Fic, Ecstasy, Chapter 3/5: "Truth"

[loveslashangst]

Story: Ecstasy
Author: Love! Slash! Angst! loveslashangst
Beta: ophymirage
Characters: Captain Jack Harkness, Captain John Hart, Ianto Jones
Rated: Very VERY Adult for slash, first times, Therinian lube, rough trade, and some HAWT sandwich-making.
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, 'cause if I did this kind of thing would be canon and fangirls like me wouldn't need to write fanfic.
Spoilers: AU, Faithful!Verse. The promised story behind "What Goes Around..."
Summary: For aibhinn's ficathon, your delectation, and Faithful's back-history. Prompts: tease, dance, truth

Secondary warning: I make my name on slash that walks right up to the line and spits over it. This is a little rough, even for me. But if you've been a fan until now -- and a whole heapin' lot of you have been -- you know that I don't do non-con. Ever. I get close, but there's a line I won't cross. That said, the gloves, and corsets, and skivvies, and boots, and everything else, are coming off. Enjoy the knife play. I know I did.

Because as the Bard said, Jack and John "are too wise to woo peaceably." (And what I wouldn't give to see James Marsters do Beatrice's lines. "I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior Benedick -- nobody marks you.")

Author's Note: This is a comedy of errors. It was originally conceived as a fluffy bit of fun, but you know me -- I can never leave even the fluffiest bit of crack without a bit of pathos in it. To that end, we reach the climax (*giggles inappropriately*) of this tryst, and rest assured, all will be resolved in the final act. Though perhaps, not to everyone's satisfaction.

Beta's Note: I was going to write a beta's note, but instead got distracted by watching MK and her housemate making balloon animals. On webcam. You haven't lived until you've watched two women blowing up a long balloon, with a pump, on a very limited-perspective (and slightly blurry) webcam.
MK adds:
mk: A big PURPLE balloon
mk: Which they curled into a snake
mk: But its head popped.
mk: So it just looked like balls
mk: On a spiral willy.

Or maybe you just had to be there.



"Kyrie eleison
Christe eleison
Je ne dors plus (The time has come)
Je te desire (The time has come)
Prends-moi, je suis à toi
Mea culpa
Je veux aller au bout de mes fantasmes
Je sais que c'est interdit
Je suis folle, je m'abandonne
Mea culpa...

"Je suis la, et ailleurs
Je n'ai plus rien
Je deviens folle, je m'abandonne
Mea culpa
Je ne dors plus
Je te desire
Prends-moi, je suis à toi...

"Je veux tout
Quand tu veux, comme tu veux
Mea culpa…"
(Enigma)

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=itkzaT9yk9Y

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=BftpWMncEaA&feature=related

(In which Ianto's future depends on the truth, Jack's present allows him to tell the truth, and John's past leads him to rewrite the truth.)

ECSTASY, Part 3: Truth

He feels a strange calm as the doorknob disappears in a square beam of blue light. Jack knows better than to kick the door in and give John a good target. Instead, he goes flat in with a roll-and-twist. With any luck, he'll have the chance to talk bef--

He dodges the pulse-pistol blast. (Narrowly.) Dives for cover behind a sumptuous chair. The corset jabs him in the ribs and hips. (Easy to forget how annoying restrictive clothing can be in a combat situation.) The chair rocks with the force of a second blast. And all the while, his brain is looping the glimpse of John crouched on the bed, one arm holding Ianto protectively behind him, the other aiming a pulse-pistol at Jack's head. (God, you're hot when you hunt.)

"Careful, honey," he calls. "You'll wreck the antiques."

"That's what deposits are for." Doesn't sound like John's forgiven or forgotten the circumstances of their last parting.

"I'm not here to fight you, John." (Especially with Jones flushed and sated beside you.)

The chair rocks with the force of yet another pulse-pistol blast. The air is thick with ozone and -- judging by the smell -- the upholstery is close to catching fire.

"Should've thought of that before you sonicked the door," says John coldly. Another pulse-pistol blast, though it's clearly for intimidation and show -- to do so little damage to this chair, John must have the thing set on a pretty damn low level. Good chance he can talk his way out of this one. (Or shag. What he wouldn't give for a shag.) Even over the stench of barbecued velveteen, he catches a whiff of the cinnamon bliss of John's pheromones.

"The only reason we're talking at all," John continues, "is because I'm in too good a mood to kill you outright without giving you the chance to provoke me first."

Jones says something low and urgent. (And Jack needs to get himself under control if he's going to monitor a conversation on the other side of the room.)

