Title: if my heart was a house
Rating: NC-17
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Jack, Ianto; Jack/Ianto
Summary: Ianto may have said yes to the date but Jack's still not sure where he stands. Post KKBB.
Disclaimer: If I owned Torchwood, the boys would have had more screentime together, more sex, and Ianto would still be alive. Title and quote from the song by Owl City, "If My Heart was a House".
Warning: angst, mentions TYTNW and past torture, PTSD
Notes: This is a very belated birthday present for sariagray. Happy Belated Birthday! *hugs*
Originally intended to be PWP, but then Jack decided to be all angsty and when Ianto started cuddling him, plot ambushed me. Also, the muse once again insisted on second person POV. I hope it works.

Circle me and the needle moves gracefully, back and forth
If my heart was a compass, you'd be North
Risk it all 'cause I'll catch you if you fall
Wherever you go, if my heart was a house, you'd be home
~Owl City; "If My Heart was a House"

"Weevil alert," Tosh says calmly when the alarm goes off. "Ianto?"

You can't help but twitch in surprise when he walks up behind you, as if out of thin air. Sneaky Ianto is still sneaky and once the spike in your heartbeat steadies out and the memories of sudden, painful deaths and maniacal laughter are pushed away, you feel something warm well up in your chest. Some things never change. Sneaky Ianto is still sneaky.

"Jack?" Gwen's concerned voice draws you back to the present. "Are you all right?"

You mentally shake yourself, and wonder how long you've been standing there, staring into space. "I'm fine," you reassure her, smile (not forced this time, good) and turn to Tosh. "I can take the call."

"No need." It's Ianto, walking past you, without even a glance your way. "I'm on it." He's already wearing his coat, and he must have stopped by the armory because he's clipping a can of Weevil spray to his belt, and when he moves you can see the outline of a stun gun clipped to his other hip and a shoulder holster under his arm.

Your mouth waters slightly at the sight, even as the unwelcome memory of the another Ianto in faded black fatigues but the same coldly determined eyes flashes through your mind. Saxon had made you watch the video over and over again, of Ianto running through one of his labs, fleeing from the Toclafane. That same look in his eyes, right before he'd blown himself up and the Toclafane and laboratory with him. There hadn't been anything left of him, but Saxon had taken great joy in rubbing your face in the ashes, literally.

Back in the present, you force the memory away. "I'll come along," you volunteer. Without waiting for an answer, you leap up the stairs, two at the time, to grab your coat and Webley.

When you emerge, and clatter down the stairs, Ianto is gone.

"Where-"

"Garage," answers Tosh without looking up from her programming and you hurry off after him.

Ianto is already in the SUV when you dash across the garage. You catch a glimpse of annoyance flickering across his face, but it's gone so fast, and he's already leaning across the seat to open the passenger side door for you, so you decide that it's just a trick of the light on the windshield.

The drive is silent. It's not uncomfortable. Ianto enjoys his silence, and you take the opportunity to look out of the window and take in Cardiff again, make observations. Ianto drives a lot faster now. As fast as Owen, and just a little less reckless. One turn would have thrown you up against the door had you not gripped the door handle and you see the tiniest of smirks curl his lip before that disappears too. Maybe, you wonder, that look of annoyance wasn't imagined.

You don't have time to examine your feelings of hurt and confusion. The tracer beeps as the SUV nears the docks where the Weevils are and you watch as the blinking dots separate into three. Fuck. Three Weevils. You're glad you decided to come along, regardless what Ianto feels about it.

"You, left," Ianto orders shortly as you both exit the car. You follow his orders without question. It'll be interesting to see how Ianto handles this, how he manages with directing and giving orders. Well, you already know that Ianto takes control well, but it's something you haven't quite had the opportunity to observe and experience outside the bedroom.

The three Weevils are still huddled together in a loose group by a stack of containers. Good. You really don't want to end up loosing them in this maze. In fact, they've been nice enough to actually wedge themselves in a corner, so if you and Ianto approach from opposing sides, this may actually be easy.

Okay. You shouldn't have said that. The breeze shifts and all three of the brutes catch a scent. Yours or Ianto's, it doesn't matter any more as they recognize the danger and lunge towards the both of you. You catch a brief glimpse of fangs before you throw yourself to the side. Adrenaline rushes through your veins. Fuck yeah, you've been needing this, this thrill, this razor edge of danger on which you've always danced on so skillfully. Your life and death in your own hands once again.

