Bedroom Factotum
Chapter 9: I Really Want You
It takes Jack another twenty minutes to conjure up the balls to exit the vehicle and walk up to the front door. All through the short walk he debates if he should soldier on or just turn tail and run. He even turns around and walks a few passes back to the S.U.V before forcing himself on with the self-appointed task. As he reaches the door, it opens before he had even processed the thought of knocking.
An amused looking Ianto holds the door and regards him with an expectant raised eyebrow.
"Took you long enough," the statement has an underlying taunting quality to it.
The captain laughs nervously. "You did know I was here," he says conversationally, trying to cover the fact that he is caught off guard.
"It's hard to miss," Ianto replies looking pointedly at the flashing blue lights of the Land Rover. "And Tosh rang," he adds with a smile.
Jack gives him a withering glare, "I should've known," he grumbles.
"Yes you should've. How long where you sitting out there anyway, an hour? I was about to call your mobile and ask to you to make up your mind. The creepy stalker act is scaring the neighbours. Now you want to come in, or you'd rather stay out here and fret some more until elderly Mrs Gallegan calls the police," he pauses, "Or seeks her legion of cats on you," he adds.
The deadpan is so flawless the captain isn't sure the archivist is joking; he decides not to risk it and quickly accepts the invitation. He steps in and the younger man relieves him of his Grey Coat, hanging it carefully on the coat rack next to the door. Ianto moves further into the flat, Jack trailing behind him a bit awkwardly, looking around curiously; for all the times the tea boy has been in Jack's personal quarters down the manhole, the captain has never been to Ianto's before.
The apartment is small but not uncomfortably so, much more modest than Owen's spacious apartment or Tosh's modern flat. It's composed of a compact vestibule, a living room, a kitchenette\ dining room, and a hall he assumes leads to the bedroom and en-suit. It is practical and ideal for a bachelor, if a little on the Spartan side. It looks homely but it doesn't feel lived in, the atmosphere speaks of a tenant that is hardly ever home.
He follows Ianto into the kitchenette; the younger man gestures at a stool, inviting the older man to sit down if he'd like; while he heads straight to the coffee machine and starts to brew a fresh batch of coffee, without wasting time in offering. There are two mugs in the sink already; it looks like Gwen was given a respite from their coffee diet too, Owen will seethe with jealousy.
Jack observes him, noting the difference between Ianto in the Hub and Ianto at home. It looks like when at home the tea boy favours a more casual wear. In a suit, Ianto is dressed to kill, but there is a casual sexiness to a raglan shirt and a pair of baggy, ripped, washed out jeans, the legs so long that even rolled up the hems pool and drag around his bare feet.
Ianto feels Jack's eyes on him and turns around to look at the staring captain with an arch brow. Jack grins unabashed at being caught 'apprising' and Ianto rolls his eyes going back to brewing, mumbling about leering old man.
In a few minutes Jack is presented with a cup filled with delicious, hot, dark liquid caffeine. He inhales its enticing aroma and eagerly takes a sip; making a small sound of contentment even as the scalding coffee burns his tongue.
Ianto shakes his head in amusement. "So to what do I owe the pleasure, Sir?" he inquirers, politely but firmly encouraging Jack to reveal the reason for his impromptu visit.
"I, uh…," he cleared his throat, "That is… I needed to talk to you," the captain says, it sounds stern and forceful, even to his ears.
The Welshman looks at him expectantly. "About what?" he presses, taking a sip of his own cup, leaning a hip on the counter behind him, to face Jack perched on a stool across the island kitchen bench. Even if his posture is laxed, his features are closed off in a guarded expression.
The pseudo American heaves a loud sigh "I wanted to apologies," he finally forces the words out.
The archivist looks at him like he had grown a second head and the captain hides behind his mug. However Ianto isn't at all impressed with the seemingly monumental effort it takes for the older man to say it; as far as he is concern a sincere apology shouldn't be so taxing.
