Title: Of Bathrooms and Minefields
Author: bigtitch
Rating: AO
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Disclaimer: Not mine. And if RTD didn't want me to write fanfic he shouldn't create characters like Jack Harkness and Ianto Jones.
Note: Thanks to Chris for the wonderful beta. You rock!
Summary: After Countrycide, Jack just wants to have a bath. Life has other plans for him.

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Jack surveyed the empty Hub with tired satisfaction. He'd got them back from their nightmare camping trip alive, if not completely in one piece. Owen had driven Gwen back, complaining about being a taxi-driver a little too much for it to be genuine. Tosh had taken a real taxi, declaring herself too tired to drive. Ianto… Ianto had simply vanished, offering no explanation of where he was going or how. Jack's mood of satisfaction dissipated. His plan of getting Ianto more involved in the team had been affected by bad timing of almost cosmic proportions.

He shook his head, Ianto was a problem he had no idea of how to solve. He stretched and found a bruise he didn't know he'd collected. Ianto could wait for another day. He had more urgent, personal priorities to attend to.

Jack headed down to the lower levels and the showers. But showers, he thought, gave no idea of what was really there. They were a combination of locker rooms, toilets, and showers, and at the beginning of Torchwood 3, some unknown genius had fitted them out with dark mahogany and a riot of art nouveau tiles. Any conservation official from Cadw straying anywhere near them would have slapped a preservation order on them and they'd show up on guidebooks to Cardiff. As it was, successive generations of heads of Torchwood Cardiff had firmly resisted any efforts from bureaucrats at Head Office to have them 'upgraded'. And on nights when he was alone at the Hub, they were his private kingdom.

A bath, he thought. He needed a long, hot soak. He grinned as he thought of the baths, Victorian, enamel, claw footed and deep enough to drown in. There was very little in the world that couldn't be made better with the aid of a hot water, bubbles and a rubber duck.

He opened the door marked 'Gentlemen' and froze as he was confronted by the sight of a pink and naked Ianto in the process of wrapping a towel around his waist.

All thoughts of baths and tiles fled. A swimmer, he thought. Ianto was a swimmer. There was nothing else that produced that physique of broad shoulders, slim hips and long, smooth muscles. His second thought was that Ianto looked a lot better out of his suit than in it. Hard on that thought came the realisation that, under the flush of warmth from the shower, Ianto had acquired a collection of really nasty bruises.

He became aware that he had been staring at Ianto's body for an inappropriate length of time and forced his eyes up to Ianto's face. Ianto was frozen, his hands still fastening the towel, his eyes wary.

'I thought you'd gone,' Jack said, stepping into the room.

'I was going,' Ianto began, 'but…' he stopped.

'But what?' Jack asked.

'That place. Those people. I could smell them on me.' He turned his face away slightly. 'I couldn't stand it any longer. So…' he gestured towards the shower.

'I don't blame you,' Jack said, moving closer. 'Nice bruises,' he said, half admiringly.

Ianto looked startled. 'These?' he said gesturing to the marks along his ribs. 'They're nothing. They tied me up, stuffed a filthy rag in my mouth and a filthier bag over my head.' He set his teeth. 'They held a cleaver to my throat and said they were going to bleed me to death.' He shot a pain-filled glance at Jack. 'To make my meat sweeter.' Ianto turned and gripped on to the edge of the washbasin. 'I've never been so scared,' he said, staring at the sink. 'I thought I was going to die.'

Jack was silent for a moment. So that what was behind the brief 'they were cannibals and were going to eat us' report he'd been given. 'It's OK, Ianto,' he said putting a comforting hand on the younger man's shoulder.

But it wasn't a comforting hand. An almost electric jolt of desire went through Jack at this first contact with Ianto's bare skin. Ianto's hand came up and touched Jack's. Then Ianto turned, took hold of Jack's head in his hands and kissed him hard.

For a while, all Jack could do was hang on to Ianto's shoulders as the man devoured his mouth, his tongue, with a passion that had more than a streak of desperation in it. Then Jack gave into the moment and let his hands slide sensuously down Ianto's back before his hands grasped his hips and he pulled them close, moving his stiffening cock against Ianto's answering erection.

His momentary surprise at Ianto's actions gave way to recognition. He knew what this was, had felt it many times himself after a dangerous mission. This urge, this craving, to have sex, to fuck. He'd always looked upon it as a way of giving the universe the finger, of yelling 'I'm still alive!' at whoever or whatever cared to listen. He urged Ianto on, rubbing harder against him, sliding his tongue between Ianto's lips to explore in his turn.

Abruptly Ianto pushed him away and turned to stand grasping the washbasin again, breathing heavily. Jack staggered back, trying to get his lust-fogged brain to cope with what was happening.

He looked at Ianto, whose whole body posture screamed 'Go away' at him. He could do that. He could walk away and let Ianto go. Maybe that was the right thing to do. But, equally, maybe it wasn't. You couldn't tell with Ianto at the moment. Dealing with him was like tap-dancing blindfold across an uncharted minefield. There was always going to be a disaster, the only question was whether you were going to lose a foot or the whole bloody leg. If Ianto walked away, then what? Ianto would get dressed, leave and take this need out into Cardiff. Not a good idea. Cardiff at night was hardly Sin City, but Jack's stomach clenched at the thought of some of the trouble the Ianto could get into in the mood he was in. Better here than there, he thought, trying to work out just how wrong that decision was going to be.

