FIC: Attitude Adjustment...

[fajrdrako]

Title: Attitude Adjustment
Fandom: Torchwood
Author: fajrdrako
Genre: PWP, slash
Characters: Captain Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Rating: R
Words: 2,178 words
Notes: spoilers for episode 1x04, "Cyberwoman" and 1x05, "Countrycide"
Summary: Jack trains Ianto by touch.

Notes: I don't usually write PWPs, but rosiespark challenged me by saying "I will if you will" and I therefore had to write it. I set myself a challenge too - to write something about Captain Jack without mentioning the Doctor. I failed that one terribly, but at least I dealt with it in the first paragraph. Cross-posted to torch_wood, jackxianto, torchwood_fic and torchwoodslash.




Attitude Adjustment

Captain Jack had learned that a man who cannot die has to live with death. Like the alien he'd learned so much from, he had discovered that to be immortal is to be shadowed by death everywhere you go.

He'd learned there were ways of dealing with it. Ianto hadn't learned that. Ianto was young and mortal and grieving. He'd lost his Lisa four times: once, to the Cybermen at Torchwood One; once when her mind clicked over into Cybermen mode. Third time, when she fell to the attack of the pterodactyl.

The final time was when his friends at Torchwood had shot her.

So Ianto had reason to be angry, reason for pain, reason for his face to be set in an unrevealing mask. He would work through this in time; or not. Jack toyed with the idea of allowing Ianto to shoot him. Let him get it out of his system. But he was not ready to reveal his secret to someone else, least of all someone as volatile as Ianto was right now.

So he waited, watching Ianto. If Ianto had felt ignored before, he could not complain of it now. Jack kept him close by, keeping him busy with tasks within the Hub rather than in the upper office, taking him out with the rest when they emerged for investigation in the field. He even took Ianto on their camping expedition, and Ianto handled himself with a fair skill against cannibals. Not exactly a dry run - a test case in which a serious mistake would have meant his death.

Jack wondered how much Ianto cared. Death was seductive - he knew that well. He gambled that if he kept Ianto interested in life, if he gave him a purpose with Torchwood, Ianto would stay with them. Torchwood was no substitute for a warm, loving person, but it was something.

So he watched Ianto. Ianto had good days and bad. When, one evening, a Weevil was spotted hunting in a residential back alley, Jack sent Gwen, Tosh and Owen after it, and stayed back at the Hub himself, working on the analysis of an alien artifact reluctant to reveal its secrets or its purpose.

Ianto was doing a diagnostic check on one of the computers, his fingers moving slowly. Thoughtfully, Jack went to his doorway and stood leaning against it, watching Ianto. Ianto looked back at him. He was trying to be expressionless, but the brightness of his eyes gave him away, and the set of his mouth. Ianto was having a bad day.

"Sir? Did you want some coffee?"

"No," said Jack, but Ianto had risen and already turned to his coffee cups, lifting one from the tray as if he had not heard. His hand shook, making the crockery rattle.

Jack crossed the room to him, put his hand over Ianto's, fingers wrapping over fingers with warm strength. "I don't need any," he said. "Stop. No coffee."

Now Ianto was crying softly, standing motionless, making no noise, tears running down his cheeks. Jack took the mug out of his hand and put it back on the tray. He gathered Ianto into his arms. Ianto had no resistance to offer. His head dropped on Jack's shoulder, while Jack stroked the back of his head.

Ianto was pliant in his arms, oblivious to everything but his grief, totally unselfconscious, as if being held by his boss were an everyday occurrence. Jack ran a soothing hand down Ianto's back, letting it rest finally at his waist. Since Ianto was dressed in his jacket, Jack would not feel the warmth of his body, but he could feel the shuddering breaths as they became slower, deeper, and more normal. He could feel Ianto's forehead against the side of his neck. He had left his own jacket in his office, and he could feel the wetness where Ianto's tears had soaked his shirt at the shoulder.

Finally Ianto murmured, without moving, "I'm sorry, sir."

"It's all right." He stroked the back of Ianto's head again. Soft hair.

Ianto's whisper was so low it was difficult to hear. "I sometimes can't forget."

