Fic, FAITHFUL, Ch. 30/60: The Attitude Check

[loveslashangst]

Story: Faithful
Author: Love! Slash! Angst! loveslashangst
Beta: the underemployed 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 slash, canon bisexuality, abuse of dishwashing liquid, language, and lots and lots of sex (various pairings and kinds.)
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...

Life is kicking my ass (and O's too). Seriously. Right now, I'm still reeling from a very unexpected bout of marital problems that have left all three of us blindsided and uncertain as to what happens next.

[O sez: Srsly, my stuff is just school-work-fun-balance related. I’m okay. My dear fic-partner is NOT, and could use lighting candles, good energy, white light, or whatever you want to call it.]

So why am I here?

In the midst of all this crap, it's nice to escape for a while. And even as the worst shit was going down, life had a way of reminding me of my father's sage advice: "This too shall pass." I'll survive, and the coming weeks will get better.

Oh, and if you want a real-life version of Ianto's web support, try Society of Janus: http://www.soj.org/articles.html

[O sez: Janus is primarily an educational site (and NOT pr0nz), but is also local to the Bay Area, has event listings, etc. PLEASE BE AWARE that text material on the site is adult in nature and content, and that we are not responsible if you get fired for clicking at work.]

And THANK YOU nanfreak for the icon!

On with the show...

"We've played the game of 'stay away'
But it costs more than I can pay
Without you I can't make my way
I surrender, dear.

"I may seem proud and I may act gay
That's just a pose, I'm not that way.
Cause deep down in my heart I say,
I surrender, dear.

"These little mean things we were doing
Must have been part of the game
Lending a spice to the wooing
Oh, but I don't care who's to blame.

"When stars appear and shadows fall
Then you'll hear my poor heart call
To you, my love, my life, my all
I surrender, dear..."
(Gordon Clifford and Harry Barris, recorded by Bing Crosby)

(In which Jack goes on a fool's errand, Rhys does the dishes, Gwen rewires the workstations, John saves the day, and Ianto gets reinforcements.)



And as Rhys leaves, he slaps Ianto on the arse.

John, eyes glinting with humour, says, "Now I see the attraction."

Ianto glares at him until John resumes his demure look.

"Sir," John adds.

Ianto's mobile rings, startling him. He flicks on the earpiece, shooting John another warning look.

"Ianto," says Jack's voice in his right ear.

Eyes carefully watching Ianto's, John slowly sinks to his knees.

"Yes?" Ianto says.

John leans in. Grips his hips. Nuzzles into his crotch through the smooth wool of his trousers. He grabs John by the hair, a warning. John drops his hands, clasping them submissively behind his back.

"Just checked the readings," Jack continues, still all business.

"Yes?" John relaxes into Ianto's grip. Makes him wonder if the captain knows him better than he knows himself, because for one heady moment he wants to throw John over the table, rip off those jeans, and fuck him into the mahogany. As it is, he tries to focus on Jack's voice as he eases his fingers through John's hair.

"... life signs," Jack is saying. (John's breath is hot and wanting through the wool. A gentle teasing of lips that has him harder than he would've imagined possible.) "Looks like... yeah. This should just be a tech-only drop. No need to put on the kettle for any uninvited guests."

The laugh is a little throatier than he intends -- can't decide if he's relieved or disappointed. "Shall we be right down?"

"No." Jack sounds distracted -- probably fiddling with screens and keyboards and dear GOD John knows just the right way to mouth him through his trousers. "Last time we let John out of the Hub, things got messy."

"Probably wise." His voice is deceptively even, even to his own ears. Just being able to speak calmly helps focus him -- can't let John get too self-assured or he'll wrest control back just when this is getting interesting.

"Gwen and I will go," Jack says. "Retrieve the tech. Scan it. Be back as quick as we can -- shouldn't be more than forty-five minutes. Keep John occupied till we get back."

"Yes, sir." He pets John's hair. A rumbling moan as John presses his cheek to Ianto's hip. "I'll do my best."

The earpiece clicks silent.

As he sets and depresses the button on the stopwatch, part of his mind is in a blind panic at the prospect of being unable to maintain control over his lover, but another part is hopelessly aroused at the thought of continuing this game without Jack as backup.

