invisible_lift (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
invisible_lift) wrote2008-05-01 07:38 pm
invisible_lift) wrote2008-05-01 07:38 pm
It'll End in Tears #10: "Primitive Notion"
Title: "Primitive Notion"
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: Ianto/Andy, Jack/Ianto
Rating: Series is predominantly hard NC-17. This installment is in that range for smut, kink (bondage, D/s, flogging, electroplay), and language.
Notes/Summary: Part Ten of the "It'll End In Tears" cluster, and #8 on the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
un_love_you prompt table. Thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
demotu for giving this the sweet, sweet beta-fu, and for aibhinn for giving it a quick looking over as well.
Andy hangs by his wrists, gripping the insides of a pair of heavy leather suspension cuffs. His feet touch the floor, but he’s on his toes and hobbled by a spreader bar fastened between his ankles. He’s only been trussed up for a few minutes, and it reminds him of the way he’d dangle from a short set of monkey bars when he was a teenager, kicking and letting his trainers drag through the mulch below while he and his mates drank nicked cider and talked about girls.
He tries to imagine what they’d think if he could see him now, naked except for his briefs, with a rubber bridle in his teeth. He laughs without thinking, chortling around the bar in his mouth.
“Something funny?” a voice asks from behind him, silencing him instantly.
“No, Captain,” Andy manages to say through the gag. It’s more symbolic than an actual impediment, but it’s in the way, and turns some of his consonants into mush.
Jack steps into view, and Andy has to make an effort not to stare. His usual brown boots have been traded for shiny black, and he’s abandoned the braces look for black combat trousers and a webbed duty belt. His drab green t-shirt is snug without being tight, and he’s carrying a polished black truncheon. He looks like an off-duty soldier with time to kill.
He nudges Andy’s hip with the baton and sets him swinging. It’s tricky to grip onto the floor with his toes and the balls of his feet, but he’s almost managed it when Jack pushes him again, this time in the shoulder. This sets him scrabbling again, wobbling unsteadily by his wrists until he stretches and presses his feet down as hard as he can. Jack shoves him hard with the truncheon, refusing him balance. He turns and spins the younger man until he thrashes angrily in the cuffs.
“Careful. Can’t have you dislocating a shoulder, now can I?” As if to emphasize, he taps one of Andy’s arms with the stick. “You’re no good to us broken, after all.”
Andy skids to a stop on the balls of his feet and tenses as Jack presses up against his back. Harkness explores him roughly with his hands, feeling him up. Andy tries to wrench away, but Jack grips him by the hips and holds him in place.
“I’m going to enjoy taking you apart. You might be Ianto’s fucktoy, but I’m going to make you a whore.” He runs his tongue up Andy’s neck and traces the shell of his ear before laughing and setting Andy spinning again.
“The more you fight, the harder this’ll be, you know,” Jack says as he rests the truncheon on his shoulder and watches Andy wobble in his restraints. “Much, much harder. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Captain,” he replies, resignation plain in his voice as he turns in a slow circle.
Jack smirks and runs the truncheon down Andy’s chest, stilling him. “Good boy.”
Ianto enters, dressed in well-pressed trousers and a fitted maroon shirt. His top two buttons are undone, but he’s otherwise pristine in his attention to detail. His hair is tidy, and his shoes gleam as brightly as Jack’s boots. He wouldn’t look out of place in a high-end nightclub, or a decent restaurant, but he’s here instead, carrying a matte black case.
“Captain,” Ianto says in a soft, clear voice. His eyes are averted, but only just, and it’s obvious to Andy that there’s a hierarchy in the room, now: Jack on top, Ianto in the middle, and Andy on the bottom.
Jack gives Ianto a nod and Ianto immediately turns to place the case on a table. When he opens it, Andy strains to get a closer look, but Jack rests the baton against his cheek and turns his head to the side.
“How much do you know about electricity, Andy?” Jack asks, tracing the contours of Andy’s body with the truncheon. “You’ve been zapped by static, right? Stuck a battery to your tongue?”
Behind him, Ianto finishes assembling the device and plugs it into the wall. It’s got a dark, heavy looking handle, but the tip of it is a long glass probe. Ianto flips a switch at the base, and the probe begins to glow like a plasma ball at a science museum.
