(no subject)
Alien artefact #267b
Author: ficklewords
Pairing: Gwen/Ianto
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Torchwood
For: cyberamanda
Elements requested: Ianto/Gwen, alien-tech-made them do it, (realisation that they actually are attracted to one another)
Beta: the wonderful waqaychay!
Summary: Alien tech made them do it! Free of all kinds of fluff and mentions of love.
It’s a small-ish thing, not bigger than a cd case in size, but slightly thicker. It’s made of some unknown dark gray metal, with a display in the form of an ellipsis in the middle, and three buttons under it. The display lights up when she touches the metal, three black bars contrasting the bright green screen colour, and they get the company of another when she accidentally hits the button on the left. Aside from that and a low humming sound, nothing happens. She looks to Tosh’s work station to ask her what it is, but Tosh is not there, she’s off with Jack and Owen to capture a weevil. She remembers Tosh scanning it though, and searches her desk for a report or some notes, but finds nothing and stands defeatedly for a few seconds before she hears Ianto’s steps on the staircase. She turns to him with relief. The thing has grabbed hold of her already, and she holds it up with a gaptoothed smile.
-Do you know what it is? I saw Tosh working on it, but she’s not here and she left it on my desk, and I don’t know what it is... She trails off, still holding it up, wondering why she’s asking him, but gets a hold of her train of thought again. -Do you know if there’s a report or something?
He smiles and nods, to her great relief, and sets the files he’s carrying away.
-I believe I just put the report away in the archives. Would you like me to... He gestures and she nods eagerly. When he turns and walks the stairs again, she follows, still clutching the artefact, but no longer so desperately, down the stairs, through corridors dimly lit, sometimes with flickering lights and the occasional dark spot. He stops in front of a metal door and holds it open for her, before entering and letting it clang shut behind them.
The archives are bigger than she thought, but the size still doesn’t surprise her: it’s Torchwood, and the paper work is more time consuming than in most places. It is also space consuming, filling this great hall with row upon row of metal shelves, here and there a chest of drawers and a table with bigger artifacts on. He takes her down the main aisle, pausing briefly every now and then to switch on more light, almost to the far end of the room they walk, and then he turns sharply to the left, rounding the shelves into a long, narrow side aisle. The shelves on each side go all the way back to the wall, where there’s a narrow and mostly empty table. She pushes a cardboard box to the side and puts the artefact down in the middle.
-Did you know what it was? she says, not looking at him as she leans on the table.
-I’m afraid not, I just took the file and put it away. He shrugs elegantly as in a silent apology before picking the thing up, turning it over to look at the smooth backside and then the simple display on the front again. It lights up at his touch, as it did with hers, and she moves closer to look with him. He holds it lightly between both hands, metal resting against long, strong fingers. For a split second she wonders what those hands are capable of, what those fingers can do, but pushes the thoughts aside when he wonders out loud what it might do, what it is for.
She means to just show him, but when she reaches out to point at the button she accidentally hit, he thinks she wants to hold it again and moves it towards her hand, pointing finger hitting the button, and the display is suddenly full of black bars on green light. They freeze in silence, both holding their breath as they wait for something, anything, to happen, but again, the only thing is the low humming sound, before that too dies and everything is quiet.
They laugh shakily together before he remembers the report and puts the artefact down on the table again, and she hops up on the table, dangling her legs lazily. When he turns away form her, he brushes past her knees and she can feel the brush slide into a tingle and shiver up her legs and over her back. She can hear him swallowing audibly, but he doesn't say anything, just straightens his tie. She notices the way his jacket tightens over his shoulders, the way it rides up a bit when he reaches up to get the file, and has to squeeze her thighs together. From the side she can see the beat of his pulse on his temple, followed by a drop of sweat, and a glance in her direction. She looks to the side quickly, before they make eye contact, but he's seen her stare and and his arms drop, hands empty of the file, and he turns to her again.
Her face feels flushed when he takes the three steps needed to get back to her, standing in front of her again, close, legs against her knees and crowding her up against the table and the wall. Her head thumps against the bricks behind her, and she has to wet her lips, legs parting without any conscious thought to give him access. His hand is on her thigh, sliding higher to cup her hip, holding her in a tight grip, tighter than she had thought Ianto would subject a woman to. She can smell his discreet cologne when he bends closer, see his glassy eyes for a split second and then his lips are on hers, hot and wet and her tongue's meeting his, and she can feel his cock hardening slowly against the inside of her thigh as his other hand comes up on her waist and he pulls her further out on the edge of the table. She jumps to life when his teeth graces her lower lip, biting lightly and dragging her lip a little, her hands fumble to touch him, his suit jacket thick and impenetrable under her fingers.