"You loved her," said Jack. "It would be heartless to forget so soon. You are not heartless."

Ianto shuddered again, briefly. He moved his head, just a little, and Jack could feel the heat of his face against his neck. He turned his head slightly, so his lips brushed against Ianto's cheek.

Ianto let out his breath in a sudden sigh, and moved his head so that his lips met Jack's. Jack wondered if Ianto remembered the last time they had kissed, a moment he had enjoyed far more than he probably should have, under the circumstances.

He made it gentle, because he guessed that gentleness was what Ianto wanted right now. He made it last, as a piece of self-indulgence, because the pleasure of Ianto's mouth was exquisite.

"Sir?" whispered Ianto. His arms were around Jack now, not clinging, simply touching. His palms felt warm through the light cotton of Jack's shirt.

Jack touched the back of Ianto's neck with softly stroking fingers. "It's all right," he said again.

That set Ianto off. He grabbed Jack by the shirt, twisted and pushed. Jack went with the motion - he had no interest in fighting Ianto - and landed on his back on the padded seat of the sofa, his breath driven out of him as Ianto fell on top of him, kissing him fiercely. The kiss tasted of tears - Ianto was crying again, and possibly unaware of it. He said fiercely, "Liar! It isn't all right! It will never be all right again!" Jack could hardly make out the words.

Instead of answering, he touched Ianto's wet cheek, let Ianto kiss him hard. A normal man might have been bruised by his grip. The seat was not large enough for one man to lie, let alone two; they were awkwardly balanced, uncomfortable, half falling off the seat, with Jack's leg braced and Ianto's leg thrust between Jack's so his knee was firmly on the seat and firmly at Jack's crotch. Jack could feel Ianto's erection against his thigh and could feel the shaking of his whole body.

Then Ianto dropped his head onto Jack's chest and cried, "What have you done to me? Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance?"

Jack ran a finger lightly around Ianto's ear, and laced his fingers into Ianto's hair. "You know why. I want you to live."

"I would have been better off dead!"

"You don't believe that. If you did, you'd be dead now."

Ianto raised his head. "Damn you and your logic," he said, with a certain bitter humour in his voice.

Jack ran his lips across Ianto's forehead. "Shh. Be calm."

There was a pause as Jack's lips tasted his jawline. "Sir? Did I just throw you onto the sofa and pounce on you?"

"Yes." Smiling, Jack tilted his head to see Ianto's face. His eyes were dryer now, still wide, the pupils dark and large. "I hope you aren't about to apologize."

Ianto swallowed, but didn't move away. His cock was still hard and large, pressing against Jack's leg. He was very still.

When he spoke, it was barely a breath against Jack's neck. "No. I was not going to apologize."

Jack squirmed, making a little space between their bodies, his hands still holding Ianto lightly. He put one hand between them, inside Ianto's jacket, finding his belt and trouser-button and zip in an easy sequence of movements. He'd learned as a teen how to smoothly open a companion's fly, even from awkward positions. Most useful lesson he'd ever learned. He sucked on the lobe of Ianto's ear as he eased down the zipper, reaching into Ianto's boxers for his cock, stroking it gently, enjoying
its weight and heat.

Ianto said, "Sir?" again, and his voice shook. The tone was not of protest. Confusion, perhaps. Or shyness. It was difficult, sometimes, to read the sexual reactions of a twenty-first century man - always more complex than they should be, never straightforward.

Jack used his tongue to play with Ianto's ear while his fingers caressed and explored. He moved his hand a little deeper into

Ianto's shorts. Ianto groaned, but there was more strength in his voice as he said, "Sir? You have my balls in your hand."

"Does that alarm you? It isn't as scary as it sounds."

"No, it... it feels good."

"It's meant to."

"Sir, is this... sexual harassment?" Ianto seemed unable to look Jack in the face.

"It is whatever you want to call it. If you want me to stop, I'll stop. See?" Jack held out his hands in the air, moved his mouth away from Ianto's ear.

That made Ianto meet his eyes, shocked, stricken, alarmed. "No! Sir... Please. I like it. But... suppose the others come back?"