"No, honey," John reassures the kid. (His lover. They're lovers now, tangled in sheets and drenched in sweat.) "I'm out of the killing business. Besides -- it makes too much of a mess and I'm on holiday. This overstuffed dumbass and I have a history is all."

Another low comment.

John chuckles heartily. "I'll have to remember that, my love."

The chair is now definitely on fire. Here's hoping it's old enough to be slow-burning. "Ianto Jones," he calls. "Are you injured?"

Stunned silence, followed by John's hearty laughter.

"Are you KIDDING me, Jack?" says John. "Ianto's my GUEST!"

"Who are you?" The kid's voice is slightly hoarse, but clear.

He stands slowly, hands up. Unfortunately, the peace offering is spoilt when he has to knock the burning chair over and stamp it out.

"Cap- Captain CORSET?" says Ianto, eyes wide.

John grins with his signature glee, though his aim with the pulse-pistol doesn't waver. "Captain what?"

"HARKNESS," Jack snaps. With the furniture no longer on fire, he holsters the sonic blaster. Puts his hands back up in a gesture of submission. (Not noticing John's kiss-bruised lips. Not looking at the bite-marks on Jones's shoulder. Not thinking about anything but the mission.)

John warns him with a glare and a flick of the thumb that the proverbial phasers are no longer set on stun. Behind him, Jones eyes the pulse-pistol nervously. (Not that Jack blames him, poor kid.)

"'Captain Corset'?" John prompts, eyes twinkling.

Jones colours prettily and shrugs. "He was at the rave. Word got around."

It's very hard to maintain one's professional demeanour when one's ex dissolves into peals of laughter. It's even harder to look non-threatening when said ex laughs so hard that his aim goes all to shit, though he's too much of a soldier to just drop the pistol.

"I came here to talk." John may not be in a mood to be reasonable, but that doesn't excuse--

He freezes mid-step. John has the pistol levelled at him again. "It wasn't that funny."

"Okay, okay, fine." He'll have to do this the hard way. "Look. Peace offering." He sets the sonic blaster to "reverse". Sonics the knob assembly back onto the door. Shuts it to demonstrate it's all better.

Jones peers over John's shoulder. "Oooh."

"Sonic blaster," says John. "If you like them, darling, we'll get you one when we go home. Though be forewarned -- they eat batteries like Augustus Gloop eats Wonka Bars." He vaporizes what's left of the scorched chair when Jack moves to take a step forward. "You want to talk, Jack? Talk. Oh, and while you're at it, strip."

Not sure who's more stunned: him or Jones. "What?"

John gives an easy shrug. "First rule of interrogation, Ianto darling: never pass up the opportunity for a floor show. Besides, a naked enemy is easier to manage, and I want to know what he's hiding beneath that lovely ensemble."

(He's starting to be nostalgic for the conversation with Yvonne.)

"But..." Jones stammers, "but... I'm not interested in him."

"Neither am I." Though John's eyes are a little too veiled, his body language is too deliberately neutral for him to be completely convincing. "I just like to torture him, especially after such a rude entrance." John pitches his voice to carry. "And that was a rude entrance, Captain Corset, even for you. Have you never heard of knocking, or were you just born in a backwater outworlder colony?"

His return glare only makes John's grin wider.

John arches an eyebrow. "For someone desperate enough to talk that he's willing to get shot at, Jack, I don't hear much flapping of lips."

Sparring with John is pointless. He looks to Jones. "You've been losing time."

Jones tenses visibly.

John's arm tightens protectively around him. "Well isn't he the master of tact?" He gestures with the pulse-pistol. "Off with those trousers, you."

"Erm," says Jones to him with the shadow of a shy smile. "For what it's worth, sir, I like that cut on you."

"Thank you." Annoyed, Jack undoes his belt. "I know you've been losing time because I know who's been taking those hours from you."

He expected John to be upset, but wasn't prepared for the sheer blind fury in those grey-blue eyes. "You've been RETCONNING a TEENAGER?"

He dodges a blast, which vaporizes the settee behind him. Glares at John. "Would you STOP that?"

"Do you KNOW what RetCon does during the developmental stages of this era of human?" John demands.

"Erm," says Jones quietly. "What's RetCon?"

He can't stand the heat of John's glare.

"It's a drug," he confesses. "Designed to rewrite memories. To make you forget."

John rolls his eyes. "Think roofies, my love, only more insidious because the victim is rendered extremely susceptible to suggestion. Unlike rohypnol, the people who carry RetCon usually use it to mind-fuck rather than to commit normal rape. The victim wakes up with his perception of events all shot to hell." John aims at Jack's head. "Shall I dispatch him for you?"