Ianto carefully hands the device to Jack, accepting the truncheon in return. He steps back, holding it in both hands across his thighs. His eyes meet Andy’s briefly, but he looks away with a faint smile on his lips.
“True story,” Jack continues, fondling the device. “In the 1980’s, a pair of detectives in Chicago were accused of torturing suspects with electrical devices. Two of those devices – a cattle prod, and a sort of hand-crank device – were identified easily enough. It’s the third one, though, that had people baffled. In fact, one of the detectives’ attorneys helped get him dismissed by making a strong argument that the third device didn’t exist.”
Jack holds his hand just above the glowing purple probe and sparks dance over his fingertips.
“Me, I think it was one of these.”
Jack presses the probe’s long edge to the inside of Andy’s thigh and runs it up his leg toward his groin. It tingles – not unpleasant, really – and he starts to relax a little as Jack explores him with it.
“It’s nice, isn’t it? Do you like it?”
“Yes, Captain,” he sighs as the glowing bar slips just over his groin. It’s like being touched by imaginary hands.
“You wouldn’t think you could torture someone with a thing like this, would you?” Jack keeps the wand moving over Andy’s body, leaving no area unexplored. “It’s so relaxing. It’s only when you increase the power and draw the probe away, like so – ”
Jack thumbs a wheel on the handle and tilts the device so that the tip of the probe is nearest to Andy’s body. A bright, audible spark sizzles between the wand and Andy’s skin.
“Fuck!” Andy hisses and jerks away. His feet skid against the floor as he tries to get free.
Jack grins. “Not so nice now, is it, whore?”
Andy whips about in his restraints as Jack runs the harsh tip of the device up along his spine. Jack’s earlier comparison to being shocked on a doorknob makes a lot of sense, except that the shock doesn’t end in a “pop!” of static discharge. It’s virtually constant, Jack can trace it over him as easily as he might use a pencil.
“You know,” Jack says, stepping away to let Andy swing, “I really thought Ianto had you trained better than this. Personally, I don’t know how he tolerates the noise. The efforts to escape, though? Kind of adorable, you know, if completely misguided.”
Andy tries and fails to spit at Jack through the rubber bar in his mouth.
“Ianto?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Immobilize your slut.”
“Yes, Captain,” Ianto replies mildly. He places the truncheon on the table next to the matte black box before approaching Andy and giving him an appraising look. When he makes contact, his touch is light, starting just at the edge of the cuffs and drifting down Andy’s arms and his ribs, past his hips, and down his legs to his feet. Ianto kneels, gripping Andy’s ankles tightly. His head is bowed, and from here it looks like he might be praying. Or doing penance.
Jack walks past them, out of Andy’s sight. There’s a sound like suitcase locks, and something opening and closing before Jack speaks again from behind them.
“Rule number one, whore: if I go to all the trouble of restraining you, I expect you to hold still. Do I make myself understood?”
“Yes, Captain.” He braces himself, afraid of what might be next.
Jack yanks Andy’s briefs down hard. “You will neither move nor speak for the duration of your punishment. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Good.”
There’s a swishing noise, and then the sting of a martinet bites into the flesh of his right buttock. A second later, it stings his left. Jack hasn’t struck him hard – not yet – but the leather is thin and smarts. Andy bites down on the bit and closes his eyes tight, inhaling sharply through his nose with each quick strike. The sensation of the flogger’s leather tails build in intensity with each pair of blows until he’s on the verge of tears or screaming. His hands are balled into the best fists he can manage in the suspension cuffs, and his legs are rod straight in Ianto’s grip. His skin burns, and it feels like he’s being flayed alive. He wants to pull up with his arms, kick out, thrash and howl until the hook comes out of the ceiling and he can scramble off, but Ianto holds him in place.
The muscles in his shoulders begin to spasm as his core tenses against his will. His back starts to arch, and he can feel his legs start to tug against Ianto’s grip. A howl starts to build in his throat.
Jack’s arms wrap tightly around him before he can give his scream voice. He holds Andy still as Ianto stands and undoes the safety release. They lower him to his knees, and Ianto immediately goes to work removing the spreader bar and the cuffs. He’s shaking a little as Ianto checks him over and tugs his briefs back into place.
“Say you’re sorry,” Ianto tells him as he zips Andy’s wrists into a pair of nylon police restraints. He stands and settles into a parade rest position.
“I’m sorry, Sir. Captain,” Andy stammers. “It won’t happen again.”
