So, bar two (thank you, thank you bewildered butterfly and mysterypoet66!), you all loathed Chapter twelve. But you're still here…
Warning! Contains smut, J/M. Rated M. High level coarse language, high level sex, adult themes.
Thirteen
"Wow," said Jack eventually, shoving his sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes. "Haven't done anything as wild as that since… in far too long."
"Haven't done anything as wild as that ever." Ianto's stomach gave an audible rumble and Merelyn giggled. "Breakfast." He looked from Merelyn to Jack and back. Merelyn felt her hand being squeezed. "If you want to go for round two, feel free. You've got twenty minutes. I'll be one minute in the shower, then it's yours." He scrambled out and Merelyn found herself staring at Jack for the second time that morning.
Seeing the I-dare-you look in Jack's eyes, and reminding herself that shyness now was plain ridiculous after what they'd just done, she returned the look with one of her own.
"You up for it?" queried Jack with a raised brow.
Her first thought was something along the lines of, "I should be asking you that." But his cocky grin made her decide that was exactly what he wanted and that he had a very cock-y comeback ready. "Well, I better be, or we'll have to find something else to do. Have a deep, meaningful conversation maybe? You might let something slip you shouldn't. Picked up any new secrets lately?" Sudden panic gripped her; she had a secret of her own. "Or we could play I-spy or a nice game of Scrabble. How about Monopoly or-"
Jack closed on her, cuffed her wrists with his hands, pinned her arms above her head. "Such a sassy mouth, Merelyn Evans. Goin' to have to find a way to shut it up."
"Such a cocky sod, Captain Jack." Jack laughed. "Oh shit!" She'd still fallen for it. "Don't you dare!" He laughed again. "I spy my with my little eye something beginning with…" she chanted resolutely until Jack's mouth, still chuckling, effectively shut her up.
Her first untalented kiss ever, apart from Gavin Hughes in Fourth Year, and that didn't count because he'd been dared to snog the Freak by the rest of the class, nor did that time with Jack all those weeks ago because that had been for a reason and, besides, she'd been half off her face. It felt weird. Fantastic, but weird. With no mental connection with Jack, no emotion or feelings or imaginings directly attached, all her mind focussed on physical sensations.
His skin was smoother than Ianto's, no night-time beard grazed her lips. Jack's mouth was softer, his tongue gentler in her mouth, more exploratory, slower, tasting, almost tentative by comparison. At least to start with. He quickly grew more assured, demanding. His hands let go of her wrists, his fingers slid across her palms in a way that set the nerves tingling and laced themselves with hers. Her nipples pebbled hot and heavy, connected in a direct line to her belly, which clenched, and her sheath wept in sympathy. Acutely aware of the seconds ticking away, wanting to hold him, feel the texture of him under her fingers, learn the angles and planes of him, the smoothness of his skin and strength of his muscle, she tried to free her hands. Jack tightened his hold on her fingers, refused to let go. Eventually, she got past wanting to take it further, quicker, and simply abandoned herself to whatever he wished in the time given to them.
She felt good, far too good, better even than Ianto. Jack felt the danger, felt the warning light flash in his head. Keep it fun, Jack. For sanity's sake, keep it fun. He pulled away and grinned. "Nice, Merelyn. Real nice. That first kiss wasn't a fluke." He really needed to work on not letting his voice come out that husky again. Maybe not saying anything at all would be easier. He broadened his grin.
He was grinning one of those bloody grins but his eyes were dark as they looked at her, their expression completely unreadable. She'd give anything to be able to read something from this one man, willingly swap all her talent for some small insight into what he truly felt. How could the untalented bear this fumbling, stumbling around with no true knowledge of another to guide them?
Then he was kissing her again. This time it went on so long she wondered if he was ever going to let her come up for air, didn't think she'd care if he didn't. Ianto saved her from imminent asphyxiation.
"Shower's free," he called from the door. "So use it, you stinky pair." Towel draped around slim hips, he paddled off down the stairs.
"He's right. Come on." Jack hauled her up. He gave a shudder. "Yeast infections are itchy!"
In the shower he was pure business, like the night of her massage, ensuring her hair didn't get soaked, lathering her up quickly with Ianto's Aramis shower gel and rinsing her off, before soaping himself, kneeling awkwardly in the confined space so she could scrub his shoulders. He didn't linger over drying either, simply grabbed towels from the stack on the rack and chucked one at her, before towelling the wet out of his hair with vigorous fingers. They were no more than half-dry when he grinned suddenly. "Race you back!" Each fought to be first through the doorway, then they dashed back to the bedroom and dived onto the bed, laughing.
They lay, laughter dying.
"You smell like Ianto," said Merelyn.
