Commentfic Roundup

[nancybrown]

In lieu of new content, I bring old content in a new form! (Also, cutting and pasting is fairly easy.) I have finally updated my fic master list, with summaries and ratings to make the porn easier to find.

***
Title: Until Midnight
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto, Owen, Tosh, Gwen/Suzie
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Spoilers: hooker!AU, shoddy presentation of real-world sex work
Summary: Lisa's dead, and Ianto is bleeding.
AN: Written for twclssckinkmeme, prompt: "AU rentboy fic where Jack is the one for sale"


He ought to be dead. It's Ianto's first thought when he wakes up in the morning and he hasn’t been shot or Retconned. It haunts him as he goes through his morning routine, unable to think about anything else but washing his body (the bloodstains are still under his nails) and finding a clean suit (he put the old one in a black bin bag, it's still sitting in a sad heap in his kitchen) and making his breakfast (he has to step over the bag in his good leather shoes but this is easier than acknowledging what's inside).

He ought to be dead but he isn't. Torchwood London would have had him executed. As he listens to the scrape of butter on his toast, he hears the clicks of the firearms being raised to shoulders, and his first bite is as loud as a retort.

He vomits up the rest, making it to the loo barely in time.

Lisa is dead, and Ianto ought to be dead.

He takes the bag to the skip, and without anything better to do, he goes to work, where Owen gives him a full physical and asks him patently stupid questions off his clipboard about how depressed he is and if he has considered harming himself.

'Owen, why am I still alive?'

Owen's eyes drift down to the sheet. He's angry at Ianto, let the jab of the hypodermic speak for himself earlier, but there's another expression lurking under the contempt.

'Honestly, the only thing I can figure is that Suzie's still trying to get into Gwen's knickers, and she's impressing her with her kindness by not blowing your fucking head off.'

Both heads turn to glance at the window of Suzie's office, where their possibly-insane and certainly mysterious leader looks over reports. Gwen is in the room with her, wearing her favourite mien of righteousness and Suzie is smiling indulgently back.

That could be the explanation, Ianto reckons.

'Shame about your girl,' Owen says, in unexpected kindness, which he covers with a gruff clearing of his throat. 'You're healthy. If we had a mental health plan in place, I'd send your arse to therapy in a flat minute, but we don't.'

'So just get over it?' He wants to laugh, and can't.

Owen nods, head bobbing unusually. 'You'll figure it out. And if you don't, don't make a mess when you top yourself.'

Ianto considers telling Owen he has the worst bedside manner on the planet, but it's not worth the argument. Instead he goes about his day, cleaning, revising reports, keeping his head down, trying not to think.

Towards the end of the day, after Toshiko has been and gone with a kind cup of tea, he finds a folded note on his desk. In Owen's scrawl is a telephone number, and a curt, 'It might help.'

Suicide hotline? Sex chat? Owen's ugly cousin Lenore? He drops the note into his desk drawer and doesn't think about it for two days. He keeps to his routine. Unfortunately, his routine includes frequent trips to the basement to check on someone who is no longer there. In the afternoon while he is restocking the new shipment of medicines, he casually sets aside the extra doses of morphine that he always ordered, and it isn't until after he's put the rest away that he realises what he was doing.

Lisa is dead. Suzie won't make eye contact with Ianto. But her hands linger overlong on Gwen's arm as they speak.

Ianto dials the number Owen gave him. He's rehearsed what he'll say: fiancée killed in a crash, work impossible to deal with but covered by a contract he cannot break. Instead of a hotline, a woman's voice answers the phone, and tells him he's called a dating service. About three sentences into the conversation, Ianto understands 'dating' is a euphemism for 'escort.'

He stutters through an apology and hangs up and curses Owen.

The next day, Tosh calls in sick with a cold, Suzie is unbearably loud, and Owen is absolutely a bastard the entire day. Gwen would be the nice one if she weren't still watching Ianto with that open look of pity mixed with fear. Things come to a head when the generator in the basement turns temperamental again, and Owen flat out accuses him of hiding another Cyberman in an adjoining room.

Ianto calls the escort service that night, more than a little drunk, far more than a little angry. When he's sober, when he's not in so much pain, he feels a sharp pity of his own for the women driven into this profession, but tonight he doesn't want to care.

'You're set for tomorrow evening,' says the pleasant woman on the phone, and Ianto bursts out in a laugh.

'Tomorrow?'

'I've booked you from six PM until midnight.'

His eyebrows go up. 'I was looking for something more immediate.'

'Sir, we only provide the highest quality dates. Payment is on a sliding scale, so you needn't worry about the length of the date.' She sounds happy, almost therapeutic in her own fashion.

Angry and bewildered, Ianto rings off and staggers into his bedroom, where he indulges in an unhappy wank before falling asleep. The next day is slow and awful, and he keeps shooting looks at the clock. Tosh is back, and she manages to smile his way, but his thoughts are taken up with what's going to happen tonight.

Unable to keep the secret any longer, he tells Owen in the late afternoon, 'I called.'

Owen's face contorts into a number of interested expressions. 'Well, don't tell me about it. I never want to picture your naked arse.'

'I just. I don't know what to expect.'

Owen shrugs. 'You tell them why you're there. They figure out what you need. Like I said, don't tell me about it.' And he slumps off.

At half five Suzie lets them go. Ianto is out the door like he's on fire. He drives directly to the address he was given on the telephone, and arrives over fifteen minutes early. He's not sure what the protocol is, and decides to go inside. They can always tell him to go somewhere else. A bell jingles as he opens the windowless door, so incongruous to his expectations that he almost walks out again.

The room is darkly panelled in wood, with three good chairs for waiting, and a spread of current magazines. An old-fashioned desk sits at the far end of the room, and the woman behind it is middle-aged, blonde wash, gone to plump and friendly, like a Sunday school teacher. 'Help you, love?'

He clears his throat. 'I, ah, have an appointment. Six o'clock.'

Her friendly smile grows. 'All right. The base payment is one hundred pounds. You'll be working out the rest with your date.' House take. Of course. God, he's at a brothel, negotiating for a whore. When did this become his life?

His fingers are numb as he takes the notes from his wallet. She counts them efficiently and does not offer a receipt. 'Through that door, room two.'

'Thanks.' He's already half-hard, thinking about this. They haven't discussed his tastes, or his desires. He expected more, still expects someone to come along, concierge-like, and offer him a menu: blondes, gingers, Asian, Japanese. If there's a blue plate special, Ianto is going to walk out.

The second room is the size of a small hotel room, and barely more personal. There's a king-sized bed, a dresser with a sorted display of condoms and lubricants, and a bucket with fresh ice and a bottle chilling. He should refuse anything to drink, because he'll assuredly be drugged and possibly poisoned. On the other hand, does he really care?

He sits on the edge of the bed. His watch says he has five more minutes to wait when the door opens. A handsome man comes into the room, all muscle and swagger and devilish grin in his tight jeans and tank top. This will of course be the owner of the establishment, or the bouncer, here to threaten him and ask what kind of girl he wants.