"What part in specific are you apologizing for? Just to be clear," his tone clipped with sarcasm feigning curiosity.
The 51st century man fixes him with a disbelieving glare; the younger man however isn't fazed by it and regards him calmly, if not expectantly. Jack sighs again and relents.
"Fine!" he snaps "I am sorry for all of it. For not listening to you, for arguing with you, for overprotecting Gwen, for dumping Flat Holmes on you alone, for not trusting your judgement," he lists his faults in an explosive but sincere rant, his booming voice loosing volume and strength with every statement "… for running you out," he finally admits in a defeated tone.
Ianto looks at him perplexed, why the man makes it so hard to stay angry at him. He wants to stay mad, Jack had insulted and humiliated him in their last argument, and though Ianto hadn't rose to the bait, hadn't acknowledge the stinging words, they had hurt none the less. When Tosh rang to tell him Jack might drop by, Ianto had been gathering up an arsenal of verbal lashings he had restrained from throwing in the man's face when he walked out of the office four days ago. Now though, he couldn't find it in himself to do it.
"I'm sorry that it escalated to this," he relents. "But I'm not sorry for my actions, you have to understand you left me with no choice; you are not the most reasonable person to deal with," he clarifies the source of his remorse.
"I know, I know. I'm too damn stubborn to admit I made a mistake, but now I'm telling you Ianto, I was wrong and I'm sorry," the captain amends truly contrite.
The tea boy nods and exhales slowly, his tense shoulders visibly relaxing. Tonight hasn't been too bad; he's had two uninvited guests and has settled things with both parties involved in his stressful predicament.
They drink their coffee in companionable silence for a while. "Gwen tells me you have come up with a way of getting her involved with Flat Holms," Jack breaks the silence.
The younger man nods, "I didn't come up with anything; there is enough work to go around," it's not an accusation, just a statement.
Jack manages not to cringe guiltily, and limits to agreeing. "I know you've been doing more than your fair share, but I think we can fix that,"
"You mean about Gwen telling Owen and Tosh," Ianto assumes correctly. "I thought you'd be against it. I was preparing for another gruelling confrontation and maybe even a dose of retcon,"
"I'm still reluctant, but I realize it shouldn't have been a secret to begin with," the ex-time agent admits. "Besides, the archives won't survive much longer without you," he half jokes.
Ianto blanches, "How bad is it?"
"Don't get alarmed, I spared both you and Owen, and let him off the filing duty; it's mainly Tosh going in there, she is the only one who has a slight incline on how to work your filing system," Jack assures him.
"Please, tell me I'm no longer suspended?" he asks and if there is a slight pleading tone in his voice well his carefully filed archive is at stake.
Jack laughs, "Yes you can come back anytime you want, though I think you should take the time off. You are always at the Hub; a little break would do you some good,"
"Ten days alone staring at the god-awful out dated wallpaper? I'll pass. I don't even own a telly. Working for Torchwood doesn't allow time for cultivating hobbies, nor for a very successful social life," the Welshman says in derision, collecting the now empty mugs he turns to the sink. "Tonight is the most visits I've had since moving back from London,"
"Speaking of failing social lives, I hear you are good friends with Rhys," if there is a slight hiss in his tone when he pronounces the name, Jack feigns innocence and Ianto doesn't notices or chooses to ignore it.
"Why is that so surprising, he is a nice guy," he says in a non-committal tone, turning on the sink tab and soaping up a dishcloth.
"Ha, a nice guy," the mocking sarcasm is evident in his tone. "He is a clueless, simple minded, jock head. How do you put up with him?"
"Funny, he asked me the same thing about you," Ianto dead panned, he doesn't need to turn around to know that Jack is glaring at him; he can picture the captain clearly in his mind.
"And what is that supposed to mean?" the pseudo American asks coldly.
"Just that you two have more in common that either of you wants to admit," the tea boy shrugs casually as he washes the coffee mugs.
"Oh, how we are so alike, pray tell?" the captain demands.