John looks up at him, eyes full of promises.

He hardens his own gaze. Channels a coldness he hasn't felt since he invaded the warehouse where literal butchers were carving an alien to sell in pieces as meat. He tightens the fingers in John's hair. Pulls him to his feet. "You will obey me without question."

"Yes, sir." Threads of spice-and-woodsmoke pheromones infiltrate his senses. For a moment, Ianto closes his eyes, almost giving in to the temptation to kiss John.

"Sorry to interrupt again, boys," says Rhys from the door. "But d'you know what's become of Gwen?"

"Sit," he says against John's lips. He releases John's hair. Waits, schooling his body language to be still, contained, and more dominant than he feels as John sits quietly.

John puts both hands on the table. Lowers his eyes again, polite and submissive. And Ianto has to repress the shiver of glee at the thought of having someone as... well... toppish as John actually obeying him.

"Hm." When he looks, Rhys's eyebrows are halfway to his hairline. "Ever considered moonlighting at a school for dogs?"

He ignores the bait. "Jack and Gwen have gone off on business. They should be back in approximately..." He checks the stopwatch, in part because the familiar smoothness in his hand is reassuring. "... forty minutes." As he tucks the stopwatch back into his waistcoat pocket, inspiration strikes. "Would you be willing to do me a favour, Rhys?"

Rhys folds his arms, though he seems more amused than uncertain. "Depends on the favour."

John is watching them through lowered lashes.

Ianto is painfully aware that this game will work only so long as John finds it amusing. "I have some work I need to do," he lies. "Would you keep an eye on Captain Hart?"

John's submissive body language is evaporating. "Sir..."

The threat of defiance actually helps him find his resolve. He raises a warning finger. John falls silent.

Rhys laughs, jovial. "Anything in particular you wanted me to have him do?"

"Yes." He grins a challenge at John. "Start with the washing up."

John's eyes narrow. "No."

"No?" he says, and with the gaze he dares John to call his bluff. (If I tell Jack, you've lost, and just when you're so close to winning.) He holds up a finger. "That's one."

Rhys's grin widens. "You want us to do the dishes?"

John's whole body tenses the way it does right before he hauls off and punches someone. He gives Rhys a mild glare. "Don't you need to get back to work, sir?"

Ianto holds up another finger. "That's two."

Rhys strolls over to the table. "Best thing about bein' the boss..." He leans over John. "Get to set your own hours."

Ianto can feel John's barely-contained fury from where he stands. "Please, sir," says John levelly. "Isn't there something else you'd rather have us do?"

"No," says Ianto. "And that's three. I do hope I won't have to ask again."

John holds Ianto's gaze for a long, measuring moment, then lowers his eyes. "No, sir."

Rhys whistles, impressed.

Ianto fumbles in his pocket and ironically finds exactly what he needs (must've transferred the extra nasal filters to this coat, though damned if he remembers doing it. Half the time his preparations are equal parts intuition and best guesses.) He pulls out the little metal devices and hands them to Rhys. "Not that I object to you and Gwen, but..."

"Cheers," says Rhys, accepting the gift.

"Ifa--" John stops when he glares. "Sir," John corrects himself.

"That's better." He folds his arms with another challenging look at John. "Be back for you in..." he checks the stopwatch, "thirty-two minutes."

"Come on, then, Captain." Rhys chucks John's shoulder. "You wash, I'll dry."

John rises slowly to his feet with the air of an affronted prince. He straightens the hem of his "Porn Star" t-shirt with dignity.

"Thank you, John," Ianto says with a confidence he doesn't feel.

"You're welcome... sir." Judging by the mix of anger and lust in John's eyes, his revenge will be slow and thorough. And the demented thing is, Ianto's actually looking forward to it.

He nearly collapses in relief when the two of them leave. He heads for the window. Watches until John and Rhys disappear down the stairs in the direction of the kitchen. Sprints down to Tosh's workstation. Quickly looks up the website.

"How to Control Your Uppity Sub," he reads.

