Coat Porn
Title: Transactions
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Summary: Episode Tag for Countrycide
Rating: R (Sexual situations)
Warnings: ambiguous motivations
Word Count: 2,061
Authors Note: This was workshopped with a couple of people.... months ago, and I'm only just posting it. My bad. If anyone is interested. 4 fics were written to the same prompt. Those fics were this one, Take your coat, Sir?, by sanginmychains, Affirmation , by resourceress, and Dawn, broken , by demotu . Read them, it's amusing to see how different 4 people writing to the same prompt can be.
Beta(s): sanginmychains ,demotu ,resourceress
Jack's breathing had returned to a steady cadence hours ago, but the adrenaline was only just fading and of course the final cost of the weekend’s excursion was still to be tallied. Jack could make out Ianto’s form, sprawled across the back bench of the SUV as he pulled up to Ianto’s building. It would have been nice if the price associated Ianto’s inductions into field work were less livid. But the A and E had released him, without even a warning against concussion. It was the small mercies that let one survive. Jack pulled open the passenger door.
“I’ll walk you to your flat,” he stated.
Ianto pulled himself unsteadily to his feet, and accepted Jack’s offered arm through the front door of the building and even into the elevator. He didn’t push Jack away until the double doors of the lift closed behind them and he could guide himself along the narrow hallway with a hand on each wall. Jack trailed half a step behind and watched him, wishing and willing Ianto upright.
At length Ianto stopped in front of a doorway and fumbled lethargically with his keys. Jack stood, not quite touching, just behind him, ready with a supporting hand, a firm presence, or what ever it was that Ianto needed to get him home. For the moment, though, Ianto didn’t seem to need anything. Jack was just standing, inhaling the strangeness of not-quite-Ianto’s scent coming off of the borrowed clothes and well aware that he was too close for 21st century personal space. But Ianto didn’t seem to mind.
The door swung open and Ianto almost fell two steps forward, skidding across the threshold on an unaddressed envelope - “5% interest, no hidden fees” - advertising a credit card. Jack stayed outside watching and waiting, sure that Ianto could find his way from here, but unwilling to leave until the door actually closed. Ianto paused and Jack could see his shoulders rise and fall twice, before he straightened and turned, gripping the edge of the door.
“I... survive cannibals only to be done in by junk mail,” Ianto began, and then crushed the nervous smile that had skittered across his face and grimaced. Maybe that wasn’t quite what Ianto had meant to say. Jack waited, a little curious to see what came next. Maybe, a little concerned.
“Do you...” Ianto swallowed. Jack's eyes were drawn to the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple. “Think they really extend those terms to someone with no official credit rating?”
Jack raised one eyebrow and cocked his head to the side. It was obvious that wasn’t what Ianto had intended to say either. An almost panicked expression flitted across Ianto’s face as he tried to form some thought into a coherent, safe, request. Jack could pinpoint the moment Ianto gave up. His expression collapsed into a practiced smile and he fell back into a phrase that came out smoothly. “Would you like something warm to drink before you go?” Jack paused for a moment, assessing the offer, but it seemed genuine. He met Ianto’s eyes, and watched him swallow again, before nodding slowly and smiling gently.
“If you’re offering coffee, I would love one,” Jack replied carefully, outlining the terms before stepping into the flat. Ianto’s smile was almost grateful.
The rhythms were familiar and efficient, and the drone of the grinder obviated the need for further conversation. Ianto worked with his body half turned away from the counter, glancing over more often than was strictly necessary to see that Jack had closed the door behind him, shucked his coat and seated himself at the square dinette in the kitchen.
“I’m still here,” Jack chuckled a little as his own gaze met one of Ianto’s glances. The chuckle died abruptly when it wasn’t echoed with even the flicker of a smile. Ianto’s expression stayed flat as he served Jack. It never changed - not when he lifted two mugs from the table and brushed in close, not when he pressed the mug into Jack’s hands, maintaining pressure for just a moment and sharing the warmth across the ceramic, and not when he settled himself into the seat next to Jack and let their knees press together under the small table, the backs of their hands almost touching.
“Alright then?” Ianto asked, meeting Jack’s eyes and holding them. Jack took a slow, small sip, letting the liquid stretch out along to the rim of the mug and cool before it had the chance to burn his tongue.
“Perfect,” Jack reassured him, and Ianto dropped his gaze, evaluating is own cup visually. His expression twisted, and Ianto started to speak into his drink.
