fic: Eight Hours 4/? [NC-17] Torchwood/Highlander
Author: A Lanart
Title: Eight Hours
Fandom: Torchwood/Highlander
Characters: Jack/Ianto/Methos
Rating: Adult. NC-17 for m/m/m smut
Warnings/Spoilers: None/TW S1, KKBB and DW S3.
Disclaimer: Torchwood belongs to Aunty Beeb. Methos belongs to Panzer/Davis productions
Summary: Temporal Displacement? Makes your tongue tingle...
A/N: I was determined to finish this part today so I had something to contribute to Smut Sunday. You can thank public transport for getting it started, I wouldn't have written so much if it wasn't for having to put up with boring train journeys this week as my car is off the road. I'm just glad no-one was reading over my shoulder as I'm sure most passengers wouldn't understand about writing smut on a train. I also have a sneaky suspicion that this is going to end up a hell of a lot longer than I expected. Strange that; it's never happened before. *g*
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
~4~
Jack’s eyes flew open as the chair rocked beneath him when someone stumbled into it. There was a breathless and unrepentant
“Sorry!” From Ianto as he and Methos stumbled toward the bed, probably too intent on maintaining lip contact with each other to make the effort to be steady on their feet. Jack wriggled surreptitiously on the padded seat in an effort to get more comfortable and leant back in the chair, prepared to enjoy the show. When he had the opportunity Jack had always enjoyed watching a lover - or lovers - lose themselves in someone else; that hadn’t changed. What had changed was having the decision to do so firmly removed from his own hands. To be restricted to watching was punishment indeed when all he wanted to do was join the delicious tangle of limbs on Ianto’s bed, to kiss and caress warm and responsive skin, to lick and suck and bite, to be the one drowning in sensation, to be the one eliciting each moan and gasp and whimper instead of sitting passive and frustrated and extremely turned on. Ianto and Methos knew him too well and obviously wanted him to realise that.
As much as the subtext laden conversation in the office, his punishment was telling Jack in no uncertain terms that if he wanted to continue his relationship with Ianto he was going to have to work harder at it than he had previously. Jack smiled to himself; he might be a bit out of practice with regards to working at a relationship but he had a good memory and he knew Ianto was worth it. Methos would no doubt critique his efforts at every opportunity and relish every uncomfortable moment but Jack knew he would look forward to that too; there was a subtle affection in Methos’ barbed comments that said more than just the words did.
A breathy gasp - Methos’ - brought his attention fully back to the bed. Ianto was undoing Methos’ composure with the focused intensity that still managed to surprise and captivate Jack when it wasn’t turned on him; when it was turned on him he fell apart in pretty much the same way as Methos was doing. His skin felt tight and ached in all the places where he wasn’t being touched, his cock twitching with every lust-filled sound produced by the writhing heap on the bed and weeping in earnest as Ianto growled something Welsh into Methos’ hip, low and needy, before biting into the soft skin. Jack tasted blood in his own mouth as he bit his lip, breath quickening as he watched Ianto plant a trail of kisses across Methos’ thigh, nudging his legs further apart and avoiding the leaking cock that was demanding attention. A half articulated growl of protest from Methos was cut short at the same time Jack realised where Ianto’s mouth was heading; the resulting moan was drawn from two throats. Ianto lifted his head and glanced over his shoulder at Jack; this was Ianto as only he and Methos saw him, all flushed skin, lust darkened eyes and kiss bruised lips. Ianto smiled, and Jack melted just a little bit more.
“Good job we didn’t tell you to keep quiet,” Ianto ground out, his voice harsh and breathless. Jack gaped at him and managed to produce a sound that was part chuckle, part groan. He cleared his throat and tried again.
“Quiet?! Watching you two!!” He paused, almost panting for breath. “You’d have to gag me.” It came out in a rush, needing to be said even as he feared saying it. Ianto met his eyes.
“Maybe another time,” he whispered as he turned back to Methos, his voice a rough and intimate caress rich with dark promise. Jack closed his eyes as another surge of desire, of sheer need pounded through him. The thought of giving up his voice, of surrendering all control to the two men in front of him was intoxicating and exhilarating and completely terrified the life out of him. A breathless and unsteady ‘please’ from Methos seemed to echo Jack’s half realised need and his eyes shot open to be met with the sight of Methos sprawled in absolute submission to Ianto’s sensual onslaught, legs spread wide to grant him easier access which presented Jack with an amazing view as Ianto darted his tongue in and out of Methos’ body in the most intimate of caresses. Jack wanted to do the same to Ianto, to undo him as completely as he was taking apart Methos, to make him beg in the way Methos was demanding More and Now, to press his weeping cock into Ianto’s tight arse. His fingers ached as he clung tightly to the chair, desperate to touch himself, to obtain some relief and equally as determined not to. He wanted his reward whatever it may be, wanted to be surrounded by warm, damp skin, to be enfolded in strong arms, to be safe, wanted, needed, cared for; to mean something, *be* something, to be more than just a madman’s plaything and discarded toy. Jack screwed his eyes shut again for a brief moment, forcing the unwanted memories away before submersing himself in the smell and sound and sight of the two men whose mere existence had helped him to maintain a precarious hold on his sanity and sense of self during that dark time.
