1

3am, Bedroom, Apartment, Chelsea, London, England

Oh so gently, not to wake him, he pulled back the bed sheet and slowly eased his legs apart. The cool night air teased naked skin and pumped his senses on high alert. Delicious, pulsing excitement built against his thigh… he's here, he's here!

Eyes tight shut, breaths shallow, limb as ragdoll limp, Ianto faked sleep, desperately wanting to peek through lashes, but it was too risky. Within the stillness of the dark room he could make out the soft rise and fall of measured breaths, and feel the heat of cold, calm eyes burning into him. The devastatingly handsome Jaccob Hayes was standing over his bed, silent, broody, menacing, leisurely taking in the view of his exposed body.

Click, click.

He'd brought his camera.

A chill went through Ianto, instinctively he wanted to grab the sheet and cover up, but could not move for fear of losing him.

Click, click.

Silence.

He waited, and waited… what is he doing?

The sound of a zipper and the rustle of clothes falling to the floor… shit, he's undressing!

His heart pumped, his hips intuitively tilted upwards, inviting… no, no, no… calm, don't blow it… he masked the movement, pretending to shift in his sleep.

More silence… now what?

He quietly begged… touch me… please… just touch me… the anticipation killing him. His breathing started to labour, a soft slapping, chafing of skin on skin, building in speed, he let out a low back-of-the-throat groan… he's wanking, he's standing over me and wanking.

He fought the urge to smile, to sit up and take him in his mouth… wait. Jaccob moved to the end of the bed and leaned forward; the mattress dipped as he crawled up between his legs and knelt between thighs, the tingling warmth of his skin brushed Ianto's. Ianto wanted to wrap his legs around his hips and pull him onto him, but instead he lay still, feigning non interest, feigning sleep… wait.

Jacob stretched up to the window above his bed and slowly pulled back the curtain, careful not to make a sound. A yellow streetlamp glow bathed the room, highlighting the curves of his beautiful body, he knelt in silence, staring, for what seemed like an age, driving Ianto nuts… do something damn it, do something!.. He silent-screamed.

As if he could hear, he leaned forward and tenderly trailed strong, agile fingers the length of Ianto's inner thighs, easing them further apart… oh my god. His hips lifted in reply, every morsel of him being ached for him to be inside him. Ianto was hard, very hard. He had been waiting for this contact for so long … kept waiting so damned long.

The bed creaked with warning as he lowered his head to blow warm teasing air onto Ianto's pulsating dick. His breath caught, longing pulled at his stomach… oh fuck!

Blood pumped his organ to the point of pain, he hummed as he eased cheeks apart, his fingers leaving the hole glistening, twinkling at him to enter.

"I know you're awake," he whispered, his voice low and hoarse.

"Don't move, keep your eyes closed… you're going to like this."

He dipped his head and opened his mouth as Ianto moaned and his wrists started to bleed as he strained against the restraints that held him.

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Visiting Room, HM Belmarsh Prison, South East London, England

He wanted him dead and he wanted him naked, in his bed.

Why? It was sick, irrational and dangerous. He was a grown sensible man, what the hell was he thinking, craving a man that had tried to kill him? It was all fucked up. The doctors said the mind control might never fully let go, the drugs and mind manipulations still lingering in a most unpleasant way but he knew he had to do this. Had to try.

The judge had acknowledged his schooldays at the academy were to blame, as a boy he'd had to deal with atrocious acts at the hands of his guardians, resulting in his actions as a man. Ianto understood this and felt sorry for him, but his childhood had nothing to do with him, it was none of his damn business, why the hell should he have to suffer his wrath, be on his death list? Hadn't he killed enough?

Noted, he could have handled it better, he should have taken his adolescent obsession seriously, talked to him, realised what was happening and stood up for him… a mere child himself, but someone may have listened, there must have been bruises and marks on his body to prove it. The "what ifs" fuelled his guilt and anger, ten years later the ripple effect of the abusers" actions still caused pain.

Torn between fearing the man and sorrow for the boy, he'd spent the months since his arrest in emotional limbo. Ianto wasn't sure what'd happened in the three 'lost' days of his kidnap, but the tables had turned, he now wanted him, missed him, and dreamed of him. He'd somehow become trapped in his warped infatuated world… was he going mad?

Enough! he needed to face the bastard and excise his perverse hold, take back control, build a normal relationship with a normal human being and have a normal life; if such a thing existed… he's just a man for chrissakes, nothing special… get a grip!

Squirming uncomfortably in a hard prison-issue bucket seat, he suddenly didn't feel quite so brave. Anxiously crossing and uncrossing his legs, he picked at invisible dirt on his black suit, the one he saved for funerals and bank manager meetings… I can't do this… I'm not ready… he's not "just a man" he's Jaccob Hayes, a stunningly beautiful fucking psychotic killer that I can't resist, that wants me to pay for his fucked up childhood.

A wave of clarity washed over him, he shook his head…

this isn't going to work, I've got to get out of here, ignore the letters, ignore the dreams, move out of the country and forget him, seeing his face will only bring it all back... stronger, shit!

He spun round to tell his lawyer that he had changed his mind, too late, a key turned noisily in its lock, the heavy door of the connecting room squealed open, his guards and chatty lawyer fell silent.

Unable to look, he kept eyes down, focusing on a loose thread in the cuff of his trouser leg. Jaccob had arrived; even through partitioned perspex glass he felt his presence before seeing it, powerful, carnal menace…

fuck, here we go again.