![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: "Not Wisely But Too Well"
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: Overall: Ianto/Andy, Jack/Ianto, Jack/Ianto/Andy, with occasional guest cameos.
Rating: Series ranges from relatively safe to hard NC-17. This installment is in the NC-17 range for language, smut, and kink (D/s, sensation play, light bondage).
Notes/Summary: Part #19 of the "It'll End In Tears" cluster, and #16 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)
sanginmychains and demotu for giving this the sweet, sweet beta-fu. (Note: I did additional work on the ending before posting, so any errors in the installment are my own, and not the fault of my crack team of awesome betas.)
The scenario is familiar, but not unpleasantly so. Ianto closes the door behind them and does up the locks as Jack inspects the scene.
Andy has moved the furniture aside as Ianto instructed. The blinds are closed, and there are towels and some bottles of water waiting against the baseboard where the front room meets the hall. And then, of course, in the center of the room is Andy, nude and on his knees. He is handcuffed and blindfolded, waiting dutifully in the center of a sheet he’s laid out to protect the carpet, perfectly still.
Ianto helps Jack out of his coat and hangs it on a peg by the door before shucking off his own denim jacket. He pauses by the door and watches as Jack prowls wordlessly into the front room with their bag.
Jack turns to face him and Ianto nods. Work to do.
# # #
The blindfold makes everything difficult. Andy hears a zip, followed by the sounds of preparation, and he can feel the vibrations of soft steps through the floor. He reaches out with the senses he has, but the more he tries, the more his sense of reality wavers. Is that his laundry he smells, or Ianto’s soap? He cooked earlier tonight, but is it the spices from his curry or Jack’s strange aftershave that makes him feel warm all over?
The barest tingle of fingers traces up his spine. Andy gasps, surprised, and the touch disappears. He feels a flutter of disturbed air near his neck and flinches. Breath? He isn’t sure. He resists the urge to clench and unclench his hands behind his back or shrug his shoulders. He’s not uncomfortable in the cuffs, but he’s been in this position long enough to feel a little stiff.
Something cool drips onto his chest. His breath hitches a little as the liquid trickles toward his belly. A hot tongue catches it midway down his ribs and follows the trail up his skin. When it draws away, he feels breath on his jaw. His lips part and instantly another mouth – ice cold – presses against his, and a firm hand stops him from jerking away.
Something that feels like long fingernails gently scrapes up the back of his neck and up past his hairline to massage his scalp. It sends sparks and tingles along the edges of his vision. He can smell them both clearly now, and he tries to differentiate between them based on occasional brushes of skin and cloth, but there’s too much all at once, and they keep moving.
A hot mouth and a cold mouth explore his neck, one on each side.
One mouth – the cold one – moves down to his collarbone. The warm one pulls away before it reappears on his lips. It tastes of coffee.
Those long nails tease the inside of his thigh, and he moans. He’s embarrassed at himself for it – what if it’s Jack making him feel like this and not Ianto? – but suddenly there are hands on him, pushing him face down into one of their laps while lifting his arse into the air, and thinking ceases to be convenient.
A hand caresses Andy’s hip and his rump before coming down with a hard slap. He’s grateful for the support, because he moves with the blow. His center of gravity is off in this position. His knees are too far back, and his chest is bearing his weight. He’d probably have to rock back to get back into a kneel without falling flat on his face.
The hand comes down again in the same spot, and it stings so much that when the gentle tingle of fingers strokes across the sensitized skin, it makes him jerk almost as much as the spanking does.
A hand grips his jaw and lifts him up just enough for a cold, Ribena-flavored mouth to meet his. Another set of spankings descends on his other cheek, and then the mouth pulls away and two pairs of claws rake up his back. He feels dizzy.
He is pushed back up onto his knees and pressed against a warm body clad in silk and soft wool. Andy smells soap and coffee. Ianto. That has to be Ianto.
