Disclaimer: I still don't own Torchwood or our boys.
~.~.~
They sat together on the platform for the invisible lift, Ianto's fist pumping quickly on Jack's cock. The sharp odour of bleach covered up whatever not-aftershave Jack wore and, thank God, the scent of the blood Ianto had been scrubbing off the pavement.
Not for the first time, he wondered what the hell kind of job this was supposed to be.
Suzie was dead. Ianto had thought her to be a bit mad, really, but still, she was young, intelligent and polite. She knew things about the universe few people ever would. They—all of them at Torchwood—were part of a select club, filled with the addictive lures of mystery and adrenaline.
Like all addictions, it would kill each of them eventually. The toxicity of Torchwood had already reached its cold hands into his life. Nearly eight hundred of his friends and co-workers were dead, his girlfriend was in constant agony and his dreams were filled with scream and the putrid scent of hot metal and charred flesh.
And now, Suzie was dead. There were bits of her brains drying out behind them that were going to take hours to get off the concrete. He didn't know how he was going to get through it without vomiting.
Ianto pushed the thought away from his mind and focused on the man he was touching.
He'd never admit it, but his heart ached for the Captain. Ianto felt shell-shocked and overwhelmed, yes, but Jack knew Suzie. They were friends, or some reasonable facsimile of it. They'd worked together for years.
Jack had come to him after it was all said and done, beaten and weary, like a man drowning in the shroud of death.
For all the desperate, needy moans escaping from behind Jack's clenched teeth, he looked to be in agony. His face was flushed and sweaty. His eyes were squeezed shut.
With a painful lurch in his gut, Ianto realized that he just couldn't do this. He was already betraying Jack for Lisa—something that tore him up inside, no matter how necessary it was. But this—this...it felt too much like taking advantage. It was too much like kicking Jack while he was down. He pulled his hand away with a sigh.
"Sir, I don't think—"
"No," Jack pleaded, voice rough. "Keep going. Please."
Ianto didn't know what to do, but when Jack pulled on his wrist and whispered "Please," he reasoned that the Captain knew what he needed.
And, as a sneaky voice inside reminded him, touching Jack was no chore.
Jack didn't lessen his grip on Ianto's wrist and used it to force him into a frenzied pace. He pushed away all the guilt, all the doubt, and simply observed.
He reckoned Jack was never more handsome than when he was falling apart. There were nights he actually preferred to wait for the other man, rather than seek him out. There was just something about it, something profound, in seeing the cheeky grins and the hard, commanding persona just melt away. He'd grown to love Jack's panting, hedonistic neediness.
It turned him on. It was only the other man's probably vacant gaze on his face that stopped Ianto from rubbing himself through his trousers.
Jack was on the edge, riding his own frantic tempo like a wave. His fingernails were digging into Ianto's skin. He'd almost certainly bruise, but he couldn't find it in him to care—not when that low, throaty mewl was filling his ears. Jack was rocking, just slightly. Closer, then away.
Closer...but not away.
And then Jack's lips were on his own, firm and demanding. They were nothing like Ianto had imagined, nothing like Lisa's softer, smoother ones, but god, they were so warm and the feel of stubble-on-stubble was strangely erotic.
Ianto parted his lips just as Jack gasped, and caught the Captain's lower lip between his teeth to draw it into a moan. He knew his suit was being covered in the other man's come, but for once, he didn't care. All he cared about was the feeling of those lips on his own, of how Jack's soft, short hair felt against his palm.
Of Jack's fingers working at his fly until he felt the cool, damp air of the Hub on his cock.
After another moment of feverish snogging, Jack pulled away and shifted. Ianto had barely registered the movement when the chilly air was replaced by the hot, wet heat of Jack's mouth.
"Oh, fuck."
It took everything he had not to come within that first, shocking moment. Jack didn't move...well, he didn't move his head, but his tongue was like fire—tasting, lapping and massaging at his cock—burning all coherent thought from his mind.
Jack was glorious—not just with his tongue, but just looking at him was one of the most erotic things Ianto had ever seen. He was on his knees. Jack—powerful, dangerous Jack—was kneeling at his feet with his handsome face so serene, it was almost euphoric. Ianto tangled one of his hands in Jack's braces and used the other to steady himself on the paver.
