Game On: Jack in the Tourist Office
Title: Game On
Chapter: Jack in the Tourist Office
Author: remuslives23
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Jack. Jack/Ianto
Fandom: Torchwood
Word Count: 1126
Summary: It had been a long, hard day and Jack wants to relax.
Notes: Written for day nine of mmom using lover100 prompt 060: control.
Happy Mother's Day to all the mums on my flist. Porn is the perfect gift for any occasion. ;)
Previously: Ianto in the Archives | Jack in the Main Hub | Ianto in Jack's Office
Disclaimer: This fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by Russel T Davies, BBC, and affiliates. No money is being made and no offense is intended. Characters are of legal age for sexual situations.
It was late. The day had been hard and long and painful in a way that made Jack long for retcon to take the memories of blood and screams away. He'd tried to convince Owen to leave the bodies until tomorrow, but the doctor had snapped and snarled, and Jack left him to deal with Torchwood's failures in his own way; just like Jack had been hoping to before Ianto was clipped with a set of very sharp pincers and far too much crimson-tinted rainwater spilled into Cardiff's sewers. Owen said he'd be alright but it was close, Jack. If it had been just a quarter inch deeper..., but shouldn't be "partaking in vigorous activities for a few days, so keep it in your pants, Captain".
Jack prowled the main Hub, tapping at Tosh's keyboard, climbing up to Myfanwy's nest only to beat a hasty retreat when she found out he had no chocolate for her, and poking futilely at Ianto's coffee machine. He stuck his nose back in the medical bay only to have Owen threaten to take it off with a scalpel so he wandered aimlessly, wondering if Ianto would mind him calling around and setting himself up on the couch with a DVD before dismissing the idea as far too domestic for either his or Ianto's comfort. He ignored the tiny twinge of disappointment and headed for the cog door.
His thoughts consumed with Ianto, he wasn't all that surprised when he found himself in the tourist office surrounded by sticky notes with Ianto's tidy handwriting, neat piles of pamphlets for Cardiff Castle, and the lingering scent of his aftershave.
Reminds me of fresh sea air and warm sunny days which is a bit of a contradiction seeing as Ianto spends most of his time underground, but then Ianto himself is full of contradictions, really.
Jack breathed in deeply through his nose, surprised by the strength of the pang of longing in his chest, then exhaled quickly as though expelling the reminder of how desperately alone he felt tonight.
Jack dragged a finger over the tourist desk, unsurprised when it came away unsoiled by dust, then perched on Ianto's chair. He rummaged through the drawers beneath the desk, unashamedly snooping through Ianto's belongings: spare key, mints, comb, book - Stephen King? Really, Ianto?, odd buttons, lube...
Lube?
He stared at the small travel-sized tube, a grin spreading across his face. 'Ianto, you beautiful, filthy man,' he murmured, thumbing open the cap and squeezing a dollop of the clear gel onto his finger. 'Always prepared.'
The thought of Ianto's intentions when he went to the chemist, bought this lube, and stashed it in the Tourist Office made Jack's cock swell so fast it left him breathless and dizzy. He rubbed his hand over the ridge of his erection then delved into his pocket to pull out a crumpled note.
Six minutes and twenty-one seconds.
'Okay, Jones, Ianto Jones,' he said, tugging his own stopwatch from his waistcoat. 'Let's put this lube to good use.'
A glance confirmed the visitor's door was locked and as for the secret door leading to the lift... well, he'd just have to hope that Owen's regret over today's events wasn't easily - or quickly - buried. He stood and slid his braces over his arms then, after slippery, lube-covered fingers waged a short battle with his belt and fly, he shoved his pants and underwear down to pool around his ankles. Then he grasped his cock, tilted his head and looked directly into the lens of the CCTV camera as he held the stopwatch high and pressed the button.
Enjoy the show, Ianto.
With a lewd smirk, he stroked his cock languidly, leaning back against the counter as he spread his legs. He tucked the stopwatch back into his waistcoat then lowered his hand to fondle his balls. His eyes closed as desire ignited, heat spreading through his veins to every inch of his body. He kept his strokes even - designed for long distance, not a sprint - and allowed his fingers to inch back, past his balls to rub at the furled opening between his buttocks.
