More Torchwood Porn battle entries
These are being copied out straight from the battle, no extended versions and very few changes.
Title: (social) Barriers and Lubricants
Author: Hegemony
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jack/Tosh/Ianto, using the prompt 'tea'
Wordcount: About 750
Spoilers: Through TW 1x07
Warning: Could easily be read as dubious consent, although that wasn't the intention. Heh. Dubious. Other than that, not much.
Disclaimer: This wouldn't have been 'fanfic' if I owned the characters, now would it?
Ianto's flat is everything Toshiko expects it to be, even though she's a little drunk, and should have called a taxi. The kitchen's warm and ornate, spotlessly tidy, carved wood everywhere it can fit.
"I'll make the two of you some tea," Jack offers, as Ianto takes her coat and hangs it up before leading her into the living room, a couch.
"I should be making it," Ianto calls.
"Sit down, Ianto."
It's been a hard day. Toshiko's the first to admit that, but while Owen and Gwen have happily scampered home from the pub, she's desperate to escape the place where she fell vulnerable to an alien's charms. Ianto and her sit together, looking out the window into voidless dark, and when she snuggles up to him, he feels familiar, warm.
"My special blend," Jack smiles softly while carrying in tea service, and taking a seat next to them. The cup he pours is steaming, and when she drinks it the warmth spreads through her body, soothing nerves and then stroking them back to life again. Her neck, ears, the insides of her elbows and knees, her nipples, they all feel set ablaze and she doesn't understand what's happening.
"Tosh, you alright?" Ianto asks, and even with the space between them, she can hear him panting. His eyes are glassy and when she looks down, she can see how hard he is through his trousers. He reaches out, setting down his mug and taking hers to do the same before taking her face into his hands and sliding his lips over hers. The first kiss is invigorating, and she can already feel Jack's hand on her leg as he pushes his face into her neck. She's drunk, she reminds herself.
"What's in this tea, Jack?" She asks, desperate to breathe. She turns to him, and only sees his coy smile before he's kissing her completely, angling his head so his tongue can slide along hers, one hand in her hair the other up her skirt.
Clever hands, she thinks. Ianto's whispering and peeling back her skirt and her mouth is full of Jack, tongue licking patiently, and Ianto's shifting off the sofa. She'd reach out for him if she already didn't know where he was headed. The first wet touch of heat is startling through her knickers, but she opens her legs until jack's holding one by the thigh, a proper invitation.
"Wouldn't this be better in a bed?" She asks in a gasp.
"That's our Tosh, Ianto," Jack says proudly, taking his cup back into his hands, "Always thinking."
She blushes, then, reaching to sip from her own cup before reaching down and sliding her mouth over his, again. She can taste the faint trace of herself on his tongue, and it only magnifies the feeling.
Tonight will be an unexpectedly good night.
In Ianto's bedroom, Jack and Ianto kiss like long-time lovers in their sanctuary. They strip each other deftly, and she wonders if the tea's effects have already weened off the two of them. She lays on the bed, and watches. Jack gets on his knees, taking Ianto into his mouth, and she feels the pang of jealousy.
"We've forgotten her, Jack," Ianto says, softly.
The noise Jack makes is like water before he returns to Ianto's cock, like he knows what he's doing. She smiles, perhaps he does. She reaches for the cup she brought in, gulping down the rest of the tea and hissing at the sweet-tangy taste. She falls on the bed, going from aflame to incinerated. A slow, teasing strip, some prepwork, a little coaxing and the two of them slide in, arms and legs entwined like vines, filled from front to back.
They don't breathe in unison, but they work in unison, focused on getting her off. The three of them move like the ocean. It's gentle but strong, enter and exit, lips and tongues and hot sprawl. Fingers in hair, ceaseless rhythm that doesn't stop even after she's come twice, screaming. Like it will be forever before they can move out of this bed.
The next morning, the three of them in bed, she asks Jack what was in that tea.
"Few household spices, some oranges, breakfast tea. Spot of Vodka and some retcon," he says, casually.
"Retcon?" She asks, stroking the back of Ianto's sleeping neck, her leg thrown over his. "You want us to forge..."
