Fic, FAITHFUL, Ch. 28/60?, "The Rough Trade"

[loveslashangst]

Story: Faithful
Author: Love! Slash! Angst! loveslashangst
Beta: the champing-at-the-bit ophymirage
Characters: Ianto Jones, Captain Jack Harkness, Gwen Cooper, Captain John Hart, Rhys Williams, Janet the Weevil, Bradwyn Kapo, & a cast of (literally) thousands.
Rated: Adult for implied slash, canon bisexuality, mature content, language, and lots and lots of sex (various pairings and kinds.) We’re going for Angry!Sex in this one, so if you don’t like it rough, you may want to sit this one out. (And Chapter 29 too.)
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, 'cause if I did, Torchwood 3 would be a much more crack-tastic place.
Spoilers: 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.
Summary: AU. OT3 ZOMG! Jack/John Hart/Ianto. Captain Hart is back in town. The Weevils are acting weird. It might be the end of the world. Let the crack-tastic smut ensue.

Okay, so here's the dealio...

I did mention the smut, right? This is gonna spill over into another chapter, the way my sex scenes usually do. (I’m starting to wonder if I’m capable of writing single-chapter smut. *eyeroll at self*) [O sez: I sense a beta-assigned writing exercise coming on...]

On with the show...

“When I was born, they found a silver spoon in my mouth
And so I always had the best of care…

“Life was just a bore till it dawned on me
The cushy sheltered way of life was really no fun
From now on, some manhandling must be done

“So treat me rough
Muss my hair
Don't you dare to handle me with care
I'm no innocent child, baby
Keep on treating me wild

“Treat me rough
Pinch my cheek
Kiss and hug and squeeze me
`Till I'm weak

I've been pampered enough, baby
Keep on treatin' me rough.”
(Mickey Rooney, GIRL CRAZY, 1943)

(In which Jack knocks John down a peg or two and John meets his match.)

[AUTHOR’S NOTE: Yes, that’s a real song. See? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D7Xb4qgj-TA Sorry for ScaryDecrepit!Rooney at the end, though.]

[O adds, “I love to sing jazz, and I’ve got a possible gig singing for a burlesque revue, so I went out to research this song as a GREAT candidate. There’s a version by Ella Fitzgerald on iTunes, for those of you who find the idea of Mickey Rooney singing this morbid and creepifying, as Mal would say.” *looks pointedly at LSA*]


“Or would you prefer sausage?” John says, insolent as ever.

Jack decks the SHIT out of John. Lands three quick punches to the solar plexus. Doesn’t pull back until John is on his knees, gasping for breath. He thrills to be lording it over John the way this psychotic prick has ever since Jack was stupid enough to let him back into the Hub.

John gasps, no doubt trying for some equivalent of “what the fuck?”, but satisfyingly unable to draw breath.

Jack sinks to a crouch, letting the cool dispassion of leadership settle over him. “I’m going to make a few things very clear to you, HONEY. This is MY ship. This is MY command. This is MY crew. These are MY supplies. Those are MY Weevils. And that--” he punctuates with an imperious finger-- “is MY pilot's chair. You are in no way, shape, or form in command of ANYTHING. You touch NOTHING without MY permission.”

“Or…” John gasps, voice a mere shadow of its usual resonance. “… What?”

Jack grabs a fistful of t-shirt (sorry, Owen). Hauls John to his feet. Gets nose to nose with him. “Or you find out what it means to have an immortal man kick your arse."

John’s eyebrows raise almost to his hairline. He struggles for breath. "God.” John bares his teeth in a fierce grin. “You're hot when you’re pissed off."

“Shut UP!” he snarls. “I’ve been pulling my punches on you for too long. And for too long you’ve been shooting your mouth off and forgetting who’s really in command here.”

“Then why don’t you show me?” says John archly. “Darling?”

He winds up.

John’s punch would’ve caught him off-guard this morning, but fury sharpens his reflexes. He catches John’s fist easily. Uses the punch’s momentum to push John past him. A knee to the kidney makes John groan. Jack twists his arm up behind his back. Slams him into the wall.