“No,” Jack replies. “It won’t.” He circles the two of them once before planting his boot firmly in the middle of Andy’s back. Harkness pushes him down with slow, firm force until the younger man’s face touches the floor. “Do you know why?”
“No, Captain.”
“Because I’m cruel.” Jack adds more weight with the boot, just enough to shove Andy’s face hard into the floor. “As much as Ianto here might want to keep you around because you’re a pretty little pet, I think you’re shit. You make me sick, you useless fucking whore, and I’m going to love beating the worthlessness out of you.”
Andy whimpers. It hurts, being pinned to the ground with his arms crushed beneath him. He’s not sure he can get up again without help, and he prays Jack won’t ask it of him.
“Thank him for the correction,” Ianto tells him.
Andy manages to choke a “Thank you, Captain” past the gag and onto the floor.
“Good boy,” Jack snaps with an audible sneer, and pushes off of Andy’s back.
Ianto crouches down and eases Andy back onto his knees. “That was good,” Ianto murmurs into his ear, stroking his hair. “Really good. Good boy.”
“Thank you, Sir,” he says. His breaths are coming in tiny sobs.
“May I, Captain?” Ianto asks.
“Yeah, sure,” Jack answers. “Knock yourself out.”
Andy begins to relax as Ianto kneels behind him and strokes the light hairs that cover his chest and stomach. A deep groan builds in his chest as one of Ianto’s hands drifts lower to cup and squeeze through thin cotton of his underwear. The soft fabric of Ianto’s clothing is soothing against his skin, and he leans his head back to rest on Ianto’s shoulder.
He panics slightly when Ianto pushes him away, but then he realizes he’s being bent over forward. Ianto lets him rest on his elbows instead of pressing his face into the floor, and the slick fingers that enter him one by one are gifts. “Good boy,” Ianto murmurs against his skin again and again. Ianto fucks him there on the floor and brings him off under Jack’s cold gaze.
Ianto rests a single hand in the middle of Andy’s back when they finish, and Andy smiles.
# # #
Jack passes Andy a third of a bar of chocolate and a bottle of water. He’s got them all curled up on Ianto’s bed, having declared it the most comfortable spot in the flat. Andy’s sandwiched between the two of them, with his head resting on a pile of pillows and bedding. For something he’s not sure he’s ready to think about in concrete terms, it’s quite nice. Ianto’s pressed up behind him, still mostly dressed, with his arms around Andy’s waist. Jack’s sitting against the headboard, dressed except for his boots, working on his own bit of chocolate. Andy’s still in his briefs.
“You’re both awfully comfortable with this,” Andy says, twisting the top off of the bottle.
“You don’t look like you’re complaining,” Jack says with a smirk.
“Yes, well, after all that, I’m surprised I can still speak English.”
“I could put the bit back in,” Ianto teases.
Andy shakes his head. “No way. A man can only take so much.”
“You’d be surprised,” Jack says, a look of utter mischief on his face. “I remember this one time –“
“Oh no,” Ianto says, cutting him off. “If this is the story I think it is –“
“Well, it was going to be the one about the parachute squad.” Jack replies, feigning a sulk.
Ianto rolls his eyes. “Don’t listen to a word he says, Andy. Just ignore him.”
Andy chuckles. “Right. No different from normal, then.”
“Hey!” Jack says. “No fair ganging up.”
“Um, hello?” Andy says, pointing at the hook in the ceiling. “Point of reference.”
Jack snickers. “Yeah, yeah.”
Andy swallows a mouthful of water. He’s still deeply uncertain about this whole chit-chat in bed business. “We didn’t do this before.”
“This isn’t before,” Ianto tells him. “Consider this the first of several attempts to make up for that.”
“Plus, he’s hoping that if he feeds you chocolate, you’ll follow him home,” Jack snickers.
Ianto rolls his eyes again, and Andy can’t help but think it’s sort of cute in a things-which-I-have-never-considered-thinking-about-in-that-context sort of way. “Bit late for that,” Andy says with a shrug before pushing up into a seated position and looking for a way off the mattress. “Ugh. I really do need a shower.”
“Lube in interesting places?” Jack asks.
“Among other things,” Andy replies archly and gives Ianto a grin. “Someone’s got a fetish for getting me filthy.”
