Fic: The Ruby Eye
It's a good thing I already had this written. We had bad news at the vet this morning - I have to get back to them in the next day or two to arrange to have my bunny put to sleep. I'm a couple of scenes into part 2 of the next fic in the Mutual Service series but right now I'm not sure how long it will be until I feel up to writing again.
Title: The Ruby Eye
Pairing/character: Jack/Ianto
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: "It was amazing how quickly Jack had reduced him to a worthless whore, and he loved it."
Notes: Written for rounds_of_kink with the above prompt + "humiliation" as a kink.
Ianto has been filmed having sex before, but he always wipes the CCTV footage afterwards, so it doesn't really count.
Besides, the security cameras are a background fact, something everyone's aware of but never actually think about. It lacks immediacy. When he's bent over Jack's desk, knuckles white curled around the edge of the wood, so hard it hurts, he's sure as hell not thinking about anything except the force of Jack's thrusts and heat and sucking in air enough so he doesn't pass out.
This? This is different in every single way.
The floor of Jack's cubby is hard under his knees and he is certain that that's why Jack picked it, another detail to make Ianto as uncomfortable as possible. Legs spread open, baring him to the camera. Clothing folded neatly in a pile in the far corner, while Jack is fully dressed and watching him. There was a time when he never would have agreed to this, when the idea of submitting to Jack was almost as horrifying as the idea of loving him, but he finds now that he wants more, and more, and more.
Jack presses a button on the camera and the red LED light flicks on. He feels watched, as though there is more than the two of them here. "Iantoooo," Jack says softly, drawing the sound out. "Tell me what you're thinking."
What Ianto is thinking, rather irrelevantly, is that there is every chance this video is going to end up in a box next to Jack's sepia-toned wedding photo, but he suspects this is not the sort of answer he's supposed to give. Instead he says, stutters really, "I-- nothing."
"You're never thinking nothing. Come on, how do you feel?"
He swallows, closes his eyes for a moment, and tries not to shift too much. It's not something he's never been asked before. Jack imbues it with a specific meaning, a way to gauge how involved Ianto is in whatever utterly mad, intense, humiliating idea has been posed to him, and he shivers slightly at the thought of some of them. "Cold," he murmurs. "Turned on. Like... like a slut."
"Hmm... Better or worse than when I made you wear that huge plug under your pretty suit all day?" Jack's grin is sharp and Ianto lets out a small sound, something that could be pleading or despairing or both at once. "Touch yourself," Jack says, and it's a benediction.
The camera tracks every movement as he brings his hand to his cock, half-hard from the shame of it. He'd never done this before Jack either, performed on command like a dog, put on a show, but somehow along the way the Captain's managed to completely destroy every sexual boundary he thought he had and a few more besides.
He's not sure where to look as he strokes and his eyes move around the room: the camera, Jack's face, his throat as he swallows heavily, the bottom of the tripod, his own hand. Despite the discomfit he can't help but react, stimulation and the fact of Jack's mere presence working him into full hardness and making him shudder. His skin is flushed and it only makes the cool air cooler.
"You're so pretty when you're embarrassed," Jack tells him.
He lets out a ragged moan and moves his hand faster, pre-come spreading slick under his fingers, and if he doesn't want to be down here on his knees with the camera and Jack standing sentinel it's only in the same way that he doesn't want to be sprinting down an alleyway, heart pumping as they chase after a Weevil, knowing that the adrenalin and battle high is going to lead to a frantic, desperate fuck against a wall or the SUV or even back at the Hub if they make it that far. Anticipation in the way Jack eyes him hungrily and somehow even the thought that sometimes he feels rather like the other man's personal interactive sex toy is-- oh god, too good.
A small keening noise escapes him and quite suddenly Jack's voice is too sharp; "Stop;" a clear command. It's hard, so hard (pun intended and unintended all at once) but he makes himself even as the cease of movement makes him whimper, a sound that could almost be "please". "What do you want?"
He doesn't think - he isn't capable of it - his answer spills from his lips like an obscene prayer to a blaspheming god.
"Want you-- want to suck you-- want to feel you in the back of my throat, want you to come in my mouth, Jack, please, let me--" come, touch you, something, anything. Words he never would have said once, words he would have laughed at if he'd heard them in a porn flick, thought that no one talked like that in real life, but now he's practically mewling them with meaning and need.
While he's manfully struggling not to tighten the hand still around his cock Jack starts walking over, thank god, flicking braces off his shoulders, button open on his trousers. He even manages to time it just so for Ianto to lean forward and take him as soon as he's got his bloody clothes out of the way and then his hands are scrabbling at Jack's hips, needing him closer, needing to clench and hold, needing the taste of him on his lips and the weight on his tongue and fingers pulling at his hair as he moans and hums and sucks him down and somehow he still comes before Jack, not even touching himself, spurting over the floor and Jack's trousers and shoes and practically crying with the heat of it. "Ah," Jack sighs, "ahh," and still riding the high Ianto swallows greedily and messily, come leaking from his open mouth, trickling down his lips and chin. "So good, going to watch this later, love your mouth." The words sound like a chant and Jack's fingers loosen, stroking his hair gentler now.
The soothing movement doesn't stop even as Ianto finally lets Jack's softening cock slip from his lips, resting his forehead on his hip as he shudders through the come-down. Now that he is stilling, his skin prickles a little.