"I'd rather you put the gun -- or whatever that thing is -- down," says Jones with surprising calm. At John's questioning look, he elaborates, "Interrogation, yeah? I'll never find out anything if you shoot him."

John considers. "Can I shoot him once you have your intel?"

"Can I reserve judgement based on what he says?" says Ianto.

"Prudent." John nods, pleased. He glares at Jack. "Who told you to stop stripping, Captain Corset?"

With a sigh, he begins to unfasten his trousers.

Jones watches him with wary eyes. "Are you full of shite, sir, or do you really know what's been happening to me?"

"The people who've been drugging you with RetCon are called 'Torchwood'." Damn this zipper -- it was a pain in the ass to get on and it's now sticking. "It's a secret organisation --outside the government, beyond the police. They find aliens, track down tech, monitor rifts in time, and basically make sure people continue to believe the world is a very boring place."

"What's that got to do with me?" says Jones.

"You like to walk at night," he says.

John arches an eyebrow. "Do you have any concept of how creepy that sounds?"

"He does like to walk at night." What is it about John that makes him so defensive? "And when Ianto walks, he has a sixth sense that somehow makes him home in on unusual events. Torchwood deals with unusual events. They usually try to deal with unusual events discreetly. They don't trust Ianto to be able to deal with what he sees, so they RetCon him to make sure he can't remember what he witnesses."

Jones blinks at the epiphany. (That's right, honey. You're not going mad. I'm just sorry I couldn't tell you sooner.)

And dammit, no matter how he contorts, he can't reach his boots. Even when he puts a foot up on the non-scorched chair, the corset just digs harder into his hip. Steals his breath. Makes it impossible to bend past a certain point.

Add to his humiliation that Jones and John are watching him with matching looks of amusement.

Really irritated, he stretches too far. Overbalances. Flounders, trying to remain upright. His foot slips off the chair. His unfastened trousers fall. Tangle around his ankles. He lands in a heap. Cracks his head on the floor.

John HOWLS. (Well, at least the bastard will be laughing too hard to shoot straight.)

"Captain!" Despite the cry, the kid sounds like he's trying not to laugh, even as John guffaws. "Are you all right, sir?"

"No." That wasn't supposed to sound pathetic. He starts to laugh in spite of himself. "I've fallen..." The full ridiculousness of being held hostage by lingerie catches up to him. "I've fallen... and I can't get up."

Even Ianto joins in the laugh at Jack's expense.

"Bollocks." John, pistol still in hand, wipes tears of laughter from his eyes. Kisses Jones, reassuring. "You want to give our poor Captain Corset a hand there, my love?"

Nodding, Jones slips out of bed. Wraps himself in a handy robe. He's unsteady on his feet, though Jack notes miserably that it's more likely due to a fantastic shag than to any other form of intoxication.

As a gesture of submission, he keeps his hands visible. Lets Jones unlace and slip off his boots. Untangle him from his trousers. He smiles his gratitude. (Though this would all be so much easier if every movement didn't remind me of how little you're wearing under that robe, honey.)

"Just tell me you haven't been RetConning the kid," says John. He's watching them with veiled, calculating eyes.

"On my honour--"

"Such as it is," John says.

He glares again. "On my honour I swear I've been doing everything I can to keep Ianto safe from Torchwood."

Jones tosses Jack's trousers and boots aside. "Is Torchwood from Serenissima?'

He blinks. Stares at John. "You told him about Serenissima?"

John shrugs. "Mentioned it in passing." He pats the pistol in his lap. "Now answer Ianto's questions like a good boy."

"Serenissima is John's homeworld." It's actually kind of a relief to suddenly confess all this to Jones after so many years of secrecy -- it's been so long since he was able to talk about who he really is and what he really does.

Jones looks at John, alarmed. "He's an alien?"

"Human." He sets a calming hand on Jones's arm. "In his time, humans have many colonies far from Earth."

Jones's eyes are guarded. "Let me see your weapon, sir."

Jack draws the sonic blaster. Hands it to Jones, butt first. "It's more tool than weapon."

Jones inspects it with an expert eye. Pales as he turns the tangible proof in his hands.

"Lovely bit of tech, isn't it?" says John. "Though that particular model is out of circulation thanks to a certain Time Lord, where you and I are going, this is what you can expect for modern hardware."

"So," Jones tries and fails to make it a joke. "You get shot at a lot?"

It's been a long time since he saw such a haunted look in John's eyes. "Now and then."

Jones sits heavily. He turns the blaster over again. Looks at it more closely as though it might unlock all the secrets of the universe. And whatever he sees in it makes him smile as though he's just found out there really is a Father Christmas. He looks at John. "Would I fit in? Where you're from?"

