fic: Eight Hours 3/? [R] Torchwood/Highlander
Author: A Lanart
Title: Eight hours
Fandom: Torchwood/Highlander
Characters: Jack/Ianto/Methos
Rating: R for nekkid bloke
Warnings/Spoilers: None/TW S1 and KKBB
Disclaimer: Torchwood belongs to Aunty Beeb. Methos belongs to Panzer/Davis productions
Summary: Temporal Displacement? Makes your tongue tingle...
A/N: Been a while since I visited these three, took me this long to chase down the muses to where they'd been hiding in Ianto's cleaning cupboard. Not the usual place I find them I have to admit. Bribes to stop them running off again will cheerfully be accepted.
Part One
Part Two
Part 3
Jack found himself half led and half pushed into Ianto’s bedroom. It wasn’t a place with which he was very familiar so his stomach did a little flip when he realised that Methos was, and comfortably so. He closed his eyes for a second, wondering what else he had missed. There was the scrape of a chair being moved behind him, but before he could turn around to see what was going on there were fingers at the buttons of his shirt, at the fastening of his trousers, sliding the braces off his shoulders. There were no whispered terms of endearment, no feather light kisses across his exposed skin, just two pairs of ruthlessly efficient hands that stripped him as quickly as possible and pushed him down to sit in the unseen chair once he was naked. Methos knelt to remove the trousers that were now crumpled around Jack’s ankles and laid them aside, to be folded up by Ianto judging by the rustle of cloth from behind him soon after. Jack smiled, but he didn’t try to look as his gaze was fixed on the figure kneeling before him. He reached out to bring Methos closer; to touch, to kiss, to *feel* and was surprised when his wrists were clamped in Methos’ vice like grip.
“You touch only when we say you can touch.” Methos’ voice wasn’t quite a growl, but it was very close. He tightened his fingers and Jack couldn’t help the instinctive flinch as the touch evoked unwanted memories of a year that only he remembered. Then they were gone, and a thumb rubbed gently at skin that been chafed raw only a short while ago. Jack noticed the quick shake of his head that Methos gave, presumably to Ianto, before he dropped a light kiss onto the inner surface of each wrist as if in apology. “We are going to have to talk about where you’ve been sometime,” he whispered, “But not yet. For now you’re going to stay right where you are.” Jack found his hands guided past his legs to the seat of the chair, and his fingers instinctively curled around the wood as if he were holding on for dear life. He was rewarded with a pat to the back of his hand as Methos stood up so the hand that fisted in his hair was somewhat unexpected. Jack didn’t resist as his head was tilted back just enough for him to meet Methos’ eyes. They weren’t the eyes of his sardonic and somewhat playful lover; they were the flat and expressionless eyes of a 5000 year old man who had seen too much. He swallowed nervously as Methos continued, “I think you need reminding why it isn’t a good idea to disappear on people who rely on you without any explanation.” The fist in Jack’s hair loosened and became a caress rather than a restraint and the stony expression softened as Methos flicked a glance upward. “Luckily for you, Ianto convinced me that you just need to realise what you missed.” There was another hand in Jack’s hair, gentle against his scalp, tangling with Methos’ fingers, and soft lips against his forehead. He relaxed into Ianto’s sure touch but didn’t take his eyes off Methos, who was now grinning with a suspiciously evil looking twinkle in his eye.
“What are you going to do?” Jack hoped that his voice didn’t sound as unsure to them as it did to him. Neither Ianto nor Methos were malicious as such, but they could both be unpredictable and certainly weren’t above making their displeasure known.
“To you? Nothing,” Methos said as the hand in Jack’s hair moved to cup his face. “You’ve just got to stay right where we’ve put you. Can you do that?”
“I can try.” Jack nodded against Methos’ hand. There was a chuckle from behind him and Ianto intoned;
“Do or do not; there is no try.” Jack tried to turn his head to glare at Ianto, but he was stopped by Methos’ hand on his chin.
“All right, all right, I can do it,” he agreed with a degree of irritation. “Anything to stop Ianto quoting fictional little green men at me.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Jack waited for Methos to say the rest of whatever it was he was sure was going to be said and when he was met with silence he prompted,
“And?”
“And what?” Methos queried in an offhand manner, gently stroking a thumb along Jack’s jaw line. Jack wanted to grind his teeth in frustration; Methos somehow managed to do guileless very well and it was damned annoying. He kept his fingers firmly clamped around the chair seat no matter that he wanted to shake the immortal, plus Ianto for good measure, and sighed.