“Would...,” but almost of its own volition, the coffee was lifted to the bow of his lips, and when the cup was removed, Ianto’s face was clear again. “Wouldn’t be anything less,” Ianto asserted, with a small shake of his head. Jack forced down an ugly surge of lust as Ianto’s tongue darted out and caught a stray droplet from his bottom lip. He stayed silent, tried to look open, and unthreatening, willing to allow what ever it was Ianto felt he needed to say and in no way desperately aware of the heat radiating from the man beside him. But the tense line from Ianto’s shoulders to the point of his index finger never softened, and Ianto didn’t looked up.
“Tonight I...” an inch and a half of coffee later Ianto tried again. The two clipped words were again drowned out by the bitter liquid and re-emerged looking nothing like the original thought. “Tonight I tried the dark French beans.”
“And?” Jack tried prompting, keeping his voice light. He was going to have to get out of there soon, before this went places it shouldn’t. He could already feel the tension building in the tilt of Ianto’s body and the insistent pressure of his knee.
But Ianto only looked up, quickly and wide-eyed and shook his head. “Nothing.”
Jack nodded and cocked his head, wondering more than a little.
By the third attempt, Jack wasn’t sure that he really wanted to know and the effort didn’t seem to be worth the cost. Ianto looked increasingly worn. He slouched, and under the table Jack knew Ianto’s posture had shifted because Ianto’s thigh was now braced against Jack's knee. If Jack wasn’t sitting in his kitchen, Ianto would probably have already hauled off to bed. Just sitting had become far too much of a strain in and of itself. Jack drained the cooling dregs with a long gulp and pushed back from the table. Ianto opened his mouth for one last try.
“You can tell me later Ianto.” Jack cut him off, not ungently. “You should go to bed now. Don’t come in until noon tomorrow. Better yet, take the day off if you can.”
Ianto nodded and stood, following mutely, as Jack donned his coat and pulled open the door.
“Jack?” Ianto asked a note of desperation colouring his voice. Jack turned on the threshold, catching Ianto’s cheek with his lips as Ianto pressed too close, too fast.
“Ianto?” Jack tried to ask, but was prevented, as Ianto repositioned, brushing with his lips, and slipping his hands past the folds of his coat to rest on Jack almost, but not quite, holding. Ianto’s touch was tentative, but his eyes were wide open and none of the earlier fatigue was evident. Maybe it hadn’t been entirely fatigue.
Surprise, more than rational considerations of rejecting Ianto’s advance, forced Jack back, breaking them apart, and Ianto’s face collapsed. The despair was unbearable and, for now, hope was so easy. Without thought or intent, Jack stepped forward again, bracing himself on the door frame with both hands to make good on the touches and gestures that had promised support. He was rewarded as Ianto came alive against his touch. This was something Jack knew how to fix. Jack pushed in a step farther and Ianto’s hands at his hips transformed into firm fingers which gripped at his waistband and shifted the material of his trousers ever so slightly across an already firm cock.
Jack swiped his tongue against Ianto’s lips then pressed in deeper. Ianto tasted bitter, his coffee uncut by milk and unsweetened by sugar, and he traced a frantic pattern around, curling against Jack’s tongue and slipping into a dance, following Jack’s lead too effortlessly. Jack forced down the reminder that they had been here before, and tried to focus everything on Ianto’s need, his own need. Ianto’s fingers at Jack’s belt slipped and pulled, tugging and twisting until Jack was just barely free and Ianto had one hand pressed between their bodies.
“Jack?” Ianto asked again, seeking something that wasn’t clear when all Jack could really see was his spit slicked lips, parted slightly and sucking in air. He wanted to bruise them, to protect them, to claim them.
“Yes.” It was a statement, the one answer he knew. Ianto pulled in even closer, smelling very much like himself again, finally comfortable in the clothes he was wearing and no longer awkward or lethargic. Jack closed his eyes, anticipating, but their lips never met. Instead the top of Ianto’s head brushed Jack's chin, and he pressed his face into Jack's untucked shirt. Ianto’s hand slid down Jack’s slack trousers and gripped at his thighs. Hot breath ghosted over the tip of Jack’s cock, and then he was cloaked in warmth and wetness. Jack’s eyes flew open.
“Ianto?” There was no verbal response, but the underside of Ianto’s tongue circled the head and Jack shivered and gazed downward, his question forgotten.