He walked over to the lockers and, predictably, found what he was looking for in Owen's. He went back to where Ianto was standing and tossed the condom into the sink.

'It's OK,' he said.

'I hate you, you know,' Ianto said, without heat, just stating a fact. 'So why?' he gestured down at where his erection was still tenting the toweling.

From somewhere Jack found a smile at the honesty. He wasn't sure if Ianto was ever going to admit that out loud.

'It's just a fuck,' he said.

Ianto glanced at him with such disdain that Jack nearly took a step back.

'OK,' he said, conceding his mistake. 'It's biology and chemistry. It's because you nearly got killed today. And it's because sometimes your enemies are the only people you can trust.'

He slipped his braces down and then removed shirt and t-shirt in one movement. He reached out a hand and stroked down Ianto's back, slowly, cautiously. 'It's OK, Ianto,' he repeated. 'If you want to. I'm here.'

Ianto turned to him once more. He put his hands on Jack's shoulders and Jack found himself looking into deep blue eyes. What Ianto was thinking he had no idea. But then Ianto moved closer and leaned in to kiss him.

Jack was expecting the same lust-driven passion of before, but this was a soft brushing of lips. Part of him was crying out that this was what he wanted. This was how he wanted the first time with Ianto to be. The sweet intermingling of lips, tongues and breath went on and Jack closed his eyes. He felt that the world was spinning. Then he took a step and realised that Ianto was turning him, pushing him back towards the wall.

The sweetness was done with. Ianto's mouth was demanding, hard, his tongue probing Jack's mouth over and over. Jack slammed into the wall so hard that he was convinced he'd have a tile imprint between his shoulder blades. Ianto kept up the kiss, taking Jack's right hand and pulling it down to Ianto's cock. Jack pulled the towel away and began to stroke Ianto's hardness with a well-practiced hand. Ianto groaned into Jack's mouth at his touch. His own hands started working on Jack's belt and fly. Jack took his left hand and traced a path across Ianto's lightly-furred chest, pinching a nipple. Ianto grasped his hand and pushed it against the wall above his head, in a gesture that said 'I'm in charge here'. Jack submitted, letting Ianto have his way, aroused as much as intrigued by the turnaround in their positions.

Ianto yanked Jack's trousers and pants down. Jack's cock bobbed up free, hopeful, but Ianto ignored it. Jack was pushed towards the washbasin. He understood what he had to do and braced himself against it, kicking one leg free of the puddle of his clothing to give him enough room to spread his legs open. Ianto picked up the condom from the bowl. There was no lube, but there Jack could suddenly smell something herbal, shampoo or conditioner. It would do.

He felt Ianto's fingers at his entrance. He was trying to relax, to prepare for a hard penetration, but that isn't what the fingers were doing. They slowly circled, rubbing the lotion around. He looked back to find Ianto with his teeth gritted, fighting for control, while his fingers, slowly, thoroughly prepared his partner. Jack turned back, and bent his head fighting an emotion he couldn't name. This wasn't hesitancy on Ianto's part — he knew exactly what he was doing — this was care, this was gentleness. Brutality Jack would have understood, but this tenderness he couldn't explain and it tore at his heart.

'For God's sake, Ianto, just do it!' he cried, unable to deal with what he was feeling.

Ianto decided to obey, and Jack felt his cock nudge at his entrance and slowly push in. Jack breathed deeply and tried to relax. This was something he could cope with. He concentrated on the pain-pleasure sensations, giving a groan when Ianto was sheathed fully in him. He pushed his hips back and Ianto started thrusting, slowly at first and then building faster and harder.

Jack concentrated on the physical sensations as the two of them found their rhythm and started moving together. He looked in the mirror. Above his shoulder Ianto had his eyes clenched shut intent upon pursuing his own orgasm. Jack arched his back and moved slightly so that Ianto started hitting his prostate. He focused on the sensation, his hand moving along his cock. He could do this, he could get there. He felt the pleasure building within him, just a few more strokes, just a few… Ianto's hand came round and rubbed against his left nipple. That was it. He was there. He shuddered, backing hard against Ianto as he came. In his post-orgasmic haze he was dimly aware of a voice calling 'Jack! Jack! Jack!' as Ianto followed him into orgasm.

They stayed linked for a few seconds, bent over the basin, catching their breaths. Then Ianto pulled out. Jack turned round and faced him. The look of bewilderment on Ianto's flushed face was comical. Jack didn't laugh. He reached out to touch Ianto's arm, but Ianto moved away and Jack let his hand drop.

He watched as Ianto silently pulled his trousers on, slipped a shirt over his head, pushed his bare feet into his shoes and left without looking back.

Jack let him go. He sat on the edge of the bath and turned the tap on, trying to settle his feelings, watching the water flow in as intently as Ianto had stared at the sink in the beginning. Again and again his mind returned to how, in the midst of his lust, need and hatred, Ianto's hands had been tender, so gentle with him. That wasn't just a fuck. He didn't know what it meant to him, let alone how it affected Ianto, but that wasn't just a fuck. It was far more complex and dangerous than that. But since when was that news with Ianto Jones?

The End

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