Fic: Three Torchwood Prons
Big Old Title: I Wrote Three Prons
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: NC-17 for all
Author's Notes: Written for 51stcenturyfox's and cruentum's TW/DW Porn Battle for June.
Title: Threesome for our Intrepid Heroes!
Characters: Ianto/Tosh/Jack
Timeline: Pre-season 1
Summary: The story of how Tosh ended up having sex with both Jack and Ianto should be complicated, with a long lead in.
Dear Penthouse,
Time yet again for a story of the sex lives of the world's most formidable secret alien catchers!
The story of how Tosh ended up having sex with both Jack and Ianto should be complicated, with a long lead in. Maybe they opened a canister of sex pollen by accident in the medical bay. Or maybe they'd had a few drinks to unwind and ended up shagging on the scrotty sofa. Maybe they'd been out in the field, and some alien had blasted them with an "oooOOOooo" ray.
But it was really frightfully simple: Ianto jumped her and then they headed up to Jack's office, and there wasn't a canister of sex pollen, a bottle of whiskey, or an alien concupiscence ray in sight.
She was stood at her console, looking at her computer monitors when Ianto approached her with a steaming cup of coffee. She had been working all day and her hair was dishevelled a bit. Plus, somewhere over the course of the evening, her shirt had lost a button in a rather critical location, and while she had been holding it shut when talking to other people, it had been forgotten in her preoccupation with the schematics that she was examining on her complicated array of screens.
"Oh, thank you, Ianto," she mumbled, clicking away at her keyboard.
"You're welcome." He stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets and leant over her shoulder. "What's all this?"
Tosh smiled. "I'm looking at some of the plans for the lower levels. There's a series of tunnels here-" she pointed to one of the blueprints. "That isn't really supposed to have any power, but the wiring keeps diverting there. I've asked the computer about it, but she doesn't have answer." She worried her lip. "I was thinking of going down there."
Ianto raised one hand and placed it on her shoulder. "Really? Isn't that inconvenient?" Tosh wasn't really looking back at him, and so she was mildly surprised to feel his lips on her neck. Oh. That was nice. Tosh spared a thought for the fact that she would have never in a million years thought about Ianto. Oh, that was a lie. She thought about Ianto a lot. She thought about everyone a lot, actually. They probably thought she was thinking about equations or servos or something.
"Well, it is when we thought those corridors were unused, but now it looks like, oh…" One of Ianto's hands slipped about her waist and up to her blouse, fingers curling about the loose front and pulling so that the silk collar cut into the back of her neck.
"Ianto-" but that hand pulled more, and her next button pinged across the room. "Oh," she said faintly. "Oh, that's nice. That's-" Ianto's other hand snaked around her waist to find the side zipper of her skirt.
Ianto bit her earlobe. "You work too hard." Tosh tilted her head back and couldn't agree more.
It was easy to get to the sofa, peeling off clothes. Her shirt and its ripped buttons might have ended up in the Hub Tub. Her shoes disappeared and Ianto's tie and shirt beat a hasty retreat across the floor, so much fabric detritus as she unbuckled his belt and undid his flies. Ianto stepped out of them when they fell to the floor and virtually foxtrotted her to the sofa, sinking her down onto it.
Ianto's mouth was hot and wet, sloppy almost, when he kissed her, licked his way down her jaw. She tried to capture it with hers, but it was too quick. His hands were steady, moving in trails along newly-exposed flesh: the mound of a breast, the rise of a hip, the line of a thigh. His fingers dug into her scalp, at the base of her neck, down her shoulder blades to bow her up and capture a nipple in his teeth. When he laid her out on the sofa and pressed himself against her, the hair on his chest brushed against her, and she had to reach out and grab it, tugging.
Ianto had lost all but his shorts, but she could feel his cock pressing against her when he pushed her knees apart and settled himself in between them. There was a hard plastic crackle of a condom wrapper as he pressed it into her hand. She raised an eyebrow at him and flipped it in her fingers like a coin on the hand.
Tosh heard the coffee mug shatter before she really understood what it was about, and Ianto raised his head from her neck and glanced up. Owen and Suzie were gone for the day, and she hadn't seen Jack earlier, but she hadn't really bothered to check if he was around.
"Jack," she whispered, freezing. She craned her head around to look about, embarrassed at the thought of Jack seeing her so entangled on the sofa. He probably wouldn't ever mention it to her, but she'd see it in his eyes, some wicked glint, every time he looked at her from now on.
Ianto sat up and levered himself off her. "Yes, well, Jack. Probably sitting at his desk, with the mother of all hard-ons." He smiled at her. "You don't suppose…?"
Tosh took a few seconds to connect his train of thought to her own and finally picked it up at the last car. "Oh. Oh.. Really?"
Ianto shrugged and ran one finger down her stomach, tracing a lazy circle around her navel. His eyes latched onto hers and he smiled again. "It wouldn't be the first time. For me, that is. For you?"
That train was completely late to the station. And then, "Oh," she said. "You and Jack have-"
Ianto seemed to take this as a cue, standing and handing her his shirt; she slipped into it, letting him button just the one in the center between her breasts. "Occasionally. I like to keep my options open." Here he stepped into his trousers but didn't do more than fasten his flies. "I think options are good, don't you?"
Tosh thought of Suzie's favorite saying, 'In for a penny, in for a pound.' She smiled and cast about for her shoes. Ah, there, under the sofa. When she bent down to fish them out, she could feel Ianto's hands ghosting across her arse.
She didn't remember the walk up to Jack's office, but somewhere along the way Ianto had taken her hand, and when they arrived at the doorway, they almost seemed to be a united front. A united sexy front, she mused.
He was waiting for them, loosened collar, rolled shirtsleeves. Steepled fingers like a priest. He'd probably followed them up with the cameras, that little joystick toggle on his mouse working overtime.
Jack sat back in his chair, the corner of his mouth tucked up when he watched them circle his desk a bit. "Well," he said, "this is an unexpected development to the evening."
She felt the little push that Ianto gave her in the small of her back, his fingers pressing though the smooth fabric. She could smell his cologne wafting up from the collar. "We're working, Jack," Ianto said, his voice low. Oh, that was lovely.
Jack raised an eyebrow, but his eyes only flickered away from hers to Ianto's for a second before they settled back on her. "Oh really?"
Tosh leant across the center of the desk, placing all her weight on her elbows and propping her head on her hands. "Hello, Jack." She could feel Ianto behind her. One of his hands toyed with the bottom edges of her knickers, and she was suddenly quite happy that they were nice ones, lacy and pink and very attractive, if she did say so herself.
Jack smiled. "Toshiko, this isn't usual for you, is it? Harassing the help? That's rather my job, isn't it?"
Toshiko wiggled her arse and brushed up against Ianto. He stilled her hips with one braod palm to her arse before reaching around her and very obviously selecting a red pen from the surface of Jack's desk, waving it in front of her and Jack' faces like a wand. Ianto fucking Potter.
"I-" she began, but stopped when Jack surged forward to cup her face in his hands, his mouth fastening on hers hotly, tongue plunging into her mouth, and her fingers left her face to fasten on the edge of the desk. Behind her, Ianto brushed the hem of the shirt up, slipped one finger in the elastic of her knickers and pulled them down so that they rested halfway down her arse. Jack's lips nipped at her hers, and when he pulled away, he looked behind her to smile at Ianto.
"You should make a record of this," he said off-handedly. "You know, for her permanent file." He said 'permanent' like it was the filthiest sin in the world.
"Gladly, sir." Tosh heard the click as the pen was uncapped and as Jack pushed away from her, standing, she closed her eyes and pressed her cheek into the coolness of the desk and its mountain of papers.
"Toshiko," Ianto said as he wrote on the swell of her arse, "Is indulging in…unusually sexy…behaviour." The pen stopped, and her knickers slid further down, until they stopped down at her knees. She felt the whisper of them as they were urged past her knees and to her ankles. Ianto held her steady, and she couldn't step out of them, so there they lingered, tangled in her shoes. "Administrative action must be taken."
Jack looked down at her, his eyes riveted to hers as he smiled. "Administrative?" he asked, amused. "Like filing?"
Ianto drew a little heart at the base of her spine. "I was thinking something along those lines. Dictation, perhaps."
Tosh looked behind her, but Ianto turned her head about with his free hand. Her hands clenched around the desk again when he used his other hand to slip the non-stylus end of the pen in between her legs and poke her cunt experimentally. She rolled her hips against it.
Jack removed his hands from his pockets, and she could see from the way that his trousers fell that he was interested in the proceedings. Tosh smiled into the wood before rolling her eyes up to his face again.
"I like to think I'm a fair man, Tosh. What do you think I should do?" That smile was wide and lascivious. God, she loved when it was turned on her.
