rm | [TW fic] Numbered (Jack/Ianto, NC-17)

Title: Numbered
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Vague S1 and S2 references.
Stuff you should know: Written for

kink_bingo. Contains chastity devices.
Author's notes: I had a choice between 20,000 words and minimalism. Minimalism won.

They're lying on Ianto's couch. Well, Ianto is. Jack's sitting on the floor next to him and trying to get him to focus.

“Hey, hey, hey, if you're going to slide into sub space every time I put this on you this isn't going to work,” Jack says gently, carding his fingers through Ianto's hair, although he's not actually sure if Ianto is reacting to having the plastic cage locked around his soft cock or the misery of the ice Jack had applied to it earlier to get him that way.

“I know... it's just --”

“A nice place to be. Yeah. I get it. Nice to look at too,” he says, the smile in his voice obvious.

It's enough to make Ianto stop his slide and look up at him.

“You want to stay down tonight?” Jack asks, knowing he could push this either way and torn as to whether he should indulge Ianto's short term desires over his longer term ones.

Ianto cocks his head and rolls his eyes in response and Jack laughs.

“Okay. Like I can deny you anything --”

Ianto arches an eyebrow.

“Right. Bad choice of words. Tomorrow we start getting you used to wearing this thing and functioning, okay?'

Ianto nods.

“Which means not on duty,” Jack says pointing at him. “Not yet, anyway,” Jack adds when he sees Ianto's jaw tense.

*

Ianto flops down on his couch, while Jack continues to pace back and forth in front of him because that's apparently Jack's response to a terrible, exhausting, too long day. Ianto doesn't understand it at all.

“Sometimes, I hate this job,” he grumbles just for the sake of having something to say. That's not something he does a lot, random complaining just for the sake of sound, but Jack's pacing is annoying him, but telling him to stop will just make it worse. He hopes that speaking will be enough of a distraction to somehow manage the same effect.

“Nah, I'd say that went pretty well.” Jack grins.

“Pretty well? Pretty well?” Ianto scoffs, sitting up a bit straighter. “We've been in the field for twenty hours, largely because of an alien with a miniature EM pulse as a heartbeat that's fried pretty much all the tech in the SUV, and I am wet, cold, hungry and probably too tired to sleep.”

Jack stops pacing and shoves his hands in his pockets. “But you're still wearing it, right?”

“Wha – oh. Yeah. I am.” Ianto says, somewhere between amused, scared and too tired truly give a fuck. But maybe this is about to get real.

“Did it hurt?”

“No.”

“Slow you down?”

“You were there,” he shoots back.

“Did you even notice it?” Jack asks now, just a little bit sharp.

“I'm noticing it now,” Ianto says.

Jack stares at him without saying a word, and then he sees that delicious little flicker of uncertainty in Ianto's eyes and nods in approval.

“Here's the plan. Tonight, that comes off and you are damn well going to come no matter how tired you are. Tomorrow, the cage goes back on. In a week or so, Rift allowing, I'll let you out long enough to get some relief although I'll expect you to clean up after yourself. You're still good with this then, then we'll up the stakes, yeah?”

Ianto tries to speak and fails, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Bet that's getting a bit tight about now,” Jack say with a chuckle, nodding towards Ianto's crotch.

“A bit.”

“I'll get the ice.”

Ianto lets his head drop back on the couch and moans in a mix of anguish and arousal. He imagines that from now on he'll always sound like that, so he smiles, proud.

*

“Lick,” Jack says, pushing Ianto's face down against his sheets where he'd come as Jack fucked him. “Next time we'll put a saucer down,” he says

Ianto nods, tongue scrapping across fabric and Jack shoves at his head again.

“Don't want you missing any, after all.”

*

“How long?” Ianto asks as Jack snaps the little numbered plastic lock into place. Plastic, so Ianto can cut it off in an emergency. Numbered, so Ianto can't do that and replace it without Jack finding out about it.

“I think it's time you stop watching the clock, don't you?”

Ianto swallows, dizzy for a moment at the implication. “Yes, sir.”

“You need something, you ask. I'll decide. Got it?”

Ianto nods as if that hasn't been the equation of things between him and Jack from day one. “Thanks,” he says softly.

Jack wonders for a moment if Ianto is embarrassed and gives him a deep, sloppy kiss to get him past it.