John beams. "I believe you would."

He crouches beside the kid to distract him from John's seduction. "John's world is all narrow escapes and high adventures, which only sounds like fun until you realize this isn't a game and you don't have three lives to spend."

Jones stands, face set. Aims the blaster. Digitizes the chair he was sitting on a moment ago. Reverses the settings. Re-materializes the thing. "I'll manage."

John makes a sound of pure lust.

Jones doesn't look back at his lover, but the hint of a smile plays at the corner of his mouth. He points the weapon at Jack. "Torchwood? You were saying?"

Jack swallows hard. Puts his hands up again. "Torchwood is Earth-based, and contemporaneous to this time. And though they do good work, Ianto, I am sorry for what they've done to you."

Jones looks at him with what he could swear is x-ray vision. Likes whatever he sees. Sets the blaster aside. "And what is that, sir?"

They're the same height. Not sure why it strikes him funny, but it does. Something odd about being able to look Jones straight in the eyes. (Lovely eyes. Pale blue eyes so... FOCUS, Jack.) "They robbed you of time. Memories. You have to believe me when I tell you I know what that's like."

Jones scans his face as if looking for traces of those lost memories. "You're telling me that I know you."

He nods. "I've been trying to help you, but the organisation is a bit brutal right now."

"RetCon first, ask questions later?" says Jones.

He smiles with grim humour. "More like RetCon first, don't ask questions at all."

Jones touches his cheek, testing. "I thought you were a dream."

"He gets that a lot," scoffs John. "Hence the ego."

"No," says Jones. "I mean... You're just like the man I thought I imagined. When I was a child."

(You're still so young, honey, and that only makes me want to protect you more.) He struggles against emotion to focus. "When I first learnt what was happening to you, I was just another field operative. Acting under orders. But things have changed. I'm running things now, at least in my part of the world, and you have my word that I will do everything in my power to make sure no harm comes to you."

His eyes fall closed as Jones's fingertips brush over his mouth.

"So..." Jones sounds like the wounded kid he is. "So... I'm not going mad?"

He kisses the fingertips. "No, honey. There's nothing wrong with you. Never has been."

Jones pulls his hand back, eyes veiled. "Why are you here, Captain?"

He's suddenly not sure. "I just... I've been..."

"Waiting for you to get old enough that I could shag you into the mattress with a clear conscience?" says John.

He and Jones throw him matching glares.

"What?" John lounges on the pillows, pulse pistol on his lap, unrepentant and rather splendidly naked. "Don't tell me you weren't thinking it, Ianto darling. You're too smart to just take everything this man says on faith."

Jones smiles. "Did you still want him to strip?"

His ex considers him with cool blue-grey eyes. The gaze goes straight to Jack's groin as John gives him a slow, dangerous smile.

A high blush colours Jones's cheeks, but he's smiling when he turns back. "I think that means yes."

He doesn't have to fake the relief. "I could really use out of this corset."

Ianto's hands are trembling, which kind of helps, because Jack himself is in unfamiliar emotional territory. He does the occasional night out. He's slept with the occasional co-worker. He's definitely guilty of fraternizing, in all its many forms. But Ianto is different. He feels like he's known him forever. And somewhere behind that fog of RetCon, Ianto knows more about his life than almost any other human being living.

The phone rings. John, startled, draws the pulse pistol from his lap. Has to pull up short to avoid vaporizing the phone. He answers it, annoyed. Rolls his eyes. "No, sir. No trouble. Telly's too loud is all." John holds up the pulse pistol. Tucks it pointedly in what is probably a holster between headboard and mattress. "There. That should be better. Apologies. Thank you, goodnight." John hangs up the phone. Folds his arms. Looks pointedly at him and Jones.

There are times Jack truly prefers the company of men.

Ianto's fingertips brush his shoulder. It's not overtly sexual -- the corset is a complicated contraption involving a good half-dozen buckles, a row of hooks-and-eyes, and several sets of laces. (Fits damn nicely, too. He'll have to thank Owen later.) Ianto's touch is gentle. Competent. Exploratory. And oddly maddening, because not until this moment has he been willing to admit what he really felt for this remarkable young man.

Jones says nothing, which is both a relief and a frustration. The tension between them builds until unspoken words weigh Jack's tongue down like stones. (I love and care about you. I'm sorry for my part in what's happened to you. I'm not asking you for anything, though I want to give you everything.)

He moans with relief when the pressure of the boning finally releases. Draws a few deep breaths. Stretches happily as Ianto peels him out of the vinyl.

And now he's mostly-naked in front of Ianto. It's been a long time since he felt so exposed. It's like John fried all his confidence while taking pot-shots at the furniture. (Though the air-handling system is excellent -- barely a trace of smoke lingers in the room.)