Taking Jack's clothes off was rather easy-she suggested that he take his clothes off, and they almost fell off on their own. Tosh leant on the desk and watched, feeling Ianto still working on her arse with the pen, the cursive of his hand looping and ticklish.
"'Toshiko…is…naughty," he spelled out, and then slapped her arse lightly before bending down to lick the words. There was a shuffle behind her and a light breeze of movement, and when she looked back, the pen had switched hands.
"Toshiko's…arse is…begging…for me," Jack whispered as he wrote, "and I…" the pen paused. "I am going to fuck" -hard emphasis, pressing with the pen just inside the curve of one cheek before resuming on the other side-"it…hrm, raw? No, not sexy. Ianto?"
Ianto sat on the edge of the desk next to her, and she realised that he was naked now, his cock jutting in the air most pleasingly as he contemplated. "Soundly?"
Jack snorted. "Yes. Soundly."
Tosh waited for the pen to write the rest of the words, but it never did. Instead, one hand parted her arse, and she felt fingers rub at her clit. She rolled her hips again. Ianto reached over her and dug about in his shirt pocket, using the motion to pinch her nipple though the fabric before emerging with the condoms she'd tucked in there. Jack's fingers left her clit and slid back, along her cunt, then up, to her hole and then the cleft of her arse and her back, until he reached her waist, both hands moving around to the front so that he could pull her upright. Ianto undid the button of the shirt so that Jack could pull it away.
And then it was all skin, that was what she remembered the most fondly, Jack's hot smooth chest against her back and Ianto's cooler one, damp with sweat when he worked in her while she straddled him on the desk (all Jack's poor papers!). One of her shoes was still on, and Jack grabbed it from behind and dug his fingers into the arch, tickling the flesh there as he worked two fingers in to her hole, whispering, whispering things that she didn't even understand, things about geometry and time and angles and wasn't this fucking gorgeous.
Tosh had never been shy once in the bedroom. It had always been the getting there that bothered her: who to ask, how to ask, how could you tell what they were into, were they into you, was it going to get weird the next day? But after all of that, when the clothes started to vaporise and someone pulled out a harness or a condom or a bottle of chocolate sauce, well, she was an educated girl; she could do maths. Angles and probabilities were second nature.
That said, she was genuinely curious about what was to happen, and so, while most of her brain was broken as her fingers dug in the fur of Ianto's chest and her other hand reached back for Jack's neck, a small part of her listened to Jack, who was giving the world's sexiest tutorial ever.
"God, okay," Jack whispered, "Your body wants this, it does, really. You're so wet for him, and oh." There was a tongue on the back of her neck. "Now, I'm going to, relax, baby, I'm going to…oh! Okay," he said as he slipped into her and she could feel her body seem to stretch. Somewhere inside her, Ianto and Jack were hard next to each other, and if she moved, they would be fucking each other and her as well. She knew how thin tissue was.
Jack reached around and dipped a hand down to massage her clit, his other one feather light on her waist. Below them, Ianto's eyes were lidded and he writhed a little, taking Tosh and Jack forward with him. Anxious little tease. Tosh rocked, and Jack groaned.
"Oh, yeah, you move, and we'll be right there with you, baby." Lips on her neck, Ianto's long fingers on her nipples, pulling. She plunged her fingers into his mouth and he sucked, eyes opening wide to find Jack's.
"And you," Jack said louder, more playful, less husky. "Accommodate the lady," he told Ianto with a swat to the legs that he was straddling along with Tosh. Ianto widened his legs and made their knees skid apart; they fell downwards, not a lot, she was already on him almost completely, but he sank further in her and Jack laughed into her hair. "Not what I meant, but -rock, Tosh, it's okay. Ianto's a pussycat." To illustrate this, Ianto sucked one of her fingers in and she could feel the vibration of his humming on his tongue.
It didn't take long for any of them. It was too good to last anyway, tightness and sweat and this incredible smell that Jack had, and Ianto's eyelashes -she remembered that vividly for some reason-and Jesus, they passed back and forth on her clit like fucking synchronised swimmers. Tosh spent approximately six tenths of a second wondering if they had done this before. Suzie? No. Suzie didn't share.
Well, Tosh was quite good at sharing.
Ianto came first, and then it was like a daisy chain in reverse, his hips pumping and Tosh went with him, riding herself to completion and tightening around Jack in encouragement, and they listened to his grunts and curses as he came, out of breath, her thighs shaking, her forehead pressed to Ianto's neck.
Thirty minutes later, slightly damp and haphazardly cleaned, they lay on the floor of Jack's office on a blanket he'd produced from nowhere (a hole in the ground?) Ianto passed her a water bottle, already opened for her, and watched as she drank. Jack grinned, sank himself onto the floor on the other side of her, and rested his head on her breasts, occasionally leaning forward to lick the nipple right in front of him. Ianto traced circles around her navel again, as if they had gone right back where they started. Tosh sighed.
"Why were you here anyway?" Jack asked. "Not that I don't love your devotion to duty or anything…" Here, his fingers skipped around the valley of her breasts and past Ianto's hand and down to tug on her pubic hair, twisting it in between his fingers before delving into her again, his fingers sliding back out to run over her clit.
Tosh shivered. "I don't know. Some wonky readings. In the basement."
Ianto yawned exaggeratedly. "Boring," he said.
Jack nuzzled her neck. "Yeah, boring."
Tosh handed Ianto her bottle and reached out with her chilled damp fingers to grasp Jack's cock, slightly hard again. "Yeah, boring."
Jack smiled. "This is better, right?" he asked, but she couldn't answer because he had already claimed her mouth and she squeezed his cock, her other hand reaching for Ianto's hand, guiding it to her breasts.
It was better. Much better.
FIN
Was that hot or what?
[O.H. name withheld by request]
Thanks again, O! We at Penthouse always love your letters, and this was loads hotter than your last story, 'I Fucked A Dinosaur!' Keep up the good work, catching the scum of the universe! And of course, keep sending in your steamy tales of after hours shagging! -The Penthouse Editors
END (FOR REALS)
Title: Take me home…or I'll take you home, or we'll take each other home.
Characters: Jack/Ianto
Timeline: sometime after KKBB, before Reset.
Summary: "Jack," Ianto said. He exhaled. "I'm very drunk."
"opebn mw aspppap," read the title of the email. Jack looked at the address to make sure that he'd read it properly: Jones, Ianto. Yeah, that was who he'd thought it was. When he opened the email, it was empty, but there was an attachment.
A video attachment. He smiled. Ianto had taken to shooting short videos and sending them to him, often with his wry commentary in the background. Nothing porntastic, no, just little things like, some woman's arse as he walked behind her ('Sometimes Jack, I really do think there is a divine creator…'), or a scary man in the park dancing with an accordion ('There but for the grace of Torchwood, goeth Owen.'), or once, a display at the grocer's with a very unfortunate typo, which Ianto had corrected on the spot, hand reaching out from behind the camera with a magic marker to deface the sign ("There's quite a difference between these two words., and one of them leads to a venereal disease.')
Jack clicked 'play' absentmindedly while he shuffled a stack of papers with his other hand.
"Jack," Ianto said very close to the microphone. Too close. The speakers buzzed. "Jaaaaaaaack." As if he expected him to answer.
The Blackberry was pointed poorly at Ianto's face, as if he was merely flipping it about and aiming for where he thought his face was, and really, Jack just got a good view of his forehead. But it was Ianto's hair, and it was Ianto's voice.
"Jack Jack Jack," Ianto slurred. "Owen just set a whole row of shot glasses filled with liqueur on fire and then he downed them all. He's quite mad." Jack sat back and crossed his arms. He'd told Owen to go and get Ianto soused, but he hadn't expected that Ianto would be sending him drunken videos. Apparently, he was sober enough to be able to operate electronic equipment; from what Jack understood of 21st century communications technology, Ianto probably didn't need to be sober at all.
"Jack," Ianto said. He exhaled. "I'm very drunk."
This was not news. Someone said something to Ianto. It sounded like Owen.
"I know, sod off," Ianto said to whomever it was. And then louder, so it was probably aimed at him: "I'm going to stick this down my trousers," Ianto said, and then the view dipped and Jack watched as the phone got close to something flesh-coloured, what he could make out as the hair of Ianto's lower belly, and then the view went dark, and there were the muffled noises of the phone mike brushing against jeans, against skin.
Jack snorted. What people thought was sexy when they were drunk was sometimes rather silly. He couldn't see anything. But he could imagine plenty.
The phone whipped out suddenly. Jack got a very fast and blurry survey of the room, enough to see that it was filled with people. "You should come get me Jack," Ianto slurred. "I know I'm drunk, but really, you should come get me, because I think." He stopped, as if he was done, and Jack waited. It would come. "I think I might be willing to try that thing with the vacuum attachments. No wait, no. I'm not that drunk."
