fanfic - Torchwood - Sexual Harassment, 1/1
Summary: Jack has a different memory of Ianto's last kiss, but conversations rarely go as planned after midnight.
Author's Notes: Post-Countryside fic; it'll make no sense if you haven't seen the episode. Also, I have no idea what's actually advisable in the first twenty-four hours of a concussion, it just sounded good.
Disclaimer: Torchwood isn't mine, the characters aren't mine, and this is purely a work of fanfiction.
Pairing(s): Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG-13 (maybe PG-15, if you're squeamish about heavy flirtation and sex somewhere in the future)
Sexual Harassment
or
Conversations After Midnight
"Ianto."
His face as reassuringly blank as he could make it, the Welshman turned. Jack - who could sneak through the Hub in combat boots, and enjoyed doing so - had appeared at his elbow. The older man's hair had been combed back into order, the clothes he had worn out to the country exchanged for clean ones. Ianto didn't have to glance down to know that the gunpowder that had lingered between Jack's callouses through the drive back into Cardiff had finally been washed away, that the only traces of it which would remain would be on blue-grey wool cuffs. Though he'd been casual about it, the man who'd put a bullet in every last villager who dared threaten his team had cleaned, oiled, and re-loaded all their guns before they reached the city's limits.
Unlike his subordinates, he looked as unchanged as if their mission had simply been to warn off a ship of aliens looking for directions to Mars.
In a quiet corner of his mind, Ianto had been accumulating facts. Hints, impressions - tiny slips he doubted his colleagues had noticed, as brilliant as they were. He'd understood that he was working for a soldier almost from the first moment he'd joined Torchwood Three. Now, he wondered just who had trained the captain.
"I'd have thought you'd head home on time, after today," Jack continued, once their eyes had met. He felt his lips twitch in acknowledgement. It was almost becoming a competition, to see who could catch who out latest.
"I wanted to prepare a few things for tomorrow, before I stiffen up," he explained quietly. Of course, he was already feeling the aches the more-than-usually strenuous day gifted him, but he suspected that they would be even worse in the morning.
"How are you feeling now?"
He spared a thought to be glad he wasn't a physically communicative man. A shrug, while being exactly right for the situation, would have hurt.
"Like I was beaten by cannibals, knocked unconscious with the butt of a rifle, and tossed about various uncomfortable environments without the benefit of being able to catch myself," he summarized.
"Ah," the captain half-laughed. "Right. You don't give out metaphors, do you?"
"Rarely." His temple chose that moment to remind him how close he'd come to being concussed. "Was there something you wanted?"
Instead of taking the hint, Jack reached out and cupped his shoulder. The warmth of it felt good, bleeding away the ache his entire body hummed with almost as well as the limited drugs he'd taken had. The rather unmistakable pride in changeable eyes didn't hurt, either.
"You did well today, Ianto. I know field work doesn't come easily to you, but I wanted to tell you that. You kept your head, took your best chances, and stayed alive. Nobody could've done any better."
He smiled. It was false, of course - he'd made mistakes, his thinking and his reflexes both slowed with fear. But it was comforting.
"I think almost anybody could've done better." He very nearly smirked as that won a scowl. "But thank you."
"I've got to keep working on your self-esteem," the American groused. Then he pressed his hand closer, thumb rubbing gently over the curve of flesh it warmed. Gently, gently, he inched up, until the slightest brush of skin touched skin. Ianto swallowed.
"And here I thought understanding one's limitations was the key to surpassing them."
"Maybe."
Jack was closer, now, his eyes intent. The air between them was heavy - muted, smoldering desire mixed with secrets and history and pain. One face, sharper, more angular, written with an offer in the set of pale lips. The other, softer, less fey, reading...
And rejecting.
With an apologetic smile, though he hoped his eyes conveyed his thanks, Ianto stepped back. His companion huffed, shrugging a little, the offer fading from the moment without quite being rescinded.
"I was going to make myself some tea for the ride home. Would you like a cup?" he offered quietly.
"If we have milk and sugar."
"We do. Heathen."
"Purist."
They grinned.
"Did you eat dinner yet?"
"No, I was planning on heating up something simple when I got home," he mused. "Soup, probably."
"In that case, you should invite me home."
He blinked.
