Your Face Is Turned, 5b/9

[sam_storyteller]

Title: Your Face Is Turned
Part: 5 of 9 (part B)
Rating: R
Summary: Lo Boeshane has a promising career ahead of him as he enters his first year of Fleet Officer Training, but the war is still with him and life at Quantico Station can be difficult. Meanwhile, Ianto Jones is just trying to figure out why the Doctor kidnapped him to the fifty-first century and why Jack abandoned him at a school for the Fleet's military elite. He suspects it may have something to do with Lo, but his attempts to help the troubled young veteran may damage his own timestream beyond repair.
Note: So, Chapter Five turned out to be too long to post, and yet too short to be a "real" chapter if I split it in half. Therefore I split the chapter into Part A and Part B.

CHAPTER FIVE B

Not long after Boeshane revealed his secret ambition -- the Time Agency, the boy didn't aim low -- Ianto found himself on the station's firing range, looking at a vast wall of weaponry.

They seemed so much like children's toys, smooth and rounded, some brightly coloured and some dark for camouflage. He was mildly familiar with the hand-held light-carrier pistols, which most closely resembled the guns he'd carried in Torchwood; the larger guns were totally unfamiliar, and he couldn't see the safeties or triggers on half of them.

"I know better than this," he said to Boeshane, who grinned impishly at him and passed his porterminal over the scanner. Identified Cadet Third Year Lo Boeshane a digital voice said. Ianto sighed and swiped his own. Identified Quantico Station Staff, Librarian, Ianto Jones.

"You'll have fun," Boeshane reassured him. "It's completely safe. Much safer than what you used to have, anyway."

One of the station sergeants emerged from some mysterious back room and leaned on the counter in front of the wall of guns. "Afternoon, Cadet. This your trainee?"

"Yessir," Boeshane said smartly. "Mr. Jones."

"What's a librarian need a light-carrier for?" the sergeant asked.

"I don't," Ianto said. "I'm indulging a madman."

Boeshane saluted. The sergeant leaned back and gestured at the wall.

"Two grade one pistols, the light rifle, and the bayonet, please," Boeshane said. To Ianto's amazement, the sergeant just shrugged and took down the requested weaponry.

"Bayonet?" he hissed.

"Well, yeah. You gotta see the projection blade," Boeshane replied. He accepted the bin of guns, pressed his thumb to the pad the sergeant held out, and led the way down the hall to a private shooting room.

It was different from what Ianto was used to, an old tunnel at the Hub with bare lightbulbs for illumination and the smell of cordite always in the air. The room was clean and as well-lit as anywhere on the station, with a table protruding from one wall. There were no targets that he could see, until Boeshane flipped a switch and a set of floating, ghostly holo-targets appeared.

Boeshane hummed jazz as he laid out the guns, and Ianto had a flash -- back? forward? -- to his weapons training with Jack, when Jack insisted he learn to shoot. Different music; Jack liked to sing under his breath, I would swim the ocean wide, I would cross the great divide, I would do anything for you...

Boeshane preferred sad songs, poor kid. Ianto caught the melody after a second. Ella again.

There's a someone I'm longing to see,
I hope that he turns out to be
Someone to watch over me...

It was incongruous, watching Boeshane's large, capable hands with the guns while he hummed a song about wanting to be cared for. Perhaps he hadn't read the translated lyrics.

"So," Boeshane said, abruptly turning to him with one of the pistols in his hand. "You always check your charge first." He popped out a little blue vial from the back and examined it. "Full up, see? Charge'll last you maybe five, six months in storage, a few days of heavy fire, a few weeks of occasional use. Pop it in like so. Next, make sure the safety's on..."

The security protocols weren't so different from a ballistic handgun -- precision, care, and caution, watchwords even three thousand years later -- but the gun was hard to learn to use. Ianto was used to a kick, braced and adjusted for it, and shot far wide of the mark. Even once he got used to the soft, totally motionless action, it was tough to remember that there was no pull or curve to a light beam; point and shoot was hard when his muscles were trained for something more complex. Boeshane was patient, if a little amused.

"Here, try this," he said, stepping up behind Ianto and wrapping an arm around his waist. So strange to think Boeshane was as tall as him -- he always thought of him as a kid, but he'd finally hit that last growth spurt, and his chest was filling out now that he could do more in the gym. His arm around Ianto's waist was all muscle, and his fingers wrapping around Ianto's hand were sure.