"Who said all Retcon could do was make you forget memories, Tosh?" Jack asks, and kisses her softly when she doesn't answer.
Title: Fetish
Author: Hegemony
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jack/ Ianto, using the prompt 'Accent'
Wordcount: About 750
Spoilers: Through TW 1x11, to be safe
Warning: Top!ianto. Dirty talk. Public sex. Or something.
Disclaimer: This wouldn't have been 'fanfic' if I owned the characters, now would it?
Jack’s never been afraid to admit that he has a fetish. He’d had a fetish for a boy with a name seventeen syllables long at the agency, all lanky and rubber. He’d had a fetish for those twin acrobat brothers in the 3060’s. He’d had a fetish for a certain blonde in a Union Jack and a fetish for a man so strong and fragile that once he’d died, Jack felt compassionate enough to take his name.
So when he realizes that he’s fascinated with the man who makes his coffee and files his paperwork, he’s not surprised. After all, it’s easy how one can become addicted to that lilting Welsh accent.
Jack can hear the coffee cup being placed onto his desk, can see the long pale fingers unwrap themselves from the mug in his periphery, and reaches out to catch them without looking.
“Sir?” Ianto asks, as Jack looks away from his computer screen to throw him a wolfish smile. “Jack?”
The way his name rolls in Ianto’s mouth makes him forget Gwen’s still around, somewhere. “Stay.”
“On company time?” Ianto asks him. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
“You’re probably right,” Jack says, and lets Ianto’s hand go. A bit of a dramatic sigh- Jack always was best at getting people to do what he wanted them to with a few well acted cues- and he turns back to his computer. “Thanks for the coffee.”
He looks down at his notes and starts typing again.
“I absolutely love how you still think you can get me to do what you want by rolling your eyes or slumping your shoulders,” Ianto’s whisper from behind him drags out every word, deceptive and playful. “I’m onto you, Harkness. You aren’t as clever as you think.”
A quick exhale, and Jack’s still working until Ianto’s laugh rumbles low and pleased, like a line of hot magma down his body. Ianto’s hand coyly reaches around Jack’s chair, undoing his belt single-handedly, and popping open the button on Jack’s trousers. Jack can feel Ianto’s hand on the skin above his briefs. “I’m going to take you home tonight, Capitan.”
“Oh?” Jack asks. There was a cunning reply somewhere in there.
“Yes,” Ianto says, sure of himself as he reaches in for Jack’s erection and pulls it out to brush against his shirttails. “I’m going to bind your hands to my headboard with your braces, use my tie as a blindfold for your eyes. I’ll use you for as long as I please. I’ll have you groveling before I’m finished.”
There’s a ghost of touch along the head of Jack’s cock, enough to make him jump. “You say that to all the girls, I’m sure.”
“Only the tarts,” Ianto reasons, grasping at Jack’s shaft and dragging his palm up to the head again.
“Please,” Jack hisses in spite of himself.
“You know, there’s one thing I can never figure out about you, Jack. You always talk about shagging, fucking, but you never talk about getting fucked. Why is that, hmm? Do you not like being made to take it? Do you not like having to beg and barter and plead?” Ianto’s hand retreats, his whisper hot and low and so beautiful. “Or maybe, you like it too much, don’t want anybody to know. Is that it?”
“I guess you’ll see tonight when I’m tied to your bedposts,” Jack tries to turn around but Ianto’s other hand holds his head still and forward by the jaw, thumb over Jack’s mouth. He allows Jack to open his mouth, take the thumb in and suck.
The CCTV picks up footage of Toshiko and Owen pulling the SUV back into the garage, and Ianto’s stroking him hard, now.
“I’m going to tear you apart, have you so raw you’ll feel it for a week. I’ll cut that vocabulary of yours down to only my name, and I have the strangest feeling you’ll like it.” Ianto says, wistfully like he approves, and Jack comes, bucking into his hand, biting on his thumb, one hand on the chair’s armrest, the other on the computer keyboard. Come spreads everywhere on his shirt and trousers.
“You should go and change, sir. They’ll want to know what’s happened to you, in a minute.” Ianto says before walking away silently, the finest sheen of condescension in his voice.
