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Story: Faithful
Author: Love! Slash! Angst!![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
melindakitty
Beta: the hard-laboringophymirage
Characters: Captain Jack Harkness, Captain John Hart, Ianto Jones
Rated: Adult for slash, bisexuality, mature content, language, violence, Tarantino-style filmmaking, and lots and lots of sex (multiple pairings/groupings)
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, 'cause if I did there would be no doubt who Jack came back for, Gwen would stick with the man who loves her, we'd have regular doses of Unexpected!John, and everyone would cheer the f*** up.
Spoilers: AU. If you haven't seen the first two series of Torchwood, you WILL be spoilered. I like to mess with canon, especially when it pisses me off. The PROLOGUE takes place right after "Countrycide" in series 1. The rest of the story, from Chapter 1 on, takes place about three weeks after "Exit Wounds", the end of Series 2.
Summary: Torchwood OT3 ZOMG! Jack/John/Ianto. The Rift is active, the Weevils are acting weird, and Captain John Hart is back in town. Let the crack-tastic smut ensue. I think there's a happily ever after in here somewhere, but until then, enjoy the insanity.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
I did mention that FAITHFUL is intended to be smutty crack!fic, right?
Well...
This is why two Whovians should NOT be allowed access to Yahoo IM.
And here's the dealio....
After such a warm response to the previous chapter, O and I thought it might amuse you to know the current scoreboard for the first official Faithful Threesome:
13 had to retire (or just got out of) their bunks
7 "guh"
6 "wow"
2 "*dead*"
1 "thud"
And
27 happy fen
*happy* This is the reason I do so enjoy writing smut. May my work inspire as many happy thoughts, happy dreams, and happy IRL liaisons for you as it does for me. (No fictional characters could ever compare to the joy that is my real-life OT3, but a little fantasy never hurt anything.)
Though O does point out that if I only sent 13 of you to your bunks, I should consider it a challenge and try even harder next time. *wink* [That was a joke. Dear god, I think she's trying to kill me. - O]
But before we devolve into Plot and Crack for a little while (with occasional interludes of Smut and Angst), I wanted to give a quick shout out to my peeps. WELCOME to all my newbies and WELCOME BACK to all my beloved veterans:
minsock, vipersweb, halftime1030, captains_gal, nanfreak, thrace_adams, _miss_daisy_ , kelspots, hab318princess, 01flowerpot, cherry_soup888, 42footprints, dragenphly, doctor_addicted, ishouldntreally, sal101010, missthingsplace, justinej, alba17, frakkin_addict, aeron_lanart, buttermilkwaffl, lass_o_lamancha, addictdtowords, forest_choir, love_jackianto, trillianastra, ryo_girl, dameruth, emeryboard, mysterypoet66
And to everyone else who's commented on this or the other stuff on my LJ, THANK YOU! Please know how much you are appreciated! I and my guest authors write for the love, so thank you for all your love and support.
On with the show...
"The moment I saw her smile,
I
knew she was just my style.
My
Only regret
is
we've never met
for I dream of her all the while...
"How can I ignore
the girl next door,
I love her more
than I can say...
"[How] I just adore her
so I can't ignore her,
the girl
next
door."
(Frank Sinatra)
(Original version "The Boy Next Door", Judy Garland in MEET ME IN SAINT LOUIS)
(In which the Kapo is tempted, Janet is persuasive, Ianto's good to the last drop, Gwen percolates right on schedule, John enjoys cream in his coffee, and Jack brews up some trouble.)
The Kapo inhales deeply. The smell is like nothing he's ever known. Calm and peace and pleasure. Open spaces and room to run. Stinking caves to retreat to. Breeding without the interference of overlords. Such freedom is alien to a commander like him. Dangerous in its seduction. Impossible to resist.
The walls of the cells do little to muffle the trilling of three thousand of his kind. They call with one voice. Salute with one mind. Love with one heart. In spite of himself, he joins the cry as his lungs fill with the scent of love and home and pleasure and freedom. He has found something here. Something Weevil-kind has never known. Something that frightens even as it exhilarates.
The beautiful creature in the cell next to him (she says the humans call her "Janet") leans hard against the glass barrier between them as the euphoria of the scent begins to dissipate. He puts his hand up to mirror hers. Imagines he can feel the subtle crackle of skin on skin as if their palms could actually touch. All his aches and pains are forgotten in the bliss of this seductive trap -- for surely no place could be so perfect as this without there being some terrible catch.
She bares her teeth, looking up from a submissive pose. He replies with a similar baring of teeth. Presses his shoulder to the barrier. She follows his lead. The two of them sink to the floor, happy in their companionable solitude.
He asks her if this union and confirmation of Weevil-kind happens frequently.
She says it never has. They had hope when the Weevil Messiah came only a few months ago, but unfortunately he took a nap for the humans, and thus they'd begun to resign themselves to their place in this sometime Eden. The humans are kind here, except for the Well-Dressed One and his sweet-smelling spray that burns, but even he can be amenable if one is submissive. Besides, he feeds them well and consistently, so there are many worse overlords a Weevil might serve.
He asks her how often they are sacrificed for human victory.
She looks at him as though he has spoken madness. Blinks her question.
He asks how often they are put to death to feed the humans.
