove you can get undressed without falling over and I'll go in the other room, but the door stays open. And it's no use looking at me like that. The doctor said I had to monitor you overnight for signs of mental trauma, so you're not getting rid of me, like it or not."

Fuming, Ianto does his best to prove his capabilities, but his fingers don't seem to work properly and one of his shirt buttons pings off onto the floor. Bending down to unlace his boots, he stumbles sideways, bumping a hip painfully against the towel rail.

"Let me help," Jack says, his tone brooking no argument.

Leaning back against the wall, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, Ianto succumbs, moving his limbs when necessary to help out. Trying not to think about Jack's hands on his body. The way it makes his skin itch. The way it makes his nerve endings tingle.

When finally naked, trembling and hugging himself tightly, he hears a familiar sound; opening his startled eyes to a stripping Jack.

"What? You need help standing up. Don't worry, Ianto. I'll behave myself. You can trust me."

Ianto nods once, thinking that he'll have to if he wants to get the filth of the day scrubbed from his skin. The question is, does he trust himself?

*****

You lean your head back against the cool tiles. You wince as the hot water seeks out all your scrapes and bruises. You let him wash you, his hands gentle, your eyes shut tight. You turn around when he asks you to. You try to meld with the wall.

You wish he would just get it over with and fuck you.

You're startled when the water cuts out. You wonder if he doesn't want you anymore.

You're glad he didn't try anything.

You wish he had.

*****

Waking slowly, rising up through layers of sleep like warm blankets, Ianto finds himself comfortable for the first time in what seems like a million years. His heavy eyelids flutter open, the dim glow of the streetlight filtering through the thin curtains making it bright enough to see everything. Somehow the figure sitting at the end of his bed seems right. Seems fitting.

Jack's face is solemn in the half light, strange shadows altering the planes of his face. The midnight depths of his eyes draw Ianto's gaze, but he feels like an intruder, so keeps his own eyes half closed, just taking a chance to observe this man he knows so little about, despite all they've done together.

It must be a trick of the light, because for a moment Jack holds untold lifetimes of pain in his eyes and face. Ianto feels goosebumps rise on his arms and shivers, wondering how a man of Jack's age could look so ancient. He must have seen some terrible things in his time. It's no wonder he doesn't open up about them.

Jack looks up at him, and his eyes return to something approaching normal, but still with an unaccountable tenderness softening their usual sparkle.

"Hey there. You're awake."

Ianto just nods, as a memory resurfaces of waking screaming from a particularly terrifying dream, tangled in sweat dampened sheets, to find Jack's arms around him. He'd clung on to him, a rock in the turbulent sea of his nightmarish visions, until he'd eventually succumbed to sleep again. This time the dreams had been held at bay. Could this man repel his internal demons just as he fought off alien threats?

"How are you feeling?"

"Okay, I think." Ianto stretches his limbs, sitting up and hit by a sudden wave of embarrassment as the duvet falls down, revealing his naked chest. Ridiculous really, when Jack's seen and explored every inch of him already. He hugs the duvet around him, grateful for its cover, cringing as he remembers how Jack washed him clean the night before. Handling him like he was a child, gently and patiently sluicing away the filth from that hovel.

Ianto trembles, memories rising unbidden. The contents of that fridge. The stifling darkness of that hood, with the stench of fear from the last poor victim to wear it still clinging to the fabric. The kiss of cold steel on his throat. The certainty of death, cold fear paralysing his body. But Jack's still talking and he fights to concentrate, following the beacon of his voice out from the murky visions that threaten to overwhelm him.

"So I reckon that you should take a few days off to–"

"No."

"I'm sorry?"

"No. I don't want to be here on my own. I want something to do. I'm coming to work."

"You are?" Jack looks unsure, his brow furrowed, perhaps wondering whether to wield his authority. Ianto does his best to look reliable, sane, capable. Not the easiest thing when you're naked in bed.

"Please, Jack. Don't make me stay away."

Ianto catches another glimpse of something shining deep in those dark eyes.

Jack clears his throat. "Okay then. I'll see you at half eight."

As he leaves the room, Ianto whispers, "Thank you." Jack pauses for a moment, shakes his head, and carries on out of the door, pulling it gently shut behind him.

*****

You settle back into a familiar routine: tidying, fetching, ordering, anticipating... You watch them racing around on their missions, full of that zeal to save the world.

You couldn't even save one woman. You couldn't save yourself from the abyss.

You keep your head down as the weeks pass. You throw yourself into re-ordering the archives. You find it helps to focus your errant thoughts. You still find it hard to take the lift down to the lower levels, but the new associations eventually start to overlay the old.

You find that things can still flood you with grief. You come across a mention of a golden retriever in an old file. You remember her cooing over one in a park. You remember her pleading with you to agree to get a puppy. You recall your perfectly sensible arguments against having one in the flat. You wish that you'd given in to her. You wish that you could have seen the joy on her face.

You think that life is too short to deny yourself...

You find that line of thinking dangerous.

*****

Jotting down the last of Toshiko's statement about the events set in motion by the pendant, Ianto looks up to find her staring at his page.

