TW fic: Winner Takes All
Title: Winner Takes All
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Summary: Where Jack stands.
Notes: This was supposed to be a totally self-indulgent drunkficlet, but then it morphed into a little cotton candy pony, and was sugary and trotting around under my glaring eye. Okay, so it's not that sweet, but, I fear these things. snglesrvngfrend fixed my grammarz and told me it wasn't too sugary.
“I don’t believe you.”
Ianto puts his hands on his hips, and shakes his head, smirking at Jack across the floor.
“You don’t believe me because you really don’t have a life outside of Torchwood. It is possible to have one though. I do. You just don’t want one.”
Jack laughs. It’s true; Torchwood is Jack’s life and his blood. He doesn’t need to go to football matches on Friday nights with mates and drink lots of lager or spend a day shopping. Sometimes Jack does those kinds of things, if he has time, but he’s really quite happy being consumed by Torchwood.
Torchwood gives him his purpose, and has made him his family. That makes Jack happier than football ever could.
He doesn’t even mind the jokes about Torchwood being his long-term relationship, as long as no one implies he’s attracted to the pterodactyl.
Gwen wanders up from autopsy to join them, wearing her leather jacket and swinging her keys in a little circle, ready and waiting to give Ianto a drive.
“We’ll agree to disagree,” Jack says, and picks a bit of lint off Ianto’s coat. It’s an excuse to touch, not that he needs it. “You two will just each have to work a little harder and have enough outside fun for me too. Now go,” he makes a shooing motion and then points to Ianto. “You, have fun tonight.” His finger swings over to Gwen. “And you, say hello to Rhys for me. Enjoy your free time, but phones on, both of you.”
They leave, talking about the match Ianto’s going to, and when they’re gone Jack stretches his arms, alone in his domain again.
*
Jack spends a few hours cleaning up some of his paperwork, and then he wanders through the damp hallways, whistling, his hands in his pockets. He looks at all the dusty corners of Torchwood and finds his idle way through the shelves of alien miscellanea, pausing here and there to fondle things.
He’s busy pressing all the buttons on the Zarklan gene extractor, watching it light up and beep soothingly when his mobile rings. When Jack puts it down, the beeps move from soothing to forlorn-sounding.
“Hello?” Jack can hear the sound of car horns echoing, and people cheering.
“Jack.” It’s Ianto, his voice happy and thick. “What are you doing?”
Jack shrugs, nudging the blinking machine in front of him back into its proper place. “What are you doing?”
“Going home.” Ianto’s almost yelling over the noise. He’s been drinking, and his accent is hitting words harder than usual. “Do you want to come over?”
Jack looks from the shelf to his watch. It’s past midnight, but Ianto’s voice is low and he’s asking, so Jack says yes.
*
When Jack gets to Ianto’s flat, Ianto is standing at his kitchen counter eating crisps, intently licking the stray salt off his fingers. He smells of cigarette smoke and beer, and his clothes are rumpled like he’d been roughhousing.
Jack likes the thought of that very much.
“Did you have fun?” He asks. Ianto turns to face him, his index and middle fingers half in his mouth. Looking at Jack with sleepy eyes, Ianto nods and reaches for Jack’s hip with the hand not being sucked on.
Ianto finishes with his fingers and then wipes them on his thighs. He smiles at Jack, leaning back on the counter again.
“We won,” He says, simply, happily.
“I thought so, what with all the noise.”
Jack slips his hands behind Ianto to lay his palms on the counter, boxing Ianto in between his body and the counter. Ianto doesn’t seem to mind. He rubs his hands up Jack’s arms, cupping his shoulders, breathing slow and waiting for Jack to come to him.
He does come closer, but not enough to touch. Just enough so the heat coming off Ianto is apparent. Ianto stares at his mouth, but doesn’t move.
“Did you,” Jack asks softly, “help make all that noise?”
Ianto’s fingers curl in the fabric of Jack’s shirt and he moves his legs just a little, resettling himself around the first pangs of arousal.
He says, “I may have helped,” looking at Jack through his eyelashes.
Jack closes the distance, kissing Ianto hard, touching him the same way he touched the Zarklan medical equipment: curious and slow, even with something so familiar. Ianto hums, his arms looping around Jack's shoulders, and Jack thinks about all the noises he can get Ianto to make.