"I should -- "
"Invite me home," Jack suggested again. The younger man stared, then suddenly discovered himself saying,
"You're plotting something. And you have the facial expression of a six-year old planning mischief, while you do it."
"I have what?"
"The facial expression of... Nevermind."
"No, really. I look like a six-year old? Because that's disturbing on a whole system of levels that don't usually apply."
How did he get into these conversations?
"You don't look like a six-year old," he endeavoured to explain. "It's simply that that - that expression of yours wouldn't look out of place on a six-year old who was planning something mischievous."
They stared at each other while the kettle steamed.
"Ianto, did they give you really good drugs when I wasn't looking?"
"I'm not drugged!" he huffed. "If anything, it's time I took another dose."
That sobered his boss, and concern returned to blue eyes.
"Here, I can at least finish the tea. And let me drive you home, Ianto. I'll even cook dinner, I promise."
He nodded, stepping back to make room.
"I'm not as badly off as all that, but if you're seeking an excuse to putter about in an actual kitchen, you're welcome to mine," he murmured. "Though I must ask - can you cook without poisoning both of us?"
Jack snorted.
"I've lived on my own for years, of course I can cook."
"Forgive me for doubting you," he replied, his expression virtually unchanged. "It must be the way you make coffee that deceived me."
"Now there is nothing wrong with my coffee," Jack protested teasingly. He handed over a mug of golden tea, busily adding about half the sugar bowl to his own.
"Except that nobody else can drink it."
"Who's to say that's not intentional?"
He chuckled, acknowledging the hit.
Despite the pain in his body, he felt light and warm and loved. There had been many nights when the two of them had teased and flirted with each other, more before Lisa's catastrophic return, and it felt good to return to that. He missed her - but it was like living with the pain of an amputated limb. He knew, logically, that he would grow to miss her less and less with time, that the pain would fade. He wasn't sure he wanted it to. As things stood, it looked as though he might still build himself a pleasant life. Jack was nobody's prosthetic, and the sexually-charged friendship between them could never be a replacement for the love he'd known with her, but it could be something new. Precious, not for its strength, but for its inherent transience.
"And will you intentionally use my kitchen to cook something only you could stomach?" he returned, remembering their conversation. His friend snorted.
"The way you go on, you'd think I wasn't a nice guy."
"You're very nice. But you still make coffee that peels the paint off of the ceiling."
"Hmph. Maybe I won't drive you home. Maybe I'll kidnap you and take you back to my place, where I can force-feed you until you concede that I'm a good cook."
He winced.
"No kidnapping, please. I'm easily lured by chocolate."
"Alright. I'll lay a trail of kisses to my door," the older man conceded, grinning wildly. Ianto blinked, his brain oscillating rapidly between pleasure and confusion, until he remembered the other meaning of 'kiss'.
"Not my favourites," he managed to stammer out. Jack frowned, obviously wondering where his mind had gone, and he restrained a blush. It probably would've been disguised under the bruises, but he saw no reason to take chances.
"Ah. Speaking of..." His friend trailed off, looking momentarily stymied. He raised an eyebrow, hoping the conversation would soon go another way. This particular subject had already become a little treacherous.
"Speaking of?" he prompted.
"Something I'd actually rather talk to you about somewhere with fewer cameras, actually," the captain decided. "And that wasn't a come-on."
His eyebrow went back up. Jack shrugged.
"Not mainly, anyway. Done your tea?"
A little startled, he nodded, stood, and let himself be led away from the table without clearing up.
------
Outside the window, Cardiff's streets rolled by in a stream of dim lights and damp pavement. Ianto watched, absently smiling at the snatches of melody Jack hummed. He was quite a good singer, and somewhere he'd picked up a liking for older tunes. For the younger man, it was a little like finding someone who'd shared his mother's recipe for brandy pudding - bittersweet and familiar.
"You are taking me to your place," he observed after a while. His companion finished the line he'd been on, then paused.
"Not a problem, is it?"
"Not really, no," he conceded. There had been something in that tone... An echo of the concern his captain had displayed for them all before, perhaps, softened by the night.
"Good. I can just imagine what's in your kitchen."
"It's perfectly sufficient for my needs."
"Yeah, right. Let's just say I know you a little too well to fall for that one," Jack snickered.
