karaokegal (karaokegal) wrote,

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"Don't Leave Me This Way" Torchwood Fic Ianto/Captain John NC17

Title: Don't Leave Me This Way
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Ianto/Captain John Hart (Mention of Jack/Ianto and Jack/Ianto/Gwen)
Wordcount: 3750
Rating: NC17
Notes/Warnings: Takes place post-Exit Wounds, therefore spoileriffic for Torchwood Series 1 & 2.
Possibly about to get Jossed. Thanks to haldane for speedy and superlative Beta work. Early birthday present for daasgrrl who wanted Ianto/Capt. John hate!sex.

J/I fans and Gwen-haters, this is NOT the fic for you.

There will most definitely be cross-posting. Concrit welcome.

Summary: You want to put this bastard in charge of Torchwood?

It’s a bloody nightmare, Ianto thought, watching Jack walk away toward that blue box and the man standing inside it, but even the fact that it had to be that particular man, wasn’t the worst part. What churned in his gut and made him pray when he’d long since given up on belief in any deity, benevolent or otherwise, was the figure walking towards him, wearing the familiar ludicrous attire and a sneer that seemed permanently affixed to his lips.

The new boss of Torchwood: Captain John Hart.


Ianto had already seen so many of his “worst nightmares” come true that the phrase no longer carried any meaning, although the day after Owen and Tosh died was a particularly low moment. As if he hadn’t suffered enough watching his city being demolished and knowing Jack was being tortured while Ianto was, as John had taken such pleasure in reminding him, absolutely powerless, he was forced to accept the inclusion of Gwen into his relationship with Jack.

Perhaps it had been inevitable from the beginning. Tosh had clued him in on Jack’s particular sexual quirks, which she knew about from Suzie. Apparently there’d been a period where Jack, Suzie and Owen were nearly inseparable. Tosh wasn’t clear on what had gone wrong, but the demise of the triad left the space Ianto needed to insinuate his way into Jack’s affections. Back then he didn’t care. His focus was Lisa, and to protect her he would have done anything that Jack wanted with pretty much anyone Jack wished to involve.

That had changed, even before Jack had left the first time, so much so that he’d wanted to retch whenever Tosh recounted her tale of Jack and the “real” Captain Jack, which she persisted in doing over and over until Ianto snapped at her to shut the hell up already and Owen of all people had jumped to her defence. Those were some rollicking good days around the Hub, he thought bitterly.

With Jack’s return, and the offer of a date, if not the fulfillment, came the overwhelming need to believe that Jack loved him and only him, all evidence to the contrary. The existence of Captain John, every look that Jack gave Gwen when he thought no one was looking, and the coarseness that Jack used when discussing their relationship with others could be rationalized, ignored or explained away to get through any twenty-four hour period.

It had to be more than just sex, and that meant posting a “Do Not Enter” sign and keeping all interlopers far away, which had worked right up until Jack had pulled both of them into the same tearful embrace and made it clear that it that they were three now. In every possible way.

Any honour on Jack’s part or loyalty to Rhys on Gwen’s had been shattered along with half of Cardiff and now Ianto had to live with it. He’d spent months denying that Gwen was even an issue; now she was literally in bed with them.

Not that it was bad, mind you, once he put aside the anger and the guilt he felt for betraying Lisa, in a way that he never had with Jack, possibly because he never actually got to fuck Jack. Now he was back inside a woman, for the first time since…The softness, the wetness and by the time Jack was done with her, Gwen was dripping, all of it was too much. He’d fucked her like a madman and came, crying from the emotional overload, only to find them surrounding him with comfort and Jack looking more affectionate than he ever had when they were alone.

The thought occurred that he might be able to live with his particular indignity. He’d have to try it again and find out, which Jack and Gwen were more than willing to do, until he was wondering why Jack had been such a prat to make them all wait so long.

Then he heard the sound. Well, he didn’t really hear it. He heard Jack hearing it. Saw Jack get up from his desk and grab his coat. Ianto had a smattering of the classics, but he’d never actually understood the concept of “Siren’s song” until he saw the look on Jack’s face, expectant, ecstatic, nearly beatific and heard him breath the word; “Doctor.”

“You said you weren’t going back to him.”

“He needs me.”

If anyone understood needing to be needed, it was Ianto Jones, but he didn’t think he could stand losing Jack again. Not like that.

“Gwen,” he called out, bringing Gwen scurrying over from her work-station to observe Jack’s frenzied preparations, “He’s leaving again.”

“NO! Jack, you can’t do this…”

It was as if Jack couldn’t hear them, so strong was the call he was listening to. There was the evidence right before Ianto’s eyes. The closeness he’d believed in, a mere illusion. Jack was leaving. Leaving both of them. He hurt for Gwen as much as himself, but it turned out that Gwen wasn’t the sort to be left again.

