Ficlet: To Live For
Title: To Live For
Author: lefaym
Beta: Many thanks to lionessvalenti
Fandom: Torchwood
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Jack/Ianto
Summary: Sometimes Ianto thinks he lives for these moments
Rating: NC-17 for dark and angsty unromantic PWP.
Disclaimer: RTD and the BBC own these characters.
Spoilers/Warnings: Rough sex. No spoilers.
Word Count: Approx 550 words.
A/N: This was originally written anonymously for touchyerwood, the Torchwood kink meme. The prompt was: Jack/Ianto, outdoor sex, preferably in some dark back alley.
To Live For
Sometimes Ianto thinks he lives for these moments, these dark sweaty filthy moments with his trousers around his ankles and an arm pressed against a rough brick wall as Jack pounds into him, tearing him apart and making him whole. It's in these moments, with a weevil or something else unconscious behind them, with the smell of blood and piss and vomit in his nostrils, that he can let himself believe that Jack is doing it for him, that Jack wants him.
Maybe, sometimes, it's even true.
They have quieter moments, of course, and tender ones, in the tiny bunker beneath Jack's office, or in the slightly larger bedroom in Ianto's flat. Moments where Jack is slow and gentle, where he runs his hands gently along Ianto's thighs or across his stomach, where he lies on his back and asks Ianto to take control-but Ianto knows that it's not about him, in those moments. He can see them, all the others, in Jack's eyes, and Ianto knows that his own touch is only a reminder of someone else, half-forgotten lovers, future lovers, not-lovers, but never him, and it never will be him until he has gone and someone else has taken his place.
But here, in the alley, it's not like that. It's about adrenaline and relief and sweat, and there's no room there for anyone else, no room for the ghosts from Jack's past to intrude, at least not so long as Ianto keeps his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him, and doesn't turn his head. His hand pumps furiously at his cock, as Jack grips his hips and moves faster; he can hear Jack's grunts, he can feel Jack's warm spittle landing on his neck, and he thinks about how anyone could turn the corner and see them now, rutting like animals in the stale open air. And they'd think that Jack was his, if they saw that, because they'd see Jack inside him, because they'd see Jack wanting to be inside him, here, now, with no one else to come between them.
Ianto wants them to turn the corner, he wants them to see, because he can't turn and see it for himself. He wants them to see Jack's eyes on him, hard and intense as he fucks into him, not wanting anybody else. He wants Gwen to see, and Owen and Tosh to see, so that they know, and-God-he's coming against the wall at the thought of it, of all of them standing there, knowing.
Ianto leans more heavily against the wall, the last of his come dripping from his softening cock and onto his pants, as Jack continues to thrust into him. He feels the pressure increase, he feels himself stretched further, and it burns him in the best possible way. When Jack yells out, coming loud and messy, Ianto pretends that he can hear his own name.
And then Jack slows, at last. His hands make their way from Ianto's hips onto his shoulders, and he rests his lips against the back of Ianto's neck.
"That was good," says Jack, between still-unsteady breaths.
"Yeah," Ianto agrees, shivering as the cold night air weaves its way around his legs.
Good is something, at least.
For now, that'll be enough to live for.
Author: lefaym
Beta: Many thanks to lionessvalenti
Fandom: Torchwood
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Jack/Ianto
Summary: Sometimes Ianto thinks he lives for these moments
Rating: NC-17 for dark and angsty unromantic PWP.
Disclaimer: RTD and the BBC own these characters.
Spoilers/Warnings: Rough sex. No spoilers.
Word Count: Approx 550 words.
A/N: This was originally written anonymously for touchyerwood, the Torchwood kink meme. The prompt was: Jack/Ianto, outdoor sex, preferably in some dark back alley.
To Live For
Sometimes Ianto thinks he lives for these moments, these dark sweaty filthy moments with his trousers around his ankles and an arm pressed against a rough brick wall as Jack pounds into him, tearing him apart and making him whole. It's in these moments, with a weevil or something else unconscious behind them, with the smell of blood and piss and vomit in his nostrils, that he can let himself believe that Jack is doing it for him, that Jack wants him.
Maybe, sometimes, it's even true.
They have quieter moments, of course, and tender ones, in the tiny bunker beneath Jack's office, or in the slightly larger bedroom in Ianto's flat. Moments where Jack is slow and gentle, where he runs his hands gently along Ianto's thighs or across his stomach, where he lies on his back and asks Ianto to take control-but Ianto knows that it's not about him, in those moments. He can see them, all the others, in Jack's eyes, and Ianto knows that his own touch is only a reminder of someone else, half-forgotten lovers, future lovers, not-lovers, but never him, and it never will be him until he has gone and someone else has taken his place.
But here, in the alley, it's not like that. It's about adrenaline and relief and sweat, and there's no room there for anyone else, no room for the ghosts from Jack's past to intrude, at least not so long as Ianto keeps his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him, and doesn't turn his head. His hand pumps furiously at his cock, as Jack grips his hips and moves faster; he can hear Jack's grunts, he can feel Jack's warm spittle landing on his neck, and he thinks about how anyone could turn the corner and see them now, rutting like animals in the stale open air. And they'd think that Jack was his, if they saw that, because they'd see Jack inside him, because they'd see Jack wanting to be inside him, here, now, with no one else to come between them.
Ianto wants them to turn the corner, he wants them to see, because he can't turn and see it for himself. He wants them to see Jack's eyes on him, hard and intense as he fucks into him, not wanting anybody else. He wants Gwen to see, and Owen and Tosh to see, so that they know, and-God-he's coming against the wall at the thought of it, of all of them standing there, knowing.
Ianto leans more heavily against the wall, the last of his come dripping from his softening cock and onto his pants, as Jack continues to thrust into him. He feels the pressure increase, he feels himself stretched further, and it burns him in the best possible way. When Jack yells out, coming loud and messy, Ianto pretends that he can hear his own name.
And then Jack slows, at last. His hands make their way from Ianto's hips onto his shoulders, and he rests his lips against the back of Ianto's neck.
"That was good," says Jack, between still-unsteady breaths.
"Yeah," Ianto agrees, shivering as the cold night air weaves its way around his legs.
Good is something, at least.
For now, that'll be enough to live for.