![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: "Just To Push You Down"
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 one is in the R-ish to NC-17 range for language, smut, and potentially problematic kink (dominance play, edgeplay/breathplay, reference to voyeurism).
Notes/Summary: Part #33 of the "It'll End In Tears" cluster, and also completes the prompt table. Numfar! Do the dance of joy! Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sanginmychains and resourceress for giving this the sweet, hot beta-fu. Also, borrowings and refrences to 2x11 ("Adrift") ahoy.
Jack had found him readily enough, though Ianto was pretty certain that using the Hub’s security system to do it was unfair. Still, his complaints on that account were something of an empty protest. He’d been as good as his word, and by the time Jack found him waiting in a clean (if slightly disused) workroom, he’d stripped off entirely and settled into a heavy old 1960’s office chair. He’d teased himself hard, looking up occasionally at the CCTV camera in the corner as he did so. Once Jack was with him, Ianto made sure to keep the action in view of the camera, especially when Jack knelt down between his legs to suck him off.
“You’re gorgeous like that,” Jack had murmured against Ianto’s thigh. “It makes me want to worship your cock.”
Ianto might have combed his fingers through Jack’s hair at that point and encouraged him to do his religious duty. If he put on a bit of a show for the camera (or at least because of it), could anybody blame him? Jack certainly hadn’t complained.
Ianto had made a mental note to burn the footage to disc before he deleted it.
Afterward they’d cleaned up and gone out for a quick bite. Jack had spent most of the meal gesturing with his fork through an outrageous story about a pack of lizard warriors from Mars. Ianto mainly listened, laughed at the clever bits, and enjoyed his dinner.
“You know, generally the sex is meant to happen after the dinner date,” Ianto had joked when he’d realized how bizarrely prosaic the whole thing was compared to the last two hours of his life. Which was how they’d got the idea to go back to the Hub for another go.
Which, incidentally, is how Gwen walks in on them in the greenhouse. Honestly, it’s sort of a miracle that this is the first time it’s happened.
Jack might be completely incapable of being properly mortified, but Ianto has no such handicap. When she bolts out, he grabs his shirt and dashes out after her to apologize. “Ah – ”
“Ianto. I'm sorry, I didn't realize –”
He shakes his head and straightens his cuffs. “Doesn't matter.”
“And I wouldn't have come in if I'd known –”
He opens his mouth to say something, but Jack sweeps out through the glass doors.
“Always room for one more,” Jack says, brazen, with his shirt undone. His open trousers hang from his hips, more a challenge than an invitation. “We could've used you an hour ago for naked hide-and-seek.”
“He cheats,” Ianto blurts out. “He always cheats.” He’s trying desperately to be casual and put her at ease as he buttons his shirt, but the effect is kind of bizarre.
Jack, meanwhile, merely seems put out at being interrupted. “Was there something you wanted?”
“Jonah Bevan. The missing boy. I'll make it my own special project. My responsibility, nothing to do with anyone else. I'm not letting it go.”
“No.”
Ianto winces, and his fingers falter as he does up his belt. Even if he speaks now, he knows Jack won’t see reason. Gwen won’t let go of it, won’t stop until she’s got a proper answer. The two of them will argue it to death, and Ianto’s caught in the middle of it. Except he’s picked a side now, hasn’t he? That Jonah is Andy’s case is just the final nail in the coffin. He jams his hands in his pockets and wonders idly if it’s possible to be any more fucked than he is right now.
Jack breaks away from Gwen’s glare and gives him an expectant look. “Coming back in? Work to do.”
“Yup.” Ianto follows him back toward the greenhouse, a few paces behind.
Gwen scowls. “Jack, we're not finished.”
“Yes, we are,” Jack says. The greenhouse door glides shut behind him.
Ianto reaches for the door handle and hesitates. He’s sorely tempted to tell Gwen to stop, but they’re all so far past the point of turning back that it would do him no good. Instead, he gestures toward the center of the Hub. “There's a package on your desk.” Rather than stick around for the questions and answers bit, he follows Jack into the greenhouse. Work to do, after all.
Jack wastes no time. He’s already shucked off most of his clothes, and is quick to close the gap between them. “Back where we were, or shall we start over?”
“Whatever you like.” Ianto’s eyes flick back to the glass door. He returns Jack’s touches tentatively, and he can feel his own tension in the way his shirt feels like a barrier between the world and his skin. He wonders how much of this is Jack wanting him, and how much is Jack pushing Gwen away.
The barest hint of a frown shadows Jack’s expression, and he creases his brow. “You still think I’m wrong.”
“I think this is an awkward time to have much of an opinion.” Ianto reaches up to start undoing the buttons of his shirt, but Jack takes hold of his wrists and presses up close.