One button pops and then the other, and the waistcoat and shirt are giving her more buttons and obstacles. One hands threads in her hair, pulling her head back and his teeth sink into her neck just below the ear, her groan embarrassingly loud in the moist silence between them, but his only response is warm breath against her skin, accompanied by the other hand's arrival at her right breast, cupping and his thumb finding the nipple through her shirt and bra. She arches against him and slides her fingers under his cuff, looking for skin and not finding enough. She goes back to the buttons again, more impatient than she can remember being in a long time, almost ripping them off in her hurry, and then the waistcoat is hanging open, shirt buttons popping in its wake.
His face slides against her neck as he moves lower and she can feel his breath against her sternum through the t-shirt before he grabs her jacket by the lapels and wrings it off her, getting the sleeves wrong side out as he keeps pulling when her hands are stuck in the cuffs, yanking them off and the pain when her hands come free is almost enough to make her stop, but not quite. He’s shrugging his jacket off as she goes for his tie, loosens and rips it off and the waistcoat is soon on the floor. The shirt is left on hanging open and her head is spinning, why is he kneeling down, his belt buckle out of her reach? His hands are again on her waist, seeking under the t-shirt, one sliding around to the small of her back, resting against sweat slick skin and tracing patterns there before dipping lightly below the waistline, coming back to help the other hand take hold of her shirt and pull it over her head. He mouths her stomach, circling her bellybutton with his tongue before he follows the paths of sweat drops up to the valley between her breast, licking and kissing.
He bites her left nipple through her bra, thumbing the nipple on the right, maddening circles, and his teeth left a wet spot when he lets go and starts sucking instead, tongue pressing hard against lace. The spit cools in the air and makes her nipples harden and peak even more, and he's finally within reach of her hands again. The buckle clanks loudly against the floor when she drops his belt, and the zipper sings shortly before her hands finally are on his hips, pushing the trousers down past his thighs to slide down and wrinkle around his ankles. She rests her hands on his hips, but only for a second, and then they are under the fabric, pushing inside and down and taking hold of his hard-on. It is his turn to groan, deep and hungry, and he bucks into her hold, fingers slipping against her bra straps before pushing them down her shoulders and pulling the fabric down, exposing her nipples to his fingers and mouth. She leans back again and steers him with her hands and knees before he pulls himself free and her belt is gone, snaking around his own belt behind them on the concrete.
For a few moments his cool efficiency is back and her jeans are opened. She obediently puts her hands on the table and levers herself up when he grabs hold of her trousers and panties, and then they are down around her knees and the table is cold against her ass, her pussy leaving wet smudges as he pulls her closer to the edge of the table.
He kneels down and tries to get her boots off, but gives up on finding the laces beneath all the denim, and is satisfied with leaning forward and placing a hand on each of her thighs, spreading her open for his mouth.
Goosebumps rise where his mouth leaves wet tracks up her thighs, but inside she is burning and then his lips close around her clit and he sucks. She bucks against him and spreads her thighs impossibly wider, feels the burn and stretch of muscles and moans again, tries to undulate against his mouth but is held firmly in place by his hands. He suck on her clit, her labia and licks into her hole, nose sliding against wet skin and she doesn’t know if it’s him or her responsible for all the juices trailing down her skin and onto the table.
She fists a hand in his hair, pulling, and he drags himself back up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand as he stands up. Her hands are on his hips again before he can get to it himself, pulling down boxers and he fumbles to kick his shoes off and steps out of his trousers and boxers and into the confinement of her legs, allowing himself to get trapped by jeans and legs.
He fists his cock roughly a couple of times before threading his hand through her hair again, but he doesn't have to yank her head back this time. She follows willingly and bites her way into his mouth with hungry kisses and slick tongue. She keens when his cock head butts against her thigh, leaving a slick trail up towards her pussy, before he grabs the base of his and puts the head against her entrance.
She arches and tries to rub her nipples against his chest, offering herself up and he slides into her in one long movement, not stopping until she can feel his balls resting against her ass, bucking against her as he does. She yanks on his shirt, bites his neck, and he starts moving, the slick slide almost maddening in its slowness. She uses her feet to keep him as close as possible, sucking on one collarbone, then the other, until he moves too low for her to reach and she arches her back again when she feels his teeth trail down her chest.