The top of Ianto’s head disturbed the thick wool of Jack's coat, sending heavy waves through the fabric. Jack groaned as Ianto swallowed down along his shaft. A half formed thought urged Jack to step forward, farther into the apartment, but then there was pressure at the tip, the back of Ianto’s throat, and he couldn’t press forward. Ianto was controlling the speed, the pace. Without gagging or choking him, there was no room for improvisation. Jack felt tightening and suction, cold touches of air and then heat again. Then pressure, and...
There were footsteps in the hall, distant and heavy. Ianto froze eyes wide and choked. He pulled back, his lips still stretched wide around Jack's cock, but looking up. He was still again, and determined and wild eyed. It was a look that was far too recently familiar. With stab of fear Jack remembered why this was a bad idea. Jack gathered his coat with one hand nearly closing it around the kneeling form in front of him. With the other hand he began to gently stroke the back Ianto’s head, and letting the fine hair card through his fingers as Ianto gradually relaxed and let his eyes fall shut. The soft vibration of Ianto’s muffled sigh caught in Jack's groin and tightened his balls.
Ianto’s eyes popped open. He smiled awkwardly around Jack’s prick, and brought his hands up to cup Jack's balls through his pants, feeling the evidence, weighing his options. Ianto pulled hard once, then twice, swirling all the way to the slit. As Ianto slid down for a third pull Jack bit back a cry and convulsed, trying for balance, and failing even in that at the end. Jack’s steps into the apartment sent Ianto sprawling on his arse, a glaze over his eyes and a missed drop of semen beaded just above his lip.
Jack closed the door carefully and crouched down until he was level with Ianto.
“Ianto?” Jack couldn’t read the expression on Ianto lips. He was closed and almost neutral, but Ianto’s eyes were wide, and fixed on Jack's. Jack took a deep breath, took in the swell of Ianto’s jeans and the sharp shallow breaths that were only just beginning to calm.
He hadn’t been going to ask. It was too soon, and too much. But.....
“What do you need?”
Ianto looked down and shook his head. It was the wrong question. Jack took a deep breath and considered briefly exactly what he was offering.
“What do you want?”
Ianto looked up, and he was trembling a little, and when he spoke, one quiet, tentative word. Jack wondered with a hint of fear what the full cost of his actions were going to be.
“Stay?”
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Summary: Episode Tag for Countrycide
Rating: R (Sexual situations)
Warnings: ambiguous motivations
Word Count: 2,061
Authors Note: This was workshopped with a couple of people.... months ago, and I'm only just posting it. My bad. If anyone is interested. 4 fics were written to the same prompt. Those fics were this one, Take your coat, Sir?, by sanginmychains, Affirmation , by resourceress, and Dawn, broken , by demotu . Read them, it's amusing to see how different 4 people writing to the same prompt can be.
Beta(s): sanginmychains ,demotu ,resourceress
Jack's breathing had returned to a steady cadence hours ago, but the adrenaline was only just fading and of course the final cost of the weekend’s excursion was still to be tallied. Jack could make out Ianto’s form, sprawled across the back bench of the SUV as he pulled up to Ianto’s building. It would have been nice if the price associated Ianto’s inductions into field work were less livid. But the A and E had released him, without even a warning against concussion. It was the small mercies that let one survive. Jack pulled open the passenger door.
“I’ll walk you to your flat,” he stated.
Ianto pulled himself unsteadily to his feet, and accepted Jack’s offered arm through the front door of the building and even into the elevator. He didn’t push Jack away until the double doors of the lift closed behind them and he could guide himself along the narrow hallway with a hand on each wall. Jack trailed half a step behind and watched him, wishing and willing Ianto upright.
At length Ianto stopped in front of a doorway and fumbled lethargically with his keys. Jack stood, not quite touching, just behind him, ready with a supporting hand, a firm presence, or what ever it was that Ianto needed to get him home. For the moment, though, Ianto didn’t seem to need anything. Jack was just standing, inhaling the strangeness of not-quite-Ianto’s scent coming off of the borrowed clothes and well aware that he was too close for 21st century personal space. But Ianto didn’t seem to mind.
The door swung open and Ianto almost fell two steps forward, skidding across the threshold on an unaddressed envelope - “5% interest, no hidden fees” - advertising a credit card. Jack stayed outside watching and waiting, sure that Ianto could find his way from here, but unwilling to leave until the door actually closed. Ianto paused and Jack could see his shoulders rise and fall twice, before he straightened and turned, gripping the edge of the door.