It's brilliant.

You twist out of the way, and it's a close shave. You catch a whiff of sewer stench and a claw brushes past your ear, so close you feel a breeze. You haven't drawn your Webley yet, nor the Weevil spray. Let's play a little, you think. Why end the fun so early?

Two Weevils circle you slowly, like predators cornering their prey. But you're not vulnerable, you're no frightened deer/animal/human/whatever. These Weevils, they don't know what they have coming.

The first one lunges at you. Okay, you're being far too generous. "Blunder" would be a better word. It draws back a stubby arm, projecting its actions so far ahead that you haven't just ducked when the arm swings forward, but also skittered back and out of the bracket they've been trying to trap you in. Too slow to realize you've escaped, it can't do anything when you kick it square in the back, and the claws meant for you slash across the chest of its kin instead.

You grin. Score one for Captain Jack.

Both Weevils howl, one in anger and other possibly in confusion or fear or whatever it may be feeling. You don't particularly care.

You glance at Ianto. He seems to be doing fine with a roundhouse punch to the fleshy part of the Weevils face. As it reels away from him, momentarily stunned, he sprays it will a full dose of spray from the can, then finishes it off by kicking it in the shin so that it falls over. So caught up are you in watching him that you don't notice the other two Weevils until they're right on top of you. The first bowls you over and you pull it down with you, using the momentum of its fallen body to kick it up and to the side. The other immediately takes its place, lunging for your throat, except that you've already rolled out of the way. You give it a vicious kick in the side. It grunts and rolls away before trying to get back to its feet. You don't let it. There's a crack as you loose another kick and the steel capped toe of your boot connects with it's chin. It falls limply to the ground out cold.

Now there's only one more left to go, and from the corner of your eye you see it approach. You let loose a punch and it ducks, barely. Your knuckles graze it hard enough for it to reel back and you take the opportunity to seize it by the neck and force it to the ground, your other hand drawing back for another punch-

"Jack! Jack!" You blink. Your fist stops centimeters from Ianto's face. He's looking up at you with expression of fear and anger. You push yourself away from him, reeling.

''Ianto, I-"

"What the fuck, Jack," he snarls as he pushes himself to his feet. All trace of fear is gone from his face. Now he simply looks outraged. His glare pins you, making you feel like a large, ugly bug. You look around for a distraction, but all the Weevils are down for the count.

"I don't know what got over me." That's all you say. Then you step right past him and start cuffing and bagging the Weevils. There are is a minute where you can feel his glare continue to drill through your skull, then you hear footsteps move away. Ianto has probably gone to get the SUV. As angry as he may be, he is not one to leave an argument unresolved, or a mess untidied.

Between the two of you, the Weevils are squashed into the boot of the SUV soon enough. Which means you quickly find yourself pinned by Ianto's glare once again. What you do not expect however, is for him to seize you by the lapels of your coat and to push you roughly up the side of the nearest shipping container.

"What the fuck," he snarls, his face close enough that you can smell his breath; caffeine, nicotine, and a long day. "What was that all about."

You try to pry his hands from your coat. Pinned against the wall, it's still far too painfully similar to last year for you to get any pleasure from his proximity. "Jack," Ianto snarls again, and actually shakes you a little. "Look at me."

Cautiously, you raise your gaze to meet his, but you only catch a glimpse of his bright blue eyes, before they're obscured by dark hair and a rapidly nearing pale, high forehead as he presses his lips against yours, hard and rough and completely unexpected. Your hands scrabble uselessly at his back for several moments, instinct screaming at you to get away, but the taste and smell of Ianto, pretty much the same as when you left him, soon override that instinct.

Ianto's kiss is hot, frantic, invasive. All you can do is fall back against the cold metal wall of the container and let his teeth nip your lips, his own slightly chapped lips smushing against yours, his tongue forcing it's way past your lips, your teeth to brush against the sensitive roof of your mouth. Oh god, by the seven suns of Artos, you've missed this so fucking much, the taste of Ianto; coffee and smoke, the sharp scent of his sweat overpowering the undercurrents of cologne and coffee. His hands tugging frantically at your shirt, pulling the hem out of your pants to slip his hands under it and run them over your skin. His touch burns, and you've been missing this, wishing this for over a year-

"Jack?" Ianto pulls away, and you scrabble at his shoulders to pull him back to you, to melt into him again. Damn you, Ianto, don't stop!

