Title: Theosis
By: Ceefax
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: NC-17
Summary: AU. Jack visits a monastery in search of information, and finds a whole lot more besides.

***

Viewed through the scratched plastic window, the station was little more than a platform and one low building, standing alone in a sea of fields. Jack slung his bag over his shoulder and stepped down from the train.

"Captain Harkness?"

"Yes?"

"My abbot sent me to meet you."

The casually dressed young man offering him a polite smile and a handshake didn't look much like any monk Jack had ever imagined.

"Nice to meet you," he said, taking his hand. "Brother...?"

"Um... Just Ianto's fine," he said, a little sheepishly. "Can I take your bag, captain?"

"Call me Jack. I'm okay, thanks." He had just been getting used to the lilting, melodic sounds of the locals' voices, and the young man's subtler southern accent came as something of a surprise, for all that it reminded him of home.

He let young brother Ianto lead the way out of the tiny train station, enjoying the view as they went. If all the monks looked like this one, they could sign him up right now.

Ianto unlocked a battered but clean pick-up truck, and Jack climbed into the passenger seat. They pulled away down a narrow little road, high green banks stretching up on either side.

"So," Jack began, "guessing from the accent you're not from around here."

"Could say the same about you," came the amused reply.

Jack let his eyes drift over the man beside him. A shock of dark wild curls framed a handsome, boyish face. Pretty lips, pretty eyes. Jack smiled to himself. A hint of chest hair, apparently just as unruly, escaped from the collar of his shirt, and Jack's eyes fell to his bare forearms, tensed as he dragged the pick-up around the labyrinthine curves of the little country lane. There was a scar on the inside of his right arm, stretching up beyond the elbow - surely a burn from the size of it.

"Could you tell me a little more about what you're looking for?" the young monk asked, throwing Jack's train of thought away from the long, slender fingers wrapped around the steering wheel. "The abbot was a bit vague, I think a few things may've been lost in transit. And I've never even heard of... the Torchwood Institute? Is that right?"

"Yeah, that's us. And we don't usually go in for this sort of thing, to be honest. Hence looking for outside help. I've never actually met a monk before. Met a few priests, here and there, but..."

"We're just like everybody else, really." He gave a quick, polite smile. "And I'll try to help you as best I can."

"You will?"

"Yes. Actually, I have doctorates in linguistics and philology." He sounded rather apologetic, as though academic achievement was something vaguely shameful. "And I wrote my thesis on common approaches to modern translation of Hebrew and Aramaic."

"I wasn't doubting your credentials or anything, I just... I guess I was expecting someone older."

"Yes, people seem to. If they don't get fat little bald men in cassocks, they feel cheated..." He turned off into a side road and they rattled over a cattle grid. "So, what were you after?"

"Abaddon."

"Book of Daniel," Ianto said, thoughtfully. "But I assume you're looking to delve a bit deeper than the King James version."

"Exactly. I find myself in urgent need of every scrap of information ever recorded about Abaddon, and word is, you guys are the ones to see."

"Speaking as fifty percent of the linguistics department," Ianto said with a pleased smile, "that means a lot to me. Thanks."

"Is this it?" Jack asked. There was a tall, imposing church sitting at the end of the bumpy little road. The dark stone buildings gathered about its base looked as though they had grown from the same root, like the runners of a tree.

"Yep. Home sweet home."

***

Ianto took him in through the church itself. If anything, it was even more imposing on the inside. Its reverent, dark coolness was very welcome after the dazzling summer sun. Jack nosed around a little, as was apparently expected of him. He skimmed over the display in the vestibule, pictorial and written evidence of the building's history pinned to an incongruous cork board, then ventured deeper.

What he'd taken for a wall, standing at the front of the rows of pews, turned out to be a tomb. He blinked down at the elegantly carved effigy lying on top, hands clasped over its stone breastbone. This too had its own explanatory display - it was the final resting place of a local lord, dating back to the sixteenth century. His tomb was apparently especially interesting because of the many heraldic devices it bore, which the display gushed about at some length, before mentioning that the wife of the tomb's occupant was also buried in the church, just a few feet away from her husband.

Jack looked down at the ancient flagstone under his feet with its worn inscription, and took a guilty step backwards.

Ianto was watching him from the aisle. With his faded jeans and tee-shirt, scuffed boots and unruly hair, the young man should have seemed completely at odds with his surroundings, but he projected an aura of dignified serenity that matched very well with this quiet and ancient place.

"You should come and meet the abbot," he said, "then we can get to work."

***

Ianto's abbot was a little closer to Jack's mental image of a monk, although his baldness seemed to be natural, and rather than a brown belted robe, he was wearing a cardigan and patched corduroy trousers. He blinked blankly at Jack through Ianto's introduction, then a light dawned.

"Oh yes, of course! Captain Harkness, we spoke on the telephone. You were after, er... Well, I'm sure Ianto can take care of you. You'll be staying with us tonight, of course."

"I was just gonna find a hotel or something..."

"There used to be a bed and breakfast in the village," the abbot mused, "but it closed in...oh, ninety-two? Somewhere around then. No, no, you'll stay with us. We've got rooms free, somebody'll organise something, I expect. Now then, why don't you give him the grand tour?" He beamed up at Ianto, who nodded.

Once they'd paced far enough down the path to be out of earshot, Ianto leaned over and said, "we could get straight to work if you'd rather. You did say you were in a hurry..."

"No, no, I'd like the tour. Never been to a monastery before. If you don't mind, that is...?"

"You'll find us generally happy to show off," Ianto told him, drily.

Squinting against the brightness of the sun, they made their way around a small working farm. Ianto pointed out the fields of various crops, the sheep, chickens, turkeys, pigs, and one spectacularly ugly Vietnamese pot-bellied pig, slumped on her side and fast asleep, who was apparently just a pet.

"She plays football," Ianto told him, leaning over the wall to scratch her back, "when she's awake, that is. Her name's Yvonne."

