Breathless Symphony
Title: Breathless Symphony
Author: Jooles34
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Rating: 18
Warnings: Breath-play, bondage
Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Torchwood
Prompt: Torchwood, Jack/Ianto, Ianto gets off on choking Jack during sex, not to the point of death, just on the edge of it. The desperate sounds of Jack sobbing as he tries to drag air into his lungs is like fine music to Ianto. Written for dark_fest
Beta: Thanks ever so to the always glittery lovely angelkitty101
Ianto likes ties. He also likes rope and belts.
When he has Jack pinned, cuffed and helpless below him he likes to wrap them around his neck, pull and squeeze, watching as Jack’s body responds, desperate in its need for oxygen.
He likes ties for their simplicity, their ease and the way they feel in his hands. Pulling the soft silk from around his throat to tie tighter around Jack’s has a symbolism he finds beauty in. Mine. You are mine.
A belt is easy too. Nearly always got one of those on, always at the ready. Ianto loves the way the leather tugs at and creases the skin on Jack’s neck, leaving pretty red marks for him to lick and worship when they are done.
And rope holds a special place because that has to be planned for. Neither of them carries rope day to day so when Jack appears to him, kneels at his feet and offers him the rope, Ianto knows what he is offering. And Ianto is, of course, always willing to oblige.
But, his hands are best. Feeling Jack’s muscles under his hands; flexing, tightening, tremoring under his touch. Feeling the swell of his Adam’s apple which bobs as Jack swallows. Feeling the drag of breath through the trachea as his hands tighten, closing, squeezing, loving.
Ianto feels it now. His hands overlap as they lay against Jack’s neck. He lines the crooks of his thumb and first finger up, carefully, around the centre of Jack’s throat. The pressure is gentle at first and Jack writhes underneath him, as much as he can in his bonds. Ianto drinks in the sight. Jack’s strong, muscular arms, stretched above his head, roped firmly to the top of the bed, he feet bound to the bottom. They’re not straining yet, but they will be. Soon they will be.
Jack’s eyes are closed. And instant reaction to the first bit of pressure. That first bit of pressure when it is still all pleasure.
Ianto grinds his hips to force a groan from Jack. He feels Jack’s throat tremor as the sound pushes itself out. He is currently sunk as far down on Jack’s cock as he can get; as upright as he can be with his hands where they are. But position barely matters. Not for tonight, not for this. This is about something different entirely.
He rocks his hips, moving slowly, enjoying the sensation of being filled. Enjoying the sensation of Jack’s body between his thighs. Enjoying having Jack completely at his mercy and having him to fuck himself on. Enjoying hearing Jack’s keening noises as he begs for more without words.
Jack moves his hips too, he raises them slightly, meeting Ianto’s downward and back movements. The motions are still slow and steady, they both know each other’s bodies so well that they move in harmony, a perfect duet of form and motion.
As the conductor of this movement Ianto starts to pick up the pace. As his thrusts become deeper and his hips move faster, his hands tighten at Jack’s throat. The noises that come from Jack now are different. The needy keen is replaced with a whimper and suddenly Ianto is the musician, playing Jack like a maestro, a pliant instrument in his hands for him to drag forth sighs and wails.
Ianto’s hands tighten further still and the noises start to fade. He moves his body faster and he shifts his weight forward, the pressure on Jack’s throat. He feels the muscles in Jack’s neck work hard but ineffectually. Jack’s body has gone from a pleasured writhe and hip thrusts to panicked jerks; his body responding automatically to the threat. But Ianto has him tied too well, too firmly, and all it does is make the fucking more spectacular, more urgent and driven, and Ianto lets his own body ride the waves.
Jack starts to sob, choking on air he doesn’t have to spare, chest pumping, trying to drag oxygen in, his constricted throat spasming under Ianto’s hands. Ianto stares as his mouth begins to soundlessly beg; the lips forming words but Jack preserving the little breath he has left by not making a sound.
