Title: Bungle In The Jungle
Characters: Ianto/Jack/Gwen (a little canon, a little canon-subversion)
Rating: R-nasty implications and few fetishes.
Author's Notes/Warnings/Spoilers-Spoilers to date including Adrift and oblique reference to LOTL. I haven't even seen the episode yet and I STILL can't sleep until I write subversion fic. J/I fans, this ain't the fic for you.
Thanks to haldane for a pinch-hit beta.
Summary: Jack always wins.
Ianto loves to go Weevil hunting with Jack.
The sight of Jack, face so intent on his quarry, the same face he used to have when looking Ianto in the eye and telling him how handsome he was, in a way no man, or woman for that matter, ever had. Lisa always thought he was sweet or cute and even funny. He chokes on that remembered laughter. He’s gotten his wit back, but now there’s always a bite and a victim.
Jack’s animal grace as he moves down an alley, gun at the ready, every inch the stalking predator. He wonders if Jack ever worked as a “Great White Hunter,” on the Dark Continent when both of those phrases were acceptable parlance. He hasn’t asked, and Jack never tells unless it involves whichever threat to humanity Torchwood is currently involved in eradicating.
Holding his gun, the way Jack showed him. He always remembers that shooting lesson, the way Jack touched the side of his face, pushed up against his backside and made the act of taking a life an act of sensuality, encouraging him to feel his own lust for the machinery and what it was capable of.
“Do you always give weapons instruction this way?” he managed to ask, keeping his voice almost steady, despite his shaking hands and what felt like an erection nearly as large as the Magnum he’d been handling.
“Only to students as attractive as you,” Jack had replied, flashing the grin that he must have patented somewhere. Those teeth were more lethal than the vast array of weaponry at Torchwood's disposal. Jack smiles that smile when his wrist strap tells him the quarry is close by, making Ianto feel safe, in spite of the danger.
What he doesn’t like is the smell. Weevils have an odor about them. Something dark, musty and slightly rancid. It doesn’t seem to bother Jack. Presumably he’s smelled worse things, as he always hints, but never elaborates, implies, but doesn’t explain.
The smell used to make Ianto as sick as the things he did to ingratiate himself with Jack in order to protect Lisa or the things he’s seen Jack do to aliens and other human beings.
Sometimes he can blame Torchwood itself. Suzie was always doomed. Lisa…he won’t dwell, but he knows both their fates were written when they were recruited together. Lives signed away on the dotted line. But there are things that have nothing to do with Torchwood and all to do with Jack Harkness. The girl, Jasmine, given to the faeries to save humanity, he claims. Ianto wants to believe, but there are doubts. Jack’s always making his big promises and no one ever seems to notice the consequences.
Ianto notices, but won’t say anything. Even when he sees what’s happening to Gwen Cooper. He begged Jack not to do it, told him how immensely unsuitable PC Cooper was for the Torchwood life. Jack accused him of being jealous of the new girl, fobbed him off with promises that Ianto would always be his “go-to-guy,” as if Jack’s far-ranging proclivities were any secret. He’d seen the footage of Gwen’s session on the shooting range and knew that a “go-to-guy” didn’t rule out a “go-to-girl”.
Jack’s self-deception on this score would be touching if it weren’t quite so destructive. He wants to protect Gwen, honour her commitment to Rhys, make sure she keeps her humanity, which is why he’s been carrying on with Ianto as though sex were about to be rationed and making the relationship ever more public, including the details of depravity that Ianto would really rather not share with the world.
Or so he thought. Until he got involved with a man for whom there was no such thing as a perversion that wouldn’t make a good hobby. When Jack was away, Iantohe told Gwen everything. The shooting, the showers, the sadness and the sadism. He told her to warn her and to warn her off and she smiled and rubbed his shoulder. Called him “sweet,” while he tried not retch, because he saw her fighting intrigue and arousal. He’s never been as jealous as Jack thinks or as innocently friendly as Gwen needs to believe.
There were moments, when they were huddled for warmth in the Himalayas, when he thought it would be simple enough to take her himself. Spoil her in Jack’s eyes. Then he remembered that Jack’s response to Gwen and Owen had to activate the bugs in Owen’s apartment and share the results with Ianto, including commentary on Owen’s technique and Gwen’s responses. Ianto doesn’t need to make love to Gwen. He already knows exactly what she sounds like and he doesn’t want to be reminded of sucking Jack’s cock while finding out.
Something has changed with the marriage but it’s not for the better. Jack’s been wanting to “go public” for awhile, almost as much as he wants to introduce a third party. If Ianto has to hear about the joys of the three-way one more time, he may do permanent damage to Jack’s pretty face. Except of course, no damage is permanent for Jack, except that which he inflicts on others. The drawers fill up and Jack goes on. There will never be an end to the handsome men and beautiful women eager to sign up and protect their planet from aliens who smell like a badly tended compost heap.
Gwen is a little more broken now. One step closer to ending up like Suzy, or Tosh or himself. Which means she just might be vulnerable enough to accept one of Jack’s invitations to a party that’s far more emotionally dangerous than she knows. She won’t be able to resist, because no one resists Jack indefinitely. Once she agrees, Ianto will have no choice. Play Jack’s game or be shut out of the fun house. He loses, Gwen loses. Jack wins. Jack always wins.
Ianto knows what's coming. He can smell it, and it stinks like a Weevil.