Jack smiles to an empty room. “I’ll see what I can do about getting the others out of here early.”
Clever boy, knowing which buttons to push.
Title: Positive Reinforcement and Collective Consciousness
Author: Hegemony
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jack/ Everybody. Could easily be called a Torchwood Group Slut Fic, using the prompt 'Sex Pollen'
Wordcount: About 750
Spoilers: Through TW 1x13
Warning: Illicit Substances, Con!jack, Silliness.
Disclaimer: This wouldn't have been 'fanfic' if I owned the characters, now would it?
‘Team Building’ was a phrase that Jack never really liked hearing at all. In the twenty first century, it involved nature walks, falling into someone’s arms while closing your eyes and hoping they caught you, and various other stupid scenarios that would never, ever be used in the real world. ‘Team Building’ at the Time Agency had simply been sex; it wasn’t like the mandatory course for managerial positions in the Torchwood organization said that you couldn’t use simultaneous orgasm as a team building activity. That, obviously, was all the invitation Jack needed.
It had taken a bit of work. If someone would know where to look, they’d find a whole composition book displaying equations for e-con to zocar ratios, balanced chemical equations for proper temporary sterilization procedures and how much MDMA-extract was really safe for presumably first-timers weighing anywhere from 120 to 160 pounds, as a rough estimation. How steady the rate of dispersal would have to be to keep them under for as long as needed without overdosing. He’d accounted for everything, betting on ‘serendipitous mishaps’; facemasks that didn’t filter properly, tampered decontamination solutions, you get the point.
Jack, although he'd never admit, was well-trained in zen and the art of sabotage using illicit and exotic substances. It was the best, cleverest, most thorough con he’d ever pulled since Adonis prime.
The computer said what Jack had told it to say: Class-5 biochemical threat in the cells.
The door to the cell shut behind him, and he’d intended to turn around and make a show of how they were locked into a cramped and contaminated space, but they had already pawed each other’s clothes off, and no math equation could account for naked co-workers.
Jack stepped close enough, and Gwen reached out and damn near wrestled him closer, the urge to feel skin so fierce that she’d stripped him naked before stopping to arch her back, screaming out, her other hand in Toshiko’s hair.
“Oh Jack, her tongue. God.” She’d moaned and pulled him onto her lips to stifle her cries. She’d groaned when he pulled away reluctantly, his eyes moving from hers down to Tosh’s, sitting on her knees, lips filthy-wet and eyes begging him to kiss her, grope her, fuck her. Jack slid close, his lips hovering open and hungry like he’d been trying to breathe before kissing the air out of her, holding her close, hands in her hair, focusing on her tongue.
“Bloody hot, that is,” Owen had said from the other side of the cell, and Jack stepped back to re-assess the situation he’d gotten them into.
“We have a problem, Jack,” Ianto said, softly. Jack looked at him, and saw the Roman gladiator on his knees between Ianto’s naked legs.
“I thought you guys got him back to the right century when I was away,” Jack says.
“We lied,” Ianto gasped, and Owen had taken no time to fit his lips over Ianto’s, pulling him backward by the hair, a hand possessively across his throat like this was the way things were.
Jack sighed, allowing a moment to think that things between the five of them had become irreparable, but there were tongues and fingers everywhere and someone had a cock so close, Jack was going to have a fit if it wasn’t in him now.
He’d made Gwen squeal with how rough he’d been, made Tosh melt under his touch, spoke to her in perfected tones of her own language. He made Ianto and Owen fucking beg at the same time with proper discipline and denied orgasm. Jack had even been so dizzy with need and the feeling of bodies colliding that he and the gladiator wrestled with each other until they’d locked themselves in a 69.
He had them in alphabetical order backwards and forwards, in him and in them, spread thighs and messy groans and dirty talk in foreign languages, be it Welsh or Japanese or goddamn Latin. They swelled into a six person blob, shaking, screaming, dry, raw, wet, insatiable.
The detox, surprisingly, was more group sex (sans the gladiator) in locations with fresher air. In the days after, they worked more cohesively than they ever had, like they’d gained collective consciousness.
The scenario has a file, with analysis and suggestions to make the experience better. Rope is a popular request.