John growls again with something that sounds suspiciously like arousal. “Captain on the bridge?” he purrs.

“That’s right,” Jack says in his ear. "And this captain has a few more direct orders for you."

John wrenches backward. Jack moves with him. Thrusts him harder against the wall. Presses a knee against John’s tailbone. (Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it, honey?) “You will NOT treat me like your fucktoy. You will NOT play my team like gambits in your latest con.”

He presses the knee harder. John grunts in pain. “And--” The coldness settles over him again. (Don’t feel unless you have to. Turn the rage into something useful.) “-- if I catch even the merest WHIFF of your using, hurting, or betraying Ianto, I will have no compunction about killing you. In fact…" He bends close enough so John will feel his breath on his cheek. “I’ll enjoy it.”

John presses back, shivering. “You are so hot when you're a prick.”

He pulls John back. Slams him again. Wrenches the arm up tighter. "I'm serious, John."

It shouldn’t be possible for John to get out of the hold. He should’ve been able to pin the bastard, but somehow, John slips out of his arms. Grabs a double-fistful of coat. Slams HIM back-first against the wall. Snogs him breathless. “So am I.”

Damn him if he doesn’t find his hands cupping John’s arse. "I am not falling for you again, John."

John ruts against his leg. "You already have."

When the hot, wet temptation of that mouth closes on his throat, Jack shoves John hard. Decks him again. John comes up grinning and swinging. Pain explodes through Jack’s cheek. He pushes off the wall. Fights his insane lover backward in a flurry of blows and blocks.

Even with the quick healing, the cracked and re-cracked ribs soon have Jack gasping. He sucks air in. Throws John hard enough to send him crashing over the pilot's chair. John ends up sprawled and stunned beneath the console. But before Jack can leap to finish this well-deserved beat-down, John is back on his feet.

“Halle-fucking-lujah.” His slightly breathless lover vaults back over the chair. Winces on the landing, though his grin only widens. “I was beginning to think the man I fell in love with was really dead and gone.”

His ribs heal again, the pain subsiding. The heady mix of rage and John’s pheromones narrows his focus. He closes in, fists swinging. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He’s angrier, but John is still faster. His former ex fights him back across the cockpit. Clears a roundhouse kick -- good thing Jack’s reflexes are better or he’d have been knocked on his arse.

John laughs. “For a minute there, I thought I was going to have to lie about shagging your mum or your brother or your dog. Or all three.” The grin turns predatory again. “Nothing like a little incestuous bestiality to whet the appetite.”

That catches him off guard. “Seriously?”

“No.” John’s punch whizzes past his cheek. “You were such a sodden mess,” says John. “Not like you. Immortality should’ve only enhanced that delicious backbone. You always were a cocky sonuvabitch.”

“Pot kettle,” he snaps.

“Hence the attraction,” John says. “And for all that you could dish out as well as take, I can’t ever remember having to goad you this far before you fought back.”

He launches himself at John. Lands a shoulder squarely in John’s gut. Rushes him back to the wall. The impact shudders through him. John pounds him hard between the shoulder blade with a double-fisted blow. Jack braces hard. Pins John with a forearm across the throat. “What the fuck is WRONG with you? Why do you always push me?”

Gasping for air again, John grins. “Because… you’re strong enough… to push back.”

He eases off just a little. “What?”

John struggles three times before finding his voice again. “In a universe,” he pants, “of sycophants and liars,” he swallows hard, “sometimes you tell the truth."

In a weird sort of way, it’s the best declaration of love Jack’s ever had. For one breath, he nearly forgets being pissed off at John’s insubordination.

But before he can move in for the kiss, John ruins the moment with a lascivious grin. "Plus, I LOVE to fuck you. Universe-class arse, you know."

Cold anger rushes back in, drowning the warmth. "Fuck THIS!" He aims the punch right at John's groin.