The pig grunted a little as Ianto's fingers scritched through her thick bristles. "It suits her," Jack said. "And it's a bit hot for football, to be fair."

They observed the neat white beehives from a distance. The modern farm machinery and fittings left Jack feeling vaguely disappointed, as though he should by rights have stepped back in time as they passed through the abbey gates.

"We're self-sufficient," Ianto told him. "We eat what we produce ourselves, and sell enough for the upkeep."

Jack was introduced to a batch of newly hatched chicks, tiny enough that they still resembled miniature dinosaurs, and then a cockerel, presumably their father, made a spirited attempt to peck through his boot. Ianto apologised and prodded the bird cautiously back into its pen, where it strutted around amongst its fluffy white-feathered harem, and glared up at them with evil, furious eyes.

Ianto led him across to the series of buildings surrounding the church. The enclosed walls of dark red stone held doors with shiny brass numbers screwed to their upper panels. One had been left open, propped with a crumpled rucksack. The room Jack glimpsed within looked shockingly normal - like any room to be found in a middle-of-the-range youth hostel. They came out into a little courtyard, surrounded by flowerbeds. There was a sharp line across the grey flagstones where the surrounding buildings cut off the sunlight.

Kneeling in the shade, weeding the tulips, was a man in his mid-thirties. He looked up at them and smiled, welcomingly.

"Afternoon!" Jack said, grinning back. This man, too, was strikingly attractive, his features showing a pleasing mix of African and Asian heritage.

"Is this your demon hunter?" he asked Ianto, with a soft accent that seemed most like French. He stood up, pulled off his gardening glove, and offered a hand. "Henri Zokora."

"Cap'n Jack Harkness," he replied, giving his appreciative grin free rein. "Very nice place you've got here."

Henri and Ianto exchanged the knowing, satisfied looks of new parents being told how adorable their baby was. "Henri's the other half of the linguistics department," Ianto explained.

"Oh, hey, so you're gonna help me chase down my demon?"

Henri shook his head. "When I am finished here, I must go and peel many potatoes." He knelt back down, and resumed his attack on the invading weeds. "We all work. Hard work and prayer are the basic tenets of our lives here." His deep brown eyes met Jack's with earnest solemnity.

Jack shrugged a little. "I can't really argue with the results."

"Ianto will help you. He is very good with apocrypha."

"I'm sure he is." Jack glanced over in Ianto's direction. A slight touch of colour had risen to his cheeks at his colleague's praise. "It was nice meeting you, Henri."

On the other side of the courtyard, they once again delved into cool stone passages. Jack followed Ianto through the twisting maze, his gaze falling to the denim-clad backside before him, wondering idly if the rest of the monks were so easy on the eyes. "He seemed nice," he remarked. "A bit serious..."

"Yes, it's one of the unavoidable nuances of an ascetic lifestyle."

"Suppose so."

Their final destination was a small room lined with computers. A bulky black air-conditioning unit stood in the corner, blowing out a cold, clinical-smelling breeze. The stone walls were covered with paper - computer print-outs of blocks of text in different languages and alphabets. There were scrawled annotations to the text in two different hands, and splodges of yellow highlighter stood out here and there.

"There's still plenty of languages the bible hasn't been translated into," Ianto explained, seeing him looking. "That's what we spend most of our time on."

"When you're not peeling potatoes or investigating demons."

"Precisely." He sat down in a blue-upholstered office chair and switched on the nearest machine. "Let's see what we can find out about Abaddon."

Jack dropped into the other chair. It creaked under his weight as he leaned comfortably back. "So, how do you get into the monking business, anyway?"

"The preferred term's 'monastic', rather than monk."

"Oh, sorry."

Looking straight ahead at the screen, Ianto pursed his lips and paused for a couple of seconds. "You know, I've quite a few answers to that question. Some of them are quite witty."

"You get that a lot, huh?" Jack propped his ankle on the corner of the desk.

"Yes."

Jack held up his hands apologetically. "None of my business. Forget I asked."

"No, it's all right." He pulled in a deep breath. "My father died."

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks. I was going a little bit off the rails before, to be perfectly honest, but it did push me over the edge. If it wasn't for this place, I think I'd probably be in prison. Or dead." His tone remained light and conversational despite the subject matter.

The computer finished booting up, and Ianto began riffling through databases with professional speed. "I've never had much truck with the whole religion thing myself," Jack said, watching Ianto's fingers ripple over the keyboard with machine-gun rhythm.

"Which would be why you're looking up biblical translations."

"Yeah, well, this is strictly academic."

Ianto raised an eyebrow with the air of a pharmacist being told his customer was only buying condoms for a friend. "Well," he said with a small smile, "I promise I won't try and convert you."

***

Several hours later, Jack was in possession of some new, if not as helpful as he'd hoped, information.

"There's still a few more places to look," Ianto said, arching his back and stretching. Jack eyed the muscles on display. There was something to be said for a life of hard work. "We'll hopefully get through it tomorrow morning, if that's all right."

"Couldn't we get through it this evening?"

Ianto looked apologetic. "Evenings are for private prayer. Which reminds me, we practise silence in the evenings."

"Oh. Okay, then."

"Come on. It's nearly time for dinner."

***

The silent meal was very strange. Rows of men of varying age and appearance sat at either side of the long tables. Serving dishes filled with meat and vegetables sat at intervals, gently steaming. Jack waited, expecting there to be some sort of grace, but everyone simply dug in, so he did too.

Henri was sat at the other side of their table. He gave Jack a grave nod of acknowledgement. Jack pointed down at the mashed potatoes on his plate, made a 'perfect' circle with his thumb and forefinger, and earned a small smile.

Afterwards, feeling both full and a little awkward for not being able to thank anyone, Jack followed Ianto back to the numbered doors. The young monk opened the heavy wooden door with '7' screwed to its surface and stood back to let him enter. With a smile, and a raised hand in lieu of goodnight, he left Jack alone in the little suite.