The unwarranted affront in Jack's voice starts to irritate Ianto, if it bothers him so much then why did he brought it up? "You are both pig headed, insecure, possessive idiots. You even like the same type," the younger answers simply, the lilt of his accent marked by annoyance. The last part an obvious jab referring to both men chasing the same skirt, namely Gwen.
"What type is that?!" Jack is beyond offended, and takes the underlying insinuation far and beyond its original meaning. "Oh I see, you two are very well acquainted hu? Tell me, how well do you know each other; does he know you in the biblical sense like I do?"
It's Ianto's turn to splutter indignantly "What the hell?" he turns around now, and sure enough Jack is glaring at him, brow furrowed, nose drills flaring, lips set in a thin hard line, his arms crossed over his puffed chest, the muscles of his jaw tight like a coil. The Welshman is not fazed and glares back just as intently. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"You tell me," Jack challenges "You wrote his numbers in your diary, or is he too prudish and inadequate to go against your stopwatch and measuring tape." The next thing the captain knows a dripping wet dishcloth smacks him in the face.
"Stop! Stop right there, or so help me God, Jack!" Ianto yells infuriated, gesticulating with an accusatory pointer finger. "I don't know what brought these ridiculous accusations; but if that is all you have to say then you can let yourself out the door, don't let it hit your ass on the way out and I'll see you in ten days."
They glare at each other a few heart beats longer. Ianto is the first to look away with a heavy sigh. Shaking his head he turns around bracing against the sink with a white-knuckle grip, cursing in welsh under his breath. How did this happen? Why is it so easy for them to get into these stupid fights? Why do the silly arguments get so out of control?
As soon as the anger had come it vanishes, Jack feels ridiculous for even thinking those things, let alone having voiced them. Rhys is obviously not into men, and the only male Ianto has only ever showed interest in is Jack. It was a ridiculously farfetched, unfounded accusation, totally out of line. This is not why he had come here tonight; it was not to fight with Ianto. He had come to apologize, to show he has a deeper understanding of the reasoning and emotions behind the younger man's actions. He lets out and explosive sigh.
"Ianto, I'm sorry I didn't mean any of it," he expresses sincerely.
"I don't want to keep fighting with you Jack," he sounds weary, as he turns to face Jack again.
"I know, neither do I and believe me I didn't come here looking for a fight," the ex-time agent says almost pleadingly. "I don't know what came over me, that was totally uncalled for, I was out of line," he admits albeit begrudgingly. "I just… I dunno," he looks for words to excuse his behaviour.
"I understand Jack, you feel Rhys is treading on your toes, but he is not," Jack gives him a sceptical look. "Well, not on purpose. At least I don't think so," he amends somewhat sheepishly.
"He just rubs me the wrong way, besides I thought he hated all things Torchwood, staff included," the older man reasons.
Ianto rolls his eyes, "It's not like we are best mates, but we can relate on some levels. And he doesn't hate everyone who works at Torchwood, he is quite alright with Tosh, and he's neutral about Owen, only because he doesn't know he had an affair with Gwen of course," he clarifies.
"So basically his beef is only with me, he just hates my guts alone," Jack says. "That is so unfair," he adds indignantly.
"Don't be so dramatic, is not like you really care what he thinks of you. You are not the easiest person in the world Jack, and you are well aware of other men's opinion of you…well of the men that aren't, ah…affected by your charm and aren't so, um… pheromones susceptible,"
Jack grins openly and waggles his brows at him.
Ianto glares "Pig," it makes the captain laugh. "All in all I'm the last frontier," Jack looks at him puzzled, "Don't get me wrong, he is sympathetic to my plight of having to put up with you," he teases. "But I think the way he really sees it is that if you are shagging me, if I shake my ass at you and keep you accordingly occupied and sated; then you won't put the moves on Gwen. He is afraid that if you do go after her she won't say no. It's a fear I can relate to; so we connect in some levels, misery loves company and all that nonsense," he explains as best as he can from where his relation with Rhys stems from.