“I know that look,” Jack murmurs against Ianto’s throat and puts their hands down behind Ianto’s back, half-immobilizing him. It’s awkward, and puts both of them ever so slightly off-balance. Whether that’s some sort of commentary or just Jack’s idea of fun is anybody’s guess.
Ianto tilts his head back to encourage Jack’s mouth. The timing is awkward, but he wants this. That technically he’s slipped uncomfortably close to playing the whore is immaterial. Mindful of their joint center of gravity, Ianto strains to press against Jack’s hip. He lets out a gasp of pain and surprise when Jack bites his shoulder hard enough to bruise, but he doesn’t jerk away. Jack’s grip on his wrists is tight enough now that his fingers tingle.
“Is that supposed to be a challenge, Jack?”
Jack’s face is out of Ianto’s field of vision, but he can feel it against his skin. “Whatever you like.”
The greenhouse suddenly feels too cramped to be practical. From here Ianto can see that Owen’s work table is covered in notes, and there’s a jumble of lab glass including a trio of burettes, each filled with a different fluid. Owen might not be tidy, but the clutter of papers doesn’t look abandoned. If they pitch over, there’s a solid chance they’ll be landing on a work in progress.
“Problem?” Jack murmurs against Ianto’s collarbone.
“No,” Ianto says as he twists his wrists and tilts his head to indicate the floor. “It’s just I think you know what I like.”
The look Jack gives him through his lashes isn’t an agreeable one. “Yeah, but we already did that once tonight.”
“Sorry, but who told you that you could argue?”
Jack lets out a harsh little laugh. “You think you’re in charge?”
Ianto blinks once, surprised, and then smiles faintly. “Oh, no. I don’t think there’s ever any danger of that.”
“Topping from the bottom, huh? Yeah, alright. I’ll play.” The flicker of cruelty in Jack’s expression gives way to anticipation as he sinks to kneel at Ianto’s feet.
“Good,” Ianto says. He shrugs the ache from his shoulders and rubs at his wrists. He still feels a little scattered, but he can work with this. “Good. Okay. Now take your cock out.”
Jack raises his eyebrows and smirks. “So soon?”
“Just humor me.” Ianto puts his hands on his hips and rolls his eyes. “Honestly, do you want me to bring you off or not?”
“So far it looks like I’m the one doing all the work.” Jack undoes his trousers and pushes them down a little before he reaches down to scoop his tackle over the waistband of his briefs. His cock is soft, but he starts playing with it straight away, like he’s eager to get on with things.
“Well then maybe you’d better close your eyes.” Ianto steps away and walks over to stand next to Owen’s lab table. It’s just out of Jack’s field of vision, which makes it a good place to consider his next move. He notices his tie, crumpled on the floor, and reaches down to pick it up while he watches Jack jerk himself hard. He folds it in half and runs the silk through his fingers, turns it over in his hands. It really is a nice tie.
“Got any boundaries tonight?”
Jack shrugs, but his hand doesn’t cease its motion. The lingering traces of his smirk are still there in the side of his mouth and the angle of his brow. It’s the Captain all over, self-assured and waiting for the thing he wants to throw itself at his feet.
You think you’re in charge?
That cinches it. Ianto’s fingers tighten around his tie as he stands and approaches Jack from behind. “So which one are you? The unstoppable force or the immovable object?”
A twitch of confusion mars the mask, but Jack seems to like the question well enough. “Oh, the force. Definitely the force.”
“Really? You think so?” Ianto raises his eyebrows even though Jack can’t see. He winds the ends of the folded silk around each palm once, pleased by the solidity of it in spite of the fineness of the fabric. The sheen of the fibers changes as he pulls the tie taut between his fists. He pauses to appreciate the loveliness of it. “Hm. Fair enough.”
Ianto brings the tie around Jack’s throat fast and tight, certain that any hesitation will make him lose his courage. Jack’s eyes fly open as he tries to wrench away, but Ianto holds him fast. The panic is unmistakable as Jack claws at the tie around his throat.
“I didn’t tell you to stop, sir,” Ianto growls, and kicks at Jack’s hip. He pulls tighter and yanks, white-knuckled, to get the other man’s attention. “Go on about your business. I’m certainly not doing any work up here.”
Jack strains to look up at him, and Ianto gives him his best butler smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll clean up after you finish.”
He feels the noise Jack tries to make more than he hears it, then watches with a sort of morbid fascination as Jack’s hands fly to his cock and balls in a nearly demented effort to bring himself off before Ianto strangles him. The way Jack’s chest tries to rise erratically in an effort to draw breath is like nothing Ianto has ever seen, and when Jack comes, his whole upper body snaps so taut that Ianto almost loses his hold on the tie. The mess is incredible. It’s possible they may need to mop.
