Summary: Ianto is Jack's manservant of sorts, and both come to terms with what they want from one another. Victorian AU, by a request.
Author's Notes: Aide-de-Âme is a play of words ('âme' means 'soul' in French). And yes, I know that aide-de-camp is usually only used during war, but Jack does consider himself the Captain after all. It was a tad intense to write and I hope you enjoy it!
Also posted on FF.net and AO3.
Jack leant one shoulder on the doorframe, taking a look into his bedroom. Ianto Jones was there, of course, working away in the wee hours at night as usual, and the Captain paused for a moment to admire the view he’d been offered while the young man still hadn’t noticed him.
He had hired him a year back, when the boy had been just twenty-two years old and left without a family or a roof above his head. It was strange, really, that he had somehow managed to get so attached to the youngest member of his household in such a short time, and he had yet to mention it, even if Ianto seemed eager to return the sentiment.
They’d carefully danced around this for a while; twirled and twisted and stayed just out of reach from one another, and Jack had had enough. It was stupid – everyone in the manor he’d bought a few years ago knew just how things were and no one from his workers would dare to say a thing about it.
“Ianto.” He let his voice drift over to the young man and watched as he looked up from whatever it was he was fiddling with and look at him, eyes wide in question. “What are you doing up so late?”
“I needed to fix your saddle, Sir,” he explained, lifting the object in question up so Jack could see it on the light of the candle. “Your – expeditions would be much less harmful if you would let me improve it. It could use some padding.”
“Well, I hadn’t realised that crossing the ocean would mean having to settle in the outskirts of the city,” Jack shot back, momentarily distracted by the way Ianto’s eyes gleamed in the near-darkness of the room, “and it being muddy enough for the carriage to sink in it before I even get out of the front gate.”
“America has spoilt you, Sir,” the boy quipped, leaving the saddle aside and standing up. Jack gulped, suddenly nervous as Ianto stood in front of him, close enough that they could be kissing. “Let’s break you in gently.”
Jack’s breath got stuck in his throat at the low voice that seemed to settle itself bone deep into his body. He could hear it rumbling where their torsos were pressed together and it made him shiver, his fingers reaching up to trace Ianto’s face almost on their own accord.
On the candlelight, his aide-de-camp was all sharp angles and soft skin and Jack had never wanted to kiss him more. He had seen his servants look at the boy the same way more than once – with secret longing and stolen glances; hidden smiles before he could notice, and the Captain knew that he’d fallen under the same spell.
Despite the boyish figure, still carrying some of the gracelessness of adolescence, Ianto was beautiful, especially in the suit Jack had had specially tailored for him. His eyes were wide and blue, midnight violet in the darkness and his lips were like a promise of a place between heaven and hell; a sin that vowed to take him beyond anything he’d felt before.
“I don’t tend to think of it that way,” he breathed at last. “America did not prepare me in the slightest for what I would find here.”
“I do think you know exactly what to do, Sir,” Ianto returned and, before Jack could stop him or encourage him, he’d pressed their lips together. “There are some things that one needs no preparation for.”
“Oh, you think so, don’t you?” Jack teased, pulling away and letting one of his thumbs trace the young man’s lower lip, admiring it even more as it curled into a smile under the caress. “I thought you were the one saying that I tend to have the more experience, regardless the situation.”
One of those perfectly sculpted eyebrows raised and Jack’s heart skipped a beat as he directed them both towards the spacious bed that took up the bigger part of Jack’s bedroom. “So prove it.”