“Come on,” she said grabbing his arm, pulling him along without even time to put on a jacket or straighten his tie.

They got out on the Plas in time to see Jack approach a police call-box like you might see in an old television show or movie and be greeted by a man in a long coat, but not the military style that Jack sported. The tailor’s son couldn’t help approving the man’s attire, if not his haphazard hair-grooming. However, the sight of their embrace, made Ianto want to run up and physically tear Jack away or possibly summon their fallen colleague to lead his Weevil minions into the street to do the job for him.

Instead he stood paralysed as the man had the gall to wave jovially to them over Jack’s shoulder and whisper something in Jack’s ear. Jack looked back at them and grinned, a bit indulgently, shaking his head.

He jogged over to them, reluctance visible in his very body language.

“You can’t go, Jack.”

“Please do don’t this.”

“We need you.”


Their pleas melded together in a cacophony of neediness and Ianto knew they sounded like children. It was clear that Jack wouldn’t stay for them when his Doctor was making some kind of perverse house call, but it was possible that Torchwood or at least the protection of the human race might still have some claim on his loyalty.

“We can’t do it alone. We’re already down a doctor and our…” he didn’t want to say computer genius but how else could he describe the marvels Tosh had performed on a daily basis as though they were run-of-the-mill parlour tricks.

“We don’t have Owen and we don’t have Tosh,” Gwen filled in, seemingly able to control her emotions or just better at using the facts to get what she wanted from Jack. “If something happened now, we wouldn’t have enough personnel to deal with it.”

Jack nodded, looking like he was agreeing with Gwen. Ianto wasn’t sure if he hated the fact that she could get through to Jack when he couldn’t or if he wanted to snog her right there in the street.

“Wait right here. Help is on the way.”

He exchanged a glance with Gwen, who bit at her lower lip and ran a hand through her hair. It was a brisk day with a wind coming off the water. He noticed her shivering and tried not to look at her nipples. When had he become as lecherous as Jack or as interested in Gwen’s breasts?

Drawing his attention to the matter at hand, he saw what he could have sworn was the man, pointing a screwdriver at Jack’s wrist-strap, and making a flash of light appear, followed by Jack punching some of the buttons and then…nothing.

Nothing was good. Nothing meant Jack couldn’t leave. Nothing was the best thing that could possibly happen. Nothing gave way to a flash of light followed by the last person that Ianto ever wanted to see again.

The new arrival took a second to assess his whereabouts, flash Jack what appeared to be a hopeful grin, and respond with a shrug as Jack pointed in Ianto and Gwen’s direction, producing a smile that boded no good whatsoever.

Tosh may have once found him “cute,” and there was no denying the man’s charisma, but to Ianto, Captain John Hart was nothing but a pestilence and here was Jack offering him the keys to the kingdom in the form of a temporary assignment to Torchwood.

Gwen responded with a barrage of protests regarding John’s past misdeeds and complete untrustworthiness, which Jack batted away with his most ingratiating smile.

“You were right. Torchwood needs someone who understands time. He’s also pretty good with a computer although not as good as he would have been if he’d actually paid attention in classes.”

“Why bother when I could cheat off you?”

“And he certainly knows his way around the human body.”

“I’ll say I do. And several dozen other species.”

“So, if you need a medic…”

“Saved your life enough times.”

“When you weren’t trying to end it.”

“Picky, picky.”

Ianto couldn’t take another minute of the relentless banter. Hearing overtones of affection between them was like having his arm dislocated all over again, with pain radiating through his body.

“You want to put this bastard in charge of Torchwood?”

Jack looked at John with a smirk.

“You look after him, he’ll look after you.”

The man in the box was waiting and Ianto knew that Jack was already far away.

“Are you coming back?”

“Don’t I always?”

And he was going, walking, striding, and finally running toward whatever it was that would always take him away, leaving Ianto face to face with, yes, this was the time to say it, his worst nightmare.

“Meet the new boss, definitely not the same as the old boss. Ah, look. Time for cocktails.”

“It’s half past eleven in the morning.”

Ianto could practically feel John’s gaze focusing on him and he knew what was about to come out of his mouth.

“Well if it isn’t my old friend, Eye…”

“Don’t say it.” Gwen’s voice was meaner than hunger and colder than steel. “If you ever call him that, I promise you’ll be no good as wife or husband to anyone ever again.”

John momentarily looked impressed.

“Big brass ones, she has, huh? All right, let’s start pouring breakfast.”

Captain John headed for the pubs with Gwen and Ianto following close behind, quickly figuring out exactly what “looking after” John entailed. By the time Ianto looked back, the box was gone and Jack with it.