Jack runs it constantly for positive reinforcement.
Title: (social) Barriers and Lubricants
Author: Hegemony
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jack/Tosh/Ianto, using the prompt 'tea'
Wordcount: About 750
Spoilers: Through TW 1x07
Warning: Could easily be read as dubious consent, although that wasn't the intention. Heh. Dubious. Other than that, not much.
Disclaimer: This wouldn't have been 'fanfic' if I owned the characters, now would it?
Ianto's flat is everything Toshiko expects it to be, even though she's a little drunk, and should have called a taxi. The kitchen's warm and ornate, spotlessly tidy, carved wood everywhere it can fit.
"I'll make the two of you some tea," Jack offers, as Ianto takes her coat and hangs it up before leading her into the living room, a couch.
"I should be making it," Ianto calls.
"Sit down, Ianto."
It's been a hard day. Toshiko's the first to admit that, but while Owen and Gwen have happily scampered home from the pub, she's desperate to escape the place where she fell vulnerable to an alien's charms. Ianto and her sit together, looking out the window into voidless dark, and when she snuggles up to him, he feels familiar, warm.
"My special blend," Jack smiles softly while carrying in tea service, and taking a seat next to them. The cup he pours is steaming, and when she drinks it the warmth spreads through her body, soothing nerves and then stroking them back to life again. Her neck, ears, the insides of her elbows and knees, her nipples, they all feel set ablaze and she doesn't understand what's happening.
"Tosh, you alright?" Ianto asks, and even with the space between them, she can hear him panting. His eyes are glassy and when she looks down, she can see how hard he is through his trousers. He reaches out, setting down his mug and taking hers to do the same before taking her face into his hands and sliding his lips over hers. The first kiss is invigorating, and she can already feel Jack's hand on her leg as he pushes his face into her neck. She's drunk, she reminds herself.
"What's in this tea, Jack?" She asks, desperate to breathe. She turns to him, and only sees his coy smile before he's kissing her completely, angling his head so his tongue can slide along hers, one hand in her hair the other up her skirt.
Clever hands, she thinks. Ianto's whispering and peeling back her skirt and her mouth is full of Jack, tongue licking patiently, and Ianto's shifting off the sofa. She'd reach out for him if she already didn't know where he was headed. The first wet touch of heat is startling through her knickers, but she opens her legs until jack's holding one by the thigh, a proper invitation.
"Wouldn't this be better in a bed?" She asks in a gasp.
"That's our Tosh, Ianto," Jack says proudly, taking his cup back into his hands, "Always thinking."
She blushes, then, reaching to sip from her own cup before reaching down and sliding her mouth over his, again. She can taste the faint trace of herself on his tongue, and it only magnifies the feeling.
Tonight will be an unexpectedly good night.
In Ianto's bedroom, Jack and Ianto kiss like long-time lovers in their sanctuary. They strip each other deftly, and she wonders if the tea's effects have already weened off the two of them. She lays on the bed, and watches. Jack gets on his knees, taking Ianto into his mouth, and she feels the pang of jealousy.
"We've forgotten her, Jack," Ianto says, softly.
The noise Jack makes is like water before he returns to Ianto's cock, like he knows what he's doing. She smiles, perhaps he does. She reaches for the cup she brought in, gulping down the rest of the tea and hissing at the sweet-tangy taste. She falls on the bed, going from aflame to incinerated. A slow, teasing strip, some prepwork, a little coaxing and the two of them slide in, arms and legs entwined like vines, filled from front to back.
They don't breathe in unison, but they work in unison, focused on getting her off. The three of them move like the ocean. It's gentle but strong, enter and exit, lips and tongues and hot sprawl. Fingers in hair, ceaseless rhythm that doesn't stop even after she's come twice, screaming. Like it will be forever before they can move out of this bed.
The next morning, the three of them in bed, she asks Jack what was in that tea.
"Few household spices, some oranges, breakfast tea. Spot of Vodka and some retcon," he says, casually.
"Retcon?" She asks, stroking the back of Ianto's sleeping neck, her leg thrown over his. "You want us to forge..."
"Who said all Retcon could do was make you forget memories, Tosh?" Jack asks, and kisses her softly when she doesn't answer.