A new drizzle of cool syrup dollops down his front and all over his cock, and this time he arches up to be licked and sucked clean. Ianto’s teeth and breath are on his neck, and there are fingers to suck in his mouth. Andy decides that this is the point where he’s allowed to stop caring that it’s Jack who’s sucking his cock because Andy is a Good Boy and this is what Ianto wants.
There’s a scuff of soft leather across his chest – a belt? A strap? He can’t tell before it disappears – and the mouth on his cock gives him one last deep suck before trailing kisses to meet the teeth on Andy’s neck.
He can hear and feel them kissing each other against his cheek, sharing the taste of him on their tongues. When they stand up and step away, Andy is desperate and panting.
He hears them moving around again, padding around on his carpeted floor, whispering to one another. There’s a thump, and then the scrape and pop and sulfur smell of matches.
# # #
Jack doesn’t see the way Andy flinches at the smell of matches when the candles are lit. He’s too busy remembering the blue file Ianto gave him about the last time Andy got to try wax, and thinking about how much fun it’s going to be flicking it away with the knives they brought along.
It’s a good thing Ianto told Andy to prep a sheet.
# # #
He tells himself it’s nothing. Because that’s exactly what it is. Just a stupid nightmare about too many RTAs and arsons and accidental fires. Stand in front of enough plastic tape and sooner or later it’ll come home with you.
Andy is hoisted up by his hair as one of them kicks his knees apart. A pair of fingers feeds him a little dab of precum, and he sucks it away, eager for anything that isn’t the dream that’s trying to play behind his blindfold. There’s a cock rubbing against his cheek, as a pair of slick fingers breach him from behind. He’s astonished by how much he wants them there. Jack’s fingers. Ianto’s fingers. It doesn’t matter whose as long as it takes away the feeling of dread and the bile roiling in his guts.
He should call Yellow and ask them to take off the blindfold. If he could see, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad…
Strong hands grip his hips, and keep him from pitching over as they both enter him, one in his mouth, one in his arse. He sucks and licks and opens his throat as best as he can to welcome it.
Fuck me. Help me. Take it all away. Let me serve. Make me forget.
Fucktoy. Teganffwcio. That word burns like a star in his heart, and he clings to it in desperation as his mind rips back the curtain and shows him everything they took away.
# # #
“Red,” Ianto tells Jack as Andy begins to struggle between them. “Fucking hell, Jack. Red.”
He knows the way Andy responds to certain kinds of touch, but he’s never seen this before. It looks like a seizure. He lays Andy down on the carpet while Jack tries to undo the handcuffs, and almost immediately Andy tries to scramble away.
“No. No, no, no, no…”
“Andy, it’s me. It’s Ianto,” he says, pulling away the blindfold. Andy’s eyes are unfocused, flicking around like they’re searching for something.
“Dead,” he whimpers. “They’re all dead.”
Jack manages to undo the cuffs and wraps Andy up in the sheet. “Shh. Hush. Nobody’s dead, Andy. It’s okay. Just breathe. You’re safe.”
“Andy, look at me,” Ianto says firmly, gripping his jaw. “Andy, please.”
His eyes focus suddenly on Ianto, but the recognition is tinged with rage and horror. “You. You’re one of them.”
“Ianto?” Jack says, his voice tight in his throat. “What’s he talking about?”
“You’re Torchwood! You’re both bloody Torchwood!” Andy shouts, and launches himself at Ianto. Jack grapples him and holds him in place.
“Whoa. Easy there, Tiger.”
Ianto tries to touch him, but Andy jerks away.
“You drugged me. You stole my memory.”
Ianto holds his hands in front. “Andy, I can explain.”
“Explain what? That you lied to me? That you poisoned me? How many times, Ianto?” Andy tries to wrench out of Jack’s grip, but can’t quite get the leverage.
“Ianto,” Jack says coolly. “Go downstairs.”
Ianto’s eyes go wide. “Jack, no.”