Ianto was slithering up Methos’ body, one hand scrabbling blindly in the bedcovers as he kissed his way higher, finally silencing the wanton, needy sounds Methos was making with his mouth. Jack trembled, almost whimpering as Ianto’s questing fingers found what they had been looking for and one-handedly flipped open the tube and coated them in lube. Jack doubted Methos would need much preparation as his arsehole was still flushed and glistening from the ministrations of Ianto’s tongue, but it seemed Ianto wanted to tease them both and gently circled and rubbed over the puckered opening without trying to gain entrance. Jack could barely restrain himself any longer and was about to yell at Ianto to get on with it when Methos snaked a hand round Ianto until he could reach his arm and wriggled until he managed to impale himself on Ianto’s fingers. Ianto obliged with the unspoken command and thrust them deeper into Methos, making him writhe and moan incoherently. He raised his head and looked down at Methos, then cast another glance back at Jack. Their eyes met and Jack found himself unable to do anything but stare helplessly and drown; his body screaming mindlessly for just one touch. Ianto shuddered and let out a breathless and gravelly
“Fuck!” that described exactly how Jack felt and what he needed as he clung to the chair with desperation. He wouldn’t move. He wouldn’t. He could do this, no matter how much his body tried to tell him otherwise. He would prove he wasn’t a slave to his body even though the sounds that Methos was making as Ianto removed his fingers and replaced them with his cock were almost enough to bring him off right there and then. Jack’s fingers were numb and his arms were tingling; he could taste blood in his mouth again as he bit his lip once more, trying to stop himself from begging for release as he watched Ianto plunge into Methos again and again. He could no longer hear them through the pounding of his own blood and his breathless whimpers though he was aware that Ianto was murmuring something over and over. All Jack could process was his own aching body and the sight of Ianto’s cock buried in Methos’ arse, rhythm faltering as he drew close to his own release. Then Ianto was coming with a shout, and Methos... wasn’t. Even as he was still shaking in the final throes of his climax, Ianto withdrew from Methos and collapsed on the bed, leaving a trail of come coating Methos’ arse. Jack was transfixed, especially as Methos slid off the bed and approached him, breathing heavily, his cock still firmly standing to attention. Jack gazed up at him wordlessly as Methos tangled a hand in his hair and kissed him gently.
“You more than deserve your reward,” he whispered. Jack could only gasp wordlessly as Methos gently removed his fingers from their vice like grip around the chair, soothing them with lips and tongue. “Think you can hold on a little longer?” Jack nodded, focusing on the burning in his fingers as circulation returned in order to distract himself. He would *make* himself hold on, now he had an inkling of what his reward would be. Methos grinned wickedly at him, and laid his hands down. Jack let them hang at the sides of the chair for the present; he knew he would need them in good working order soon. Methos turned, straddling both chair and Jack and lowered himself down. Jack’s already-slick cock slid easily through the remnants of Ianto’s come into the moist and enveloping heat of Methos’ arse. Neither Jack nor Methos moved as Jack panted into Methos’ shoulder; Jack was still too close to coming himself to chance any movement and he realised that Methos was ceding what little control he still had over to Jack. He let his hands wander up around Methos’ hips to cradle him closely, let one finger carefully brush the length of the rigid cock, swirling the fluid at the tip all around the head. Methos shivered and Jack leant back, allowing Methos to move with him, head resting against his shoulder. Jack kissed him gently, and began to move with undulating rolls of his hips, one hand still around Methos’ hips, and the other wrapped around his cock. Methos was hot and slick around him, and unsurprisingly not as tight as he usually was. Jack inhaled deeply; Methos’ own indefinable scent was overlaid by Ianto’s and was now being overwhelmed by that of Jack’s own arousal; it was better than any drug and there was no way he could, or wanted to, hold back any longer.
“Methos...” The sound was breathy, barely even a whisper but Methos understood. There was a slight shift of position and Methos thrust down onto him; once, twice three times, and Jack exploded within him, coming so hard he virtually saw stars, only half aware as Methos’ muscles clenched around him as he found his own release.