John twists his hips. Throws him back. Jabs him in the gut. Slips under his arm. When he straightens, John decks him hard. The pain in his gut has already subsided. Years before, John was his equal in hand-to hand. (At least, so long as John didn’t use any of his mods.) Maybe a bit faster with punches and kicks, but usually a fair fight would end in a draw. And a passionate shag. And sometimes Jack even ended up on top. (Dammit, pheromones or no pheromones, he is not thinking about more passionate sex with this lunatic.)

He fights down pheromone-fueled bloodlust. It’d be too easy to break John’s gorgeous jaw. Shatter those beautiful collarbones. Obliterate the perfect Adam’s apple. Blacken those sparkling eyes. And part of him wants to. Part of him believes that John would forgive him any physical damage, so long as it ended with shagging.

John blocks a punch. "You haven't taught Ifan how to REALLY play with you yet, have you, Jack?"

“That’s CAPTAIN to you.” He kicks John HARD in the ribs. “And stop fucking calling him that!”

John laughs, gasping. Catches himself on the pilot’s chair. “He's strong enough, you know. If you let him try.”

He punches John hard enough to snap that beautiful face to the side. "Don't fucking TALK about Ianto unless you want me to kick your arse for real."

“Darling.” John pulls the blood into his mouth with a leisurely lick of his lips. "I would LOVE to see you try."

He grabs John again, but his former ex pivots, throwing him hard enough against the pilot’s chair that the crunch of breaking bones is audible. Agony lightnings up his back, winding him.

Laughing, John lunges forward.

Jack catches him in the throat with a fist.

Gasping, both of them back off to recover. John hits the subdermal that releases the nanogenes. They hover, waiting for priority.

“Just start at the feet and work your way up,” says John.

The golden cloud seeps in at ankle-height.

“Shall I take that as a compliment?” he teases as he waits for the feeling to return to his feet. (John snapped his back good.)

“Halftime,” John says.

Jack’s back heals with what feels like agonizing slowness. He straightens. Shrugs his shoulders fully back into joint.

“Immortality is cheating,” says John, wiping blood from his mouth.

“And nanogenes aren’t?” he says.

John’s grey gaze darkens into lust as he recalls the nanogenes. “Not anymore.”

He rolls his eyes with a sigh. “Goddammit, John, what IS it with you?”

When John attacks again, he telegraphs every move. Hits for the sake of hitting without aiming for any vitals. “I need strong lovers, Jack.”

He catches John’s foot mid-kick. Spins him to the floor. “You need half-mad lovers.”

“That too.” John bounces to his feet, cheerful as if they’ve been playfully sparring. “Which is why you and Ifan are perfect. You’re survivors. Time Agency’s gasping its last. Assuming we save the universe -- which we will because you have the damnedest luck -- I’ll have to go home.”

“You’re going home?” Now he KNOWS this has to be a con: John's spent his entire life running away from his family. (A couple of times, literally.)

“I may have to.” The fierceness fades from John’s eyes. “They’re mad as fucking hatters, but they’re starting to be all I have left.”

The old wounds hurt far more than the receding throbbing in his jaw and fists. “Why the fuck did you bring me to that crazy planet?” he demands. “You must’ve known what those maniacs would do. Would think.”

John punches him in the ribs. “I was in love, idiot.”

“You only love yourself.” Jack lands another blow to the solar plexus.

“Sometimes.” John retreats. “But I wanted to show them what I’d seen in you. Your strength. Your compassion. Your bloody charm. You were a good wife.”

“You were the wife,” he teases.

John nods. “And I would’ve HAPPILY been the husband.”

He freezes. “You’re serious?”

John’s laugh is bitter. “I wanted to make an honest woman of you.”

It finally makes sense in a demented sort of way. “You brought me there…?”

“I had to know if you were strong enough.” John looks away. “Survive Casa di Cuore and you can survive anything.” John’s glare is icy. “No offence, mate, but you were a fucking disaster.”

“I remember,” he says coldly. “And I’m not ever going back.”