Tears appear in his eyes, thick and heavy and Ianto leans forward to lick them from his face. They are salty. So much of what he tastes of Jack is salty. The tenderness of the movement to mop up pain that he is inflicting drags another sob from Jack and Ianto closes his eyes. It sounds so much prettier when he can close himself off to just the sounds.
He lifts his head from Jack’s eyes again and uses the motion to push himself hard back down onto Jack’s cock. Jack’s body bucks under him and he lets out a cry of pure pleasure and pain. It drags the last of the air from his body and Ianto can hear the final desperate sounds escaping Jack’s throat. Ianto shifts his body again, fucking himself on Jack, those last frantic barely-there noises the perfect accompaniment to the sound of skin hitting skin. He adds to the symphony with his own heavy breathing. Panting, moaning, gasping. Ianto uses air in a hasty, needless, wasteful way. He has air to spare. The quieter Jack becomes the louder he does; showing off, taunting Jack with all that wonderful oxygen that he effortlessly pulls into his body.
Ianto looks once more and sees Jack’s eyes are open wide, staring up at him; his face now a silent O of fear. Ianto sees Jack’s eyes start to flicker and close. He shifts his body up and slams back down hard. Jack’s body bucks beneath him, convulsing and thrusting through his orgasm as his eyes roll back. Ianto’s own orgasm hits him suddenly, waves of pleasure pushing through him, come spurting onto Jack’s still chest.
Ianto throws himself back, his hands fling from Jack’s neck. Jack’s body’s survival instincts kick in and he heaves in a breath, the restriction gone. His whole body rocks and spasms with the effort and Ianto rides the movement, seeking out more pleasure on Jack’s body; the other man’s involuntary moves drawing out the ecstasy.
Jack’s body starts to still and Ianto comes back to himself. He shifts and Jack’s cock slips from his body. He slumps forward, boneless and spent; rolling off Jack to lay next to him.
They lie side by side, panting almost in unison; catching breath lost for such different reasons.
Jack turns his face to Ianto, still the only part of his body he can move.
“Will you ever tell me why?”
Ianto remains looking at the ceiling, enjoying the feeling of light-headedness the orgasm and breathlessness give him.
“No.”
Author: Jooles34
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Rating: 18
Warnings: Breath-play, bondage
Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Torchwood
Prompt: Torchwood, Jack/Ianto, Ianto gets off on choking Jack during sex, not to the point of death, just on the edge of it. The desperate sounds of Jack sobbing as he tries to drag air into his lungs is like fine music to Ianto. Written for dark_fest
Beta: Thanks ever so to the always glittery lovely angelkitty101
Ianto likes ties. He also likes rope and belts.
When he has Jack pinned, cuffed and helpless below him he likes to wrap them around his neck, pull and squeeze, watching as Jack’s body responds, desperate in its need for oxygen.
He likes ties for their simplicity, their ease and the way they feel in his hands. Pulling the soft silk from around his throat to tie tighter around Jack’s has a symbolism he finds beauty in. Mine. You are mine.
A belt is easy too. Nearly always got one of those on, always at the ready. Ianto loves the way the leather tugs at and creases the skin on Jack’s neck, leaving pretty red marks for him to lick and worship when they are done.
And rope holds a special place because that has to be planned for. Neither of them carries rope day to day so when Jack appears to him, kneels at his feet and offers him the rope, Ianto knows what he is offering. And Ianto is, of course, always willing to oblige.
But, his hands are best. Feeling Jack’s muscles under his hands; flexing, tightening, tremoring under his touch. Feeling the swell of his Adam’s apple which bobs as Jack swallows. Feeling the drag of breath through the trachea as his hands tighten, closing, squeezing, loving.
Ianto feels it now. His hands overlap as they lay against Jack’s neck. He lines the crooks of his thumb and first finger up, carefully, around the centre of Jack’s throat. The pressure is gentle at first and Jack writhes underneath him, as much as he can in his bonds. Ianto drinks in the sight. Jack’s strong, muscular arms, stretched above his head, roped firmly to the top of the bed, he feet bound to the bottom. They’re not straining yet, but they will be. Soon they will be.