'Hello there,' the man says, holding out a hand. Ianto shakes it automatically. 'And you are?'

'Ianto,' he says, and knows he should have brought a fake name with him.

'Ianto,' repeats the man. He's got an American accent, and flattens the sounds. 'Good Welsh name. What brings you here tonight?'

He tries not to tremble. 'My fiancée died. Um. A few months ago. I didn't really understand until earlier this week.' True. 'I just want to forget for a while. My co-worker gave me the number here.'

'Your co-worker? Sounds like an interesting office.'

Ianto considers today's tasks, the dead bodies he's had to carry, the complex lies he's created to cover even more complex truths. 'It can be.'

'We're pretty interesting here too,' says the man with a smile that suggests Ianto ought to grin with him at the joke. This one is an artist, Ianto thinks, fantastic at getting into someone's head. Owen is right: he'll be able to find someone Ianto can lose himself in.

Then the man steps closer and his hands come around Ianto's face and he presses his mouth against his. Ianto is shocked into the kiss, mouth adjusting naturally as the stranger's tongue dips inside to brush against his teeth. One hand stays at his chin, the other wraps around the back of his head, stroking warm fingers into Ianto's hair as he sighs.

It's been so long since the last time Ianto was snogged this way that his brain doesn't kick in for a long, wet moment. All he registers are the strong hands and the lean body pressed against him, and the teasing nips that taste very faintly of coffee. He pulls back. 'Wait.'

The man is out of breath, resting against Ianto's forehead. 'Okay. Waiting.'

'I didn't request a male escort.'

'I requested you. I saw your file. We provide the experience you need, and you, Mr Jones, require a lot of experience.' He bends in for another kiss, but Ianto pulls away sharply.

'How do you know my name?'

The man says, 'We research our clients thoroughly. It keeps us all safe.'

Research? Ianto has conducted hundreds of background checks, assisted by Torchwood technology. He pictures this brothel with not only his name, but his credit and medical history.

'Everything is kept strictly confidential,' says the man, and his hand is at Ianto's waist. 'You won't be compromised in any way, and neither will we.'

This is crazy, and he should leave. This is crazy, and he should know better. This is ... 'I'm not gay,' Ianto says. 'Sorry.'

'Neither am I. I consider myself a people person.' He bends closer. 'And I mean all people, including the ones from way out of town.' His voice sends shivers down Ianto's spine, and he wonders just how thorough the background check was. 'You need this. If you don't want it, the door's right there.'

He should walk away.

He should also be dead.

He grabs the man by the shoulders, and draws him in for another kiss. It's weird, a little, but kissing is kissing, and Lisa hasn't been able to kiss him like this in months, and Lisa is dead. 'What do I call you?'

'Pick a name,' the man says between kisses.

'I get to name you? Seems a big responsibility. How about Leroy?'

The man laughs into his mouth. 'Leroy?'

'Or Chester. It's got a ring to it.'

'Call me Jack.'

Their mouths tangle together again, and this time, it's right, it's just right. Jack's not gentle but he is pliant, letting Ianto push into his mouth, letting his hands grab for purchase on Jack's waist. A moment later, they've managed to sit down on the yielding bed, still kissing, and Jack's hands are on the buttons to Ianto's waistcoat. This isn't bad, this will be fine. A kiss is a kiss, and a mouth's a mouth. He's got six hours but he only wants about ten more minutes.

'How much for oral?'

Jack keeps kissing him. 'Depends. Am I sucking you off or are you sucking me?'

The image appears to him seared across his brain, his own mouth open and filled with a heavy, musky cock. Ianto shakes it away. 'You sucking me.' His cock twitches at the promise.

'Twenty. Thirty if you don't want to wear a condom.'

'I'm clean.'

'I didn't ask you if you weren't.' Then they are too busy kissing and petting to discuss. Ianto's clothes are rapidly hitting the floor, and he pulls Jack's t-shirt over his head to get at a hard expanse of chest. He smells of some fantastic aftershave and his neck tastes of cocoa butter and sweat. Jack's teeth rake across one earlobe, sending more shivers down Ianto's back.

They are shifting, bodies moving on the bed as Ianto's trousers and pants are discarded. Jack isn't wearing anything under his jeans. Up close now, Ianto feels his cock touch the other man's, smooth and sensitive. Jack wraps his hand around them both and it's fucking perfect.

'Oh, like that do you?'

'Still not gay.'

'That's your hang up? You people.' There's a fond sigh in the words, and the hand lets go, with a barely-caught mutter about 'labels.' Jack rolls off the bed and gets a condom. 'Any allergies I should know about?'

'Strawberries.'

'Banana-flavoured it is.' Jack rolls the condom neatly onto Ianto's dick, as if he does this all the time. A moment later, warmth envelops him, muffled only with the feel of the sheath covering his dick. Ianto moans.

Jack makes a happy sound and gets to work, relaxing his throat and taking Ianto in deep. It's good, it's so much better than his hand ever could be. He grabs Jack's hair with one hand, holds onto the rich burgundy duvet with the other.

He mutters, 'Fuck,' and 'Like that.' Last night, he'd pictured a dark-haired woman, pictured fucking her mouth. He could do that now, take hold and just go. A mouth is a mouth, but this is a gorgeous, hot mouth giving every impression of enjoying the blow job almost as much as Ianto is. It's a show, he chides himself, put on to make the client feel more important. Owen probably gets off on that part as much as the sex itself.

Mental images of Owen give him pause. The mouth stops. 'Something wrong?' Jack continues to work his hands.

'No.' Pushing away any possible thoughts of Owen's scrawny body, Ianto grabs Jack's head with both hands and guides him back where he wants him. Jack wraps a large hand around the base and begins sucking hard, Ianto comes with a groan, filling the condom with a sticky mess.

While he lays back, delirious and content, Jack pulls off the condom, knots it, and discards it in the bin. He's still hard. Ianto's not sure of the protocol. Putting the money on the nightstand seems cliché. Does he make an offer to help the man with his hard on? Probably not.

He's just had sex with a prostitute. He's just had sex with a male prostitute. Who is watching him with an amused smile. 'You're welcome.'

'Thanks.'

Jack gets up from the bed, pulls the bottle out of the ice bucket, and digs around until he comes up with two small bottles of water. 'Thirsty?'

Ianto nods, and Jack tosses him one, then cracks open the other, draining it in a few swallows. 'They call it banana, but it's always that fake banana taste.' He slides back into the bad, where Ianto plays with his bottled water instead of drinking it. 'You haven't had good bananas until you've had one from the grove on Villengard.' Jack glances at him. 'That's not drugged, by the way.'

'Right.' Ianto takes a drink. The water is cold and sweet, and does not taste at all like bananas. 'I should go. How do we do this, then?'

