so good for you, so new for you (Jack/Ianto; NC-17)
Title: so good for you, so new for you
Author: etharei
Rating: NC-17
Timeline: early S2, between "Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang" (201) and "Sleeper" (202)
Spoilers: "The End of Days" (113), "Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang" (201)
Summary: The night after a date.
Author's Notes: Took a while with this because smut always wears me out. ::flops into bed::
Disclaimer: Torchwood and all the characters and situations featured therein are the property of Russell T. Davies, the BBC and their affiliates. I’m only borrowing them for purely non-profit, recreational purposes.
Written for: horizonssing, Day #28.
It's Bad For Me
Rosemary Clooney
Oh it's bad for me it's bad for me
this knowledge that you're going mad for me
I feel certain my friends would be glad for me
but it's bad for me
It's so good for you so new for you
to see someone in such a stew for you
and when I say I'd do all you could for you
it's so good for you it's bad for you
I felt til you whispered to me
completely left on the shelf
but since you started to woo me
I'm just crazy about myself
it's a boon for you a break for you
to hear that my heart's on the make for you
yet no matter however appealing
I still have a feeling it's bad for me.
so good for you, so new for you
by etharei
There was something a bit ridiculous about two grown men inside a parked car snogging like the world is about to end. If the world were ending, it would of course be another matter entirely, but Ianto Jones had viewed such a scenario from a distance many times and knew very well that, at the present, Wales would go on to rain another day...
“Too much thinking,” murmured Jack against Ianto’s lips, before grabbing the back of Ianto’s head and pulling him in for another round.
The air inside the closed space was hot, humidity rising, and not likely to improve with only a twenty percept chance of clothing remaining on- “Ah,” gasped Ianto, when Jack’s hand cupped him through his trousers. “All right, out of the car. Now.”
Jack chuckled, in the deep self-satisfied tone he often used when anticipating sex. Ianto pulled back, took a good look at him, and yep - Jack looked, if not like the cat that got the cream, then like the cat that was looking forward to licking the cream off someone else very soon. The younger man shook his head, checked that he had all his things, and got out of his car. On the other side, Jack similarly exited the passenger’s chair.
In the light of a nearby lamppost, Ianto could see the extent of the damage wreaked by Jack’s expertly nimble fingers. Tie loose, the front of his waistcoat hanging open, most of his shirt pulled out of his trousers. While Ianto examined himself, Jack strode around to stand next to him. Jack’s appearance wasn’t much better, really: swollen, well-used lips, eyes gleaming, bulge in his trousers obscured by only the shadow cast by his coat.
It’d been a nice night. A great night, if Ianto was honest. Dinner, wine, and movie; not a glimmer of alien presence, discounting the inevitable story-telling from both sides of the table. It had been change, to have stories of his own to tell. Ianto had gotten a funny feeling in his chest, seeing the expression on the other man’s face, like Jack was lapping up every word, each remembered moment from the time Jack had been away. Most included the team, but Jack wanted the stories with just Ianto in them as well.
And, for once, not a tale was told from Jack’s side of that time. Since Jack’s silences should only be navigated with sonar, radar, GPS system, and a time machine held in reserve, Ianto decided to wait on that front.
Presently, he noticed a smile on Jack’s face. “What are you planning?” Ianto asked.
“Not planning,” replied Jack, stepping close. Grabbed Ianto’s hand, like he had in the restaurant. “Just remembering.” A hand on the small of Ianto’s back. “Oh it’s bad for me, it’s bad for me, this knowledge that you’re going mad for me…”
Ianto laughed, pushing Jack back against the car. Kissing him deeply. Jack emitted a pleased sound, opened his mouth wider, sucking in Ianto’s tongue, his hand teasing the back of Ianto’s neck. Ianto grabbed onto Jack’s shoulders, slid a thigh in between Jack’s legs and rubbed up.
A sharp inhale from Jack, followed by a groan into Ianto’s mouth. Heat lanced through Ianto’s body at feeling Jack growing harder against his upper thigh, through the fabric of their trousers.
Too late, a sound from behind. Ianto opened his eyes, barely had time to break their lips before a gloved hand closed around his arm and roughly yanked him backwards. A knife flashed in the gloom, and hovered threateningly close to his throat.
