The Return of the Magnificent Seven

As soon as Ianto heard Jack mention the name Jean-Marc he felt his testicles retracting back into his body in abject horror. He still had nightmares over his trip to Paris. He had gone there under orders to snoop around the State Archives but after a night of the Frenchman's unique hospitality he had merely ended up wandering around in a fugue.

"Ianto. Is there a problem? You've gone pale." Sometimes it was difficult to calculate whether Jack was being devilishly manipulative or just plain clueless.

"He's coming here?" The railing beneath his fingers was cold, immutable. It bit into his hands, the chill racing up his arms and threatening to freeze his pounding heart.  His precious Hub, his holy of holies, was to be violated by that suave, sophisticated fallen angel.

"Yes. With his section chief, Madeleine."

He let the tension melt from his shoulders. Safety in numbers. As long as Jean-Marc was accompanied his ability to wreak mayhem on Ianto's ordered life was minimised. Just occasionally he could see the upside to teamwork. "I'm sure Janet will make them feel welcome." From behind he heard Owen snigger.

"Very funny Ianto. It will give you a chance to return their hospitality." Jack pointed an emphatic finger at Gwen. "I'll expect you and Owen to keep things quiet up top whilst I entertain Madame Guillotine. She has a certain reputation of being vulpine. That means no weevil outbreaks and no UFO hunting by our local constabulary. I want her to think we run a tight ship."

Like the eye of Sauron Jack turned inexorably back to look at Ianto. "And you can keep tabs on Jean-Marc. Make sure he's kept busy enough so he doesn't feel the need to go snooping around. Stick close to him Ianto. Like a shadow."

Ianto wondered glumly if his testicles would ever see the light of day again.


"Your commander said I was to feel at home," Jean-Marc said between strokes, "so I took him at his word." The Frenchman's jaw clenched momentarily. "Finished." He gazed down at his handiwork with obvious pride. "I am frequently praised for the quantity of my ejaculate. Is it not impressive?"

Ianto wondered, not for the first time that day, whether anything in Owen's drug cabinet was both untraceable and tasteless. Nevertheless he refused to be baited and wordlessly passed the open box of tissues to the visitor.

"Thank you." The young man dabbed at his crotch, handing Ianto the used sheets when he was finished with them.  "It is not good for the body to keep fluids stored up for too long."

The smell was beginning to get to Ianto. That and the unpleasant stickiness on his fingers. Perhaps drugs were too obvious. Something less artificial? Belladonna? Arab women used to dissolve henna in coffee to poison recalcitrant husbands. It might be worthwhile if he called Gwen…

Jean-Marc tucked himself back into his trousers then from the depths of a pocket lit up a squashed cigarette and sucked in the dense smoke. It smelled rank to Ianto, like dried road kill. Thin fingers curled around the paper stem. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back. "Sometimes I think I bring myself to orgasm only for the bliss of the cigarillo afterwards."

Ianto snorted.

A sliver of black pupil eyed him analytically. "You are still a buttoned-up schoolboy at heart." He smiled slightly like a panther. "Have I made you hard yet, Ianto?"


"I wish to make myself useful to you," Jean-Marc announced, finally disposing of his vile cigarette in Ianto's favourite mug. "And as your chief seems incapable of trusting me with your computer I will have to be of assistance another way." He sniffed disdainfully at the red tie. "I need to do something about your dress sense. It is most offensive to me."

Ianto moved out of reach. "I have work that needs doing." Perhaps Jean-Marc would like to help him in sweeping out the weevils' bedding. That ought to put a damper on even his appetites.

"Then don't let me keep you. I find the architecture of this establishment fascinating. It will be most enjoyable to explore it further. " He cocked his head at an angle and gave a sinister half-smile.

I could lock you in here, Ianto thought angrily, but I'd probably spend a week scraping semen off the furnishings. He glared at the Frenchman who shrugged almost apologetically as he advanced.


A quick finger poked him rudely in the stomach. "I think you are putting on weight. Swallowing too much of your Captain's cream?" A second finger slipped between two shirt buttons and slyly brushed the nub of Ianto's left nipple. "You have a lot of body hair."