Title: Eight Hours
Fandom: Torchwood/Highlander
Characters: Jack/Ianto/Methos
Rating: Adult. NC-17 for m/m/m smut
Warnings/Spoilers: None/TW S1, KKBB and DW S3.
Disclaimer: Torchwood belongs to Aunty Beeb. Methos belongs to Panzer/Davis productions
Summary: Temporal Displacement? Makes your tongue tingle...
A/N: I was determined to finish this part today so I had something to contribute to Smut Sunday. You can thank public transport for getting it started, I wouldn't have written so much if it wasn't for having to put up with boring train journeys this week as my car is off the road. I'm just glad no-one was reading over my shoulder as I'm sure most passengers wouldn't understand about writing smut on a train. I also have a sneaky suspicion that this is going to end up a hell of a lot longer than I expected. Strange that; it's never happened before. *g*
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
~4~
Jack’s eyes flew open as the chair rocked beneath him when someone stumbled into it. There was a breathless and unrepentant
“Sorry!” From Ianto as he and Methos stumbled toward the bed, probably too intent on maintaining lip contact with each other to make the effort to be steady on their feet. Jack wriggled surreptitiously on the padded seat in an effort to get more comfortable and leant back in the chair, prepared to enjoy the show. When he had the opportunity Jack had always enjoyed watching a lover - or lovers - lose themselves in someone else; that hadn’t changed. What had changed was having the decision to do so firmly removed from his own hands. To be restricted to watching was punishment indeed when all he wanted to do was join the delicious tangle of limbs on Ianto’s bed, to kiss and caress warm and responsive skin, to lick and suck and bite, to be the one drowning in sensation, to be the one eliciting each moan and gasp and whimper instead of sitting passive and frustrated and extremely turned on. Ianto and Methos knew him too well and obviously wanted him to realise that.
As much as the subtext laden conversation in the office, his punishment was telling Jack in no uncertain terms that if he wanted to continue his relationship with Ianto he was going to have to work harder at it than he had previously. Jack smiled to himself; he might be a bit out of practice with regards to working at a relationship but he had a good memory and he knew Ianto was worth it. Methos would no doubt critique his efforts at every opportunity and relish every uncomfortable moment but Jack knew he would look forward to that too; there was a subtle affection in Methos’ barbed comments that said more than just the words did.
A breathy gasp - Methos’ - brought his attention fully back to the bed. Ianto was undoing Methos’ composure with the focused intensity that still managed to surprise and captivate Jack when it wasn’t turned on him; when it was turned on him he fell apart in pretty much the same way as Methos was doing. His skin felt tight and ached in all the places where he wasn’t being touched, his cock twitching with every lust-filled sound produced by the writhing heap on the bed and weeping in earnest as Ianto growled something Welsh into Methos’ hip, low and needy, before biting into the soft skin. Jack tasted blood in his own mouth as he bit his lip, breath quickening as he watched Ianto plant a trail of kisses across Methos’ thigh, nudging his legs further apart and avoiding the leaking cock that was demanding attention. A half articulated growl of protest from Methos was cut short at the same time Jack realised where Ianto’s mouth was heading; the resulting moan was drawn from two throats. Ianto lifted his head and glanced over his shoulder at Jack; this was Ianto as only he and Methos saw him, all flushed skin, lust darkened eyes and kiss bruised lips. Ianto smiled, and Jack melted just a little bit more.
“Good job we didn’t tell you to keep quiet,” Ianto ground out, his voice harsh and breathless. Jack gaped at him and managed to produce a sound that was part chuckle, part groan. He cleared his throat and tried again.
“Quiet?! Watching you two!!” He paused, almost panting for breath. “You’d have to gag me.” It came out in a rush, needing to be said even as he feared saying it. Ianto met his eyes.
“Maybe another time,” he whispered as he turned back to Methos, his voice a rough and intimate caress rich with dark promise. Jack closed his eyes as another surge of desire, of sheer need pounded through him. The thought of giving up his voice, of surrendering all control to the two men in front of him was intoxicating and exhilarating and completely terrified the life out of him. A breathless and unsteady ‘please’ from Methos seemed to echo Jack’s half realised need and his eyes shot open to be met with the sight of Methos sprawled in absolute submission to Ianto’s sensual onslaught, legs spread wide to grant him easier access which presented Jack with an amazing view as Ianto darted his tongue in and out of Methos’ body in the most intimate of caresses. Jack wanted to do the same to Ianto, to undo him as completely as he was taking apart Methos, to make him beg in the way Methos was demanding More and Now, to press his weeping cock into Ianto’s tight arse. His fingers ached as he clung tightly to the chair, desperate to touch himself, to obtain some relief and equally as determined not to. He wanted his reward whatever it may be, wanted to be surrounded by warm, damp skin, to be enfolded in strong arms, to be safe, wanted, needed, cared for; to mean something, *be* something, to be more than just a madman’s plaything and discarded toy. Jack screwed his eyes shut again for a brief moment, forcing the unwanted memories away before submersing himself in the smell and sound and sight of the two men whose mere existence had helped him to maintain a precarious hold on his sanity and sense of self during that dark time.