"You don't need to sight along your arm," he said in Ianto's ear, bending both their arms back and holding the weapon at Ianto's hip, like some kind of old-fashioned gunslinger. "Try like this," and his hand whipped up, bringing Ianto's with it, elbow drawing back, arm bent as they shot at the holographic target that appeared obediently in front of them. "Those guns of yours taught you bad habits."

"I'm trying," Ianto complained, repeating the gesture, Boeshane's fingers still on his. He wasn't as far off-centre this time.

"Good," Boeshane said against his neck. Ianto realised their bodies were flush, and this was -- much more than a kiss on the hand. Boeshane's body was warm, and his hand on Ianto's waist was rubbing gently, ever so slightly, at the uniform tunic.

Ianto drew a breath softly and tried again. Clearly the man was trying to distract him. Boeshane made a pleased noise and shifted his weight.

Distraction working. Ianto let his hand drop and pulled away, turning around.

"Why don't you show me the rifle -- " he began, but Boeshane was so close, almost nose to nose, and he had one hand splayed on Ianto's chest.

"Do you like this?" he asked softly.

"This?" Ianto said, curious. He should step back. He should make it very clear that Boeshane was not an exception to the no-fucking-the-students rule, Lo Boeshane with his sad jazz and pretty trinkets for Ianto and scars Ianto understood.

"Student, teacher," Boeshane said, bowing his head a little, staring at his hand on Ianto's chest. "Maybe you don't. You like to be in control?"

Ianto couldn't breathe. He knew Boeshane could feel his heart hammering in his chest, fear and arousal and confusion all mingled together.

"You like guns?" Boeshane asked, smiling.

"I..." Ianto heard the pistol clatter to the floor. Boeshane tilted his head just a little and kissed the side of his mouth, and it was too much, all of it. Ianto turned to make the kiss more even, felt Boeshane's mouth open, his tongue lick across Ianto's lips. He really shouldn't encourage him --

Boeshane sighed into his mouth and went after it with a sort of orderly, military precision, no prisoners taken. He was really very good at this, he was sliding his arm around Ianto's waist again, he was running his other hand up Ianto's thigh --

Jack used to do that, Ianto thought, and then, Jack used to sing in the range -- Jack used to like making out in the range -- Jack had blue eyes and that ridiculously perfect face --

Oh god.

He jerked back, suddenly, so sharply that Boeshane almost fell forward. It was too close, too much like Jack, he was a student, Ianto had a responsibility --

"Lo," he said, warningly.

"Ianto," Lo murmured, unmoving, watching him.

"I can't," Ianto said, half-pleading, because he wasn't that good at resisting temptation and Lo was between him and the door.

"It's okay," Lo said, spreading his hands. "You can, it's okay, lots of teachers do it."

"No, I..." Ianto wanted to explain, but he wasn't sure how. "You're young, and...I don't..."

"You can't wait for him," Lo said. Ianto wasn't even sure what he meant until he stepped forward, continuing, almost pleading. "Whoever he was, he couldn't wait for you. He's long dead by now. You're here, your life is here. I just want -- I could -- like with Steward. I could make you happy like that," he blurted. Ianto stared at him, stunned. "I like you, I like the things you teach me."

"I can't," Ianto repeated. He moved forward, a little to one side, and Lo didn't block him, just tracked him with his eyes. "Lo, I'm sorry, I can't."

"He won't come for you," Lo said, turning as Ianto passed him but making no attempt to stop him. "He can't, Ianto."

Ianto ignored him because really that wasn't the point, but Lo didn't know that. Lo didn't know that the Doctor would fetch him and take him back to Jack and this would be a lonely dream, this place, this time.

"Ianto, I'm sorry," Lo called after him into the hallway as Ianto hurried away. He swiped himself out of the armory without stopping and all but ran back through the station, down a level, across the central ring, and into the dark safety of the library. He locked the door behind him, though he was fairly sure Lo hadn't followed, and walked into his quarters. He didn't stop until the doors shut and blocked out everything, the station, the library, Lo Boeshane's blue eyes and beautiful sad mouth.

His sad mouth that looked so much like Jack's. And this was Jack's home-time.