“Technically speaking,” Ianto points out, watching Andy ease off of the bed, “it’s a paraphilia. Not a fetish.”
“Well, whatever it is, it makes me crave hot water, a towel, and clean clothes.”
Andy watches Ianto settle into Jack’s arms. It’s startling how well they fit into one another, completely comfortable as if he were never there. Jack murmurs something private into Ianto’s hair, and Ianto gives a throaty laugh in return. Andy quietly darts down the hall and into the bathroom.
He grits his teeth and starts the shower taps. It shouldn’t hurt so much to see them together, should it? Being with both of them was good, after all, right? A vision of him walking in on them in the act of sex arises in his mind’s eye unasked, and that image is so irrationally painful that he leans up against the tiles and has to stifle the urge to swear or cry out. It’s easy to hate them for their shameless intimacy. It’s even easier to hate himself for being fool enough to think he might belong with Ianto.
Without a second thought, he resolves to dress quietly and let himself out. He’ll go home, erase Ianto’s number from his mobile, and forget these new complications. He’ll do something normal on Thursdays, like pub quizzes or speed dating. Maybe he’ll talk to Temple about picking up some extra shifts.
The front room is dark when he creeps out into it, and he tries to tell himself he won’t miss this. Not really. His hand is on the doorknob with the other ready to disengage the deadbolt when Jack emerges from the kitchen with three ceramic mugs in hand. He’s just as dressed as before, not especially rumpled, and Andy feels another one of those horrible pangs that go along with being completely and utterly out of his depth.
“He’ll be hurt if you walk out on him like this,” Jack says quietly walking up to him and, handing him one of the mugs. “Really hurt.”
“He’ll get over it,” Andy says, more to the mug than to Jack. “He’s got you.”
“You think so?”
“You don’t?”
“Hey,” Jack says. “Ianto might try something out and decide afterward that it’s not his thing, but if he comes back to it –” He pauses and looks up just in time to see Ianto emerge from the hall.
“I thought my ears were burning,” Ianto says with a smirk. He takes the extra mug from Jack’s hand and takes a sip. “Not bad. Definitely improving.”
“I told you I could be taught.”
“Mmm,” Ianto hums into his mug before smiling at Andy. “You left your bracelet in the bathroom.”
“See, that’s how good my chai is,“ Jack says, puffing up a little. “It brings all the boys to my – uh, your – kitchen. With or without their accessories.”
“I can see why you’re proud,” Ianto says with a nod after another taste. “I can barely taste the turpentine.” He winds an arm around Andy’s waist and rests his head on Andy’s shoulder. “Are you coming back to bed, or am I shooing you off because you work in the morning?”
“Um. Work, sadly.” Andy gives Jack a nervous look. The older man is cupping his mug in his hands and blowing on the surface of his drink, pretending to enjoy his own corner of the room. His eyes, though, are serious. He can almost hear Jack in his head telling him not to fuck this up.
Ianto sets his mug down and reaches into his pocket. “Such dedication to the cause.” Ianto snaps the leather strap onto Andy’s wrist. “We’re lucky to have Constable Davidson. He’s a regular Galahad at Castle Anthrax.”
“Does that mean I get a spanking if I light the grail-shaped beacon?” Jack asks.
Ianto snickers. “Only if you’re wearing a wimple.”
“I can arrange a wimple.”
Andy drinks his tea. It isn’t bad, if maybe a little spicy and sweeter than he’s used to. He listens to Jack and Ianto banter back and forth like a pair of old mates, and is surprised when Ianto’s hand slides into one of his back pockets. When he finishes his drink, Ianto passes the mug over to Jack, who’s started going on about some sort of wild animal hunt he’d been on with a pair of double-jointed fraternal twins.
“Come on,” Ianto murmurs. “Let’s get you down to your car before Jack instigates another round of peril.”
Andy tilts his head to the side. “Can’t we have just a little peril?”
“Nope.” Ianto shakes his head, expression grave. “Far too perilous. And probably unhealthy.” He nips Andy’s shoulder. “Thursday?”
“Yeah. Thursday.”
Ianto gives Andy’s shoulder a squeeze and sees him out. When the door locks behind him, Andy can’t help but wonder if he’s made things better or worse. He’s stopped them ending, at least. Now all he has to do is figure out whether or not that’s a good thing.
---
Prev (Pt #9) (Warnings: Language, discussion of sex (minimally graphic), negotiation of future kink, pet names.)
