Title: In Writing
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Spoilers: Mentions of Doctor Who: Sound of Drums/The Last Of The Time Lords
Rating/Warnings: R – rated for sexual situations.
Summary: One night in the Hub, Jack finds something in the pocket of his greatcoat which shows, in his own unique way, just how much Ianto cares.

A/N: This grew from a line in the latest chapter of Kryptonite, in which Ianto is called to hospital after the staff find his contact details in Jack's pocket. It was meant to be a lot shorter, but smut happened.

In Writing

"A word is not the same with one writer as with another. One tears it from his guts. The other pulls it out of his overcoat pocket."
~Charles Peguy

Jack wasn't asleep.

He didn't really sleep all that much. Being immortal did not exempt him from the insanity that sleep deprivation could bring, but what sleep he did manage was so torn apart by nightmares that it was difficult to really class it as "sleep". After nearly one hundred and fifty years of partial insomnia, he'd managed to grow used to the fact that the required eight hours was not something he was going to achieve.

So he was contented with perching himself on the edge of the course sheets, one hand propped beneath him and cradling his head, the other rested lightly on the stomach of the sleeping man next to him. Jack's eyes followed the gentle rise and fall of the young Welshman's chest, the breath catching in a nasal almost-snore as he twitched, catching the immortal somewhat painfully in the ribs. He winced, exhaling as quietly as he could at the shock of the impact.

There really wasn't enough room in this small camp bed beneath Cardiff for the two of them, he had to concede. But that was something Jack had found to be more of an advantage than a hindrance. The close proximity forced even the most withheld and private of people to bear themselves fully; Jack himself was a very tactile person, and the cramped conditions forced others to be the same. He was sure that, otherwise, Ianto would not have been so willing to let himself fall asleep in Jack's embrace.

Stretching out his cramping limbs, Jack sat up and ran a hand through his bed-tousled hair. If tonight was going to be one of those nights, he realised, then Ianto would probably appreciate it if he got some of that paperwork done; he'd only been nagging him to do it for a few weeks, after all. The young man by his side made a small noise and shifted as Jack rose from the bed, the thin mattress dipping slightly as the weight distribution changed. Jack felt a hand fall against the skin of his thigh as he sat, and he stilled his movements. Loathe to push the fingers away, he remained where he was until Ianto shifted again, and the contact was broken.

Jack sighed as he hauled himself up the ladder, scrubbing a hand over his face and entering the dim light of his office. He'd lowered the lights of the Hub, of course, to give it some resemblance to the outside world, but there was enough brightness to guide him towards his desk. He shivered as his flesh hit the cold wood, beginning to wish that he'd had the good sense to put some clothes on. Glancing around, he saw his greatcoat hanging from the corner of the room – obviously put there by Ianto, who somehow managed to maintain a sense of decorum even with a hungry Jack attached to his neck – and stood up to retrieve it.

He loved this coat. It had followed him through the years, the only constant in a life that was filled with changing faces. Unlike the people he loved, this coat would never die, or, at least, not for a long time (if he looked after it). He'd coerced the closest of his past lovers into wearing it, or fucked them whilst wearing it himself, and if he closed his eyes and breathed deep he could almost smell each unique scent caught on the cotton fibres. He snuggled deeper into it, allowing the heavy blue material to rest against each section of his naked flesh.

Fingers playing idly on the counter, he skimmed the pad of his thumb over the corner of the paperwork. Suddenly, the idea of filling it in at two in the morning was not so appealing. Keeping one arm hooked around himself, pressing the greatcoat into his skin, he rummaged around the desk for a pen, eventually finding a particularly grotty, chewed specimen. He tried it out on the edge of the cream sheet, cursing ever so slightly as the dry nib cut through, inkless.

Ianto knew where to find a new pen. But Ianto was asleep.

Jack flung himself backwards in his chair, allowing himself a slight pout before he pulled himself together. He toyed momentarily with the idea of waking Ianto up to ask him, pleading necessity (Ianto was the one who'd been nagging him to do it, after all), but he quickly pushed that notion aside. Necessity or not, he knew the Welshman would have him on decaf for a week if he woke him up for something so trivial.

Grasping at straws, he began to dig his hands frantically through the cavernous pockets of his greatcoat, hoping that there might be a pen, or a pencil, or at least something that he could use. In his mind, he was already imagining the rewards that he could reap from Ianto through the revelation that he had indeed finished the paperwork, and the discovery of a tube of lube (always at the ready) and a butt plug (that's where that had got to) really wasn't helping to dispel the images.