He could do this, he told himself. He and Gwen had held Torchwood together before and they would do it again, even with an alcoholic psychopath dressed as a drum major as their putative leader.

At least he wouldn’t be tempted to have any kind of a relationship with this captain. Cheekbones and piercing blue eyes be damned. His duties in the new regime would be limited to tea-making, research and possibly AA sponsorship. Ianto made a personal vow that he wouldn’t even smile in response to one of Hart’s so-called witticisms.

No sooner had they arrived back at the Hub than the monitors started going crazy with rift activity. Ianto and Gwen looked at each other and then looked at John.

“It ain’t me, babe,” he said, the picture of outraged innocence, as the first report of an incident near Llandaff Cathedral came in. Even Ianto was hard-pressed to think of any way the man-size carnivorous rabbits could have been Captain Hart’s doing, and he was too busy shooting the damn things to continue trying. When the whole warren had been rounded up and the congregants chemically convinced they’d never been threatened by Flopsy, Mopsy and Topsy on steroids, they headed back to the Hub. John drove the SUV with a disregard for traffic regulations that made Ianto nostalgic for Owen’s brand of vehicular insanity.

“You are a lunatic!” he screamed, barely able to watch the near-carnage.

“Thanks, Della.”


Once the paperwork had been wrapped up, Gwen excused herself to go home to Rhys, leaving Ianto on “John-watch.” He would not, could not, leave John alone in the Hub. It was hard enough watching him sit at Jack’s desk, drinking Jack’s liquor and worst of all climbing down into Jack’s sleeping quarters.

His mind screamed “Get out of there, you bastard,” but two years by Jack’s side had taught him self-control, so he decided to research his new appellation.. It didn’t take long to figure it out. He was Della Street. Loyal secretary to a fictional American who never lost a case.

This was marginally better than “eye-candy,” “pretty-boy,” and the other insinuating epithets John was prone to fling in his direction. For a second, maybe even a few minutes, Ianto was willing to believe that John might be less than completely evil, until he felt hot breath on his neck and smelled something that wasn’t anything like Jack’s distinctive odor, but held a similar quality. They were from the same century after all.

“You gonna take dictation from me, Della? Sit on my lap, looking pretty? Come, on luv, you have no idea how long Jack’s little walk-about could last do you? We might as well be friendly while I’m here.”

Ianto felt himself fighting temptation on all sides. He wanted to panic and run. He wanted to take a weapon and do severe damage in revenge for Hart’s various and sundry crimes, specifically for any amount of time he’d ever been close to Jack, but he wasn’t going to give John the satisfaction of knowing any of that.

“It’s the three of you now, isn’t it? “

“We’re all that’s left.”

“Not what I meant, Della.”

He’d backed away enough to let Ianto swivel his chair around. The jacket was open, revealing a trim torso and scars, maybe a symbolic showing of the belly, which had not an ounce of fat on it.

“This is a family.”

“An incestuous one from the looks at it.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Sure it is. The Time Agency was a family too and there wasn’t a branch on that tree that Jack didn’t swing from at one time or another. And his favorite number was always threesies.”

“I hate you.” Ianto was surprised at how calmly he was able to speak the truth.

“And you should. What are you planning to do about it?”

John was moving towards him with a swagger that was a little too reminiscent of Jack. Did the time agency only hire sex maniacs?. It was hard not to open his mouth by reflex, and it came as a shock when he saw John go to his knees and reach for Ianto’s belt buckle from his startlingly submissive position.


“I know things about Jack that you don’t. He’ll go bottom, but you have to show him you deserve it, and whatever you two have going on, I’ll wager you never got that far.”

Ianto had thought their mutual antipathy would end in fisticuffs and broken noses. To have John undoing his trousers and bending his head into Ianto’s lap was completely unexpected, totally surreal and far too arousing to resist.

“No…” was the last thing he remembered saying although he wasn’t sure any actual worlds came out of his mouth. Oh, but I was a good wife. echoed somewhere in his memory and although Jack had sucked him off a few times, usually as a prelude to more elaborate activity, he had to admit that John was frighteningly talented in this area. Even though Ianto tried to summon up the energy to make this violation stop, he found that he was reclining in the chair with his head lolling backwards, giving in to the heat and suction and softness, and the ability to let Ianto’s cock slide far into this throat.

Ianto hated to think that they’d both been trained by the same teacher, but the results were too good to pass up and his rational mind gave way to an animal who only wanted more.

The noises coming out of his mouth were staccato, ugly grunts completely devoid of softness or affection, because he felt none, but he needed release and it was in John’s power to grant it. Naturally he picked that moment to stop.

“Can you hate me now?”

“More than ever.”

“Good for you. Come on then.”


“Jack’s bed, where else? Perfect symbolism, don’t you think?”

