Dream On #3
Title: Dream On…#3
Previous Dreams
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Setting: Immediately prior to They Keep Killing Suzie
For smut_69 - prompt #68, Writer's Choice - carpet burns
My Jack/Ianto Smut Table
Dream On…#3
So much for security. Over-rated, this alien technology… On the other hand, when Jack wants to be somewhere, he's pretty much unstoppable. So Ianto isn't too surprised that his systems have fallen victim to Jack's expertise, that he finds himself cornered in his own bedroom. But this? This is a violation; it makes him more vulnerable than he already feels.
He's naked. Jack isn't.
The sickly grey light penetrating the crack in the curtains lends Jack's face an unearthly, mask-like quality. Impossible to read. Ianto, by contrast, makes himself all too easy to fathom.
"I hate you!"
"I know."
I love you. But don't say it, for fuck's sake, don't say it! "I love you."
"I know that too."
Ianto had thought he was stronger than this, never expected his capitulation to come so readily. But he cannot stop himself. "Are you going to punish me?"
"Don't tempt me."
"You should. I deserve it."
"No you don't. But maybe you want it."
Jack tackles him, brings him down, pins him beneath him, hand at his throat. Relief washes over Ianto. Maybe Jack will be merciful and kill him when he's through; put an end to this misery, this war of emotions.
"What we want, what we need, and what we deserve" Jack whispers, removing his hand, apparently concerned by what he sees in Ianto's eyes. "Kinda complex, and with you and me, it's all bound together." He grins, changes tack. "Now there's a thought! For another time."
Ianto doesn't move, even when Jack busies himself with slipping off his braces, pulling off his shirts. Jack is still straddling him and he's heavy, heavier than he looks. And Ianto discovers that he enjoys the feel of that weight; realises he is pouting when it shifts and rises from him. But still he just lies there, arms stretched out on the floor as if in mock-crucifixion, watching Jack strip and sink to his knees beside him.
"Open up Ianto."
His brain goes into free fall as Jack slides his hands between Ianto's legs, parting his thighs. Sleeping with the enemy, fucking the foe, worse ways to go, I suppose. Do carpet burns show? Jack has him by the ankles now, dragging him, manoeuvring him, rearranging him. He hoists Ianto's legs, bends them, positions his ankles on broad shoulders, lowers himself onto him, presses against tight muscles.
It hurts, this invasion, but not as much as Ianto is expecting or wanting. He understands the mechanics, knows all about lubrication; but his body is stretching, relaxing, anyway and letting him in, little by little. Ianto closes his eyes as Jack's cock rubs and strokes and slowly wakes him up inside. I'm sorry, Lisa. So sorry. But he remains silent, stubbornly inert. Well, most of him does. He can't seem to control everything.
Raising himself up on strong arms, belly slapping against Ianto's traitorous erection with every thrust, Jack throws back his head and yells at him, frustrated by his passivity. "Come on Ianto, give me something more here!"
Ianto allows himself a small smile. The balance of power is tilting. When I'm ready, Captain. On my terms. He can picture his stopwatch in his desk in the office, top right-hand drawer. No matter. He can hear his bedroom clock ticking and that will do well enough. Ten. Nine. Eight…
Jack's movements quicken.
Three. Two. One!
Now the time is right, he surprises himself and Jack with the strength of his response and the abandon with which he comes, biting and clawing and panting…
Ianto wakes, confused, in a tangle of damp sheets. "Too real" he tells himself, unaware that he is actually speaking. "I felt every… fucking… thing! Really felt it!"
Suddenly there's an arm around his waist, he is being eased back against another body, warm and hard.
"Another nightmare?"
"Yes. No. I don't know."
"Hey, it's okay."
Strong arms roll him over. To face his lover. To face Jack.
"It's okay" Jack reassures again, before he kisses him. Slow and soft and deep.
Maybe it is okay… Maybe it will be…
Ianto wakes for real this time, in a tangle of damp sheets. Alone. His head is much clearer now. For the first time in what seems like forever but in truth is just a few tortured weeks, he knows what he is going to do. Hating him or loving him, does it really matter which? So long as he has something to sustain him, to feed the sense of purpose he needs to keep on living; to see this through to the end.