He leaned against the wall next to the scroll screen, eyes closed, getting his breathing and his swirling thoughts under control. Right; Boeshane had kissed him, which was nothing new really, just a new location for it, so he could section that off for later examination. He had enjoyed it, had wanted more, probably would have been willing to suspend what he suspected was an outdated rule anyway, but he had stopped it, so he could set that aside too. He had slept with Blithe and at least he had experience with attraction to men, so no infidelity freakout and no homosexual panic. He could let those concerns go completely.

Lo Boeshane and Jack Harkness, that was harder to set aside. He looked like him, god, how had he never noticed? But surely Jack wouldn't have put Ianto here if he knew his younger incarnation was here as well. He couldn't know. Except...

Ianto took another deep breath. He could call Blithe -- no, he would call Kraf. He pushed his porterminal into the wall port and tapped the scroll screen, selecting Kraf's quarters from his contact list. There was a buzz and then a signal.

"Good evening, Ianto," Kraf said. He had a disconcerting habit -- probably intentional, to fuck with the humans -- of only showing his eyestalks on the vidscreen. Just two floating columns with eyeballs at the top. Ianto tugged on his tunic to straighten it. "You look like you've had a fright. One of the students try something on you again?"

"I need to know about Lo Boeshane," Ianto said. One of Kraf's eyestalks extended slightly.

"What about him? Capable cadet, not a favourite among his peers but generally regarded as bright and dependable. Doesn't press his trousers enough, plays a little loose with his interpretation of the honour code -- "

"How did he get here?" Ianto asked, interrupting him. Kraf blinked.

"He's a scholarship boy, I thought you knew."

"Do you know who sponsored him?"

Kraf's eyes bobbed in amusement. "That's a bit of a story. There's a rumour he might be an officer's indiscretion. One of the admirals brought him in, set up the admissions. There's a certain resemblance I chalk up to chance, but some of his classmates aren't so forgiving."

"Which Admiral?" Ianto said, holding his breath.

"Admiral Levy brought him here, same as he brought you. Why, has he been talking out of turn? If so, I am comportment instructor -- "

"No -- no, thank you, Kraf, it was just curiosity," Ianto said hastily. "I appreciate the information."

"Ianto, if you're having trouble with the boy -- "

"No! I'll see you for breakfast. Sorry, I have..." Ianto gestured vaguely. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He closed down the connection and stood, trembling, until his legs wouldn't keep him upright and he staggered into a chair.

Jack had brought Lo Boeshane to this station, a boy so like him that people thought Lo was his son. Jack had brought Ianto here for safekeeping -- but was it his own safety, or the safety of Jack's younger self?

Jack was smarter than that, he had to be. He had to know that this kind of messing around in the timeline would cause nothing but grief. But wasn't that like Jack? Wanting to save people, wanting --

Wasn't that like Lo Boeshane? Wanting a home, someone to love fiercely and protect and die for, something to make the pain of a horrific life spent in battle go away. A quick little snatch of joy if he couldn't have more. All alone in the great big black stretches outside.

Goddamn Jack Harkness and his fucking around in time, Jack Harkness who thought he knew everything. He had known, he must have known that Ianto and Lo would find each other out, he must have put Ianto here on purpose and purposefully not told him. Don't tell the stupid twenty-first-century apes anything, tell them not to want to know, don't even bother to hide it all that well -- it was Gwen and Flat Holm all over again, except this time he was on Gwen's end of the stick.

He stood up again and practically punched the scroll screen, dialing the secure code Jack had programmed into his porterminal, the one marked emergencies only. When it connected, there was a young woman on the screen, in uniform.

"Central command," she said pleasantly. "Where can I direct your request?"

"I need to speak to Admiral Brian Levy," Ianto said.

"Admiral Levy is at the front. You'll have to make an appoint -- "

"I'm not making an appointment," Ianto said sharply. "Tell him Ianto Jones needs to speak to him. he'll take this call." Or else.

"His ship is dark -- "

"Put me through," Ianto snarled. "Ianto Jones of the Torchwood Archive."

Her whole expression changed at that.

"Yes, sir, sorry sir," she said hastily. "Look, I can't promise he'll answer."

"He'll answer," Ianto said grimly. The screen went dark, buzzing slightly, and Ianto counted down from ten. On two, someone answered -- Jack, his hair mussed from sleeping, chest bare.