-
Next (Pt #11) (Warnings: Language, smut.)
---
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: Ianto/Andy, Jack/Ianto
Rating: Series is predominantly hard NC-17. This installment is in that range for smut, kink (bondage, D/s, flogging, electroplay), and language.
Notes/Summary: Part Ten of the "It'll End In Tears" cluster, and #8 on the
un_love_you prompt table. Thanks to demotu for giving this the sweet, sweet beta-fu, and for aibhinn for giving it a quick looking over as well.Andy hangs by his wrists, gripping the insides of a pair of heavy leather suspension cuffs. His feet touch the floor, but he’s on his toes and hobbled by a spreader bar fastened between his ankles. He’s only been trussed up for a few minutes, and it reminds him of the way he’d dangle from a short set of monkey bars when he was a teenager, kicking and letting his trainers drag through the mulch below while he and his mates drank nicked cider and talked about girls.
He tries to imagine what they’d think if he could see him now, naked except for his briefs, with a rubber bridle in his teeth. He laughs without thinking, chortling around the bar in his mouth.
“Something funny?” a voice asks from behind him, silencing him instantly.
“No, Captain,” Andy manages to say through the gag. It’s more symbolic than an actual impediment, but it’s in the way, and turns some of his consonants into mush.
Jack steps into view, and Andy has to make an effort not to stare. His usual brown boots have been traded for shiny black, and he’s abandoned the braces look for black combat trousers and a webbed duty belt. His drab green t-shirt is snug without being tight, and he’s carrying a polished black truncheon. He looks like an off-duty soldier with time to kill.
He nudges Andy’s hip with the baton and sets him swinging. It’s tricky to grip onto the floor with his toes and the balls of his feet, but he’s almost managed it when Jack pushes him again, this time in the shoulder. This sets him scrabbling again, wobbling unsteadily by his wrists until he stretches and presses his feet down as hard as he can. Jack shoves him hard with the truncheon, refusing him balance. He turns and spins the younger man until he thrashes angrily in the cuffs.
“Careful. Can’t have you dislocating a shoulder, now can I?” As if to emphasize, he taps one of Andy’s arms with the stick. “You’re no good to us broken, after all.”
Andy skids to a stop on the balls of his feet and tenses as Jack presses up against his back. Harkness explores him roughly with his hands, feeling him up. Andy tries to wrench away, but Jack grips him by the hips and holds him in place.
“I’m going to enjoy taking you apart. You might be Ianto’s fucktoy, but I’m going to make you a whore.” He runs his tongue up Andy’s neck and traces the shell of his ear before laughing and setting Andy spinning again.
“The more you fight, the harder this’ll be, you know,” Jack says as he rests the truncheon on his shoulder and watches Andy wobble in his restraints. “Much, much harder. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Captain,” he replies, resignation plain in his voice as he turns in a slow circle.
Jack smirks and runs the truncheon down Andy’s chest, stilling him. “Good boy.”
Ianto enters, dressed in well-pressed trousers and a fitted maroon shirt. His top two buttons are undone, but he’s otherwise pristine in his attention to detail. His hair is tidy, and his shoes gleam as brightly as Jack’s boots. He wouldn’t look out of place in a high-end nightclub, or a decent restaurant, but he’s here instead, carrying a matte black case.
“Captain,” Ianto says in a soft, clear voice. His eyes are averted, but only just, and it’s obvious to Andy that there’s a hierarchy in the room, now: Jack on top, Ianto in the middle, and Andy on the bottom.
Jack gives Ianto a nod and Ianto immediately turns to place the case on a table. When he opens it, Andy strains to get a closer look, but Jack rests the baton against his cheek and turns his head to the side.
“How much do you know about electricity, Andy?” Jack asks, tracing the contours of Andy’s body with the truncheon. “You’ve been zapped by static, right? Stuck a battery to your tongue?”
Behind him, Ianto finishes assembling the device and plugs it into the wall. It’s got a dark, heavy looking handle, but the tip of it is a long glass probe. Ianto flips a switch at the base, and the probe begins to glow like a plasma ball at a science museum.
Ianto carefully hands the device to Jack, accepting the truncheon in return. He steps back, holding it in both hands across his thighs. His eyes meet Andy’s briefly, but he looks away with a faint smile on his lips.