"So do you."
Jack was still smiling, but there was that something at the back of his eyes again. If only she knew… No good wishing, take your best guess, as hit and miss as a stab in the dark, but it's all you have here. "Jack, are you in love with Ianto - like with Estelle, I mean?"
"No." Never again. Not with anyone. Fun times only for Old Jack. No-one got hurt that way.
"I'm glad - cos he's not with you. He loves you, but not like that."
"Yeah, I realised. How about you for him?"
Her smile held great affection. "Love him to bits, but no, I'm not in love."
Because of fun times only, he had to ask. "How about me?"
She gave him a long, considering, serious look that had him worried. To his relief, she finally answered, "No, you're not for me." Her eyes crinkled and she swooped a fingertip down the length of his nose. "Too handsome by far. My tall, dark, mysterious strangers are still out there somewhere," she said, oddly using a plural. She gave a sudden grin. "Be wild if I met more than one at once." Her grin grew. "Especially if they're girls. In the meantime I'll have to make do with one singular flashy male. We're wasting time. How do you want me, Captain Jack?"
"On your back for good ol' face to face." He set his hand on her shoulder, pressed her flat, loomed over her, let her feel his weight. "I'm going to make you come so hard, and when you do I want to be watching."
The look in the blue-grey eyes was pure scepticism. "In all of fourteen minutes?"
"That long, huh? Time enough for round three, too. Maybe even four." Jack bent his head and brushed his mouth along her jaw. His fingers traced along her collarbone, over her medallion, down between her breasts, settled around her waist. The tip of his tongue grazed its way down her neck, lingered on her pulse, felt it begin to speed. A sigh vibrated in her throat, hands twisted themselves into his hair. His own pulse began to pick up pace, his cock began to thicken. Satisfied, his mouth travelled further, down to one peaking nipple, his fingers skimmed their way down her flat belly to her curls, parted them, seeking…
The hands in his hair were loosening, hesitating. Merelyn gave a choke. Then she giggled.
Jack raised his head. "What?"
Her eyes were full of laughter. "Please tell me you've heard of Elvis."
"The King. Yeah."
"Ianto's singing." She tapped her forehead. "In here. 'Teddy Bear'. And, put it this way, no one's ever going to ask him to open an international."
Jack hauled himself up so he was on her level. "Would you rather help make breakfast?"
"No. No, of course not."
"Then a little concentration here would be kinda nice."
He looked really pissed.
"I…" How could she explain she'd deliberately let her mind wander because she was terrified of showing how much she cared? Her words to Ianto earlier came back to her.
What do you really want?
I want Jack. Forever.
Tough. Cos that just ain't going to happen. What you have is now. Give yourself away, risk the friendship. Love Jack how you really want and hold it in your heart. In time, it will be enough.
Jack's lashes were starred with shower spray. She cupped his face in her hands. "Concentration? I can do that." Slowly, she drew him down. Then held him millimetres away, switching her gaze from his eyes to his glorious mouth and back, until she felt him almost squirm with anticipation and strain to close the gap. She let their mouths meet - but barely, grazing her lips against his, until his breathing racked up real high and her heart thudded so hard she thought she'd break a rib.
"Concentrated enough?" she murmured against his mouth.
"Almost." Jack's voice came out as rough as sand paper. "You could take it up another notch or two." It was the last even vaguely smart remark he managed, because Merelyn drew him close and loved him, really loved him, in a way no-one had in over sixty years.
It wasn't fun. It was way past fun. It was devastating. All his finesse and technique went out the window and he lay back, utterly helpless. He let her do with him what she willed, biting his lip until he tasted blood, fighting to not respond with love of his own because he shouldn't, he mustn't. He just couldn't.
Merelyn gave him everything, and received nothing back. And it hurt. Hurt more than the taunts of the kids at school, more than when Gwion died, more, even, than easing Mamo. She wondered if Jack really was there solely because of Ianto, that she did nothing for him at all, but his cock stayed hard as wood and his hips jerked to meet hers every time. He said nothing. No encouragement nor praise, not even her name, his only sound great sobbing breaths, his only moves those convulsive jerks of his hips and his hands clawing, fisting at the sheet. Despite having said he wanted to watch, he kept his eyes squeezed shut. Only once, just for a second, his lids fluttered open as though he couldn't help himself, and finally, at last, she read what was in his eyes. It was panic. Sheer, unadulterated panic. Then she felt sad. Sad for Jack, that he couldn't let go, not even a little. And glad, too. Glad she hadn't kept it light, or she'd never have found out. So she kissed his eyelids, tasted salt, and loved him more.