Title: Fetish
Author: Hegemony
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jack/ Ianto, using the prompt 'Accent'
Wordcount: About 750
Spoilers: Through TW 1x11, to be safe
Warning: Top!ianto. Dirty talk. Public sex. Or something.
Disclaimer: This wouldn't have been 'fanfic' if I owned the characters, now would it?
Jack’s never been afraid to admit that he has a fetish. He’d had a fetish for a boy with a name seventeen syllables long at the agency, all lanky and rubber. He’d had a fetish for those twin acrobat brothers in the 3060’s. He’d had a fetish for a certain blonde in a Union Jack and a fetish for a man so strong and fragile that once he’d died, Jack felt compassionate enough to take his name.
So when he realizes that he’s fascinated with the man who makes his coffee and files his paperwork, he’s not surprised. After all, it’s easy how one can become addicted to that lilting Welsh accent.
Jack can hear the coffee cup being placed onto his desk, can see the long pale fingers unwrap themselves from the mug in his periphery, and reaches out to catch them without looking.
“Sir?” Ianto asks, as Jack looks away from his computer screen to throw him a wolfish smile. “Jack?”
The way his name rolls in Ianto’s mouth makes him forget Gwen’s still around, somewhere. “Stay.”
“On company time?” Ianto asks him. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
“You’re probably right,” Jack says, and lets Ianto’s hand go. A bit of a dramatic sigh- Jack always was best at getting people to do what he wanted them to with a few well acted cues- and he turns back to his computer. “Thanks for the coffee.”
He looks down at his notes and starts typing again.
“I absolutely love how you still think you can get me to do what you want by rolling your eyes or slumping your shoulders,” Ianto’s whisper from behind him drags out every word, deceptive and playful. “I’m onto you, Harkness. You aren’t as clever as you think.”
A quick exhale, and Jack’s still working until Ianto’s laugh rumbles low and pleased, like a line of hot magma down his body. Ianto’s hand coyly reaches around Jack’s chair, undoing his belt single-handedly, and popping open the button on Jack’s trousers. Jack can feel Ianto’s hand on the skin above his briefs. “I’m going to take you home tonight, Capitan.”
“Oh?” Jack asks. There was a cunning reply somewhere in there.
“Yes,” Ianto says, sure of himself as he reaches in for Jack’s erection and pulls it out to brush against his shirttails. “I’m going to bind your hands to my headboard with your braces, use my tie as a blindfold for your eyes. I’ll use you for as long as I please. I’ll have you groveling before I’m finished.”
There’s a ghost of touch along the head of Jack’s cock, enough to make him jump. “You say that to all the girls, I’m sure.”
“Only the tarts,” Ianto reasons, grasping at Jack’s shaft and dragging his palm up to the head again.
“Please,” Jack hisses in spite of himself.
“You know, there’s one thing I can never figure out about you, Jack. You always talk about shagging, fucking, but you never talk about getting fucked. Why is that, hmm? Do you not like being made to take it? Do you not like having to beg and barter and plead?” Ianto’s hand retreats, his whisper hot and low and so beautiful. “Or maybe, you like it too much, don’t want anybody to know. Is that it?”
“I guess you’ll see tonight when I’m tied to your bedposts,” Jack tries to turn around but Ianto’s other hand holds his head still and forward by the jaw, thumb over Jack’s mouth. He allows Jack to open his mouth, take the thumb in and suck.
The CCTV picks up footage of Toshiko and Owen pulling the SUV back into the garage, and Ianto’s stroking him hard, now.
“I’m going to tear you apart, have you so raw you’ll feel it for a week. I’ll cut that vocabulary of yours down to only my name, and I have the strangest feeling you’ll like it.” Ianto says, wistfully like he approves, and Jack comes, bucking into his hand, biting on his thumb, one hand on the chair’s armrest, the other on the computer keyboard. Come spreads everywhere on his shirt and trousers.
“You should go and change, sir. They’ll want to know what’s happened to you, in a minute.” Ianto says before walking away silently, the finest sheen of condescension in his voice.
Jack smiles to an empty room. “I’ll see what I can do about getting the others out of here early.”