Jack had no idea what he was talking about. He checked his watch: two-thirty.
The background was moving, and the noise was lessening, so Ianto was walking away from the crowd of the pub. "Okay, wait, I'm in the loo." There was a jostling, and then the phone flipped, and he could see Ianto standing in front of the mirror, camera pointed at it. Ianto stared at the Blackberry screen for a second, and then, when he was sure that he was centred, he glanced up at the mirror. It wasn't steady at all, but that was okay. Jack could fully see that his jeans were still unbuttoned, his shirt haphazardly untucked, and those lips looked like they'd been kissed. That part was hard to tell.
"Jack," Ianto said in a much lower voice, a much more sober voice. "I'm drunk. I think I'd like to fuck you into the mattress, and you know I'd do it sober, so it's consensual." He leant towards the mirror, and the phone slipped so that all he could see were Ianto's eyes and his hair, that sexy hair all mussed, probably because a load of large-breasted women had been all over it with their painted nails and lips. There was a smudge of red lipstick on his hairline. "Consensual."
Well, that was witty.
"Come and get me." Ianto barked a laugh. "Come, that's funny. Get and come me, Jack."
The video went black.
Jack hit the off button on the computer without shutting it down properly. He was in a hurry.
***
Ianto was sat on a bench outside of the pub when he got there. His feet were splayed and he was hunched over what looked like a packet of chips. Jack was pretty sure that he'd already forgotten the phone message. Owen was nowhere in sight.
Jack shuffled over and sat down next to him on the bench.. "Hi."
Ianto reared back and looked at him, startled. "Oh hello," he said. "I have chips."
Jack smiled. Ianto held out the packet and offered them to Jack, who took one and twirled it in his fingers. "I can see that. Where is your keeper?"
Ianto threw the chips in the bin next to him, turning to Jack. "He went home with this woman." His eyes widened. "Her tits were like," he mimed some sort of large fruit, mid-cantaloupe to honeydew range. Jack felt his eyebrows raise. "I knew Owen had a way with the ladies, but he's." Ianto smiled. "He's fucking magic."
Jack smiled and threw an arm around Ianto, feeling a small tag of satisfaction when Ianto leant into it and sighed into his neck. "Yeah, Owen has a pretty impressive bag of tricks." He stopped. "He didn't have that spray, did he?"
Ianto's mouth was dangerously close to Jack's skin, and he shivered when Ianto's breath caught on it. "No, just his cad-like ways." He smiled; Jack could feel it. "Birds always go for the bad ones."
Jack laughed. "Now I know the two of you were out together, if you're calling them birds."
"I called them birds because they flit-flit-flitted about," Ianto said. One of his hands slid down his leg, wiping chip residue off his fingers, perhaps, maybe just reveling in the tingle of drunken skin. Jack remembered what that was like. "Even before Owen gave me that one drink. With the glowstick. Everyone was so busy, hopping from table to table."
Jack nodded and watched a pair of lovers stumble out of the pub across the street and stagger to the waiting queue of taxis. "That's the pulling scene for you," he said mildly. He remembered that, too.
Ianto's hands finally stopped molesting his own leg and moved to Jack's, bypassing the thigh and dancing straight to his cock. "I need something less flighty, less frantic," he said. His fingers stuttered over the zipper, and Jack crossed his legs, wondering if they oughtn't go to the SUV and have it off there, or if he should take Ianto home and just pretend that they had sex the next day. Or pretend that they hadn't had sex. Or just wait for Ianto to make up the story for them; he was good at that, telling whole stories with about five words, a cup of coffee and his eyebrows.
"I think you might need a bed," Jack said mildly. "You're trashed."
Ianto fell away from him and leant back against the bench. "Yup."
Jack stood, offering a hand to him. "Come on, Tiger Pants, let's get you horizontal."
Ianto just beamed.
***
It wasn't that Jack didn't think they'd have sex later in the evening, it was more like he was waiting for Ianto to a) sober up and realize that he was too drunk to do anything like this b) fall asleep on the ride home or in the middle of foreplay c) forget about the sex part when he got home and discovered his CD collection. Alex used to do that: sex sex sex, on the way home from the pub and then BAM! Nothing but Coltrane.
On the other hand, that was okay too. Jack was nothing if not patient, and hangover sex could be just as good, when they were in the shower and holding their heads (well, Ianto would be holding his own head, but Jack would commiserate) and groaning and smiling sheepishly, and the morning would be full of slow and lazy kisses, the kind that didn't jostle the head, and then Jack could suck Ianto gently on his knees, or ride him in the middle of the bed, still painted with the pub smell and the taste of stale alcohol coming from his pores. If Jack licked his neck, he could get drunk himself.
Now, he let Ianto try to unlock his own door because the ritual seemed very important to him. It took several tries for his hand to get the key in the lock, and then he thrust the door in so sharply that he tripped through the entrance, tossing his keys on the floor. Jack stooped to pick them up and deposit them in the bowl on the side table.
"I'm drunk," Ianto told him gravely, his face as sober as the rest of him wasn't. "It's been a while."
Jack nodded. "I bet." He shut the door and watched Ianto take off his jacket and miss the hook on the wall before turning back to him, his face smiling and silly.
Ianto leant into him, and his mouth circled Jack's, almost, but never quite hitting the mark, his lips just out of reach. That wasn't drunkenness. That was Ianto the flirt. Jack wasn’t that patient.
Ianto's mouth tasted like scotch and beer, and his lips still held a little salt from the chips, and that was just fine, actually, like some sort of foreign drink Jack'd once had, glass rimmed in salt. Ianto's hands curled around the lapels of the coat and Jack let Ianto push him into the wall.
"You got my email," Ianto mumbled as he undid Jack's belt and pulled it right out of the loops. He liked to do that sometimes, just yank and whip it like he was Zorro or something, flinging it across the room, a dull thunk of the buckle hitting the far wall.
Jack's fingers scrabbled a little on Ianto's button down. "Yeah."
"Everything I said and did in that video, I'm going to do to you," Ianto growled. Jack wondered what that meant. And whether or not there were parts that he'd missed.
"You're going to put me down your trousers?" he joked, but apparently Ianto was serious, because he grabbed Jack's wrists and pressed his hands into the open fly of his jeans, so that he could make out the hot skin there, the heat of Ianto's cock in his shorts, tight things that encased him. God, those boxer briefs. Jack closed his eyes and thought about Ianto's arse in those things.
Ianto pressed his forehead into Jack's shoulder. "I'm going to fuck you, Jack Harkness." He smiled. "Fuck you until you're just as drunk as I am."
Jack smiled into Ianto's hair. Oh, what a lovely thought. Everything Ianto said tonight was half-possible, half-not. "Okay then. Let's do that."
It was fifteen steps to the bedroom, and that was fifteen too many, really, because then there were six more after that to the bed, and by the time they got there, Ianto's hands were in a stranglehold on his neck as he tried to keep his balance and walk while Jack was stepping him out of his jeans. A few more leg shakes and Jack's trousers were gone as well, and then shirts were draped artistically on doorknobs and bedposts. Ianto swore at his socks and gave up on them, one half still on, the other untouched; Jack manipulated his off with his toes as he writhed under Ianto on the bed.
Ianto was heavier than normal as he sat on him, his hands scrambling along the sheets to pull himself over to the nightstand, looking for lube and condoms, no doubt. His breathing was ragged and his cock was impossibly hard, no alcohol related issues for him, oh no. Jack smiled into the dimness as he heard Ianto drop the bottle and curse. He grunted when Ianto slid off him and rolled to the side of the bed, almost falling off as he groped about on the floor. One of his feet caught Jack in the chest.
"Hey there," Jack warned. "Kicking isn't sexy unless it's planned for."
Ianto tossed the lube behind him on the bed and then levered himself up, managing to roll himself right back where he was. He sat back and grinned, slapping his hands on his thighs. Jack recognized the rhythm from an old popular song, probably stuck in Ianto's head from the pub. He lay there and let Ianto amuse himself, wondering if he'd been forgotten for the siren call of music, or if Ianto would eventually get back to him. If he forgot, he'd owe Jack one.
Ianto slid his drumming hands down his thighs and onto Jack's stomach, played his way up Jack's ribs and onto his head before he grasped Jack's hair and pushed, tilting so that he could lean forward and lay a series of kisses and bites on the exposed neck. Jack's hands finally reactivated and he grasped Ianto's cock in one fist.
Ianto smiled into his mouth. "I meant it. Everything."
Jack smiled. "I think you said something about fucking me into this mattress."