“I don’t think I can make it that far.”

“Oh don’t sell yourself short, eye…Della. Jack likes to make you wait, doesn’t he? But this is your big day. You get to be the man. You call the shots. Feels good doesn’t it?

Ianto refused to give him the satisfaction of nodding.

“Why are you still alive? Why didn’t Jack kill you when he could have?”

“You lot really aren’t very bright, are you? Would you rather jabber on about my bad character or are you going to take that very impressive hard-on and fuck me up the arse so hard we’ll both forget Jack ever existed at least for a few minutes and really, how much more can you ask?”

John’s insanity must be contagious because he was starting to make sense, or else the pressure of Ianto’s erection was a convincing argument in its own right. John was wrong about the bed though. There was a much better place for him to act out his resentments by taking Jack’s former lover.

“Jack’s office,” he said roughly.

“Oh goodie! I’ll bet he’s got nice toys in there.”

The only important item in the office was the desk, as well as the tube in the top right hand drawer which Ianto had never seen replaced and which never seemed to run out.

“Drop your trousers,” he said, trying to sound tough, or at least like he was in control of the situation. John saw fit to take off the jacket as well and Ianto found himself presented with yet another vista of scars and jutting bones as well as the undeniably appealing sight of Captain John Hart, bending over Jack’s desk, for him. Legs spread, arse at an almost jaunty angle. He actually had the nerve to whistle something that Ianto’s brain didn’t have enough blood to recognise.

It was all between his legs, pulling him toward what John seemed to be so freely offering, except Ianto knew there no gifts with this man. He tried not to see himself as he’d been so many times in that exact same position, but it was impossible. What had Jack been thinking as he rubbed the cool, sticky fluid on his hands and then onto the condom, as well as Ianto, easing the way?

Jack always seemed to know exactly how rough he could afford to be, although there’d be some miscalculations deliberate or otherwise. Ianto took all those slights and hurts and anger and pushed them into John Hart, who took a deep breath at the moment of entry but otherwise seemed unbothered by Ianto’s forceful approach.

Ianto, on the other hand, was suddenly gobsmacked. It was nothing like making love to a woman. The tightness, the heat and that damn aura were all deeply intoxicating. Would Jack have let a dangerous enemy stay alive just to know there was someone in the universe who could make his body feel this good? Another thought Ianto didn’t want to deal with. He had John now and he was going to make the most of it.

He pulled back and went in again, hard, because frankly he didn’t give a damn if he hurt John or not. Ianto used John’s slender hips for leverage, feeling the bones against his fingers.

Soon he lost touch with anything but heat and anger and the faint sound of his balls slapping against John’s ass and John’s repeated gasps.

It was so good he didn’t want it to end and was still pushing John against the desk, long after a tremor through his body that felt like death and rebirth and his dick had already gone limp.

“You can stop now, Della. Party’s over.”

“What, what are we…oh good lord, you’ve come all over Jack’s desk.”

“I’m sure I’m not the first.”

“Not even the hundred and first,” said the voice Ianto most wanted to hear, except maybe not at this exact moment.

Oh no.

“Hello Jack, didn’t expect you back quite so soon. We’ve got a friend downstairs in your holding cell. If you’ve got a recipe for Rabbit Stew, I think we could feed the multitudes.”

“Nice to see you’re getting on with the staff.”

“With a staff like this, it’s pretty hard not to.”

Ianto had gotten back into his trousers as quickly as possible, although John didn’t seem to be in any hurry to cover himself while he and Jack carried on as though Jack hadn’t just walked in on this. Which hurt. He’d hoped for some kind of response. Anger? Jealousy?

With his luck Jack would offer John a permanent position.

“Where’s Gwen?”

There was the concern.

“Gave her the night off.”

Ianto noticed a certain fatigue around Jack’s eyes. He wondered how long and how far away Jack had been in the few hours since Ianto had last seen him.

“Ianto, call her. Tell her to come in.”

“She was rather keen on spending the night in with Rhys,” Ianto replied, as if they could turn the clock back on the previous week and everything that had gone before it.

“Get her in here.”

There was a hard edge to Jack’s voice.

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ve got that one well trained,” John said.

“Get dressed.”

“He tells me to strip, you want me to get dressed. A bloke doesn’t know what to do.”

“Do what I tell you.”


“You love it.”

“Does that mean I can stay? Please?”


That was all Ianto needed to hear. John would argue and cajole and plead and there might be another death before it was over, but he’d be gone. One less thing to worry about.

Ianto remembered the feeling of John’s body surrounding him. He knew more about Jack now, not to mention himself.

Things were definitely going to change.

Tags: fanfic, ianto jones, jack/ianto/gwen, john hart, nc17, torchwood

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