He is grateful Jack doesn't try to save face. That he doesn't lie saying he'd never do that, or that it would never happen. 'Cause none of them can say that for sure. If things had been different; if Gwen had gone to Jack instead of Owen after Brecon Beacons, who is to say he wouldn't have fallen into bed with her then. There is no reassurance that if he hadn't been shagging with Ianto more or less steadily, the captain wouldn't have stormed the wedding and stolen the bride.
But those are pointless what ifs that never happened. What Jack is sure of is that things happened as they had and at this point in time he can't find it in himself to wish it had been any different.
"Oh so that's how it is," the ex-time agent tries to lift the mood "I'm sure you did your best to reassure him that you are more than capable to keep me distracted from jumping his missus," he says with a grin and a teasing arched brow.
Ianto laughs humourlessly "At the time I wasn't confident in my abilities to keep your attention; physically or otherwise," he admits eyes cast down. "I was pretty sure I had ruined what little reconciliation we had managed the other night,"
Jack frowns and without thought he stands up and walks around the island bench. He reaches for Ianto, his large hands tilting up the young man's chin.
"You didn't ruin anything, you gave me a wakeup call, put things in the right perspective for me. I needed some sense knocked into me and as always you delivered accordingly. Thank you and I'm sorry I made it so hard on you," Jack says sincerely, punctuating his apology by placing a chaste kiss on Ianto's lips.
At the contact all the hurt, the anger, the frustration melts away. Ianto's arms wind up around Jack's neck, and the older man takes it as an invitation to deepen the kiss.
They both moan into the kiss, the reverberations echoing down their throats, it makes Jack grin and Ianto shivers. Just what it is about this man, the archivist wonders. Why is it that his life only seems worthwhile when he is in the older man's presence? Why is it that a smile from Jack is the only persuasion he needs to do about anything? Why is it that a touch feels like the best reward he can receive for his troubles? The 51st century man has so much power over him, it frightens him.
When he is with Jack he is never in control, he always hands the reins to the older man. He trusts the captain implicitly and had been content with surrendering himself to Jack. Now, in light of the recent events he can't help but wonder if he has even a modicum of such power over Jack, is he needed as he needs, and is he trusted as he trusts?
Jack's relief at settling their dispute is now melting under the heat of passion, he revels in the feel of Ianto's mouth opening under his questing tongue, the hardness pressed against his own erection, the taunt globes of Ianto's arse under his kneading fingers. He is mentally debating whether to lift the younger man onto the counter behind him or climb with him onto the island table on the other side, when he feels something shift in Ianto.
The eager reciprocations lose their enthusiasm, Jack reasons that maybe the tea boy wants to take it slow; that is fine by him. Just as he tones down to a more languid pace Ianto's approach changes again. He starts to push Jack's tongue back, trying to turn tables and be the one to plunder the captain's mouth. Jack instinctively counters back, playfully parrying and blocking the insistent appendage. A frustrated growl is the only warning he gets before Ianto turns them around, pressing him against the counter. A nagging feeling itches at the back of the captain's mind, even as he uses his advantage in weight and height to drive the archivist back until he has the slighter man against the island table, bearing his weight forward Ianto has no option but to tilt his torso back and Jack gains the upper hand. He thrusts his tongue down Ianto's throat and grinds his hips against the tea boy's groin, dominating every aspect of the encounter with a triumphant grin.
The victory is short lived, however. Suddenly Ianto breaks away from the kiss and ducks out of Jack's reach.
"Ianto?" he asks hesitantly, puzzled as to what is happening.
The younger man's brow is furrow in a deep frown, panting slightly; he stares at the pseudo American with an apprising, almost searching look. But there is something else in his eyes, something raw, almost pleading. The slip is only fleeting, in the blink of an eye the gaze hardens into stern determination.
"Trust me," he says in a passion roughened voice.