Ianto bit his lower lip and pulled before letting it go, straightening and flipping his leg off Jack; his fingers dug into Jack's side impatiently, trying to flip him. "All right then. We have structural integrity to test here." When Jack laughed and obeyed, turning over, Ianto hummed behind him, and there was the snikt of the lube cap flipping open. "Or is it the other thing? Fucking one into the mattress doesn't sound nearly as appealing once one begins to think about it on a molecular bonding level."
Jack raised one leg, bending his knee and curling it in front of him. It felt exposing, like he was begging for it, though he guessed he probably was, what with Ianto wanting to apparently rock his world. Someone's hands were pointedly absent, and Jack looked behind him. Ianto was lubing himself up and studiously talking to his cock, as if he were giving himself a lecture. "There might be harmonic frequencies that could facilitate the cohesion of excited atoms, or something, right?" He glanced up at Jack and smiled weakly. "I couldn't fuck you into the mattress."
Jack smiled. "Not unless you're from Klum." He reached for Ianto and succeeded in grabbing one of the man's hands.
Ianto was on him, his cock hard and suddenly just in him, and that was hot, Jack decided as he arched and rubbed his cock into the sheets. Ianto had one hand hooked behind Jack's knee, and he rocked his body into him, more simply pushing rather than pulling out in strokes of any length. Jack grunted when the weight hit him, chuckled when Ianto swore under his breath.
"I have the worst song stuck in my head," Ianto said, grinding the phrase out in between thrusts. "It's horrid. Something about big butts."
If Jack could say anything about drunk!Ianto, it was that he was an amusing bedroom conversationalist. He reached forward with his free hand and stroked his cock; god, he wanted to come, his body felt bent up and tense like this, trapped under the weight of the other man, and Ianto was just going to keep moving like this-
"I'm good for that," Ianto said, his own hand clasping over Jack's and pumping a little. "Anyway, the butt thing. I think the singer quite liked them." He pulled out a bit, then shoved himself more violently into Jack, and they both groaned. "I don't think I can blame him on that account." His hand stroked over Jack's own before coming to rest on the head of his cock and rub his thumb over the tip of it.
Jack smiled into the pillow. "Well," he gasped. "It's-" Ianto bit his ear and Jack found himself rather humping into his own hand, stuttering and pumping his hips to get Ianto to move faster. "It's underrated in current pop songs, I think."
Ianto drew in a ragged breath, and anything he was about to say cut off when he sped up his rhythm, the dead signal that he was going to come. But he didn't. Maybe Ianto was one of those people who lasted longer when they were drunk. He was about to ask, when Ianto thrust a few more times and came. Ah. Revelation. Jack laughed out loud when Ianto batted his hand away from his cock and brought him in quick succession, whispering the lyrics to Sir Mix-a-Lot's mythic opus into his ear.
Later, after Ianto was clean and tucked in bed with a bottle of water and paracetamol by the bedside, Jack stopped in the doorway for a second and watched him snore. In the kitchenette, he dug about in Ianto's fridge for bread and cheese. He closed the door with his hip and tossed the items on the counter before he realised that he was mumbling under his breath, "36-24-36? Ha ha, only if she's 5'3"."
Jack snorted as he made himself a sandwich. It figured. It'd be stuck there all night.
END
Title: Un-bell the Cat
Characters: Ianto/Suzie
Timeline: Pre S1
Summary: There's more than one way to skin a cat. Owen has told her of at least three.
He's seen it. The thing she's looking for but cannot find. The snap of everything when it flips over into what is really beyond. She knows he has (he was at Canary Wharf), but she can't ask him, not like this, not when he has fifteen layers of clothing in addition to his fifteen layers of repression and hiding and secrets.
There's more than one way to skin a cat. Owen has told her of at least three.
She finds him in the small kitchenette, where he's been making the coffees for them since he arrived a month ago. His fingers are long and tapered. She wonders just what they might be guilty of.
"Torchwood One," she says, pressing her hand on his shoulder -I'm a friend, I'm a friend-"What was it like?"
Ianto's eyes widen at her hand, but he doesn't shrug it off. "Crowded, busy." He glances away. "Cleaner."
"Mmmm," she says noncommittally. One of her fingers dips into the empty chest pocket of his jacket. "You need a handkerchief, Ianto." And then her eyes flit to his and she smiles. He returns it, weak.
***
Ianto's eyes hide something. Canary Wharf. No no, something more. Abusive father? Molesting mother? A sister dying of scarlet fever? A dead girlfriend, surely, Suzie knows about that. No, there is more. More there.
"It must be hard," she says days later when he hands her the coffee, "being here. Working for the organisation that nearly killed you."
"Oh, I don't know." Ianto stops then, his back to her, and his head turns minutely. "Yesterday saw you almost impaled on a radioactive spike, and yet," he says, gesturing to her and her coffee.
Witty witty boy. She reaches out with one hand and grazes his suit pocket, the front ones this time, slipping her fingers up under the flap and sliding them in, the lining cool to the touch for all that it is right next to his body. His eyes close.
"You're right." She flattens her hand in the pocket and presses it against the flesh that is under all those layers. Ianto's belt at her wrist, his hip bone hard and ungiving under her fingertips. Yum. "I guess we all just keep coming back."
Ianto nods at her when she removes her hand. "Addicted to the rush, I suppose."
***
She tries to prise it out of him like so much pulp, but he's a fucking tease. Ianto has graduated from leading questions to more generous touches, and then, once, a sympathetic hug in which Suzie could grope his arse, feel his hard-on against her skirt as her breasts pressed into his chest.
Ah.
"Your girlfriend," she says, "I never told you that I was sorry for your loss." See what he thinks of that.
Ianto leans back against the edge of the counter up in the slowly-evolving-and-becoming-someplace-decent tourist centre. "Ah, well, yes." He says, and then, quickly, "Thank you."
Suzie enters his space, slowly, like one would approach an animal. Ianto's smile is mild and plastered on. Another fucking layer. Suzie wants. She wants from him.
She wants to slip her hands under the jacket, and in the second that she thinks of it, he lets her, and her fingers move against the pale heat of his shirt, inside the dark, under the fabric of the coat. She presses her forehead to his tie and licks it a little, tongue darting out to taste the silk, leaving a little mark, a little of herself on his immaculate layers.
Ianto's hands reach out for her, probably to push her away, but she scrapes his cock through his trousers first, and he freezes in mid-action. His hands tremble against her shoulders; perhaps he thinks that if he stays quite still, then she won't see him. Too late.
"I never lost anyone that close to me," she lies, rubbing her cheek on the material of his shirt, nipping at the lapels of his jacket with her teeth, and she's rewarded when his hands squeeze her shoulders and round her back to pull her in. Her hand goes vertical, palming his cock; his answering thrust is minute, obviously repressed.
"Well, I…" Ianto starts to say, but it's a whisper and he's drifted off. One of his hands gropes for her breasts, and she is suddenly reminded of fumblings in the backseat of her first bloke's car, back when she had a curfew and a family image to maintain. The very brush of his fingers as they stumble over the cloth of her blouse is a straight throwback to her teenage years.
Suzie doesn't really care about the sex, but she'll use it, because Ianto's going to tell her about how close he came to death, how he got away and how it felt to look into his girl's dead eyes, if he had even seen them. Had the reality been worse? Knowing that her body is gone, pieces on the cutting room floor, the rest of her floating in the Void with the rest of the Cybermen?
She unzips his trousers experimentally, and he doesn't stop her, but his face is turned away when she looks up finally, his eyes closed. Mouth set in a line.
"I'll stop, then," she teases, and his hands just tense before he whips his head back around and kisses her, sloppy, out of practice, who knows, maybe never in practice. Jack will have to give him lessons.
His fingers work under her shirt, looking for a bra that isn't there, genuinely surprised not to find one, as if all his girls in the past have had large breasts, as if her not wearing one tells him something about her character.
Kissing him is like kissing her brother. It's a dare in the middle of the night, while everyone else in bed, and just as useless. She breaks off and pretends to be interested in Ianto's cock. It's, clinically, something worth being interested in. She is sure that Jack will find a use for it someday (in her head she's already paired them up. She should set up a few more camera feeds).
She hadn't intended on letting him come, not until she had got what she wanted, but as she pulls on his foreskin a little, listening to his gasps in her ear, she realizes that he'll never tell her. He can't pull any more of himself off, actually, even if she were to strip him bare and fuck him on the counter here. He probably doesn't even know what it's like to feel cold.
Then, it must be something that she can only find by looking for it herself. Maybe with that glove downstairs. Maybe with Owen in the middle of the night, with the Weevils and the electrodes, while Jack is out patrolling a rooftop.
Suzie falls to her knees and takes him in her mouth; no point in wasting a perfectly good hard-on. And he makes great coffee, and maybe how he'll do her paperwork. Or she could get him to detail her car.