Jack looks around the room. 'We've got this place until midnight. You can leave if you want. I'll be here.' He flops his head down, looking as comfortable as if this is his own bedroom.

'Is this your room?' The walls are painted a similar burgundy to the sheets, with the same wood panelling as the waiting room, and small paintings with gaudy gold-flake frames dot around the room. A thick curtain covers the lone window, barring even a peep of light from outside. Lamps with Tiffany shades adorn the tables, casting their coloured glow on the white ceiling like a spell. Ianto cannot picture someone living here but he can picture this man selecting each item, turning them over in his hands to assess how well they coordinate with the rest.

'I like this one the best, but no. I don't live here. None of us do.'

'Are there a lot of workers here?'

'Are you a cop?'

'I was just curious.'

'People come and go. Two of the women have been here for about ten years. The rest are newer than that. We've had to fire guys in the past for theft or drugs. Can't do that kind of thing and stay a respectable business, so we're down on people right now.'

'Respectable?'

Jack fixes him with a flat stare. 'We exchange services for a fair price, like any other business. We pay taxes like everyone else.'

Ianto is the primary form-filler and tax-negotiator for Torchwood Cardiff. He tries picturing the Sunday school teacher in the outer office processing the forms for the government's share of his blow job. 'Sorry. I didn't mean to impugn your business.'

'Apology accepted.'

It dawns on Ianto that Jack is in fact taking it very personally. 'Is this some kind of cooperative arrangement? All the workers united, sort of thing?'

'No.' Jack's hand wanders, if such a term can be used on a motion that is clearly intentional, down to Ianto's groin, and with a practised hand, he begins to stroke. It's a distraction.

'We're done,' Ianto reminds him.

The hand stops. 'All right. I could give you a massage. I'm very good at them.'

It's been even longer since the last time he had a massage, and Ianto nods without thinking too hard. He lets Jack coax him onto his stomach, pillows propping him in the right places. He's completely naked in bed with a man who has just sucked him off. Part of him is suddenly shy about this.

'Relax.'

Ianto rests his face on his folded arms and waits. A minute later, warmth spills on his back, followed by two strong hands. The oil smells faintly of peppermint, and tingles as Jack's fingertips dig into stressed muscles. He doesn't comment on the scars.

Ianto has spent months in hiding and fear. His heart is a shattered mess. Lisa has been dead for less than a week, or she has been dead since they left London, and Ianto doesn't know which. He knows he has lost her, has lost himself and his own soul in his attempt to save her. His actions have cost one man's life and nearly got a girl killed whose only crime was being assigned the wrong pizza run. Owen treated her and gave her the amnesia pills, but he says she may never walk again. All that guilt coils inside Ianto's head, squeezes knots into his body. Jack slowly loosens each one. The guilt remains, but the pain lessens.

Never once do Jack's hands go below Ianto's waist. Ianto is aware of Jack's weight, carefully spread not to dig into Ianto's body. Comforted, Ianto starts drifting asleep to the peppermint smell and the calming movement of hands. He is aware of time passing, perhaps half an hour, under the gentle pressure. It's the longest time anyone has spent caring for him in longer than he can remember.

When Jack finally moves away, Ianto turns his head to watch him settle again beside him. 'Thank you.'

'If you're going to keep the stressful job, you ought to look into some kind of stress relief. Hypertension will kill you.'

'I don't think that will be an issue.'

'Not everyone at Torchwood dies young.'

Ianto tenses all over again and stares at him. 'Excuse me?'

'Background check. Told you. Anyway, don't flatter yourselves that it's a secret. Anyone who's been in Cardiff any length of time knows about Torchwood.'

Ianto takes in Jack's American accent. 'You've been in Cardiff long?'

'Long enough.' He rolls over. 'I've been waiting here to meet up with someone.' He looks at Ianto. 'I've run into Torchwood a few times.'

It occurs to Ianto this man may have just admitted he's an alien. Ianto decides he doesn't care much. 'I hate them, I think. I hate what they've turned me into.'

'So leave.'

'That's not an option.'

'It's always an option.'

He pictures leaving, starting over. He owes it to the people he's let down to keep going, but honestly, if he dies here tonight, there's not a soul he works with who will mourn him for more than a day or two. Perhaps that is the punishment, to go on even when no one else gives a damn if he goes on or not.

He bends into Jack for a demanding kiss. This is about putting his head back together. He'll never let go of this guilt but he can learned to live with it. Jack's mouth agrees with him, open and soft, letting Ianto guide the kiss. No more coffee taste, not more than the faintest taste of fake bananas, Jack is sweet, and his hands cradle Ianto's face tenderly. He's a sublime actor, and Ianto needs a lie tonight.

'How does this work?' Ianto asks seriously. His dick is hard against Jack's side. He wants more. And they have this room until midnight.

'That depends on you. What do you want?' His lips trace the curve of Ianto's neck. He's agreeable, not guiding but accepting.

'What's on offer?'

'You're not interested in the full list.'

'Try me.'

Jack's laugh is low, promising, and dirty. 'I could blow you. You could blow me. My tongue up your arse, teasing you until you scream. My fingers in there. My whole hand.' Seeing Ianto's face he says, 'You'd like it. It's off the list for you to fist me until I know you've got more experience under your belt. I have to work tomorrow night. You can fuck me. I can fuck you. You can fuck me with a dildo shoved in your arse. I can fuck you while you jerk off into a rubber pussy. We can jerk off into it together, our dicks lined up together like sardines. I can bind you so you can't come, and torment you for hours while you beg me to let you pop. You can strap me down and do the same to me, if you're into the power instead of the pleasure.' He punctuates the word with a sharp bite. 'I can pee on you, by request. I can humiliate you like a dog. You can treat me like an insect. Suck your toes. Let you watch me masturbate. I've got a swing, straps and ropes, sensation oils and blindfolds. There's an artificial sheep in the back room if you're interested. Animatronic,' he adds with a touch of pride. 'For an extra charge, I invite a friend to join us, and we have all that fun together.' He waves an arm vaguely towards the front. 'Elise up front is the best dominatrix in County Glamorgan.'

Ianto pictures the Sunday school teacher cum receptionist in black leather. He pictures her with a blindfold and a filthy smile, a fake sheep at her feet. 'That's quite a list.'

Jack rolls over on top of Ianto. His body is heavy and warm, and he's hard, flush against Ianto's dick. 'That's the short list. You don't strike me as someone who wants to be punched in the face or have your balls tortured. What do you want?'

'I want to forget.' He thinks of Annie's dull eyes. 'Just for tonight.'

'Pain or pleasure?'

He's had enough pain. 'Pleasure.'

'Top or bottom?'

Ianto's eyes widen. 'Top. Definitely top.'

'Your call. First time with a guy, right?' Ianto nods. 'Any toys?'

He has trouble making his mouth work, and stutters out. 'Ca--can I try the rubber pussy?'