"I didn't know you could write shorthand."

He shrugs. "I don't have much call to use it these days."

"No, I mean, I know so little about you. Gwen, Owen and Jack are full of their stories, but you..."

He gives her a lopsided smile. "I must be pretty boring in comparison."

"No! No, that's not what I meant. I'm sorry. I'm not doing a very good job of expressing myself today."

"You've had a big shock. Finding out all that about Mary." I know how that feels, he wants to continue; to discover that the one you love is a murderer - to see her threaten your colleagues and then to have to watch Jack deal with her. But he chokes on the words, so looks down at the report before him and focuses on that. "I'll send you a copy when I've typed this up, okay?"

"Okay." She smiles tremulously. "Thank you, Ianto. It's been good to talk about it."

Heading down the steps, Ianto ponders what Toshiko just told him about listening in on his thoughts. She must have caught him at a bad moment, because it's not all like that. For instance, right now, heading towards Jack's office, he feels a pleasant warmth inside, although his stomach is still jittery. He wants more of this. More warmth and excitement to drive away the despair.

Jack's sitting there, working through his pile of paperwork. He seems out of his element when doing admin. Surely a man like that should be active, his body in motion. He looks good when he's moving. Ianto tries to stop that train of thought, but doesn't quite manage to before an image of Jack, dripping sweat and thrusting into him, flashes before his eyes.

Looking up, Jack gives him a smile that makes Ianto's stomach somersault. It's not his most dazzling, toothy grin, but it's one he's come to value more now. It's the one that says "friend." It's the one that feels the most genuine of all Jack's vast repertoire. It's the one that he can rest in.

"I've finished taking down Toshiko's statement, sir. I think she's leaving now."

Jack's brow contracts into a worried frown. "How is she?"

"Pretty shaken up. It's been a huge shock for her."

"Did you get the pendant?"

"No sir, sorry." He'd been so caught up in Toshiko's pain that he'd completely forgotten Jack's request.

"I'd better go after her."

Holding out Jack's coat as he slips his arms into the sleeves, Ianto remembers the look in Toshiko's eyes as she talked about Mary.

"Please sir... Jack, be gentle with her."

Jack stares at him. A gaze Ianto does his best to meet squarely.

"It's okay, Ianto. I'll be an understanding boss. A friend, I promise. Hey listen, how about after I'm done we go out for a bite to eat? You look like you could do with some feeding up."

Ianto's alarm must show in his face, as Jack chuckles.

"Don't worry, nothing fancy, just fish and chips. How about it? I know a place that does fantastic gravy. You'd love it: thick, dark, tasty and plenty of it. Whaddya say?"

"Gravy?" Ianto can hear the smile in his voice. Jack remembers him saying how much he loves gravy on chips. That was months ago! "Well, if there's gravy..."

"Great, it's a date. I'll give you a ring when I've finished with Toshiko. Meet you out on the Plass, okay?"

"Okay then."

*****

You find your hands shaking as you try to wash up the mugs. You tell yourself that a trip to the chippy with your boss does not constitute a date. You wonder if you think that's a good thing, or a bad thing.

You wonder what you want from him.

You know you want something.

*****

Licking the grease and salt from his fingers, Ianto looks up to find Jack staring at him, a hungry expression on his face. A memory resurfaces; Jack licking his own cum from Ianto's fingers, and how at the time he'd marvelled at his enthusiasm and his appetite. Remembering how the rasp of Jack's tongue between his fingers had sent a jolt of pleasure straight to his cock. He hastily drops his hand, finding a paper napkin to finish cleaning himself, and ransacking his brain for a safe topic of conversation.

"I was wondering. How could you tell that Tosh was hiding something?" It's been bugging him all evening that he never noticed. He's always considered himself a keen observer of others. Perhaps he's just been too wrapped up in himself just lately.

"Oh, it was subtle, but I've had a long time to learn to read people."

"How old are you, Jack?" And what had Mary meant when she'd said he was different?

"Well that's straight to the point! Don't you know you're not meant to ask a man his age?"

"No, that's women. And you're avoiding the question."

"How old do you think I am?"

Ianto studies the face in front of him. Relatively unlined, yet those eyes hold so much time. And then there's his body. Still fit, but with that thickening around the waist that suggests a man in his prime. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, trying to banish the sudden memory of what those incipient love handles felt like in his hands. Opening them, he finds Jack smirking at him.

"I'm guessing you're in your late thirties, but sometimes you talk as if you're much older."

"And there was me, thinking I had the face of a twenty-five year old." Jack runs his hands over his face with an expression of mock distress, making Ianto chuckle.

"So go on then. How old?"

"I'm warning you, you'll find the age gap insurmountable."

"Try me."

"A hundred and seventy-four."

Ianto sighs. God forbid that Jack should ever be honest and straightforward with him.

"Right, well, you're looking pretty good for it."

"Thanks," Jack grins, running a hand through his hair. "I guess you could say that I have the body of a thirty-five year old, and the experience of someone over a hundred. But then working for Torchwood's a bit like that for all of us." Jack fixes him with a penetrating gaze that makes him turn his attention to the napkin he's been shredding without realising it.

