wot.

2008-07-25T08:25:43Z

Title: You'd Think It Would Hurt Less
Characters: Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG-13 for the...well...innuendo?
Spoilers: None. Set early S1.
Disclaimer: I'll give cookies for compensation.
Summary: Their first time together hovers between the lines of "awkward" and "really awkward" and "oh God, oh God, that was mortifying”.

Notes: Much luff to my beta fancyxthat. It's a happy fic. Not completely, but very close to it.

Their first time together hovers between the lines of "awkward" and "really awkward" and "oh God, oh God, that was mortifying”.

Ianto blames it on the fact that he really doesn't have any clue what to do because after all, it's Jack bloody Harkness. At work, their dynamic is confusing enough as is, without the increased perplexity of adding “in bed” to the picture. Though, getting naked and in bed itself isn't too bad.

But.

Ianto likes to forget that his head hit the wall during a particularly passionate moment, and Jack, being the bastard that he is, has the audacity to hysterically laugh with that smug smirk that Ianto has learned to utterly loathe and to gasp out "Holy crap Ianto! That good huh?”. Or that he smacked his teeth against Jack's skull and almost chipped his tooth. Or that in their tangle of limbs, Jack might've pulled something that Ianto knows medically is impossible to pull. Or that all in all, Ianto doesn't know what to do, and that the mounting awkwardness overwhelms the pleasure, making the situation even more awkward, and that Jack does nothing to quell the situation. Instead, he snorts and giggles and moans his way through the whole process.

At the end, the mood is somewhat dampened, and Ianto crawls out of bed, cradling his crushed ego and the possibility that after that, there is no going back. He leaves the hatch satisfyingly sore--after all, Ianto would never deny that Jack is a man with an extensive sexual repertoire, in spite of the overwhelming aura of awkward—and yet his self-esteem ends up relatively, no, extremely bruised. As he makes his way across the hub, waddling like a duck with a limp leg and a crutch, Ianto doesn't know whether or not he wants a repeat. He definitely knows that Jack doesn't want a repeat. And during the dead of the night, he scowls to himself the whole ride home.

When the rest of the team comes in at eight AM sharp, Ianto hides the red marks on his neck with a fresh suit, a high collar, and a half-Windsor knot. He serves coffee, feeds the weevils, feeds Myfanwy, mans the information booth, and plays online poker as usual. However, he steers clear of Jack all day. And the day after. And the day after that. And...for a bit while after that.

But if Ianto was psychic (and he is not, whatsoever), he would've known that Jack could still taste Ianto under his tongue, salty and writhing, and that it stays with him for the rest of the week, clouding his mind when he gets mauled by a wild weevil. Instead, Ianto chooses to be celibate and pointedly ignores Jack whenever he even remotely tries to talk to him.

After two weeks, Jack's libido finally gets the best of him since Ianto moves so nicely in a suit. He literally jumps Ianto and doesn't have the patience to drag him down the hatch.

"Have you been avoiding me?" Jack growls as he pushes Ianto to the desk and starts unbuttoning the pink shirt. His tongue traces Ianto's jaw line, and Ianto's breathing hitches.

"Didn't know I was. I was just--hoooh-kay."

Ianto loses all coherency when Jack's head sinks down his bare chest and unbuckles his pants. His head sinks further, and Ianto's ability to speak is on vacation in the Bahamas.

"I hate being avoided," Jack pouts, his lips curving against Ianto's skin, the sensitive patch just below his navel. "Don't avoid me."

Ianto arches back further against the desk as his eyes roll back and doesn't register the subtle despondence in Jack's voice. This time, the only thoughts running through his head are that Jack is very very skilled and perhaps that their first time together was just a really really bad fluke and that the awkwardness, thankfully, is on leave of absence. But he stops thinking altogether because that delicious thing that Jack does with his tongue and his fingers and his--oh wow.

In Ianto's honest opinion, their second time was quite pleasant. Yes, quite.

Fin.

Borderline schmoop. *facepalm* P.S. Title comes from a relatively common phrase about a person's first time. Yep.

Yes. Fanfiction. Ew!

2008-05-09T06:53:12Z

Title: Life Shot Me in the Foot and Left Me Limping [Torchwood ficlet]
Characters: Iantocentric, Jack/Ianto, Martha, mention of Gwen
Rating: PG for language
Spoilers: Post-Exit Wounds [2.13]
Disclaimer: Not mine duh. My first foray into Torchwood and fanfiction in two+ years. And unbeta'd.
Summary: Ianto was not having a good day.

Notes: So, my grammar stinks, and I'm trying to be stylistically really anti-superfluous. Basically, I'm experimenting.

Ianto was not having a good day.

Then again, he hasn’t had a single good day for ages, ever since Tosh and Owen passed away. Ten months and six days full of not-so-good days. Days of picking up pieces, mending broken minds, and not breaking down into a blubbering mess because he couldn’t afford to. He was cleaning. He was coping.

So yes, Ianto was not having a good day. But it was just that this day was particularly bad.

It started off in the morning when Ianto walked into the hub, clean and slick and so damn exhausted. And before he could make it to the coffee machine, his cell phone chirped. It had a text message.

Im sry. Im gone. Replace me.

From: Capt. J Harkness

Ianto stared blankly at his phone and swallowed down the pain. “Well, at least he was decent enough to leave a message this time,” he muttered.

“What’s that?” Ianto turned around. Martha walked into the hub with her bag slung over her shoulder. He heard Gwen’s footsteps following behind Martha. She smiled at him. When he smiled back, he felt his skin stretch thin and felt numbness while his heart slowly crumbled.

“Nothing.”

He retreated to the archives. No one bothered Ianto as he organized section F and as he dropped a fragile alien artifact and watched it shatter and gleam. When he picked up the sharp bits, he absentmindedly noted that his hands were bleeding. He cleaned up the mess while the blood on his hands began to dry and flake. Once he was finished, Ianto sat himself down on the cold floor, took out his cell phone, and read the text message over and over again. His blood stained the screen.

“I’m sorry,” he read aloud, hollow, “I’m gone. Replace me.”

Ianto never thought about texting back. He deleted the message.

Two hours later, he left his resignation on Martha’s desk, atop of an envelope addressed to her, penned in Jack’s loopy handwriting. Ianto knew that Martha would be a good leader. He then placed a hot mug of steaming coffee on Gwen’s desk. They never noticed Jack was gone and instead, departed in search of a bipedal, alien shrub. He turned off his cell phone and abandoned it in the information center.

After that, Ianto left.

By the time he was halfway home, he mused that he was having a pretty bad day. When he reached his flat, he took a shower and then flopped into bed. Ianto noticed that Jack’s shirt and red braces were on the other side of his bed, thrown off in a hurry last night. His heart dully thudded and throbbed in his chest as tears began to well up in his eyes. He buried his head in a pillow and inhaled.

“Fuck,” he mumbled. It was a bad day. It was the worst day.

For the first time in ten months and six days, Ianto started to cry.

Fin.

Fail Y/Y?

it's the paradigm of activity and non-movement.

wot.

Yes. Fanfiction. Ew!