Again, she has no reply for him. It is as though such normal behaviour is unknown here.
He asks how often their kind is used for sport and target practice, a means to hone the skills of their overlords.
She says there was one case of this, but the Weevil who was caged and beaten was allowed to catch, kill, and consume his overlord.
The Kapo begins to question his own sanity. There has never been such a place. His people exist at the whim of the overlords. They are fodder for war. They are meat in times of peace. They are amusement for their masters.
Weevils do not eat their overlords and live.
Half-fearing her answer, he asks Janet if she herself has tasted human flesh. To his astonishment, she says she has. She made an offering of blood to a human female (the Big-Eyed One who was sexing the Thin-Lipped One), hoping to communicate her friendship by killing a handy male, but the offering was refused. (Odd, because she dispatched him by ripping out his throat. The meat should have been entirely satisfactory.) Instead of being put to death for her trespass, she was brought here, given a sumptuously stinky cell of her own, fed well, and even allowed to roam loose once.
He asks how the hunt went.
She replies that, though humans did capture her, the Man In The Swishy Coat came for her, along with the Well-Dressed One, the Big-Eyed One, and the Quiet One. Together, they saved the Thin-Lipped One (who later became Weevil Messiah), and allowed Fred to eat the human who was using Weevil-kind for his amusement.
For long minutes, the Kapo muses on the heresy of this place. He cannot fathom how humans think. So good. So kind. No race is kind to Weevils. Weevils are feared. Weevils are abused. Weevils are killed in battle or sport. That is why the Cythraul made them.
Then Janet speaks the most heinous heresy ever uttered by a Weevil.
He recoils in terror from her words. To even THINK such a thing is death. Messy, nasty, painful death. Usually in public. Then one's entrails and corpse are fed to the hungry who have returned from battle. It's a nap without honour. A death without purpose.
Janet rises to her feet, still submissive-pose, but beneath it is the confidence of one who has tasted the flesh of an overlord and lived. She speaks the heresy again.
He looks up and around, waiting for death to rain down on him.
She assures him that none can understand Weevil-speech. Even the Well-Dressed One, for all his kind-cruelty, has only a rudimentary understanding of the body language of Weevils. They are safe. And what's more, she asserts that even if the Man In The Swishy Coat -- who is Kapo to the humans -- knew what she said, he would support her. He loves her, though not as mate but as friend.
(The Kapo is relieved to hear this, as the thought of sex with humans is repugnant as it is heretical.) In spite of himself, he is wooed by the serenity of this place. The soothing stink. The melodious dripping of mire. The living rock beneath his hands, hewn into these cells. The purring under-hum of so many of his kind. The promise of happiness with the beautiful heretic next door.
She repeats the heresy again. And this time, he is tempted as no Kapo has ever been tempted. He moves to the glass. Rises. And though she looks up at him from what should be submissive-pose, there is no submission in her gaze.
He asks with a look. She nods. He begins to plan, gathering the words in Neo-Standard that he will need to negotiate with the Little Fierce One. If Janet is right, they will speak as no overlords and Weevils have ever spoken.
They will speak as equals.
******
Jack wakes slowly from the most blissful sleep he's had in ages. He reeks of John and Ianto and his own pleasure, but the bed is cold and empty. It can't have been a dream, can it?
He dresses quickly, ignoring how much he needs a shower. If John is loose in the Hub, there's no telling what kind of mad scheme he's concocting. He and Ianto might be up to anything.
Worse still, they might have left together. It would be just like John to poach his lover right out from under his nose, especially after Jack made such an ass of himself by swearing love in a moment of weakness. (Never say you love someone; it gives them power over you.)
He finds the boys at the far end of the table in the Conference Room. Both are freshly washed and in cosy terrycloth bathrobes. Ianto is pouring John a fresh cup of coffee. They look for all the world like a pair of newlyweds enjoying The Morning After.
It really chaps his ass.
"Well!" carols John. "Look who's finally got his lazy arse out of bed."
He's not entirely sure what to say.
"Well?" When John's eyes sparkle like that, it inevitably means he's up to something. "Do you want a cup of the most heavenly coffee in five galaxies or not?"
"What's it spiked with?" He's only half-kidding, though he does take the cup when Ianto offers it. (And aren't THOSE an impressive set of love-bites? John is just as much of an animal as he remembered.)
John chuckles magnanimously, leaning back in his chair as if he's invited them both here for a private audience. "Jack, Jack, Jack. If I wanted to kill you, I would've done it in your sleep, when you would've been much less annoying. And besides, what the hell does someone like you care about poison?"
He hates to admit that John has a point. He sips his coffee warily, and tastes only the rich, subtle mix of flavours that are Ianto's hallmark. Ianto's coffee is always like a caffeine orgasm with just a touch of cream, but this...
It's last night in a mug. With real cane sugar. He scalds the hell out of his throat drinking it and he loves every drop.
Chuckling, Ianto refills his mug. "I was in a good mood."
He coughs hard as the lining of his throat heals. "Apparently."
Ianto winces a little as he settles back in his seat. John's relaxed look darkens. "Are you all right, darling?"
Their lover colours prettily. "Battle scars," he says.
John beats him to the lascivious grin. "The good kind or the bad kind?"