His tongue never stilled, never stopped it's exploration of each centimetre of Ianto's flesh. It was too intense, too soon, too much—
It was short—embarrassingly short—but to Ianto, it felt like an eternity before his orgasm was yanked from him in one hard, powerful pull.
When he came down, he felt Jack's shaking, his head buried in Ianto's wool-clad thigh. He thought for a moment that he was laughing—the hysterical, awkward type of laughter that simply couldn't be contained—but then a horrible, broken sound reached his ears.
Jack was crying.
Jack was sobbing.
Ianto froze, completely unsure of what to do. He wanted to comfort Jack, of course he did—wasn't that the point of this whole situation?—but he was suddenly struck with the absurdity of the situation. They were on a huge concrete paver that rose up through the ceiling to the street above. His trousers were undone, covered in his employer's semen and his flaccid cock was still completely exposed and coated in saliva. And, to top it all off, he had a strong, sickening suspicion that he'd put his hand in a bit of Suzie's brain when he came.
Jack shuddered pitifully and Ianto rested his clean hand on the other man's broad shoulder. He wouldn't murmur any whispered platitudes, no soft everything will be alright. There were enough lies between them, but it didn't mean he couldn't offer Jack a small measure of comfort.
"She's dead," he sobbed. "She's dead and it's all my fault."
"It isn't anyone's fault but her own," Ianto answered, rubbing slow circles onto Jack's back. "It's tragic and it's sad. But it was her own doing.'
The Captain sniffled against his leg. "It was the glove. She was my responsibility. I shoulda watched her better."
Ianto didn't know what to say. He could hardly say Well, she was behaving very oddly, so maybe being a tad more observant in the future will help you out. The very last thing he needed was a more observant Jack Harkness.
"We are all responsible for our own actions, Jack. You're not our keeper."
Jack nodded—quite possibly rubbing snot onto Ianto—but remained where he was, trembling. Ianto ran his fingers through the other man's hair and let him cry it out.
~.~.~
As the days wore on, Jack sought him out more and more, but asked for less and less. Oh, there was still that element—and it was...more intense now that they didn't limit themselves to a friendly handshake, if Ianto was being perfectly honest—but Jack was more likely to lounge in the Archives for a chat or to steal a kiss in the Tourist Office.
He seemed to just want company in between stints as the Batman of Cardiff.
Ianto spent sleepless hours convincing himself that it didn't matter. They weren't lovers. They weren't even mates.
It didn't matter what kind of amazing stories Jack told of a blue girl in the Orion galaxy. It didn't matter that Jack made him forget the horrible, consuming fear in those stolen moments, or how Jack's cock felt rubbing against his own. None of it mattered.
Lisa mattered. Lisa, who would press her cold feet against his calves while he slept and then teased him for yelping. Lisa, who danced on their sofa in her panties just to make him laugh.
Lisa, who would be his wife when all this madness was behind them.
With a sigh, Ianto finished collecting the rubbish from the various workstations. He stole a glance up to Jack's office. The Captain was sitting with the new girl. Laughing. Flirting.
He wondered if Jack had a similar arrangement with Gwen—she was quite fit. They'd look lovely pressed against each other, all passion and shiny teeth.
He hated himself for the jealousy that bubbled up in him. He gave up with the never-ending mess—and really, there were only five of them, how could they possibly be this slovenly?—to wind his way down the dark, twisting corridors of the Hub.
Lisa was, of course, where he'd left her, attached to that horrible metal cage. Her dark brown eyes were wet with unshed tears.
"It...hurts..."she whimpered. He wasted no time giving her an injection, holding her hand as it took effect. Her eyes drifted closed and a single tear slid down her lovely face.
"Don't worry, darling. Dr Tanizaki will be here tomorrow and then all of this will be over."
~.~.~
A/N: In case you were interested, the bit about dried brains is true. Crime scene cleaners have to use putty knives to get it off.
As with the last chapter, FaceOfMer/Janto321 was a valuable asset. She motivated me with word wars and was a fantastic sounding board.
Thank you for reading!