Title: What He Needs
By: scifichicx
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I wish I was Russel T. Davies…. But I'm not, so these characters are not mine. I make no monies.
Summary: Three snippets in time showing the progression of a part time shag into a relationship.

***

It's need when it starts.

He needs touch. He needs contact. He needs that ear to breathe into and those lips to bump his own against. He needs to get off so bad his legs ache. He needs to feel the heat so bad he's trembling. He needs the grip. He needs the slickness. What he doesn't need is Jack.

Not to say that Jack isn't a good choice. He's attentive and very good at reading Ianto's desires. Or maybe he just happens to prefer those places to touch and those ways to do so. Ianto thinks it's not just coincidence. Especially with the way Jack's thumb strokes across his collar bone. That's just too good to be a guess.

When he comes, far too quickly, it's sharp and hard and everything he'd been missing since the night before the fall of Canary Warf. Yet still so much less. He leans back against the wall for support, the breath pulled back into his lungs leaving a dull, dry burn.

It could have been awkward after; with the rush of desperation tamed and the evidence sealed in his captain's lips. The potential for so many worries made real hanging in the air. But it wasn't. Jack was true to form, ever calm and nothing less than his usual smile. His hands were steady, guiding Ianto's to grasp and stroke. Then Jack's eyes slid closed and his head bowed, jaw relaxing enough to part his lips. A spark of trust carried the moment; trust that should have been smothered and dead in the shadow of love's blind mistake.

What he needed was a second chance.

Somewhere in the middle, it's passion, true passion, that is blinding and fierce and just the restrained side of desperate. Hesitation has melted into fuel for discovery and the push for a more intense pleasure. He wants it all the time. Lunch breaks and after hours now mean the feel of his back pressed tight to a concrete wall or the edge of Jack's desk cutting into his gripping fingers.

The day is spent working to redeem himself and the night is filled with reaping that redemption with anxious fingers and thirsty lips. He starts to forget that there is anything beyond this. No life lived to be broken, no family waiting for his phone calls, and no other options to even consider plague his mind while Jack coaxes his limits to stretch. He tells himself it's contact and comfort that makes him, with veiled hints, plead to Jack that he wants to take him home after each long day.

It could have been over. Temptations warred with each other in the back of Ianto's mind. The small power he'd gained over Jack from this intimacy taunted his old pains. Pains that begged with dead voices for vengeance, but his own guilt held its icy finger to their lips. There was no peace with Jack, only blind forget. Yet somehow along the way there was Jack's favorite glass, half full of scotch and forgotten on the coffee table. His coat had a peg of it's own to hang on, and his scent was pressed into the sheets.

He needed to give Jack a second chance.

Tonight it's intensity. Jack thrusts slow and hard. Ianto lifts in perfect counter. They clutch, scratch, and pull at each other until somehow their hands clasp and fingers entwine. Press. Thrust. Push. Each tests the others limits as they fight off the emotion that wants, so badly, to take hold of them both. Ianto grips Jack's hair, tugging just enough. Jack holds Ianto's lifted thighs tight enough to bruise. The kisses are hard, lips pinched against teeth and tongues brutally insistent, but terrified to claim.

They shag like they are sparring. Each trying to best the other with subtle actions that prove they've learned the other's weaknesses. The truth is, they are working together to fight against what terrifies them both. If the sex is rough enough and good enough there shouldn't be any room for it to become lovemaking. If they play up the casual façade well enough, they won't need to admit they are in a relationship. But now, too many nights have been brought to their limit and they've pushed each other to breaking.

Ianto surrenders first, his growl suddenly giving out and becoming a whimper. Whether it's instinct or reaction, Jack's hands loosen, soothing away the pains that his hold had been inflicting. The harsh play of lips eases to injured comfort; brushing, grazing and moving anxiously until a tender kiss connects them. In the middle of the chaos, they slow and Jack's thrusts change just enough for Ianto to gasp and lift up in bliss.

They open their eyes, even though they know better. Perhaps the dim light is all that takes the edge off how it all shatters. Ianto's terrified eyes give too much away and Jack lifts his hand soothe the worries from his lover's face. Their noses bump gently, the gesture noticeably foreign in its romantic nature. Jack's eyes close again, his shoulders settling in a submissive, relaxed posture because that spark of trust never went out.

When they come, it's sharp and sweet and everything they never needed but want far too badly anyway. Ianto clamps his eyes closed, refusing to shed any more tears after all the grief he's been though. Jack's hands are ever steady because he knows how to hide the way they are trembling. Neither speaks as they lay, still joined, and catch their breath. In case it's the last time he's allowed to, Ianto's arms slip fully around Jack, holding him as close as he dares. Jack doesn't pull away with quiet explanations of why he's the wrong man for Ianto and why this shouldn't happen anymore. He doesn't slip away to his loneliness and his secrets where he's been safe for so long. Instead, Jack's lips meet Ianto's delicately and he takes his time explaining, without a single word, that this thing between them is far from over.

Now, he needs Jack. Now, they might just need each other.

***