Title: Of Choices And Acceptance

Rating: M

Word Count: 3110

Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto, mentions of Jack/Gwen and Ianto/Lisa

Spoilers: Something Borrowed (S2E9)

Warnings: Swearing and male/male sex – don't like, don't read (although I know a lot of you do like and do read!)

Summary: Jack turns up at Ianto's house the night of Gwen's wedding, bringing long-buried uncertainties rising to the surface.

A/N: This is the first sex scene I have ever written, so it has taken me a while and I am very nervous about putting it out there in the ether. However, I would love to hear what people think of it. I'm also nervy about writing Jack/Ianto dialogue, as I have read so many fictions that get it so wrong, and I don't want to do anything that seems out of character. Though I have just seen the premiere of Day One of Children of Earth, which might have influenced the direction in which I am pushing these characters – let me just say, without giving too much away, that Children of Earth is going to be very popular with Jack/Ianto fans.

Disclaimer: Torchwood? Me no own. Saaaad face.

Of Choices And Acceptance

"Heaven on earth is a choice you must make, not a place we must find."

Wayne Dyer

Ianto didn't expect to see Jack when he opened the door to his flat. There were very few other people who would have come knocking on his door at this time of night; in fact there were very few people who would knock on his door full stop, but he didn't know whether he was quite sure he wanted to accept the label of "lonely recluse" just yet.

"Can I come in?" for a moment, he pretended he could hear a hint of uncertainty in Jack's voice, but he soon realised that that was pretentious; he knew full well Jack didn't expect to be turned away. And, grudgingly, he noted that he had no intention of doing anything other than letting him in.

Seeing Jack stood in the middle of his living room was a strange sight – after they had finished clearing up the debacle that had been Gwen's wedding, Jack had taken himself off to the Hub, no doubt to lock himself in his office and brood. Jack had an uncanny ability of always being able to find something to brood about; he sometimes had a feeling that Jack never felt a day was quite complete unless he'd had a good mope.

"Can I get you anything?" the words sounded forced, awkward. Jack shook his head silently, stepping forward and taking a seat on the slightly worn out sofa in the middle of the room. Ianto raised an eyebrow slightly, biting down the "presumptuous much?" which hovered on the tip of his tongue and turning towards the kitchen. Once there, he quickly took a bottle of beer from the fridge, opening it efficiently and almost silently on the corner of the work surface; he'd been heading to get a glass of water, but Jack's arrival had complicated things, as it usually did.

Jack was still on his sofa, so he leant against the doorway leading into the kitchen. Jack was holding something in his hands. Ianto started when he saw that it was a picture of him and Lisa, no doubt removed from one of the many boxes that lay scattered uncaringly around his flat.

"Were you going to marry her?" Jack asked, his voice monotonous as his eyes remained glued to the snapshot from the past, which Ianto had tried so hard to file away. He swallowed hard, taking a gulp of the beer in his hand.

"I wanted to," he finally answered, his voice wavering just a little. "But I thought...I thought we had time. I was scared, I thought I could wait." A sudden anger coursed through his veins: "Why do you want to know?"

"I was married once..." that monotonous tone grated ever so slightly in his throat, but Jack caught himself. "But I lost her...like I lose everyone." His eyes glazed over again as he put the picture back where he'd found it, his gaze fixed on something which Ianto couldn't see. Ianto felt his muscles tense, biting the inside of his cheek in an attempt to divert his mind from the all-too-identifiable emotions that began to course through his veins.

"You could have had her, you know."

Jack's head snapped up, boring furiously into Ianto's eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"You could have had her. All you had to do was say the word, and she'd have chosen you. You know that."

"Are you jealous?" he could detect a sense of incredulity in Jack's voice, and he would have laughed had his stomach not been slowly twisting itself into painful knots.

"No," he retorted, aware that his body language and his voice betrayed the truth. Jack fixed him with a look, before turning away from his to stare again at that invisible – something – that was seemingly so fascinating.

"She was always going to choose Rhys. She loves him wholeheartedly and she needs him – I won't let Torchwood break her." He nodded stoically, reinforcing his words through physical action. Ianto took another sip of beer before chuckling, sarcastically.