Ianto does not loosen his grip. He waits a beat – no, two – just to see Jack’s trust in him begin to falter. Satisfied, he lets the tie drop down into Jack’s lap and watches him slump into a gasping, shuddering heap.
“I always thought you were the immovable object type, myself.” Ianto crouches down behind Jack to lay a kiss between his shoulders. Jack makes a little wheezing sound that might be a laugh, and Ianto makes a point to touch and kiss as much of his bare skin as possible. He isn’t sorry – how can he be, really? – but that doesn’t mean he’s entirely comfortable with what he’s done.
“I should be more careful,” Jack says as he leans back into Ianto’s arms. “Making you angry.”
“And I should make you lick the floor clean. What’s your point?”
Jack settles in and fixes his gaze somewhere near the greenhouse ceiling. He looks strangely content for a man just barely on the right side of murdered. Ianto can’t work out whether to be relieved by that.
When they go downstairs to clean each other up, the package is gone.
# # #
On his way back to the table, Andy notices that Gwen has her mobile out. He can’t see her expression, and honestly that call could be anything, but the timing is funny. He hesitates until she puts it back in her jacket pocket, all the while sort of hoping it isn’t Rhys. Andy kind of likes the idea of her sneaking around to see him.
“Anyway,” he says as he joins her at the table, “I know a couple of boat skippers who owe me a favor. So we'll head out to Flat Holm, poke around, see if we can't sort this out.”
She picks up her cup and holds it just slightly in front of her mouth. “Or even better, you get me the boat and I'll tell you what I find.”
“No way.” He shakes his head. “No boat trip, no boat. I'm part of this.”
Gwen’s expression is hard to make out, like she’s thinking it over. “Okay,” she says, finally, and sits back in her booth.
“Alright.”
It’s funny, Andy thinks, as he picks up his own cup. This is the sort of thing that he’d have jumped at a few months ago. Big investigation, weird circumstances, Torchwood. Bastards or not, this should have been exciting. What it’s been so far, though, is frustrating. “So is this what you really do? You know, at work.”
“Me?” Gwen asks, surprised.
Andy pulls a face. “No, the other super secret agent at the table. Yes, of course you.”
She does this coy, sort of nervous laugh thing. “I – no. I mean, I suppose sometimes I do. Depending, you know, on the situation. We’re not missing persons.”
“No ‘Mental Hopscotch’ for you then, eh?”
Gwen gives him a baffled look. “Sorry?”
“You know. Men-tal Hop-scotch,” he sing-songs and raises his eyebrows. When she gives him a blank look, he sighs and looks back down at his tea. “Nevermind.”
# # #
The morning isn’t quite brisk, and the breeze off the Bristol Channel is pleasant enough that Andy doesn’t bother zipping up his jacket. He’s glad to spot Huw Morgan out among the men getting their boats sorted. They’re not proper mates, him and Huw, but they’ve always got on well enough. Andy waves as he approaches, and Huw waves back.
“Alright, Huw? How’s tricks?”
“Not bad, not bad PC Davidson. Doing a bit of undercover work this morning?”
“Nah,” Andy scuffs at the pier with his shoe. “Just out and about, me. What about you?”
Huw shrugs. “Nothing in particular. Might have a bit of work taking some tourists out fishing. Usual sort of business.”
“Got time for a trip to Flat Holm Island?”
“Flat Holm Island?” Huw leans against the boat’s cabin and gives Andy quick looking-over. “What on earth do you want to go all the way out there for?”
“Actually, it’s for –” He nearly says ‘an investigation,’ but he’s not in uniform, and with Gwen involved it might be best to err on the side of keeping things hush-hush. “Well, a friend. Old work partner of mine wants to see the lighthouse and things, but sort of on her own. No tour groups, you know.”
Huw chuckles, low and dirty. “You and a lady friend out on Flat Holm Island, eh? Yeah, fine. But you know it takes fuel to get there and back.”
Andy catches his meaning straight away and nods. “Yeah, of course. How much do you want for it?”
“Fifty ought to do it.”
“Well then,” Andy replies with a little grin of triumph. “Fifty it is. Let me just – ” He reaches into his pocket for his mobile to let Gwen know it’s settled, but catches sight of her instead. “I’ll be right back, Huw. That’s her just there.”
He walks down along the pier where she jogs up to meet him. With a quick gesture toward Huw he tells her, “Fifty quid.”
“That’s a bit steep, isn’t it?” She makes a little up-nod in the boat’s direction. “Offer him thirty-five.”
Andy folds his arms. “Gwen, I'm not being funny. If you want to haggle, go to Morocco.”
She sighs and reaches for her wallet. “Alright. Fifty quid.” She counts it out and she follows him over to Huw, who keeps giving them both slightly knowing looks. “Oh, Andy? Get us a couple of teas before we go?”
“You're kidding?”
Gwen gives him a pleading look, presses her palms together.