Jones glances back at John, probably seeking permission.

John chuckles. "Overstuffed dumbass aside, he IS fantastic in bed."

"Thank you, honey," he retorts, sarcasm dripping. "I love you too."

"I should be so lucky."

But Jack has to remember how to breathe when Ianto touches his chest through the fine mesh of the shirt. The warm hand derails every thought. Emotions Jack hasn't been willing or able to deal with roil to the surface.

"What will you do," Ianto asks, though Jack can't be sure if he's talking to John or to him, "if I kiss him?"

He feels a strange calm as Ianto's question hangs in the air. John's beautiful new lover has proven just as flexible, adaptable, and interesting as he'd hoped. (Even with body mods, he wouldn't have expected to be capable of another round this quickly, but the sight of Ianto undressing his heartless ex...? It's been ages since anyone other than him left Jack flushed and wanting.)

John moistens his lips. Chooses his words carefully. "I think, my love, that you should find out for yourself."

His young lover darts him another uncertain look, mutely asking permission a second time. (Fuck no, I won't be angry, darling. Jack and I will sort ourselves later. If he's what you want, I would LOVE to introduce you to that pleasure.)

Ianto gives him the sweet, shy smile that makes his heart (and now other things) go pitter-pat. Turns to Jack. Gently kisses him.

Jack makes a wounded noise in the back of his throat.

It really is one of the lovelier things he's seen in quite some time. "More deeply," he says.

Ianto pulls Jack into a deeper kiss. Presses his body close. At first, Jack stands stiffly, almost as though he's forgotten how to do anything else.

"He wants it," John whispers. Not sure which one he's talking to, and even less sure that it matters.

Ianto rubs Jack's back with strong, sensitive fingers. (Jack, you lucky bastard.) Jack unfreezes. Cups the beautiful boy's face in his hands. Caresses Ianto's mouth with slow, confident, graceful movements of his lips.

Ianto moans approval.

And Jack, being not only a dumbass, but a dumbass with inconvenient morals, pulls back. "I shouldn't."

"You should," John says.

"Don't..." Ianto fights the stammer. "D-don't you want to?"

John may have to kill him if he's flustered the poor shy boy after he made such a lovely overture. "Of course he wants to, darling," he says. "Judging by the poleaxed look on Captain Corset's face, he's already in love with you. Now shut him up before he can say anything else stupid."

He waits until Ianto begins to kiss Jack again, then slips out of bed.

Ianto pulls back from the kiss, though this time Jack moves in, trailing kisses down his throat. "John?"

"If we're going to play some more," he says, "I'll need a shower." Much as he enjoys teasing Jack, there are some things that he won't ask even him to swallow. (Not to mention that -- in his experience -- Therinian lube at the back of one's throat is a decidedly bizarre and off-putting sensation.)

He grins at Ianto. "Keep him distracted while I'm getting cleaned up."

Ianto teases Jack's mouth with a kiss. "Any suggestions?"

He shrugs. "You can start by sucking his brains out through his lovely cock."

Ianto blushes crimson. "Seriously?"

He smiles. "If you want to, yes. Jack's brains won't make much of a mouthful, but one can't have everything."

Jack glares, pride wounded. "Like you should-- OH MY GOD!"

Apparently, Ianto's very open to suggestion when presented with such an opportunity. Good to know. The naughty boy smiles at him around the head of Jack's cock.

Though very little fazes him, John's ability to form coherent thought nearly evaporates at the vision of his beautiful Ianto performing some remarkably expert fellatio on Jack.

Ianto looks up through lowered lashes. "Thought you were going to shower." He darts a lick along the head of Jack's cock.

When his own cock jumps in envy, John snaps out of it. "God, I love you, darling."

"I know." Ianto deep-throats Jack hard enough to make him throw his head back and moan.

"Fantastic, isn't he?' he says to Jack.

"Sh-sh-sh-shOWER!" Jack begs. "Please, I -- OH MY GOD, YES!"

Humming happily to himself, John heads for the rather sumptuous bathroom. Hot water feels good. The shower surround is ridiculously spacious. The toiletries provided are of acceptably luxurious quality. The thought of the imminent threesome he's going to enjoy makes the experience that much richer.

And sweetest of all will be when he RetCons a shagged-out Jack and escapes with Ianto.

When he returns to the bedroom (still towelling his hair dry) Ianto has Jack laid out flat on the bed and is putting his spectacularly talented mouth to good use. Jack is flushed and tousled and moaning and looks good enough to eat.

