bluecastle | fanfiction: Torchwood, “The Spaces Between”

Title: The Spaces Between
Pairing(s)/ Characters: Jack/Ianto
Warning(s): The MPAA would say this was NC-17. But, really... it's Jack and Ianto, being intimate (in all kinds of ways). Draw your own conclusions.
Word Count: 2,006
Disclaimer: The sand and the sandbox belong to the BBC. The sandcastles are mine.
Summary: What they say, when they don't say anything at all.

a/n: I started this piece out with a title in my head -- "Five Conversations that Jack and Ianto Had That No Else One Heard." But apparently my muses had a slightly different story in mind. This is what emerged.

Words that shouldn't have been said were said. But this is nothing new. They fight. Not frequently, but often enough. There had been yelling, and a battle of wills, and then after some 'I-only-mostly-hate-you-right-now' sex, and the usual squabbles over the covers, there had been an armistice of sorts as they slept. But clearly all has not been forgiven or forgotten.

Hate sex can be fun. But the morning after is nearly always awkward.

Jack can see indignation in the line of Ianto's back as he makes his way across the Hub with the team's coffees on his silver tray. Tension is practically arcing off the buckle on the back of Ianto's waistcoat, and the taste of acrid displeasure is in the air. Ianto's movements are always economical, but this morning he is a taut wire, leaving nothing to chance, leaving no room for error, being infuriatingly precise.

So it's no surprise that when Ianto comes into Jack's office with a single cup left on his tray, he walks right in. This is not the pleased Ianto who will stop just outside Jack's office door to teasingly straighten his tie, knowing Jack will watch his fingers splaying across the silk. This is not the tired Ianto who will sometimes wander into Jack's office carrying only his own tea cup and saucer, and limply slide into a chair to find five minutes respite. This is not even the pissed off Ianto who knocks on doors, and then closes them with white gloved precision. This Ianto is not one who can be gotten round with sweet whispered words, or silly innuendo. In his most secret thoughts, this Ianto is the one Jack thinks of as Avenging Ianto. But no one is prying that thought out of him any time soon, and certainly not the man himself, standing in front of him, being all defensive and prickly.

Jack is not fond of being patient, but he has learned to be good at it. So when their eyes meet over his coffee mug, he responds to Ianto's unspoken "Don't start, Jack" with a silent "Hey, fine, I didn't want to talk about it anyway. It's just..."

When the rift alert sounds, the personal conversation that never really started, stops.

Many hours later they find themselves alone in the conference room, Ianto sitting in his accustomed spot just to Jack's left, both uncomfortably silent in the aftermath of yet another crisis. The others are below, gathering their things and calling to each other as they leave. But neither man wants to be the first to speak, just as neither man knows what to say. So Ianto falls back on being tidy, stands and reaches for Jack's glass. Jack catches hold of his shirt cuff and Ianto stills. He tells himself he doesn't want this touch, but he is helpless to resist the gentle tracing of Jack's thumb along the crisp broadcloth. Gentle. Patient. His eyes slide shut as Jack's fingers slip under the shirt cuff and tease the soft skin of his wrist. Finger tips and fingernails run along the edge of Ianto's watch band, a calloused thumb pauses for a moment before caressing his pulse point. Moist breaths across his palm say "I'm here." The feel of Jack's lips across his fingertips saying "Open your eyes, Ianto. Open them and look at me. I'm sitting right here. Waiting."

The Hub lights power down for the night as Toshiko heads out the cog door, leaving them in the shadows. Jack has stilled now, his hand gently circling Ianto's wrist. Silent. Waiting. Hoping. Wanting. Ianto's eyes flicker open to look at the man sitting in front of him. "Finally," Jack's eyes say. "Am I not worth waiting for?" challenges Ianto's expression, surprising even him.

Ianto draws his hand from Jack's. Slips off his jacket. Unbuttons his shirt cuffs. Rolls up his sleeves. Watches Jack watch him. Hears the hitch in his breathing. Sees the unasked question, "Are we OK here?" in his lover's eyes. He turns away with the glasses, the lack of response, a response.

They go their separate ways for a time. They each have things they do in the time between "work" and "after-work." Frequently this downtime serves as office themed foreplay, in which Ianto is productive, and Jack less so. But tonight Jack watches from his office as Ianto tidies, does a few dishes, and spends time typing reports at his workstation. The anger seems to have faded, but the slump in Ianto's shoulders says "No. Not now. Not yet. I need more time to sort out what I'm feeling."

There is a moment when Jack worries, when Ianto cannot be found, and Jack wonders if he should have taken that unspoken "No" more closely to heart. But then Ianto comes down the stairs, carrying take away. Ianto pulls up stools to the corner of his work table, pours them both a glass of the orange juice Jack likes. Jack hands Ianto a crisp white cloth napkin with a smile, and they eat in companionable silence, touching only once when they both reach into the bag at the same time.

Jack has his routines too, a few special plants in the greenhouse to fuss over, some time on the gantry with Myfanwy before he lets her out to roam, a trip to the cells to contemplate the mystery that is Janet, a quick trip into the washroom to splash some cool water on his face, and wash the remains of dinner off his fingers.

He sets off, determined to find Ianto. He hasn't taken three steps down the hall when he finds himself stopped by a sliver of soft warm light spilling out of an open door. Through the doorway he sees Ianto standing in his little laundry room, folding a basket of towels. Jack can smell warm terry cloth, lemony scented detergent, the slightly cloying scent of the fabric softener, and a hint of Ianto's cologne.

