Pink Tie Plaintiff (Jack/Ianto; R)
Title: Pink Tie Plaintiff
Author: etharei
Rating: R
Timeline: late S2
Spoilers: up until "Dead Man Walking" (208)
Summary: “Look, Jack, it’s really simple,” says Owen in the distinct, slow voice he uses when addressing idiots and distracted bosses.
Author's Notes: Something short, for a change.
Disclaimer: Torchwood and all the characters and situations featured therein are the property of Russell T. Davies, the BBC and their affiliates. I’m only borrowing them for purely non-profit, recreational purposes.
Written for: horizonssing, Day #5.
Pink Tie Plaintiff
by Etharei
“Look, Jack, it’s really simple,” says Owen in the distinct, slow voice he uses when addressing idiots and distracted bosses. “And kind of important, if I’m going to be spending more time in the Hub now.”
Ianto refuses to take his eyes off Owen, since he feels he’s managed a solid considerate-and-mildly-apologetic look at last. Normally he has little trouble affecting whatever expression most suits him at a certain time; however, that amount of control (and coherency, even) that requires is a little difficult to regain when one is thoroughly disheveled and blatantly breathless.
“You know, on account of me being dead.”
And Jack, clearly, is taking Ianto’s avoidance as a challenge. They’re sitting in chairs, to the relief of Ianto’s knees, and started out with a respectable distance between them. Somehow Jack manages to shift his chair closer to Ianto without Ianto or Owen seeing him move.
“Might as well get work done here, instead of sitting at home.”
Ianto still will not look at Jack, but heated glances are far, far easier to ignore than a warm finger trailing down his arm. Finger-light, down the tender underside, teasing small circles on his elbow. Ianto shudders, despite himself. He tries to grab Jack’s wrist, to pin down the wandering hand, but Jack captures his hand and strokes a thumb over Ianto’s palm in a way that reminds Ianto of what that same thumb had just been doing to the head of his cock...
“Somehow I never thought this would be one of my problems after dying.”
...and now Jack’s breath is ghosting over the side of Ianto’s neck, stirring the little hairs at the nape. Ianto becomes aware of the scent of Jack, all over him, like he’d bathed in it. Sweat still drying on his back, skin so sensitive still, the start of a sweet stinging from various spots under his hastily buttoned shirt. Soreness, salt, oh God he can taste Jack’s come in his mouth.
“You two aren’t even listening, are you? Oi!” Owen snaps his fingers loudly in front of them, and holds up the half undone tie that’d been lost to the floor early on. “Pink tie on the door of any room you’re shagging in. So we dysfunctional insomniacs can work together with minimal trauma, yeah? All right, I’m sure Ianto got some of that, at least. Hey, hey, can you wait until I’ve left the room?!”
Author: etharei
Rating: R
Timeline: late S2
Spoilers: up until "Dead Man Walking" (208)
Summary: “Look, Jack, it’s really simple,” says Owen in the distinct, slow voice he uses when addressing idiots and distracted bosses.
Author's Notes: Something short, for a change.
Disclaimer: Torchwood and all the characters and situations featured therein are the property of Russell T. Davies, the BBC and their affiliates. I’m only borrowing them for purely non-profit, recreational purposes.
Written for: horizonssing, Day #5.
Pink Tie Plaintiff
by Etharei
“Look, Jack, it’s really simple,” says Owen in the distinct, slow voice he uses when addressing idiots and distracted bosses. “And kind of important, if I’m going to be spending more time in the Hub now.”
Ianto refuses to take his eyes off Owen, since he feels he’s managed a solid considerate-and-mildly-apologetic look at last. Normally he has little trouble affecting whatever expression most suits him at a certain time; however, that amount of control (and coherency, even) that requires is a little difficult to regain when one is thoroughly disheveled and blatantly breathless.
“You know, on account of me being dead.”
And Jack, clearly, is taking Ianto’s avoidance as a challenge. They’re sitting in chairs, to the relief of Ianto’s knees, and started out with a respectable distance between them. Somehow Jack manages to shift his chair closer to Ianto without Ianto or Owen seeing him move.
“Might as well get work done here, instead of sitting at home.”
Ianto still will not look at Jack, but heated glances are far, far easier to ignore than a warm finger trailing down his arm. Finger-light, down the tender underside, teasing small circles on his elbow. Ianto shudders, despite himself. He tries to grab Jack’s wrist, to pin down the wandering hand, but Jack captures his hand and strokes a thumb over Ianto’s palm in a way that reminds Ianto of what that same thumb had just been doing to the head of his cock...
“Somehow I never thought this would be one of my problems after dying.”
...and now Jack’s breath is ghosting over the side of Ianto’s neck, stirring the little hairs at the nape. Ianto becomes aware of the scent of Jack, all over him, like he’d bathed in it. Sweat still drying on his back, skin so sensitive still, the start of a sweet stinging from various spots under his hastily buttoned shirt. Soreness, salt, oh God he can taste Jack’s come in his mouth.
“You two aren’t even listening, are you? Oi!” Owen snaps his fingers loudly in front of them, and holds up the half undone tie that’d been lost to the floor early on. “Pink tie on the door of any room you’re shagging in. So we dysfunctional insomniacs can work together with minimal trauma, yeah? All right, I’m sure Ianto got some of that, at least. Hey, hey, can you wait until I’ve left the room?!”