A sharp bite to her nipple makes her cry out, and he responds to the sound with a buck and a quickening of the pace, grabbing her arse and pulling-lifting-shoving her to adjust the angle and she has white spots before her eyes, and his eyes are closed and his breathing is heavy. She's keening again, is close now, and clinging to his shirt, crumpling the fabric and not hearing the seams creak in distress. His eyes squeeze shut tighter and with his head down and braced on her shoulder he speeds up again, pounds into her, and when his right hand slides from her hip to her lower belly, roughly thumbing her clit, she is gone, lost; a throaty cry and she can feel her pussy ripple around him. The tightening makes him shout and he pounds once, twice and slumps against her, sweaty and panting. She loosens the grip on his shirt but doesn't let go, just leans back and rests her head against the wall again. He follows her movement, forehead against her collarbone, hands sliding from her hips to the table below.
A few minutes passes before he draws a shaky breath and stands up. She looks at him with half lidded eyes. Neither says anything, and he steps over and out of the circle her legs are making, pulling on clothes as he comes across them, handing her the t-shirt and jacket when she's straightened out her bra. She gingerly slips off the table and pulls her panties on, trying to ignore the dull throbbing between her legs. The jeans are sorted out and she threads the belt he hands her through the loops again. Not until they are both fully dressed do they look at each other again.
They leave the archive in silence, and without having said anything. It's not until later, when Ianto's been down after some files Jack needed immediately, that they talk, quietly and with few words. He's leaning over her desk in the pretense of straighting some folders and giving her a cup of coffee when he tells her that he's found the report, and that the display on the alien thing shows that it has reset itself after the... Here he stops and leaves the report for the piece of technology by her elbow, before he stands up and moves over to Tosh with the tray.
The artefact is left on the table in the archives, forgotten or ignored, and never to be mentioned by any of them again.
Alien artefact # 267b, report by Toshiko Sato
Alien artefact is an emotion manipulator, which, if used correctly, can change and control the feelings and intents of those it is directed towards. Potential for misuse, should be locked away. Seems to range from friendly feelings to, well, not quite sure until it’s been tested out, which is something we should be careful with. Possible it may also be used for less than friendly feelings, perhaps to awake rage, fury?
See scan print outs for further details.
Author: ficklewords
Pairing: Gwen/Ianto
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Torchwood
For: cyberamanda
Elements requested: Ianto/Gwen, alien-tech-made them do it, (realisation that they actually are attracted to one another)
Beta: the wonderful waqaychay!
Summary: Alien tech made them do it! Free of all kinds of fluff and mentions of love.
It’s a small-ish thing, not bigger than a cd case in size, but slightly thicker. It’s made of some unknown dark gray metal, with a display in the form of an ellipsis in the middle, and three buttons under it. The display lights up when she touches the metal, three black bars contrasting the bright green screen colour, and they get the company of another when she accidentally hits the button on the left. Aside from that and a low humming sound, nothing happens. She looks to Tosh’s work station to ask her what it is, but Tosh is not there, she’s off with Jack and Owen to capture a weevil. She remembers Tosh scanning it though, and searches her desk for a report or some notes, but finds nothing and stands defeatedly for a few seconds before she hears Ianto’s steps on the staircase. She turns to him with relief. The thing has grabbed hold of her already, and she holds it up with a gaptoothed smile.
-Do you know what it is? I saw Tosh working on it, but she’s not here and she left it on my desk, and I don’t know what it is... She trails off, still holding it up, wondering why she’s asking him, but gets a hold of her train of thought again. -Do you know if there’s a report or something?
He smiles and nods, to her great relief, and sets the files he’s carrying away.
-I believe I just put the report away in the archives. Would you like me to... He gestures and she nods eagerly. When he turns and walks the stairs again, she follows, still clutching the artefact, but no longer so desperately, down the stairs, through corridors dimly lit, sometimes with flickering lights and the occasional dark spot. He stops in front of a metal door and holds it open for her, before entering and letting it clang shut behind them.
The archives are bigger than she thought, but the size still doesn’t surprise her: it’s Torchwood, and the paper work is more time consuming than in most places. It is also space consuming, filling this great hall with row upon row of metal shelves, here and there a chest of drawers and a table with bigger artifacts on. He takes her down the main aisle, pausing briefly every now and then to switch on more light, almost to the far end of the room they walk, and then he turns sharply to the left, rounding the shelves into a long, narrow side aisle. The shelves on each side go all the way back to the wall, where there’s a narrow and mostly empty table. She pushes a cardboard box to the side and puts the artefact down in the middle.