"I should be going now. It's late." Indeed, it looks as if the owner wants to turf them out, having already stacked the chairs up on the empty tables around them.

"You want me to walk you back?"

Ianto looks up, amused. "To my car? I figured you were going that way anyway."

"Maybe. I don't know. Fancy a bit of company tonight, I think. Want to join me for a drink somewhere?"

I'd love to, Ianto thinks, but the words refuse to form. His stomach ties itself in knots and he blurts out something about feeling tired. Jack nods with a sympathetic expression, holding the door open for him as they leave.

*****

You say goodbye, accepting the brief hug and peck on the cheek. You wonder if this means you've forgiven him.

You lie in bed, stroking the tingling skin where his lips brushed against you. You want his friendship. You want his body. You wonder if you can have both and get away with it.

You don't want to fall for him.

You don't want to risk your friendship. You decided you'll have to look elsewhere. You know just the place.

You have uneasy dreams.

*****

He can feel the bass vibrating under his feet as he nears the doorway, the buzzing mirroring that in his head and the pit of his stomach. The doorman gives him the once over, a knowing smile on his face, and Ianto dares to stare back, brazen and dangerous.

Inside, the cloying fog of dry ice, alcohol and sweaty male bodies is overpowering. The insistent bass thrums through his whole body and fuels his rising excitement. He'd followed Jack here once, back before they'd met, wearing this exact same outfit, but despite his burning curiosity had never stepped through the doors. It's taken him three weeks this time to work up the courage to go through with this. Now he's here, it's everything he had imagined – a heady mixture of temptation and debauchery.

He takes a moment to acclimatise, watching the writhing mass of bodies on the dancefloor, familiarising himself with the layout of the dimly lit room – the bar, the tables, the doorway to the back rooms... Heading that way, keen to get this over with before he has a chance to bottle out, Ianto feels hands grabbing at him; stroking, coaxing, beckoning. The knowledge dawns that he can afford to be choosy; that his youth and novelty are a prized commodity. Suddenly the wealth of choice is paralysing, and he makes his way to the bar, leaning back against it for support.

His eyes slide over the men nearby, assessing them, and he wonders what it is that he's looking for. Rejecting them one by one for spurious reasons: too fat, to old, too bald, too creepy, too covered in tattoos, too skinny, too hairy... But then a man pushes in next to him - catching the barman's attention - and leans into Ianto's ear, offering him a drink. And because his eyes are blue and his smile wide, Ianto overlooks the cropped bleached hair, the unseasonal tan and the glittery earring. Asking for a scotch, he knocks it back, feeling the warmth slide down his throat and spread its false courage into his bloodstream.

The blond grins at Ianto's empty glass, leans in to his ear again and asks if he wants to dance. Ianto shudders at the thought of going out into that press of bodies, and the inevitable clutching hands. He shakes his head once, hoping he won't have to ask for what he wants. The idea of asking a stranger for something so intimate makes his stomach lurch, even as it arouses him. Maybe this bloke's a mind-reader, though, because the blond moves even closer, pressing up against him; his body heat and the tang of aftershave and fresh sweat almost overwhelming Ianto.

"You want to head out back? Want me to suck you off?" His hand moves down as he speaks, stroking Ianto's growing erection through the denim.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Ianto gulps, opening them to find the man still there, still touching him, amusement crinkling around his eyes. He nods, his throat too dry to speak. And then he's being steered away from the bar, a hand cupping his arse as he walks, nudging him in the right direction. Every step takes him closer to the point of no return, his heart hammering wildly and a fizzing excitement in his belly.

The warren of small rooms and corridors at the back of the club reeks of sex, and Ianto finds himself staring through doorways at scenes to rival his most debauched fantasies. The yelping whimpers of one young man, down on his hands and knees on a plastic covered mattress, make him pause for a moment, fascinated. There's a line of men waiting for their turn behind the burly guy fucking him senseless. That could be him, kneeling there, if he wanted it. Offering himself to anonymous strangers for the taking. Perhaps that what he deserves, after everything he's done. The thought makes his skin crawl, and he shudders. He's glad when the blond guy pulls him away to an empty room with a knowing smile.

*****

You lean back against the wall. You let him pull your jeans down to your knees. You listen to his appreciative comments without making a reply. You gasp as he deep throats you. You can't help but remember your first time with Jack. You try to keep your mind blank, but you need more than this stranger can give you. You look down and see Jack's dark hair. You feel it silky between your fingers as you thrust into the wet, sucking heat. You smell that delicious musk of his, rather than this stranger's chemical tang. You come so fast it's embarrassing. You feel empty, your orgasm perfunctory and joyless.

You turn down his request for a fuck. You do your fly up.

Thanks, you say, your smile stretched tight.

My pleasure, he says, squeezing your arse.

You leave the club, turning your new realisation over in your mind. You want more than simple physical release. You want someone who knows you. You want someone who's seen you at your worst and forgiven you. You want someone to sleep beside and help hold the nightmares back. You want someone who knows how to make you laugh.

You want intimacy.

You want Jack.