"Jack," he says again and you stop your fumbling to raise your gaze to meet his. His eyes are dilated and burning with lust, but there's concern lurking behind them too. He's still, breathing evening out a little, but his hands still move under your shirt, roaming over your stomach, running up your sides and over your ribs. A warm thumb brushes over a nipple and you bite your lip to keep yourself from groaning.

"Yeah?"

His fingers slot neatly into the dents between your ribs, like pieces completing a puzzle. He says, "You've lost weight."

Yeah, you've noticed too. Revival may reset your body to its pre-death condition, but it doesn't replace lost nutrients. A week of unhealthy food isn't going to bring you back to your optimal weight immediately. So you just say, "Yeah," again and hitch you hips up against his thigh, hoping he'll get the message.

Ianto does. His hands move again, but slower this time, exploring your body, possibly reacquainting himself with it. His thumbs return to your nipples and start circling them in burningly slow spiral. This time when you groan, you let him hear it.

His lips have moved down, leaving a warm trail of saliva that soon cools in the night air down your chin, then up again along your jawline. The moan that escapes your lips when he starts nibbling is a happy moan - it surprises you a bit, hearing it; you've almost forgotten what happy moans sound like - but his hands slip into your trousers and then thats all you can think of.

Somewhere amidst all the kissing he must have undone your belt and your fly because with one sharp tug your trousers slide over yours hips and down to mid thigh. You've definitely lost weight, and you're somewhat self conscious of your sharp hipbones, but that does not seem to matter Ianto. His hands slide down to cup them, even as he drops to his knees like he's been doing so for his whole life, and starts trailing his tongue along the waistband of your briefs. Then one hand slips down to trace a finger up the hardness tenting your pants, while the other sneaks around the back and up one leg to stroke the crease where thigh meets buttock. Your hands flutter like agitated birds on his shoulder and you fist them in the collar of his coat to still them, even though you'd rather thread them through his hair and bring his mouth to your aching cock, his mouth that's panting hot breaths on the inside of your thigh.

You've always suspected that Ianto could sense/read/feel needs and wants or whatever, and maybe you're right, because he smiles, no he smirksbriefly up at you, and then oh Madra at tue, he's mouthing your cock through the thin fabric of your briefs, while the other slips between the cheeks of your buttocks and slowly strokes the dry pucker of your entrance. Fuck. Oh god, oh god, fuck.

Your brain's slowly melting and rushing hot through your veins, to pool in your groin and ooze out and - oh, your briefs have joined your trousers around your knees - Ianto's hot breath blows directly on your cock as he licks up each drop pooling at the slit.

You loose control of your hands and they're fumbling through his thick dark hair, trying to get some kind of grip so that you can make him take it, suck your cock like he's so obviously gagging to, the fucking tease. Cockwhore. Those pink, swollen lips, you wonder how many other cocks have parted them. Look at him, on knees without hesitation, such a slut, your slu-

Painburningfuckohgodwhat and it races up your spine to drive a spike through your brain. So sudden, it takes you a while to realise that you've got two fingers up your arse, dry and stretching you to burning point. Ianto twists his hand and over the zing of pleasure you feel like you're split apart.

Calmly, with two fingers up your arse and on his his knees but totally in control while you feel like cracks are spreading through your whole body from that searing point of entry, Ianto says, "Jack. Let go."

Only then are you aware of the fist in hair, pulling those dark strands painfully taut. You open your grip. Hair like fine needles lie in your palm. You raise your hand and watch them fall, disappearing into the dark. The painful stretch is gone, and your erection has wilted a little from the sudden pain, but you still can't help the whimper when Ianto rises. Don't stop, don't stop.

His hands grip your shoulders, almost painfully tight and you find yourself crushed against the wall of the container. His lips and teeth return to your mouth with enough force to knock your head back against the metal, and when the stars have faded you taste blood. Yours or his, you're not quite sure.

There's lube and a condom in his pocket. You're not sure what to think of it, what that revelation should make you feel, so you just stare blankly as he rips open the sachet and dribbles the viscous liquid onto his fingers. A hand curls around your bare thigh and pulls it up. You wrap it round his waist, hooking the back of your knee over his hipbone, while your arms clutch his shoulders for balance.

When you look up, your eyes meet his and there is apology and want in those clear blue depths. It's like drowning. You nod and kiss him.