“Don’t move, or this one gets it,” spoke his assailant, followed by a word that made Ianto think cigarettes? And then, Oh. I’ve spent too much time with Jack. He did some obligatory struggling and half-hearted flailing, which incidentally earned him an idea of his attacker’s physicality. Human male, wiry, too short to sensibly be attacking men of Jack and Ianto’s height. A voice fresh from the perils of adolescence. Wearing a ski mask. “Give me your wallet, cell phones, and the car keys.”
Another mark of Torchwood - the rush of relief from hearing that the man only wanted money. No security codes, alien weaponry, world domination and destruction. Just bloody change.
The speechless surprise on Jack’s face was appropriate, and appeared quite genuine. Ianto supposed this sort of thing had never happened to him before, the smug bastard.
“Okay, all right,” said Jack, putting his hands up in a placating manner. “No need to do anything rash here, friend.” He reached into his pocket for his wallet, carefully keeping the coat over the Webley on his belt. It reminded Ianto of the weight of his own gun, inside his jacket. But his assailant’s eyes were focused entirely on Jack. Perhaps he’d just noticed how physically imposing Jack was, even with his shirt unbuttoned and hair askew. Ianto sensed the enterprising thief’s nervousness growing by the second, especially at the absence of fear from either man, and Ianto was forced to take a couple of steps back.
“Just toss it ‘ere,” ordered the attacker. “No, actually, leave it on the car, with your cell phone and car keys.”
“Actually, the keys are with me,” Ianto interjected.
“Give it to me, then. And your wallet, too.”
Ianto nodded, reached slowly into his suit. Jingled the keys, got a hold on his wallet, considered the familiar solid weight. Jack was very pointedly not looking at his hand, though his eyebrows went up when Ianto smoothly handed the wallet and car keys to the thief.
The masked kid automatically took them in his free hand, which meant his only hold on Ianto was the arm across Ianto’s chest, at the end of which was the hand with the knife at Ianto’s throat. Jack shook his head, giving him a look of ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ But Ianto remained a pliant hostage.
Later, he would spare a shiver for all the ways it could have gone wrong. All the risks he’d taken by not neutralizing the threat as soon as possible. He was growing overconfident, he knew. But at the parking lot, all he could think of was the number of explosives, guns, toxins, and bloody teeth he’d been faced with in the past month alone; and here was some kid, a hooligan with a pen knife, threatening his life for a bit of pocket money.
Ianto Jones, in short, was pissed.
The thief pocketed the wallet and keys. Apparently feeling a lot more sure of himself, he ranted out a few more derisive comments regarding Jack and Ianto’s masculinity. Jack didn’t appear to be hearing him at all, instead gazing at Ianto with the beginnings of a sly smile, his face clearly asking, What are you up to, Mr. Jones?
“And now I’ll have my things back, please,” Ianto cut the kid off mid-word. He noticed Jack leaning back against the car, arms folded.
A startled pause. “What?”
“I’d like my wallet and keys back, please,” repeated Ianto, with a slowness and tone designed to infuriate.
“Or what, mister? Or should I call you miss? Reckon he’s the one wearing the-“
Ianto rolled his eyes. “Give me my things, or you’ll wake up in the police station tomorrow with absolutely no memory of what happened tonight.”
The kid laughed. “I don’t think so. But I can leave you with something, for you and your friend to remember-”
His voice cut off abruptly, probably because of the fingers Ianto had at that moment driven into his throat. At the same time, Ianto used his other arm to knock away the hand with the knife, then grabbed it and smashed the wrist against his knee coming up the other way. The knife fell to the ground with a loud clatter; Ianto kicked it away. Coughing, the kid clutched at his throat, and from there it was a simple matter of hitting the side of the kid’s head with a hard back-handed slap.
The kid sprawled across the ground, spluttering obscenities. He stared at Ianto looming over him, managed a last ’What the fuck?” before a bolt of blue-white energy left him collapsed in a limp heap.
Ianto slid the stun gun back into his suit. He took out the emergency Retcon pills in his pocket, efficiently halved one, and carefully induced the kid to swallow it. Then he used his mobile to send a message to the Hub mainframe, which would result in an anonymous reporting of a robbery at his current coordinates to the police.
Jack was still standing next to the car when Ianto stalked back to him, wallet and keys back in his pocket. The older man’s face was full of admiration. “That must be one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen you mmmph.” Feeling like he was on a roll and might as well, Ianto abruptly cut Jack off via the forceful application of tongue in mouth, teeth on lips.