He couldn't take it any longer. He shoved her roughly onto her back and thrust hard because he needed it to be over. He strained harder, the tendons in his neck rigid with effort. He felt himself spill and clung on tight. "I just… can't," he gasped into her neck.
They rolled apart.
Jack lay on his back, chest heaving. He felt like the survivor of a plane wreck. She'd shocked the hell out of him. And he'd scared the hell out of himself. He closed his eyes and swallowed. Fuck, he needed to apologise. "Merelyn. I-"
"Here." She handed him a corner of the sheet, then lay on her front, propped up on her forearms. "Wipe your face."
"Merel-"
"Wipe."
When he emerged from the sheet she was looking at him, a crease between her brows, not angry or upset, but as though trying to fathom his thoughts. Thank God she couldn't.
"Estelle," she said. "You know she's not the only one?"
"What?"
"I've never understood that 'there's only one in the world for me' crap. I mean, think about it. What are the odds of finding them? Only one in the whole of time and space? It's right to grieve, fitting. And after a time, it's right to move on, love again." The blue-grey eyes were very intense. "Hold the old loves in your heart, and they never leave you, they live on with you, they love you. There'll be so many loves out there for you. They'll find you, if you let them." She touched his face, her fingers very gentle. She was trying so hard to make him believe. "You have time enough for love, Jack. Remember the joy with Estelle? You'll have that so many times over, because you have time. How I envy you. 'The more you love, the more you can love - and the more intensely you love. Nor is there any limit on how many you can love.' Heinlein was very wise sometimes."
But it hurts so later.
Merelyn took his hand. "Don't shut your heart, Jack. As the years pass you'll become less than human if you do. Be like that Evan, vile and lost. Promise you'll let yourself love."
Jack hung on to her hand, his throat too tight for words.
He was saved from answering by a heavy tread in the hall and, "I just want to be your teddy-bear," sung incredibly off-key.
Somehow, he managed what he hoped was an assenting smile, and let her fingers slip from his. He scrambled out of the way just in time to avoid the precariously full and rattling tray Ianto dumped on the bed.
"Here we go," said Ianto. "Energy food. Don't know about you two, but my energy stores are seriously depleted."
"Welsh Cakes for breakfast? Ianto!" exclaimed Merelyn, taking one of the warm scone-like cakes, dripping with butter, from the plate that sat amid Papa Bear-sized bowls of steaming sultana-laced porridge, glasses of juice and mugs of fresh coffee. "Here, Jack. These are seriously good."
Jack eyed the little currant-studded cake she held out. How was he supposed to eat when his stomach was in knots? Two pairs of eyes were watching; the blue-grey still thoughtful and assessing, the blue expectant and hopeful. Somehow, he made himself take a bite and chew mechanically, forcing it down with a smile and a muffled, "Mmm, seriously good." As soon as he could he grabbed a mug and busied himself with sipping coffee and scraping himself together while the other two busied themselves with their bowls. Gradually, the mellowness of Ianto's Best soothed his stomach, if not his mind, and he felt able to tackle his own bowl.
Back together in as good a shape as he could manage in a few minutes, he sprinkled a heaping spoon of sugar onto his porridge. "Those three we're meeting this morning won't believe their eyes if you serve them this, Ianto." The normality of his tone was encouraging.
"Why not? It's nothing special."
"It will be to them. They've only just come off sugar rations, and they're still on butter rations and there's about a week's worth on those." He waved his spoon in the direction of the Welsh Cakes.
"It's going to be hard for them, adjusting," said Merelyn. "1953… Will they be into Elvis?" The look in her eyes was the same as always; warm and friendly, nothing more, nothing less, and Jack knew she would continue as before, expected nothing more from him. "We can at least have the right music greet them at the Hub."
Ianto beat him to an answer. "Bit too early for Elvis. He didn't begin at Sun Studios until '54, and he didn't get known over here til later even than that. 'Heartbreak Hotel' got to Number Two here in '56."
Jack blinked at him. Merelyn's spoon suspended itself halfway to her mouth.
Ianto shrugged. "My Grandda was into Elvis."
"It'll be crooners for these guys," said Jack. "Dean and Perry and Ol' Blue Eyes."
"Sinatra's cool." Merelyn grinned. "And you can dust off your Glen Miller, Jack. They'll know him from the War."
"I'll dig out Cole Porter too. 'Anything Goes' was still going on in the Fifties." He drained his mug. "Coffee wasn't though. Not much ground around then, Ianto. Better get some instant in, or maybe the liquid sort. What's it called…? Camp. Yeah, Camp Coffee. Comes in a bottle. Yours'll look like river mud to them, and taste about as good." And Jack used the cover of Ianto's splutter to snatch the last Welsh Cake from under Merelyn's indignant nose.