END
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: NC-17 for all
Author's Notes: Written for 51stcenturyfox's and cruentum's TW/DW Porn Battle for June.
Title: Threesome for our Intrepid Heroes!
Characters: Ianto/Tosh/Jack
Timeline: Pre-season 1
Summary: The story of how Tosh ended up having sex with both Jack and Ianto should be complicated, with a long lead in.
Dear Penthouse,
Time yet again for a story of the sex lives of the world's most formidable secret alien catchers!
The story of how Tosh ended up having sex with both Jack and Ianto should be complicated, with a long lead in. Maybe they opened a canister of sex pollen by accident in the medical bay. Or maybe they'd had a few drinks to unwind and ended up shagging on the scrotty sofa. Maybe they'd been out in the field, and some alien had blasted them with an "oooOOOooo" ray.
But it was really frightfully simple: Ianto jumped her and then they headed up to Jack's office, and there wasn't a canister of sex pollen, a bottle of whiskey, or an alien concupiscence ray in sight.
She was stood at her console, looking at her computer monitors when Ianto approached her with a steaming cup of coffee. She had been working all day and her hair was dishevelled a bit. Plus, somewhere over the course of the evening, her shirt had lost a button in a rather critical location, and while she had been holding it shut when talking to other people, it had been forgotten in her preoccupation with the schematics that she was examining on her complicated array of screens.
"Oh, thank you, Ianto," she mumbled, clicking away at her keyboard.
"You're welcome." He stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets and leant over her shoulder. "What's all this?"
Tosh smiled. "I'm looking at some of the plans for the lower levels. There's a series of tunnels here-" she pointed to one of the blueprints. "That isn't really supposed to have any power, but the wiring keeps diverting there. I've asked the computer about it, but she doesn't have answer." She worried her lip. "I was thinking of going down there."
Ianto raised one hand and placed it on her shoulder. "Really? Isn't that inconvenient?" Tosh wasn't really looking back at him, and so she was mildly surprised to feel his lips on her neck. Oh. That was nice. Tosh spared a thought for the fact that she would have never in a million years thought about Ianto. Oh, that was a lie. She thought about Ianto a lot. She thought about everyone a lot, actually. They probably thought she was thinking about equations or servos or something.
"Well, it is when we thought those corridors were unused, but now it looks like, oh…" One of Ianto's hands slipped about her waist and up to her blouse, fingers curling about the loose front and pulling so that the silk collar cut into the back of her neck.
"Ianto-" but that hand pulled more, and her next button pinged across the room. "Oh," she said faintly. "Oh, that's nice. That's-" Ianto's other hand snaked around her waist to find the side zipper of her skirt.
Ianto bit her earlobe. "You work too hard." Tosh tilted her head back and couldn't agree more.
It was easy to get to the sofa, peeling off clothes. Her shirt and its ripped buttons might have ended up in the Hub Tub. Her shoes disappeared and Ianto's tie and shirt beat a hasty retreat across the floor, so much fabric detritus as she unbuckled his belt and undid his flies. Ianto stepped out of them when they fell to the floor and virtually foxtrotted her to the sofa, sinking her down onto it.
Ianto's mouth was hot and wet, sloppy almost, when he kissed her, licked his way down her jaw. She tried to capture it with hers, but it was too quick. His hands were steady, moving in trails along newly-exposed flesh: the mound of a breast, the rise of a hip, the line of a thigh. His fingers dug into her scalp, at the base of her neck, down her shoulder blades to bow her up and capture a nipple in his teeth. When he laid her out on the sofa and pressed himself against her, the hair on his chest brushed against her, and she had to reach out and grab it, tugging.
Ianto had lost all but his shorts, but she could feel his cock pressing against her when he pushed her knees apart and settled himself in between them. There was a hard plastic crackle of a condom wrapper as he pressed it into her hand. She raised an eyebrow at him and flipped it in her fingers like a coin on the hand.
Tosh heard the coffee mug shatter before she really understood what it was about, and Ianto raised his head from her neck and glanced up. Owen and Suzie were gone for the day, and she hadn't seen Jack earlier, but she hadn't really bothered to check if he was around.
"Jack," she whispered, freezing. She craned her head around to look about, embarrassed at the thought of Jack seeing her so entangled on the sofa. He probably wouldn't ever mention it to her, but she'd see it in his eyes, some wicked glint, every time he looked at her from now on.
Ianto sat up and levered himself off her. "Yes, well, Jack. Probably sitting at his desk, with the mother of all hard-ons." He smiled at her. "You don't suppose…?"
Tosh took a few seconds to connect his train of thought to her own and finally picked it up at the last car. "Oh. Oh.. Really?"
Ianto shrugged and ran one finger down her stomach, tracing a lazy circle around her navel. His eyes latched onto hers and he smiled again. "It wouldn't be the first time. For me, that is. For you?"
That train was completely late to the station. And then, "Oh," she said. "You and Jack have-"
Ianto seemed to take this as a cue, standing and handing her his shirt; she slipped into it, letting him button just the one in the center between her breasts. "Occasionally. I like to keep my options open." Here he stepped into his trousers but didn't do more than fasten his flies. "I think options are good, don't you?"
Tosh thought of Suzie's favorite saying, 'In for a penny, in for a pound.' She smiled and cast about for her shoes. Ah, there, under the sofa. When she bent down to fish them out, she could feel Ianto's hands ghosting across her arse.
She didn't remember the walk up to Jack's office, but somewhere along the way Ianto had taken her hand, and when they arrived at the doorway, they almost seemed to be a united front. A united sexy front, she mused.
He was waiting for them, loosened collar, rolled shirtsleeves. Steepled fingers like a priest. He'd probably followed them up with the cameras, that little joystick toggle on his mouse working overtime.
Jack sat back in his chair, the corner of his mouth tucked up when he watched them circle his desk a bit. "Well," he said, "this is an unexpected development to the evening."
She felt the little push that Ianto gave her in the small of her back, his fingers pressing though the smooth fabric. She could smell his cologne wafting up from the collar. "We're working, Jack," Ianto said, his voice low. Oh, that was lovely.
Jack raised an eyebrow, but his eyes only flickered away from hers to Ianto's for a second before they settled back on her. "Oh really?"
Tosh leant across the center of the desk, placing all her weight on her elbows and propping her head on her hands. "Hello, Jack." She could feel Ianto behind her. One of his hands toyed with the bottom edges of her knickers, and she was suddenly quite happy that they were nice ones, lacy and pink and very attractive, if she did say so herself.
Jack smiled. "Toshiko, this isn't usual for you, is it? Harassing the help? That's rather my job, isn't it?"
Toshiko wiggled her arse and brushed up against Ianto. He stilled her hips with one braod palm to her arse before reaching around her and very obviously selecting a red pen from the surface of Jack's desk, waving it in front of her and Jack' faces like a wand. Ianto fucking Potter.
"I-" she began, but stopped when Jack surged forward to cup her face in his hands, his mouth fastening on hers hotly, tongue plunging into her mouth, and her fingers left her face to fasten on the edge of the desk. Behind her, Ianto brushed the hem of the shirt up, slipped one finger in the elastic of her knickers and pulled them down so that they rested halfway down her arse. Jack's lips nipped at her hers, and when he pulled away, he looked behind her to smile at Ianto.
"You should make a record of this," he said off-handedly. "You know, for her permanent file." He said 'permanent' like it was the filthiest sin in the world.
"Gladly, sir." Tosh heard the click as the pen was uncapped and as Jack pushed away from her, standing, she closed her eyes and pressed her cheek into the coolness of the desk and its mountain of papers.
"Toshiko," Ianto said as he wrote on the swell of her arse, "Is indulging in…unusually sexy…behaviour." The pen stopped, and her knickers slid further down, until they stopped down at her knees. She felt the whisper of them as they were urged past her knees and to her ankles. Ianto held her steady, and she couldn't step out of them, so there they lingered, tangled in her shoes. "Administrative action must be taken."
Jack looked down at her, his eyes riveted to hers as he smiled. "Administrative?" he asked, amused. "Like filing?"
Ianto drew a little heart at the base of her spine. "I was thinking something along those lines. Dictation, perhaps."
Tosh looked behind her, but Ianto turned her head about with his free hand. Her hands clenched around the desk again when he used his other hand to slip the non-stylus end of the pen in between her legs and poke her cunt experimentally. She rolled her hips against it.
Jack removed his hands from his pockets, and she could see from the way that his trousers fell that he was interested in the proceedings. Tosh smiled into the wood before rolling her eyes up to his face again.
"I like to think I'm a fair man, Tosh. What do you think I should do?" That smile was wide and lascivious. God, she loved when it was turned on her.
