Title: Harassment
Author: godsdaisiechain
Fandom: Torchwood
Type: Fic
Characters/Pairing: Jack and Ianto
Challenges: Teamwork, Dirty
Word Count: ~900
Rating: PG
Summary: Jack takes Ianto home after a harrowing day.  Set right after “Countrycide.”


Ianto felt mangled more in spirit than in body, despite the thorough beating he’d taken. He could not believe he’d broken down like a spoiled, petulant child in front of Torchwood.  Sure, they’d killed his girlfriend, an exercise in teamwork, certainly, but worth a bit of a pout, although he really ought to have taken care of his own mess.

It was his job, after all.

Jack had taken an unusual amount of interest since that awful day they all shot Lisa, hovered about while Ianto was treated for his beating and saw him home after Owen claimed to be chaperoning Gwen to Rhys.  Of course, that last bit was none of Ianto’s business. “It was me,” Jack said as they rounded the last corner toward the little flat Ianto had rented and fixed up, hoping that he and Lisa would set up house.  He felt ridiculous at how childish it all seemed. He felt sullied to the deepest places of his being.

“What was you?” Ianto asked, biting back a moan.

“Your last snog.” The air in the car seemed to change consistency.  Ianto saw in his mind’s eye that moment, regaining consciousness in Jack’s arms, his lips seeming oddly used.  He felt, somehow, that he should have minded it all a bit more.  Instead, he was curious.  It had been a very long time since he’d had a proper snog or a proper anything else.

“Was I conscious?”

“Not really,” said Jack.  “Maybe a little at the end.”  He edged up into a miraculously free parking space.

“That’s harassment,” said Ianto. “Worse than all those comments about how I look in a suit.”

“Those jeans do wonders for your ass,” Jack said, opening the car door and going around, coat flapping.  Ianto managed the door handle, but did not object to Jack helping him up.

“Or that,” Ianto said. “Harassment.”  They grinned a bit at each other, and Jack eased a hand around Ianto’s waist to help him walk.  A sudden thought assailed the young man.  “You hired me because you fancied me?”

Jack laughed.  “No, Ianto.  I didn’t hire you precisely because I fancy you.”  They made it across the sidewalk and to the stoop.

“Oh,”  Ianto moaned. He had to lean against Jack to get up the steps.  Jack reached into his pocket for the keys, and Ianto felt those sensitive fingers against his thigh, groping slightly more than was strictly necessary.  Jack held Ianto closer, managed the door.

“Ground floor?” Jack asked.

“Second floor walk-up,” Ianto said.  It took a while, taking Jack’s breath and making Ianto feel as though his head had been filled with cotton wool.

They entered and Ianto could feel Jack’s surprise at the neat, homey touches.  The pink calico bunting in the kitchen.  The needlepoint cushions.  All the things he’d salvaged from their home in London. Ianto choked back a sob.

Jack sat him down on the bed and moved back toward the loo.  “Whiskey’s in the cupboard,” Ianto said.   He had only managed to unzip his hoodie when Jack returned, jacketless, with a washcloth, whiskey and aspirins.

“Let me help you with that?” Jack poured two fingers of whiskey into two glasses.

“Harassment,” said Ianto, accepting one glass, gulping at the amber liquid.

“Good,” said Jack, pulling off Ianto’s shoes and socks.  “Gods, you need a shower.”

“I don’t think I can stand on my own,” Ianto admitted.  Jack nodded and disappeared.  Ianto heard running water.

“Bath,” Jack said.  Ianto let Jack help him into the bathroom, undress him and ease him into the tub.  Didn’t say anything as Jack picked up each of the shampoos and cosmetics that had been Lisa’s, pulled all the pink towels and a flowered robe from the linen closet.

“The bunting?” Jack asked.

“New. My sister.”

“You okay for a few minutes?” Jack’s eyes travelled.

“Yes,” said Ianto, positioning his washcloth strategically.  “Stop staring.”

“You look better out of a suit.”

“Harassment.”

By the time Ianto had discovered he couldn’t wash his hair on his own, Jack had returned with a sack of ice for the battered face.  His shoes were off, toes poking out of his socks, and he’d removed his vest and rolled up his sleeves.

“Lean forward.” Ianto did as he was told and tried not to notice the tears that fell into the water as Jack gently washed his hair and scrubbed his back.  Jack settled Ianto, still naked, between the clean, crisp sheets of the guest room bed, and sat with him until he fell asleep.

*-*-*-*

When Ianto woke, late morning light slanted in at the windows and smells of coffee and fried eggs filled the air.  He tried to sit up and his moans brought Jack.  “Have some more whiskey.  Go back to sleep.”

“But,”

“Sleep.”

He woke again at dusk and this time sat up, then stood and staggered to the loo. Leaving proved more difficult. “Hey,” Jack caught him before he crashed to the floor, steered him away from the living room.  It was devoid of Lisa.  Ianto would never know how Jack decided which things were hers.

“Storage,” said Jack, tucking him in.  “Hungry?”

“Not really,” said Ianto.  Jack gave him another whiskey, this one better than what Ianto had had in the house.

“You okay on your own now?”

Tears rose in Ianto’s eyes. “I don’t…” his throat caught at the next word and held it fast.

Jack nodded, then pulled off his shirt and trousers, climbing into the bed and taking Ianto in his arms.  “Rest.  We can talk in the morning.”  But Ianto had already nestled against him, fast asleep.  He smiled when Jack kissed his forehead, but Jack didn’t notice.