Jack took a shower. The décor was in a variety of seventies era beiges, but the water was hot and the soap was new.

He closed his eyes and held his face under the spray, tilting his head back and pushing his hair away from his forehead.

He wasn't entirely sure what he had been expecting from this place, but it certainly wasn't what he'd found. He turned around and let the spray pound the back of his shoulders, droplets ricocheting up in fans on either side of his neck. He thought about the blue eyes of young brother Ianto, filled with sincerity and quiet humour. Jack's hand drifted downwards, cupped his balls briefly, then tugged at his filling cock.

He closed his eyes, leaning back so the stream of water flowed over his shoulders to cascade down his chest, forming little waterfalls at the tips of his fingers and his penis. He sighed happily, enjoying the sensations. He thought about Henri, imagining the man lounging lazily on a bench in the little courtyard, the bright sun shining on his warm brown naked skin.

Jack retrieved the soap, working up a thick satisfying lather. Keeping the flow of water on his back, he stroked his freshly-slippery hand slowly from root of his dick to the tip. In his mind's eye, Ianto joined Henri, curled on the floor beside him, every bit as naked, looking back over his shoulder at their observer, a small knowing smile on his face.

Shafts of sunlight shone through the courtyard, lighting the dark stone and catching the tiny grains of dust and pollen in the air. Ianto kissed his way up Henri's chest until he reached his lips. Imagining Ianto's lower lip pressing softly between Henri's, Jack circled his fingertips just below the head, deliberately teasing himself both with his thoughts and actions.

Henri turned away, denying Ianto access to his mouth. Ianto kissed the side of his neck instead, draped over him, their chests pressed together. His fingers raised to play with Henri's dark nipples, and Jack slid a soap-slick hand up his own body to do likewise. Ianto let himself slide back downwards to use his lips and tongue on the tiny hardening nubs, and a low moan escaped from Henri's previously stoic lips.

Jack thrust into his coiled fist and Henri reached down, pushing his fingers into Ianto's thick dark curls to commandingly guide him back upwards. This time the kiss was deep and passionate, Henri's hands carding gently through Ianto's hair, Ianto's hands cradling Henri's face, his bare feet, every bit as elegant as his hands, braced on the sun-warmed stones.

Jack reached for the soap again, re-slicked his hands, and stepped out of the water altogether. Keeping up a slow, steady pumping along his shaft, he cupped his own buttock, wriggling his fingers in deeper, teasing his own entrance with slippery fingertips.

Now Henri was bent over the back of the bench, holding himself open to Ianto's gaze. Ianto ran pale hands up brown thighs, stroking sparse, tight-curled hair. He squeezed a handful of firm, round flesh in either hand. Jack pushed one finger inside, and then Ianto was mounting his fellow monk, his hands gripping tightly at Henri's hips, his thighs tensed, his head thrown back.

Henri's calm placidity was a thing of the past now. His eyes squeezed shut, he moaned and cried his pleasure, pleading and commanding in a mix of languages. Jack twisted his hand over the head of his cock, one finger swirling around his entrance, and thought of the monks swapping places, Ianto on his back, his legs hooked over Henri's shoulders, blue eyes gazing into brown. Jack thought of Henri's hands running over the thick chest hair he'd extrapolated from the glance afforded him by Ianto's collar. He thought of strong brown fingers wrapped around a rosy pink cock, pumping in time with his thrusts. He thought about Ianto's pretty lips, opened to gasp out his pleasure, and he thought about his arsehole, stretched wide by Henri's cock.

Jack pumped himself to a hard, fast climax, his mind filled with pink and brown flesh, wet with sweat, glistening in the sun. With the warm, satisfying afterglow filling him, he rinsed away soap and semen, and flung himself down naked onto the bed.

***

He tried to sleep; but couldn't. Early to bed, early to rise might have suited the monks, but it did nothing for him. He re-read the information Ianto had dug up for him, lay on his back staring at the ceiling for a while, and finally admitted defeat.

Although it was really quite late by that point, the summer sun had only recently set, and there was still a grey twilight hanging over the little stone complex, augmented by the moon, which was almost full. Jack strolled around the courtyard-garden, sat down on the very bench that had featured in his fantasy, and admired the flowers.

Despite the darkness, the air was still warm. The smell of pollen hung heavy in the humid air, and Jack drew a deep, slow breath in through his nose, savouring the scents that were so different to his city home. He wandered further afield, keeping careful mental track of his route. Everything looked so different in the dark.

He ended up strolling through the surrounding fields. The abbey was set at the peak of a small hill, and he could see the valley spread out below, indistinct in the pale light. Orange dots of streetlights marked out nearby settlements, and he tried to match them to the landmarks he'd noticed on the way.

That long smudge had to be the train station. The nearby village was a tiny constellation, arranged in a snakelike curve. He turned slowly, taking in the larger scatterings away on the horizon. The silence and the last remains of the clinging heat felt oddly oppressive - almost as though the landscape was holding its breath. Waiting.

Jack shivered, and turned away.

***

The next morning, he ate breakfast in the refectory. This time, talking was permitted, and the swell of chatter filling the room contrasted starkly with the night before.

Jack sat next to Ianto and watched the young monk working his way through toast and scrambled eggs. "So, where are you from?" he asked, finally giving in to his curiosity concerning that incongruous southern accent.

"Cardiff, originally."

"No kidding! That's where I'm from! Well, not originally," he added in the face of Ianto's amused disbelief, "but that's where I live."

"I haven't been back in a while," Ianto said, his eyes falling back to his plate.

"You still got family there?" Jack asked around a mouthful of sausage.

Ianto nodded. "We email, every now and then."

"What do they think of the whole..." he waved a hand to indicate the monastic lifestyle, "...thing?"

"I think my mother's just grateful not to be getting any more calls from the police at three in the morning. My sister thinks I've been brainwashed." He smiled, sadly. "Shall we get back to work? Might even have you on the road before lunch."