“Downstairs. Now. Put on my coat and wait in the SUV.”
“This isn’t his fault, Jack.” He’s pleading now, begging on Andy’s behalf from the center of the room.
Jack looks up at him, grey eyes blazing. “Ianto Jones, I am ordering you to go downstairs right the fuck now, or so help me, you will not enjoy the consequences.”
“Oh Jesus,” Andy sobs, still trying to squirm out of Jack’s arms. “Oh fuck. Please don’t kill me. I won’t tell. I swear, I won’t tell – ”
“NOW, Ianto.”
Ianto sees the terror in Andy’s eyes. He wants to charge in and pry him out of Jack’s arms or reason this thing out and fix things, damn it. They can fix this, can’t they? But the look on Jack’s face doesn’t yield. The matter has ceased being personal, and Captain Harkness has made his decision. All Ianto can do – all he can ever do – is his duty.
He turns away, ignoring Andy’s pleas (“Don’t leave me here, Ianto! Fuck’s sake, don’t leave me alone with him!”), and wraps himself up in Jack’s coat. Through sheer force of will he holds his face immobile and refuses to let his own tears begin before he is out the door. Once he emerges into the cool night air, though, his façade shatters with a strangled cry. He ignores the small stones and bits of glass on the pavement as he shuffles barefoot to the SUV.
I should have walked away a long time ago.
Ianto thinks of Max Tresillian and of Flat Holm. He remembers a forced sectioning from four months ago. He thinks of all of the deaths that he has concealed or tampered with. He imagines forging Andy’s suicide note and – oh god, he doesn’t want to kill Andy. He doesn’t. And yet, here he is fidgeting with the buttons on Jack’s coat, already planning contingencies and running scenarios in his head.
I wish I didn’t love you.
The lights in Andy’s flat stay on for a long time.
---
Prev (Pt #18) (Warnings: language, smut, and kink [D/s].)
-
Next (Pt #20) (Warnings: language, cruelty to Andy-kind.)
---
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: Overall: Ianto/Andy, Jack/Ianto, Jack/Ianto/Andy, with occasional guest cameos.
Rating: Series ranges from relatively safe to hard NC-17. This installment is in the NC-17 range for language, smut, and kink (D/s, sensation play, light bondage).
Notes/Summary: Part #19 of the "It'll End In Tears" cluster, and #16 on the
un_love_you prompt table. Thanks to sanginmychains and demotu for giving this the sweet, sweet beta-fu. (Note: I did additional work on the ending before posting, so any errors in the installment are my own, and not the fault of my crack team of awesome betas.)The scenario is familiar, but not unpleasantly so. Ianto closes the door behind them and does up the locks as Jack inspects the scene.
Andy has moved the furniture aside as Ianto instructed. The blinds are closed, and there are towels and some bottles of water waiting against the baseboard where the front room meets the hall. And then, of course, in the center of the room is Andy, nude and on his knees. He is handcuffed and blindfolded, waiting dutifully in the center of a sheet he’s laid out to protect the carpet, perfectly still.
Ianto helps Jack out of his coat and hangs it on a peg by the door before shucking off his own denim jacket. He pauses by the door and watches as Jack prowls wordlessly into the front room with their bag.
Jack turns to face him and Ianto nods. Work to do.
# # #
The blindfold makes everything difficult. Andy hears a zip, followed by the sounds of preparation, and he can feel the vibrations of soft steps through the floor. He reaches out with the senses he has, but the more he tries, the more his sense of reality wavers. Is that his laundry he smells, or Ianto’s soap? He cooked earlier tonight, but is it the spices from his curry or Jack’s strange aftershave that makes him feel warm all over?
The barest tingle of fingers traces up his spine. Andy gasps, surprised, and the touch disappears. He feels a flutter of disturbed air near his neck and flinches. Breath? He isn’t sure. He resists the urge to clench and unclench his hands behind his back or shrug his shoulders. He’s not uncomfortable in the cuffs, but he’s been in this position long enough to feel a little stiff.