Depending on what Jack does and says, there is a wide variety of noises Ianto offers up. His moans cover a long range, from gravelly and dark to higher, pushed to the edge, and his groans usually cut short with Jack’s next move. The whimpers are things of beauty, and the hitching breaths are what Jack likes to think about when he’s down in the dark of his room by himself.
He can’t decide what he wants, although everything is a pretty safe guess.
Tasting the light salt and the heavy lager in Ianto’s mouth Jack ponders the line of Ianto’s throat, a noise hooked inside it while he lies on his bed, his belly pressed to the sheets while Jack licks down his spine.
He thinks about that picture, and it’s him who moans, rolling his hips into Ianto’s, listening for the broken breath he knows he can get. It comes, so soft, when Jack sucks on Ianto’s bottom lip.
They part slowly, and Ianto’s mouth is swollen. His smile is a very pretty shade of coral.
“Thanks for coming,” he says, rough and polite, both.
Jack kisses him once more, shortly. “No problem. Thanks for mixing your Outside Torchwood and Inside Torchwood lives.”
Ianto raises his eyebrows, half a centimeter below comically high, and stares at Jack for a second. Then his hands are skimming over Jack’s shirt and up to cup his neck. Ianto holds Jack’s face still, and shakes his head, smiling as he leans in.
Spreading kisses along Jack’s jaw, Ianto murmurs, “You’re part of my life outside Torchwood, too.”
Jack’s belly squeezes tight, but he’s careful to smile and run his hands over Ianto’s arse, casual propriety. He tilts his face for Ianto’s mouth and whispers, “Thanks.”
Ianto pulls back enough so Jack can see his bright eyes, his shiny, flushed cheeks and his pliant, naughty smile. He wets his lips and presses close enough so Jack can feel the solid line of his cock, hot even through all the clothes they’re wearing.
Their mouths are almost touching, but Jack has no problem hearing Ianto saying, “You should thank me,” as his hands move down Jack’s sides.
“I’ll do my best.” And he will. He plans on repaying Ianto’s sweetness with his mouth and his hands as long as he can tonight.
Jack brushes his mouth over Ianto’s, and adjusts his grip, squeezing enough to hear Ianto give up a moan. He breathes in, taking the sound inside his mouth, and exhales out again, liking the warmth of Ianto’s breath against his own. “Whatever you want.”
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Summary: Where Jack stands.
Notes: This was supposed to be a totally self-indulgent drunkficlet, but then it morphed into a little cotton candy pony, and was sugary and trotting around under my glaring eye. Okay, so it's not that sweet, but, I fear these things. snglesrvngfrend fixed my grammarz and told me it wasn't too sugary.
“I don’t believe you.”
Ianto puts his hands on his hips, and shakes his head, smirking at Jack across the floor.
“You don’t believe me because you really don’t have a life outside of Torchwood. It is possible to have one though. I do. You just don’t want one.”
Jack laughs. It’s true; Torchwood is Jack’s life and his blood. He doesn’t need to go to football matches on Friday nights with mates and drink lots of lager or spend a day shopping. Sometimes Jack does those kinds of things, if he has time, but he’s really quite happy being consumed by Torchwood.
Torchwood gives him his purpose, and has made him his family. That makes Jack happier than football ever could.
He doesn’t even mind the jokes about Torchwood being his long-term relationship, as long as no one implies he’s attracted to the pterodactyl.
Gwen wanders up from autopsy to join them, wearing her leather jacket and swinging her keys in a little circle, ready and waiting to give Ianto a drive.
“We’ll agree to disagree,” Jack says, and picks a bit of lint off Ianto’s coat. It’s an excuse to touch, not that he needs it. “You two will just each have to work a little harder and have enough outside fun for me too. Now go,” he makes a shooing motion and then points to Ianto. “You, have fun tonight.” His finger swings over to Gwen. “And you, say hello to Rhys for me. Enjoy your free time, but phones on, both of you.”
They leave, talking about the match Ianto’s going to, and when they’re gone Jack stretches his arms, alone in his domain again.
*
Jack spends a few hours cleaning up some of his paperwork, and then he wanders through the damp hallways, whistling, his hands in his pockets. He looks at all the dusty corners of Torchwood and finds his idle way through the shelves of alien miscellanea, pausing here and there to fondle things.
He’s busy pressing all the buttons on the Zarklan gene extractor, watching it light up and beep soothingly when his mobile rings. When Jack puts it down, the beeps move from soothing to forlorn-sounding.