It's not that he hasn't tried topping before, it's just that with Jack, as soon as the clothes came off the whole thing devolved into a farce, with him trying to be something they both knew he wasn't. (It's one thing to manhandle a suspect or detainee to protect the team or the population at large, quite another to pretend that your authority-obsessed boss is actually your slave.) And worse still was the COACHING Jack gave him -- a sort of pained and longsuffering patience. Not that Jack didn't want to be topped, just that he'd managed in spite of himself to remind Ianto that he's only the latest (and probably least experienced) in what may well be a limitless list of lovers.

Nothing more damaging to the ego than to be reminded of how poorly you compare to the exotic people and things Jack used to romp with. And surely John will be even worse. (A man with a surgically-enhanced arsenal of sex toys for a cock is not exactly going to be a blushing virgin.)

Though the information on the site is cursory at first (be careful, use protection, know and respect limits, good communication, blah blah blah, things they haven't done or have pointedly ignored) the "Velvet Rule" really hits home: "The most effective Tops will make their subs want to give in. Soft-spoken need not be weak, just as velvet can be more persuasive than steel."

It's something he'd sort of intuited, but it helps to have the idea put into words. Smiling, he puts the workstation on standby. Checks the stopwatch. Gives his jacket a tug. Straightens his tie. Puts on his game face.

If he plays it right, this will be fun.

The hallway leading to the galley kitchen REEKS of cinnamon. Woodsmoke. Spice. Musk. He almost pities John in that moment -- if memory serves, dish soap is to John what fifty-first-century pheromones are to him. And judging by the cheerful whistling coming from the kitchen, the nasal filters he gave Rhys must be holding.

Ianto nearly chokes as he reaches the galley kitchen -- putting the pink, frilly apron on John might have been overkill in terms of humiliation. "Gentlemen?"

Rhys grins at him, jovial as ever, as he finishes drying a plate. "Back so soon?" He tucks the plate deftly into the drying rack. "Good. Left m'coat up in Jack's office." He folds the towel neatly across the bar on the wall. "I'll leave you to it." He slaps John on the arse. "Pleasure doing dishes with you, Captain."

John is in bad shape, flushed and slightly breathless from the "Fairy" washing-up liquid. He leans both hands on the counter, fighting for control against the arousal. "Charmed, sir."

Once Rhys has left, Ianto turns John slowly, holding his gaze. John reaches up, probably intending to cup his face.

"Hands," Ianto says, calmly and firmly. "On the counter, please."

Though the look in his eyes says "you'll be the death of me", John obeys.

His hands frame John's waist. John glances down. Ianto breathes deeply. Slides his hands to the small of John's back. Pulls first one tie... then the other...

John's eyes fall closed.

Ianto chuckles. Draws back enough to take the upper loop of the apron. Slip it over John's head. As John opens his eyes, Ianto takes his time. Folds the apron. Tucks in the ties. Sets it on the counter.

"S-sir?" John whispers.

"Shhh." He hovers his mouth just above John's. Slowly and deliberately presses his groin to John's. John WHIMPERS, which only makes him harder. He can't help the smile, recalling their first encounter in this room. If he remembers correctly, John slid up like this. Down like this. Just this same amount of pressure. (And only a combination of stark terror and determination kept him from giving in when their roles were reversed.)

John's weight shifts as he takes his hands off the counter.

Ianto pulls back, schooling his look to be coolly disapproving. "Hands, John."

"Sir?" He loves John like this -- just this edge of desperate and ever so slightly vulnerable.

"On the counter, please."

A stuttering breath. John puts his hands back on the counter. Leans back, tipping his head to bare that edible throat.

Ianto trails fingertips down the soft skin, loving the traces of stubble. "What do you smell in here, John?"

"Soap." The voice is gorgeous and husky. "My pheromones." John's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. "You."

His cock jumps at the last murmur. "How do I smell?"

"Aroused, sir." John's eyes are closed again. And though Ianto can sense the tension in him, it's one of anticipation, a strange kind of submission that means John's looking forward to whatever happens next as much as Ianto himself.

And he has to fight back the sudden, violent urge to pin John. Dominate him. Fuck him. (This won't work if you lose control.)