"Good." Ianto ducks his head. Focuses on pouring the coffee to hide his blush (that never works, but it's adorable). "Very, very good. Thank you."
John leans forward. Gives Ianto a slow, sweet kiss that makes Jack sweat pleasantly just to watch it. "You're very, very welcome."
He has to admit, his mouth is watering at the thought of the three of them...
"Ooh!" John all but bounces in his chair. "Stopwatch."
"You're going to lose again, Captain." But Ianto produces the stopwatch from the pocket of his robe.
John scoffs. "Surely no one can survive more than four with that--"
"Thirty seconds," says Ianto, eyes intent on the stopwatch.
And then a low noise begins from somewhere upstairs. Deep, throaty sounds that make him wonder for a moment if one of the Weevils has gotten loose.
"Can't be," John sounds disappointed.
"Ten seconds," says Ianto with one of his cute smirks. He flicks his eyes at John, who sulks, then focuses back on the stopwatch. "Annnnnnnnnnd. Now." He gestures with one finger as though cuing someone.
From somewhere above them (would've thought his office door was more sound-proof) comes the unmistakable sound of Gwen in the throes of passion. "OH OH OH OH OHGODYESRHYS!!!!!!!!!"
Ianto clicks the stopwatch. "Seventeen minutes, on the nose."
"The woman's not human," John grumbles. "And I should know not human."
Ianto sets the stopwatch on the table. "Pay up, Captain," he says with the same firmness he used last night to command the threesome to end all threesomes.
"It's in the other bathrobe," says John.
"I'm wearing the other bathrobe," says Ianto with a mild glare.
"My point exactly." John argues with the graceful hopelessness of a man who knows he's going to lose. "And if there is no other bathrobe, there can be no forfeit. And if there's no forfeit, there's also no possibility of a bet. And if there's no--"
Ianto clicks his fingers. Resets the stopwatch. Stands. "Nevermind the first wager. You know what you promised this time."
John's only feigning the sulk. The faint hint of a flush in his cheeks is all anticipation. (Jack saw enough of that look during the last three years of their stay in the time loop, when John was as insatiable as he was.) John pulls Ianto forward. Yanks his robe open. Gives the kid a look that's half defiance, half desire.
Ianto looks down at him with dispassion that's also a front. To his credit, he only gasps a little when John all but inhales his cock. The blowjob is quick, thorough, and hot as fuck. And even though Ianto comes with a soul-deep sigh, hands fisted in the shoulders of John's robe, scarcely a hair is out of place as he draws back. Closes the robe. Sits, trying not to breathe hard.
Ianto pours a little more coffee in his own cup, then offers to John. "Warm-up?"
John licks his lips and offers his cup. "Always did fancy a little cream with my coffee."
Jack makes a thoroughly undignified noise.
Both look at him with amusement. Jack realizes he's been idly rubbing his crotch. He sets down his mug. Folds his hands behind his back. Straightens up, trying to resurrect his former authority.
Ianto and John give him identical eyebrows of "unconvinced".
"Next time," says John to Ianto as though nothing has happened. "You're going to lose."
"Care to wager on that?" Ianto checks the stopwatch. "Fifteen minutes, five seconds."
"How long--?" Jack swallows hard and tries to pretend that he doesn't have a raging hard-on. "How long have you two been at this?"
"About an hour, give or take," says John. He leans forward. Sips his coffee with a suggestiveness that is deliciously pornographic. "Care to make a bet, Captain Harkness?"
He would do just about anything, if it involves John giving him the same quickie treatment he just gave Ianto. "What's the bet?"
"Fourteen minutes," says Ianto.
"Your Gwen seems to be quite the little stopwatch," says John. "Old Faithful, one might say. I'll bet you that in--"
"Thirteen minutes, fifty seconds," Ianto supplies.
"Thirteen minutes and some odd seconds..." John sips his coffee. "She will come screaming again."
He's only half paying attention to what he's saying. John has the most edible lower lip, especially when he gives the half-pout between sips.
"What's the wager?" he says.
John leans back in his chair again, clearly enjoying being the centre of attention. Jack can't take his eyes off the bulge beneath the terrycloth robe. So delicious. Every setting just as he remembered. The shifts from one form to the next made him come like he hasn't in decades. His whole body aches with wanting at the memory of...
"Jack?" John sounds amused. "Are you still listening or did you really enjoy my cock that much?"
He takes a sip of coffee to cover his blush. "I-- Sorry. What was the wager again?"
"If Gwen is slap bang on time, you serve me," says John smoothly. "If she fails to arrive with her inhuman punctuality, I'm served by you."
That lower lip. He wants to suckle it and bite it and stroke John's tongue with his. "Done," he says. Just the thought of "service" by John is enough to have him so distracted it's all he can do to keep his cock in his pants.
"Erm, sir?" says Ianto.
"How long?" he says hoarsely.
"Nine minutes, sir. But are you sure you want--?"
"Yes." John is making bedroom eyes at him. He fumbles for a chair. "I think I have everything in hand, Ianto."
"Yes, darling," John says. "He's very good with his hands." He shifts a little in his chair, drawing Jack's eyes again to that gorgeous bulge beneath his robe. He's too busy memorizing the angle of that erection to see Ianto hide his amusement in another sip of coffee.