"That's why you're here, isn't it?" he stated bluntly, noting that Jack's gaze had once again returned to him; he avoided those eyes, not wanting to see any guilt that he conjured up. "Torchwood's already broken me, so I'm available." Unwittingly, a hint of bitterness crept into his voice, which he tried, unsuccessfully, to keep at bay with his well-practised Ianto Jones mask.

"That's not why I'm here."

"Then why are you?" Ianto refused to raise his eyes to look at Jack – Jack had no idea what he did to people, the effect he could have on him. He could feel his stomach churning, that unwelcome feeling spreading like a virus through his body. He hadn't meant to fall in love with Jack; he hadn't wanted to. And, as infuriating as this unwanted love was, he knew that he'd give anything at all too hold onto it.

Ianto heard soft steps coming towards him, and he raised his head ever so slightly to look straight into Jack's face, deep blue orb boring into deep blue orb. To the casual observer, he knew that Jack always came across as the taller of the two, a fact which was equally down to Jack's larger-than-life aura and Ianto's own unwillingness to bring attention upon himself. At such close proximity, though, it was satisfyingly obvious that they were the same height, a fact that allowed Ianto to stare directly into Jack's gaze.

"Gwen made her choice today," Jack whispered, his breath somehow hot and soothing on Ianto lips. "So here I am, making mine."

Ianto felt himself go cold, then lukewarm, then a burning, feverish temperature which enveloped him in a wave of uncomfortable heat. He tried to look away, but he was transfixed by Jack's eyes, desperately scanning those icy blue irises to get full comprehension of those words. His anger, his bitterness, dissolved completely; he couldn't work out whether Jack was actually choosing him or merely settling for him.

And, at that moment, he realised that he couldn't give a flying fuck.

The scent of Jack's 51st century pheromones drifted towards him and he felt a cool shiver travel up his spinal cord, every nerve ending sending electric jolts into his brain. Jack moved closer towards him, stopping only when his lips were mere millimetres from Ianto's. The younger man wanted nothing more than to surge forward and capture Jack's lips in a fierce kiss, but the part of his brain that somehow managed to retain rational, clear thought in the presence of an amorous Jack Harkness held him back – anyway, he knew Jack would only enjoy breaking the stoic outer shell.

"You're not subtle at all, are you?" he quipped, managing to keep any tremors out of his voice, one eyebrow raising ever so slightly in mock disapproval.

Jack smirked, his tongue flicking briefly out of his mouth to moisten his lips. What could have been seen as an innocent, natural action, Ianto knew was in reality an open invitation. Seduction, for Jack, was like a carefully choreographed dance; no move, however small, was without a purpose. And it was that single movement that chased that small neurone of rationality out of his mind.

Ianto quickly closed the gap between them, catching Jack's lips roughly in his own. A calloused hand reached up to grasp the back of his neck, whilst the other prised the bottle from his hand and placed it, forgotten on a nearby counter; hands now free, Ianto gripped the front of Jack's shirt, pulling him as close to him as was humanly possible, not wanting a single atom of air to separate them.

That tongue that had teased him so shortly before begged for entrance, and he happily obliged, vaguely aware of his tie being pulled swiftly from around his neck; his waistcoat, too, had somehow ended up on the floor, but he was too busy slipping off Jack's braces and working to undo the – infuriatingly unnecessary, Ianto now reasoned – buttons of his shirt to contemplate exactly how it had found itself in its current predicament.

It was a routine that the two men had sharpened to a fine art; the ability to remove clothes whilst sustaining the maximum contact. Buttons were worked, tugged and, finally, ripped in order to gain unhindered access to warm skin, shirts were slipped from shoulders, pulled away from arms, dumped unceremoniously onto the cold floor of the kitchen – and not once was the kiss broken; if anything, it grew fiercer as more and more flesh was exposed beneath eager and hungry fingertips.