-Did you know what it was? she says, not looking at him as she leans on the table.
-I’m afraid not, I just took the file and put it away. He shrugs elegantly as in a silent apology before picking the thing up, turning it over to look at the smooth backside and then the simple display on the front again. It lights up at his touch, as it did with hers, and she moves closer to look with him. He holds it lightly between both hands, metal resting against long, strong fingers. For a split second she wonders what those hands are capable of, what those fingers can do, but pushes the thoughts aside when he wonders out loud what it might do, what it is for.
She means to just show him, but when she reaches out to point at the button she accidentally hit, he thinks she wants to hold it again and moves it towards her hand, pointing finger hitting the button, and the display is suddenly full of black bars on green light. They freeze in silence, both holding their breath as they wait for something, anything, to happen, but again, the only thing is the low humming sound, before that too dies and everything is quiet.
They laugh shakily together before he remembers the report and puts the artefact down on the table again, and she hops up on the table, dangling her legs lazily. When he turns away form her, he brushes past her knees and she can feel the brush slide into a tingle and shiver up her legs and over her back. She can hear him swallowing audibly, but he doesn't say anything, just straightens his tie. She notices the way his jacket tightens over his shoulders, the way it rides up a bit when he reaches up to get the file, and has to squeeze her thighs together. From the side she can see the beat of his pulse on his temple, followed by a drop of sweat, and a glance in her direction. She looks to the side quickly, before they make eye contact, but he's seen her stare and and his arms drop, hands empty of the file, and he turns to her again.
Her face feels flushed when he takes the three steps needed to get back to her, standing in front of her again, close, legs against her knees and crowding her up against the table and the wall. Her head thumps against the bricks behind her, and she has to wet her lips, legs parting without any conscious thought to give him access. His hand is on her thigh, sliding higher to cup her hip, holding her in a tight grip, tighter than she had thought Ianto would subject a woman to. She can smell his discreet cologne when he bends closer, see his glassy eyes for a split second and then his lips are on hers, hot and wet and her tongue's meeting his, and she can feel his cock hardening slowly against the inside of her thigh as his other hand comes up on her waist and he pulls her further out on the edge of the table. She jumps to life when his teeth graces her lower lip, biting lightly and dragging her lip a little, her hands fumble to touch him, his suit jacket thick and impenetrable under her fingers.
One button pops and then the other, and the waistcoat and shirt are giving her more buttons and obstacles. One hands threads in her hair, pulling her head back and his teeth sink into her neck just below the ear, her groan embarrassingly loud in the moist silence between them, but his only response is warm breath against her skin, accompanied by the other hand's arrival at her right breast, cupping and his thumb finding the nipple through her shirt and bra. She arches against him and slides her fingers under his cuff, looking for skin and not finding enough. She goes back to the buttons again, more impatient than she can remember being in a long time, almost ripping them off in her hurry, and then the waistcoat is hanging open, shirt buttons popping in its wake.
His face slides against her neck as he moves lower and she can feel his breath against her sternum through the t-shirt before he grabs her jacket by the lapels and wrings it off her, getting the sleeves wrong side out as he keeps pulling when her hands are stuck in the cuffs, yanking them off and the pain when her hands come free is almost enough to make her stop, but not quite. He’s shrugging his jacket off as she goes for his tie, loosens and rips it off and the waistcoat is soon on the floor. The shirt is left on hanging open and her head is spinning, why is he kneeling down, his belt buckle out of her reach? His hands are again on her waist, seeking under the t-shirt, one sliding around to the small of her back, resting against sweat slick skin and tracing patterns there before dipping lightly below the waistline, coming back to help the other hand take hold of her shirt and pull it over her head. He mouths her stomach, circling her bellybutton with his tongue before he follows the paths of sweat drops up to the valley between her breast, licking and kissing.
He bites her left nipple through her bra, thumbing the nipple on the right, maddening circles, and his teeth left a wet spot when he lets go and starts sucking instead, tongue pressing hard against lace. The spit cools in the air and makes her nipples harden and peak even more, and he's finally within reach of her hands again. The buckle clanks loudly against the floor when she drops his belt, and the zipper sings shortly before her hands finally are on his hips, pushing the trousers down past his thighs to slide down and wrinkle around his ankles. She rests her hands on his hips, but only for a second, and then they are under the fabric, pushing inside and down and taking hold of his hard-on. It is his turn to groan, deep and hungry, and he bucks into her hold, fingers slipping against her bra straps before pushing them down her shoulders and pulling the fabric down, exposing her nipples to his fingers and mouth. She leans back again and steers him with her hands and knees before he pulls himself free and her belt is gone, snaking around his own belt behind them on the concrete.