He sighed. Their games normally amused him, but he was a starting to really hurt, and the jostling of the car wasn't helping. He suspected his captain knew that, and was driving particularly gently because of it, but he was still feeling every bump. Both men were silent for a moment.
"Try not to think about the pain."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Pain's easier to take if you don't think about it too much," his companion murmured. He'd dropped his tone, his tenor voice lowering to brush against the Welshman's ears. "Just concentrate on something else. Me, maybe."
He smiled.
"And this mysterious conversation you want to have away from C.C.T.V?"
"Mmm. How about thinking about what it would feel like for me to give you a massage? Work on a couple of those kinks of yours..."
This time, he laughed.
"Careful, sir. Sexual..."
"Harrassment, I know." The older man winked at him. "Someday, you're going to let me get away with that."
"Someday, sir, you're going to stop propositioning me at work."
"That's not going to happen, Ianto. You're just too adorable, all buttoned down and proper. Makes me want to muss you up. Besides." Ianto flushed, but met his eyes again. "This isn't work."
He swallowed. The way Jack was looking at him, eyes warm and promising and... He could feel his muscles loosening, blood stirring under his skin, heat pooling beneath his gut. From the first day they'd met, this teasing, easy man had flirted with him, and every time he'd felt his body respond, yet he'd turned away. At first, it had been Lisa, and then...
Well, he'd watched his boss seduce half of Cardiff, and it stung his pride to be merely another in the line.
"No, it's not," he said clearly. That clear blue gaze sharpened, measuring him. He stared back, too tired to be gentle with his response. "Tell me, sir, is there any way I can convince you to turn your flirtations elsewhere?"
He knew his mistake almost as soon as he'd said it. Jack Harkness, albeit a consummate liar himself, hated having his subordinates be less than honest with him. And that request was nowhere near as heartfelt as it should have been, despite the pain he was in, despite his knowing that stealing a co-worker's crush would lead only to yet another fracture in the team.
He didn't want Jack to ignore him. He simply didn't want to change what few friendships he had. But measuring looks had changed to anger as quickly as they had changed from promises, and blue eyes were rather resembling steel. He bit back a hiss as the car wheeled into a parking spot and jerked to a stop.
"You don't want me to stop asking you, Ianto Jones. Don't even try to make me believe you do."
"I..."
"I know you, Ianto!"
"I know! I... I know," he husked. "I didn't mean that."
He waited, wondering if that would be enough, when his bruises burned and his head ached. Apparently it was, because his friend's expression softened again, and he barely felt the car sigh as the engine was cut off.
"I know." He closed his eyes in gratitude, and so missed seeing the gentle hand that reached out to caress his cheek. "Now let's get you inside. You're pretty banged up."
"Jack..." He felt the warm pressure of a fingertip cross his mouth, and he smiled despite himself. "Thank you for that rather succinct summary of my injuries."
"You're welcome."
They'd made it up into the elevator before either spoke again. Jack's arm, uninvited, was warm around his waist. He hadn't objected to the prop. Nor had his companion objected when he'd stood just an inch closer, nestling into the heat of a stronger body.
They broke apart along the walk to his host's apartment, but only far enough for their fingers to touch. Ianto waited until they were well inside, Jack having bundled him into a tattered recliner and returned to the kitchen, before turning his thoughts back to the promised conversation.
"Now, what was it that you couldn't tell me where the cameras might overhear?"
The American winced, almost imperceptibly, and shook his head.
"Is it actually starting to bother you, for me to flirt at work?"
He blinked, startled. It was a fairly unexpected question, at least from his point of view, and he didn't know quite where it would go. Still - this was Jack, and it would go somewhere.
"The situation has changed from what it was a few months ago," he hedged, considering the question. His host sauntered into the doorway and waited there, frowning a little. "I know you're not oblivious to the way Gwen feels about you. It strikes me that, considering that, and the relations between her, and Owen, and Tosh, it might be a good idea not to make matters worse."
Jack snorted.
"Gwen has a boyfriend."
"Which won't stop her from going to Owen," he pointed out. "It will only further complicate matters."
"Tosh will survive it."
"It's not actually Tosh I'm concerned for."
"And it's not Tosh I'm concerned for," Jack rejoined, irritated. "Ianto..."