Jack pretended to consider this bit of prudery. "We could stop, or we could give them a show. Your choice." He moved his lips closer to Ianto's face. "Don't worry about what will happen. There will be no consequences."

"Sir?"

"We could be more comfortable," Jack suggested. "That's an idea. Here, sit up."

Ianto raised himself, slowly, not meeting Jack's eyes. He seemed to be trying to prolong the body contact as much as he could. Jack sat up, his back against the back of the sofa then put his arms again loosely around Ianto, guiding him to sit against him - "Here, put your left leg over my lap... No, keep your right leg there. Yes, like that... Is that better?"

Ianto dropped his head again to Jack's shoulder, draped half across him, his hand clutching Jack's shoulder. "Touch me

again," he whispered. With his right leg extended and his knees apart, his cock was easy to reach as Jack stroked him again,

fingers moving lightly and teasingly. Ianto whimpered. "What are you trying to do?" he asked, squirming in Jack's arms as the back of Jack's fingers caressed his face, and the other hand stroked and inflamed his prick.

"I'm trying to make you feel good." Jack kissed Ianto's neck; sucked lightly. "Just relax. Feel whatever it is you feel."

"...Yes." Ianto gasped. "More. Harder. Sir! Please."

Smiling, Jack slipped his roving hand under Ianto's shirt, running light fingers over his chest, finding and rubbing a nipple, then tightening on it in a two-finger vise that made Ianto's voice break and his cock twitch. He kept his fingers light on Ianto's cock, tracing the tip, tormenting the shaft with light pinches, trailing the backs of his fingernails, then the soft pad of his thumb. Ianto whimpered shamelessly.

"In a hurry?" Jack kissed Ianto's hair. "Going somewhere?"

"Sir - Captain - You're going to make me scream."

"Oh, don't do that." Jack's fingers wrapped around Ianto's cock and squeezed once, lightly, before resuming the feathery strokes. "You'd wake the pterodactyl and it isn't feeding time yet."

Ianto whimpered again. Jack loosened his tie and his top shirt button, and lifted Ianto's chin so he could lick his neck from clavicle to chin. Ianto shivered. Jack ran his hand along Ianto's lips, and smiled again as Ianto rather frantically sucked on his fingertips. His knees were as wide as they would go. "Please!"

Jack's moving grip tightened on Ianto's cock, even as his thumb tweaked the wet and tender tip. Ianto pressed back hard against him, suddenly turning his head to kiss Jack's mouth, sucking on his tongue, making a strangled sound that was neither scream nor plea. Jack ran his other hand down Ianto's back. He tightened his hand, moving firmly and deftly. He pressed hard at the base of Ianto's cock and then quickly, lightly at the tip, and Ianto explosively climaxed with a soft, desperate sound in his voice as he cried out. There was no one but jack and the pterodactyl to hear. Ianto dropped his head limply onto Jack's shoulder.

Jack sat, waiting, his hand lightly holding Ianto's softening cock. The waterfall seemed loud now. The air was peaceful. Jack almost jumped when Ianto said, "Sir? What do you want me to do for you?"

"Nothing," said Jack. He took his hand from around Ianto's soft cock and licked it clean. Ianto watched with eyes large as a kitten's.

"I don't understand. What do you want from me?"

Jack tucked Ianto's cock back into his trousers, buttoned and zipped him, and even fastened the belt buckle. "I want you to live, Ianto. I want you to become happy again. I want you to stay with Torchwood."

Ianto looked away. He got off Jack's lap, rather awkwardly, and stood, tucking in his shirt, readjusting his tie and his jacket. "You're a peculiar man... Captain."

Jack smiled his widest grin. "So I've been told. Are you feeling better?"

Ianto's mouth twisted. "I suppose so. You've given me... things to think about, sir. Different things. Things I won't forget. As for Lisa... I know you did what you had to."

The killing, or this comfort? Jack didn't ask which he meant; it didn't matter. He had distracted Ianto. A sign of recovery, a movement away from the preoccupation with death to the possibilities of life.

Jack went back to his work, satisfied.

- end -