“True story,” Jack continues, fondling the device. “In the 1980’s, a pair of detectives in Chicago were accused of torturing suspects with electrical devices. Two of those devices – a cattle prod, and a sort of hand-crank device – were identified easily enough. It’s the third one, though, that had people baffled. In fact, one of the detectives’ attorneys helped get him dismissed by making a strong argument that the third device didn’t exist.”
Jack holds his hand just above the glowing purple probe and sparks dance over his fingertips.
“Me, I think it was one of these.”
Jack presses the probe’s long edge to the inside of Andy’s thigh and runs it up his leg toward his groin. It tingles – not unpleasant, really – and he starts to relax a little as Jack explores him with it.
“It’s nice, isn’t it? Do you like it?”
“Yes, Captain,” he sighs as the glowing bar slips just over his groin. It’s like being touched by imaginary hands.
“You wouldn’t think you could torture someone with a thing like this, would you?” Jack keeps the wand moving over Andy’s body, leaving no area unexplored. “It’s so relaxing. It’s only when you increase the power and draw the probe away, like so – ”
Jack thumbs a wheel on the handle and tilts the device so that the tip of the probe is nearest to Andy’s body. A bright, audible spark sizzles between the wand and Andy’s skin.
“Fuck!” Andy hisses and jerks away. His feet skid against the floor as he tries to get free.
Jack grins. “Not so nice now, is it, whore?”
Andy whips about in his restraints as Jack runs the harsh tip of the device up along his spine. Jack’s earlier comparison to being shocked on a doorknob makes a lot of sense, except that the shock doesn’t end in a “pop!” of static discharge. It’s virtually constant, Jack can trace it over him as easily as he might use a pencil.
“You know,” Jack says, stepping away to let Andy swing, “I really thought Ianto had you trained better than this. Personally, I don’t know how he tolerates the noise. The efforts to escape, though? Kind of adorable, you know, if completely misguided.”
Andy tries and fails to spit at Jack through the rubber bar in his mouth.
“Ianto?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Immobilize your slut.”
“Yes, Captain,” Ianto replies mildly. He places the truncheon on the table next to the matte black box before approaching Andy and giving him an appraising look. When he makes contact, his touch is light, starting just at the edge of the cuffs and drifting down Andy’s arms and his ribs, past his hips, and down his legs to his feet. Ianto kneels, gripping Andy’s ankles tightly. His head is bowed, and from here it looks like he might be praying. Or doing penance.
Jack walks past them, out of Andy’s sight. There’s a sound like suitcase locks, and something opening and closing before Jack speaks again from behind them.
“Rule number one, whore: if I go to all the trouble of restraining you, I expect you to hold still. Do I make myself understood?”
“Yes, Captain.” He braces himself, afraid of what might be next.
Jack yanks Andy’s briefs down hard. “You will neither move nor speak for the duration of your punishment. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Good.”
There’s a swishing noise, and then the sting of a martinet bites into the flesh of his right buttock. A second later, it stings his left. Jack hasn’t struck him hard – not yet – but the leather is thin and smarts. Andy bites down on the bit and closes his eyes tight, inhaling sharply through his nose with each quick strike. The sensation of the flogger’s leather tails build in intensity with each pair of blows until he’s on the verge of tears or screaming. His hands are balled into the best fists he can manage in the suspension cuffs, and his legs are rod straight in Ianto’s grip. His skin burns, and it feels like he’s being flayed alive. He wants to pull up with his arms, kick out, thrash and howl until the hook comes out of the ceiling and he can scramble off, but Ianto holds him in place.
The muscles in his shoulders begin to spasm as his core tenses against his will. His back starts to arch, and he can feel his legs start to tug against Ianto’s grip. A howl starts to build in his throat.
Jack’s arms wrap tightly around him before he can give his scream voice. He holds Andy still as Ianto stands and undoes the safety release. They lower him to his knees, and Ianto immediately goes to work removing the spreader bar and the cuffs. He’s shaking a little as Ianto checks him over and tugs his briefs back into place.
“Say you’re sorry,” Ianto tells him as he zips Andy’s wrists into a pair of nylon police restraints. He stands and settles into a parade rest position.
“I’m sorry, Sir. Captain,” Andy stammers. “It won’t happen again.”