Suddenly, however, he felt his fingers brush over a sharp corner. A frown wrinkled his normally flawless features, and he scrabbled to gain a purchase on the object before drawing it out of his pocket.

It was a small piece of paper, folded. The fold was not clean, and one side sprung up to rest at a forty-five degree angle; the reason for the protrusion was that the paper, whilst folded, had been laminated, obviously to protect it against the elements that his coat was often exposed to. Jack felt a smile spreading across his face. Whoever had planted the object in his pocket had been meticulous in the preparation, as well as suspiciously tactful in placing it deep into the ruffled material of the pocket, away from Jack's prying hands.

His curiosity aroused, he straightened the folded rectangle to see what was written beneath.

To whomever receives this note,

The owner of this coat is Captain Jack Harkness, the leader of Torchwood Three. He has a propensity to get himself into trouble, so if you have found him in a bad situation, or if he is in hospital, please call 07198306009 to contact Ianto Jones.

If I am unavailable, or no longer alive, the phone will be in the possession of Gwen Cooper or Martha Jones. Ask for the activation code TW20061301 to confirm their identity.

Ianto Jones (Torchwood Three Operative)

P.S. Please look after him.

Flipping the paper over a few times, Jack stared thoughtfully at the neat scrawl adorning the cream page. He could almost hear those vowels shining through the paper, imagining the exasperated tone in Ianto's voice as he wrote of his "propensity for trouble". A small smile stretched his features as he re-read it, unable to explain just why there was a slightly warm feeling spreading out from his core.

In all honesty, the note broke so many procedures that he was surprised it was Ianto, of all people, who had written it. It threw caution to the wind, openly proclaiming Jack to be the leader of Torchwood, affirming Torchwood's existence and handing out a contact number which was easily traceable, let alone revealing an activation code which was heavily classified information.

Jack ran his finger over the corner, delighting ever so slightly in the sting that the sharp edge ignited on the pad of the digit. The correct thing to do now, he knew, would be to tear the note into pieces, to dispose of it to protect himself and Torchwood. Protocol dictated that it was the best thing for all concerned.

So he really wasn't sure why he folded it once again, burying it deeply into the folds of his coat pocket so that it sat snugly against the material.

What he did know, however, was that it was ever so slightly reassuring, knowing that it was nestled within the coat, almost like a protective shield. Because, if he was honest, Jack had to admit that his immortality had brought more fears than he had ever had when he was still a contingent being. The fear of where he would wake up, who he would wake up with, the fear of a slow, painful death, of exploitation…

The true possibilities had struck home during that year, under the cruel hand of the Master. He shivered at the thought, wrapping the coat around him as he stood up, heading to the one place that he actually wanted to be; down in his bedroom with the meticulous, cunning, somewhat crazy and impulsive young man who had left such a revealing note.

Ianto shuffled in his sleep as the ladder creaked beneath Jack's feet, shifting to lie on his side so that he was facing Jack. The harsh cotton of the greatcoat whipped against the older man's legs as he stepped forward, sitting himself on the bed and brushing a calloused hand through Ianto's hair.

Jack would never admit it, especially to the man himself, but he liked watching Ianto in sleep. There was just something so gorgeously imperfect about him whilst he slept.

The nasal sounds that escaped from his nose, the almost tangy smell of sweat clinging to an overheated body, the funk of stale morning breathe. The Welshman was so proper during the day, so composed, the very picture of propriety, even in the well judged, almost callous nature of his smirks and his quips. Ianto never let his guard down; even when they were having sex he managed to hold some part of himself deep inside, as if afraid to show himself fully. In sleep, however, such openness was subconscious and unavoidable…and Jack loved it.

Drawing coarse fingers down Ianto's cheek, Jack leant forward and trailed his tongue gently down from the young man's neck, leaving a path of cooling saliva in its wake. Ianto's eyes twitched in response, his heel emerging from the edge of the sheets to rub against the material of the greatcoat. A grin spread across the immortal's face as he continued his slow journey, swirling his tongue gently around Ianto's nipples and carding his fingers through the hair on his chest. Warm breath huffed from between Ianto's lips as his mouth parted, eyelids opening just a crack to expose weary eyes.

"Jack?"

Jack grinned wickedly from where his chin was rested on Ianto's sternum, dipping his head to flick his tongue along the line of the lowest rib. Slow, unsteady fingers pushed into his scalp, feeding the hair through them until the palm came to rest at the coarse fibres on Jack's nape. Warm breath huffed over Jack as Ianto raised his head ever so slightly to look at him, struggling to keep his neck straight through the fatigue which clung to him.

"What…why…?"