He watches Ianto's hands folding a towel, smoothing it flat, palms running over the warm soft fabric, and before Jack knows what he's doing he's standing behind Ianto pressing a soft kiss to the nape of his neck. Rests his forehead against the soft hair on the back of Ianto's head, willing him to understand. To absorb the "I'm sorry" through osmosis, flesh to flesh.

Ianto exhales as Jack slips his arms around his waist. He folds the last of the towels and sets them in the basket, and then turns in the circle of Jack's arms. Jack shivers as Ianto runs his hands up Jack's chest and slips the braces off his shoulders. Jack loves to watch Ianto's sly "As much as I love this look on you, Jack, let's get these braces out of our way" smile.

He removes Jack's cufflinks and tucks them into his own waistcoat pocket, and then slowly unbuttons Jack's shirt, pushing it down his arms. With Jack's arms trapped he backs him up against the dryer, pinning him against it with his hips as he works the shirt off Jack's arms.

When Ianto turns to drop the shirt in the washing machine, and then leans down to grab another half a dozen pale hued shirts to add to the load, Jack just laughs, and then stands with his hands in his pockets watching Ianto add the detergent, close the lid, and set the timer. When Ianto hands Jack the basket of towels to carry, soft fingers caress the edge of Jack's wriststrap. But when Jack fails to move, there is a roll of Ianto's eyes, a "Lord, give me the strength to deal with idiots," look, and he leaves Jack to trail along behind as Ianto goes off down the hallway and turns the corner towards the lower level entrance to Jack's bunker.

Fresh towels are hung by Jack's sink, the basket stowed under the rail of shirts (a pink one looking a bit lost between the blue ones), when Jack finds himself pressed firmly against the wall, a thigh between his thighs, and Ianto's lips on his.

They both fight for the upper hand. It's what they do. And on this battlefield at least Ianto has a fighting chance. Above, outside, he is a follower. Here, he can lead, for a time. And so when he traps Jack's hands against the wall, and pushes his hips against him, and silences him with a kiss, Jack does what Jack does more often than most people would suppose. He welcomes Ianto's lead. A willing participant, he gives as well as takes, but it's Jack who ends up with his trousers around his ankles, being fucked fast and hard up against the wall. It's a little faster, and little rougher than usual, Ianto pinning Jack's hands to the wall with his own and pounding into him with sharp little gasps of need.

He brings himself off, and collapses for a moment draped over Jack. He sucks an open mouthed kiss to the nape of Jack's neck, slick with sweat, tonguing the spot that always makes Jack shiver, and waits for his breathing to even out. Jack turns to him, slides his hands in Ianto damp hair, pulls him close and kisses him back. Jack is still hard, and he presses himself up against Ianto with needy little moans. "Don't stop. Please. I need this. I need you." Ianto sinks to his knees, unties and removes Jack's boots, and then with his hands on Jacks's hips, pushes him back against the wall. He strips Jack naked and then with palms splayed around Jack's ribcage, forearms keeping Jack's hips still he takes Jack's cock in his mouth. Jack sighs with pleasure. Ianto's eyes flick up to meet Jack's. "See," they say, "I'm here for you Jack, here WITH you. Never doubt that." Some extra suction, and when Jack moans, Ianto smiles up at him. The barest scrape of teeth, and a look that asks "are you listening to me? I need you to hear what I am saying." Jack twines his fingers in Ianto's hair, thumbs smoothing over his temples, "I trust you," and then with a slight tug, "but get on with it!"

Ianto sits back on his heels looking up at Jack, and it isn't only desire that makes Jack gasp when he finds truth in Ianto's eyes. "I love you, too."

Then need overwhelms them both, and Jack's eyes slide closed as he submits to Ianto's glorious torture. Twice, then three times Ianto brings him to the brink, and then slows things down, keeping Jack pinned in place, using only his hands and his mouth to drive Jack Harkness towards mindless ecstasy. At last Ianto pushes Jack over the edge. Jack comes with a shout and slides limply to the floor, snuggling into the warm embrace of his lover. Jack shifts slightly to put his ear on Ianto's chest, separated from the other man's beating heart only by a soft cotton dress shirt.

Flushed, breathless, pulses pounding they stay entwined, lazily kissing as Jack unbuttons Ianto's shirt and slides him out of the rest of his clothes, leaving only the open dress shirt. Ianto tries to slip out of it at one point, but Jack shakes his head, liking the added sensations of the cotton brushing between their skin.

They kiss, and explore, giving in to gentle desires to taste and touch, until the floor gets cold, and Jack pulls Ianto to his feet, leading him over to his bunk. With a wicked smile, Ianto pushes him back so that they land in a heap on the bed. Ianto looks down at Jack, faces just inches apart, soft warm breaths washing over them.

Jack looks up into the blue eyes of the man pinning him to the bed. "Isn't this where we started?" his smile says.

"This is always where we begin," Ianto whispers, and then before baser passions take over, he allows himself to indulge in a desire which, on a day long gone by, he had repressed. He twines his fingers with Jack's ... and kisses him.

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

halftime1030.livejournal.com

Just wow. Actions speak louder than words -and this is a beautiful depiction of that and a perfect insight into their relationship.

Utterly breathtaking and quickly going into memories :)

From:

wherein I dream my dreams wrapped in a brown study.

fanfiction: Torchwood, “The Spaces Between”

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