***

The morning saw them exhausting the resources of Ianto's extensive databases of biblical material, both canonological and apocryphal. Jack had a few promising leads, and a little more optimism than he'd arrived with.

Henri drifted in around tennish, bringing the faint scent of the farmyard with him. He took one of the annotated sheets down from the wall, and began entering its latest version into the computer. Jack watched, thinking of medieval monks in homespun brown habits, inscribing with quill pens by candlelight. He smiled to himself.

"This'll take a while," Ianto said, digging out some blank discs from a little cupboard under the desk. "There's some lunch ready for you in the kitchen, and I know the abbot'll want to say goodbye. Why don't you go sort that out, I'll get this lot burnt, and I'll meet you in the cloister?"

"Okay. I'll see you in a while..."

Henri got to his feet and offered a hand. Jack shook it. "It was nice meeting you," Henri told him.

"Hey, you too."

The kitchens were easily located, and he was supplied with enough sandwiches to feed a platoon. The abbot was not quite so simple to find, but he eventually tracked the man down, harvesting tomatoes in a long greenhouse. "No thanks," he said to the proffered fresh red fruit. "I've got enough to last me a few weeks. You're certainly generous with the food around here."

"We work hard, we feed well. This isn't an easy life, Mr, er..."

"Jack, please. Look, I wanna thank you, this has been a huge help."

"Quite welcome, quite welcome. We try to be of help whenever we can. ...Some sort of television thing is it, I assume?"

It was the first time anyone at the abbey had shown the slightest interest in the reasons behind Jack's search. "Nope, not TV. Call it academic interest."

"Oh? Well, you know, there are other avenues of research rather more uplifting than demonology."

Jack nodded. "And I hope to get to them one day."

"Hmm." The abbot idly bit into a tomato, sucking out its seeds with an unselfconscious slurp. "Are you sure you won't...?"

"No, really. Thanks. Look, I gotta go find Ianto, he was burning me some discs..."

"Burning?" The old man looked up with alarm.

"Not actually burning burning," Jack assured him. "It just means writing data to a disc."

"Oh. Computers. Never had anything to do with the things."

Jack left the close, humid air of the greenhouses, and made his way back to the little courtyard. It was another bright, sunny day, and the light, at close to midday, stretched almost from wall to wall. Ianto was sitting on the fantasy-bench, elbows hooked over the back rest, his long legs stretched out comfortably before him, ankles crossed. There was a small stack of jewel cases sitting beside him on the seat. Their plastic surfaces shot splinters of sunlight into Jack's eyes.

"Hey there," he said, plonking himself down at Ianto's other side.

The young man sat up. "Hi. You should be okay for the one thirty train, so long as we get away in the half hour. Here." He handed over the stack of discs, their spines labelled in slightly messy block capitals.

"You're very organised," Jack told him.

"Yeah. That's me."

He sounded strangely wistful. Jack turned to look at him, to try to gauge that sudden air of sadness, only to find that Ianto had picked that exact same moment to look around at him.

Jack stared silently into those deep blue-grey eyes, the shards of colour that made up the iris all drawing him in towards the centre, the dark pupil drawn up tight against the merciless light. Ianto blinked, the thick dark lashes lying for a split-second in a fan against his pale cheek. The moment that one or both of them should have looked away came and went, but neither of them moved.

Foremost on Jack's mind was delight. Here was a gorgeous young thing gazing at him with undisguised want, close enough that he could clearly make out the pale hints of freckles surrounding those blue eyes. Under different circumstances, he wouldn't have hesitated, but this was no ordinary gorgeous young thing. He tilted his head a little, making his own willingness evident, and waited for Ianto to decide.

Those pretty lips parted slightly. Jack could feel the ghost of his warm breath. Ianto pulled back, his expression fading from desire into fear. "I'm sorry," he said, misery and panic in his voice. He lunged to his feet and stumbled away, a walk that desperately wanted to be a run.

"It's okay," Jack called after him, "you don't have to... Ianto! Just wait a minute..." But the monk had already vanished into the cool stone buildings.

***

Jack didn't see him again. His ride to the tiny train station was provided by a monk in late middle-age with wispy white hair and an all-consuming interest in badgers. Watching the greens and yellows of the sun-baked countryside slide by the windows of the speeding train, Jack thought about the young man he'd left behind.

Mostly, he felt sorry for him. It was hard to equate the serenity he'd exhibited, speaking of his religion as his salvation, with the terror that was the last Jack had seen of him.

Jack leaned his head back on the firm foam headrest and sighed, softly. There wasn't anything he could do about the situation. He tried his best to put the young monk out of his mind. He did, after all, have more pressing issues to worry about.

***

Two weeks later, the Abaddon situation resolved, Jack was back on the train, heading north once more. The blistering heat of his last visit had passed, and while it was still warm, the weather was now more comfortable.

The information he'd brought back with him from the abbey had been instrumental, but Jack's sources had also dug up a little leather-bound, hand-written book from the nineteenth century. It wasn't exactly biblical, but Jack was hoping someone at the abbey would find it interesting regardless. He wanted to do something to show his gratitude.

He hadn't really been expecting to see Ianto waiting for him at the station, but he still felt a faint pang of disappointment at the sight of Henri's handsome statuesque form. He was wearing a bright white shirt that made his skin look even darker in comparison, and he greeted Jack with his slow, calm smile.

During the drive, Jack learned that Ianto was out working in the fields, and couldn't see him. It had the air of an excuse about it, but Jack didn't push.

Back in the paper-lined computer room, the noisy air-conditioner pumping away, Henri took the book and leafed carefully through its thick, brittle pages. "It is... interesting," he said in his soft, oddly precise accent. "There are some people who will say that demons are not real, that they are only metaphors."

Jack thought back over the events of the last fortnight. "Can't say that's a viewpoint I agree with," he said, ruefully.