Jack's grin broadens. 'It's a good start.' He gets off the bed and picks up a peach-coloured cylinder that wobbles in his hand. He turns it so Ianto can see that one end is shaped in latex like a woman's genitals. Jack's fingers spread the hole open as Ianto watches, and his mouth goes dry. Jack grins again.

He has a large pump bottle of lubricant, and he puts in four good squirts, sliding two thick fingers into the toy to spread around the lube. 'Here.' He helps Ianto spread it wider. Ianto pushes the sheath over his cock and it's not really like a woman, too cold, the slickness is all wrong, but the pressure is very nice as Jack squeezes and strokes.

'Does this, fuck, count as a hand job?'

'Just a toy. Toys are free.' He wraps Ianto's right hand around it. 'Go on.'

It's better than masturbating into a tube sock but not quite as good as when someone else was holding it. Jack moves down his body, and presses Ianto's legs apart. Hot breath hits his balls, and a wet tongue slides over them. Ianto's hand stutters its motion as Jack licks short stripes on the sensitive flesh beneath his balls, blowing cool air over the moist skin.

Jack's tongue whirls around Ianto's arse. 'Yeah,' Ianto chokes out, forgetting the toy in his hand entirely when Jack delves inside.

It's good, it's so good, as sensations frisson through him, pressing lips and deep, stroking tongue, followed by fingers. He can't sort out the sensations, not when his own hand gets back with the program and begins pumping again. Obscene, wet smacks and contented moans come from Jack. Ianto can't think.

With a long thrust of his tongue, Jack slithers out again and firmly removes the toy from Ianto's hand. He's hard, he's ready. He wants.

Jack leaves the bed again and pumps lube into his hand. As Ianto watches, he puts his hand behind himself and makes a soft, broken face as his elbow moves. His hand is out of sight and Ianto can only imagine the fingers sliding in, readying himself.

Jack picks up another condom from the dresser. The silver foil reflects the low light in the room as he opens the packet.

Ianto says, 'How much without it?'

There's a hesitation, a moment where Ianto feels himself being sized up. The sex face is replaced with the business face. 'It's fifty with, a hundred without. Don't you take enough risks in a day?'

'You're an alien, aren't you? Does it matter?'

He barely hears the sound of the condom touching the dresser top. Jack comes back to the bed. 'I'm human. According to the Brigiston Act, I qualify as an extraterrestrial. Does that bother you?'

Jack is better looking than a weevil. 'No.'

'I used to have friends in Torchwood. They tried to get me an exception. Didn't happen.'

The Brigiston Act was passed back in '74 or '75, under cover of secrecy. Torchwood had wanted to secure their rights to acquire the Doctor if the situation presented itself. Ianto hadn't wondered about other aliens caught up in the turmoil of 'if it's alien, it's ours.'

Jack kneels at the end of the bed and crawls up. 'This will be easier if you get up.' He goes to his hands and knees, spreading himself invitingly. Ianto's cock is slick with lube from the abandoned rubber toy. He's having sex with a man, an alien, a whore for rent in a forgotten room. He guides his cock against the warmth flesh, rubbing between Jack's cheeks. He pushes inside.

Lisa had agreed to try anal sex once but they'd done it wrong because he'd hurt her going in and she'd cried, told him to stop and they hadn't continued. Jack doesn't tell him to stop. He adjusts the spread of his knees as Ianto grabs onto his hips. Everything is hot and tight, nothing at all like the rubber toy. He can feel each sensation as he thrusts in. Jack grunts as Ianto bottoms out.

'Good,' says Jack, praising him like a schoolboy. 'Just like that.'

Ianto closes his eyes. A mouth is a mouth and a body is a body. This body is willing, whatever his real name is. This body feels good, however human he is. This body is warm and alive, no matter how dead inside Ianto is. They set up a rhythm together. If Jack is pretending his pleasure, Ianto can't tell, can only lose himself in the give of flesh under each finger and the squeeze on his dick. He'll leave his fingerprints bruised on Jack's thighs. Jack will leave his own impression bruised all over Ianto.

To hold on a bit longer, he stares away from Jack, stares at a point on the wall. There's a painting, a watercolour, a sailboat headed out to sea on a stormy day, all blues and severe greys. Someone chose that painting for this room, chose to have a focal point, someone who expected to be fucked and used and bored, someone waiting to look at something, anything, to escape inside their own head.

'You own this place.'

Jack's reply is a whine in his throat.

He's going to come. The feeling coils inside him, burning in his knees and toes, driving him deeper as Jack gasps. 'Beautiful.' Suddenly Jack falls to one elbow, the other going to work on his own dick.

The change in position and the feeling of Jack wanking himself is the last piece Ianto needs to fall over the edge. His head burns, his balls ache, and he pulls out. 'Roll over.'

Jack rolls, still jerking himself. Ianto tugs him upright in time to shoot his come on Jack's handsome face, which twitches in surprise as each sticky shot strikes him. Moments later, he lets out a groan, spurting over his hand and onto his flat, hairless stomach. He looks good covered in spunk. Ianto rolls off him and flops beside him on the bed.

'About the power after all, huh?' Jack asks quietly. He needs a towel or a flannel, something to clean him properly, but that's not Ianto's job.

He leaves the money on the nightstand. Clichés exist for a reason.

He doesn't thank Owen when he gets into work the next morning. There's an understanding between them afterward, still the arguments but without the teeth. They watch together, unsurprised, the night Gwen goes home with Suzie instead of to her Rhys.

'We deal with it the best we can,' Owen says.

Ianto makes another appointment. His second date is a blonde girl, barely twenty. Her face reminds him of that girl Carys. After they fuck, he asks her where Jack is. She says she doesn't know anyone by that name. For forty pounds, he watches her go down on another woman. For thirty more, she swallows his come when he's ready.

He doesn't go back.

Tosh retreats into herself and when she comes back out, she's sleeping with an alien who nearly kills them all. After they're forced to shoot Mary, Suzie makes Ianto process Tosh's statements. He offers her tea, and he fills out her paperwork. 'This is not the end,' he tells her from experience. 'You'll find a way to go on.'

He leaves the telephone number in a folded note on her desk.

***

Title: The Sound of a Gentle Word
Pairings: Jack/Ianto, Martha/Tom (Jack/Ianto/Martha/Tom)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: PWP foursome porn.
AN: Written for touchyerwood, prompt: "Ianto and Tom using vibrators on their respective partners, in view of the other pair"


The king-sized bed in the hotel room was covered in a sumptuous duvet, thick with down under Ianto's back as Jack's kisses pressed him into the mattress. Beside them, Martha was down to her bra, writhing and giggling as Tom's beard tickled over her stomach and down to snatch off her knickers. Jack stopped kissing Ianto, their cheeks pressing together to watch. Ianto felt the swallow in Jack's jaw when he saw Martha's soft tuft of dark curls. His own moan echoed back as Tom's fingers spread her open and his tongue began licking at her.

Martha's throaty cries went straight to their groins. Ianto's mouth was back on Jack's, desperate to get his clothes off, desperate to taste his skin.