“I... survive cannibals only to be done in by junk mail,” Ianto began, and then crushed the nervous smile that had skittered across his face and grimaced. Maybe that wasn’t quite what Ianto had meant to say. Jack waited, a little curious to see what came next. Maybe, a little concerned.
“Do you...” Ianto swallowed. Jack's eyes were drawn to the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple. “Think they really extend those terms to someone with no official credit rating?”
Jack raised one eyebrow and cocked his head to the side. It was obvious that wasn’t what Ianto had intended to say either. An almost panicked expression flitted across Ianto’s face as he tried to form some thought into a coherent, safe, request. Jack could pinpoint the moment Ianto gave up. His expression collapsed into a practiced smile and he fell back into a phrase that came out smoothly. “Would you like something warm to drink before you go?” Jack paused for a moment, assessing the offer, but it seemed genuine. He met Ianto’s eyes, and watched him swallow again, before nodding slowly and smiling gently.
“If you’re offering coffee, I would love one,” Jack replied carefully, outlining the terms before stepping into the flat. Ianto’s smile was almost grateful.
The rhythms were familiar and efficient, and the drone of the grinder obviated the need for further conversation. Ianto worked with his body half turned away from the counter, glancing over more often than was strictly necessary to see that Jack had closed the door behind him, shucked his coat and seated himself at the square dinette in the kitchen.
“I’m still here,” Jack chuckled a little as his own gaze met one of Ianto’s glances. The chuckle died abruptly when it wasn’t echoed with even the flicker of a smile. Ianto’s expression stayed flat as he served Jack. It never changed - not when he lifted two mugs from the table and brushed in close, not when he pressed the mug into Jack’s hands, maintaining pressure for just a moment and sharing the warmth across the ceramic, and not when he settled himself into the seat next to Jack and let their knees press together under the small table, the backs of their hands almost touching.
“Alright then?” Ianto asked, meeting Jack’s eyes and holding them. Jack took a slow, small sip, letting the liquid stretch out along to the rim of the mug and cool before it had the chance to burn his tongue.
“Perfect,” Jack reassured him, and Ianto dropped his gaze, evaluating is own cup visually. His expression twisted, and Ianto started to speak into his drink.
“Would...,” but almost of its own volition, the coffee was lifted to the bow of his lips, and when the cup was removed, Ianto’s face was clear again. “Wouldn’t be anything less,” Ianto asserted, with a small shake of his head. Jack forced down an ugly surge of lust as Ianto’s tongue darted out and caught a stray droplet from his bottom lip. He stayed silent, tried to look open, and unthreatening, willing to allow what ever it was Ianto felt he needed to say and in no way desperately aware of the heat radiating from the man beside him. But the tense line from Ianto’s shoulders to the point of his index finger never softened, and Ianto didn’t looked up.
“Tonight I...” an inch and a half of coffee later Ianto tried again. The two clipped words were again drowned out by the bitter liquid and re-emerged looking nothing like the original thought. “Tonight I tried the dark French beans.”
“And?” Jack tried prompting, keeping his voice light. He was going to have to get out of there soon, before this went places it shouldn’t. He could already feel the tension building in the tilt of Ianto’s body and the insistent pressure of his knee.
But Ianto only looked up, quickly and wide-eyed and shook his head. “Nothing.”
Jack nodded and cocked his head, wondering more than a little.
By the third attempt, Jack wasn’t sure that he really wanted to know and the effort didn’t seem to be worth the cost. Ianto looked increasingly worn. He slouched, and under the table Jack knew Ianto’s posture had shifted because Ianto’s thigh was now braced against Jack's knee. If Jack wasn’t sitting in his kitchen, Ianto would probably have already hauled off to bed. Just sitting had become far too much of a strain in and of itself. Jack drained the cooling dregs with a long gulp and pushed back from the table. Ianto opened his mouth for one last try.
“You can tell me later Ianto.” Jack cut him off, not ungently. “You should go to bed now. Don’t come in until noon tomorrow. Better yet, take the day off if you can.”
Ianto nodded and stood, following mutely, as Jack donned his coat and pulled open the door.
“Jack?” Ianto asked a note of desperation colouring his voice. Jack turned on the threshold, catching Ianto’s cheek with his lips as Ianto pressed too close, too fast.