"Aroused?" Somehow his voice comes out light, even amused. He leans forward. A slow lick up the front of John's throat (salt and spices and musk and heat) ending in a gentle nip beneath his chin. John thrusts against his hips, an involuntary twitch. Ianto pulls his own hips back, denying his lover the relief of contact.

John moans.

When he glances down, John's hands are white-knuckled, clinging to the edge of the counter. Smiling, he blows a soft breath over the moistened skin of John's throat. "Which of us do you think can hold out longer?"

The Adam's apple bobs again. "Yesterday, I would've said me." A tentative laugh. "Today... you're full of surprises, sir."

He leans away.

John surges forward.

"Hands," he says, calm as he can.

"Sir?" But John's stopped, waiting for Ianto's command.

"Counter, please."

With an exhale of surrender, John leans back. Places his hands on the counter.

He has to force his hands to stop trembling as he unzips his trousers. Draws his cock out. The air is cool on his sensitized skin, which sends a flush through him. He strokes himself a few times, dizzied by the intensity of the sensation.

When he opens his eyes, John is watching him with intense hunger.

He smiles. "You want this."

A literal whimper of desire. "Yes please, sir."

"On your knees."

John sinks slowly to his knees. Turns his hands so his fingertips still grasp the edge of the counter.

He nods approval. "Very good." He steps forward. Strokes John's hair, revelling in the silky feel of it. "You may let go."

John releases his hold on the counter. Folds his arms behind him, clasping his own forearms. The move makes him look like he's bound, which sends another jolt of lust through Ianto. (Apparently, his bondage fetish is worse than he thought.) John looks up at him, trusting.

Ianto's cock bobs between them. John's lips part. He glances down, then up, a silent entreaty.

"You may."

John's mouth is hot. Wet. Seemingly bottomless. Suddenly cool. Suddenly warm. Rippling. Human and yet alien. Familiar one moment. Foreign the next. His lover feasts on him. Draws him deeper and deeper. And on every stroke, that talented tongue finds just the right spot to tease. Ianto moves with him. Controls the rhythm and himself at the same time so he doesn't just surrender.

Control. He needs to maintain control.

It helps to have a hand in John's hair. To move him, gently but firmly, so the sensations don't short out Ianto's brain. John pulls off. Licks his way down. Mouths first one testicle (a shiver of raw sensation Oh Godohgodohgod) then the other. Rolls them in just the right way. Ianto holds his breath so he won't succumb to the urge to pant.

He pulls John's head back. Smiles down at him. Caresses his cheek. Brushes fingertips over his lips. John opens his mouth. Hums happily as Ianto slides two fingers against his tongue. Suckles and caresses them with that lips and tongue.

Ianto draws his hand out slowly. Guides John's head back to his cock. Slow. Faster. Just the right flick with the tongue. A steady bob that has him building. Building.

"I'm going to come in your mouth." Where he finds the calm voice, he has no idea. "And you're going to swallow every drop. Do you understand?"

John pulls away just enough to gasp. "Thank you, sir." Then that mouth has him gasping. Thrusting as he builds. Builds. Good. So good. Close. So. Close.

He comes with stars dancing before his eyes. His ears rushing. His blood roaring. Shouts his release as his whole body seems to erupt.

For a moment, he thinks the klaxons must be in his head too. Good as his word, John is drinking him down. Sucking every last shiver out of him. When his knees threaten to give way, his lover supports him, hands at the backs of his thighs. Presses him to the wall. Tucks his now-soft cock back into his trousers. Zips him up, kissing him leisurely.

Klaxons. Definitely klaxons. The computer-y beeping of the cogwheel door sliding closed. (Hard to care with John's mouth hot and hungry against his.)

"That'll be Captain Harkness," John murmurs between kisses.

"It will be." He slips a hand between them to caress John -- who's still hard and unfinished -- through his jeans. "Shall we see what he wants to do about this?"

Grinning, John attacks his mouth with fresh kisses. "He promised both of you."

"Did he?" He'll either kill Jack, or thank him on his knees for promising such a thing.

A slight nod. "He said he'd teach you to top me." A deep, lingering kiss. "Apparently, you don't require as much tutelage as Jack thinks."