“Hello?” Jack can hear the sound of car horns echoing, and people cheering.
“Jack.” It’s Ianto, his voice happy and thick. “What are you doing?”
Jack shrugs, nudging the blinking machine in front of him back into its proper place. “What are you doing?”
“Going home.” Ianto’s almost yelling over the noise. He’s been drinking, and his accent is hitting words harder than usual. “Do you want to come over?”
Jack looks from the shelf to his watch. It’s past midnight, but Ianto’s voice is low and he’s asking, so Jack says yes.
*
When Jack gets to Ianto’s flat, Ianto is standing at his kitchen counter eating crisps, intently licking the stray salt off his fingers. He smells of cigarette smoke and beer, and his clothes are rumpled like he’d been roughhousing.
Jack likes the thought of that very much.
“Did you have fun?” He asks. Ianto turns to face him, his index and middle fingers half in his mouth. Looking at Jack with sleepy eyes, Ianto nods and reaches for Jack’s hip with the hand not being sucked on.
Ianto finishes with his fingers and then wipes them on his thighs. He smiles at Jack, leaning back on the counter again.
“We won,” He says, simply, happily.
“I thought so, what with all the noise.”
Jack slips his hands behind Ianto to lay his palms on the counter, boxing Ianto in between his body and the counter. Ianto doesn’t seem to mind. He rubs his hands up Jack’s arms, cupping his shoulders, breathing slow and waiting for Jack to come to him.
He does come closer, but not enough to touch. Just enough so the heat coming off Ianto is apparent. Ianto stares at his mouth, but doesn’t move.
“Did you,” Jack asks softly, “help make all that noise?”
Ianto’s fingers curl in the fabric of Jack’s shirt and he moves his legs just a little, resettling himself around the first pangs of arousal.
He says, “I may have helped,” looking at Jack through his eyelashes.
Jack closes the distance, kissing Ianto hard, touching him the same way he touched the Zarklan medical equipment: curious and slow, even with something so familiar. Ianto hums, his arms looping around Jack's shoulders, and Jack thinks about all the noises he can get Ianto to make.
Depending on what Jack does and says, there is a wide variety of noises Ianto offers up. His moans cover a long range, from gravelly and dark to higher, pushed to the edge, and his groans usually cut short with Jack’s next move. The whimpers are things of beauty, and the hitching breaths are what Jack likes to think about when he’s down in the dark of his room by himself.
He can’t decide what he wants, although everything is a pretty safe guess.
Tasting the light salt and the heavy lager in Ianto’s mouth Jack ponders the line of Ianto’s throat, a noise hooked inside it while he lies on his bed, his belly pressed to the sheets while Jack licks down his spine.
He thinks about that picture, and it’s him who moans, rolling his hips into Ianto’s, listening for the broken breath he knows he can get. It comes, so soft, when Jack sucks on Ianto’s bottom lip.
They part slowly, and Ianto’s mouth is swollen. His smile is a very pretty shade of coral.
“Thanks for coming,” he says, rough and polite, both.
Jack kisses him once more, shortly. “No problem. Thanks for mixing your Outside Torchwood and Inside Torchwood lives.”
Ianto raises his eyebrows, half a centimeter below comically high, and stares at Jack for a second. Then his hands are skimming over Jack’s shirt and up to cup his neck. Ianto holds Jack’s face still, and shakes his head, smiling as he leans in.
Spreading kisses along Jack’s jaw, Ianto murmurs, “You’re part of my life outside Torchwood, too.”
Jack’s belly squeezes tight, but he’s careful to smile and run his hands over Ianto’s arse, casual propriety. He tilts his face for Ianto’s mouth and whispers, “Thanks.”
Ianto pulls back enough so Jack can see his bright eyes, his shiny, flushed cheeks and his pliant, naughty smile. He wets his lips and presses close enough so Jack can feel the solid line of his cock, hot even through all the clothes they’re wearing.
Their mouths are almost touching, but Jack has no problem hearing Ianto saying, “You should thank me,” as his hands move down Jack’s sides.
“I’ll do my best.” And he will. He plans on repaying Ianto’s sweetness with his mouth and his hands as long as he can tonight.
Jack brushes his mouth over Ianto’s, and adjusts his grip, squeezing enough to hear Ianto give up a moan. He breathes in, taking the sound inside his mouth, and exhales out again, liking the warmth of Ianto’s breath against his own. “Whatever you want.”