Realising that the entrance to his kitchen was an inadvisable place for them to get too carried away, Ianto regretfully broke the kiss, letting a small smile quirk the side of his mouth as Jack followed his movement, seeking to restore their contact. Gripping Jack's forearm, Ianto manoeuvred them out of the kitchen, through the hall, and into his bedroom; usually, it would be a mutual movement, as they both naturally headed to Jack's underground bunker, but they'd never done this here before, so Ianto had to lead Jack. Ianto felt his spine stiffen ever so slightly, a wave of uncertainty rushing through him, mingling with the red hot desire that sang in his blood; the Hub was one thing, but this was his home, if it could be called that taking into account how little time he actually spent here. He didn't really know what his flat could be called. Where was home, now? Any answer that Ianto could conjure in his mind was quickly dispelled by the feel of hot lips on his collarbone, teasing teeth scratching along the ridges and forcing a hiss out from between his teeth.

Turning around quickly, their lips crashed together, a rough meeting of lips, tongues and teeth. Ianto gripped the tops of Jack's arms, pinching the flesh so hard he knew there would be bruises in the morning; Jack responded by digging his blunt nails into the skin of his hips. They both knew they'd rather bear these injuries in the morning that the injuries they were used to carrying at the end of a day.

Jack's leg hooked itself around Ianto's ankle, deliberately toppling him off balance so that they landed together on the edge of the bed, a mish-mash of bodies and limbs so intertwined that it was hard to work out where one of them started and the other began. A slight ripple of annoyance coursed through Ianto, momentarily overriding his building lust, at being out-manoeuvred in his own home, and he responded by catching that sensitive spot set mid-way between Jack's neck and collarbone and biting down as hard as he dared. A groan escaped Jack's lips as he unwittingly threw back his head, begging for more attention; this allowed Ianto to hook his leg over Jack's waist and flip them so that he was straddling Jack's hips.

"Cheat," he heard the older man hiss into his ear, as Ianto turned his attention to the other side of his neck. Ianto grinned against his skin, raising his hips a little to allow Jack to push down his trousers with the edges of his feet.

"Shut up or I'll have you on decaf for a week."

Jack growled in response, his hand wandering teasingly slowly along the bottom of Ianto's stomach, eliciting a just-audible moan from the younger man as he sought to increase their contact to his advantage. It was Jack's turn to grin, trailing his fingers up Ianto's chest – completely the opposite direction to where Ianto wanted that hand to travel.

Almost with a sense of desperation, Ianto sought out Jack's mouth with his own, his teeth toying with his bottom lip. Jack responded all too willingly, his hand gripping at the Welshman's hair to a point which was almost painful. The movements of the two men became more urgent as they fought for more contact, pressing against each other to the point where each could feel the pulse of the other against their own.

Suddenly, much to Jack's severe consternation, Ianto pulled away, burying his face in the pillow by Jack's neck.

"Shit," he groaned, voice muffled ever so slightly in the material of the pillow. Jack frowned.

"Were you planning on following that with an explanation, or are we just going to lie here all night?" he tried to keep the frustration out of his voice, but every nerve ending was tingling for the continuation of their previous actions. Ianto raised his head, focusing Jack with his trademark withering look.

"I don't have anything," he hissed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Jack's frown deepened.

"What...oh," realisation hit Jack like a punch in the face. Seeing the dawning on the Jack's expression elicited an exaggerated eye roll from Ianto as he rolled off of Jack to lie on his back, facing the ceiling; Jack turned on his side to face him, noting that Ianto's eyes were scrunched closed. Jack raised his hand and rested his wrist gently on Ianto's waist, inching forward to restore some of the contact they'd had before the younger man had pulled way.

"I don't know why you'd presume I did," Ianto continued, the frustration in his voice mirroring the feeling ricocheting through Jack's body. "It's not as if you ever gave any indication you were going to come here. You've never come here before." Jack heard the sigh in his voice, and propped himself up on one elbow to look down at him.

"So you've never..." he paused slightly.

"Had anyone else here?" Ianto opened his eyes and turned around, mirroring Jack's own position to stare directly into his gaze. "Why would I have?" The corner of his mouth suddenly inched upwards, forming that little half-smile that Jack both loved and loathed, and his hand crept to rest on the side of Jack's neck, fingers trailing ever so softly over his pulse point.