"Wait," Martha said, pushing at Tom's head. He rested against her thigh as she watched Jack and Ianto stripping each other, her own eyes dilated and ready.

Jack's hand was on Ianto's cock, stroking with practised ease. Ianto's hand was reaching for the bedside table, and came back first with the bottle of slick, and second with two toys.

"I have an idea." Jack's mouth curved in a dirty smile.

The scarves bound Jack's hands above his head, and his eyes. Another scarf wrapped around Martha's small wrists, but she said she wanted to watch everything. Tom's eyes met Ianto's, and with the precision of soldiers, they each pressed a humming vibrator to the hollow of a lover's throat. Jack jumped, Martha purred.

It was a game, brushing, stroking, finding the best spot to massage, from the bottom of a foot to the curve of a knee, twinned actions drawing twinned gasps. Utterly beautiful, Ianto thought. He could not resist kissing Jack's right nipple, could not help but enjoy the sight of Tom's lips on Martha.

Tom's eyes raked over Ianto, and with a curt nod, invited him to taste her left nipple as his hand stayed on Jack, sketching circles over his skin. In a moment, his hand was joined by Tom's, drawing broad straight lines down Jack's side even as his mouth worshipped Martha's stomach.

They broke apart for Tom to rest atop Martha's body and kiss her deeply, an action Ianto was only too happy to copy on Jack.

"You have to see this." The blindfold was taken away. Jack's gaze bored into the other couple as Ianto warmed a palmful of lube. Tom crouched between the spread of Martha's knees, and in unison, they stroked the vibrators over sensitive skin, Jack's cock, Martha's clit, and then pushed inside. A moment later, Ianto pulled his out, and Tom followed, rubbing small circles with the tip between Martha's folds as she squealed. Ianto drew a spiral up the shaft of Jack's dick, and put the vibrator back in his arse as he took Jack deep into his mouth. Beside him, Tom slid his vibrator back into Martha and returned to his licking.

Jack's body tilted, driving his cock deeper into Ianto's throat, and Ianto had to pull back or gag. He took him in hand instead, and watched Jack's lips find Martha's, watched as they kissed, hands still tied, bodies writhing. Ianto wanted nothing more than to bury himself inside Jack, or to trade Tom's position and slide his cock wetly home inside Martha. "Now," Martha gasped around the kisses. Her command moved them, Ianto to a quick pull with a lubed hand and a tight, hot fuck, Tom to relocating the vibrator right where she wanted it most as he fucked into her.

Martha shouted into Jack's mouth, her back arching and her breasts bobbing so pertly Ianto wanted to bend over for another mouthful. He lifted Jack's leg for a better angle, losing himself in Jack's heat, feeling a sizzle of pleasure down his own spine with every thrust. If they switched, would Martha be so snug and slick, would she moan and thrash under him, would she come sweetly as she was coming right now? Ianto's hand stroked Jack's cock into a wet sputter. His convulsions sent Ianto over in white-hot bliss.

Tom kept going, while Martha kissed Jack softly. Ianto withdrew, trembling, wanting to kiss them both. He placed a hand on Tom's side, and was welcomed with a shouted cry as he came. Martha's face spread into a happy smile as she turned from Jack to kiss her lover.

"More."

Tom readjusted the vibrator against her. Jack watched her in lazy amazement. Ianto did the same. Tom grinned as Martha urged herself towards a second peak, their bodies still connected. Ianto lay against Jack, fingers reaching for his despite the bindings, as they watched Martha in her orgasm,

Later, they'd fall into more kisses, and perhaps Martha would take two men into her at once, and perhaps Ianto would go on his knees for Tom, and perhaps Jack would fuck each of them in turn. The night was young, they had brought several toys, and the bed was large and comfortable. Ianto closed his eyes, and began making plans as Jack kissed him.

***

Title: Interplanetary Relations
Characters: Team
Rating: R
Warnings: could be considered dubcon/noncon
Summary: Nobody would meet Jack's eyes.
AN: Written for Torchwood Cliche Fest, trope: "alien resembles common Earth creature or item"

Jack looked around the conference room. Not a soul would meet his eyes. Today was for Stern Boss mode. He could laugh to himself in private later. Much later.

"I'm not casting any blame right now. We can sort out whose fault it was once we contain the intergalactic incident. Okay?"

Still no eye contact. He'd hoped to draw out the guilty party. He wasn't sure what he'd say if all four of them had been guilty parties. Jack sighed.

"I'll even take my share. In the past I may have overstated the number of artefacts we find that were invented for ... entertainment purposes." That number was not helped by how many he'd used for his personal entertainment, and the entertainment of select others. Ianto did shoot him a glance then before dropping his eyes to the table. Owen continued examining his nails. Tosh was blushing to her ears. Gwen's look of mortification could be seen from orbit.

Jack cleared his throat. "But I think the main problem right now is, how do we best apologise for the grave insult Earth accidentally gave to the ambassador of the dildo-shaped aliens?"

***

Title: Paternity Test
Characters: Jack, Gwen
Rating: PG
Summary: "Care to explain why my daughter has your DNA?"
AN: Written for Torchwood Cliche Fest, trope: "Jack is someone's father"

"God damn you, Harkness!"

Gwen's shout echoed through the Hub. Jack winced. He watched as Ianto and Lois made eye contact and both ran for other area of the base as Gwen stalked through the main Hub, eyes flashing in anger.

"Yes, Gwen?"

"My husband, whom I love -- and I will likely have to say so on the witness stand when I'm brought up on charges for killing him -- had our baby's DNA tested without telling me. Care to explain why my daughter has your DNA?"

Her steps reached the bottom of the stairway. Jack made his way down carefully, mindful of the woman ready to shoot him.

"Well, there's the normal possibility."

"Don't you even dare. I know for a fact you and I never did anything that would cause a baby, thank you very much, Mister I Have Already Shagged Half The City."

"That's 'Captain I Have Already ....'" He stopped. Gwen was not going for jokes right now. "No. We never did."

"Are you sure we didn't? Did you Retcon me?"

He let out a breath. "I'm absolutely positive we didn't. Gwen, um." Jack scratched the back of his own neck. He'd been hoping never to have this conversation. "Did your parents ever tell you that you were adopted?"

"When I was eleven. They sat me down. We talked about it." Her eyes widened and then narrowed. "You're kidding me." She poked him in the chest hard. "You are bloody well kidding me!"

Jack smiled weakly. "I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not. Neither of us was ready to raise a baby, and I already had one child support payment to make. And you know what this life is like."

Her face broke as the knowledge finally settled in. Gwen semi-collapsed, going to a sitting position on the bottom step and resting her head in her hands. "Oh God."

Jack knelt down beside her. "I thought it would be better if you never knew. I was going to stay away, but you kept coming back. I figured I could protect you better here."

"I hate you."

"I know."

"I really, really hate you."

He wrapped his arms around her anyway in a hug. "I know."