Something cool drips onto his chest. His breath hitches a little as the liquid trickles toward his belly. A hot tongue catches it midway down his ribs and follows the trail up his skin. When it draws away, he feels breath on his jaw. His lips part and instantly another mouth – ice cold – presses against his, and a firm hand stops him from jerking away.
Something that feels like long fingernails gently scrapes up the back of his neck and up past his hairline to massage his scalp. It sends sparks and tingles along the edges of his vision. He can smell them both clearly now, and he tries to differentiate between them based on occasional brushes of skin and cloth, but there’s too much all at once, and they keep moving.
A hot mouth and a cold mouth explore his neck, one on each side.
One mouth – the cold one – moves down to his collarbone. The warm one pulls away before it reappears on his lips. It tastes of coffee.
Those long nails tease the inside of his thigh, and he moans. He’s embarrassed at himself for it – what if it’s Jack making him feel like this and not Ianto? – but suddenly there are hands on him, pushing him face down into one of their laps while lifting his arse into the air, and thinking ceases to be convenient.
A hand caresses Andy’s hip and his rump before coming down with a hard slap. He’s grateful for the support, because he moves with the blow. His center of gravity is off in this position. His knees are too far back, and his chest is bearing his weight. He’d probably have to rock back to get back into a kneel without falling flat on his face.
The hand comes down again in the same spot, and it stings so much that when the gentle tingle of fingers strokes across the sensitized skin, it makes him jerk almost as much as the spanking does.
A hand grips his jaw and lifts him up just enough for a cold, Ribena-flavored mouth to meet his. Another set of spankings descends on his other cheek, and then the mouth pulls away and two pairs of claws rake up his back. He feels dizzy.
He is pushed back up onto his knees and pressed against a warm body clad in silk and soft wool. Andy smells soap and coffee. Ianto. That has to be Ianto.
A new drizzle of cool syrup dollops down his front and all over his cock, and this time he arches up to be licked and sucked clean. Ianto’s teeth and breath are on his neck, and there are fingers to suck in his mouth. Andy decides that this is the point where he’s allowed to stop caring that it’s Jack who’s sucking his cock because Andy is a Good Boy and this is what Ianto wants.
There’s a scuff of soft leather across his chest – a belt? A strap? He can’t tell before it disappears – and the mouth on his cock gives him one last deep suck before trailing kisses to meet the teeth on Andy’s neck.
He can hear and feel them kissing each other against his cheek, sharing the taste of him on their tongues. When they stand up and step away, Andy is desperate and panting.
He hears them moving around again, padding around on his carpeted floor, whispering to one another. There’s a thump, and then the scrape and pop and sulfur smell of matches.
# # #
Jack doesn’t see the way Andy flinches at the smell of matches when the candles are lit. He’s too busy remembering the blue file Ianto gave him about the last time Andy got to try wax, and thinking about how much fun it’s going to be flicking it away with the knives they brought along.
It’s a good thing Ianto told Andy to prep a sheet.
# # #
He tells himself it’s nothing. Because that’s exactly what it is. Just a stupid nightmare about too many RTAs and arsons and accidental fires. Stand in front of enough plastic tape and sooner or later it’ll come home with you.
Andy is hoisted up by his hair as one of them kicks his knees apart. A pair of fingers feeds him a little dab of precum, and he sucks it away, eager for anything that isn’t the dream that’s trying to play behind his blindfold. There’s a cock rubbing against his cheek, as a pair of slick fingers breach him from behind. He’s astonished by how much he wants them there. Jack’s fingers. Ianto’s fingers. It doesn’t matter whose as long as it takes away the feeling of dread and the bile roiling in his guts.
He should call Yellow and ask them to take off the blindfold. If he could see, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad…
Strong hands grip his hips, and keep him from pitching over as they both enter him, one in his mouth, one in his arse. He sucks and licks and opens his throat as best as he can to welcome it.