For a few moments his cool efficiency is back and her jeans are opened. She obediently puts her hands on the table and levers herself up when he grabs hold of her trousers and panties, and then they are down around her knees and the table is cold against her ass, her pussy leaving wet smudges as he pulls her closer to the edge of the table.
He kneels down and tries to get her boots off, but gives up on finding the laces beneath all the denim, and is satisfied with leaning forward and placing a hand on each of her thighs, spreading her open for his mouth.
Goosebumps rise where his mouth leaves wet tracks up her thighs, but inside she is burning and then his lips close around her clit and he sucks. She bucks against him and spreads her thighs impossibly wider, feels the burn and stretch of muscles and moans again, tries to undulate against his mouth but is held firmly in place by his hands. He suck on her clit, her labia and licks into her hole, nose sliding against wet skin and she doesn’t know if it’s him or her responsible for all the juices trailing down her skin and onto the table.
She fists a hand in his hair, pulling, and he drags himself back up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand as he stands up. Her hands are on his hips again before he can get to it himself, pulling down boxers and he fumbles to kick his shoes off and steps out of his trousers and boxers and into the confinement of her legs, allowing himself to get trapped by jeans and legs.
He fists his cock roughly a couple of times before threading his hand through her hair again, but he doesn't have to yank her head back this time. She follows willingly and bites her way into his mouth with hungry kisses and slick tongue. She keens when his cock head butts against her thigh, leaving a slick trail up towards her pussy, before he grabs the base of his and puts the head against her entrance.
She arches and tries to rub her nipples against his chest, offering herself up and he slides into her in one long movement, not stopping until she can feel his balls resting against her ass, bucking against her as he does. She yanks on his shirt, bites his neck, and he starts moving, the slick slide almost maddening in its slowness. She uses her feet to keep him as close as possible, sucking on one collarbone, then the other, until he moves too low for her to reach and she arches her back again when she feels his teeth trail down her chest.
A sharp bite to her nipple makes her cry out, and he responds to the sound with a buck and a quickening of the pace, grabbing her arse and pulling-lifting-shoving her to adjust the angle and she has white spots before her eyes, and his eyes are closed and his breathing is heavy. She's keening again, is close now, and clinging to his shirt, crumpling the fabric and not hearing the seams creak in distress. His eyes squeeze shut tighter and with his head down and braced on her shoulder he speeds up again, pounds into her, and when his right hand slides from her hip to her lower belly, roughly thumbing her clit, she is gone, lost; a throaty cry and she can feel her pussy ripple around him. The tightening makes him shout and he pounds once, twice and slumps against her, sweaty and panting. She loosens the grip on his shirt but doesn't let go, just leans back and rests her head against the wall again. He follows her movement, forehead against her collarbone, hands sliding from her hips to the table below.
A few minutes passes before he draws a shaky breath and stands up. She looks at him with half lidded eyes. Neither says anything, and he steps over and out of the circle her legs are making, pulling on clothes as he comes across them, handing her the t-shirt and jacket when she's straightened out her bra. She gingerly slips off the table and pulls her panties on, trying to ignore the dull throbbing between her legs. The jeans are sorted out and she threads the belt he hands her through the loops again. Not until they are both fully dressed do they look at each other again.
They leave the archive in silence, and without having said anything. It's not until later, when Ianto's been down after some files Jack needed immediately, that they talk, quietly and with few words. He's leaning over her desk in the pretense of straighting some folders and giving her a cup of coffee when he tells her that he's found the report, and that the display on the alien thing shows that it has reset itself after the... Here he stops and leaves the report for the piece of technology by her elbow, before he stands up and moves over to Tosh with the tray.
The artefact is left on the table in the archives, forgotten or ignored, and never to be mentioned by any of them again.
Alien artefact # 267b, report by Toshiko Sato
Alien artefact is an emotion manipulator, which, if used correctly, can change and control the feelings and intents of those it is directed towards. Potential for misuse, should be locked away. Seems to range from friendly feelings to, well, not quite sure until it’s been tested out, which is something we should be careful with. Possible it may also be used for less than friendly feelings, perhaps to awake rage, fury?
See scan print outs for further details.