Henri shook his head. "I believe this, too. If demons are metaphors, then one can surely argue that God is also a metaphor. I do not think we can have the good without the bad also. Thank you for the book. I will add it to our library." He smiled, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. "How would you like the donation to read? Is this from you personally, or from your institute?"

"Oh, no," Jack said, hastily. "Call it an anonymous donation."

***

He turned down offers both of lunch, and a lift back to the station. He walked down the twisty little lanes, sleeves rolled up past his elbows, climbing the steep overgrown verges on the rare occasions of cars happening past. He went straight on past the turning to the station and home, and carried on down into the village.

It was a very small village. It might even have been a hamlet, but Jack couldn't for the life of him remember the exact definition. There was a pub. The brightly painted sign hanging from the wooden pole beside the building told him it was the Green Dragon. The words carved deep into the stone over the door said the same in Welsh. He ducked under the low doorway.

He nursed his drink in the pleasing coolness. A group of farmer-types, clustered in a corner, stared curiously at him. Their dog was a little more forward - she sat at the base of his bar stool and gazed up at him with deep, mournful sorrow until he bought a packet of crisps and fed her a sizeable percentage. Then she gazed up at him with deep, pitiful hope.

He made his half-pint of lemonade last for almost an hour before venturing back out into the sunshine. The light was in his eyes as he made his way back up the road, and he kept his gaze down on the asphalt, not looking up until he'd turned into the side-road leading to the station.

Ianto was standing there, leaning against the wall in the shade, just by the entrance to the car park. He looked up at the crunch of Jack's boots on the gravel, and their eyes met.

He'd had a haircut. The thick, wild curls were gone, in favour of short, neat and practical. It made him look older. No longer a boy trying to hide from the world.

"Hi," Jack said.

"Hi." Pause. Deep breath. "You've probably got to get back..."

"Nope. Got all the time in the world." Jack smiled, encouragingly.

"Do you mind if we talk? There's... There's a footpath, it's a nice walk, actually..."

"Sounds good. You're not just getting me out in the middle of nowhere to mug me, are you?"

Ianto smiled back. "Not this time, no."

"Great. Let's go."

***

Despite his claim of wanting to talk, Ianto led the way in silence. They tromped along the path sandwiched between two fields, mud sun-baked solid beneath their feet. It was too narrow to walk abreast, and Jack found his eyes falling to his companion's backside, just as their very first meeting. He walked onwards, the summer's overgrown weeds whipping at his ankles, waiting for Ianto to speak.

It didn't happen until they'd left the cultivated fields behind and ventured under the cover of a small swath of trees, widely spaced, allowing easy passage between. The ground was soft with layers of leaf mold.

Ianto stopped by a thick fallen tree trunk, chainsawed into segments. He sat down. Jack perched on the log beside him.

There was evidence of occasional human presence. A scorched circle of earth spoke of long-dead camp fires, and there were faded plastic food wrappers among the leaves. Jack stretched out his toe to tap idly against the rim of a half-buried rusty beer can.

"I should'nt've avoided you," Ianto said. "I'm sorry. I just thought that... so long as I didn't see you again, it'd all... go away."

The back of his hand brushed against Jack's. When he didn't move away, the fingers returned and poked themselves into Jack's grip.

Jack squeezed tightly, reassuringly. "You haven't done anything wrong."

"Mmm." Neutral. Possibly unbelieving. He straightened his back, looking out into the distance between the trees. "Just so you know, this isn't all about you." Jack shifted closer and lifted their joined hands onto his lap. "I mean," Ianto continued, "I've been thinking about leaving the abbey for a while. I've even been offered a job." He turned to Jack. "In Cardiff. And then when you showed up, and we..." He waved his free hand, vaguely.

"Felt the vibe," Jack supplied, with a sideways grin.

"Is that what you kids are calling it these days?" he said, and Jack laughed. "It just seemed..."

"Like someone was trying to tell you something?"

Ianto gave him a disapproving look. "You don't believe that."

"No, I don't. I think it's just a coincidence that your mind's made into a big deal because you want to leave, but you feel guilty for wanting it. But that's just what I think."

"I should feel guilty." He looked away, back into the distance. "They saved my life."

"I think you have to take at least some of the credit there. And I'm not an expert on this whole monk thing, but you didn't sign up for life, did you?"

"No. No, I haven't taken permanent vows, yet." He turned back. Their faces were close together, as close as they'd been on the bench before Ianto had cut and run. Jack gently pressed their foreheads together, and Ianto moved a little, nuzzling their noses against one another. "And I've never broken my vows before."

He reached up and stroked Jack's cheek, his fingertips tracing cheekbone and jawline like a blind man learning the face of a new friend. Jack's cock was starting to stir a little, but he resolutely ignored its demands. Whatever was going to happen here would happen because Ianto instigated it. But, right now, Jack wanted very much to be kissed.

He rearranged himself, letting go of Ianto's hand and turning himself on the section of tree, swinging his leg across so he was sitting astride. He placed his hands, innocently enough, on Ianto's waist. The young man smiled self-deprecatingly, looking away. Jack noted the movement in the strong muscles of his neck and shoulder. "I'm no good at this," he said. "I never was."

"Can't be good at anything without practise."

They moved together, perfectly smoothly and naturally, into a hug. Jack stroked the new, short hair, feeling a little pang for his fantasy of pushing his fingers through those curls. "I'm sorry," Ianto said, his hot warm breath rushing over Jack's ear. His arms tightened around Jack's body, almost desperately so.

"You don't have a thing to be sorry for," Jack said firmly. "You haven't done anything wrong, and you're not gonna, either." He was being vividly reminded of why he usually stuck to the kind of independent, liberated person who had no problem having their way with him, then telling him to piss off in the morning.

But a moment later, he was reminded why he had so much faith in the humanity of this time, liberated or otherwise. Ianto pulled back a little, gave him a look of fierce determination, and kissed him.

Jack had expected their first kiss to be a hesitant, uncertain, exploring thing, but Ianto surprised him. He was passionate, almost rough. His hands slid up to cup Jack's face again, this time firm and commanding, turning him to the best angle to thrust his tongue forward...