“Come on, get dressed, work to do,” he says, slapping Ianto on the ass.

*

Somehow, they fuck more than ever now. Well, Jack fucks him. Or he's sucking Jack off, or jerking him, if they're in a hurry. Things used to be a little more balanced, of course.

Every couple of weeks, when Jack's in a particularly good mood and says he's being generous, he handcuffs Ianto to the bed, shoves a vibrator up his ass and spanks him as come dribbles out of his flaccid cock into a dish. Sometimes he cries during that, or after, when Jack makes him lick it up, but it's good, it's really good and Ianto feels so happy it's as if he could die of the secret.

*

And then Jack does. Dies. And stays dead. For three poetic, miserable days. Three days and Ianto is grieving and Gwen is convinced it'll all be fine because Gwen's like that, and Ianto wonders if he was ever that hopeful and if he'll ever have the strength to get the key and take this off and let himself know that it's all over, all gone.

But then Jack comes back, kisses him in front of them all, and drags him close, so close, to feel that Ianto's still got it on. He doubts Jack cares that much at that moment. It's not like this was Jack's idea, after all. But Jack knows it matters to him, Jack remembers, so Ianto's happy. The secret is even better now.

Until Jack disappears.

*

Ianto tells himself he'll wait a year.

And a day.

He'll wait a year and a day because Jack is dramatic, and he'd hate himself forever if he takes it off only to have Jack come back the next day. It is, Ianto thinks, entirely the sort of luck they've both always had. It makes him wonder if betraying this game will bring Jack home.

*

Five and a half weeks later they're in a hotel, and Ianto doesn't think he's ever been so excited to get naked for someone in his life. Not because he thinks Jack's going to let him come. But because he wants him, and because he suspects the sight of his caged cock will make the point he needs to far more effectively than his fist to Jack's jaw. It's almost a shame, but he's punched Jack before, and that sort of thing is hardly a shock anymore.

“Seriously?” Jack asks when he sees.

“Check the number.”

“I'll take your word for it.”

“Not what you expected, huh?”

“I expected you to punch me.”

Ianto grins. “Yeah, I expect we'll get there.”

“You want me to cut that off?” Jack asks, like the passive aggressive bastard Ianto's always tried to pretend he isn't.

“No,” Ianto says simply and all the fight goes out of Jack. His shoulders sag as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“I want --” Jack starts. Then stops. “I want to touch all of you,” he manages to say, but he can't even look at Ianto while he says it.

That's how Ianto knows he's serious. “All right then. I brought the next one anyway.”

Jack looks at him, curious and uncomfortable. “Ianto Jones, always prepared.”

“I missed you.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I am going to take this out on your hide at some point,” Ianto says.

“I know,” Jack says, because he does and it seems callous to point out how oddly ridiculous the threat sounds coming from a naked man with his cock in a cage.

“Kiss me.”

Ianto doesn't have to ask twice.

*

He comes so hard it actually hurts. He's glad for that. It's just enough to remind him of where they actually stand, of how he's still angry and owned.

“We'll put that thing back on you in the morning, too tired now,” Jack says, spooning up behind Ianto sleepily.

Ianto nods. He knows it's the closest he's going to get to a promise of an explanation of some sort some day. It's Jack, and he's learned that sometimes you just have to let things go.

Near dawn, Jack shoves at him and Ianto mumbles sleepily.

“Go take a piss,” Jack says, shoving at him again as he sits up. Ianto watches blearily as Jack drags on his trousers and snags the ice bucket with one of his too large hands.

“I hate this part the most,” Ianto says, finally moving to get up to do as he's been told.

Jack stops in the doorway and smiles, fond. “I know.” He looks down. “Which is why you're hard,” he teases. He gives Ianto a quick kiss and ruffles his hair. “Be right back.”

“You always are,” Ianto mutters to himself, wandering into the bathroom to do as he's been told before digging the new lock and key out of his suit jacket pocket.

“Here,” Ianto says, holding them out to Jack when he comes back through the door with the ice.

Jack sets the bucket down and takes Ianto's hand in both of his.

“Thanks,” he says, and Ianto dips his head slightly in acknowledgement. “It's good to be home.”

“Yeah,” Ianto agrees. “It is.”