John approaches carefully -- no sense spooking the boy when he's doing such fine work. He kneels on the bed. Knee-walks over to Ianto. Strokes up the backs of the boy's thighs. Traces up his back. Opens each chakra slowly. Ianto shivers. Redoubles his efforts. Jack gasps, eyes widening in surprise and pleasure.

He bends close to Ianto's ear. "Would you like to take him, my love?"

"Yes," comes the breathy sigh before Ianto draws Jack deep again.

He caresses Ianto's back. "Have you ever shagged a man before?"

"No."

He nips the side of Ianto's neck. "Shall I show you how?"

Ianto surges up. Kisses him deeply. "Yes, please."

John glances at his ex. "Any objections?"

Jack is panting and gorgeous. He shakes his head no. "Have you got... Therinian...?"

"In the drawer, darling." As Jack fumbles for the Therinian tablets, John takes his beautiful Ianto into his arms. Kisses him slowly. "Do you like the thought, my lovely?"

Residual body-tension confirms his suspicions. "I-I don't want to hurt him."

"You won't." He wraps a hand around Ianto's cock, which jumps against his palm. "I'll have him so hot and bothered by the time I let you have him that you'll be able to fuck him as hard as you like and he'll just beg you for more."

Ianto lets all his breath out in one shuddering sigh of desire.

He nips at Ianto's mouth. Draws his lower lip in. Suckles a little. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, my love?"

"Yes."

He speeds the strokes of his hand on that pretty cock. "He'll be hot and tight."

Ianto moans.

Jack snags a few pillows. Leans over them, his lovely arse in the air where it belongs. When John reaches for him, he finds Jack already slick and wanting. (One finger to start, darling. Don't be so impatient -- you always come hardest when you let me warm you up properly.)

He kisses Ianto again. "You've been with girls, my love?"

"Kim." Ianto presses into John's fist with every stroke.

"Good." He tastes the sweat below Ianto's jaw. "Boys are tighter, my love. Hotter. Have to work in slowly, even more slowly than with a lady, but it's well worth the effort."

Another of those sweet moans. "You don't mind that I want him?"

"Why should I?" He snogs Ianto hard to make sure he's paying attention. "Tell me what you want, my love."

"Him." Ianto's hard and hot in his hand. Jack is moaning and pressing into his touch. (This night is turning out better than he'd ever planned.)

"What do you want with him?" Two fingers in Jack. Twist and turn on Ianto's cock with the other hand.

"I w-want to mount him."

He gives Ianto's cock three hard pulls. Swirls his thumb over the glans, which is now slick with pre-come. "Mounting's for horses, darling," he murmurs.

"I want to fuck him."

As a shiver of lust runs up his gorgeous lover's spine -- and a matching moan of desire echoes from Jack -- John strokes Ianto's cock just the way he likes it as a reward. "How do you want to fuck him, my love?"

"Deep," Ianto whispers. "Hard." His voice is hoarse, but steady. A blazing hot look catches the full attention of John's cock. "Enough so he'll feel it in the morning."

"Hold his hips?" He adds a third finger to the two already moving in Jack.

"Yes."

"Slip inside?"

"Yes!"

"Just the head at first, darling. Make him beg you for it."

"Yes!"

He kisses his lover fiercely. "And when he does beg?"

"Oh fuck..." Ianto struggles for words. "Oh John, I'm going to fuck him."

He glances at his ex. "Jack?"

"Yes!" Jack hasn't been this hot since... Fuck it. He can't even remember the last time Jack was this hot.

John withdraws his fingers. Guides Ianto forward. Positions that lovely cock just so. Ianto takes Jack's hips. John kneels behind him. Kisses Ianto's shoulder as his lover slides in. The boy gives the most exquisite shudder. Jack writhes in pleasure. John holds Ianto's hips. Moves him slowly. Sensually. (Take your time, darling. He'll love you the more for it if you do.)

Ianto turns his head. Kisses him deeply.

He loves this boy in ways he doesn't have words for. "How is he, darling?"

"Good." Ianto flounders for coherence. "So good."

"Not just good." Jack pants. "Oh FUCK, yes! -- the best."

"Awfully cocky, isn't he?" John murmurs in Ianto's ear. He keeps firm hands at Ianto's hips. Moves him slowly, deeper and deeper.

"In-insufferable," Ianto agrees.

John encourages Ianto to stroke a little faster. "What shall we do about it, my love?"

"Find something to keep him quiet." Oh blessed Christ, is that a devilish twinkle in those lovely blue eyes?'

He snogs his lover hard. "Darling, did you just suggest I go put my cock in our guest's mouth?"

Jack moans, wanting.