Jack meekly permitted himself to be manipulated, parting his lips before Ianto's questing tongue. He kissed back, loving the smell and the taste of him, and the lingering sun-warmth of the shoulders under his hands.

When Ianto finally pulled back, he leaned his forehead against Jack's, as they'd done before. "Been thinkin' about that for weeks," he said, his voice a little husky.

Jack laughed. "Me too." He shuffled nearer, pressing their bodies close. Ianto gave a little sigh of pleasure and turned his head so Jack could kiss gently up the length of his neck. "Much as I hate to ask this," Jack began, nuzzling his ear, "but are you sure you're okay with this?"

"Yes." He certainly sounded very sure, and his hand had made it down to Jack's thigh, squeezing and caressing.

"Good. 'Cos I wouldn't want you to regre..." He was interrupted by Ianto's lips, pressing against his own rather more gently than last time, and with more deliberate purpose. Jack hooked one leg tight around Ianto's waist, making him moan and squeeze Jack tighter.

Their cocks, both hard, imprisoned within their clothing, pressed together. Jack squirmed gently against Ianto, and the young monk writhed back, breathing hard. "This," he murmured against Jack's lips, his voice sounding cool and precise in spite of everything, "strikes me as a little unstable."

"Mmm," Jack agreed, nibbling delicately at his lower lip and grinding resolutely on. "Maybe we should take it to the floor." Grinning in anticipation, he unwound himself and sprawled comfortably on the leaves and twigs, sparing a moment to think wistfully of his coat, far too hot for this weather, but excellent as an impromptu blanket.

Ianto laid himself down, draped over Jack's side, his thigh pressing gently against his crotch. Jack clasped his hands together just over the beginning of the swell of Ianto's buttocks, and smiled up at him. The leaves of the trees above them, backlit by the brilliant sunlight, shone a bright, bright green, surrounding Ianto's face in a vibrant glow. "You're gorgeous," Jack told him, perfectly honestly.

Going slightly pink, Ianto muttered, "thank you," in an unconvinced kind of way, then leant down hastily to kiss him again before he could come up with any more compliments.

Squirming softly against him, loving the feel of solid flesh pressing him down and soft lips caressing his own, Jack pushed his hands under the hem of Ianto's tee-shirt, stroking undemandingly over the smooth skin at the small of his back.

Ianto pressed his hand to Jack's chest. They were both breathing hard. "What would you like?" Jack asked, running his fingertips up and down the rounded bumps of Ianto's spine.

"I don't know," he replied, with a rueful smile. "It's... Well, it's off the beaten track here, but it's not exactly unexplored territory..."

"So no swinging naked through the trees. Got it."

Ianto put his forehead down onto Jack's shoulder to laugh.

"Some other time?" Jack offered, pleased with the sound.

"Yeah," Ianto sarcastically agreed, "you and me, Woburn safari park, let's go."

Jack locked his arms and rolled them both until they were on their sides, face to face. "It's a date," he said, smugly. He ran his hand around, still tucked beneath the edge of Ianto's tee-shirt, to stroke across the soft curve of his belly, feeling the contrast between smooth skin and the line of dark hair leading temptingly downwards. "Is it okay if I...?" He tugged the garment upwards.

"If you do, too," Ianto replied in a no-nonsense tone, sitting up. He leaned away from Jack's hands to pull the shirt off over his head.

Jack grinned happily at the revealed flesh. He hooked his fingers into the fastenings of his own shirt and, with one expert tug, pulled every button free of its imprisoning hole. Ianto gave him a little smile that clearly said, yes, you're very clever, but I'm not impressed by your tricks.

Jack pulled him back down to explore all the new skin. Just as he'd imagined, Ianto's chest was thickly furred, dark in stark contrast to his pale skin. Like a cat, Jack rubbed against the silky strands, enjoying the sensations with the sensitive skin of his face and fingers.

Ianto gasped with surprise and tensed, only to relax again a few seconds later and allow the attention. Jack gently touched the very tip of his tongue to the peak of a pink nipple, peering out from its dark nest. Ianto yelped and twisted away. "Sorry," Jack said, with a somewhat unrepentant grin.

Ianto narrowed his eyes at him, and reached out to do some exploring of his own. Bracing his heel for purchase, Jack squirmed gently against Ianto's crotch as those elegant fingers skated a little skittishly over Jack's chest, revealed between the folds of his open shirt.

"Tell you what we'll do," Jack said, cupping his hands over the backs of Ianto's. "I'll go here," he let himself fall flat onto his back, twigs crunching under his body and pricking at his skin through the thin barrier of his unfastened shirt, "you go there... No, no, kneel up..." He spread his legs and patted invitingly between them. Ianto knelt, then shuffled closer at Jack's urging. Jack cupped a hand over each of their trouser-bound erections, now pressed close together. "And then we touch each other. Is that okay?"

Ianto blushed, the pink wave running rather prettily over his cheeks and upper chest. "Okay," he said with a happy almost-smile.

Jack unfastened his flies, folding the fabric back out of the way, then hooked the waistband of his underwear down below his balls. His cock lolled on his stomach in anticipation. Ianto stared down at the genitalia on display in frank admiration and wonderment. "You're not gonna try and tell me you've never seen one of these before?" Jack gently teased, rubbing his palm over the bulge in the front of Ianto's trousers.

Ianto gave a little gasping moan at his touch, and his blush deepened. "Not somebody else's. Not that I've really... looked at."

Jack grinned at him and adjusted his own balls slightly around the confines of his clothing. "You can look all you want."

"I 'ave done this before," Ianto added, a little defensively. "Just... you know... with girls."

"Don't worry - it's not all that different. Clit's a bit easier to find." Ianto snorted. "You wanna show me what you got?" Jack asked, scritching his fingertips over the surface of the denim.