Ianto was slithering up Methos’ body, one hand scrabbling blindly in the bedcovers as he kissed his way higher, finally silencing the wanton, needy sounds Methos was making with his mouth. Jack trembled, almost whimpering as Ianto’s questing fingers found what they had been looking for and one-handedly flipped open the tube and coated them in lube. Jack doubted Methos would need much preparation as his arsehole was still flushed and glistening from the ministrations of Ianto’s tongue, but it seemed Ianto wanted to tease them both and gently circled and rubbed over the puckered opening without trying to gain entrance. Jack could barely restrain himself any longer and was about to yell at Ianto to get on with it when Methos snaked a hand round Ianto until he could reach his arm and wriggled until he managed to impale himself on Ianto’s fingers. Ianto obliged with the unspoken command and thrust them deeper into Methos, making him writhe and moan incoherently. He raised his head and looked down at Methos, then cast another glance back at Jack. Their eyes met and Jack found himself unable to do anything but stare helplessly and drown; his body screaming mindlessly for just one touch. Ianto shuddered and let out a breathless and gravelly
“Fuck!” that described exactly how Jack felt and what he needed as he clung to the chair with desperation. He wouldn’t move. He wouldn’t. He could do this, no matter how much his body tried to tell him otherwise. He would prove he wasn’t a slave to his body even though the sounds that Methos was making as Ianto removed his fingers and replaced them with his cock were almost enough to bring him off right there and then. Jack’s fingers were numb and his arms were tingling; he could taste blood in his mouth again as he bit his lip once more, trying to stop himself from begging for release as he watched Ianto plunge into Methos again and again. He could no longer hear them through the pounding of his own blood and his breathless whimpers though he was aware that Ianto was murmuring something over and over. All Jack could process was his own aching body and the sight of Ianto’s cock buried in Methos’ arse, rhythm faltering as he drew close to his own release. Then Ianto was coming with a shout, and Methos... wasn’t. Even as he was still shaking in the final throes of his climax, Ianto withdrew from Methos and collapsed on the bed, leaving a trail of come coating Methos’ arse. Jack was transfixed, especially as Methos slid off the bed and approached him, breathing heavily, his cock still firmly standing to attention. Jack gazed up at him wordlessly as Methos tangled a hand in his hair and kissed him gently.
“You more than deserve your reward,” he whispered. Jack could only gasp wordlessly as Methos gently removed his fingers from their vice like grip around the chair, soothing them with lips and tongue. “Think you can hold on a little longer?” Jack nodded, focusing on the burning in his fingers as circulation returned in order to distract himself. He would *make* himself hold on, now he had an inkling of what his reward would be. Methos grinned wickedly at him, and laid his hands down. Jack let them hang at the sides of the chair for the present; he knew he would need them in good working order soon. Methos turned, straddling both chair and Jack and lowered himself down. Jack’s already-slick cock slid easily through the remnants of Ianto’s come into the moist and enveloping heat of Methos’ arse. Neither Jack nor Methos moved as Jack panted into Methos’ shoulder; Jack was still too close to coming himself to chance any movement and he realised that Methos was ceding what little control he still had over to Jack. He let his hands wander up around Methos’ hips to cradle him closely, let one finger carefully brush the length of the rigid cock, swirling the fluid at the tip all around the head. Methos shivered and Jack leant back, allowing Methos to move with him, head resting against his shoulder. Jack kissed him gently, and began to move with undulating rolls of his hips, one hand still around Methos’ hips, and the other wrapped around his cock. Methos was hot and slick around him, and unsurprisingly not as tight as he usually was. Jack inhaled deeply; Methos’ own indefinable scent was overlaid by Ianto’s and was now being overwhelmed by that of Jack’s own arousal; it was better than any drug and there was no way he could, or wanted to, hold back any longer.
“Methos...” The sound was breathy, barely even a whisper but Methos understood. There was a slight shift of position and Methos thrust down onto him; once, twice three times, and Jack exploded within him, coming so hard he virtually saw stars, only half aware as Methos’ muscles clenched around him as he found his own release.