Summary: Ianto has many roles in Jack's bed.
Warning: slash, homosexual sex, obscene language and mature themes.
Disclaimer: Torchwood and all its characters belong to Rusell T Davies and BBC, I make no money from this or any story, and they are purely a recreational hobby for fun.
Chapter 1: Bed of Lies
Ianto can tell who Jack is thinking of by the way the captain fucks him. He thinks he should be used to it by now. He shouldn't care it is just sex, right? But even if it's just sex it'd be nice to be acknowledged as a participant in the act. For as often as they shag, Jack barely ever recognizes Ianto as his bed partner, as the one he is thrusting into. No, Jack is always someplace else imagining that the one wriggling and writhing under him is not, actually, Ianto. Throughout the long months together and frequency of their shagging the tea boy has learned to read the 51st century captain in bed as good as he does in work.
He can tell who the person is that Jack is fucking in his mind, even before the older man whispers the name of his imagined sex partner. For instance the most frequent of Jack's sexual fantasy, is "The Doctor". Ianto was not surprised there, after all the captain has spent the last 100 odd years waiting for the man. The Welshman knows Jack is thinking of The Doctor because there is desperation, a sort of longing that takes over him. And he takes Ianto in a frenzy of paradoxical tenderness, as if afraid he would disappear mid coitus. Like he is making love with a long lost lover, which might as well be the case.
When Jack gasped Gwen's name for the first time - as hot as their shagging was and despite how close he had been to cumming- Ianto lost his erection all together. He didn't know if he was hurt or angry, and instead of thinking further of it he decided to remain at the stage of annoyed surprise. Later after hours of lying awake Ianto shrugged it off, it was best to accept it rather than fight or agonize over it. So the young archivist learned that when thinking of Gwen, Jack became passionate, like fire, burning hot and all consuming. Sloppy kisses, nails scratching, teeth biting, sweaty tangles of limbs and sheets, like the sex scenes in the movies, pure unbridled lust.
It annoys Ianto to no end. First off he feels rather insulted by the fact that Jack visualizes him as a woman; he allows the older man to bugger him but that doesn't turn Ianto in to a girl, far from it. Actually Ianto can't figure out how Jack can imagine he is with a woman when Ianto is obviously lacking in the feminine physiology department. The captain most have one hell of an imagination if he can play pretend there is soft breast in place of a hard chest. Not to mention the amazing feat of ignoring Ianto's cock bouncing and brushing against the former time agent's abs, in favor of picturing a dripping wet cooch. Secondly if Jack wants to fuck Gwen he should go right ahead and do it. It's not like either of them is above of having an affair. Gwen proved it with her 'dangerous liaisons' with Owen. And Jack has proved it many times over by being Captain Jack fucking Harkness, he can have anyone he wants in whichever way he wants; what with all those irresistible 51st century pheromones, that are powerful enough to turn a 'straight' man 'gay' for him, namely one Ianto Jones.
Now when life shoots them all to hell and sends them all rolling in a cluster-fuck. When Jack becomes angry and embittered be it by a mission gone wrong, by a spat with Gwen or Owen, or just because he was having a really fucking bad life. It's John Hart's name that he grunts. In those moments Ianto is slightly frightened. He is not sure what Jack is capable of, he has seen the man truly enraged, mostly at him with the Lisa incident, and yet the captain restrains himself. Ianto feels that Jack can hurt and maim, he feels sometimes he is close to doing it. Yet he waits 'till he is alone with the tea boy and proceeds to unleash his anger and frustration on Ianto; or rather on John Hart via Ianto. In this occasions Jack is rough, pulling hair, spanking, slightly strangling, and thrusting so hard and so fast that he pounds Ianto against the mattress. Grunting, groaning and growling; while snarling John's name accompanied by venomous expletives. It's like angry, rabid make up sex after a huge fight, or more like making love to your enemy, which like with The Doctor, that might as well be the case.