“Vanity, vanity.” John pivots. Grabs his wrist. Gleefully spins him face-first into a wall. His cheekbone cracks. Pain shoots through his eye, then fades as immortality, pheromones, and raw adrenaline work their magic. John wrenches his arm behind him. Nips up the side of his neck. “You’re cunning in your own martyrish way, Jack, but you’re a liability too. No. I need you here, waving your dick and your ego around and keeping things mostly running in this time. Ifan will need a home to retreat to when my world becomes too much for him to bear.”

Fury turns his vision blood red. “You are NOT taking Ianto.”

“He’s not one of your Rift-granted artefacts,” says John fiercely. “To be catalogued and filed and forgotten until someone with more imagination and ambition comes to liberate him. Grow the fuck up, Jack. Ianto loved me before he even knew you existed. AND -- based on that lovely conversation he and I had over morning coffee -- we might’ve lived happily ever fucking after if you hadn’t stuck your nose -- and your cock -- in and ruined it.”

The pain is back, as is the fear. “I’ll never let you take him.”

John huffs annoyance. “You have become so head-up-your-arse provincial, Jack. When was I EVER either-or? Christ, when were you? I need you. I need him. When I’m not pissing you off and we’re not destroying whatever room we’re in, there’s something between us. It’s demented, yes, and sure as FUCK isn’t what I signed on for, but I learnt years ago that what I want has very little to do with the hand God will deal me.”

John presses his whole body against him.

“You can’t get away from me, Jack.” His former ex sighs, leaning his head on Jack’s shoulder. “And I can’t get away from you. Or from him. And I’m getting too old to keep dodging my fate.” John snorts. “It’s proof positive God has a sick sense of humour that you and Ianto are rapidly becoming the only constants in my life.”

“All right.” Time to finish this. “But I’m on top.”

“As you wish, darling.” A low, sensuous chuckle. “But only if you can force me down."

The grin feels as good as the anticipation. He shoves back hard. Dislocates his own shoulder to escape the grip. Decks John with his good arm. Snaps his shoulder back into the socket with a quick shrug. Fights one-handed until the damn thing heals.

“That’s just fucking creepy,” John comments.

“No,” Jack taunts. “Fucking creepy is a date with your cousins.”

“All right,” says John, laughing. “You’ve got me there.”

Then it’s just fun. To John’s credit, he does his best to avoid any delicate equipment on the main console. They do crack one of the display screens, which give him an excuse to knee John in the groin.

“Careful,” John gasps. “You’ll want that later.”

“Says you,” he retorts.

John’s eyebrows fly up. “Did you just threaten to fuck me without letting me come?”

He does his best impression of John’s predatory grin.

The cockpit is suddenly doused with the cinnamon-woodsmoke of John’s pheromones.

He grabs John by the shirt again. A slight ripping sound makes John tense. John dodges the punch. Grips Jack’s other wrist to restrain him. "No. No. Wait. Time out. Ifan’s robbing graves to keep me clothed. Kick the shit out of me AFTER I’m naked."

The thought of fighting a naked John has him panting with anticipation. Both of them strip down to their pants. John even folds their clothes and sets them aside.

“Now then,” says his fellow captain. “Where were we?”

He knocks John down with a really good sock to the jaw. John cracks his head against the base of the pilot’s chair. Rolls to his knees, weaving slightly. Jack drags him up by the hair (but not too roughly). John grips his hips, woozy. Leans his cheek against Jack’s thigh for a moment.

The familiar press of that slightly stubble-roughened cheek makes his cock jump against the fabric prison of his boxers.

Chuckling wickedly, John rubs the stubbled cheek across Jack’s groin.

His cock opines that it’s definitely time to finish the foreplay and get on with the main event.

John meets his gaze, bruised, bloodied, and -- for all that he’s on his knees -- as insolent as ever. "You know you want me to."

Rage and lust flame up in him. (His body remembers John’s mouth. Wet heat. Those gorgeous eyes. That evil smile. That bottomless throat.) "Fuck you."

