Ianto knew some saw him as a high priced whore but he didn't care. He knew he was earning his money behind the scenes, Malcolm had still to learn the extent of Ianto's loyalty … and the lengths he would go to serve his master. After the pain of Jack leaving him for his bloody doctor and Owen's crowing that the part-time shag was going to have to go sell his arse out on the quay for his next suit, Ianto didn't care what anyone thought.
Tosh had been unable to defend herself as her fear of Unit kept her silent to all opinions and Gwen was too busy trying to find Jack to notice that she had lost footing to Owen who had stepped up as second in command, unfortunately Owen's bullying had ramped up to full blown attacks. Ianto's final straw had been when Owen had informed him that Jack's office was going to be redecorated to suit Owen's needs and the "shit" needed moving.
He had looked back over his time with Jack and realised he had been harsh in his opinion of him. Jack never promised anything, always gave affection and forgave so much. A lot he had seen as anger was merely frustration. As for the team, Jack had swallowed balls-up after balls-up. His frustration at their ignorance and constant challenging must have really hurt at times.
Ianto had thought they would grow old together, or he would grow old while Jack would go from lecherous older man to toy-boy but it had all been a dream. His doctor had come. He was gone. Ianto could not begrudge him that. If Lisa had shown up on a unicorn farting rainbows and fluffy kittens out of its arse he would have gone in a heartbeat.
Ianto wished him well with his Doctor, off in their blue box. He tried to swallow down his self-hatred at not being enough, not enough to anchor Jack. To have kept him there. Not that he ever thought he could.
The artefact in the archives had started to glow and he should have called Owen instead of picking it up but you know what? He was sick of kissing his boney arse just to keep a job that was meaningless without Jack. His act of defiance had been without thought and look where it had gotten him!
The money was great, he didn't want for anything and Malcolm actually listened to his opinions. He could strut without feeling like an imposter. Best still, no-one here knew Lisa. No-one knew he could be sneaky or secretive.
Besides, Jack knew his dark side but never truly encouraged him to embrace it. His kinks and hidden anger. Apart from the private wrestling and sparring there had been little chance for him to let his freak flag fly. Here he didn't have to hide. If he didn't want to be polite he didn't have to. Malcolm was not Jack, he had shown that fact with a violence and viciousness that Jack had never stooped to. So why was he so attracted to him?
It was more than the look of him, the smell was different and his body which was harder and more honed and so was his manner. No. It was the violence, it called to him. Lisa used to call him her little hooligan. The pub fights, rugby punch-ups, the freedom of letting rip … only Jack had known. The head butt to the cannibal had been a call back from his hooligan days and Ianto knew the man had felt it.
Even the lecture about the misuse of a stun-gun had been half hearted as Jack had tried to hide his pride at Ianto's vicious display when he had caught Owen teasing Myfanwy once too often. He had meant it too. Just like when he shot the twat, Owen, god that felt good. No. Jack was gone and now he was here. Time to reinvent himself. Just like he had created a persona for Jack.
Jack had run for the Tardis without a backward glance, time for him to do the same.
Ianto thought back to how he had sweated his "Torchwood" look. The first attempts with "rent-boy" had failed. Gone were the hoodies and docs. Gone were the whiskers and beanie. He had been polished and swish. It had shown him that a good suit of armour doesn't need to be metal, when Armani will do.
And Malcolm? Well, here was a dark bastard who bruised his skin with his fingers in a way Jack never had. As Jack had been gentle and kind, Malcolm was hard and vicious. Ianto was quite turned on. The bruises, stark on his pale hips, were like barges of honour and the way Malcolm screamed when he had bitten down on his left peck had been glorious last night, as had his raucous laughter afterwards.
The way Malcolm's lips peeled back in a snarl as he took him, shook his world and dumped him on the bed, wow! Ianto had known bliss in Jack's arms and knew he would never love that way again. This was an acceptable alternative. No declarations of love, gently touches and butterfly kisses here.
No, wham bam and slam! God, he felt raw, used and spent. In those moments where he struggled to breathe … he didn't mourn Jack at all.
No. Ianto was getting comfortable. Let them come. He was ready. Tooth and fucking claw!