Ianto's eyes were closed as he unzipped and fished his cock out of his trousers. Thick, long and uncut, Jack's favourite. "Yeah," Jack said with satisfaction. "You are gorgeous. Is it okay if I touch it?"

Ianto gave a small huff of amusement. "Knock yourself out."

Jack ran his fingertips lightly over the velvet skin. Ianto was hard, one of those pleading, desperate hard-ons like a length of skin-covered teak. Jack knew how that felt. He curled his fingers around the shaft. Ianto moaned, his hips pushing insistently forward. His face was tilted back, turned up towards the sky, and Jack could see the tendons taut in his neck, running in a 'v' down to his collarbone.

"It's okay," Jack said, softly and calmly, as though addressing a frightened animal. "I'm gonna take care of you." He wrapped his legs around Ianto's waist, crossing his ankles and resting his heels on the denim-clad arse. He ran his other hand up over Ianto's furry belly and chest, up the side of his neck to cup his cheek, feeling the beginnings of stubble prickle against his palm.

Ianto turned his head and planted a dry little kiss on the heel of his hand. His fingers ghosted hesitantly over Jack's erection then, gaining courage, gripped firmly.

"Oh yeah," Jack said. "Yeah, that's it. This okay?"

"Yeah," Ianto gasped, and Jack decided he really really liked the way his voice sounded when he was turned on, deep and rough and lost in pleasure...

Jack licked at his own palm and fingers, then stroked Ianto in his freshly-slicked grip from root to tip, slowly and lightly. It produced the expected gasp, and a fitful little squeeze to Jack's own cock. "That feel good?" he asked.

"Yes..."

Jack looked down fondly at the red swollen head, peeking out from both the circle of retreated foreskin and the loop made by his own thumb and forefinger. He brushed the ball of his thumb gently over the delicate, blood-dark, paper-thin skin, and Ianto moaned, squirming against him, trying to get closer still.

"Easy..." Jack told him, rubbing his free hand comfortingly over a denim-covered thigh. "Plenty of time..."

"Yeah," Ianto gasped, "till the next gang of hikers comes traipsing through..."

"If you'd rather," Jack offered with a grin, "we could stop and go someplace else..."

"No, no, that's okay..." He licked at his own hand, transferring the smooth wetness to Jack's cock, making him moan in turn.

Jack idly speculated about suggesting a little sixty-nining, but decided it was probably better to keep things simple. This time, at least. Not that there was any guarantee there would even be a next time...

He pushed that train of thought away. No use worrying about what you couldn't change. Right now, he was going to be there for Ianto, that was all. On that note, he brought his other hand into play, stroking Ianto's cock, caught in his curled fist, right up the tip, then repeating the motion with the other hand. Before the young man could become too accustomed to the sensation he changed again, twisting both his hands lightly in opposite directions, rubbing his right palm directly over the head at the end of each twist.

Ianto gave a moan of half-pleasure, half-protest. "Wait... Slow down..."

"It's okay," Jack said, wriggling against him in a comforting sort of way, "you can come, it doesn't matter..."

"Slow down," Ianto insisted, pulling his hips back so his cock slipped neatly out of Jack's grasp.

"Okay," he said, recapturing the escaped penis and setting a more leisurely pace, "we'll slow down."

He pumped steadily, watching Ianto's face. He really was gorgeous like this, the sun catching his hair and making the faint dew of sweat on his shoulders shine. Jack let his eyes trail down his body to the hand that was caressing his own cock, the muscles flexing and relaxing as his arm moved.

Jack ran his fingertips down the inside of Ianto's forearm, over the patch of light pink scar tissue, then linked the fingers of their free hands. Ianto opened his eyes to smile happily down at him. Jack raised their interlaced hands, and sucked the tip of Ianto's forefinger into his mouth.

The result wasn't a moan, but a full-fledged desperate cry. Jack grinned in delight. "You like that?" He squeezed at the fingers gripping his convulsively, and ran the flat of his tongue across the row of fingertips.

"Please," Ianto gasped.

"It's okay," Jack said, softly. "You can have all you want..." Sliding and twisting his hand up and down the length of Ianto's dick, he sucked his first two fingers all the way down to the knuckles.

Ianto's reaction was loud enough to startle a small flock of birds out of the trees above them. As the sounds of beating wings filled the air, Ianto's series of helpless, gasping cries joined them. Jack began shoving himself upwards, thrusting his hips off the ground, rubbing his eager cock through Ianto's tight grasp.

He could feel his orgasm building, rushed faster than it would have otherwise been by the delicious sound, sight and scent of the man above him, lost in ecstasy. He redoubled his efforts at Ianto's cock, twisting around the head, adding his own cries of pleasure...

They reached their peaks together. The first jet of Ianto's come struck Jack high on his chest, and as the pulsing bursts fountained over both their hands, the young monk arched his neck back and shouted his pleasure out to the woods and the sky.

Using the slickness of their mingled semen, Jack milked Ianto tenderly through the aftershocks, until he fell theatrically backwards away from him to sprawl in the leaves. Jack propped himself up on his elbows and used the side of his palm to scrape away the worst of the mess covering his chest and stomach, flicking his hand to send the thick white fluid spattering down onto the woodland floor. He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket to mop up the rest, tucked himself back into his underwear, then simply sat for a while, admiring the sight before him, and enjoying the sleepy satisfaction of the afterglow.

Ianto looked deliciously debauched, lying spread-eagled, flushed with exertion, naked from head to upper thighs. His cock - slowly deflating, but still twitching occasionally with the last few dying spasms of his orgasm - lay across the top of his thigh, wet and glistening. His eyes were closed, and his chest rose and fell with deep, slowing breaths.

Jack crawled over to lay at his side. He rested his head on his shoulder and his hand on his chest, feeling the thumping heartbeat. Without opening his eyes, Ianto lifted a hand to touch lightly at Jack's hair. He raised his other hand, squinted at the stickiness of Jack's come covering his fingers, and wrinkled his nose.