"Do you want to?" Only a trace of uncertainty remains in Ianto's eyes.

"If you don't mind." He usually doesn't feel the need to ask permission of a lover, but Ianto is rewriting the rules on a number of things.

Ianto's look darkens in a way that would make even the limpest cock stand at attention. "Make him suck you, John."

(Swear to God, darling, I'm going to marry your kinky little arse.)

John crawls up to the head of the bed. Looks down at his ex. Savours the hot look between them. He checks once more with Ianto -- who is stroking Jack like the magnificent fuck he is.

Ianto gives a slow, dangerous smile. "I want to watch."

John grins. Teases Jack's lips with the head of his cock. Makes him chase it even as Ianto rocks him with every stroke.

Jack glares. "Goddammit, John!"

He trades an amused look with Ianto, whose eyes are half-closed in pleasure. "Awfully bossy for a bottom."

"Shall I fuck him harder?" Ooooooooh. Ianto's well into it now.

"Yes."

Yes, please, yes, please, yes! As John slides his cock down Jack's throat, Ianto fucks the Captain deeper. It's good. Better than good. Hot and tight as John promised. John kisses him as Jack draws each of their cocks deeper still.

He times his strokes to match John. Follows his lead. Thrusts hard and slow. Kisses John as he does. For his part, John shags Jack's mouth with slow, rough strokes. Keeps one hand at the back of Jack's head. Reaches up with the other to pinch Ianto's nipple. The blissful distraction, right on the edge of pain, shivers through his body. He smiles against John's lips. Settles into the steady build. John locks gazes with him. Follows the rhythm he sets. Smiles as Jack grabs the back of John's thigh, desperate for more. (Oh, they really have the Captain now.)

"Harder," Jack pulls away just enough to say. "Dammit, I'm not made of cellophane."

And for a moment, he falters.

"You heard the man." John's gaze is steady and reassuring. "Hard for being bossy, and harder still for saying a word as stupid as 'cellophane' in the middle of a fuck like this." John grins his roguish grin. "Fuck him raw, darling."

John flinches suddenly, but doesn't lose the grin. He looks down at Jack. "Teeth, lover? I didn't think you remembered." Another flinch. A deeper smile. "Oooooooh. Do THAT!"

And it must be turning Jack on too -- those perfect internal muscles ripple along him. Draw him in. Welcome him more. Ianto speeds up, and he and John take Jack as fiercely as they can. John's mouth takes his. Demanding. Fierce. Biting just as exquisitely as he did before. (John's right -- the bite is the perfect spice.)

The orgasm ripples up. Out. Shakes him so hard all he can do is piston. Hold Jack hard. Scream. John comes only a second later. Shudders into Jack's mouth.

Ianto pours himself into Jack. Falls to the bed. Sinks into ecstatic oblivion.

Yes, please, yes, please, yes! Jack drinks John down. Swallows greedily. Ianto was better than he'd hoped, but now he's good and warmed up and ready for the main course. (And with any luck, John hasn't modded out that special genetic quirk that's made him so popular over the years.)

He licks his lips. (John tastes even better than he remembered.) "So can you still?"

John grins. Throws him backwards. Jack fights. Claws. Lands a good punch that rocks John's head back. John clocks him a good one in reply. Flips him onto his stomach. Pins his arm behind him, right on the edge of pain.

John teases his ear with hot breath. "Be good," his gorgeous psychopath whispers, "or I'll spend the second time on your back, just to be a bastard."

And John would too. Jack's own cock is hard and unfinished beneath him. This tryst to really put him in the mood, then he'll put that hard-on to good use.

"Tell me what you want, Jack."

He shivers in anticipation. "Fuck me."

John twists his other arm up hard. Holds him. Knocks his knees wide. Wider.

He arches up, wanting it.

A superior chuckle. "Tell me why I should, darling."

He turns his cheek to the bed so he can breathe. "Because you want it just as badly."

The hot head of John's cock circles, teasing between his buttocks. "Wanting isn't getting."

He grins. "You do me, I'll do you back."

Judging by the pause, that was the right answer. "Promise?"

"Honey, I've got to do something with this hard-on." He struggles a little so John will wrench his arms a little harder. (Only you, John. Only you like this.) "I might as well use it to fuck you as hard and kinky as you like."

"Oh, I have missed you." John slides into him with the confidence of a lover who knows him better than anyone. The leisurely fuck speeds into a full pounding.

Jack struggles. Fights. John rides him back to the mattress, fearless. Bites his neck, hard. "Shall I really hurt you this time?"

"Yes!"

Where John gets the blade from is anyone's guess. The sharp edge pulls him up to kneeling.