It's a question, it's a demand, it's a plea, and so many other things that he can't begin to name. It has so many meanings that it involves every level of their interactions. It's a simple request that Jack finds he can't refuse and he doesn't want to. He had promised to be more receptive, to take into account Ianto's needs. Now, he realized, that commitment has to be done in and out of the sack and if Ianto wants to start to reassert his self-confidence in bed, well Jack is more than happy to oblige.
"I do," Jack replies simply with a firm nod, his eyes never wavering from Ianto's gaze. It's an answer, it's a compromise, it's a promise, and it's a yield.
The archivist approaches him hesitantly. This time Jack lets Ianto set the pace. When the younger man's tongue probes his lips, he parts them without resistance, when Ianto's arms wrap around him, he melts into the embrace. The willing surrender make the tea boy whimper in appreciation.
The 51st century man lets himself be guided through the flat into the bedroom and undressed. When Ianto pushes him, he falls into the bed without protest watching the younger man divest himself.
The archivist climbs over him; his touches are sure, steady, dominant, but not demanding. With startling clarity, Jack recognizes the intent behind the ministrations. The invading kisses, the insistent thigh wedged between his legs, the erection rutting against his hip, the solicitous hand that delves into the cleft of his arse. They are the caresses of a lover that seeks to claim his bed mate and for the first time in a hundred odd years Jack lets himself be taken.
Ianto hadn't been the penetrating partner during intercourse, since Lisa; his only lover afterwards has been Jack and the older man always topped. The Welshman had almost forgotten how it feels to thrust into unbearable heat, to be gripped in the overwhelming tightness of rippling muscles. To have a lover's legs wrapped around his waists urging him on, to feel nails scraping down his back as the one he thrusts into seeks to draw him in closer, deeper; to wrench passionate cries from his counterpart, as he drives him into pleasurable abandon. He has forgotten what is like to spill his semen into the living confines of another's body, instead of being milked by rough hands. To have his seed awash a thrumming passage, instead of cooling into a crust over his own belly.
It was an overwhelming sensual stimulation, but more than the physical relief, the mental elation was more gratifying. Jack had trusted him, had allowed himself to be in a vulnerable position and had placed his comfort and pleasure in Ianto's hands. The mere thought of it ignites Ianto's libido anew. Before any of them has climbed down from their orgasmic haze the tea boy starts to rekindle their desire, without intermission before the second act.
The experience is a reawakening for Jack, he is not a virgin in any aspect of sex, and he is far from celibate; but it's been over a century since the allowed another man to breach him. The only man he had been willing to be so vulnerable for was the Doctor, but the time lord had not been interested in getting into Jack's pants, nor to let the pseudo American into his, despite the ex-time agent's best efforts.
If he had recalled that being stretched and filled felt so good, that having his prostate rammed into until he exploded was so mind blowing. If he had remembered how liberating it was to just lie down and hang on while he was being ploughed into the mattress, he would've spread his legs for Ianto long before now.
The tea boy never ceased to amaze him. Up until then Ianto has been a subdued lover; not that he was passive, quite the contrary he always gave as good as he's got. He returns every touch, every kiss, every thrust he counters with one of his own, but he had always allowed the captain to lead.
Now though, Jack has learned that when Ianto holds the reins it's all he can do to hang on tight and keep up. The archivist is as considerate and efficient on both sides of the scale, as he took Jack he was ever aware of the older man's comfort and pleasure. He had been dominant but not rough or demanding. The whole act had been more about asserting his equality to Jack, rather than subduing the ex-time agent.
A point he drove home, to Jack's amazement, in their second go round where Ianto proved he is as good as topping from the bottom as he is at the actual pitching. Even with the captain buried to the hilt inside him, the younger man's control never wavered. The pace, the depth, the time of their climax, he commanded it all. As long as Jack was willing to relinquish, the archivist could control the reins even while lying flat on his back.
A/N: Chapter's title song is I Really Want You by James Blunt