“No,” Jack replies. “It won’t.” He circles the two of them once before planting his boot firmly in the middle of Andy’s back. Harkness pushes him down with slow, firm force until the younger man’s face touches the floor. “Do you know why?”
“No, Captain.”
“Because I’m cruel.” Jack adds more weight with the boot, just enough to shove Andy’s face hard into the floor. “As much as Ianto here might want to keep you around because you’re a pretty little pet, I think you’re shit. You make me sick, you useless fucking whore, and I’m going to love beating the worthlessness out of you.”
Andy whimpers. It hurts, being pinned to the ground with his arms crushed beneath him. He’s not sure he can get up again without help, and he prays Jack won’t ask it of him.
“Thank him for the correction,” Ianto tells him.
Andy manages to choke a “Thank you, Captain” past the gag and onto the floor.
“Good boy,” Jack snaps with an audible sneer, and pushes off of Andy’s back.
Ianto crouches down and eases Andy back onto his knees. “That was good,” Ianto murmurs into his ear, stroking his hair. “Really good. Good boy.”
“Thank you, Sir,” he says. His breaths are coming in tiny sobs.
“May I, Captain?” Ianto asks.
“Yeah, sure,” Jack answers. “Knock yourself out.”
Andy begins to relax as Ianto kneels behind him and strokes the light hairs that cover his chest and stomach. A deep groan builds in his chest as one of Ianto’s hands drifts lower to cup and squeeze through thin cotton of his underwear. The soft fabric of Ianto’s clothing is soothing against his skin, and he leans his head back to rest on Ianto’s shoulder.
He panics slightly when Ianto pushes him away, but then he realizes he’s being bent over forward. Ianto lets him rest on his elbows instead of pressing his face into the floor, and the slick fingers that enter him one by one are gifts. “Good boy,” Ianto murmurs against his skin again and again. Ianto fucks him there on the floor and brings him off under Jack’s cold gaze.
Ianto rests a single hand in the middle of Andy’s back when they finish, and Andy smiles.
Jack passes Andy a third of a bar of chocolate and a bottle of water. He’s got them all curled up on Ianto’s bed, having declared it the most comfortable spot in the flat. Andy’s sandwiched between the two of them, with his head resting on a pile of pillows and bedding. For something he’s not sure he’s ready to think about in concrete terms, it’s quite nice. Ianto’s pressed up behind him, still mostly dressed, with his arms around Andy’s waist. Jack’s sitting against the headboard, dressed except for his boots, working on his own bit of chocolate. Andy’s still in his briefs.
“You’re both awfully comfortable with this,” Andy says, twisting the top off of the bottle.
“You don’t look like you’re complaining,” Jack says with a smirk.
“Yes, well, after all that, I’m surprised I can still speak English.”
“I could put the bit back in,” Ianto teases.
Andy shakes his head. “No way. A man can only take so much.”
“You’d be surprised,” Jack says, a look of utter mischief on his face. “I remember this one time –“
“Oh no,” Ianto says, cutting him off. “If this is the story I think it is –“
“Well, it was going to be the one about the parachute squad.” Jack replies, feigning a sulk.
Ianto rolls his eyes. “Don’t listen to a word he says, Andy. Just ignore him.”
Andy chuckles. “Right. No different from normal, then.”
“Hey!” Jack says. “No fair ganging up.”
“Um, hello?” Andy says, pointing at the hook in the ceiling. “Point of reference.”
Jack snickers. “Yeah, yeah.”
Andy swallows a mouthful of water. He’s still deeply uncertain about this whole chit-chat in bed business. “We didn’t do this before.”
“This isn’t before,” Ianto tells him. “Consider this the first of several attempts to make up for that.”
“Plus, he’s hoping that if he feeds you chocolate, you’ll follow him home,” Jack snickers.
Ianto rolls his eyes again, and Andy can’t help but think it’s sort of cute in a things-which-I-have-never-considered-thinking-about-in-that-context sort of way. “Bit late for that,” Andy says with a shrug before pushing up into a seated position and looking for a way off the mattress. “Ugh. I really do need a shower.”
“Lube in interesting places?” Jack asks.
“Among other things,” Andy replies archly and gives Ianto a grin. “Someone’s got a fetish for getting me filthy.”
“Technically speaking,” Ianto points out, watching Andy ease off of the bed, “it’s a paraphilia. Not a fetish.”
