The End is Where We Begin. - Part 8
Part one is here
Rating: 15 for implied/remembered naughtiness...
Closing the door behind him, Ianto leaned against it heavily. Gwen had been fighting him for control for weeks. The closer it came to the time when she was supposed to leave, the more attached to the job she became - and the more she resisted letting him take any control, even over something as silly as a phone call.
They had become close when Jack first went away and she was like another sister to him by now. But just like siblings there was always the occasional rivalry, especially where Jack had been concerned, and now over who was in charge. He was starting to dread being in the same room as her, just waiting for the next row to start. Instead he had taken to hiding in his sanctuary. His office.
It was everything an office should be; well lit, a perfect twenty degrees, the chair was ergonomically designed at the perfect height for him and the desk was curved to give him maximum space. He even had a view, the morning sunlight starting to fill his room. The filing cabinets were neatly labelled, with cards such as “blueprints” and “budget” tucked neatly into the holders. There was even a wall safe with direct access to a secure storage unit on the floor below, his very own vault.
A similar locked panel hid his gun and emergency weapons kit. There was even a bomb chute leading to a blast chamber built into the seemingly innocent walls, just in case a device should turn out to be more dangerous than previously thought.
A gas mask hung on the back of the door, next to a bag containing weevil spray, a rift activity monitor and a bag of dinosaur nuts. In short, it was a perfectly prepared and efficient office, just like Torchwood One had been and everything he had wanted to add to Torchwood Three when he had first arrived.
And he hated it.
Taking off his jacket, Ianto hung it neatly on a hanger beside the gas mask and turned to his desk. It was a light beech or pine effect affair, all smooth edges and perfectly designed slots for electrical cables and modern equipment. As he strode round to his chair, he brushed his fingers over the perfectly formed imitation wood grain on the veneer and found himself lost in memory, comparing the artificial sensation to the real thing...
The wood had that slightly too smooth feel of a surface that has been polished and waxed for a long time, almost frictionless against his fingertips as he tried to brace himself against it, slipping over its soft surface. The side of his face was flat against the wood, the smell of it filling his senses as he watched his ragged breaths mist, then vanish, over the dark polish.
A small part of him felt a moments annoyance that he would be the one cleaning the desk off later, wondering as he did so how many Torchwood employees had left their mark on it this way. How many times had Jack been stood where he was now, his hands roaming over slick flesh, caressing, stroking, watching other hands slide over the desk, trying to hold on and stay in one place?
He could feel the heat of his body seeming to warm the wood, as though it was becoming part of him, and his fingers finally found the edges, gripping tight at last. He was close now, so close, and knew Jack was too, was holding back for him, that this was all for him...
As he came, their shared joy and lust seemed to fill his senses, taking over the room, until Ianto was sure it would become a part of the desk as much as the polish had, layers of it absorbed into the wood, carried in its lines for as long as it stood...
Ianto was shaken out of his memory by the phone ringing. His direct line. Swallowing hard to push aside the thoughts, he picked up the receiver and smiled. “Ianto Jones. Good morning, sir.” Laughing softly, he sat up straight, adjusting his lap slightly to relieve the discomfort in his voice. “After all you’ve done for us sir, formality is the least I can do in return.”
Ianto paused again, listening to the voice on the other end as his gaze fell on a photo with blackened edges propped up on his desk. It was so out of place in the clean room but he loved it. As Toshiko Sato smiled back at him, he nodded once, his tone and face turning professional as the pleasantries ended. Work to do.
“Yes sir. What can Torchwood do for you today?”
Part 9
Rating: 15 for implied/remembered naughtiness...
Closing the door behind him, Ianto leaned against it heavily. Gwen had been fighting him for control for weeks. The closer it came to the time when she was supposed to leave, the more attached to the job she became - and the more she resisted letting him take any control, even over something as silly as a phone call.
They had become close when Jack first went away and she was like another sister to him by now. But just like siblings there was always the occasional rivalry, especially where Jack had been concerned, and now over who was in charge. He was starting to dread being in the same room as her, just waiting for the next row to start. Instead he had taken to hiding in his sanctuary. His office.
It was everything an office should be; well lit, a perfect twenty degrees, the chair was ergonomically designed at the perfect height for him and the desk was curved to give him maximum space. He even had a view, the morning sunlight starting to fill his room. The filing cabinets were neatly labelled, with cards such as “blueprints” and “budget” tucked neatly into the holders. There was even a wall safe with direct access to a secure storage unit on the floor below, his very own vault.
A similar locked panel hid his gun and emergency weapons kit. There was even a bomb chute leading to a blast chamber built into the seemingly innocent walls, just in case a device should turn out to be more dangerous than previously thought.
A gas mask hung on the back of the door, next to a bag containing weevil spray, a rift activity monitor and a bag of dinosaur nuts. In short, it was a perfectly prepared and efficient office, just like Torchwood One had been and everything he had wanted to add to Torchwood Three when he had first arrived.
And he hated it.
Taking off his jacket, Ianto hung it neatly on a hanger beside the gas mask and turned to his desk. It was a light beech or pine effect affair, all smooth edges and perfectly designed slots for electrical cables and modern equipment. As he strode round to his chair, he brushed his fingers over the perfectly formed imitation wood grain on the veneer and found himself lost in memory, comparing the artificial sensation to the real thing...
The wood had that slightly too smooth feel of a surface that has been polished and waxed for a long time, almost frictionless against his fingertips as he tried to brace himself against it, slipping over its soft surface. The side of his face was flat against the wood, the smell of it filling his senses as he watched his ragged breaths mist, then vanish, over the dark polish.
A small part of him felt a moments annoyance that he would be the one cleaning the desk off later, wondering as he did so how many Torchwood employees had left their mark on it this way. How many times had Jack been stood where he was now, his hands roaming over slick flesh, caressing, stroking, watching other hands slide over the desk, trying to hold on and stay in one place?
He could feel the heat of his body seeming to warm the wood, as though it was becoming part of him, and his fingers finally found the edges, gripping tight at last. He was close now, so close, and knew Jack was too, was holding back for him, that this was all for him...
As he came, their shared joy and lust seemed to fill his senses, taking over the room, until Ianto was sure it would become a part of the desk as much as the polish had, layers of it absorbed into the wood, carried in its lines for as long as it stood...
Ianto was shaken out of his memory by the phone ringing. His direct line. Swallowing hard to push aside the thoughts, he picked up the receiver and smiled. “Ianto Jones. Good morning, sir.” Laughing softly, he sat up straight, adjusting his lap slightly to relieve the discomfort in his voice. “After all you’ve done for us sir, formality is the least I can do in return.”
Ianto paused again, listening to the voice on the other end as his gaze fell on a photo with blackened edges propped up on his desk. It was so out of place in the clean room but he loved it. As Toshiko Sato smiled back at him, he nodded once, his tone and face turning professional as the pleasantries ended. Work to do.
“Yes sir. What can Torchwood do for you today?”
Part 9