"Haven't I done enough to damage Torchwood?" he snapped. Immediately, he flushed and dropped his eyes. There had been no need to remind Jack of that, not after - as he'd so sadly discovered - his teammates had virtually forgotten.
"No. No, God, Ianto, you haven't..." The melodic tenor choked off, and suddenly his friend was leaning over him, his hands hovering uncertainly. "Ianto. You didn't damage Torchwood. You scared me."
His eyes jerked up of their own accord at that, and Jack slipped a hand around the back of his neck. The steel-blue eyes met his earnestly, so pleadingly that he felt his own eyes go wet.
"I nearly lost you. I'm not nearly ready to say goodbye," he heard, in a whisper too fierce to ignore. "Not to you."
"I didn't come anywhere close to dying, Jack," he murmured back, unable to keep from leaning into that touch. This whole evening was nothing like he'd expected, nothing to do with what he'd planned. And now his friend was wincing, leaning back on his haunches, his hands trailing down to rest between his knees.
"You came closer than I guess you realize."
The silence stretched between them. Slowly, Ianto leaned back. Jack sighed and stood, walking over to the window and staring blankly out.
"When I woke up, I thought I'd only passed out. It's..."
"You hit your head. I should've realised your memories would be a bit fuzzy. I mean, I did, but not until..."
"Is this part of what you wanted to discuss with me? Away from the cameras?"
Again, he waited. As he concentrated on those moments, he could almost remember. Cold hardness behind him, but the heat of a body pressed along his length. Furious eyes holding him silent, and the brand of a mouth bruising his.
"I nearly drowned, didn't I?"
Frustrated, Jack shook his head.
"Yesterday, when Gwen started that damned game of hers... You said that Lisa was the last person you'd kissed. Well, Ianto, unless I missed something pretty big, that's not true. I was. I--"
"Kissed me," he interrupted, wanting that angry tone to be still. He could almost feel his friend's impatience, humming between them. Drawing in a ragged breath, he gathered his composure. His head was spinning, but it could wait. This - This couldn't. "Why?"
"Because sometimes people who are dying don't die when I kiss them."
"And this is cause and effect?"
"Look, I don't understand how it works any better than you do," Jack growled, spinning back on him. "But it does. Ask one of the others how Carys reacted to me. Hell, for that matter, shoot me. I don't die. It rubs off on people, but not enough to keep them with me. Not enough to..."
Even befuddled by pain medication and exhausted by his injuries, Ianto couldn't ignore that. Ignoring his body's protests at the move, he stood and walked over to the older man. Close enough to touch, or be touched, depending on what was needed.
"What happened?" His friend shook his head. "Sir, are you saying that you cannot die?"
"Haven't found anything that can kill me yet, anyway," Jack admitted, a wry look crossing his face. "Not that I haven't come close, myself. Don't worry, I've kissed people before, I know for damned sure that I haven't cursed you with this, too."
"But you know you'll outlive us all." Then again, they worked for Torchwood. "Probably."
His brain shivered with adrenaline. The outdated clothing, the effortless grasp on a gun, Gotta love this century...
"When were you born?" The older man let out a choked sound. Animal, not human - shock and belief and mourning. He softened his voice, letting the crushing his larynx had taken roughen his tones and offer implicit sympathy. "You're out of your time, aren't you? My God, cariad, for how long?"
Jack turned to him, his head ducked low, and shoved into his shoulder. He gasped silently, the pain unexpected after the older man's gentleness before. But his own hands were firm as they rubbed up over shuddering ribs. Solid and no-nonsense and comforting.
"1869. I landed then - couldn't get back - he'll know, but..."
"But you've been wandering about since 1869, waiting for someone to explain all this to you," Ianto concluded simply. He had a feeling it would be far more odd if he knew the details, but for now all he could think was that it finally explained some of Harkness' more peculiar habits, and it'd be easier to sort out the old personnel files now that he knew what to look for.
After a while, he realized that Jack had gone silent.
"You never intended to tell us, did you?"
"No."
"I'd prefer if you refrained from dosing me with retcon anyway, Sir. It tends to react badly with the painkillers I've taken, and I don't want to be scrubbing vomit out of my carpets tomorrow."
"Trust me, Ianto, your life will not be made simpler by knowing about me. It'll be just one more secret to -"
Smiling a little, he laid a hand across the regretful expression facing him.