Ianto and John resume their discussion, though damned if he can focus on anything that's said. He wants them again. Has to have them again. If this is what love is like, he's been insane not to pursue it. He wants to feel the sweet slide of skin on skin. The fullness of filling and being filled. The strength of masculine arms around him. The cries of his lovers as he...
"... hasn't heard a damn word we've been saying," says John, amused. "I really must object, Jack. It's positively insulting to try to talk strategy with a man who looks like he's going to whip his dick out at any moment and shag you into the table."
The thought of bending John over the table makes a flush of pure lust run through him.
John quirks an eyebrow. Turns to Ianto. "Is he always like this, or did I win the pheromone war?"
"Hard to say, Captain." Ianto shrugs. "He's always enjoyed sex." He sobers a little. "Are you all right, sir?"
(I'm all right. I'm so all right that all I want to do is kiss you and hold you and feel you surrounding me and bury myself inside you and love you until the end of time.)
"Wow," John says. "We must've been good." He leans forward. "Jack, much as I loved the threesome and am keenly looking forward to having you again, we really do need to get back to thinking about the future."
His brain just isn't working right. "What's wrong with the future?"
John's look sharpens a little, though he's still smirking. "There isn't one."
"Gentlemen." Ianto clears his throat pointedly. "I hate to lapse onto a tangential topic again, but, erm, one minute, five seconds."
John grins. "This is where I win the bet."
"No, you don't." John's going to service him. Going to take him into that hot and insolent mouth and run his tongue along all the most sensitive places.
John giggles. "Yes, actually, I think I'm going to win this one."
"Thirty seconds," says Ianto.
"There's no way," he says with a confidence that comes from a passionate hope that Gwen is not, in fact, the animal that Owen seemed to think she was.
"Much as I appreciate your faith in your people," says John, "are you so sure?"
"Yes." He doesn't take his eyes off John's as Ianto makes the final countdown.
And just when he thinks he's won, they hear the deep, throaty sounds of a woman on the edge of bliss. "OH OH OH OH OH OHGODOHGODOHGOD OH RHYS!!!!"
Ianto clicks the stopwatch decisively. "Seventeen minutes, on the nose."
He's lost, but he's still won. Losing was never so lovely. Smiling in defeated victory, he gets up from his chair. John rises too, eyes sparkling with seductive amusement. Jack draws close, hungry for whatever taste John will give him. He's up for just about any "service" John can propose.
John leans in close. Ghosts his breath over Jack's lips. Strokes his cheek with his thumb. Darts a lick that sends shivers though Jack. He moans, so caught up in desire that all John has to do is command him and he'll--
John pulls away. Sets his cup on the tray along with the empty pot of coffee. "Hold out your hands."
Service. He's going to get to...
John sets the tray in his hands, grinning. "Now run along and make us a fresh pot, there's a good boy."
He blinks, realizing. "What happened to my blowjob?"
John sits primly. Raises an offended eyebrow. "Such language, Captain Harkness."
He stares at the dishes for a moment. Glares at John. "I didn't agree to this."
"You agreed to service," says John, a devious sparkle in his eyes. "And you lost. Mind you, it was a heads-I-win-tails-you-lose wager, but you were so busy lusting after Ianto's and my cocks that I doubt you were letting the right head do the thinking." He gives a dismissive gesture. "Now run along, dear. We're thirsty."
"But..." That the hard-on doesn't subside is proof of the perversity of the universe. "When Ianto won, you serviced him."
"No," says John. "When Ianto won, I went down on him. You agreed to service me, so off you go."
He looks to Ianto for solidarity. Instead, his traitorous lover regards him with sad soberness. "I'm really sorry, sir. I DID try to warn you."
"But... but..."
John peers around. "Yes, it's very nice, even in those horribly outmoded trousers." He gives Jack a little swat on the rear that only makes the hard-on worse. "Less discussion. More service."
"You cheated," he says.
John gives a longsuffering sigh. "I am a Cavaliere of Serenissima, a Time Agent, and a gentleman."
Ianto snorts his coffee, breaking the standoff of glares.
"Sorry." Ianto fumbles for a serviette. He checks the stopwatch. "Also, three minutes."
Jack sputters for a reply.
John gives his most venomously sweet smile. "Now run along and be a love. That's a good immortal ex-Agent."
Sulking, he takes the coffeepot to be refilled.
Behind him, the room explodes into laughter.
And, insult to injury, just as he nears the kitchen -- and, at what is surely the seventeen minute mark yet AGAIN -- Gwen cries out again. "OH OH OH OH OH OH OHGODYESOHRHYS!"
Some mornings, it just doesn't pay to get up. He briefly considers wanking into the coffee, but abandons the notion when he realizes they'd probably like that, the sick bastards. He's reaching for the filters when he notices Owen's abandoned stash of Sanka. Their dear doctor had kept the instant coffee on hand in part because long hours as a resident had enabled him to drink damn near anything caffeinated, and because just the act of nuking it in the microwave was enough of an affront to turn Ianto puce.
He opens the jar and sneezes at the rancid stench of stale, desiccated coffee.
He grins. Reaches for the salt. Checks the fridge for the hot sauce. John wants service? He'll give him a "service" he'll never forget.