"You should have told me you were my father."

Jack bit his lip. "Well, if we're being completely honest with each other now, technically, I was your mother." Never, ever, ever doing that again, Jack thought.

"Oh God."

***

Title: Golden Years
Characters: Team
Rating: PG
Summary: "I look like my grandfather."
AN: Written for Torchwood Cliche Fest, trope: "alien device causes weird aging issues"
AN2: This one keeps trying to have a sequel in my head.

Tosh caught Ianto checking his thin hair in the reflection of the greenhouse window. A deep frown marred his face, dragging the saggy skin downward. Self-consciously, she put her hand to the back of her own head, pulling a silvery lock forward for inspection. "Don't feel so bad," she told him.

"Easy for you to say. Yours isn't falling out. I look like my grandfather."

Jack stepped out of his office. "Remind me to invite myself to your next family reunion. Your grandfather's hot."

Ianto pulled another face.

Jack called down to Medical, where Owen was performing an exam on Gwen. "You two, get up here."

"In a minute!" snapped Owen, all crotchety belligerence.

"What?" said Gwen.

"I said, get up here."

"My ears are fine!" she shouted back. Slowly, the two of them made their way up the stairs, holding onto the railing carefully. Owen wasn't sure how brittle their bones were, fifty years on, and he said he didn't want them to take risks.

"I've figured it out," said Jack, beaming. A sigh of relief went through the room. The artefact had activated unexpectedly, and no-one was taking the blame. Tosh had been running a diagnostic, true, but she'd had it sitting on her desk. Owen said he'd seen Ianto dusting nearby, Ianto said he'd seen Gwen in button-pressing mode, Gwen swore Owen knocked into it. Currently Jack was the only one any of them trusted to touch the device as he sorted out how to change them back. Despite also having aged fifty years, he looked exactly the same, not a hair out of place.

"So fix us," Gwen said, as Jack handed the Geezer Laser to Tosh, pointing out the modifications he'd made. She examined the interface closely.

Owen said, "Yeah. The faster we get back, the faster your toy-boy stops looking like a pensioner."

"Fuck off," said a very old, very annoyed Ianto.

"I think it'll be okay," Tosh said, handing it back to Jack. "Do we want to test the laser on just one of us?" She glanced around at her grey-haired (and balding) colleagues.

"In for a penny," Gwen said, like someone's gran.

"Right." Jack turned the switch. Once again, Toshiko was overtaken with a wrenching pain that began in her shoulders and radiated out everywhere. She shut her eyes and tried not to scream as her body rewrote itself. She fell into her chair, barely aware of the contortions and agonies the others went through around her, until blessedly, the pain settled away.

She opened her eyes.

The first person she saw was Jack, who of course looked exactly the same.

Owen had vanished. No, just shrunk. A surly little boy, no more than six, stood inside the voluminous lab coat around his ankles. A five-year-old (or so) girl with wide eyes and a dark fringe sat on the floor beside him. Tosh looked down at her own smaller body in horror. Jack would have to take legal custody of them, pretend to foster or adopt the lot, send them to school, even. They'd have to regain their own bodies over the course of decades.

Tosh would have to relive puberty.

Jack said, "Whoops."

The toddler wearing Ianto's oversized suit began to cry.

***

Title: In Plain Sight
Characters: Team + Martha
Rating: PG
Summary: The fob watch lay unassumingly on Jack's desk blotter.
AN: Written for Torchwood Cliche Fest, trope: "secretly a Time Lord"

Martha and Jack were alone in Jack's office with the door tightly shut. Both sets of eyes watched the thing on his desk. Watched, hah, she thought.

"You know what this is."

"That's why I called you in," he said. "I was pretty sure, but you've seen two of them."

The fob watch lay unassumingly on the desk blotter, its patina of age nearly hiding the delicate scrollwork on the case, mysterious symbols that whispered what hid nestled within.

She didn't touch it. "Where did you find it?"

"Funny thing. It's been in the archives for two years, got logged in with a bunch of items that all arrived around the same time." His eyes weren't on the watch, though. Jack looked out his window. The others worked like ants outside. Martha couldn't help but notice his gaze following two of his employees in particular. She'd seen their records the last time she'd been here. Both had been hired two years ago.

"They're your friends," she ventured carefully. "If the watch belongs to one of them, you already know them both, Jack. They'd never hurt you."

"And Dr. Yana was a nice old man."

Martha shivered. She hadn't dealt with the worst of the Master's tantrums, only seen the results. Jack was terrified that one of the people he was close to might turn out to be a mad Time Lord (or Lady) and Martha certainly couldn't tell him differently.

"I hope it's her," Jack said.

"You do?" She wouldn't have expected that, but she hadn't been here in some time. Maybe things had changed.

"I'm wrong. A Fact. The Doctor said so. And the Master." He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The Master had said many terrible things about Jack's condition. "They can sense me, and they hate it. If I had to choose," he said, looking out the window again, "and I don't want to have to choose, but if I did, I'd rather Gwen be the one who wants to vomit every time she's in a room with me. Or worse, the one who goes off to see the galaxy without me." He laughed, a little, unhappy. "Don't tell."

"Quiet as the grave, me." She moved around the desk to stand beside him. She took his hand. "Do we open it? Or do we let it stay in the archives and never know?"

Jack stared for a long moment into space. "What do you think?"

"I'd normally say better a known threat than an unknown threat, but like you said, Dr. Yana was a sweet old man."

"We open it." His voice was firm. "If we've got another fob-watched Time Lord we need to know. Get ready to make a phone call." He scooped up the watch. Martha followed him out to the main part of the Hub. The rest continued working. Above them, the pteranodon launched from her aerie, gliding around in the shadowy darkness near the ceiling.

Jack cleared his throat and got their attention.

"What's going on?" Gwen asked, approaching carefully, her eyes on Jack's hand. Ianto stood behind her, frowning. Owen made his way up the stairs. Tosh stayed in her chair, but twisted around to see what was happening.

Jack glanced at Martha. Then he popped open the watch.

For a second, nothing happened. She almost allowed herself hope this wasn't what they'd thought. Golden tendrils of light emerged from the watch. Damn.

The Hub's power conduits overloaded with the immense energy discharge, sending sparks out before the lights went dark.

"Everybody stay still!" Jack shouted, but seconds later, there was a loud thump.

The emergency lights clicked on. Martha scanned the faces around her, her heart racing. Who was it? How terrible of a thing had they just unleashed?

A large, dark lump lay on the floor, eerie in the low light, and rising before them now.

Jack dropped the watch from slack fingers. "You ... "

"Oh dear. Apparently, we need to talk," said Myfanwy.

***

Title: Got Wood?
Characters: Team
Warnings: Owen POV
Rating: R
Summary: "It was a horse! It was made of wood!"
AN: Written for Torchwood Cliche Fest, trope: "trojan horse"

A bolt of hot plasma shot over the top of the desk where Owen and Jack crouched. Across the way, the girls hid under another desk. They were trapped until and unless Ianto got back here. Gwen had tried to call him before her mobile was disintegrated. She wasn't sure she got through in time.