Taking Jack's clothes off was rather easy-she suggested that he take his clothes off, and they almost fell off on their own. Tosh leant on the desk and watched, feeling Ianto still working on her arse with the pen, the cursive of his hand looping and ticklish.
"'Toshiko…is…naughty," he spelled out, and then slapped her arse lightly before bending down to lick the words. There was a shuffle behind her and a light breeze of movement, and when she looked back, the pen had switched hands.
"Toshiko's…arse is…begging…for me," Jack whispered as he wrote, "and I…" the pen paused. "I am going to fuck" -hard emphasis, pressing with the pen just inside the curve of one cheek before resuming on the other side-"it…hrm, raw? No, not sexy. Ianto?"
Ianto sat on the edge of the desk next to her, and she realised that he was naked now, his cock jutting in the air most pleasingly as he contemplated. "Soundly?"
Jack snorted. "Yes. Soundly."
Tosh waited for the pen to write the rest of the words, but it never did. Instead, one hand parted her arse, and she felt fingers rub at her clit. She rolled her hips again. Ianto reached over her and dug about in his shirt pocket, using the motion to pinch her nipple though the fabric before emerging with the condoms she'd tucked in there. Jack's fingers left her clit and slid back, along her cunt, then up, to her hole and then the cleft of her arse and her back, until he reached her waist, both hands moving around to the front so that he could pull her upright. Ianto undid the button of the shirt so that Jack could pull it away.
And then it was all skin, that was what she remembered the most fondly, Jack's hot smooth chest against her back and Ianto's cooler one, damp with sweat when he worked in her while she straddled him on the desk (all Jack's poor papers!). One of her shoes was still on, and Jack grabbed it from behind and dug his fingers into the arch, tickling the flesh there as he worked two fingers in to her hole, whispering, whispering things that she didn't even understand, things about geometry and time and angles and wasn't this fucking gorgeous.
Tosh had never been shy once in the bedroom. It had always been the getting there that bothered her: who to ask, how to ask, how could you tell what they were into, were they into you, was it going to get weird the next day? But after all of that, when the clothes started to vaporise and someone pulled out a harness or a condom or a bottle of chocolate sauce, well, she was an educated girl; she could do maths. Angles and probabilities were second nature.
That said, she was genuinely curious about what was to happen, and so, while most of her brain was broken as her fingers dug in the fur of Ianto's chest and her other hand reached back for Jack's neck, a small part of her listened to Jack, who was giving the world's sexiest tutorial ever.
"God, okay," Jack whispered, "Your body wants this, it does, really. You're so wet for him, and oh." There was a tongue on the back of her neck. "Now, I'm going to, relax, baby, I'm going to…oh! Okay," he said as he slipped into her and she could feel her body seem to stretch. Somewhere inside her, Ianto and Jack were hard next to each other, and if she moved, they would be fucking each other and her as well. She knew how thin tissue was.
Jack reached around and dipped a hand down to massage her clit, his other one feather light on her waist. Below them, Ianto's eyes were lidded and he writhed a little, taking Tosh and Jack forward with him. Anxious little tease. Tosh rocked, and Jack groaned.
"Oh, yeah, you move, and we'll be right there with you, baby." Lips on her neck, Ianto's long fingers on her nipples, pulling. She plunged her fingers into his mouth and he sucked, eyes opening wide to find Jack's.
"And you," Jack said louder, more playful, less husky. "Accommodate the lady," he told Ianto with a swat to the legs that he was straddling along with Tosh. Ianto widened his legs and made their knees skid apart; they fell downwards, not a lot, she was already on him almost completely, but he sank further in her and Jack laughed into her hair. "Not what I meant, but -rock, Tosh, it's okay. Ianto's a pussycat." To illustrate this, Ianto sucked one of her fingers in and she could feel the vibration of his humming on his tongue.
It didn't take long for any of them. It was too good to last anyway, tightness and sweat and this incredible smell that Jack had, and Ianto's eyelashes -she remembered that vividly for some reason-and Jesus, they passed back and forth on her clit like fucking synchronised swimmers. Tosh spent approximately six tenths of a second wondering if they had done this before. Suzie? No. Suzie didn't share.
Well, Tosh was quite good at sharing.
Ianto came first, and then it was like a daisy chain in reverse, his hips pumping and Tosh went with him, riding herself to completion and tightening around Jack in encouragement, and they listened to his grunts and curses as he came, out of breath, her thighs shaking, her forehead pressed to Ianto's neck.
Thirty minutes later, slightly damp and haphazardly cleaned, they lay on the floor of Jack's office on a blanket he'd produced from nowhere (a hole in the ground?) Ianto passed her a water bottle, already opened for her, and watched as she drank. Jack grinned, sank himself onto the floor on the other side of her, and rested his head on her breasts, occasionally leaning forward to lick the nipple right in front of him. Ianto traced circles around her navel again, as if they had gone right back where they started. Tosh sighed.
"Why were you here anyway?" Jack asked. "Not that I don't love your devotion to duty or anything…" Here, his fingers skipped around the valley of her breasts and past Ianto's hand and down to tug on her pubic hair, twisting it in between his fingers before delving into her again, his fingers sliding back out to run over her clit.
Tosh shivered. "I don't know. Some wonky readings. In the basement."
Ianto yawned exaggeratedly. "Boring," he said.
Jack nuzzled her neck. "Yeah, boring."
Tosh handed Ianto her bottle and reached out with her chilled damp fingers to grasp Jack's cock, slightly hard again. "Yeah, boring."
Jack smiled. "This is better, right?" he asked, but she couldn't answer because he had already claimed her mouth and she squeezed his cock, her other hand reaching for Ianto's hand, guiding it to her breasts.
It was better. Much better.
FIN
Was that hot or what?
[O.H. name withheld by request]
Thanks again, O! We at Penthouse always love your letters, and this was loads hotter than your last story, 'I Fucked A Dinosaur!' Keep up the good work, catching the scum of the universe! And of course, keep sending in your steamy tales of after hours shagging! -The Penthouse Editors
END (FOR REALS)
Title: Take me home…or I'll take you home, or we'll take each other home.
Characters: Jack/Ianto
Timeline: sometime after KKBB, before Reset.
Summary: "Jack," Ianto said. He exhaled. "I'm very drunk."
"opebn mw aspppap," read the title of the email. Jack looked at the address to make sure that he'd read it properly: Jones, Ianto. Yeah, that was who he'd thought it was. When he opened the email, it was empty, but there was an attachment.
A video attachment. He smiled. Ianto had taken to shooting short videos and sending them to him, often with his wry commentary in the background. Nothing porntastic, no, just little things like, some woman's arse as he walked behind her ('Sometimes Jack, I really do think there is a divine creator…'), or a scary man in the park dancing with an accordion ('There but for the grace of Torchwood, goeth Owen.'), or once, a display at the grocer's with a very unfortunate typo, which Ianto had corrected on the spot, hand reaching out from behind the camera with a magic marker to deface the sign ("There's quite a difference between these two words., and one of them leads to a venereal disease.')
Jack clicked 'play' absentmindedly while he shuffled a stack of papers with his other hand.
"Jack," Ianto said very close to the microphone. Too close. The speakers buzzed. "Jaaaaaaaack." As if he expected him to answer.
The Blackberry was pointed poorly at Ianto's face, as if he was merely flipping it about and aiming for where he thought his face was, and really, Jack just got a good view of his forehead. But it was Ianto's hair, and it was Ianto's voice.
"Jack Jack Jack," Ianto slurred. "Owen just set a whole row of shot glasses filled with liqueur on fire and then he downed them all. He's quite mad." Jack sat back and crossed his arms. He'd told Owen to go and get Ianto soused, but he hadn't expected that Ianto would be sending him drunken videos. Apparently, he was sober enough to be able to operate electronic equipment; from what Jack understood of 21st century communications technology, Ianto probably didn't need to be sober at all.
"Jack," Ianto said. He exhaled. "I'm very drunk."
This was not news. Someone said something to Ianto. It sounded like Owen.
"I know, sod off," Ianto said to whomever it was. And then louder, so it was probably aimed at him: "I'm going to stick this down my trousers," Ianto said, and then the view dipped and Jack watched as the phone got close to something flesh-coloured, what he could make out as the hair of Ianto's lower belly, and then the view went dark, and there were the muffled noises of the phone mike brushing against jeans, against skin.
Jack snorted. What people thought was sexy when they were drunk was sometimes rather silly. He couldn't see anything. But he could imagine plenty.
The phone whipped out suddenly. Jack got a very fast and blurry survey of the room, enough to see that it was filled with people. "You should come get me Jack," Ianto slurred. "I know I'm drunk, but really, you should come get me, because I think." He stopped, as if he was done, and Jack waited. It would come. "I think I might be willing to try that thing with the vacuum attachments. No wait, no. I'm not that drunk."