“Well, whatever it is, it makes me crave hot water, a towel, and clean clothes.”
Andy watches Ianto settle into Jack’s arms. It’s startling how well they fit into one another, completely comfortable as if he were never there. Jack murmurs something private into Ianto’s hair, and Ianto gives a throaty laugh in return. Andy quietly darts down the hall and into the bathroom.
He grits his teeth and starts the shower taps. It shouldn’t hurt so much to see them together, should it? Being with both of them was good, after all, right? A vision of him walking in on them in the act of sex arises in his mind’s eye unasked, and that image is so irrationally painful that he leans up against the tiles and has to stifle the urge to swear or cry out. It’s easy to hate them for their shameless intimacy. It’s even easier to hate himself for being fool enough to think he might belong with Ianto.
Without a second thought, he resolves to dress quietly and let himself out. He’ll go home, erase Ianto’s number from his mobile, and forget these new complications. He’ll do something normal on Thursdays, like pub quizzes or speed dating. Maybe he’ll talk to Temple about picking up some extra shifts.
The front room is dark when he creeps out into it, and he tries to tell himself he won’t miss this. Not really. His hand is on the doorknob with the other ready to disengage the deadbolt when Jack emerges from the kitchen with three ceramic mugs in hand. He’s just as dressed as before, not especially rumpled, and Andy feels another one of those horrible pangs that go along with being completely and utterly out of his depth.
“He’ll be hurt if you walk out on him like this,” Jack says quietly walking up to him and, handing him one of the mugs. “Really hurt.”
“He’ll get over it,” Andy says, more to the mug than to Jack. “He’s got you.”
“You think so?”
“You don’t?”
“Hey,” Jack says. “Ianto might try something out and decide afterward that it’s not his thing, but if he comes back to it –” He pauses and looks up just in time to see Ianto emerge from the hall.
“I thought my ears were burning,” Ianto says with a smirk. He takes the extra mug from Jack’s hand and takes a sip. “Not bad. Definitely improving.”
“I told you I could be taught.”
“Mmm,” Ianto hums into his mug before smiling at Andy. “You left your bracelet in the bathroom.”
“See, that’s how good my chai is,“ Jack says, puffing up a little. “It brings all the boys to my – uh, your – kitchen. With or without their accessories.”
“I can see why you’re proud,” Ianto says with a nod after another taste. “I can barely taste the turpentine.” He winds an arm around Andy’s waist and rests his head on Andy’s shoulder. “Are you coming back to bed, or am I shooing you off because you work in the morning?”
“Um. Work, sadly.” Andy gives Jack a nervous look. The older man is cupping his mug in his hands and blowing on the surface of his drink, pretending to enjoy his own corner of the room. His eyes, though, are serious. He can almost hear Jack in his head telling him not to fuck this up.
Ianto sets his mug down and reaches into his pocket. “Such dedication to the cause.” Ianto snaps the leather strap onto Andy’s wrist. “We’re lucky to have Constable Davidson. He’s a regular Galahad at Castle Anthrax.”
“Does that mean I get a spanking if I light the grail-shaped beacon?” Jack asks.
Ianto snickers. “Only if you’re wearing a wimple.”
“I can arrange a wimple.”
Andy drinks his tea. It isn’t bad, if maybe a little spicy and sweeter than he’s used to. He listens to Jack and Ianto banter back and forth like a pair of old mates, and is surprised when Ianto’s hand slides into one of his back pockets. When he finishes his drink, Ianto passes the mug over to Jack, who’s started going on about some sort of wild animal hunt he’d been on with a pair of double-jointed fraternal twins.
“Come on,” Ianto murmurs. “Let’s get you down to your car before Jack instigates another round of peril.”
Andy tilts his head to the side. “Can’t we have just a little peril?”
“Nope.” Ianto shakes his head, expression grave. “Far too perilous. And probably unhealthy.” He nips Andy’s shoulder. “Thursday?”
“Yeah. Thursday.”
Ianto gives Andy’s shoulder a squeeze and sees him out. When the door locks behind him, Andy can’t help but wonder if he’s made things better or worse. He’s stopped them ending, at least. Now all he has to do is figure out whether or not that’s a good thing.
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Prev (Pt #9) (Warnings: Language, discussion of sex (minimally graphic), negotiation of future kink, pet names.)
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Next (Pt #11) (Warnings: Language, smut.)
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