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Link to previous Faithful!Verse stories
Crossposted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
jackxianto, torchwoodslash
Author: Love! Slash! Angst!
melindakittyBeta: the hard-laboring
ophymirageCharacters: Captain Jack Harkness, Captain John Hart, Ianto Jones
Rated: Adult for slash, bisexuality, mature content, language, violence, Tarantino-style filmmaking, and lots and lots of sex (multiple pairings/groupings)
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, 'cause if I did there would be no doubt who Jack came back for, Gwen would stick with the man who loves her, we'd have regular doses of Unexpected!John, and everyone would cheer the f*** up.
Spoilers: AU. If you haven't seen the first two series of Torchwood, you WILL be spoilered. I like to mess with canon, especially when it pisses me off. The PROLOGUE takes place right after "Countrycide" in series 1. The rest of the story, from Chapter 1 on, takes place about three weeks after "Exit Wounds", the end of Series 2.
Summary: Torchwood OT3 ZOMG! Jack/John/Ianto. The Rift is active, the Weevils are acting weird, and Captain John Hart is back in town. Let the crack-tastic smut ensue. I think there's a happily ever after in here somewhere, but until then, enjoy the insanity.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
I did mention that FAITHFUL is intended to be smutty crack!fic, right?
Well...
This is why two Whovians should NOT be allowed access to Yahoo IM.
And here's the dealio....
After such a warm response to the previous chapter, O and I thought it might amuse you to know the current scoreboard for the first official Faithful Threesome:
13 had to retire (or just got out of) their bunks
7 "guh"
6 "wow"
2 "*dead*"
1 "thud"
And
27 happy fen
*happy* This is the reason I do so enjoy writing smut. May my work inspire as many happy thoughts, happy dreams, and happy IRL liaisons for you as it does for me. (No fictional characters could ever compare to the joy that is my real-life OT3, but a little fantasy never hurt anything.)
Though O does point out that if I only sent 13 of you to your bunks, I should consider it a challenge and try even harder next time. *wink* [That was a joke. Dear god, I think she's trying to kill me. - O]
But before we devolve into Plot and Crack for a little while (with occasional interludes of Smut and Angst), I wanted to give a quick shout out to my peeps. WELCOME to all my newbies and WELCOME BACK to all my beloved veterans:
minsock, vipersweb, halftime1030, captains_gal, nanfreak, thrace_adams, _miss_daisy_ , kelspots, hab318princess, 01flowerpot, cherry_soup888, 42footprints, dragenphly, doctor_addicted, ishouldntreally, sal101010, missthingsplace, justinej, alba17, frakkin_addict, aeron_lanart, buttermilkwaffl, lass_o_lamancha, addictdtowords, forest_choir, love_jackianto, trillianastra, ryo_girl, dameruth, emeryboard, mysterypoet66And to everyone else who's commented on this or the other stuff on my LJ, THANK YOU! Please know how much you are appreciated! I and my guest authors write for the love, so thank you for all your love and support.
On with the show...
"The moment I saw her smile,
I
knew she was just my style.
My
Only regret
is
we've never met
for I dream of her all the while...
"How can I ignore
the girl next door,
I love her more
than I can say...
"[How] I just adore her
so I can't ignore her,
the girl
next
door."
(Frank Sinatra)
(Original version "The Boy Next Door", Judy Garland in MEET ME IN SAINT LOUIS)
(In which the Kapo is tempted, Janet is persuasive, Ianto's good to the last drop, Gwen percolates right on schedule, John enjoys cream in his coffee, and Jack brews up some trouble.)
The Kapo inhales deeply. The smell is like nothing he's ever known. Calm and peace and pleasure. Open spaces and room to run. Stinking caves to retreat to. Breeding without the interference of overlords. Such freedom is alien to a commander like him. Dangerous in its seduction. Impossible to resist.
The walls of the cells do little to muffle the trilling of three thousand of his kind. They call with one voice. Salute with one mind. Love with one heart. In spite of himself, he joins the cry as his lungs fill with the scent of love and home and pleasure and freedom. He has found something here. Something Weevil-kind has never known. Something that frightens even as it exhilarates.
The beautiful creature in the cell next to him (she says the humans call her "Janet") leans hard against the glass barrier between them as the euphoria of the scent begins to dissipate. He puts his hand up to mirror hers. Imagines he can feel the subtle crackle of skin on skin as if their palms could actually touch. All his aches and pains are forgotten in the bliss of this seductive trap -- for surely no place could be so perfect as this without there being some terrible catch.
She bares her teeth, looking up from a submissive pose. He replies with a similar baring of teeth. Presses his shoulder to the barrier. She follows his lead. The two of them sink to the floor, happy in their companionable solitude.
He asks her if this union and confirmation of Weevil-kind happens frequently.
She says it never has. They had hope when the Weevil Messiah came only a few months ago, but unfortunately he took a nap for the humans, and thus they'd begun to resign themselves to their place in this sometime Eden. The humans are kind here, except for the Well-Dressed One and his sweet-smelling spray that burns, but even he can be amenable if one is submissive. Besides, he feeds them well and consistently, so there are many worse overlords a Weevil might serve.
He asks her how often they are sacrificed for human victory.
She looks at him as though he has spoken madness. Blinks her question.