Fuck me. Help me. Take it all away. Let me serve. Make me forget.
Fucktoy. Teganffwcio. That word burns like a star in his heart, and he clings to it in desperation as his mind rips back the curtain and shows him everything they took away.
# # #
“Red,” Ianto tells Jack as Andy begins to struggle between them. “Fucking hell, Jack. Red.”
He knows the way Andy responds to certain kinds of touch, but he’s never seen this before. It looks like a seizure. He lays Andy down on the carpet while Jack tries to undo the handcuffs, and almost immediately Andy tries to scramble away.
“No. No, no, no, no…”
“Andy, it’s me. It’s Ianto,” he says, pulling away the blindfold. Andy’s eyes are unfocused, flicking around like they’re searching for something.
“Dead,” he whimpers. “They’re all dead.”
Jack manages to undo the cuffs and wraps Andy up in the sheet. “Shh. Hush. Nobody’s dead, Andy. It’s okay. Just breathe. You’re safe.”
“Andy, look at me,” Ianto says firmly, gripping his jaw. “Andy, please.”
His eyes focus suddenly on Ianto, but the recognition is tinged with rage and horror. “You. You’re one of them.”
“Ianto?” Jack says, his voice tight in his throat. “What’s he talking about?”
“You’re Torchwood! You’re both bloody Torchwood!” Andy shouts, and launches himself at Ianto. Jack grapples him and holds him in place.
“Whoa. Easy there, Tiger.”
Ianto tries to touch him, but Andy jerks away.
“You drugged me. You stole my memory.”
Ianto holds his hands in front. “Andy, I can explain.”
“Explain what? That you lied to me? That you poisoned me? How many times, Ianto?” Andy tries to wrench out of Jack’s grip, but can’t quite get the leverage.
“Ianto,” Jack says coolly. “Go downstairs.”
Ianto’s eyes go wide. “Jack, no.”
“Downstairs. Now. Put on my coat and wait in the SUV.”
“This isn’t his fault, Jack.” He’s pleading now, begging on Andy’s behalf from the center of the room.
Jack looks up at him, grey eyes blazing. “Ianto Jones, I am ordering you to go downstairs right the fuck now, or so help me, you will not enjoy the consequences.”
“Oh Jesus,” Andy sobs, still trying to squirm out of Jack’s arms. “Oh fuck. Please don’t kill me. I won’t tell. I swear, I won’t tell – ”
“NOW, Ianto.”
Ianto sees the terror in Andy’s eyes. He wants to charge in and pry him out of Jack’s arms or reason this thing out and fix things, damn it. They can fix this, can’t they? But the look on Jack’s face doesn’t yield. The matter has ceased being personal, and Captain Harkness has made his decision. All Ianto can do – all he can ever do – is his duty.
He turns away, ignoring Andy’s pleas (“Don’t leave me here, Ianto! Fuck’s sake, don’t leave me alone with him!”), and wraps himself up in Jack’s coat. Through sheer force of will he holds his face immobile and refuses to let his own tears begin before he is out the door. Once he emerges into the cool night air, though, his façade shatters with a strangled cry. He ignores the small stones and bits of glass on the pavement as he shuffles barefoot to the SUV.
I should have walked away a long time ago.
Ianto thinks of Max Tresillian and of Flat Holm. He remembers a forced sectioning from four months ago. He thinks of all of the deaths that he has concealed or tampered with. He imagines forging Andy’s suicide note and – oh god, he doesn’t want to kill Andy. He doesn’t. And yet, here he is fidgeting with the buttons on Jack’s coat, already planning contingencies and running scenarios in his head.
I wish I didn’t love you.
The lights in Andy’s flat stay on for a long time.
---
Prev (Pt #18) (Warnings: language, smut, and kink [D/s].)
-
Next (Pt #20) (Warnings: language, cruelty to Andy-kind.)
---