"Ianto," he mumbled, rubbing his head and yawning. "What -- "

"You bastard," Ianto heard himself say. He had meant to be calm, meant to be rational, but the words tumbled out. "You knew Lo Boeshane was here."

Jack was suddenly wide awake. Aha, Jack, gotcha.

"I can explain -- "

"Can you?" Ianto demanded. "You put me down in an enclosed space station with -- with that boy -- "

"It was the safest place for you," Jack said.

"Bullshit, Jack! You knew he'd be here, you knew he'd -- find me, stumble across me, you knew!"

"Calm down," Jack said, holding up his hands.

"Calm down?" Ianto asked. "He's my friend, Jack. He confides in me. Jesus, do you know what I did?"

Jack didn't reply, but his expression stopped Ianto mid-rant.

"Introduced him to jazz," Jack said finally. "Taught him about Ella Fitzgerald. Showed him how to find Moon River. Played Fats Waller for him. Ran out on him when he kissed you in the gun range."

Ianto stared at him.

"That's what happened tonight, isn't it?" Jack asked quietly. "Tonight Lo Boeshane kissed you in the gun range. The way we used to."

"You said you didn't remember," Ianto replied.

"I don't. Not everything. I didn't. Sometimes I do. I remember -- there was someone who was kind to me," Jack said.

"It's not fair, Jack. Not to him or me. It's dangerous. I've already changed time," Ianto tried.

"No, you haven't, because I remember this. This was set to happen, Ianto, it couldn't be changed. You are there for a reason."

"What reason?"

"I don't know."

"You won't tell," Ianto said sharply.

"Some things I won't tell. Some things I don't know. I won't tell you what happens next, if that's why you called me. If you just want to call me names, well, you're in good company, plenty of people want to do that," Jack said. Ianto noticed for the first time that he looked tired. Worn-down, like he had after Owen and Tosh.

"It's not right, Jack."

Jack laughed bitterly. "Since when has that mattered?"

"What am I supposed to do?"

"I can't tell you. I wish I could," Jack said. "Get some sleep. Pretend you don't know. Tell him everything? I can't tell you what to do. That's dangerous."

"Send me home, Jack," Ianto pleaded. "I don't care about the scars, I don't care. Please send me home."

"I can't do that either."

"Please, Jack!"

"I'm sorry, Ianto," Jack said, and cut off the call before he could reply. Ianto swore and punched the wall, which hurt, so he swore again.

What, exactly, was he supposed to tell Lo?

Sorry, you're a bit young; try it again in about two hundred years, and mind the Cyberman.

Sure, have a go, someday down the line you'll be teaching me all this in the first place.

Get the hell out of my library and don't come back.

When you see the Doctor, run the other way.

So that Admiral who enrolled you here? That's you. Yeah, someday you'll be immortal. Your life is going to suck. Sorry. Good news is, you do eventually get to have sex with me.

He covered his face with his hands and laughed.

He couldn't tell Lo everything. He obviously hadn't, so he couldn't. Couldn't just block the knowledge out, though, and he couldn't pretend that nothing had happened in the gun range.

But it would be cruel to send Lo away, and possibly even dangerous -- he was a damaged man, and he had few enough people who cared for him. As bitterly as Ianto had hated Jack after Lisa's death, if Jack hadn't relentlessly forced him to open his eyes, if he hadn't pushed through his own betrayal to find some kind of empathy for Ianto's loss, Ianto wouldn't have survived longer than a week. Of course, he wouldn't be in this mess now, but better this than dead.

Lo was only what Jack had once been. He wasn't Jack. Not yet. But growing closer every day -- to the Time Agency, to Torchwood. Humming jazz and seducing lovers with guns. Ianto wondered if Jack's fascination with the range was genuine or some sort of constant re-enactment, repeating over and over what had happened just now, trying to change the outcome of the past in all his future encounters.

Don't flatter yourself, Jones, he thought.

What could he possibly do? Trust his instincts, perhaps, try to treat Lo as he had. But they had to clear the air about today, one way or another.

On the scroll screen, a little white sphere popped up in the corner. Message on MemoBase. He touched it and it expanded. From Lo, of course, because life was just not complicated enough.

I'm sorry. It was rude of me. Please don't be angry.

Ianto stared at it for a while. If he hadn't known, what would he have done? If he didn't know now, what would he do? Something stupid, no doubt.

He took the porterminal out of its dock and replied. My fault. Come to the library.