He sighs, rolls his eyes. “You're not kidding.”
He gives Huw a helpless look, then turns around to get in line over at the chip stand. Fortunately, the line is short and quick. He orders two teas (one of which is presumably his, though he’d have happily done without), and then carries them carefully down the pier back to the boat.
Which, now he notices, is pulling out into the water.
“Oi!” he shouts, suddenly heedless of the hot drinks in his hands as he jogs down the boards to catch up, but there’s no way.
“I’m sorry Andy!” Gwen calls back to him like it’s some sort of accident and that the boat just happened to slip out onto the water. She can’t be that sorry, though, considering that she’s doing up her lifejacket instead of asking Huw to turn the boat around. “I’m sorry!”
“Yeah, right!” he yells back, but there’s nothing for it. The boat is fucking gone, headed off to Flat Holm Island without him.
He turns away from the water, paper cups in hand, and the only reason he doesn’t throw them to the ground is because they’re something he’s managed to do right. There’s a bench nearby and he plants himself there while he sips through both teas one after the other and squints angrily at the water. I can be like you, you know. If you’d let me. But she never does. He's been pushed out, exiled with nothing to cling to but his own stolen memory. He's got nothing to do but pray like hell that he can keep himself together.
Better mad than a liar, he supposes.
Andy drops his cups into the bin and goes in to work early. There’s always something to catch up on or help out with at the station house. Regular policing things, not this special investigations bullshit. He buries himself in the day-to-day paperwork, runs a couple of errands for Yvonne. It isn’t peaceful by any stretch, but it’s familiar. It makes Gwen’s call all the more unwelcome when she rings him.
“I’m hanging up.”
“Andy, don’t. It’s for Nikki.”
“What about her?”
“I need you to confirm to her that I'm not mad or dangerous or a liar.”
His jaw drops. “What, after you used me? I can’t even start on how much you’ve lied to me. Fuck only knows what you and Torchwood really do. As far as I’m concerned, you’re probably all three.”
“Andy –”
“No,” he says, and jabs his finger into the air. “I’m not finished. We had a deal. How am I supposed to know what you found out there, or what sort of ridiculous line of shit you’re going to feed her after I vouch for you? You know what you can do, Gwen Cooper? You can take your 'confirmation' and you can stick it up your fucking –”
“Damn it, Andy. I’ve found Jonah.”
He closes his eyes, wants to punch something. He’s worked for seven months to help Nikki Bevan find her son. He has walked more of Cardiff, done more pointless interviews, and pulled more strings on this case than he can even begin to list, and Gwen expects him to let go and give it to Torchwood just like that so she can solve it all right under his nose? By rights, he should tell her to get fucked. The only thing that stops him is the knowledge that somewhere out there is a boy who needs his help, and that Jonah Bevan’s life is worth a hell of a lot more than Andy Davidson’s self-respect.
“Alright, fine,” he grinds out. “Put her on. But I’m doing this for Jonah and Nikki, not for you.”
A moment later, Nikki’s voice comes over the line. “Andy?”
“Hello, Nikki,” he says, and swallows his pride.
# # #
Andy isn’t surprised when Nikki doesn’t call him right away. Seven months is a long time to be away from someone you care about, and he expects that she and Jonah are busy with the whole business of being reunited. He can’t imagine that it’s easy. Still, he starts to worry when a couple of days turns into several and he’s still not heard from her.
He leaves her a couple of messages. She doesn’t call back.
It’s just past the two week mark when Andy pops by her flat on his way home from work. He’s not worried as such (except that he is), but her lights are on like normal when he arrives. Andy rings the bell like normal and waits on her stoop in the early evening drizzle. Maybe Jonah will be in, too, and they’ll finally meet. Andy likes the sound of that. At the very least, it’ll be nice to have a bit of closure.
When Nikki answers the door, he feels a little pang of guilt. She smiles, but he can’t shake the feeling that she’s putting on a brave face. “Oh. Hello, Andy. What a surprise.”
“Yeah, sorry. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d say hello, see how you and Jonah were getting on now that he’s come home.”
Nikki backs away slightly, gives him a weird look. “Jonah’s not coming home.”
“He’s – oh.” Andy covers his mouth with his hand. “God. Nikki, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
There’s a look in Nikki’s eyes that he wishes wasn’t familiar, but he’s been seeing the edges of it for months. When she speaks again there’s an awful finality in her tone. “Look, Andy, I’m so grateful for the way you tried to help Jonah. Really, I am. But I think maybe it would be best if you didn’t come by again.”
She closes the door in his face and leaves him standing on her stoop. He rests his hand on it for a moment before he pushes away and trudges back to his car.
---
Prev (Pt #32) (Warnings: language and smut.)
-
Next (Pt #34) (Warnings: Tiny bit of violence. Busy work.)