Jack had no idea what he was talking about. He checked his watch: two-thirty.
The background was moving, and the noise was lessening, so Ianto was walking away from the crowd of the pub. "Okay, wait, I'm in the loo." There was a jostling, and then the phone flipped, and he could see Ianto standing in front of the mirror, camera pointed at it. Ianto stared at the Blackberry screen for a second, and then, when he was sure that he was centred, he glanced up at the mirror. It wasn't steady at all, but that was okay. Jack could fully see that his jeans were still unbuttoned, his shirt haphazardly untucked, and those lips looked like they'd been kissed. That part was hard to tell.
"Jack," Ianto said in a much lower voice, a much more sober voice. "I'm drunk. I think I'd like to fuck you into the mattress, and you know I'd do it sober, so it's consensual." He leant towards the mirror, and the phone slipped so that all he could see were Ianto's eyes and his hair, that sexy hair all mussed, probably because a load of large-breasted women had been all over it with their painted nails and lips. There was a smudge of red lipstick on his hairline. "Consensual."
Well, that was witty.
"Come and get me." Ianto barked a laugh. "Come, that's funny. Get and come me, Jack."
The video went black.
Jack hit the off button on the computer without shutting it down properly. He was in a hurry.
***
Ianto was sat on a bench outside of the pub when he got there. His feet were splayed and he was hunched over what looked like a packet of chips. Jack was pretty sure that he'd already forgotten the phone message. Owen was nowhere in sight.
Jack shuffled over and sat down next to him on the bench.. "Hi."
Ianto reared back and looked at him, startled. "Oh hello," he said. "I have chips."
Jack smiled. Ianto held out the packet and offered them to Jack, who took one and twirled it in his fingers. "I can see that. Where is your keeper?"
Ianto threw the chips in the bin next to him, turning to Jack. "He went home with this woman." His eyes widened. "Her tits were like," he mimed some sort of large fruit, mid-cantaloupe to honeydew range. Jack felt his eyebrows raise. "I knew Owen had a way with the ladies, but he's." Ianto smiled. "He's fucking magic."
Jack smiled and threw an arm around Ianto, feeling a small tag of satisfaction when Ianto leant into it and sighed into his neck. "Yeah, Owen has a pretty impressive bag of tricks." He stopped. "He didn't have that spray, did he?"
Ianto's mouth was dangerously close to Jack's skin, and he shivered when Ianto's breath caught on it. "No, just his cad-like ways." He smiled; Jack could feel it. "Birds always go for the bad ones."
Jack laughed. "Now I know the two of you were out together, if you're calling them birds."
"I called them birds because they flit-flit-flitted about," Ianto said. One of his hands slid down his leg, wiping chip residue off his fingers, perhaps, maybe just reveling in the tingle of drunken skin. Jack remembered what that was like. "Even before Owen gave me that one drink. With the glowstick. Everyone was so busy, hopping from table to table."
Jack nodded and watched a pair of lovers stumble out of the pub across the street and stagger to the waiting queue of taxis. "That's the pulling scene for you," he said mildly. He remembered that, too.
Ianto's hands finally stopped molesting his own leg and moved to Jack's, bypassing the thigh and dancing straight to his cock. "I need something less flighty, less frantic," he said. His fingers stuttered over the zipper, and Jack crossed his legs, wondering if they oughtn't go to the SUV and have it off there, or if he should take Ianto home and just pretend that they had sex the next day. Or pretend that they hadn't had sex. Or just wait for Ianto to make up the story for them; he was good at that, telling whole stories with about five words, a cup of coffee and his eyebrows.
"I think you might need a bed," Jack said mildly. "You're trashed."
Ianto fell away from him and leant back against the bench. "Yup."
Jack stood, offering a hand to him. "Come on, Tiger Pants, let's get you horizontal."
Ianto just beamed.
***
It wasn't that Jack didn't think they'd have sex later in the evening, it was more like he was waiting for Ianto to a) sober up and realize that he was too drunk to do anything like this b) fall asleep on the ride home or in the middle of foreplay c) forget about the sex part when he got home and discovered his CD collection. Alex used to do that: sex sex sex, on the way home from the pub and then BAM! Nothing but Coltrane.
On the other hand, that was okay too. Jack was nothing if not patient, and hangover sex could be just as good, when they were in the shower and holding their heads (well, Ianto would be holding his own head, but Jack would commiserate) and groaning and smiling sheepishly, and the morning would be full of slow and lazy kisses, the kind that didn't jostle the head, and then Jack could suck Ianto gently on his knees, or ride him in the middle of the bed, still painted with the pub smell and the taste of stale alcohol coming from his pores. If Jack licked his neck, he could get drunk himself.
Now, he let Ianto try to unlock his own door because the ritual seemed very important to him. It took several tries for his hand to get the key in the lock, and then he thrust the door in so sharply that he tripped through the entrance, tossing his keys on the floor. Jack stooped to pick them up and deposit them in the bowl on the side table.
"I'm drunk," Ianto told him gravely, his face as sober as the rest of him wasn't. "It's been a while."
Jack nodded. "I bet." He shut the door and watched Ianto take off his jacket and miss the hook on the wall before turning back to him, his face smiling and silly.
Ianto leant into him, and his mouth circled Jack's, almost, but never quite hitting the mark, his lips just out of reach. That wasn't drunkenness. That was Ianto the flirt. Jack wasn’t that patient.
Ianto's mouth tasted like scotch and beer, and his lips still held a little salt from the chips, and that was just fine, actually, like some sort of foreign drink Jack'd once had, glass rimmed in salt. Ianto's hands curled around the lapels of the coat and Jack let Ianto push him into the wall.
"You got my email," Ianto mumbled as he undid Jack's belt and pulled it right out of the loops. He liked to do that sometimes, just yank and whip it like he was Zorro or something, flinging it across the room, a dull thunk of the buckle hitting the far wall.
Jack's fingers scrabbled a little on Ianto's button down. "Yeah."
"Everything I said and did in that video, I'm going to do to you," Ianto growled. Jack wondered what that meant. And whether or not there were parts that he'd missed.
"You're going to put me down your trousers?" he joked, but apparently Ianto was serious, because he grabbed Jack's wrists and pressed his hands into the open fly of his jeans, so that he could make out the hot skin there, the heat of Ianto's cock in his shorts, tight things that encased him. God, those boxer briefs. Jack closed his eyes and thought about Ianto's arse in those things.
Ianto pressed his forehead into Jack's shoulder. "I'm going to fuck you, Jack Harkness." He smiled. "Fuck you until you're just as drunk as I am."
Jack smiled into Ianto's hair. Oh, what a lovely thought. Everything Ianto said tonight was half-possible, half-not. "Okay then. Let's do that."
It was fifteen steps to the bedroom, and that was fifteen too many, really, because then there were six more after that to the bed, and by the time they got there, Ianto's hands were in a stranglehold on his neck as he tried to keep his balance and walk while Jack was stepping him out of his jeans. A few more leg shakes and Jack's trousers were gone as well, and then shirts were draped artistically on doorknobs and bedposts. Ianto swore at his socks and gave up on them, one half still on, the other untouched; Jack manipulated his off with his toes as he writhed under Ianto on the bed.
Ianto was heavier than normal as he sat on him, his hands scrambling along the sheets to pull himself over to the nightstand, looking for lube and condoms, no doubt. His breathing was ragged and his cock was impossibly hard, no alcohol related issues for him, oh no. Jack smiled into the dimness as he heard Ianto drop the bottle and curse. He grunted when Ianto slid off him and rolled to the side of the bed, almost falling off as he groped about on the floor. One of his feet caught Jack in the chest.
"Hey there," Jack warned. "Kicking isn't sexy unless it's planned for."
Ianto tossed the lube behind him on the bed and then levered himself up, managing to roll himself right back where he was. He sat back and grinned, slapping his hands on his thighs. Jack recognized the rhythm from an old popular song, probably stuck in Ianto's head from the pub. He lay there and let Ianto amuse himself, wondering if he'd been forgotten for the siren call of music, or if Ianto would eventually get back to him. If he forgot, he'd owe Jack one.
Ianto slid his drumming hands down his thighs and onto Jack's stomach, played his way up Jack's ribs and onto his head before he grasped Jack's hair and pushed, tilting so that he could lean forward and lay a series of kisses and bites on the exposed neck. Jack's hands finally reactivated and he grasped Ianto's cock in one fist.
Ianto smiled into his mouth. "I meant it. Everything."
Jack smiled. "I think you said something about fucking me into this mattress."