No reply; after a few minutes, Ianto walked back out into the library and waited by the door. Lo appeared like a shadow, slinking along shamefaced, and Ianto unlocked it briefly, locking it again after him.

"I didn't mean to upset you," Lo said, shoulders hunched, head bowed. Ianto took his hand silently and pulled him along, leading him to the back wall and the door to his quarters. Lo hesitated on the threshold, gave him a bewildered look, and stepped inside. Ianto could see curiosity overcome shame as he cast covert looks around the room. It was almost an audible thought: This is where Mr. Jones lives.

"You don't have to do this to make me happy," Ianto said, tipping Lo's chin up. So strange, to have this much authority over Jack. Usually his control over Jack, when he had control, was more...subtle. "You don't have to do this to prove you like me, to make me like you. Do you understand, Lo?"

"That's not why," Lo said. For all his hesitation, he was sure of himself in this. "I wanted it. But I don't need -- you said you don't sleep with students. Which is a dumb rule, by the way," he burst out.

"This isn't my time," Ianto said. "I need order here. There have to be rules. Sometimes they're dumb ones. Sometimes maybe I should break them. I have something for you," he added impulsively, when Lo looked startled and hopeful. "Stay there."

If he was going to be stupid, he was going to be stupid in style.

"I've been holding this out," he said, tracking through his porterminal lists. "I -- wanted to see your face when you heard it."

"Heard what?" Lo asked, and Ianto pressed play.

A flicker of noise, first, almost like an orchestra tuning, not long but long enough to catch Lo's attention; then the first beautiful rise of the clarinet, and the horns joining in. Lo's jaw dropped when the melody began, da-daah dah daa dah...

"Rhapsody in Blue," Ianto told him.

"Gershwin," Lo said, and Ianto's heart fell.

"You've heard -- "

"No, but it sounds like him," Lo said absently, looking up a little, as if the music was written at the tops of the walls. Just then the piano joined in and his hands twitched, fingers moving as if he wanted to be playing it. "All those beautiful little melodies..."

Ianto caught Lo's face in his hands and kissed him. Lo kissed back with that same precision of earlier, but more carefully -- hands on shoulders, not around his waist, taking nothing for granted. Ianto tugged at the buckle on his collar.

"Are you sure -- " Lo started, while the music rose around them.

"Oddly enough," Ianto answered, leaning in to whisper in his ear, "and considering everything, never more so."

Lo laughed at that and swayed with the music, hands busy now at Ianto's throat, pulling open the buttons on his tunic, trying to do everything at once. Ianto let him; he could afford to be the method to Lo's chaos.

"Your boyfriend," Lo said, kissing Ianto's now-bared throat, and Ianto froze. "Was he good to you?"

Ianto drew back, looking at him. In the background, a piano trilled.

"What do you mean?" he asked, honestly lost.

"Was he good to you?" Lo repeated. "He wasn't -- back then I know it was different, I thought maybe he didn't -- I'll be good to you," he said, and reached out to touch Ianto's chest again, hesitantly. Ianto could have laughed, except for the earnest look on Lo's face.

"It's all right," he said, pulling Lo close by the wrist. "He was good to me. I'm not new at this."

Lo nodded and kissed him again like he wanted to claim him, and in the background Gershwin played on. Ianto was faintly conscious of it, of the way Lo's breath seemed to stop sometimes, but he was busy trying to get them both out of the ridiculous clothing of The Future and trying to keep Lo's slightly uncoordinated groping from interfering with that goal. Lo didn't even seem to care about getting their clothing off. He still had his tunic on and Ianto was still in his trousers when Lo backed him into a wall and held him there, face pressed against his throat, catching enough of the melody to hum along with it as he dug his hands into Ianto's trousers and pulled their bodies together.

"This isn't going to work if I can't get my trousers off," Ianto said, quite seriously, but Lo was caught up in the music, breath hitching -- oh, god --

Lo moaned, his whole body moving, hips thrusting, his cock rubbing roughly against Ianto's trousers. Ianto tried to slow him down and then gave up, pulling his face up for a kiss. Lo bit down hard on his lip and came all over his trousers with a grunt.

Ianto rested his forehead against Lo's. You always did have a thing for uniforms, he thought, but didn't say.