Jack’s eyes are closed. And instant reaction to the first bit of pressure. That first bit of pressure when it is still all pleasure.
Ianto grinds his hips to force a groan from Jack. He feels Jack’s throat tremor as the sound pushes itself out. He is currently sunk as far down on Jack’s cock as he can get; as upright as he can be with his hands where they are. But position barely matters. Not for tonight, not for this. This is about something different entirely.
He rocks his hips, moving slowly, enjoying the sensation of being filled. Enjoying the sensation of Jack’s body between his thighs. Enjoying having Jack completely at his mercy and having him to fuck himself on. Enjoying hearing Jack’s keening noises as he begs for more without words.
Jack moves his hips too, he raises them slightly, meeting Ianto’s downward and back movements. The motions are still slow and steady, they both know each other’s bodies so well that they move in harmony, a perfect duet of form and motion.
As the conductor of this movement Ianto starts to pick up the pace. As his thrusts become deeper and his hips move faster, his hands tighten at Jack’s throat. The noises that come from Jack now are different. The needy keen is replaced with a whimper and suddenly Ianto is the musician, playing Jack like a maestro, a pliant instrument in his hands for him to drag forth sighs and wails.
Ianto’s hands tighten further still and the noises start to fade. He moves his body faster and he shifts his weight forward, the pressure on Jack’s throat. He feels the muscles in Jack’s neck work hard but ineffectually. Jack’s body has gone from a pleasured writhe and hip thrusts to panicked jerks; his body responding automatically to the threat. But Ianto has him tied too well, too firmly, and all it does is make the fucking more spectacular, more urgent and driven, and Ianto lets his own body ride the waves.
Jack starts to sob, choking on air he doesn’t have to spare, chest pumping, trying to drag oxygen in, his constricted throat spasming under Ianto’s hands. Ianto stares as his mouth begins to soundlessly beg; the lips forming words but Jack preserving the little breath he has left by not making a sound.
Tears appear in his eyes, thick and heavy and Ianto leans forward to lick them from his face. They are salty. So much of what he tastes of Jack is salty. The tenderness of the movement to mop up pain that he is inflicting drags another sob from Jack and Ianto closes his eyes. It sounds so much prettier when he can close himself off to just the sounds.
He lifts his head from Jack’s eyes again and uses the motion to push himself hard back down onto Jack’s cock. Jack’s body bucks under him and he lets out a cry of pure pleasure and pain. It drags the last of the air from his body and Ianto can hear the final desperate sounds escaping Jack’s throat. Ianto shifts his body again, fucking himself on Jack, those last frantic barely-there noises the perfect accompaniment to the sound of skin hitting skin. He adds to the symphony with his own heavy breathing. Panting, moaning, gasping. Ianto uses air in a hasty, needless, wasteful way. He has air to spare. The quieter Jack becomes the louder he does; showing off, taunting Jack with all that wonderful oxygen that he effortlessly pulls into his body.
Ianto looks once more and sees Jack’s eyes are open wide, staring up at him; his face now a silent O of fear. Ianto sees Jack’s eyes start to flicker and close. He shifts his body up and slams back down hard. Jack’s body bucks beneath him, convulsing and thrusting through his orgasm as his eyes roll back. Ianto’s own orgasm hits him suddenly, waves of pleasure pushing through him, come spurting onto Jack’s still chest.
Ianto throws himself back, his hands fling from Jack’s neck. Jack’s body’s survival instincts kick in and he heaves in a breath, the restriction gone. His whole body rocks and spasms with the effort and Ianto rides the movement, seeking out more pleasure on Jack’s body; the other man’s involuntary moves drawing out the ecstasy.
Jack’s body starts to still and Ianto comes back to himself. He shifts and Jack’s cock slips from his body. He slumps forward, boneless and spent; rolling off Jack to lay next to him.
They lie side by side, panting almost in unison; catching breath lost for such different reasons.
Jack turns his face to Ianto, still the only part of his body he can move.
“Will you ever tell me why?”
Ianto remains looking at the ceiling, enjoying the feeling of light-headedness the orgasm and breathlessness give him.
“No.”