Jack adjusted his stance, frustrated by the constriction of his bunched trousers. He shuffled in a half-circle, bending over and pressing his cheek against the counter. He canted his hips back and wriggled them, chuckling to himself at the thought of Ianto's reaction to his teasing then he carefully pushed the tip of his finger inside his hole.
With a groan Owen could have heard from the main Hub, Jack increased the speed of his strokes, his hand becoming sticky from the generous amount of pre-come spilled. His hips rocked back and forth as he impaled himself on his finger, quickly slipping another in beside it. It was drier than the first - slicked by Ianto's lube - and the stretch burned, fire searing through his core. His hand tightened around his cock and he twisted his wrist, sending another flood of liquid lust pulsing through him.
Condensation from his rapid breaths dampened the surface of the counter as Jack gave up all semblance of control and thrust his hips urgently back and forth - into his hand then back, fingers filling him insubstantially, all the while imagining Ianto behind him, Ianto's cock inside him, Ianto's hand on his dick coaxing a dizzying orgasm from him...
Jack grunted as the building pressure inside him finally broke and a hitching, 'Ianto!' spilled from his lips as he came, ejaculate splattering over his hand, over the floor and counter. His moan was muffled as he turned his face into the counter top, hips juddering to an eventual halt as the wash of pleasure dissipated, leaving Jack loose-limbed and utterly spent.
He had the presence of mind to fumble for his stopwatch, managing to push the button to stop the ticking hands, then he tumbled back into Ianto's chair, pants around his ankles and limp cock slick with come resting - spent - in a nest of dark curls. Panting, he tugged his stopwatch from its pocket and glanced at the face. He chuckled then, with a contented sigh, went searching for some tissues.
*
Text received at 12:38am from Jack
I,
Re: Get well message
If you're awake, check your email. Official time: six minutes, thirty-seven seconds. Bow out gracefully now, Jones, and I won't be too hard on you during my celebrations.
J.
*
Text message received at 12:39am from Jack
P.S. And you really should be a little more thorough in your cleaning. The counter in the Tourist Office is disconcertingly sticky.
*
Text message received at 12:45am from Jack
I miss you. Can I come around?
*
Text message received at 12:46am from Ianto
Yes.
Next
Chapter: Jack in the Tourist Office
Author: remuslives23
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Jack. Jack/Ianto
Fandom: Torchwood
Word Count: 1126
Summary: It had been a long, hard day and Jack wants to relax.
Notes: Written for day nine of mmom using lover100 prompt 060: control.
Happy Mother's Day to all the mums on my flist. Porn is the perfect gift for any occasion. ;)
Previously: Ianto in the Archives | Jack in the Main Hub | Ianto in Jack's Office
Disclaimer: This fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by Russel T Davies, BBC, and affiliates. No money is being made and no offense is intended. Characters are of legal age for sexual situations.
It was late. The day had been hard and long and painful in a way that made Jack long for retcon to take the memories of blood and screams away. He'd tried to convince Owen to leave the bodies until tomorrow, but the doctor had snapped and snarled, and Jack left him to deal with Torchwood's failures in his own way; just like Jack had been hoping to before Ianto was clipped with a set of very sharp pincers and far too much crimson-tinted rainwater spilled into Cardiff's sewers. Owen said he'd be alright but it was close, Jack. If it had been just a quarter inch deeper..., but shouldn't be "partaking in vigorous activities for a few days, so keep it in your pants, Captain".
Jack prowled the main Hub, tapping at Tosh's keyboard, climbing up to Myfanwy's nest only to beat a hasty retreat when she found out he had no chocolate for her, and poking futilely at Ianto's coffee machine. He stuck his nose back in the medical bay only to have Owen threaten to take it off with a scalpel so he wandered aimlessly, wondering if Ianto would mind him calling around and setting himself up on the couch with a DVD before dismissing the idea as far too domestic for either his or Ianto's comfort. He ignored the tiny twinge of disappointment and headed for the cog door.
His thoughts consumed with Ianto, he wasn't all that surprised when he found himself in the tourist office surrounded by sticky notes with Ianto's tidy handwriting, neat piles of pamphlets for Cardiff Castle, and the lingering scent of his aftershave.
Reminds me of fresh sea air and warm sunny days which is a bit of a contradiction seeing as Ianto spends most of his time underground, but then Ianto himself is full of contradictions, really.