He asks how often they are put to death to feed the humans.
Again, she has no reply for him. It is as though such normal behaviour is unknown here.
He asks how often their kind is used for sport and target practice, a means to hone the skills of their overlords.
She says there was one case of this, but the Weevil who was caged and beaten was allowed to catch, kill, and consume his overlord.
The Kapo begins to question his own sanity. There has never been such a place. His people exist at the whim of the overlords. They are fodder for war. They are meat in times of peace. They are amusement for their masters.
Weevils do not eat their overlords and live.
Half-fearing her answer, he asks Janet if she herself has tasted human flesh. To his astonishment, she says she has. She made an offering of blood to a human female (the Big-Eyed One who was sexing the Thin-Lipped One), hoping to communicate her friendship by killing a handy male, but the offering was refused. (Odd, because she dispatched him by ripping out his throat. The meat should have been entirely satisfactory.) Instead of being put to death for her trespass, she was brought here, given a sumptuously stinky cell of her own, fed well, and even allowed to roam loose once.
He asks how the hunt went.
She replies that, though humans did capture her, the Man In The Swishy Coat came for her, along with the Well-Dressed One, the Big-Eyed One, and the Quiet One. Together, they saved the Thin-Lipped One (who later became Weevil Messiah), and allowed Fred to eat the human who was using Weevil-kind for his amusement.
For long minutes, the Kapo muses on the heresy of this place. He cannot fathom how humans think. So good. So kind. No race is kind to Weevils. Weevils are feared. Weevils are abused. Weevils are killed in battle or sport. That is why the Cythraul made them.
Then Janet speaks the most heinous heresy ever uttered by a Weevil.
He recoils in terror from her words. To even THINK such a thing is death. Messy, nasty, painful death. Usually in public. Then one's entrails and corpse are fed to the hungry who have returned from battle. It's a nap without honour. A death without purpose.
Janet rises to her feet, still submissive-pose, but beneath it is the confidence of one who has tasted the flesh of an overlord and lived. She speaks the heresy again.
He looks up and around, waiting for death to rain down on him.
She assures him that none can understand Weevil-speech. Even the Well-Dressed One, for all his kind-cruelty, has only a rudimentary understanding of the body language of Weevils. They are safe. And what's more, she asserts that even if the Man In The Swishy Coat -- who is Kapo to the humans -- knew what she said, he would support her. He loves her, though not as mate but as friend.
(The Kapo is relieved to hear this, as the thought of sex with humans is repugnant as it is heretical.) In spite of himself, he is wooed by the serenity of this place. The soothing stink. The melodious dripping of mire. The living rock beneath his hands, hewn into these cells. The purring under-hum of so many of his kind. The promise of happiness with the beautiful heretic next door.
She repeats the heresy again. And this time, he is tempted as no Kapo has ever been tempted. He moves to the glass. Rises. And though she looks up at him from what should be submissive-pose, there is no submission in her gaze.
He asks with a look. She nods. He begins to plan, gathering the words in Neo-Standard that he will need to negotiate with the Little Fierce One. If Janet is right, they will speak as no overlords and Weevils have ever spoken.
They will speak as equals.
******
Jack wakes slowly from the most blissful sleep he's had in ages. He reeks of John and Ianto and his own pleasure, but the bed is cold and empty. It can't have been a dream, can it?
He dresses quickly, ignoring how much he needs a shower. If John is loose in the Hub, there's no telling what kind of mad scheme he's concocting. He and Ianto might be up to anything.
Worse still, they might have left together. It would be just like John to poach his lover right out from under his nose, especially after Jack made such an ass of himself by swearing love in a moment of weakness. (Never say you love someone; it gives them power over you.)
He finds the boys at the far end of the table in the Conference Room. Both are freshly washed and in cosy terrycloth bathrobes. Ianto is pouring John a fresh cup of coffee. They look for all the world like a pair of newlyweds enjoying The Morning After.
It really chaps his ass.
"Well!" carols John. "Look who's finally got his lazy arse out of bed."
He's not entirely sure what to say.
"Well?" When John's eyes sparkle like that, it inevitably means he's up to something. "Do you want a cup of the most heavenly coffee in five galaxies or not?"
"What's it spiked with?" He's only half-kidding, though he does take the cup when Ianto offers it. (And aren't THOSE an impressive set of love-bites? John is just as much of an animal as he remembered.)
John chuckles magnanimously, leaning back in his chair as if he's invited them both here for a private audience. "Jack, Jack, Jack. If I wanted to kill you, I would've done it in your sleep, when you would've been much less annoying. And besides, what the hell does someone like you care about poison?"
He hates to admit that John has a point. He sips his coffee warily, and tastes only the rich, subtle mix of flavours that are Ianto's hallmark. Ianto's coffee is always like a caffeine orgasm with just a touch of cream, but this...
It's last night in a mug. With real cane sugar. He scalds the hell out of his throat drinking it and he loves every drop.
Chuckling, Ianto refills his mug. "I was in a good mood."
He coughs hard as the lining of his throat heals. "Apparently."
Ianto winces a little as he settles back in his seat. John's relaxed look darkens. "Are you all right, darling?"
Their lover colours prettily. "Battle scars," he says.
John beats him to the lascivious grin. "The good kind or the bad kind?"