Jack chuckled. "C'm'ere," he said, reaching out. He took Ianto's hand by the wrist and licked it clean with darting little laps. Ianto squirmed. "Better?"

"Mmm. Thanks."

They lay close together, sweat-damp skin growing cool despite the bright sun. Jack stroked his fingers over Ianto's chest, carding them through the soft hair. Ianto yawned, deeply. "So," he said, conversationally, "now I'm definitely going to hell."

"Oh, you're not going to hell."

"Care to debate that with the abbot?" He calmly smiled.

"You haven't done anything wrong. Who did we hurt?"

Ianto arched his hips away from the ground to inch his trousers back up. Jack helpfully fastened the fly for him. "Even if you accept that we didn't do anything intrinsically wrong, which is debatable, I've still broken my word to God," Ianto said. "I did take a vow of chastity."

"That sort of thing's very bad for you, you know."

"Huh. Yeah. You end up down the woods with strange men."

"I'm sure God'll understand. It's not your fault I'm irresistible." He fixed him with a beaming grin, hoping to defuse the situation a little.

Ianto smiled, sadly. "Resisting temptation's a pretty big part of what I'm supposed to do."

"Look," Jack said, "I'm not gonna pretend I understand what you believe, but I've read that book of yours. You ever eaten shellfish? Or fat? Worn wool and linen? Shaved? 'Cos the bible doesn't exactly approve of those things, either."

With a look of resigned pity, the look of someone who understands a complex concept, but knows he has no chance of explaining it, Ianto kissed him softly on the forehead. "It's not about that. It's about obeying the spirit of the law. It's about having faith - trusting God and living your life according to his will, not just for yourself, but because it's the right thing to do."

"I can't stop you beating yourself up about this if you really want to, but it seems to me that if you're gonna start picking and choosing which bits of your holy word you're gonna obey, if you trust your own judgement that far, you might as well make up your own mind about the right way to live your life."

"I tried that," Ianto said, coldly.

"You were just a kid! You don't really think you're the same person now that you were back then?"

The chill still in his voice, Ianto said, "I'm not gonna stop believing in God just to make things more convenient."

"That's not exactly..." Jack broke off, sighed, and squeezed Ianto tight. "Ah, we're not gonna convince each other, are we? You think whatever you like."

"Thank you," Ianto said, his fingers gently stroking through Jack's hair, taking the sting out of his sarcastic tone, "I intend to."

They lay still, the sun shining down green through the leaves. "I think I am finished with the abbey," Ianto said finally, thoughtfully, his fingertips massaging deliciously at Jack's scalp. "Not because of this," he hastily added, "I'm not gonna go running back to Cardiff to throw myself at you or anything..."

"Don't worry, I wasn't expecting you to."

"...It's just that..." He sighed, fitfully, his fingers moving in small circles.

"You wanna move on," Jack finished for him. "Try something new. Nothing wrong with that."

"It'll be weird. Leaving everything behind. Everyone."

"Everything's weird, at first - you'll adapt. And you could come back and visit. Hell, I bet they'd even let you muck out the pigs if you asked real nice."

Ianto laughed, then lifted his hand to check his watch. "Suppose we'd better get back. You've got a train to catch."

Jack wasn't in any particular hurry, but he could take a hint. With one last soft kiss, he got to his feet, stretched, then rolled his neck to work out the slight stiffness. He obligingly brushed away the leaves and dirt that clung to Ianto's bare back, and they both put their clothing to rights.

"How bad do I look?" Ianto asked ruefully, brushing down his jeans.

Jack reached over and picked a twig out of his hair. "Not too bad. If anyone asks, you were beaten up by a squirrel."

Ianto smiled, and moved in for a hug. "I am sorry about all this," he said quietly into Jack's ear, "gettin' you mixed up in all my mess..."

"Don't apologise," Jack said, squeezing him tight. "I liked getting mixed up in your mess. Actually, I wouldn't mind getting mixed up in it again sometime."

The soft huff of breath over the side of his face was almost a laugh. "C'mon," Ianto said, pulling away. "Let's get moving."

***

They walked back, as they'd come, in silence. In the tiny station's tiny car park, Ianto stopped, hands slightly awkward on his hips, as though he didn't know what else to do with them. "I'd better be getting back," he said, determinedly meeting Jack's eyes.

"Okay. Well..." Jack held out a hand, and Ianto shook it, "then this is goodbye. Listen, you've got my details, email me or something, let me know how your new life works out."

Ianto just gave him a sad smile and said, "goodbye." Jack glanced back before he entered the station building, and caught one last glimpse of the young monk's back, vanishing away towards the road.

***

The next time he saw Ianto, it was winter, and their eyes met across a crowded Cardiff carpark. Jack had been passing by the edge of the museum grounds on his way back to his car, had glanced idly up at the main entrance, and found himself gazing at a very familiar figure.

He was wrapped up in a black coat, his breath visible in the chilled air. His nose and lips were pink with cold, and his eyes opened wide in surprise as he recognised Jack.

They met halfway across the asphalt. "Hi," Jack said.

"Hi."

"You're working here, now?" His hands buried deep in his coat pockets, Jack indicated the museum with a jerk of his chin.

"Yeah. Early Anglo-Saxon writings, which is fun, given that my Old English is laughable."

They both paused for a second, looking into each other's eyes. "So how's secular life treating you?" Jack asked.

"My mother's throwing girls at me. Literally, in a few cases. I miss everybody, and it's all a bit... a bit much, but I'm coping. Did you get your demon sorted out in the end? I never asked."

"Oh, yes," Jack said with satisfaction. "That is one sorted demon, and thank you very much for your help, Dr Jones."

Ianto raised a hand in protest. "No, no, please don't call me that. 'Specially as I left my bullwhip at home."

Jack laughed. Paused. "You wanna go get a drink?"

Ianto smiled the same peaceful, serene smile he'd worn back in the church, half a year ago. "Okay. But I'm buying."

***

the end

***