Jack breathed in deeply through his nose, surprised by the strength of the pang of longing in his chest, then exhaled quickly as though expelling the reminder of how desperately alone he felt tonight.
Jack dragged a finger over the tourist desk, unsurprised when it came away unsoiled by dust, then perched on Ianto's chair. He rummaged through the drawers beneath the desk, unashamedly snooping through Ianto's belongings: spare key, mints, comb, book - Stephen King? Really, Ianto?, odd buttons, lube...
Lube?
He stared at the small travel-sized tube, a grin spreading across his face. 'Ianto, you beautiful, filthy man,' he murmured, thumbing open the cap and squeezing a dollop of the clear gel onto his finger. 'Always prepared.'
The thought of Ianto's intentions when he went to the chemist, bought this lube, and stashed it in the Tourist Office made Jack's cock swell so fast it left him breathless and dizzy. He rubbed his hand over the ridge of his erection then delved into his pocket to pull out a crumpled note.
Six minutes and twenty-one seconds.
'Okay, Jones, Ianto Jones,' he said, tugging his own stopwatch from his waistcoat. 'Let's put this lube to good use.'
A glance confirmed the visitor's door was locked and as for the secret door leading to the lift... well, he'd just have to hope that Owen's regret over today's events wasn't easily - or quickly - buried. He stood and slid his braces over his arms then, after slippery, lube-covered fingers waged a short battle with his belt and fly, he shoved his pants and underwear down to pool around his ankles. Then he grasped his cock, tilted his head and looked directly into the lens of the CCTV camera as he held the stopwatch high and pressed the button.
Enjoy the show, Ianto.
With a lewd smirk, he stroked his cock languidly, leaning back against the counter as he spread his legs. He tucked the stopwatch back into his waistcoat then lowered his hand to fondle his balls. His eyes closed as desire ignited, heat spreading through his veins to every inch of his body. He kept his strokes even - designed for long distance, not a sprint - and allowed his fingers to inch back, past his balls to rub at the furled opening between his buttocks.
Jack adjusted his stance, frustrated by the constriction of his bunched trousers. He shuffled in a half-circle, bending over and pressing his cheek against the counter. He canted his hips back and wriggled them, chuckling to himself at the thought of Ianto's reaction to his teasing then he carefully pushed the tip of his finger inside his hole.
With a groan Owen could have heard from the main Hub, Jack increased the speed of his strokes, his hand becoming sticky from the generous amount of pre-come spilled. His hips rocked back and forth as he impaled himself on his finger, quickly slipping another in beside it. It was drier than the first - slicked by Ianto's lube - and the stretch burned, fire searing through his core. His hand tightened around his cock and he twisted his wrist, sending another flood of liquid lust pulsing through him.
Condensation from his rapid breaths dampened the surface of the counter as Jack gave up all semblance of control and thrust his hips urgently back and forth - into his hand then back, fingers filling him insubstantially, all the while imagining Ianto behind him, Ianto's cock inside him, Ianto's hand on his dick coaxing a dizzying orgasm from him...
Jack grunted as the building pressure inside him finally broke and a hitching, 'Ianto!' spilled from his lips as he came, ejaculate splattering over his hand, over the floor and counter. His moan was muffled as he turned his face into the counter top, hips juddering to an eventual halt as the wash of pleasure dissipated, leaving Jack loose-limbed and utterly spent.
He had the presence of mind to fumble for his stopwatch, managing to push the button to stop the ticking hands, then he tumbled back into Ianto's chair, pants around his ankles and limp cock slick with come resting - spent - in a nest of dark curls. Panting, he tugged his stopwatch from its pocket and glanced at the face. He chuckled then, with a contented sigh, went searching for some tissues.
*
Text received at 12:38am from Jack
I,
Re: Get well message
If you're awake, check your email. Official time: six minutes, thirty-seven seconds. Bow out gracefully now, Jones, and I won't be too hard on you during my celebrations.
J.
*
Text message received at 12:39am from Jack
P.S. And you really should be a little more thorough in your cleaning. The counter in the Tourist Office is disconcertingly sticky.
*
Text message received at 12:45am from Jack
I miss you. Can I come around?
*
Text message received at 12:46am from Ianto
Yes.
Next