Of all their shagging encounters, the ones that have scared and rocked Ianto to his core have been the rare occasions when Jack has actually made love to him. Scratch that, not to him, but to some woman named Sahara, that Jack imagines in Ianto's place. It's only happened less than a handful of times. And the experience hurts Ianto more than any angry sex does. Because when Jack is with Sahara, he is in love. His love making - for that is what it is, and calling it anything less would be an insult- becomes soft, caring and tender. Careful hands explore and caress thoroughly, the kisses and the thrusting is slow and deliberate, and love gushes out of Jack in waves. And the warmth that soothes the fortunate woman in the captain's mind, suffocate Ianto in turn.
The first time this happened the young Welshman wept throughout the glorious experience. However his tears of bliss mingled with those of disappointment when Jack reverently whispered the name Sahara, in a hushed sweet tone like he was saying a prayer. No one had made love to him like that, he never thought such feelings could exist, let alone that he deserved to bask in them. And here it was mocking him, hurting and cutting deep in to his soul. For while he receives this religious experience -it can't be anything but- it was not meant for him. Jack would never make love to him like that. That is something he reserved for Sahara, while Ianto had to suffer and conform with impersonating her ghost in Jack's mind.
The only times when Jack acknowledges Ianto as the one he is fucking, are when he is in a playful mood. When there are toys and games involved. When there is a stop watch, a measuring tape or naked hide and seek. Then and only then does Jack Harkness gasps and moans Ianto Jones' name.
Then there are times when Ianto Jones is not enough, when his chest is too flat, his cock is one too many and his hole is not loose and wet enough. That's when late at night Jack prowls the streets of Cardiff in search of the favors of real women. Ianto knows this because he is the one who cleans the smell of cheap perfume out of Jack's grey coat, and scrubs the lip rouge out of his shirt's collars. It makes the young archivist wonder, does Jack uses them as he uses him. Does he call others name's -does he calls Ianto's- as he cums inside them. That thought made Ianto pause, Jack doesn't use condoms when he fucks him, he wonders if the captain goes bare back on those women too. He makes a note to himself, 'buy and use condoms at all times from now on'; it won't do if he catches something from Jack's dabbling with those women. A new question pops in his mind, was it only women, or did Jack went out to shag other guys when he became bored with Ianto. If that is so then that puts him a few notches lower than a 'fuck buddy' and maybe a couple of notches above a prostitute.
Ianto is no fool; he knows exactly what he is to Jack. And he agreed to it the moment he insinuated himself to the captain. He knew it was nothing more or less then convenient sex. He was only a warm fuck-hole for Jack to put his cock into when he couldn't be bothered with the intricacy and formalities of one night stands shagging strangers; or for those times when the rift and Torchwood got in the way of cruising for sex. And still it means so much more to Ianto, the Welshman fell in love with Jack, he adores him. He is loyal and faithful to a fault. His very life is to the beck and call of the 51st century immortal. Jack gave him meaning a reason to live after Lisa and Ianto was not going to throw his life line away. He is convinced Jack needs him as much as he needs Jack and so he will endure.
Jack can call him every name in the planet during sex if he so wished it. Well maybe not Owen's even Ianto has his limits. His dry humor takes over for a moment, maybe he should propose a bit of role playing to Jack. He can wear Converse with his suits that would make him more Doctor-ish. A black wig should make him look like a sick parody of Gwen, Ianto snorts at the thought, slightly disgusted by the disturbing mental image. Maybe a red coat and a bottle of booze for when he plays John Hart, though he could never be as brash as the ex-time agent, God forbids. As for Sahara... Ianto dares not to touch that one.
Ianto is pulled out of his musing by the sound of Jack clearing his throat. The younger Welshman turns to discover that the captain is giving him that look, the one with the lustful eyes and the winning smile. As the older American stalks closer to Ianto he briefly wonders who is Jack seeing, will he be the longed for Doctor, desirable Gwen, infuriating John, beloved Sahara or will he be allow to remain simply Ianto.
A/N: This chapter is titled like the song of the same name, Bed of Lies by Matchbox 20. Every chapter is named after a song that I believe goes well with said chapter. A sound track of sorts, if you will.