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 one is in the R-ish to NC-17 range for language, smut, and potentially problematic kink (dominance play, edgeplay/breathplay, reference to voyeurism).
Notes/Summary: Part #33 of the "It'll End In Tears" cluster, and also completes the prompt table. Numfar! Do the dance of joy! Thanks to
sanginmychains and resourceress for giving this the sweet, hot beta-fu. Also, borrowings and refrences to 2x11 ("Adrift") ahoy.Jack had found him readily enough, though Ianto was pretty certain that using the Hub’s security system to do it was unfair. Still, his complaints on that account were something of an empty protest. He’d been as good as his word, and by the time Jack found him waiting in a clean (if slightly disused) workroom, he’d stripped off entirely and settled into a heavy old 1960’s office chair. He’d teased himself hard, looking up occasionally at the CCTV camera in the corner as he did so. Once Jack was with him, Ianto made sure to keep the action in view of the camera, especially when Jack knelt down between his legs to suck him off.
“You’re gorgeous like that,” Jack had murmured against Ianto’s thigh. “It makes me want to worship your cock.”
Ianto might have combed his fingers through Jack’s hair at that point and encouraged him to do his religious duty. If he put on a bit of a show for the camera (or at least because of it), could anybody blame him? Jack certainly hadn’t complained.
Ianto had made a mental note to burn the footage to disc before he deleted it.
Afterward they’d cleaned up and gone out for a quick bite. Jack had spent most of the meal gesturing with his fork through an outrageous story about a pack of lizard warriors from Mars. Ianto mainly listened, laughed at the clever bits, and enjoyed his dinner.
“You know, generally the sex is meant to happen after the dinner date,” Ianto had joked when he’d realized how bizarrely prosaic the whole thing was compared to the last two hours of his life. Which was how they’d got the idea to go back to the Hub for another go.
Which, incidentally, is how Gwen walks in on them in the greenhouse. Honestly, it’s sort of a miracle that this is the first time it’s happened.
Jack might be completely incapable of being properly mortified, but Ianto has no such handicap. When she bolts out, he grabs his shirt and dashes out after her to apologize. “Ah – ”
“Ianto. I'm sorry, I didn't realize –”
He shakes his head and straightens his cuffs. “Doesn't matter.”
“And I wouldn't have come in if I'd known –”
He opens his mouth to say something, but Jack sweeps out through the glass doors.
“Always room for one more,” Jack says, brazen, with his shirt undone. His open trousers hang from his hips, more a challenge than an invitation. “We could've used you an hour ago for naked hide-and-seek.”
“He cheats,” Ianto blurts out. “He always cheats.” He’s trying desperately to be casual and put her at ease as he buttons his shirt, but the effect is kind of bizarre.
Jack, meanwhile, merely seems put out at being interrupted. “Was there something you wanted?”
“Jonah Bevan. The missing boy. I'll make it my own special project. My responsibility, nothing to do with anyone else. I'm not letting it go.”
“No.”
Ianto winces, and his fingers falter as he does up his belt. Even if he speaks now, he knows Jack won’t see reason. Gwen won’t let go of it, won’t stop until she’s got a proper answer. The two of them will argue it to death, and Ianto’s caught in the middle of it. Except he’s picked a side now, hasn’t he? That Jonah is Andy’s case is just the final nail in the coffin. He jams his hands in his pockets and wonders idly if it’s possible to be any more fucked than he is right now.
Jack breaks away from Gwen’s glare and gives him an expectant look. “Coming back in? Work to do.”
“Yup.” Ianto follows him back toward the greenhouse, a few paces behind.
Gwen scowls. “Jack, we're not finished.”
“Yes, we are,” Jack says. The greenhouse door glides shut behind him.
Ianto reaches for the door handle and hesitates. He’s sorely tempted to tell Gwen to stop, but they’re all so far past the point of turning back that it would do him no good. Instead, he gestures toward the center of the Hub. “There's a package on your desk.” Rather than stick around for the questions and answers bit, he follows Jack into the greenhouse. Work to do, after all.
Jack wastes no time. He’s already shucked off most of his clothes, and is quick to close the gap between them. “Back where we were, or shall we start over?”
“Whatever you like.” Ianto’s eyes flick back to the glass door. He returns Jack’s touches tentatively, and he can feel his own tension in the way his shirt feels like a barrier between the world and his skin. He wonders how much of this is Jack wanting him, and how much is Jack pushing Gwen away.
The barest hint of a frown shadows Jack’s expression, and he creases his brow. “You still think I’m wrong.”
“I think this is an awkward time to have much of an opinion.” Ianto reaches up to start undoing the buttons of his shirt, but Jack takes hold of his wrists and presses up close.