Clever boy, knowing which buttons to push.
Title: Positive Reinforcement and Collective Consciousness
Author: Hegemony
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jack/ Everybody. Could easily be called a Torchwood Group Slut Fic, using the prompt 'Sex Pollen'
Wordcount: About 750
Spoilers: Through TW 1x13
Warning: Illicit Substances, Con!jack, Silliness.
Disclaimer: This wouldn't have been 'fanfic' if I owned the characters, now would it?
‘Team Building’ was a phrase that Jack never really liked hearing at all. In the twenty first century, it involved nature walks, falling into someone’s arms while closing your eyes and hoping they caught you, and various other stupid scenarios that would never, ever be used in the real world. ‘Team Building’ at the Time Agency had simply been sex; it wasn’t like the mandatory course for managerial positions in the Torchwood organization said that you couldn’t use simultaneous orgasm as a team building activity. That, obviously, was all the invitation Jack needed.
It had taken a bit of work. If someone would know where to look, they’d find a whole composition book displaying equations for e-con to zocar ratios, balanced chemical equations for proper temporary sterilization procedures and how much MDMA-extract was really safe for presumably first-timers weighing anywhere from 120 to 160 pounds, as a rough estimation. How steady the rate of dispersal would have to be to keep them under for as long as needed without overdosing. He’d accounted for everything, betting on ‘serendipitous mishaps’; facemasks that didn’t filter properly, tampered decontamination solutions, you get the point.
Jack, although he'd never admit, was well-trained in zen and the art of sabotage using illicit and exotic substances. It was the best, cleverest, most thorough con he’d ever pulled since Adonis prime.
The computer said what Jack had told it to say: Class-5 biochemical threat in the cells.
The door to the cell shut behind him, and he’d intended to turn around and make a show of how they were locked into a cramped and contaminated space, but they had already pawed each other’s clothes off, and no math equation could account for naked co-workers.
Jack stepped close enough, and Gwen reached out and damn near wrestled him closer, the urge to feel skin so fierce that she’d stripped him naked before stopping to arch her back, screaming out, her other hand in Toshiko’s hair.
“Oh Jack, her tongue. God.” She’d moaned and pulled him onto her lips to stifle her cries. She’d groaned when he pulled away reluctantly, his eyes moving from hers down to Tosh’s, sitting on her knees, lips filthy-wet and eyes begging him to kiss her, grope her, fuck her. Jack slid close, his lips hovering open and hungry like he’d been trying to breathe before kissing the air out of her, holding her close, hands in her hair, focusing on her tongue.
“Bloody hot, that is,” Owen had said from the other side of the cell, and Jack stepped back to re-assess the situation he’d gotten them into.
“We have a problem, Jack,” Ianto said, softly. Jack looked at him, and saw the Roman gladiator on his knees between Ianto’s naked legs.
“I thought you guys got him back to the right century when I was away,” Jack says.
“We lied,” Ianto gasped, and Owen had taken no time to fit his lips over Ianto’s, pulling him backward by the hair, a hand possessively across his throat like this was the way things were.
Jack sighed, allowing a moment to think that things between the five of them had become irreparable, but there were tongues and fingers everywhere and someone had a cock so close, Jack was going to have a fit if it wasn’t in him now.
He’d made Gwen squeal with how rough he’d been, made Tosh melt under his touch, spoke to her in perfected tones of her own language. He made Ianto and Owen fucking beg at the same time with proper discipline and denied orgasm. Jack had even been so dizzy with need and the feeling of bodies colliding that he and the gladiator wrestled with each other until they’d locked themselves in a 69.
He had them in alphabetical order backwards and forwards, in him and in them, spread thighs and messy groans and dirty talk in foreign languages, be it Welsh or Japanese or goddamn Latin. They swelled into a six person blob, shaking, screaming, dry, raw, wet, insatiable.
The detox, surprisingly, was more group sex (sans the gladiator) in locations with fresher air. In the days after, they worked more cohesively than they ever had, like they’d gained collective consciousness.
The scenario has a file, with analysis and suggestions to make the experience better. Rope is a popular request.
Jack runs it constantly for positive reinforcement.