"Good," Lo breathed, and Ianto raised an eyebrow. "Thank you, now I can -- " he reached for Ianto's clothing, shoving it down, shedding his own shirt much more quickly than he seemed to have been able to do before. "C'mere, c'mere," he urged, pulling Ianto towards the bed. In the background they'd hit the strings-section passage.

Lo pushed him onto the bed and nuzzled his collarbone, hands seemingly everywhere at once. It took Ianto a moment to realise what he'd done -- intentionally come first, got his own pleasure out of the way quickly and carelessly, because now Lo was concentrating on him. That laserlike focus, all for him, all for Ianto's skin and muscle and scars. It was almost embarrassing, and Ianto raised his hands to cover his face.

"No, don't," Lo said, pulling them away, rubbing his thumb down Ianto's cheek. "You're so handsome. You shouldn't."

"Twenty-first century modesty," Ianto said, and laughed. "Don't look too closely."

"Why not?" Lo asked, sounding amused as well. He bent and kissed the jut of Ianto's ribcage, light quick kisses that seemed to play along his nerves. "It's just a kiss," he said, and bent again to kiss the other side. "Tell me what you like."

"I -- it's not something you just say," Ianto fumbled, covering his face again. Lo licked up the side of his stomach and Ianto laughed, involuntary.

"Aha, ticklish," Lo said triumphantly, and licked again.

"No don't -- " Ianto reached down to stop him, but Lo ran a hand up his stomach and took his cock in his mouth at the same time. Ianto jerked and moaned.

"Relax," Lo said, very gentle, a little too gently really, but Ianto chose to ignore it. He gripped the blanket instead and concentrated on Lo's mouth, warm and tight around his cock. Lo's head bobbed and he began to hum -- to the music, oh, this was either some kind of dysfunction or the best thing ever. The horns rose to a crescendo and the cymbals crashed and --

Lo raised his head, one hand still holding Ianto's body down, and licked the side of his mouth. The room was silent.

"That was great," he said. Ianto laughed breathlessly.

"That song is nine minutes long," he said.

"Well, there's nothing wrong with speed," Lo told him, crawling up to lie next to him on the bed. Ianto tried not to see Jack's face in Lo's, but there it was, framed by Lo's slightly-curled hair -- even the pain always lurking in Jack's eyes was there, perhaps not so much of it but still some. Jack's slow post-coital smile, too.

Lo rested his head on Ianto's shoulder, snuffling against his skin happily.

"Is it quiet for you?" Ianto asked. Lo huffed out a breath, shifting a little.

"Yes," he said. "Here? Yes."

"That's good," Ianto said. "You should have peace, sometimes."

"It's not always awful," Lo told him. "Life's pretty good most of the time, you know."

He was still moving, and Ianto propped himself on one elbow -- Lo had a hand on his cock, his very hard cock, and was stroking it absently. He looked at Lo, who gave him a filthy grin.

"Don't do that," Ianto said, pulling his hand away.

"Oh, come on, don't tell me they don't allow that in -- "

"That's not what I meant," Ianto replied. He slid his own hand down and took up where Lo left off. Lo looked at him, confusion and arousal crossing his face. "Let me do something for you."

"It's not about me," Lo answered, but he nuzzled Ianto's bicep and his hips pushed up into Ianto's hand.

"I'm sure that's not how we think in this century," Ianto told him, wondering if this actually was some sort of problem. He thought back to Lo's very explicit stories about that boy in Cardiff -- which had all been about what Lo did for the boy, and not much about what the boy had done for Lo. "Aren't you worth something?" he asked. Lo whined high in his throat and clutched Ianto's arm.

"It's just -- easier if -- " he panted, fingers digging into Ianto's skin. "It's -- oh you bastard," he broke off, as Ianto slowed, stroking him leisurely, stopping to give him a gentle squeeze at the bottom of every downstroke. Jack had loved that.

"What's easier?" Ianto asked in a whisper.

"Sometimes with people," Lo gasped, "it's hard to -- sometimes I can't -- I'm fucked up," he murmured. Ianto didn't stop. "Please just -- "

"Easy," Ianto told him. "We have time."

"That feels good," Lo moaned, slumping down a little. Ianto wasn't fooled.

"Sometimes with people...?" he asked.

"It's like they're not real," Lo said, looking up at Ianto. "They don't mean anything."