“I know that look,” Jack murmurs against Ianto’s throat and puts their hands down behind Ianto’s back, half-immobilizing him. It’s awkward, and puts both of them ever so slightly off-balance. Whether that’s some sort of commentary or just Jack’s idea of fun is anybody’s guess.
Ianto tilts his head back to encourage Jack’s mouth. The timing is awkward, but he wants this. That technically he’s slipped uncomfortably close to playing the whore is immaterial. Mindful of their joint center of gravity, Ianto strains to press against Jack’s hip. He lets out a gasp of pain and surprise when Jack bites his shoulder hard enough to bruise, but he doesn’t jerk away. Jack’s grip on his wrists is tight enough now that his fingers tingle.
“Is that supposed to be a challenge, Jack?”
Jack’s face is out of Ianto’s field of vision, but he can feel it against his skin. “Whatever you like.”
The greenhouse suddenly feels too cramped to be practical. From here Ianto can see that Owen’s work table is covered in notes, and there’s a jumble of lab glass including a trio of burettes, each filled with a different fluid. Owen might not be tidy, but the clutter of papers doesn’t look abandoned. If they pitch over, there’s a solid chance they’ll be landing on a work in progress.
“Problem?” Jack murmurs against Ianto’s collarbone.
“No,” Ianto says as he twists his wrists and tilts his head to indicate the floor. “It’s just I think you know what I like.”
The look Jack gives him through his lashes isn’t an agreeable one. “Yeah, but we already did that once tonight.”
“Sorry, but who told you that you could argue?”
Jack lets out a harsh little laugh. “You think you’re in charge?”
Ianto blinks once, surprised, and then smiles faintly. “Oh, no. I don’t think there’s ever any danger of that.”
“Topping from the bottom, huh? Yeah, alright. I’ll play.” The flicker of cruelty in Jack’s expression gives way to anticipation as he sinks to kneel at Ianto’s feet.
“Good,” Ianto says. He shrugs the ache from his shoulders and rubs at his wrists. He still feels a little scattered, but he can work with this. “Good. Okay. Now take your cock out.”
Jack raises his eyebrows and smirks. “So soon?”
“Just humor me.” Ianto puts his hands on his hips and rolls his eyes. “Honestly, do you want me to bring you off or not?”
“So far it looks like I’m the one doing all the work.” Jack undoes his trousers and pushes them down a little before he reaches down to scoop his tackle over the waistband of his briefs. His cock is soft, but he starts playing with it straight away, like he’s eager to get on with things.
“Well then maybe you’d better close your eyes.” Ianto steps away and walks over to stand next to Owen’s lab table. It’s just out of Jack’s field of vision, which makes it a good place to consider his next move. He notices his tie, crumpled on the floor, and reaches down to pick it up while he watches Jack jerk himself hard. He folds it in half and runs the silk through his fingers, turns it over in his hands. It really is a nice tie.
“Got any boundaries tonight?”
Jack shrugs, but his hand doesn’t cease its motion. The lingering traces of his smirk are still there in the side of his mouth and the angle of his brow. It’s the Captain all over, self-assured and waiting for the thing he wants to throw itself at his feet.
You think you’re in charge?
That cinches it. Ianto’s fingers tighten around his tie as he stands and approaches Jack from behind. “So which one are you? The unstoppable force or the immovable object?”
A twitch of confusion mars the mask, but Jack seems to like the question well enough. “Oh, the force. Definitely the force.”
“Really? You think so?” Ianto raises his eyebrows even though Jack can’t see. He winds the ends of the folded silk around each palm once, pleased by the solidity of it in spite of the fineness of the fabric. The sheen of the fibers changes as he pulls the tie taut between his fists. He pauses to appreciate the loveliness of it. “Hm. Fair enough.”
Ianto brings the tie around Jack’s throat fast and tight, certain that any hesitation will make him lose his courage. Jack’s eyes fly open as he tries to wrench away, but Ianto holds him fast. The panic is unmistakable as Jack claws at the tie around his throat.
“I didn’t tell you to stop, sir,” Ianto growls, and kicks at Jack’s hip. He pulls tighter and yanks, white-knuckled, to get the other man’s attention. “Go on about your business. I’m certainly not doing any work up here.”
Jack strains to look up at him, and Ianto gives him his best butler smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll clean up after you finish.”
He feels the noise Jack tries to make more than he hears it, then watches with a sort of morbid fascination as Jack’s hands fly to his cock and balls in a nearly demented effort to bring himself off before Ianto strangles him. The way Jack’s chest tries to rise erratically in an effort to draw breath is like nothing Ianto has ever seen, and when Jack comes, his whole upper body snaps so taut that Ianto almost loses his hold on the tie. The mess is incredible. It’s possible they may need to mop.