His wet fingers wander down your thigh and duck around behind it. Your arsehole's still a bit sore from the previous intrusion, and the cool lube, despite making you twitch, soothes the lingering burn. Ianto's fingers are back but infinitely gentler now. Just circling the rim, teasing and testing. You push back, wanting more, but those nimble digits keep fleeing penetration. A growl rises, deep in your throat. Ianto smirks. He nips your ear ungently, and pushes in.

It goes fast from there. One finger, then two, opening you up and the burn is back, only this time the pleasure outweighs the pain, and you bite down on your wrist to keep the noises in. Bad habit, bad habit from last year, but you don't unstop your mouth. You don't want Ianto to know what he's doing to you. Quiet, quiet, because some sounds should not be heard. Poor Tish.

You hear the clink of a belt, slide of a fly. Blunt pressure of his condom covered cock against your entrance. It's just one smooth move pushing deep inside you, and with same movement, his hand curls around your other thigh and lifts - up! wham! harder against the rough metal wall. You're crushed between him and the wall, trapped on his cock. Your hands scrabble for grip on his shoulders.

Pinned, stretched, you feel like you're about to be dissected. Ianto, he's going to cut you open now, just like he did, and there's nothing you can do about it.

Oh god.

You close your eyes and wait.

Smooth warmth on your eyelids. You open them in time to see his retreating lips. "Jack," he sighs. And then he thrusts. Up, deep, deep into you, and gravity pulls you down. Balls deep in your arse and he's slowly breaking you apart. Deep, deep, and you gasp, gasp and all you can do is dig your nails into his back and hang on. Every time he bottoms out, he splits you apart until he nudges your heart, squish squish thudthud, out of beat, drumming, tugging, it hurts. Hurts and you're laughing and crying at the ridiculous imagery in your head even as you gasp open mouthed into the wool of his coat - there will be your drool all over it tomorrow - and Ianto pistons, machine like, in out, thud thuds your back against the wall, pants pants his hot breath against your neck.

You fuse. You are a machine, one organism. Ianto's chest, crushed against your own and you can feel his heart beat next to yours, just separated by layers of bone, muscle, skin and cloth. Squish, squish, thud thud. Drumming in your chest, never-ending, thudthud. Thudthud lubdub, this is a ritualistic dance of drum-hearts and you are one. Hold on tight and you don't try to be quiet anymore, let him hear you groan and grunt and moan these are good happy noises remember that, good happy nice, even if you are falling to pieces in his arms those arms holding you up, no, one coming up, grabs your chin and stops the noises with his mouth, sucking the life out of you constant unending in out breaking you apart.

Your climax rips through you, and you pull away from his lips to bite down on his shoulder, hard enough through the thick wool and other layers to possibly leave mark. Your orgasm rolls over you, tidal wave-like and all you can do is hold on, hold on and hope he doesn't let you drown

He doesn't.

Ianto holds you in the lifebuoy of his arms doesn't let go doesn't let go even as you shake apart. Just holding you, smooth rhythmic in out in out anchoring you here thrust thrust heart beating against yours ever so alive.

You're still shaking when he comes warmly inside you. The machine stills. You are now sloth, and this is your tree, and you clutch. You don't want to get down onto the ground.

"Jack," Ianto pants, "Jack, let go," and you realize you're the one holding him up, a wedge between him and the wall. You unhook you legs. One. By. One. Down onto the ground, which is terribly unfirm and wobbles so badly you need to sit down. Gravel bites your sore butt, digs deeper into the indentations left by Ianto's nails.

You feel emptied, drained and so so so tired.

But there's no rest for the wicked, not with Ianto around, goddamn bloody bastard and he pulls you to your feet, dusts your arse and neatly tucks you away, makes you decent and presentable to the 21st century world.

Prettying you up for the pedestal after he's smashed you up and put you together again. Right. Right, not wrong. Put together right, not for a pedestal but to be filled anew with nice, pretty things. Like Ianto's cock and the like. Maybe his heart. Yeah, you'd like that, thud thudding with you inside you as one.

Ianto holds you close with his body, arms, legs, and his heart is there beating with yours t-thud t-thud. Now he is the one clutching, drowning. "You're back," he says, "you're back."

You pat him on the shoulder, pinch his arse, smile against his lips when he yelps. Broken and put together anew. "Yeah," you say. T-thud. "I'm back."

Fin