Mercury Pheonix (mercury_pheonix) wrote,
Mercury Pheonix

Kryptonite | Chapter 13

Title: Kryptonite
R - Strong mentions of sex, suicide, rape and abuse.
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto, Gwen/Rhys, Martha, Rhiannon, others may crop up as well.
Spoilers: Set after Exit Wounds, mentions of Doctor Who Series 3 finale.
Summary: After 2,000 years buried beneath Cardiff, Jack's mind is crumbling. Ianto will do anything to avoid losing him again – but how do you fix a broken man when you are falling apart yourself?
Disclaimer: If I owned Torchwood, the long-lasting repurcussions of actions and events would be properly explored. Obviously, I do not own Torchwood. Hence...FanFiction.

The song "Kryptonite" belongs to the band 3 Doors Down. The song can be found here

I finally gathered together enough to write this chapter. Served Cold has kind of taken over my life, as it is a baby I have been nurturing virtually ever since Children of Earth aired almost a year ago, so for a while it completely took over my mind. The updates of Kryptonite will therefore be less frequent than the updates for Served Cold, but I am still working on it, and I still intend to finish it. As my friends once said to me, writer's block is the soul's way of saying you're not ready to write something, so I'm going to let this come to me at its own pace. I really don't want to force it.

(I've stopped using lyrics as the basis for chapters, because this has stretched itself beyond what I originally intended, and has outgrown the song lyrics. There are also not enough lines in the song for me to use. Each chapter will have a title, but relevant to the chapter and probably a quote, rather than me searching for a lyric to fit. Thank you.)

Thank you so much for sticking with me, and to all of you out there who have also left your comments on Served Cold, you really do not know how much it means to me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

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Chapter 13

"The Angry Lover Tells Himself Many A Lie"
(Publilius Syrus)

Before he could let a rational thought into his brain, he'd stepped forward, grabbed Jack's face between his hands, and forced their lips together…

Ianto realised what he was doing seconds after he had pressed his mouth against Jack's, but it was too late. The damage had been done.

He pulled away fiercely, hands dropping from Jack's face; he could feel his lips tingling, a guilty shudder running down from his stomach to his groin. As much as he willed his body to co-operate, the feel of Jack's lips, however tense, sent a wave of longing running through his synapses. God, he was tired, so lonely. All he wanted was to take Jack and fuck him into oblivion, to lose himself, to enclose his body and his mind in that pliant, loving body. All he wanted was that release, for that fire to be cooled, and he had to force himself to take a step backwards.

When his eyes met Jack's, however, all thoughts of fire and quenching and arousal died within him.

"God Jack, I'm sorry…"

Jack backed away, sinking into the couch. He had one hand covering his lips, rubbing roughly at where Ianto's uninvited touch had just been, the other raised stiffly in front of his body, a solid bar in between them both.

"Please…" he whimpered, his eyes glazed, looking both at Ianto and yet past him at the same time. The Welshman felt a lump block his throat; he swallowed as hard as he could, the force of it causing tears to gather in the corners of his eyes.

"Jack…I didn't…please don't…" totally at a loss, he took a step forward, hand reaching out tentatively towards Jack's lank hair. His only intention was to run his fingers gently through those locks, to soothe and to stroke and to reassure that everything was okay. The problem was, he knew, nothing was okay anymore.

The second he raised his hand, Jack shrank back further, curling in on himself. Drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around his head protectively, an unearthly whimpering began to emit itself from Jack's chest.

"Please don't, not again, I'll do what you want…"


"I don't want you to …it hurts too much…"

Ianto shivered, backing away slightly, giving Jack the space he so obviously needed. His mind shot back to that first night, that night when Jack had touched him, had wanted to be touched, and had pleaded for Ianto to be around him and inside him. He remembered those tentative lips against his, unsure and terrified but wanting at the same time. Jack had wanted to be touched, and so Ianto had touched him. He hadn't realised that this would…

"He was taken advantage of."

"Oh…God…" Ianto felt a wave of nausea flow through him and he stumbled back, steadying himself at the corner of a desk. Last time Jack had wanted it, had been asking him for it, that was true. It had been on his terms. It wasn't the sex that was the problem, it was the force – and now Ianto had forced himself on Jack. Ianto's head began to spin as he began to consider what that meant, the whimpering from the couch providing an apt backing track to his painful thoughts.

Jack thought he was going to rape him. Jack thought he was a rapist.


"Ianto, what happened?"

The Welshman jumped, his back hitting the corner of the desk. He could feel the tearing of the flesh, terrified when he found that he revelled ever so slightly in the release the pain caused him. It had been a long time since he felt any twinge of pleasure in pain; not since Lisa had died, not since those horrible weeks trying to block everything out the best he could. Jack had brought him out of that, allowed him to finally separate the two concepts – pain and pleasure – in his mind.