Ianto does not loosen his grip. He waits a beat – no, two – just to see Jack’s trust in him begin to falter. Satisfied, he lets the tie drop down into Jack’s lap and watches him slump into a gasping, shuddering heap.
“I always thought you were the immovable object type, myself.” Ianto crouches down behind Jack to lay a kiss between his shoulders. Jack makes a little wheezing sound that might be a laugh, and Ianto makes a point to touch and kiss as much of his bare skin as possible. He isn’t sorry – how can he be, really? – but that doesn’t mean he’s entirely comfortable with what he’s done.
“I should be more careful,” Jack says as he leans back into Ianto’s arms. “Making you angry.”
“And I should make you lick the floor clean. What’s your point?”
Jack settles in and fixes his gaze somewhere near the greenhouse ceiling. He looks strangely content for a man just barely on the right side of murdered. Ianto can’t work out whether to be relieved by that.
When they go downstairs to clean each other up, the package is gone.
# # #
On his way back to the table, Andy notices that Gwen has her mobile out. He can’t see her expression, and honestly that call could be anything, but the timing is funny. He hesitates until she puts it back in her jacket pocket, all the while sort of hoping it isn’t Rhys. Andy kind of likes the idea of her sneaking around to see him.
“Anyway,” he says as he joins her at the table, “I know a couple of boat skippers who owe me a favor. So we'll head out to Flat Holm, poke around, see if we can't sort this out.”
She picks up her cup and holds it just slightly in front of her mouth. “Or even better, you get me the boat and I'll tell you what I find.”
“No way.” He shakes his head. “No boat trip, no boat. I'm part of this.”
Gwen’s expression is hard to make out, like she’s thinking it over. “Okay,” she says, finally, and sits back in her booth.
“Alright.”
It’s funny, Andy thinks, as he picks up his own cup. This is the sort of thing that he’d have jumped at a few months ago. Big investigation, weird circumstances, Torchwood. Bastards or not, this should have been exciting. What it’s been so far, though, is frustrating. “So is this what you really do? You know, at work.”
“Me?” Gwen asks, surprised.
Andy pulls a face. “No, the other super secret agent at the table. Yes, of course you.”
She does this coy, sort of nervous laugh thing. “I – no. I mean, I suppose sometimes I do. Depending, you know, on the situation. We’re not missing persons.”
“No ‘Mental Hopscotch’ for you then, eh?”
Gwen gives him a baffled look. “Sorry?”
“You know. Men-tal Hop-scotch,” he sing-songs and raises his eyebrows. When she gives him a blank look, he sighs and looks back down at his tea. “Nevermind.”
# # #
The morning isn’t quite brisk, and the breeze off the Bristol Channel is pleasant enough that Andy doesn’t bother zipping up his jacket. He’s glad to spot Huw Morgan out among the men getting their boats sorted. They’re not proper mates, him and Huw, but they’ve always got on well enough. Andy waves as he approaches, and Huw waves back.
“Alright, Huw? How’s tricks?”
“Not bad, not bad PC Davidson. Doing a bit of undercover work this morning?”
“Nah,” Andy scuffs at the pier with his shoe. “Just out and about, me. What about you?”
Huw shrugs. “Nothing in particular. Might have a bit of work taking some tourists out fishing. Usual sort of business.”
“Got time for a trip to Flat Holm Island?”
“Flat Holm Island?” Huw leans against the boat’s cabin and gives Andy quick looking-over. “What on earth do you want to go all the way out there for?”
“Actually, it’s for –” He nearly says ‘an investigation,’ but he’s not in uniform, and with Gwen involved it might be best to err on the side of keeping things hush-hush. “Well, a friend. Old work partner of mine wants to see the lighthouse and things, but sort of on her own. No tour groups, you know.”
Huw chuckles, low and dirty. “You and a lady friend out on Flat Holm Island, eh? Yeah, fine. But you know it takes fuel to get there and back.”
Andy catches his meaning straight away and nods. “Yeah, of course. How much do you want for it?”
“Fifty ought to do it.”
“Well then,” Andy replies with a little grin of triumph. “Fifty it is. Let me just – ” He reaches into his pocket for his mobile to let Gwen know it’s settled, but catches sight of her instead. “I’ll be right back, Huw. That’s her just there.”
He walks down along the pier where she jogs up to meet him. With a quick gesture toward Huw he tells her, “Fifty quid.”
“That’s a bit steep, isn’t it?” She makes a little up-nod in the boat’s direction. “Offer him thirty-five.”
Andy folds his arms. “Gwen, I'm not being funny. If you want to haggle, go to Morocco.”
She sighs and reaches for her wallet. “Alright. Fifty quid.” She counts it out and she follows him over to Huw, who keeps giving them both slightly knowing looks. “Oh, Andy? Get us a couple of teas before we go?”
“You're kidding?”
Gwen gives him a pleading look, presses her palms together.
