Title: Release
By: Sonicpen
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG-13
A/N: I started with the words ostentatious and reticent. And this appeared! I hope Ianto isn't too OOC, he's tricky. And I'm no good at smut so I didn't even try. :D
Summary: After the death of two teammates, Ianto decides he had to take charge if he's going to help Jack recover.

***

Ostentatious and reticent.

If a single adjective could adequately summarize each of their respective bedroom practices, it's safe to say Jack and Ianto wouldn't disagree upon those two. Pretentious and reserved. Grandiose and restrained. In fact, Jack would almost certainly say that those two terms fit as securely as one of the numerous condoms he held in the bottom left drawer, to which only Ianto was allowed.

Once lips found lips, Jack was prompted to hastily release any form of restraint he possessed. This included any professionalism, manners, overall decency, and preconceived mandates or routines that Ianto tended to prefer sticking to. He would breathe in Ianto's cologne like oxygen, lick a smudge of whipped cream from that afternoons' coffee off of his neck, nip and tug, take and take because he knew Ianto didn't mind it. And while Jack broke free, Ianto recoiled. Any friendliness, sociability or out-going manner he'd managed to muster together in his time as a Torchwood employee dissolved into a sweet, comfortable void that was filled with Jack and only. Devolving, almost seamlessly, into a child, he absorbed Jack's energy and held onto it, let it compel his own and exuded it all right back until he couldn't breathe for the effort. Ianto was the eye of the storm, hushed and peaceful, yet existed simultaneously in the heart of madness.

But there was one time, only one, in which the dynamics swapped.

Jack's dark hair shifted as though in wind, blown up off of his face as he fell backwards onto Ianto's large pillows. Ianto had seen him fall back this way numerous times. The only difference now, was his lovers' expression. Generally that of mischievous sexuality, Jack looked nothing less than miserable tonight. It was a misery, a despondence, a hopelessness that he hadn't dared divulge to his remaining teammates — his team — following Tosh and Owens' death. Jack was the leader; he was obliged to lead with a firm and confident hand. Ianto, however, knew Jack's real smile from one he was mustering up out of the pain. He knew it every time Jack touched him; fingers lingering longer than necessary, searching for solace in a warm touch. He knew it when he walked in on Jack, sitting at his desk with his high forehead resting in his hands when he said he'd just needed to make a few phone calls. Ianto saw Jack breaking, and it was time to rebuild.

Jack's arms bent at his sides, pushing himself back up again against the plush comforter. "I don't want..."

"Yes you do," Ianto breathed vehemently, standing at the foot of the bed. The two men looked at each other, both equally shocked by Ianto's defiance. "You… you need…" So much for boldness.

Jack shook his head. "You don't know what I need, Ianto," he muttered, attempting to finish getting up but suddenly Ianto was upon him and Jack found himself flat on his back once more. Ianto propped himself up on his elbows, his fingers finding themselves caressing Jack's sideburns.

"I do know," he said quietly. "Maybe… maybe I know better than you do." Ianto was embarrassed by the tremors of emotion forged with ambiguity that weighed down his voice. Jack looked up at him expectantly, right eyebrow arched. "You need me," Ianto finished, more certain now that there was a familiar little reminder against his thigh acting as a confidence booster. "Tosh and Owen are gone and it's eating at you and--"

"Is that what this is all about?" Jack said with a laugh. Ianto found it difficult to oppose as he felt Jack's hands on his hips, gently nudging him off. "I thought you just wanted to play some hide and seek. Maybe dinner or some TV. But you want a therapy session? You want me to spill my feelings to you?" He grinned at Ianto, beginning to get his shoes on. "Sorry, sweetheart, not buying in."

"Shut up."

All playfulness was gone when Jack's head snapped up. Ianto looked close to tears, misleading how he felt. And how was that? Like exploding.

"What now?"

"I said shut up." Ianto's Welsh accent was blooming in his anger. "You bullshit everyone else but you aren't about to bullshit me. Not when you're breaking like this. Gwen's got Rhys to talk to about this and I've got you. It's only fair that you let me in before it kills you." He stood unconsciously, finding his words were propelling him upwards. "Now get your shoes off and sit the fuck down."

His voice never rose. He never sounded at all threatening. But maybe it was the precision or perhaps it was the shock of Ianto's words that made Jack slowly remove his shoes and crawl, trounced, back onto the bed.


--


For the first time Ianto dominated, and all the while, Jack wondered if there was some sort of alien residing in his body. Perhaps he hadn't killed the one had Gwen set loose properly. He remained silent throughout, allowing Ianto to control, savoring it, permitting a moan to occasionally rip from his throat in response each tender spot that was stimulated. Ianto was forceful and Jack was submissive, devoid of the mischievous banter and teasing that usually accompanied their nights together.

Murmurs of "It wasn't your fault," and "There was nothing you could have done," and "It'll be all right," and "It's over," were hummed in Jack's ear, against his neck as their bodies turned and writhed against each other. The raw certainty of Ianto's fluid, confident movement over his body assured Jack of the equal truthfulness of his words.

For once, Jack let someone else make love to him.

Ianto was rough, shockingly so, but his words were softer than ever. Jack soaked in Ianto's body heat, their sweat and saliva mingling. His skin burned with lust but his cheeks soon became cold with tears which Ianto kissed away and let Jack taste again. Their movements were swift, sharp but not lacking a hint of the normal ardor and finesse. He felt guilty for not tending to Ianto, but the younger man assured him it was more than all right. Tonight was not about him.

Ianto's timing was perfect. His shy persona, attempting to be audacious turned Jack on more than he ever had. Each touch was perfectly placed, strong enough or soft enough to entice him and boil his blood beneath his flesh. And each time Jack came, he found he wanted more. Lying next to Ianto in the afterglow would mean time to think; time to remember when he was in such a state where he could barely remember anything but how to cry out Ianto's name. He wanted the night to last forever.


--


Ianto hated lying in dirty sheets, but it would be difficult to extract them without waking Jack. He was usually the victim of Jack's sexual advances and he was the one that ended up sexed into a coma. The role-reversal scared him a little.

Jack had cried. It was incredibly unreal, but the tears had been genuine. Tears worth a hundred lifetimes, a thousand deaths, a million moments knowing he'd always end up alone. He was afraid Jack would walk away, laughing, like he almost had. Or just insist on regular sex — which, incidentally, wasn't regular in the least but that was a different story. He wanted Jack to remember this night, to let it fill him up like Jack filled Ianto. To allow him to forget and let go. And he succeeded.

Ianto felt strangely proud of himself for getting Jack to release (in more ways than one) and he knew, sitting up next to Jack's spent body, that he and Gwen would get a bit more of their old boss back come tomorrow.

***