On to #4
Previous Dreams
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Setting: Immediately prior to They Keep Killing Suzie
For smut_69 - prompt #68, Writer's Choice - carpet burns
My Jack/Ianto Smut Table
Dream On…#3
So much for security. Over-rated, this alien technology… On the other hand, when Jack wants to be somewhere, he's pretty much unstoppable. So Ianto isn't too surprised that his systems have fallen victim to Jack's expertise, that he finds himself cornered in his own bedroom. But this? This is a violation; it makes him more vulnerable than he already feels.
He's naked. Jack isn't.
The sickly grey light penetrating the crack in the curtains lends Jack's face an unearthly, mask-like quality. Impossible to read. Ianto, by contrast, makes himself all too easy to fathom.
"I hate you!"
"I know."
I love you. But don't say it, for fuck's sake, don't say it! "I love you."
"I know that too."
Ianto had thought he was stronger than this, never expected his capitulation to come so readily. But he cannot stop himself. "Are you going to punish me?"
"Don't tempt me."
"You should. I deserve it."
"No you don't. But maybe you want it."
Jack tackles him, brings him down, pins him beneath him, hand at his throat. Relief washes over Ianto. Maybe Jack will be merciful and kill him when he's through; put an end to this misery, this war of emotions.
"What we want, what we need, and what we deserve" Jack whispers, removing his hand, apparently concerned by what he sees in Ianto's eyes. "Kinda complex, and with you and me, it's all bound together." He grins, changes tack. "Now there's a thought! For another time."
Ianto doesn't move, even when Jack busies himself with slipping off his braces, pulling off his shirts. Jack is still straddling him and he's heavy, heavier than he looks. And Ianto discovers that he enjoys the feel of that weight; realises he is pouting when it shifts and rises from him. But still he just lies there, arms stretched out on the floor as if in mock-crucifixion, watching Jack strip and sink to his knees beside him.
"Open up Ianto."
His brain goes into free fall as Jack slides his hands between Ianto's legs, parting his thighs. Sleeping with the enemy, fucking the foe, worse ways to go, I suppose. Do carpet burns show? Jack has him by the ankles now, dragging him, manoeuvring him, rearranging him. He hoists Ianto's legs, bends them, positions his ankles on broad shoulders, lowers himself onto him, presses against tight muscles.
It hurts, this invasion, but not as much as Ianto is expecting or wanting. He understands the mechanics, knows all about lubrication; but his body is stretching, relaxing, anyway and letting him in, little by little. Ianto closes his eyes as Jack's cock rubs and strokes and slowly wakes him up inside. I'm sorry, Lisa. So sorry. But he remains silent, stubbornly inert. Well, most of him does. He can't seem to control everything.
Raising himself up on strong arms, belly slapping against Ianto's traitorous erection with every thrust, Jack throws back his head and yells at him, frustrated by his passivity. "Come on Ianto, give me something more here!"
Ianto allows himself a small smile. The balance of power is tilting. When I'm ready, Captain. On my terms. He can picture his stopwatch in his desk in the office, top right-hand drawer. No matter. He can hear his bedroom clock ticking and that will do well enough. Ten. Nine. Eight…
Jack's movements quicken.
Three. Two. One!
Now the time is right, he surprises himself and Jack with the strength of his response and the abandon with which he comes, biting and clawing and panting…
Ianto wakes, confused, in a tangle of damp sheets. "Too real" he tells himself, unaware that he is actually speaking. "I felt every… fucking… thing! Really felt it!"
Suddenly there's an arm around his waist, he is being eased back against another body, warm and hard.
"Another nightmare?"
"Yes. No. I don't know."
"Hey, it's okay."
Strong arms roll him over. To face his lover. To face Jack.
"It's okay" Jack reassures again, before he kisses him. Slow and soft and deep.
Maybe it is okay… Maybe it will be…
Ianto wakes for real this time, in a tangle of damp sheets. Alone. His head is much clearer now. For the first time in what seems like forever but in truth is just a few tortured weeks, he knows what he is going to do. Hating him or loving him, does it really matter which? So long as he has something to sustain him, to feed the sense of purpose he needs to keep on living; to see this through to the end.
On to #4