"Yes, please." John nuzzles into his crotch.

He fights for control.

Purring, John mouths him through the thin cotton of the boxers.

He hates and loves him in that moment.

John SMILES against his cock.

It’s the last straw. He pulls his arrogant lover back by the hair. Tightens his grip until John gasps, eyes watering.

"MY team. MY ship. MY terms." He shakes John a little. “MY command.”

Eyes leaking tears, John smiles. "Yes…” He quirks an eyebrow, promising all kinds of evil. “Captain.”

And he would like nothing more than to shag John, right then and there. But this is about control and command, not just a quick fuck. If he caves before he makes John submit, he’ll lose this war.

“May I?” John breathes, hands sliding up the backs of his thighs. “Captain?”

Jack considers for two deep breaths. Nods curtly. Draws his cock out with one hand.

John licks his lips. Looks up, waiting for the command.

He fights down another surge of raw lust. His whole body aches for the man. He swallows hard so his voice will be calm. Dispassionate. (Time to teach him a lesson.)

He releases his hold on John’s head.

“Suck it,” he says.

John draws him deep, hands hard at the backs of his thighs. Jack gasps at the electric thrill of that mouth. Within moments, the talented tongue has him panting.

John forces him back a step, probably intending to pin him to the wall. Jack grabs him by the hair with both hands, using twin fistfuls to steer his head. John tries to slip strong fingers between his legs. Furious, Jack thrusts forward hard. Releases John’s hair. Grabs him by the wrists. Fucks his mouth.

John gives a muffled growl. Struggles to free his hands.

Jack forces him back and down. Slams his hands to the decking. Drives deep into the moist heat of John’s mouth. Pins him to the floor. Waits.

John thrashes beneath him. Tries to lever himself out from under. Jack holds him down. Sinks in until John’s lips are stretched wide at the base of his cock.

With a deep, shuddering moan, John relaxes. Submits at last.

“That’s better,” he says. “Now I fuck you until you choke.”

John’s body tenses, Jack suspects half in arousal and half in defiance. John never did sub without a fight, which was always part of the turn-on. Very few lovers have made him earn his stripes as a dom the way John does.

Jack starts slow and deep. Leisurely thrusts that force John’s mouth wide. John moans, muffled. His fisted hands relax open. Jack speeds his strokes until he’s pistoning. He fights the orgasm. Lets himself build. Deeper. Deeper. Harder. Harder.

And just when he’s sure John’s lost what little gag reflex he had left, his lover chokes. Sputters.

Triumphant, Jack backs off just enough to let John snatch a breath. Then he grinds deep. John struggles, fighting for air.

Jack pulls out.

John, gasping, snarls his frustration.

Jack slides down John’s body as though he has all the time in the world. (And to give himself a minute or two to recover from being right on the edge of coming.)

“Please,” John manages in a half-ruined voice. “Please… Fuck you… Please…”

Jack silences him with a holding bite under the jaw. Sinks his teeth a little deeper to press the point.

John arches with a wounded cry of ecstasy, then submits completely, his body relaxed and pliant beneath Jack’s.

He sucks John’s lower lip just for the pleasure of having his defeated lover shudder bodily beneath him.

“You like to be fucked,” he purrs against John’s mouth, “Don’t you?”

“Only by you.” John kisses him fiercely.

He pulls back from the kiss. Slides his wet cock up and then down John’s through the thin cotton between them. John moans, eyes closing in pleasure. “Please… Please…” His cock throbs against Jack’s. “Fuck me, Jack… Captain… Sir… Prick… Whatever I have to say to satisfy your ego… PLEASE!”

Jack bends until he’s nose-to-nose with John. “Strip.”

He eases off enough for John to shuck his pants.

He grins, appraising his lover, then sobers. Bends low to whisper against John’s bruised mouth, “Roll over.”


Previous | Next



Link to previous Faithful!Verse stories

Crossposted to jackxianto, torchwoodslash