"Now who's jealous?" he teased, inching forward to press closely against him. "Feeling threatened, sir?"

"Threatened?" Jack scoffed, digging his nails into his waist, grinning as he felt the sharp exhalation of breath that followed his actions. "Why would I have any need to feel threatened?" He closed the gap between them, whispering the last word ever-so-tantalising against Ianto's lips, running the edge of his heal gently up and down the back of Ianto's leg. Ianto strained forward, gripping the back of Jack's neck; whether to pull him towards him or to stop himself from finalising their contact, Jack couldn't tell.

"But I don't..."

"We don't need anything," Jack replied, noting how each word caused their lips to brush against each other; there was only one way to follow that up, so he moved forward those last few millimetres. It was a far-cry from the urgency of just a short while ago, and Ianto responded eagerly, allowing Jack to trace a languid, lazy pattern on the edge of his lips with his tongue. His fingertips edged down, away from Jack's neck, trailing soft shapes along his side.

Ianto let out a sudden gasp as he felt Jack's fingers curl around him, the warmth emanating from his hand setting every nerve ending in his body on fire. An inexplicable sense of urgency coursed through his veins and he crashed his mouth unremittingly against Jack's, any sense of tenderness forgotten as he took Jack in his hand, imitating the movements of the older man. Strong fingers twisted in his hair, trapping him close as he felt Jack moan against his mouth, the vibrations reverberating through him, their movements becoming faster, more frantic as they fought with each other and against each other.

The tension built inside him, like a spring being wound too tightly, begging to be released; he felt as if knots were being tied in his stomach, his gut twisted into some kind of abstract shape, each movement pulling it tauter, the pressure building to an almost unbearable fever pitch. His body and brain were caught in an all-too-familiar struggle; his body begged for release from the building fire that coursed through his veins, but his mind wanted this to never end, wanted it to go on for as long as possible, preferably forever. As shallow and sad and fucked up as it sounded, this was how he connected with Jack; when Jack came undone with him, that was the one moment when he truly felt like he understood him, when that mask that they both wore during the day slipped ever so slightly and allowed them to live rather than just exist.

With a groan of release, Ianto relented, letting his orgasm wash over him; the pressure building in his stomach dissipated as he sank his teeth into Jack's shoulder to muffle the sounds that threatened to escape from his lips. Strange colours and shapes danced on the inside of his eyelids as he closed his eyes, hand continuing to move until Jack himself followed suit and found his own release.

After a few minutes silence, punctuated by the sound of heavy breathing on both their parts, Jack rolled over onto his back, tugging Ianto with him so that he was sprawled over Jack's chest. The heartbeat of the immortal man thrummed in Ianto's ear, creating a soothing drumbeat as he gradually caught his breath and felt his own pulse begin to reach a more human level.

"We should get cleaned up," he whispered grudgingly into the skin of Jack's chest. Jack chuckled at his tone, the deep sound reverberating through his chest and doing nothing at all to aid Ianto's waning determination to get up.

"Or we could just stay here," he grinned, tightening his arms around Ianto, pinning him to his chest firmly. Ianto groaned, realising just how pointless his efforts were.

"I hate you, Jack Harkness," he mumbled, his hands treacherously tracing slow circles on Jack's smooth skin.

"I know."

"And I'm going to kill you in the morning."

"I'm sure you are."

"And...fuck it."

Ianto let his eyes slide close, burrowing into Jack's chest in a way that could only be described as snuggling – something that Ianto would never do unless in this half-asleep state, and would never admit to whilst awake. Whilst contemplating the pros and cons of using this particular piece of knowledge as potential blackmail, Jack placed a soft kiss into the hair of the sleeping Welshman and smiled, allowing himself to enjoy the first sense of peace he had felt in a very long time.

However fleeting he knew it was likely to be.

Love it? Loathe it? All comments appreciated and welcomed - constructive criticism is very popular!

Thanks for reading.