It frightened him when a wash of something akin to happiness shot through him as the ragged wood scraped through the skin of his back. Swallowing hard, he forced it down within himself, squashing it with as much as energy as he could muster, instead turning to focus on the scene in front of him.

Martha stood, her eyes wide, gaze flickering between the stricken young man standing (barely) before her and the shivering immortal curled on the couch. She also took in the swollen red lips of both men, the gentle panting of the Welshman and the slight flushed tinge to of his skin. She was intelligent – she knew that, and she had proved it – and she obviously put two and two together.


"I didn't mean to…I just wanted to…" Ianto's face was contorted, the extent of the spasms almost painful to watch. "I…"

Martha stepped forward, taking Jack gently in her arms. He flinched, peeking between his fingers to take in her appearance. The relief that seemed to spread across his face when he realised that it wasn't Ianto sent a wave of absolutely agony through the young Welshman. Doubling up again, Ianto clutched at his stomach.

"I think you should go."

He didn't need telling twice.

After a time, Martha managed to haul Jack into his office, settling him in the chair in the hope that he would find some comfort in the familiarity. Her heart was breaking in two; a dangerous split between anger at the actions of the Welshman, and furious guilt at having been the one to leave Jack here in the first place.

She shouldn't have done it. But he had been improving, and she had no idea what she was doing, however she may have tried to convince the others that she had the situation under control. They needed to believe that she had the solution, otherwise they had nothing to keep them going, but she lived in constant fear that they would discover just how incompetent she was.

Jack shivered slightly against her, and she curled herself around the side of him, his large frame feeling extremely fragile even beneath her own tiny hands. She ran a soft finger through his hair, brushing a lock back behind his ear; it broke her heart when he seemed to nuzzle into the touch, his trust of her sending a shock of guilt when she realised that this had been her fault.


He looked up at her, recognition shining in his eyes.


She tried for a smile, quickly pushing it back when she realised that it wouldn't be convincing for him, even in this state.

"About Ianto…about what happened…"

She stopped as he shook his head violently, one hand breaking away from her to rub his lips, as if dispelling a foul taste from his mouth.

"No, I'm not letting them do that to me again."

A lump bubbled in her throat, the tears barely meeting any resistance as they dripped from her eyes.

"He wasn't trying to hurt you, I promise he wasn't…"

"He was."


"He hates me, he wants to hurt me. He's right, I'm a freak, that was what the Master said, wasn't it? I'm a freak and he wouldn't even do it himself but he had to punish me someway," Jack's voice grew more hysterical as he continued, the register rising higher than Martha had ever heard his voice ascend.

"No, Jack, Ianto's not the same, he's just hurting and he's trying to help you," she could feel her temper fraying, just as she imagined Ianto's had, and she suddenly felt terrible for sending him away. "Jesus, Jack…he loves you…"

"No, no no no no no. He betrayed me, he tried to kill us all – he told me I would suffer, and that's what he's trying to do…" there was a conviction in Jack's voice, and the combination of terror and certainty was so unlike Jack that Martha felt hatred, partly born of the guilt in her own mind, flowing through her veins.

"He just wants to get close to me, to hurt me. He's no different to anybody else. How could he possibly love me? He hates me, Martha, and I don't want you to let him hurt me."

He nuzzled his face into Martha's shoulder, trembling against her as she curled her hands in his hair. Gentle tears dripped onto the tips of his locks as she cried, her shoulders shaking silently as she rocked Jack back and forth.

"I won't let anyone hurt you, Jack," she managed, her voice barely a whisper, her heart aching for the man in arms and the broken young man she had just ordered away. "I promise."

The heavy thump of the music shook Ianto his very core, shaking his muscles heavily and reverberating through his mind. He closed his eyes and let it sink in, the thumpa thumpa like a pulse pushing him forward through the doors and into the fluorescent lighting of the club.

He'd been to a few of these as a teenager, and a few in the weeks of his suspension, but he'd never been a frequenter. As a youth, still undecided and slightly terrified, he'd walked into gay clubs such as this, soaking up the atmosphere with wide eyes before bolting the first moment that a guy, however hot, had come onto him. He guessed that he'd still been in denial, determined to react like that to prove that it wasn't true, that he was actually as straight as a rod. He'd fucked enough girls during that time, after all.

The atmosphere was oppressive, yet freeing. He'd dug out the outfit he'd worn on that first night when he'd tried to seduce Jack. It had been shock when it fit – he knew that he'd put on weight since that night. He'd never really eaten whilst he had been tending to Lisa, and had had no inclination to eat after her death. But he'd been feeling…contented, recently, at least as close to it as he could possibly hope to be, and the weight gain had been apparent, but not unwelcome.

Jack had seemed to like it, and he wondered what the man would think about the sudden loss of flesh from Ianto's bones.