He sighs, rolls his eyes. “You're not kidding.”
He gives Huw a helpless look, then turns around to get in line over at the chip stand. Fortunately, the line is short and quick. He orders two teas (one of which is presumably his, though he’d have happily done without), and then carries them carefully down the pier back to the boat.
Which, now he notices, is pulling out into the water.
“Oi!” he shouts, suddenly heedless of the hot drinks in his hands as he jogs down the boards to catch up, but there’s no way.
“I’m sorry Andy!” Gwen calls back to him like it’s some sort of accident and that the boat just happened to slip out onto the water. She can’t be that sorry, though, considering that she’s doing up her lifejacket instead of asking Huw to turn the boat around. “I’m sorry!”
“Yeah, right!” he yells back, but there’s nothing for it. The boat is fucking gone, headed off to Flat Holm Island without him.
He turns away from the water, paper cups in hand, and the only reason he doesn’t throw them to the ground is because they’re something he’s managed to do right. There’s a bench nearby and he plants himself there while he sips through both teas one after the other and squints angrily at the water. I can be like you, you know. If you’d let me. But she never does. He's been pushed out, exiled with nothing to cling to but his own stolen memory. He's got nothing to do but pray like hell that he can keep himself together.
Better mad than a liar, he supposes.
Andy drops his cups into the bin and goes in to work early. There’s always something to catch up on or help out with at the station house. Regular policing things, not this special investigations bullshit. He buries himself in the day-to-day paperwork, runs a couple of errands for Yvonne. It isn’t peaceful by any stretch, but it’s familiar. It makes Gwen’s call all the more unwelcome when she rings him.
“I’m hanging up.”
“Andy, don’t. It’s for Nikki.”
“What about her?”
“I need you to confirm to her that I'm not mad or dangerous or a liar.”
His jaw drops. “What, after you used me? I can’t even start on how much you’ve lied to me. Fuck only knows what you and Torchwood really do. As far as I’m concerned, you’re probably all three.”
“Andy –”
“No,” he says, and jabs his finger into the air. “I’m not finished. We had a deal. How am I supposed to know what you found out there, or what sort of ridiculous line of shit you’re going to feed her after I vouch for you? You know what you can do, Gwen Cooper? You can take your 'confirmation' and you can stick it up your fucking –”
“Damn it, Andy. I’ve found Jonah.”
He closes his eyes, wants to punch something. He’s worked for seven months to help Nikki Bevan find her son. He has walked more of Cardiff, done more pointless interviews, and pulled more strings on this case than he can even begin to list, and Gwen expects him to let go and give it to Torchwood just like that so she can solve it all right under his nose? By rights, he should tell her to get fucked. The only thing that stops him is the knowledge that somewhere out there is a boy who needs his help, and that Jonah Bevan’s life is worth a hell of a lot more than Andy Davidson’s self-respect.
“Alright, fine,” he grinds out. “Put her on. But I’m doing this for Jonah and Nikki, not for you.”
A moment later, Nikki’s voice comes over the line. “Andy?”
“Hello, Nikki,” he says, and swallows his pride.
# # #
Andy isn’t surprised when Nikki doesn’t call him right away. Seven months is a long time to be away from someone you care about, and he expects that she and Jonah are busy with the whole business of being reunited. He can’t imagine that it’s easy. Still, he starts to worry when a couple of days turns into several and he’s still not heard from her.
He leaves her a couple of messages. She doesn’t call back.
It’s just past the two week mark when Andy pops by her flat on his way home from work. He’s not worried as such (except that he is), but her lights are on like normal when he arrives. Andy rings the bell like normal and waits on her stoop in the early evening drizzle. Maybe Jonah will be in, too, and they’ll finally meet. Andy likes the sound of that. At the very least, it’ll be nice to have a bit of closure.
When Nikki answers the door, he feels a little pang of guilt. She smiles, but he can’t shake the feeling that she’s putting on a brave face. “Oh. Hello, Andy. What a surprise.”
“Yeah, sorry. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d say hello, see how you and Jonah were getting on now that he’s come home.”
Nikki backs away slightly, gives him a weird look. “Jonah’s not coming home.”
“He’s – oh.” Andy covers his mouth with his hand. “God. Nikki, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
There’s a look in Nikki’s eyes that he wishes wasn’t familiar, but he’s been seeing the edges of it for months. When she speaks again there’s an awful finality in her tone. “Look, Andy, I’m so grateful for the way you tried to help Jonah. Really, I am. But I think maybe it would be best if you didn’t come by again.”
She closes the door in his face and leaves him standing on her stoop. He rests his hand on it for a moment before he pushes away and trudges back to his car.
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Prev (Pt #32) (Warnings: language and smut.)
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Next (Pt #34) (Warnings: Tiny bit of violence. Busy work.)