“What else do I need to do?” He asked; Methos positively smirked at him before replying,
“Nothing. Sit there, in that chair and don’t move a muscle. You can look, you can listen, but if you so much as twitch you’ll regret it. No moving and no touching anyone; not me, not Ianto and definitely not yourself. If you manage it you might just get a reward for good behaviour.” Jack tried to stifle the disappointed moan that seemed to rise from within him without volition. He wasn’t quite successful as he still let out a strangled sounding squeak, which wasn’t a terribly dignified sound.
“However, there *is* one exception to the not-moving-a-muscle rule,” Ianto murmured, his breath was warm against Jack’s ear; Jack could almost *hear* the smile in his voice.
“Which is?” He asked, trying to keep any inflection out of his voice.
“What do you think?” Methos replied with a grin, before reaching down and running one finger along the length of Jack’s half-hard cock, which ensured that it certainly wasn’t half-hard any more; he only just stopped himself from bucking up into the fleeting touch. Methos chuckled and stepped out of Jack’s line of sight.
There were further rustling noises from behind him and Jack wished he dared turn around but the temptation of the reward that had been dangled in front of him was too great to risk losing, so instead he closed his eyes and let his other senses take over.
“You are such a prick tease, Methos.” Ianto’s voice, with laughter bubbling just under the surface. It was good to actually hear it rather than try to remember what it sounded like, what it felt like.
“Like you weren’t thinking about doing exactly the same thing.” Jack smiled to himself, Methos managed to sound both aggrieved and suggestive without any apparent effort. He was probably doing his mock-glare at Ianto too, the one that matched the tone of his voice perfectly. Of course, Ianto would agree, possibly try to tie Methos in a verbal knot and then...
“Thinking about, yes. But that doesn’t...”
“Ianto?” Jack leaned back in the chair, glad that it was padded and not one of the wooden straight-back ones from the other room. He recognised Methos’ ‘I’ve had enough of playing around’ voice but he wasn’t sure that Ianto had.
“Methos?” Ianto’s voice sent a thrill of anticipation through Jack; it was both an acknowledgement and a challenge, he’d in effect thrown down the gauntlet. Jack had no doubt that the challenge would be accepted.
“Shut up.” Ianto made no articulate reply to that but the low moan and the moist sound of lips and tongues meeting was answer enough.
Title: Eight hours
Fandom: Torchwood/Highlander
Characters: Jack/Ianto/Methos
Rating: R for nekkid bloke
Warnings/Spoilers: None/TW S1 and KKBB
Disclaimer: Torchwood belongs to Aunty Beeb. Methos belongs to Panzer/Davis productions
Summary: Temporal Displacement? Makes your tongue tingle...
A/N: Been a while since I visited these three, took me this long to chase down the muses to where they'd been hiding in Ianto's cleaning cupboard. Not the usual place I find them I have to admit. Bribes to stop them running off again will cheerfully be accepted.
Part One
Part Two
Part 3
Jack found himself half led and half pushed into Ianto’s bedroom. It wasn’t a place with which he was very familiar so his stomach did a little flip when he realised that Methos was, and comfortably so. He closed his eyes for a second, wondering what else he had missed. There was the scrape of a chair being moved behind him, but before he could turn around to see what was going on there were fingers at the buttons of his shirt, at the fastening of his trousers, sliding the braces off his shoulders. There were no whispered terms of endearment, no feather light kisses across his exposed skin, just two pairs of ruthlessly efficient hands that stripped him as quickly as possible and pushed him down to sit in the unseen chair once he was naked. Methos knelt to remove the trousers that were now crumpled around Jack’s ankles and laid them aside, to be folded up by Ianto judging by the rustle of cloth from behind him soon after. Jack smiled, but he didn’t try to look as his gaze was fixed on the figure kneeling before him. He reached out to bring Methos closer; to touch, to kiss, to *feel* and was surprised when his wrists were clamped in Methos’ vice like grip.