"Good." Ianto ducks his head. Focuses on pouring the coffee to hide his blush (that never works, but it's adorable). "Very, very good. Thank you."
John leans forward. Gives Ianto a slow, sweet kiss that makes Jack sweat pleasantly just to watch it. "You're very, very welcome."
He has to admit, his mouth is watering at the thought of the three of them...
"Ooh!" John all but bounces in his chair. "Stopwatch."
"You're going to lose again, Captain." But Ianto produces the stopwatch from the pocket of his robe.
John scoffs. "Surely no one can survive more than four with that--"
"Thirty seconds," says Ianto, eyes intent on the stopwatch.
And then a low noise begins from somewhere upstairs. Deep, throaty sounds that make him wonder for a moment if one of the Weevils has gotten loose.
"Can't be," John sounds disappointed.
"Ten seconds," says Ianto with one of his cute smirks. He flicks his eyes at John, who sulks, then focuses back on the stopwatch. "Annnnnnnnnnd. Now." He gestures with one finger as though cuing someone.
From somewhere above them (would've thought his office door was more sound-proof) comes the unmistakable sound of Gwen in the throes of passion. "OH OH OH OH OHGODYESRHYS!!!!!!!!!"
Ianto clicks the stopwatch. "Seventeen minutes, on the nose."
"The woman's not human," John grumbles. "And I should know not human."
Ianto sets the stopwatch on the table. "Pay up, Captain," he says with the same firmness he used last night to command the threesome to end all threesomes.
"It's in the other bathrobe," says John.
"I'm wearing the other bathrobe," says Ianto with a mild glare.
"My point exactly." John argues with the graceful hopelessness of a man who knows he's going to lose. "And if there is no other bathrobe, there can be no forfeit. And if there's no forfeit, there's also no possibility of a bet. And if there's no--"
Ianto clicks his fingers. Resets the stopwatch. Stands. "Nevermind the first wager. You know what you promised this time."
John's only feigning the sulk. The faint hint of a flush in his cheeks is all anticipation. (Jack saw enough of that look during the last three years of their stay in the time loop, when John was as insatiable as he was.) John pulls Ianto forward. Yanks his robe open. Gives the kid a look that's half defiance, half desire.
Ianto looks down at him with dispassion that's also a front. To his credit, he only gasps a little when John all but inhales his cock. The blowjob is quick, thorough, and hot as fuck. And even though Ianto comes with a soul-deep sigh, hands fisted in the shoulders of John's robe, scarcely a hair is out of place as he draws back. Closes the robe. Sits, trying not to breathe hard.
Ianto pours a little more coffee in his own cup, then offers to John. "Warm-up?"
John licks his lips and offers his cup. "Always did fancy a little cream with my coffee."
Jack makes a thoroughly undignified noise.
Both look at him with amusement. Jack realizes he's been idly rubbing his crotch. He sets down his mug. Folds his hands behind his back. Straightens up, trying to resurrect his former authority.
Ianto and John give him identical eyebrows of "unconvinced".
"Next time," says John to Ianto as though nothing has happened. "You're going to lose."
"Care to wager on that?" Ianto checks the stopwatch. "Fifteen minutes, five seconds."
"How long--?" Jack swallows hard and tries to pretend that he doesn't have a raging hard-on. "How long have you two been at this?"
"About an hour, give or take," says John. He leans forward. Sips his coffee with a suggestiveness that is deliciously pornographic. "Care to make a bet, Captain Harkness?"
He would do just about anything, if it involves John giving him the same quickie treatment he just gave Ianto. "What's the bet?"
"Fourteen minutes," says Ianto.
"Your Gwen seems to be quite the little stopwatch," says John. "Old Faithful, one might say. I'll bet you that in--"
"Thirteen minutes, fifty seconds," Ianto supplies.
"Thirteen minutes and some odd seconds..." John sips his coffee. "She will come screaming again."
He's only half paying attention to what he's saying. John has the most edible lower lip, especially when he gives the half-pout between sips.
"What's the wager?" he says.
John leans back in his chair again, clearly enjoying being the centre of attention. Jack can't take his eyes off the bulge beneath the terrycloth robe. So delicious. Every setting just as he remembered. The shifts from one form to the next made him come like he hasn't in decades. His whole body aches with wanting at the memory of...
"Jack?" John sounds amused. "Are you still listening or did you really enjoy my cock that much?"
He takes a sip of coffee to cover his blush. "I-- Sorry. What was the wager again?"
"If Gwen is slap bang on time, you serve me," says John smoothly. "If she fails to arrive with her inhuman punctuality, I'm served by you."
That lower lip. He wants to suckle it and bite it and stroke John's tongue with his. "Done," he says. Just the thought of "service" by John is enough to have him so distracted it's all he can do to keep his cock in his pants.
"Erm, sir?" says Ianto.
"How long?" he says hoarsely.
"Nine minutes, sir. But are you sure you want--?"
"Yes." John is making bedroom eyes at him. He fumbles for a chair. "I think I have everything in hand, Ianto."
"Yes, darling," John says. "He's very good with his hands." He shifts a little in his chair, drawing Jack's eyes again to that gorgeous bulge beneath his robe. He's too busy memorizing the angle of that erection to see Ianto hide his amusement in another sip of coffee.