The words slid out his mouth, slurred together and incomplete. Without stopping the slow journey of his tongue over Ianto's stomach, Jack placed a strong hand against the Welshman's chest, pushing him back to lie flat on the bed. The younger man complied, letting his jaw fall slack as his head hit the pillows, his fingers keeping up their steady movements through the short hairs at Jack's neck.

As Jack's mouth followed the line of hair that dipped from his stomach to his groin, ducking his tongue into his naval briefly, Ianto's eyes fluttered closed again, his mouth relaxed and open as the air caught in his tired, scratchy throat. Jack listened to the sound of the breaths scraping one after the other, paying close attention to the rhythm of the slight gurgle that Ianto couldn't hear through his sleep fogged brain. Keeping that hand pressed lightly on Ianto's chest, pinning him to the bed, he placed a gentle kiss on the inside of the young man's thigh before running his tongue slowly along the underside of the gradually hardening cock.

Pushed on by the low noises forcing their way from Ianto's slackened throat, Jack wrapped his free hand around the base and sucked the head into his mouth, tongue moving languidly, lazily around the warm flesh between his lips. Blunt nails dug ever so slightly into the flesh of his scalp, hips rising involuntarily to push his now hard cock further into the warmth of Jack's mouth. Jack stole a quick glance at Ianto's face, delighting in the half-lidded eyes, the slack mouth, and the tiny sounds escaping him.

He could sense that Ianto was still half asleep – in the morning, he'd probably only remember this as a particularly vivid dream he'd had the night before. He grinned around his mouthful, determining that Ianto was going to remember it as a very good dream.

The pulse thrumming through the flesh against his tongue began to increase its pace as he swallowed it deeper, his fingers moving in small circles against the skin of Ianto's chest. The younger man's breathing had become shallow, that rasping noise growing deeper as Jack took his cock as far as he could into his mouth, the immortal's hand gripping his thigh and encouraging Ianto to thrust lightly. The movement of the Welshman's hips was slow, tired, messy with the sleep that refused to leave him and yet determined with the obvious pleasure shooting through his not-yet-aware synapses.

It only took a few languid thrusts before Ianto came, almost gently, his whole body relaxed and floppy against the sheets as Jack continued to caress him through his orgasm. Jack felt his cheeks stretch into an affectionate smile as Ianto seemed to deflate beneath him, all breath exhaling from his body and his limbs sinking deeply into the bed as his release washed through him.

Keeping the coat wrapped tightly around his body, Jack crawled up the bed to lay beside his spent lover, resting his head on his crooked elbow as he waited for the younger man to come down from his high. Eventually Ianto returned to himself, his eyes blinking wearily as he turned towards Jack, leaning towards the warmth of the greatcoat in a movement that Jack could only describe as snuggling – something he could never have done in a more conscious state.

Ianto met his eyes, holding the gaze as best as he could manage with his foggy vision. His hand suddenly moved from where it had rested on the pillow, inching down towards Jack's own cock, fingers closing around the hardening flesh clumsily. Jack felt a groan bubbling up from his throat but he swallowed it hard, taking a gentle hold of Ianto's wrist and moving it away from his disappointed flesh. The eyes of the younger man searched his own, tired confusion swimming in the blue sea of his irises.

"That was just for you," Jack smiled, taking a hold of the corner of his coat and flipping it to cover them both. Leaning back against the pillow, Ianto closed his eyes, his face suddenly appearing much younger than it normally did. In the vestiges of sleep, Ianto Jones was a completely different creature to who he was during the waking hours. That self-assured intelligence was gone, replaced by a vulnerable innocence that Jack had never seen on the Welshman's features before.

He could sense the young man's breathing growing deeper as he began to drift back into unconsciousness, but Ianto, his stubbornness always present, managed to force his eyes open one more time.

"Whuzzat for?" he whispered, lips barely opening as he pushed the syllables through his mouth, his accent thick and almost unintelligible through the depressant of sleep. Jack leaned forward gently, pressing his lips to Ianto's and feeling him respond ever so slightly. He could smell the sweat from Ianto's body, taste the faint staleness of his breath, and the reality and truth of Ianto's bareness made him smile through the kiss.

"No reason," he shrugged, pulling back from Ianto and watching him settle his head on the bone of his shoulder, face burying into the warm scent of the blue greatcoat as sleep took him under its wing. Settling himself into a more comfortable position around the slumbering Welshman, one hand slung over his waist and holding the coat in place over them both, Jack closed his eyes and let his head sink back into the pillow.

"Just felt like it, I guess…"

x

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Fin