He chuckles. Revels in the chance to neck unapologetically with John. Breathes in the cinnamon-and-spice scent of his lover. Savours his own tang on John's talented tongue.

Then the bad kind of klaxons go off.

John looks up. "Uh oh."

Ianto taps his earpiece on. Speed-dials. Leads John out of the kitchen at a fast trot. "Jack's not answering."

John cringes at the alarms as he runs. "Probably can't hear it."

When they reach the main workstations, Jack and Gwen are scrambling to get control of the computers. Judging by the massive streams of data scrolling up each of the monitors, their panic is justified.

"Jack?" He pitches his voice to carry.

Jack points to one of the workstation tables. Something metal and roughly the size and shape of an undetonated artillery shell clicks and hums. Suddenly blossoms out into a dish-like shape.

All traces of afterglow vanish in the cold realization.

"You brought that here?" John says.

"We scanned it." Jack jerks wires from one workstation. Hands them off to Gwen, who plugs them in the next one. Jack pounds a keyboard. Shouts his frustration as every alarm in the place goes off in a deafening cacophony.

"You brought a Hunter-Sender HERE?" John demands.

"We scanned it. Totally inert, dead metal," shouts Jack, angry and defensive. "And don't just do something, stand there."

It's really bad if Jack's getting sarcastic. Ianto hurries to help Gwen manage the re-wiring.

"You brought it HERE?" John demands again. "To the fucking BATCAVE? Are you INSANE?"

"It's called the HUB." Jack pounds the side of one of the flat screen monitors. "And we SCANNED it. And rescuing alien tech is what we DO."

John flips open his wrist strap. "That's the problem with you, Jack. Never think ahead. Never imagine the trap. How did you last this long?"

"It was dead metal," Jack insists.

"And God made YOU immortal," John says. "The irony."

"Boys!" Gwen shouts. "This isn't helping."

Rhys comes down the stairs from Jack's office. "What the bloody..?"

John is intently punching buttons on his wrist strap. "Captain Dumbass over there brought a Hunter-Sender into the Batcave, and now it's downloading every scrap of data he has."

"It's called the Hub," Jack snarls. "And we fucking scanned it first."

"That'd be bad, then?" Rhys has lost his joking tone.

Ianto dives under a desk to unplug more computers just as the whole Hub goes black.

"Dammit!" says Gwen in the silence. "It's got the power too?"

"No," says John. "That'd be me."

"The fuck did you do?" Jack demands.

"Bought us time." Ianto can imagine John's glare, though he can't see a thing in the dark. "And maybe saved our lives."

"The Rift Manipulator," Jack says. "You just--"

"Relax, princess," says John. "Unlike you, *I* can plan ahead. Your jury-rigged, Rube-Goldbergian nightmare will hold just fine until auxiliary power kicks on in three... two... one..."

The auxiliary lights engage, a sickly red glow.

Jack glares at John with a mix of affection and exasperation. "I hate you."

Ianto fumbles his way out from under the desk as John continues, "My clever little worm tells me the code that little logic bomb used is not anywhere in its data archives. Something alien, and what are the only aliens in this sector that we know very little about, who also want my head on a pike?"

"Depends," says Jack, acid. "How many planets did you stop off at on your way here?"

"Cythraul." The word tastes sinister on Ianto's tongue.

"Got it in one, darling," says John.

"Are they coming here now?" Gwen looks drawn and wide-eyed in the dim.

"We're actually lucky they didn't trace him here sooner." Jack pins John with a look. "How long do we have?"

John snaps his wrist strap shut. "An hour. Maybe two."

"Okay." Jack squares his shoulders. "We keep all systems offline for now. Don't give them a chance to hack us any worse than they already have."

"And," says John, "we get the hell off this planet."

"What?' says Jack.

It makes sense to Ianto. "He's right, sir. The Cythraul want us. They'll kill to get us." He turns and heads for the stairs to the Cells.

"Where are you going?" Jack shouts after him.

"Brad Kapo," he says over his shoulder. "We'll need his help."

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Link to previous Faithful!Verse stories

Crossposted to jackxianto, torchwoodslash, captnsneyec, guns_n_poodles