Ianto and John resume their discussion, though damned if he can focus on anything that's said. He wants them again. Has to have them again. If this is what love is like, he's been insane not to pursue it. He wants to feel the sweet slide of skin on skin. The fullness of filling and being filled. The strength of masculine arms around him. The cries of his lovers as he...
"... hasn't heard a damn word we've been saying," says John, amused. "I really must object, Jack. It's positively insulting to try to talk strategy with a man who looks like he's going to whip his dick out at any moment and shag you into the table."
The thought of bending John over the table makes a flush of pure lust run through him.
John quirks an eyebrow. Turns to Ianto. "Is he always like this, or did I win the pheromone war?"
"Hard to say, Captain." Ianto shrugs. "He's always enjoyed sex." He sobers a little. "Are you all right, sir?"
(I'm all right. I'm so all right that all I want to do is kiss you and hold you and feel you surrounding me and bury myself inside you and love you until the end of time.)
"Wow," John says. "We must've been good." He leans forward. "Jack, much as I loved the threesome and am keenly looking forward to having you again, we really do need to get back to thinking about the future."
His brain just isn't working right. "What's wrong with the future?"
John's look sharpens a little, though he's still smirking. "There isn't one."
"Gentlemen." Ianto clears his throat pointedly. "I hate to lapse onto a tangential topic again, but, erm, one minute, five seconds."
John grins. "This is where I win the bet."
"No, you don't." John's going to service him. Going to take him into that hot and insolent mouth and run his tongue along all the most sensitive places.
John giggles. "Yes, actually, I think I'm going to win this one."
"Thirty seconds," says Ianto.
"There's no way," he says with a confidence that comes from a passionate hope that Gwen is not, in fact, the animal that Owen seemed to think she was.
"Much as I appreciate your faith in your people," says John, "are you so sure?"
"Yes." He doesn't take his eyes off John's as Ianto makes the final countdown.
And just when he thinks he's won, they hear the deep, throaty sounds of a woman on the edge of bliss. "OH OH OH OH OH OHGODOHGODOHGOD OH RHYS!!!!"
Ianto clicks the stopwatch decisively. "Seventeen minutes, on the nose."
He's lost, but he's still won. Losing was never so lovely. Smiling in defeated victory, he gets up from his chair. John rises too, eyes sparkling with seductive amusement. Jack draws close, hungry for whatever taste John will give him. He's up for just about any "service" John can propose.
John leans in close. Ghosts his breath over Jack's lips. Strokes his cheek with his thumb. Darts a lick that sends shivers though Jack. He moans, so caught up in desire that all John has to do is command him and he'll--
John pulls away. Sets his cup on the tray along with the empty pot of coffee. "Hold out your hands."
Service. He's going to get to...
John sets the tray in his hands, grinning. "Now run along and make us a fresh pot, there's a good boy."
He blinks, realizing. "What happened to my blowjob?"
John sits primly. Raises an offended eyebrow. "Such language, Captain Harkness."
He stares at the dishes for a moment. Glares at John. "I didn't agree to this."
"You agreed to service," says John, a devious sparkle in his eyes. "And you lost. Mind you, it was a heads-I-win-tails-you-lose wager, but you were so busy lusting after Ianto's and my cocks that I doubt you were letting the right head do the thinking." He gives a dismissive gesture. "Now run along, dear. We're thirsty."
"But..." That the hard-on doesn't subside is proof of the perversity of the universe. "When Ianto won, you serviced him."
"No," says John. "When Ianto won, I went down on him. You agreed to service me, so off you go."
He looks to Ianto for solidarity. Instead, his traitorous lover regards him with sad soberness. "I'm really sorry, sir. I DID try to warn you."
"But... but..."
John peers around. "Yes, it's very nice, even in those horribly outmoded trousers." He gives Jack a little swat on the rear that only makes the hard-on worse. "Less discussion. More service."
"You cheated," he says.
John gives a longsuffering sigh. "I am a Cavaliere of Serenissima, a Time Agent, and a gentleman."
Ianto snorts his coffee, breaking the standoff of glares.
"Sorry." Ianto fumbles for a serviette. He checks the stopwatch. "Also, three minutes."
Jack sputters for a reply.
John gives his most venomously sweet smile. "Now run along and be a love. That's a good immortal ex-Agent."
Sulking, he takes the coffeepot to be refilled.
Behind him, the room explodes into laughter.
And, insult to injury, just as he nears the kitchen -- and, at what is surely the seventeen minute mark yet AGAIN -- Gwen cries out again. "OH OH OH OH OH OH OHGODYESOHRHYS!"
Some mornings, it just doesn't pay to get up. He briefly considers wanking into the coffee, but abandons the notion when he realizes they'd probably like that, the sick bastards. He's reaching for the filters when he notices Owen's abandoned stash of Sanka. Their dear doctor had kept the instant coffee on hand in part because long hours as a resident had enabled him to drink damn near anything caffeinated, and because just the act of nuking it in the microwave was enough of an affront to turn Ianto puce.
He opens the jar and sneezes at the rancid stench of stale, desiccated coffee.
He grins. Reaches for the salt. Checks the fridge for the hot sauce. John wants service? He'll give him a "service" he'll never forget.
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