Ianto bit his lower lip and pulled before letting it go, straightening and flipping his leg off Jack; his fingers dug into Jack's side impatiently, trying to flip him. "All right then. We have structural integrity to test here." When Jack laughed and obeyed, turning over, Ianto hummed behind him, and there was the snikt of the lube cap flipping open. "Or is it the other thing? Fucking one into the mattress doesn't sound nearly as appealing once one begins to think about it on a molecular bonding level."
Jack raised one leg, bending his knee and curling it in front of him. It felt exposing, like he was begging for it, though he guessed he probably was, what with Ianto wanting to apparently rock his world. Someone's hands were pointedly absent, and Jack looked behind him. Ianto was lubing himself up and studiously talking to his cock, as if he were giving himself a lecture. "There might be harmonic frequencies that could facilitate the cohesion of excited atoms, or something, right?" He glanced up at Jack and smiled weakly. "I couldn't fuck you into the mattress."
Jack smiled. "Not unless you're from Klum." He reached for Ianto and succeeded in grabbing one of the man's hands.
Ianto was on him, his cock hard and suddenly just in him, and that was hot, Jack decided as he arched and rubbed his cock into the sheets. Ianto had one hand hooked behind Jack's knee, and he rocked his body into him, more simply pushing rather than pulling out in strokes of any length. Jack grunted when the weight hit him, chuckled when Ianto swore under his breath.
"I have the worst song stuck in my head," Ianto said, grinding the phrase out in between thrusts. "It's horrid. Something about big butts."
If Jack could say anything about drunk!Ianto, it was that he was an amusing bedroom conversationalist. He reached forward with his free hand and stroked his cock; god, he wanted to come, his body felt bent up and tense like this, trapped under the weight of the other man, and Ianto was just going to keep moving like this-
"I'm good for that," Ianto said, his own hand clasping over Jack's and pumping a little. "Anyway, the butt thing. I think the singer quite liked them." He pulled out a bit, then shoved himself more violently into Jack, and they both groaned. "I don't think I can blame him on that account." His hand stroked over Jack's own before coming to rest on the head of his cock and rub his thumb over the tip of it.
Jack smiled into the pillow. "Well," he gasped. "It's-" Ianto bit his ear and Jack found himself rather humping into his own hand, stuttering and pumping his hips to get Ianto to move faster. "It's underrated in current pop songs, I think."
Ianto drew in a ragged breath, and anything he was about to say cut off when he sped up his rhythm, the dead signal that he was going to come. But he didn't. Maybe Ianto was one of those people who lasted longer when they were drunk. He was about to ask, when Ianto thrust a few more times and came. Ah. Revelation. Jack laughed out loud when Ianto batted his hand away from his cock and brought him in quick succession, whispering the lyrics to Sir Mix-a-Lot's mythic opus into his ear.
Later, after Ianto was clean and tucked in bed with a bottle of water and paracetamol by the bedside, Jack stopped in the doorway for a second and watched him snore. In the kitchenette, he dug about in Ianto's fridge for bread and cheese. He closed the door with his hip and tossed the items on the counter before he realised that he was mumbling under his breath, "36-24-36? Ha ha, only if she's 5'3"."
Jack snorted as he made himself a sandwich. It figured. It'd be stuck there all night.
END
Title: Un-bell the Cat
Characters: Ianto/Suzie
Timeline: Pre S1
Summary: There's more than one way to skin a cat. Owen has told her of at least three.
He's seen it. The thing she's looking for but cannot find. The snap of everything when it flips over into what is really beyond. She knows he has (he was at Canary Wharf), but she can't ask him, not like this, not when he has fifteen layers of clothing in addition to his fifteen layers of repression and hiding and secrets.
There's more than one way to skin a cat. Owen has told her of at least three.
She finds him in the small kitchenette, where he's been making the coffees for them since he arrived a month ago. His fingers are long and tapered. She wonders just what they might be guilty of.
"Torchwood One," she says, pressing her hand on his shoulder -I'm a friend, I'm a friend-"What was it like?"
Ianto's eyes widen at her hand, but he doesn't shrug it off. "Crowded, busy." He glances away. "Cleaner."
"Mmmm," she says noncommittally. One of her fingers dips into the empty chest pocket of his jacket. "You need a handkerchief, Ianto." And then her eyes flit to his and she smiles. He returns it, weak.
***
Ianto's eyes hide something. Canary Wharf. No no, something more. Abusive father? Molesting mother? A sister dying of scarlet fever? A dead girlfriend, surely, Suzie knows about that. No, there is more. More there.
"It must be hard," she says days later when he hands her the coffee, "being here. Working for the organisation that nearly killed you."
"Oh, I don't know." Ianto stops then, his back to her, and his head turns minutely. "Yesterday saw you almost impaled on a radioactive spike, and yet," he says, gesturing to her and her coffee.
Witty witty boy. She reaches out with one hand and grazes his suit pocket, the front ones this time, slipping her fingers up under the flap and sliding them in, the lining cool to the touch for all that it is right next to his body. His eyes close.
"You're right." She flattens her hand in the pocket and presses it against the flesh that is under all those layers. Ianto's belt at her wrist, his hip bone hard and ungiving under her fingertips. Yum. "I guess we all just keep coming back."
Ianto nods at her when she removes her hand. "Addicted to the rush, I suppose."
***
She tries to prise it out of him like so much pulp, but he's a fucking tease. Ianto has graduated from leading questions to more generous touches, and then, once, a sympathetic hug in which Suzie could grope his arse, feel his hard-on against her skirt as her breasts pressed into his chest.
Ah.
"Your girlfriend," she says, "I never told you that I was sorry for your loss." See what he thinks of that.
Ianto leans back against the edge of the counter up in the slowly-evolving-and-becoming-someplace-decent tourist centre. "Ah, well, yes." He says, and then, quickly, "Thank you."
Suzie enters his space, slowly, like one would approach an animal. Ianto's smile is mild and plastered on. Another fucking layer. Suzie wants. She wants from him.
She wants to slip her hands under the jacket, and in the second that she thinks of it, he lets her, and her fingers move against the pale heat of his shirt, inside the dark, under the fabric of the coat. She presses her forehead to his tie and licks it a little, tongue darting out to taste the silk, leaving a little mark, a little of herself on his immaculate layers.
Ianto's hands reach out for her, probably to push her away, but she scrapes his cock through his trousers first, and he freezes in mid-action. His hands tremble against her shoulders; perhaps he thinks that if he stays quite still, then she won't see him. Too late.
"I never lost anyone that close to me," she lies, rubbing her cheek on the material of his shirt, nipping at the lapels of his jacket with her teeth, and she's rewarded when his hands squeeze her shoulders and round her back to pull her in. Her hand goes vertical, palming his cock; his answering thrust is minute, obviously repressed.
"Well, I…" Ianto starts to say, but it's a whisper and he's drifted off. One of his hands gropes for her breasts, and she is suddenly reminded of fumblings in the backseat of her first bloke's car, back when she had a curfew and a family image to maintain. The very brush of his fingers as they stumble over the cloth of her blouse is a straight throwback to her teenage years.
Suzie doesn't really care about the sex, but she'll use it, because Ianto's going to tell her about how close he came to death, how he got away and how it felt to look into his girl's dead eyes, if he had even seen them. Had the reality been worse? Knowing that her body is gone, pieces on the cutting room floor, the rest of her floating in the Void with the rest of the Cybermen?
She unzips his trousers experimentally, and he doesn't stop her, but his face is turned away when she looks up finally, his eyes closed. Mouth set in a line.
"I'll stop, then," she teases, and his hands just tense before he whips his head back around and kisses her, sloppy, out of practice, who knows, maybe never in practice. Jack will have to give him lessons.
His fingers work under her shirt, looking for a bra that isn't there, genuinely surprised not to find one, as if all his girls in the past have had large breasts, as if her not wearing one tells him something about her character.
Kissing him is like kissing her brother. It's a dare in the middle of the night, while everyone else in bed, and just as useless. She breaks off and pretends to be interested in Ianto's cock. It's, clinically, something worth being interested in. She is sure that Jack will find a use for it someday (in her head she's already paired them up. She should set up a few more camera feeds).
She hadn't intended on letting him come, not until she had got what she wanted, but as she pulls on his foreskin a little, listening to his gasps in her ear, she realizes that he'll never tell her. He can't pull any more of himself off, actually, even if she were to strip him bare and fuck him on the counter here. He probably doesn't even know what it's like to feel cold.
Then, it must be something that she can only find by looking for it herself. Maybe with that glove downstairs. Maybe with Owen in the middle of the night, with the Weevils and the electrodes, while Jack is out patrolling a rooftop.
Suzie falls to her knees and takes him in her mouth; no point in wasting a perfectly good hard-on. And he makes great coffee, and maybe how he'll do her paperwork. Or she could get him to detail her car.
END