“Ianto?” Jack tried to ask, but was prevented, as Ianto repositioned, brushing with his lips, and slipping his hands past the folds of his coat to rest on Jack almost, but not quite, holding. Ianto’s touch was tentative, but his eyes were wide open and none of the earlier fatigue was evident. Maybe it hadn’t been entirely fatigue.
Surprise, more than rational considerations of rejecting Ianto’s advance, forced Jack back, breaking them apart, and Ianto’s face collapsed. The despair was unbearable and, for now, hope was so easy. Without thought or intent, Jack stepped forward again, bracing himself on the door frame with both hands to make good on the touches and gestures that had promised support. He was rewarded as Ianto came alive against his touch. This was something Jack knew how to fix. Jack pushed in a step farther and Ianto’s hands at his hips transformed into firm fingers which gripped at his waistband and shifted the material of his trousers ever so slightly across an already firm cock.
Jack swiped his tongue against Ianto’s lips then pressed in deeper. Ianto tasted bitter, his coffee uncut by milk and unsweetened by sugar, and he traced a frantic pattern around, curling against Jack’s tongue and slipping into a dance, following Jack’s lead too effortlessly. Jack forced down the reminder that they had been here before, and tried to focus everything on Ianto’s need, his own need. Ianto’s fingers at Jack’s belt slipped and pulled, tugging and twisting until Jack was just barely free and Ianto had one hand pressed between their bodies.
“Jack?” Ianto asked again, seeking something that wasn’t clear when all Jack could really see was his spit slicked lips, parted slightly and sucking in air. He wanted to bruise them, to protect them, to claim them.
“Yes.” It was a statement, the one answer he knew. Ianto pulled in even closer, smelling very much like himself again, finally comfortable in the clothes he was wearing and no longer awkward or lethargic. Jack closed his eyes, anticipating, but their lips never met. Instead the top of Ianto’s head brushed Jack's chin, and he pressed his face into Jack's untucked shirt. Ianto’s hand slid down Jack’s slack trousers and gripped at his thighs. Hot breath ghosted over the tip of Jack’s cock, and then he was cloaked in warmth and wetness. Jack’s eyes flew open.
“Ianto?” There was no verbal response, but the underside of Ianto’s tongue circled the head and Jack shivered and gazed downward, his question forgotten.
The top of Ianto’s head disturbed the thick wool of Jack's coat, sending heavy waves through the fabric. Jack groaned as Ianto swallowed down along his shaft. A half formed thought urged Jack to step forward, farther into the apartment, but then there was pressure at the tip, the back of Ianto’s throat, and he couldn’t press forward. Ianto was controlling the speed, the pace. Without gagging or choking him, there was no room for improvisation. Jack felt tightening and suction, cold touches of air and then heat again. Then pressure, and...
There were footsteps in the hall, distant and heavy. Ianto froze eyes wide and choked. He pulled back, his lips still stretched wide around Jack's cock, but looking up. He was still again, and determined and wild eyed. It was a look that was far too recently familiar. With stab of fear Jack remembered why this was a bad idea. Jack gathered his coat with one hand nearly closing it around the kneeling form in front of him. With the other hand he began to gently stroke the back Ianto’s head, and letting the fine hair card through his fingers as Ianto gradually relaxed and let his eyes fall shut. The soft vibration of Ianto’s muffled sigh caught in Jack's groin and tightened his balls.
Ianto’s eyes popped open. He smiled awkwardly around Jack’s prick, and brought his hands up to cup Jack's balls through his pants, feeling the evidence, weighing his options. Ianto pulled hard once, then twice, swirling all the way to the slit. As Ianto slid down for a third pull Jack bit back a cry and convulsed, trying for balance, and failing even in that at the end. Jack’s steps into the apartment sent Ianto sprawling on his arse, a glaze over his eyes and a missed drop of semen beaded just above his lip.
Jack closed the door carefully and crouched down until he was level with Ianto.
“Ianto?” Jack couldn’t read the expression on Ianto lips. He was closed and almost neutral, but Ianto’s eyes were wide, and fixed on Jack's. Jack took a deep breath, took in the swell of Ianto’s jeans and the sharp shallow breaths that were only just beginning to calm.
He hadn’t been going to ask. It was too soon, and too much. But.....
“What do you need?”
Ianto looked down and shook his head. It was the wrong question. Jack took a deep breath and considered briefly exactly what he was offering.
“What do you want?”
Ianto looked up, and he was trembling a little, and when he spoke, one quiet, tentative word. Jack wondered with a hint of fear what the full cost of his actions were going to be.
“Stay?”