"Mods," he manages. "Cat."

The blade cuts a bit into his throat. "Why should I?"

"You do me--" he gasps for air -- "I'll do you back."

John chuckles. Stabs the blade into the mattress. Grabs his hips.

The best thing about being fucked by John is it's never the same cock twice. The man invested a fortune years ago, and Jack has -- ohhhhhh, yes! A bit of barb. A little longer than normal. He presses back. John shifts it again. Wider. Curved. It hits him just right. He screams his pleasure. Spreads himself wide. John ripples inside him. OhhhhhhGODYESGODYESGODYES!

John bends over him. "Sliding on Ianto's come, darling."

"Yes!" He's so close. So close. Soclosesoclosesoclose!

"Shall I show him this when he wakes?"

"Yes!" He bows his head. Submits to a cock that, if not actually sentient, is the next best thing.

"Shall I fuck him right in front of you in ways he's never imagined?"

"Yes!"

"As you wish." Harder. Faster. Stranger. Shifting almost with every stroke. Perfect. Weird. Wonderful. Everything he's missed. Everything he's wanted. Everything he's needed. (Oh God, honey, I should NEVER have left you!)

Jack comes screaming. John wraps himself around him. Fills him with a deep moan of pleasure.

They collapse, panting, in each other's arms. Once he can breathe again, he kisses John. And for just one moment, dreams of a world where the three of them could be together.

John pulls him close. Buries his face in Jack's neck for a moment. Shivering, Jack begins to remember how to move.

"I do love you, Jack."

He brushes John's lips, a whispered kiss. "I know." The half kiss makes the energy build again, even as his body recovers. (Best thing about immortality is the short refractory period.)

John stretches for the kiss. "I do you, you'll do me back?"

He laughs. In a burst of energy, he throws John off. Slips off the bed after him. Catches him. Bends him over the bed. Slides in one aching millimetre at a time.

John is incoherent with pleasure at the friction. (He loves it raw.)

He tangles his fingers in John's hair. Pulls his head up. Savages his neck. Shags him slowly. Thoroughly. Finds every sweet spot just as John found his. Then, when he's good and warm, Jack reaches for the knife. Yanks it free from the bed.

John's breathing speeds. "You remembered."

He slows his strokes. Makes John feel every one. Caresses up one side of John's face with the blade. Down the other. John moans. Presses back to meet him at the peak of each thrust.

"Is this what you missed?" Jack murmurs.

A low chuckle. "You know it is."

He pulls John up sharply, blade at his throat. (Careful not to draw blood.) "I love you."

"Shut up, Jack." But judging by the ripple of muscles, John's enjoying more than he'll admit.

He presses the point into the soft spot beneath John's chin. "I should never have left you."

"Don't ruin it, darling"

He wraps his arms around his ex-lover even as he moves, more and more confident by the second. Lays the flat of the blade along John's cheek. "You were the best I ever had."

"It's a sin to tell a lie." But John can't hide how every fibre of his body is quivering. Building. The sweat is slick between them.

He drives the blade back into the mattress. Presses John down. Grabs his hips with both hands. Angles up. Down. Swirls. Lets every sigh and curse and arch of John's back guide him closer and closer to the edge.

"Jack! Oh fuck, yes, JACK!"

He comes just as hard as John does. Savours it. Holds him tightly.

Yes, please, yes, please, yes! John is as close to perfectly happy as he gets. Panting, he turns his head. Kisses Jack's cheek. It's not forgiveness, but the truce is holding. To his delight, Jack kisses his mouth leisurely. (I almost forgot how much I've missed you.)

Once they can move, they haul themselves back up and onto the bed. Collapse again, laughing and incoherent.

But of course, they're too wise to woo peaceably. He's just as quick on the draw with one pulse-pistol as Jack is with the other. (Apparently the dumbass was paying attention.) Both of them are uncoordinated. The barrels of both guns tremble pitifully, but John holds his hand as steady as possible.

Jack matches his hard look as long as he can, but to John's great pleasure, he breaks first.

"Fucking bastard," Jack says affectionately. He lowers his weapon.

"You love it." He leans up into the kiss. Sets the pistol aside. Curls a hand around Jack's head. Pulls him closer.

"Yeah," Jack admits. "And what does that say about me?"

Chuckling, John curls up on one side of the still-unconscious Jones, Jack takes the other. Both of them wrap themselves protectively around this beautiful boy who -- in spite of everything -- has brought them together.

And that's when Ianto begins to snore. When they look, he's beautifully dishevelled, a freshly-fucked angel on white sheets.

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Link to previous Faithful!Verse stories

Crossposted to jackxianto, torchwoodslash