He tells himself that it's sweat, and not the camera's staring eye.
Title: The Ruby Eye
Pairing/character: Jack/Ianto
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: "It was amazing how quickly Jack had reduced him to a worthless whore, and he loved it."
Notes: Written for rounds_of_kink with the above prompt + "humiliation" as a kink.
Ianto has been filmed having sex before, but he always wipes the CCTV footage afterwards, so it doesn't really count.
Besides, the security cameras are a background fact, something everyone's aware of but never actually think about. It lacks immediacy. When he's bent over Jack's desk, knuckles white curled around the edge of the wood, so hard it hurts, he's sure as hell not thinking about anything except the force of Jack's thrusts and heat and sucking in air enough so he doesn't pass out.
This? This is different in every single way.
The floor of Jack's cubby is hard under his knees and he is certain that that's why Jack picked it, another detail to make Ianto as uncomfortable as possible. Legs spread open, baring him to the camera. Clothing folded neatly in a pile in the far corner, while Jack is fully dressed and watching him. There was a time when he never would have agreed to this, when the idea of submitting to Jack was almost as horrifying as the idea of loving him, but he finds now that he wants more, and more, and more.
Jack presses a button on the camera and the red LED light flicks on. He feels watched, as though there is more than the two of them here. "Iantoooo," Jack says softly, drawing the sound out. "Tell me what you're thinking."
What Ianto is thinking, rather irrelevantly, is that there is every chance this video is going to end up in a box next to Jack's sepia-toned wedding photo, but he suspects this is not the sort of answer he's supposed to give. Instead he says, stutters really, "I-- nothing."
"You're never thinking nothing. Come on, how do you feel?"
He swallows, closes his eyes for a moment, and tries not to shift too much. It's not something he's never been asked before. Jack imbues it with a specific meaning, a way to gauge how involved Ianto is in whatever utterly mad, intense, humiliating idea has been posed to him, and he shivers slightly at the thought of some of them. "Cold," he murmurs. "Turned on. Like... like a slut."
"Hmm... Better or worse than when I made you wear that huge plug under your pretty suit all day?" Jack's grin is sharp and Ianto lets out a small sound, something that could be pleading or despairing or both at once. "Touch yourself," Jack says, and it's a benediction.
The camera tracks every movement as he brings his hand to his cock, half-hard from the shame of it. He'd never done this before Jack either, performed on command like a dog, put on a show, but somehow along the way the Captain's managed to completely destroy every sexual boundary he thought he had and a few more besides.
He's not sure where to look as he strokes and his eyes move around the room: the camera, Jack's face, his throat as he swallows heavily, the bottom of the tripod, his own hand. Despite the discomfit he can't help but react, stimulation and the fact of Jack's mere presence working him into full hardness and making him shudder. His skin is flushed and it only makes the cool air cooler.
"You're so pretty when you're embarrassed," Jack tells him.
He lets out a ragged moan and moves his hand faster, pre-come spreading slick under his fingers, and if he doesn't want to be down here on his knees with the camera and Jack standing sentinel it's only in the same way that he doesn't want to be sprinting down an alleyway, heart pumping as they chase after a Weevil, knowing that the adrenalin and battle high is going to lead to a frantic, desperate fuck against a wall or the SUV or even back at the Hub if they make it that far. Anticipation in the way Jack eyes him hungrily and somehow even the thought that sometimes he feels rather like the other man's personal interactive sex toy is-- oh god, too good.
A small keening noise escapes him and quite suddenly Jack's voice is too sharp; "Stop;" a clear command. It's hard, so hard (pun intended and unintended all at once) but he makes himself even as the cease of movement makes him whimper, a sound that could almost be "please". "What do you want?"
He doesn't think - he isn't capable of it - his answer spills from his lips like an obscene prayer to a blaspheming god.
"Want you-- want to suck you-- want to feel you in the back of my throat, want you to come in my mouth, Jack, please, let me--" come, touch you, something, anything. Words he never would have said once, words he would have laughed at if he'd heard them in a porn flick, thought that no one talked like that in real life, but now he's practically mewling them with meaning and need.
While he's manfully struggling not to tighten the hand still around his cock Jack starts walking over, thank god, flicking braces off his shoulders, button open on his trousers. He even manages to time it just so for Ianto to lean forward and take him as soon as he's got his bloody clothes out of the way and then his hands are scrabbling at Jack's hips, needing him closer, needing to clench and hold, needing the taste of him on his lips and the weight on his tongue and fingers pulling at his hair as he moans and hums and sucks him down and somehow he still comes before Jack, not even touching himself, spurting over the floor and Jack's trousers and shoes and practically crying with the heat of it. "Ah," Jack sighs, "ahh," and still riding the high Ianto swallows greedily and messily, come leaking from his open mouth, trickling down his lips and chin. "So good, going to watch this later, love your mouth." The words sound like a chant and Jack's fingers loosen, stroking his hair gentler now.
The soothing movement doesn't stop even as Ianto finally lets Jack's softening cock slip from his lips, resting his forehead on his hip as he shudders through the come-down. Now that he is stilling, his skin prickles a little.
He tells himself that it's sweat, and not the camera's staring eye.