Owen said, "Let me get this clusterfuck straight. Jones is off having a holiday with his relatives for two days and because you're his dirty little secret, you didn't go with him."

"Hey, I am many dirty things to Ianto, but I'm not little or his secret. We had dinner with his sister last week. She's cute, in a comfy chair sort of way."

Owen was familiar with the expression passing over Jack's face. "If you suggest a threesome, he will shoot you dead where you stand."

Jack sighed. "You're probably right."

"So Jones is out, and we closed the stupid Tourist office, meaning the packages he normally receives and checks over for anything suspicious piled up outside the door. And you brought them in."

"I couldn't leave them out there."

"Yes, you could have!" shouted Gwen from across the room.

"You brought them inside," Owen continued, "and despite knowing the protocol, despite having written many of the protocols, and having personally trained every person on the team in said protocols on handling unknown items, you fucking opened the packages without scanning them first!"

"It was only one and I said I was sorry." He looked contrite, and Owen would almost feel bad. Jack had spent the two days of Ianto's holiday moping and distracted. He'd also spent them bitchy, which was why Owen refused to care.

Owen risked a glance over the top of the desk. The deadly item swivelled back and forth, covering the whole Hub. Someone had sent it to them, and Jack had fucking brought the fucking thing fucking inside.

"And none of that would have been more than your usual distraction brought on by a lack of getting your cock sucked, except that the item you then activated was what, Tosh?"

From the other desk came an angry, "It was a horse!"

Gwen added, "It was made of wood!"

Jack said, "How was I supposed to know?"

"You've never heard of the Trojan horse?"

"Isn't that a kind of condom? Those big ones that taste like peppermint?"

Tosh said, "I think I can reach my mobile. Jack, can you draw its fire?"

Jack winced, then dove out in plain view of the horse. More plasma bolt blasted. One of them hit, killing Jack for the second time today. Tosh shouted her triumph as she reached her mobile phone and flipped it open.

"Call Jones, see if he can disarm this fucking thing from outside," said Owen. He mentally added, and never let him take a holiday alone again.

***

Title: Me and My Shadow
Characters: Tosh, Owen, team
Rating: PG
Summary: Owen's got a copy.
AN: Written for Torchwood Cliche Fest, trope: "evil twin"

Four guns were aimed at his head within seconds. Toshiko was too startled even to lift hers. "But ... It's Owen."

"The fuck it's not," Owen glowered. He was wearing the same Mickey-Mouse-giving-the-finger t-shirt as he had been earlier in the day. He hadn't been out of sight. Another Owen had unexpectedly appeared in the middle of the Hub in a bright flash of light.

"Okay," Jack said. "Talk. Who are you, and what are you doing in my base?"

The other Owen's hands went up, his eyes wide. "Jack, it's me. You hired me in 2006, right after Katie died. Tell me you remember." His voice was calm, pleading.

Gwen turned to Tosh, mouthing, "'Katie?'" Tosh shrugged, mystified.

Their Owen, Mickey-Mouse Owen, said, "It's not me. He's reading my mind."

Jack said, "Take a blood sample. If he's a shapechanger, we'll see. My bet is we're dealing with multiverse slip. Bet you walked sideways into our universe from yours."

"Fuck," said both Owens.

***

His blood work came back clear, and genetically identical to their Owen. Toshiko scanned him with every program she had. "I've got it. Look, you can see the Rift energy on him here and here, and that," she pointed to a place on her graph, "is the quantum-level flux we saw in other cross-universe incidents." She smiled proudly.

The new Owen smiled back. "Tosh, you always were a genius. Now, can you get me back?"

Her smile dimmed.

***

They called him Kent, because both Owens said it was their granddad's name. Kent helped Owen in Medical, and acted as an extra pair of hands around the Hub otherwise. Jack ordered him to stay put and not go out in the field; none of them wanted to explain Owen's sudden gain of an identical twin. He took to the incarceration with good grace, to everyone's surprise.

"Could be worse. I'm not in a cell or dead, after all." And he smiled.

"You're not a prisoner here," Jack clarified. "You just have to be careful. If we decide to reintegrate you with the outer world, you'll have to move somewhere Owen won't be."

Since he lived at the Hub, occupying Jack's vacant bunker (and teasing Jack a bit -- the Jack in his universe was still pretending he wasn't practically living with Ianto), and he had the run of the place, Kent used his free time to help. He organised Gwen's cross-referenced records with the police. He listened carefully to Tosh's instructions and helped her compile her programs overnight, saving her hours of double-checking in the mornings. After some initial distrust, and more than one jibe about their Owen's lack of interest in same, Ianto let Kent take over part of the Hub maintenance. Kent pushed a broom as easily as he dissected an alien, and he did both with a quiet happiness that was infectious to everyone else, except the original Owen who rolled his eyes and muttered a lot.

Two months after he'd joined them, with no option of returning him to his universe in sight, Kent came up to Tosh late one evening and shyly asked her out on a date. To her own surprise, she said no, but five minutes after walking out the door, she called him and said yes after all.

They went to the cinema. He was a perfect gentleman.

Two more dates went just as flawlessly, and the next date stretched into morning. Jack smiled knowingly as they came in together. Gwen giggled and nudged Tosh to talk later. Owen kicked things in Medical and didn't say a word.

In fact, it wasn't until after the seventh date or so, when Tosh had mentioned to Jack the possibility of Kent being allowed to move out of the Hub and in with her, that they finally spotted what had happened. They were in the conference room. Owen was busy shredding the morning's agenda before him into thin, perfectly even strips and refusing to look at Kent or in fact any of them. Tosh was giving her final report on the universe-travelling event which had brought Kent to them.

Jack said, "And with that, we're closing the case. Kent, you're here for good now."

Owen said loudly, "Fuck."

Ianto stared at him. "Oh my God. That's it."

"What's it?" asked Gwen.

"He's the evil twin."

"Kent isn't evil," Tosh said, but Ianto was looking straight at Owen, who wadded up the shreds of paper and threw it at his head.

"Fuck off."

"I see what you mean," Jack said, and ducked from the next flung paper ball.

***

Title: Out
Characters: Jack/Ianto/Lisa
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Not nearly as fluffy and happy as I usually write these three.
Summary: Tonight is the first night in far too many that they've been able to escape.
AN: Part of the Rabbit Hole AU, but thematically doesn't belong. Also, thanks go out to the person who looked over it a year ago before I drawered it, and I think that person was bookwormsarah? *is old*

The Rift has been an utter, utter bitch for the past two months. While Lisa can't say the three of them haven't been in the same room, it's been all work-related, every time, chasing monsters and keeping the Earth intact, and oh yes, watching the children. It's been grinding and foul, and they've all on the team shouted at one another terrible things because stress kills as fast as particle beams.