“You touch only when we say you can touch.” Methos’ voice wasn’t quite a growl, but it was very close. He tightened his fingers and Jack couldn’t help the instinctive flinch as the touch evoked unwanted memories of a year that only he remembered. Then they were gone, and a thumb rubbed gently at skin that been chafed raw only a short while ago. Jack noticed the quick shake of his head that Methos gave, presumably to Ianto, before he dropped a light kiss onto the inner surface of each wrist as if in apology. “We are going to have to talk about where you’ve been sometime,” he whispered, “But not yet. For now you’re going to stay right where you are.” Jack found his hands guided past his legs to the seat of the chair, and his fingers instinctively curled around the wood as if he were holding on for dear life. He was rewarded with a pat to the back of his hand as Methos stood up so the hand that fisted in his hair was somewhat unexpected. Jack didn’t resist as his head was tilted back just enough for him to meet Methos’ eyes. They weren’t the eyes of his sardonic and somewhat playful lover; they were the flat and expressionless eyes of a 5000 year old man who had seen too much. He swallowed nervously as Methos continued, “I think you need reminding why it isn’t a good idea to disappear on people who rely on you without any explanation.” The fist in Jack’s hair loosened and became a caress rather than a restraint and the stony expression softened as Methos flicked a glance upward. “Luckily for you, Ianto convinced me that you just need to realise what you missed.” There was another hand in Jack’s hair, gentle against his scalp, tangling with Methos’ fingers, and soft lips against his forehead. He relaxed into Ianto’s sure touch but didn’t take his eyes off Methos, who was now grinning with a suspiciously evil looking twinkle in his eye.
“What are you going to do?” Jack hoped that his voice didn’t sound as unsure to them as it did to him. Neither Ianto nor Methos were malicious as such, but they could both be unpredictable and certainly weren’t above making their displeasure known.
“To you? Nothing,” Methos said as the hand in Jack’s hair moved to cup his face. “You’ve just got to stay right where we’ve put you. Can you do that?”
“I can try.” Jack nodded against Methos’ hand. There was a chuckle from behind him and Ianto intoned;
“Do or do not; there is no try.” Jack tried to turn his head to glare at Ianto, but he was stopped by Methos’ hand on his chin.
“All right, all right, I can do it,” he agreed with a degree of irritation. “Anything to stop Ianto quoting fictional little green men at me.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Jack waited for Methos to say the rest of whatever it was he was sure was going to be said and when he was met with silence he prompted,
“And?”
“And what?” Methos queried in an offhand manner, gently stroking a thumb along Jack’s jaw line. Jack wanted to grind his teeth in frustration; Methos somehow managed to do guileless very well and it was damned annoying. He kept his fingers firmly clamped around the chair seat no matter that he wanted to shake the immortal, plus Ianto for good measure, and sighed.
“What else do I need to do?” He asked; Methos positively smirked at him before replying,
“Nothing. Sit there, in that chair and don’t move a muscle. You can look, you can listen, but if you so much as twitch you’ll regret it. No moving and no touching anyone; not me, not Ianto and definitely not yourself. If you manage it you might just get a reward for good behaviour.” Jack tried to stifle the disappointed moan that seemed to rise from within him without volition. He wasn’t quite successful as he still let out a strangled sounding squeak, which wasn’t a terribly dignified sound.
“However, there *is* one exception to the not-moving-a-muscle rule,” Ianto murmured, his breath was warm against Jack’s ear; Jack could almost *hear* the smile in his voice.
“Which is?” He asked, trying to keep any inflection out of his voice.
“What do you think?” Methos replied with a grin, before reaching down and running one finger along the length of Jack’s half-hard cock, which ensured that it certainly wasn’t half-hard any more; he only just stopped himself from bucking up into the fleeting touch. Methos chuckled and stepped out of Jack’s line of sight.
There were further rustling noises from behind him and Jack wished he dared turn around but the temptation of the reward that had been dangled in front of him was too great to risk losing, so instead he closed his eyes and let his other senses take over.
“You are such a prick tease, Methos.” Ianto’s voice, with laughter bubbling just under the surface. It was good to actually hear it rather than try to remember what it sounded like, what it felt like.
“Like you weren’t thinking about doing exactly the same thing.” Jack smiled to himself, Methos managed to sound both aggrieved and suggestive without any apparent effort. He was probably doing his mock-glare at Ianto too, the one that matched the tone of his voice perfectly. Of course, Ianto would agree, possibly try to tie Methos in a verbal knot and then...
“Thinking about, yes. But that doesn’t...”
“Ianto?” Jack leaned back in the chair, glad that it was padded and not one of the wooden straight-back ones from the other room. He recognised Methos’ ‘I’ve had enough of playing around’ voice but he wasn’t sure that Ianto had.
“Methos?” Ianto’s voice sent a thrill of anticipation through Jack; it was both an acknowledgement and a challenge, he’d in effect thrown down the gauntlet. Jack had no doubt that the challenge would be accepted.
“Shut up.” Ianto made no articulate reply to that but the low moan and the moist sound of lips and tongues meeting was answer enough.