"I hid a partially-converted cyberman from all of you in the Hub's basement, and the price that would have to be paid from myself. I spend a fair portion of my days successfully directing lost tourists away from anything likely to eat them, and I've already had to alter the files kept on you twice to keep Tosh and Owen from deciding you make a habit of wandering through the rift and winding up in strange places. I believe I am more than capable of hiding the exact details of your situation."
Jack blinked.
"You deal with tourists? Do I pay you for that?"
"I consider it as one of my general duties, Sir. Misdirection and concealment, and whatnot."
"Right. Someday, I've really gotta remember to give you a raise." The Welshman heroically resisted offering to leave him a reminder. It'd only get lost, anyway. Jack was staring at him steadily, though, so he gazed back, as unruffled as ever. "Are you sure you want to keep my secrets for me?"
"Quite, Sir," he answered. There was probably more being said than he guessed. Jack's speeches often had the delicious irony of meaning ten different and often contradictory things, most of which you could only come to understand by fucking things up.
"No retcon, then. Just..."
He probably should've expected something somewhat more lascivious, but his friend only brushed a fingertip over the brusing on his jaw and kissed him between his eyes. His heart thudding painfully in his chest, he returned the gesture.
"Where I'm really from, people do that sometimes, to promise to take care of each other."
He huffed in amusement. Knowing Jack as he did, he'd now be the sole target for even more unbelievable stories.
"Where I'm from, men don't generally go around kissing each other unless they're already taking care of each other," he retorted. His friend gaped, then laughed, far louder than needed, throwing his shoulders back with his head and sounding a thousand times more like himself than he usually did.
"Just when I think I know you, Ianto, you pop up with something like that."
"Part of my charm, Jack. Now, if you're satisfied that we've solved the current crop of idiocies plaguing the universe, I believe you promised me dinner."
"I've promised you a hell of a lot more than that," Jack purred, winking. He rolled his eyes.
"I believe you'll find me a lot more malleable to your whims when I'm well fed."
"With chocolate."
That needed to be squashed. Immediately.
"Chocolate," he began quellingly, "is a desert. Not a dinner."
"And a sex toy?"
He hesitated.
"Sometimes."
Grinning crookedly again, his companion stroked his back a few times, then manoeuvered him gently back into his chair. Jack's chair. He settled in, feeling it warm to his back, soothing his aches in a way that reminded him remarkably of his sometimes-suitor.
"You have very comfortable furniture, you know."
"That's why I chose it. You look good there."
At that, he had to laugh.
"Bruised and swollen, and in these clothes? I'm terrified that might be reflective of your taste."
"Well, out of those clothes would be better..."
He shivered. Sometimes, that sweet voice could hit just precisely the right pitch, curling into his entrails. Then his bones would turn to liquid and run with his blood, beneath the goosebumps on his skin. Blue eyes darkened, cataloguing his reaction, and he felt his breath catch. Jack was leaning over him, one thumb laying innocently next to his arm, driving him mad. Another inch, and they would touch, not teasingly, this time, but full on, mouths possessing mouths, and their hands would join in, bodies pushing against each other because that was how it would go, the first time he gave in, hard and heavy and need denied too long to be as teasing as it pretended.
"Sexual..."
"If you say harassment," his Harkness growled, "I will strangle you myself."
He swallowed.
"Sexual relations are considered inadvisable for the first twenty-four hours of a concussion."
Jack glowered. He grinned, and deliberately leaned in, ready to throw away every year of that EMT's expertise on kisses every bit as drugging as codeine.
"You're right."
"What?"
Obviously hard, his face flushed and his eyes burning, the older man stepped away.
"Right now, you're hurt. So we wait. Because this time, you didn't say harassment, which means that next time..."
His throat ached as much with dryness as injury now. Still, he wet his lips and prompted,
"Next time?"
"The next time I come on to you, we're going to be using furniture even more comfortable than that chair, and you will be completely well, and I am going to make you come so hard so many different ways you're going to find out what it feels like to lose your spine."
He considered that. And, knowing Jack, found himself unable to hold back the rejoinder,
"You believe you'll be able to wait that long?"
"Well, we'll find out, now won't we?" Harkness replied smugly. He shrugged, this time keeping the movement within the limits his body now gave him.
"I expect, Sir, that we shall."