Tonight is the first night in far too many that they've been able to escape. Jack has wrangled a promise from Sarah Jane's boy to babysit, God knows how, and the three of them are determinedly out on what passes for a date.

It's odd.

From time to time, they've stolen evenings out: Lisa and Ianto to a film, Jack and Ianto to a club, even that one awkward night Jack and Lisa attempted to spend together and ended early. It is one thing to say "I love you and intend to stay with you," another entirely to endure a night in conversation when they are both missing the third who binds them together. And that, she thinks, as she sips her drink, is the problem none of them discuss. She and Jack are friends, and they fuck, and she says she loves him and he's said the same (it's her parents' marriage all over again, she knows but never says) but both private compasses point in one direction. If Jack had to choose between them, he would with no regrets, and Lisa is the same.

But it's enough, and they all love the children, Jack as much as if they were his by blood, and they make it work. Typically. Tonight. She takes another sip.

Over at their table, she can see her boys together, chatting over Ianto's lager and Jack's water. This restaurant charges as much for the ambience and the wait as they do for the food, which is why they chose it. It's a place for romance, and after two months of reheated takeaway and quick kisses (if that) they need romance as much as Gwen needed her night with Rhys yesterday, as much as Mickey and Tosh needed their night two days ago, far from work or care. They need this reconnection, this reminder that they are more than just the sum of their team.

And with Jack, this is easy. He has been solicitous all evening, flirty and sexy like he was in the first heady, secretive days when they stole fumbles in the back room and hoped no-one noticed. Tonight he held Lisa's chair out when she sat, and Ianto took her wrap, and Jack's lips were pressed hotly at her neck, promising more, so much more. She loves this, loves feeling attractive and wanted by these two handsome men. It's pride, she knows, and pride never gets her anywhere good and Lisa does not care, being seen here with her men, wearing this new red dress that is cut low with a single diamond nestled in the hollow of her throat on a thin silver chain.

But being seen is the issue, isn't it? Ianto's sister knows, finally, because she's not a fool, and their friends know (their only real friends, because Torchwood strangles outside friendships like a vine). Others don't. The other parents at Callie's new school don't know, won't know, and the neighbours have all been told Jack is a roommate, a boarder. The old story: a nasty divorce, his wife, you know how it goes.

Callie knows the lies to tell. Kyle and Isabelle are too little to understand. But they are safe.

This isn't safe, not exactly, this night on the town with a film and a nice dinner and perhaps dancing if Jack can be trusted with the place he's suggested. But sometimes, Lisa is tired of safe.

She is tired. She is tired of aliens, tired of chasing Rift signals, tired of fighting for half-moments of affection from the men she loves. And, to be fair, she is overwhelmed at the same time, Kisses on her neck and the full blast of Jack's charm are exactly what she needs and they are also more than she can face. Too much, too intense after time spent with barely a moment together, and so she retreated to the Ladies', and then here to the bar for a drink all on her own, a precious privacy denied after months and years of something else. And if in the midst of her privacy, she is drawn to watching them without her, well, she does know where she belongs, and the pull back towards them is pleasant.

"Hello."

The voice is at her ear, and her eyes flick over, away from where Jack's finger is playing with invisible webs on the back of Ianto's hand. The man beside her gives her a fleeting, hesitant smile, sweat on his lip and a lock of dark, oily hair pushed back behind his ear.

Lisa automatically distrusts him, and then pushes that feeling away as unworthy. "Hello."

"Buy you a drink?"

"I have one." She demonstrates this by swallowing the last of hers, girding her loins for the rest of tonight's play. They will flirt tonight over appetizers and overpriced food, feet brushing against calves, and fingers moving suggestively across glasses and silverware until they are all too horny to think, and if they are lucky, they will make it out of the parking lot before someone is naked. Her knickers, as new and red as her dress, don't have a crotch. She will tell them both as the antipasto arrives. The thought makes her smile around the rim of her glass.

"Sorry," says the man, and she blinks, because she forgot he was there, caught up in her thoughts of what's to come. "I don't know how this goes."

Lisa opens her mouth to say something witty, or at least something to end the conversation, when he says, "How much?"

"I've already paid," she says, because the bar wants its money up front, as well as the tip for the bartender.

The man glances over at their table, sees Jack and Ianto there. "I mean, for two. I've got this mate, and you can't often find someone willing to do two."

"I don't understand," Lisa says, despite the fact that with a cold realisation, she does, and every happy thing she's managed to feel tonight gets quenched.

"How much for two blokes at once?" he blurts out, with his foul hair and pocked face, and she wants to scream.

Instead she looks down at her pretty red dress -- the one she spent an hour worrying over until Gwen said, with well-meant exasperation, that Lisa could either buy it or Gwen would buy it for her, so bloody well choose already -- and fighting the tears, she gets up from her chair and walks away.

She's at their table in moments. "We're leaving."

Jack looks at her strangely but Ianto is on his feet, and he gets her wrap without a question, because they have been out before when people have been awful. Not this awful.

"What's wrong?" Jack asks, getting to his feet, but with a firm tone to his voice that promises violence to someone deserving.

"Nothing." It's a lie and it tastes like ash, but neither of them saw her at the bar. Small favours: had either seen the man, it would only be a matter of time before the police were called. "I want to go home."

"Then we'll go," Ianto says, though Jack's fingers are clenching like he wants to shoot or punch, and neither is acceptable, not out here, not in the world of nice people at nice restaurants.

There's money on the table for food they don't eat, and in the car, she sits in the back with her husband (her proper husband, and people still stared, God fucking dammit, when they went out) who holds her like she's a precious thing, like she's loved, while Jack drives.

After the trembling stops, she notices they are not headed to the house.

"Jack?"

"Do we need to go home?"

Lisa thinks. She thinks hard. Home is safe, and protected, filled with electronic dampening equipment, and with familiar objects, and people who adore her. Their home, bought and earned every day, a castle fortified against all threats.

"We don't have to," she says with a voice like paper, and she feels strong arms around her, safe like iron. She and Jack would never, ever make Ianto choose, but there is a small, mean part of her that revels in the surety that he would pick her.

The breeze is strong when they reach the headland, pushing the car firm like a hand, and they get out in a lonely, dark place far above the sea. Keys the car give them a brief light, and music from a radio station Jack likes. She still wants to cry, but now she is in her husband's arms, and they are dancing gently in the sea winds, his arms around her and his face against hers, and she doesn't know whose tears are between them as they sway. The song changes, and so does her dance partner. Jack is silent, for once in his long life, content to hold her and move with her to songs sung by dead men as the waves crash below them. It's peace, and it's affection, and it's what they can scrape from lives sculpted by alien breezes and strange hands.

Another song, and the two of them are dancing, while she rests against the car, easier but not at ease, until midway through they break just a bit and draw her in to hold her as a distant light washes over them.

Sometimes it is so hard, waiting to see the lighthouse in the distance, to find her way home.