He shook his head, hooking his thumbs beneath the leather of his studded belt, using the pain as he dug his palms into the metal studs to try and dispel the thoughts. He wasn't here to think about Jack. What he'd done to that man was, in his eyes, unforgivable, and he wanted to push it out of his mind.

With the combination of leather jacket, tight jeans and that fuck-me-now belt that he knew had made a definite impact on Jack upon their first meeting, it didn't take long before a lad approached him, offering to buy him a drink. Ianto was glad to see that he was the opposite of Jack, slight and blond with a thin face and deep brown eyes. He was also younger than Ianto, if only by a little, and Ianto liked the feeling of experience that came through with every slightly shy glance that the young man offered him.

It felt good to be in control.

It felt good to be wanted.

It felt good as Ianto pushed him up against the dark wall outside the club, both of them clothed save for hastily unbuckled belts and opened flies, shivering in the cold that seemed to bite through the fire in their bellies. It felt good as Ianto entered the boy's pliant body, feeling him grunt and tighten around him, gripping at the back of his thigh to push him further in.

There was no kissing, no real touching save the slapping of skin on skin as Ianto thrust as hard and as deeply as he could into the blonde, desperate to bring them both off as quickly as possible so that they could get their release and get out of this bloody rain. Those slim fingers scrabbled against the wall as he moved forward, his actions harsh and violent, groans building in the skinny throat as the young man curled his own hand around his cock.

Ianto tried his level best to focus just on the sensations of the tight arse around his aching cock, of the heightened feel of rain searing his skin, of strong fingernails gripping through his jeans and denting the flesh of his thigh. He managed to push away all thoughts of Jack, and Torchwood, and the reaction that he had gotten from the man that he lo…the man that he wanted to trust him.

This boy was letting him use his body, letting him fuck him and enjoying it; for now, he was going to grab everything he could.

He came with a primal grunt, feeling the younger man tightening around him as he followed, both of them breathing heavily against the rough brick of the wall. It was the release Ianto had been gagging for all day and night, and there was a slight twinge of victory niggling at his brain that he had finally, for once, succeeded in getting what he wanted.

Pulling away, he removed the condom and did up his trousers, moving with the precision and rhythm of a robot, his face devoid of emotion as he curled his coat around him to protect his body from the hammering rain.

He cast a quick glance at the blonde as he turned to leave, nodding formally, as he would to a colleague who had just worked with him on a particularly difficult project. As he began to walk away, however, a hand gripped his own, pulling him around to see a flushed face, confusion shining from the eyes.

"Will I see you again?"

He shook his head, too cold and too tired to even register the slight disappointment that crept onto the pale face.

"Can I have your name?"

Ianto raised his head, looking the young man in the eye with a sadness so fierce that the blonde couldn't help but take a shocked step backwards.

"I'm nobody," he whispered, his voice grating on his own ears. "Nobody at all."

Gwen wasn't asleep.

She curled up against her husband's sleeping form, lulled by the gentle snoring and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Still, she couldn't manage to drift off, so she lay on her back, her eyes open and staring wistfully at the ceiling.

There was something wrong. She could sense it. Something had happened, and she hated not knowing what it was. Perhaps she was paranoid, over-protective of the two men that she was gradually watching crumble before her eyes, but there was something stuttering in her heart, preventing her from closing her eyes for fear of what would happen if she did.

She loved them. She loved them both. She'd always felt a deep connection to Jack, something which, for a while, she had felt was akin to being in love. Her wedding had been difficult, finally being forced to make the choice that she had been unable – or perhaps unwilling? – to make before. But she had made the right choice, she was certain of that. Rhys could offer her so much love, so much acceptance, and Jack could only offer her uncertainty and pain.

She'd realised, on that day, that Jack could never truly be the man she wanted him to be. She would have asked too much of him, wanted him to be something that he wasn't, wanting him to be her perfect man. Whilst, without her realising, her perfect man had been staring her in the face all along, begging for her attention.

She turned her head, staring at the peaceful face of the man she loved, and wondering how Ianto was holding up in his dingy flat, all alone. She couldn't bear to think of him so broken. He had come such a long way since he had lost Lisa, become such a bright and vibrant person, however much he was still twisted inside. She knew that he loved Jack, even if neither of them would ever admit it; she was beginning to suspect that Jack felt the same way, however much she knew he hated the thought of submitting himself to one person.

Sighing deeply, she ran gentle fingers over Rhys' face, giggling slightly as he snuffled in sleep, each huff of laughter choking her with tears.

She couldn't lose them now.

Suddenly her phone began to vibrate, the gentle buzzing snapping her out of her reverie and bringing her back to Earth with a crash. She scrabbled violently to turn it off before it disturbed the sleep of her slumbering husband.


"Gwen? It's Martha. I need your help."


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Thank you for reading.

Please review to tell me what you think. Your comments continue to spur me on.


Tags: angst, fanfiction, gwen cooper, ianto jones, jack harkness, jack/ianto, kryptonite, martha jones, torchwood

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