"I am curious," Jean-Marc said, continuing to unbutton Ianto's shirt. "When you make a fist, is it difficult to clean your hairs afterwards? It must get very sticky."

Ianto gulped down air. There was a strange feeling welling in the pit of his stomach.

"Does your man watch you as you do it? Does he stand in the doorway with his manhood swelling in his hand? Does he wait until you have finished to bend down and lick your stomach?"

As he watched aghast his best white shirt was tossed over the desk barely missing a half-empty bottle of Chilean red Gwen had left there from the previous night. Taking advantage of the Welshman's distraction Jean-Marc's fingers expertly loosened his belt and in a single move slipped his suit trousers down to his ankles. The damp air on his legs instantly shocked Ianto back to attention. For a moment he couldn't decide whether to pull them up again but eventually he came to the conclusion it was easier to run away when his feet were free.

As he carefully removed his trousers and folded them over the back of a chair Jean-Marc circled him like a bird of prey. "Now what?"

"I was wondering," Jean-Marc said with apparent sincerity, "whether the damp patch on your underwear was due to a hygiene problem or arousal at my presence."

Ianto felt his face redden immediately as he tried in vain to find a suitable reply.

"Does your Captain make you as wet?" There was something white in the palm of Jean-Marc's hand he couldn't quite make out. He jumped involuntarily as a finger stroked the back of a thigh. "You have the legs of a player of rugby."

As Jean-Marc moved out of sight again Ianto saw with cold precision just what the other man was keeping in his hand. For the second time that day his testicles went into hibernation. He closed his eyes tight shut as his boxers were pulled out of place.

One of Jean-Marc's tissues ran over the surface of Ianto's most sensitive area of skin. "There. Perhaps you ought to wear a pad." He felt himself being studied like a prize race horse. "You have a very small scrotum. Has your Captain commented on that?"

The hands left him alone. After a few moments Ianto chanced opening one eye. Jean-Marc was still staring at his manhood: "hmm."

"What do you want to say?"

"In France, if anyone was your size they would trim to make it appear larger. Is this not the same here? Or do the men of Wales not worry about such matters?"

He opened a second eye to allow him to scowl back. "If it were anyone but you—"

"I know," said Jean-Marc. "Most people find me so attractive they are at their largest with me."

There was only one way to shut Jean-Marc up…

Best to get things over with. Ianto reached out and grasped the back of Jean-Marc's head in his hands, his dark hair soft to the touch. Pulling closer his lips closed on the Frenchman's, tongue darting between cool lips.

After a minute they pulled apart.

"You wish to make love to me now?" Dark eyes grazed his face.

Ianto nodded.

"Ah. Of course" He beckoned for Ianto to start undressing him; arms wide like a scarecrow's. "But please remember I am not a homosexual. My enjoyment will be less than yours."


"What were you thinking of?" Jack said grimly, replacing the copy of Jean-Marc's X-ray into its envelope. "You lasted five hours with him before you brained him with a paperweight. Second degree concussion."

"I… I'm sorry. Sir." That was it then. Court martial. Or did Torchwood just shoot people?

"Is that all you can say? I was relying on you Ianto. You're supposed to be my right-hand man."

He stared hard at the floor. Please let it be quick whatever happened. "You have no idea what he was like."

"I have every idea, Ianto. I read your last report."

"You left me with that bastard." Eyes wide and glaring back. "What did you expect?"

"I didn't expect you to last a whole five hours." Jack snapped, pushed the envelope away. "I was hoping you'd deal with him quickly so that harpy Madeleine would take flight in a fit of pique. Honestly — do you think I had an easier time making five hours' worth of excuses to keep her from our records?"

"So now what?"

"That depends," Jack said, licking his lips. "On whether you picked up a thing or two from him."

"You're a tart, Sir."


"You know, there's been a funny smell in here since that Frenchman visited," Gwen complained, looking around the reception desk as if the odour was visible.

"I see dead people," Ianto quipped happily, advancing on another stain with a spray of bleach and a fetching pair of yellow marigolds.