"But I am," Ianto told him. Lo nodded, then let his eyes roll up a little as Ianto sped up. "So this is all right, isn't it?"

"Yes -- I -- " Lo tipped his head back. "Ianto, that's -- there -- "

Ianto dragged his thumb across the head of Lo's cock on his upstroke, and Lo came silently, eyes closed, one hand gripping Ianto's wrist tightly. Ianto waited until he'd come down a little from the orgasm, then let him go, wiping his hand on the blanket. It'd wash. Sonic laundry, and all.

Lo exhaled slowly. "You weren't kidding."

"About what?" Ianto asked, settling down closer to him.

"You're not new at this," Lo said, and then he laughed. "You must think I'm an asshole."

"No, Lo," Ianto said. "No, I don't think that."

Lo turned on his side, facing him, tracing the lines of Ianto's face with his eyes. "It's not that I think I'm worthless," he said, after a moment. "I'm actually sort of a catch."

Ianto smiled.

"Chaplain and I talked about it some," Lo went on. "It's -- in war you depend on your mates. You trust them with your life. But you learn not to get too close. Here I don't have to trust anyone with my life, but I'm still keeping my distance. It's not really good for me, he says."

He was silent for a while, considering something, studying something Ianto couldn't see.

"How old were you when your first lover died?" Ianto asked. Lo focused back on him.

"His name was Gath. When I joined up, I left him on Boeshane. They were strafed when I was fifteen. Heavy casualties," Lo said, with a sort of offhand carelessness. "We used to sneak off from bathing and mess around. The rest of them died in the war."

Ianto propped himself on an elbow. "What, all of them?"

"I joined the guerillas, I didn't have time for civilians. The Flyers took the 43rd's flagship. A couple of us got out, not many. Beal -- my best friend -- died. My captain died. And I came here," Lo said, eyes closing. "It's easier to make someone happy and just go on. Like a gift. That way they don't belong to you, it doesn't hurt so much when they die."

Ianto bit his lip, because he knew that entering the Fleet, or the Time Agency, would mean a lifetime of watching people die. Worse, for Jack Harkness; endless lifetimes. And he wanted to tell him, Lo, this doesn't have to be your life. You don't have to save everyone. You could be anything else. Something safe, somewhere the people you love don't die horribly in war.

But what if Lo took him at his word, left the Fleet, never joined the Time Agency? Time would spin loose.

"It's fucked up, I said it was fucked up," Lo said reproachfully. "Chaplain says nobody can fix me but myself and it's okay if sometimes I don't want to. You don't have to save me, I'm not asking you to."

"I wasn't planning on it," Ianto drawled.

Lo smiled at him, opening his eyes. "That's because you know," he said, pushing Ianto back and crawling up his body, kissing him. "Wherever you were, whatever you did, you learned -- what I know. The others don't understand."

"I wasn't a soldier," Ianto protested. Lo folded his arms on Ianto's chest, resting his chin on them.

"Can I ask you something?" Lo said.

"I think you're owed."

"Maybe," Lo said. "Why'd you run away tonight? Why'd you come back?"

God, how was he to answer that. Even you reminded me of someone was dangerous.

"Twenty-first century jitters," he said finally. He'd known once how to lie to Jack; it seemed to work on Lo, who nodded. "Sex...where I come from, means something. Something about power, ownership. It isn't so simple as it is here."

Lo tilted his head. "If it were your time, would you have power or would I?"

Oh, Jack.

"I'm supposed to be in authority. I would. This would be seen as an abuse of my power," Ianto said.

"I don't feel abused," Lo remarked.

"Different times."

"Hm. Time." Lo yawned and closed his eyes again, apparently content to use Ianto as a pillow. "When I'm a Time Agent, if I went back to your time -- "

"You couldn't seduce your students," Ianto told him.

"Bet I could," Lo said, grinning sleepily.

"Shouldn't, then."

"Mmh," Lo heaved out a heavy breath and slipped almost visibly down into sleep. Ianto let his head fall back a little and listened to Lo's easy breathing until he slept as well.

Chapter Six

Glenn Miller - In The Mood | Sendspace Mirror
Benny Goodman - Sing Sing Sing | Sendspace Mirror
Ella Fitzgerald - Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered | Sendspace Mirror
John Barrowman - Moon River | Sendspace Mirror
George Gershwin - Rhapsody in Blue | Sendspace Mirror