The younger man grinded his hips against Jack’s, discovering that Jack had indeed been aroused by watching Ianto taking out an attacker. Jack’s hands left the car to clutch at Ianto, at Ianto’s arse, the back of Ianto’s head, Ianto’s arm, while Ianto relentlessly sampled and stroked every inch of Jack’s mouth, every muffled sound acting as fuel to his want. By the time Ianto pulled back, Jack was distinctly panting, leaning heavily on the car.
“Come on,” murmured Ianto, half-dragging Jack up to his flat.
Wandering hands nearly stranded them in the lift, but Ianto’s desire for a more comfortable horizontal surface won out by a small margin. Gaining his flat, he shut the door by shoving Jack against it, and closed the locks with one hand even as the other efficiently undid Jack’s belt, Jack’s trousers. Jack moaned in encouragement, strangely compliant, flicking on the light switch and speedily undoing the rest of Ianto’s shirt buttons. The vaguely linear journey to the bedroom was a blur of greedy mouths, hands busily undressing, an occasional encounter with furniture.
“Oh God,” gasped Jack, skidding a little on his discarded trousers when Ianto slid a hand down the back of his underwear. Ianto hummed happily, enjoying the feel of the hard buttocks tensing beneath his fingers. His mouth traveled down Jack’s throat, nipping at the Adam’s apple, wetly lapping at the collarbone. Jack’s hand wound around his waist, clinching their hips together tight, and Ianto gasped at the feel of the hot, rock-hard length rubbing against his own under stretched fabric. The hand on Jack’s arse scraped nails gently over quivering skin, gave each mound a generous squeeze before dipping into the heated gorge between, finding the puckered entrance just as Ianto sucked hard on the skin at the juncture of neck and shoulder.
Jack cried out, legs widening. They finally reached the bed, falling together onto the cool sheets, fumbling impatiently, their harsh breathing filling the small room. What little clothing remained flew into the dark.
“Jack,” breathed Ianto, and found himself being pulled on top. It was not a wholly unusual arrangement, Jack being one for getting as good as he gave, but tonight Ianto felt strangely… powerful. And more turned on than ever; the tacit invitation at one with his desire to take Jack, to have him, to pound him into the mattress and shag the ever-living daylight out of him.
Ianto pushed himself up, supporting his upper body with his arms, and closed his eyes to better enjoy the feel of Jack’s body underneath him, even though the darkness of the bedroom hardly required him to do so. He ducked down for a kiss, wet and sloppy and full of tongue, and then pulled away to kiss Jack’s chin, throat, collarbone, down and down, marking a wet line with open mouth and tongue and the occasionally graze of teeth. Took care to make a lot of wet, eager noises, knowing how Jack got off on them.
He got to the middle of Jack’s chest, and shifted his weight to his elbows. Traced the dip of skin between the two pectorals with his tongue, licked a finger on each hand, and reached out to tease and roll Jack’s nipples as his mouth made its patient way lower. Through the sound of his blood rushing and heart thudding, he could hear Jack saying his name, a breathless chant. Jack’s legs parted under him, muscular thighs giving way. Ianto got to Jack’s navel, closed his mouth around the belly button and tongued it as if it was Jack’s mouth. Jack’s body trembled, his hands coming to rest on top of Ianto’s on his chest. Ianto continued, slowing down despite the shameless way Jack kept thrusting up his hips.
“Ianto, please,” said Jack, somewhere between a plea and a command. Ianto made a vague noise of assent, sitting back on his knees to give his arms a rest, planted between Jack’s sprawled legs. He leaned forward, pressed a kiss to the tip of Jack’s cock. Licked the precome off his lips, and lowered his head to mouth Jack’s balls. This close, he felt Jack’s cock twitch, and the next time he looked up, Jack had pushed himself to a semi-sitting position, gazing down at Ianto with dark, lidded eyes. Beautiful, just like this.
Light spilled into the bedroom from the living room through the open door, the only source of illumination; but their vision had adjusted to the dark. Ianto did not take his eyes off Jack’s face as he slid his cheek along the length Jack’s cock, from the base up, mouth open to breath out hotly against the sensitive skin as he passed it, and letting the viscous liquid at the tip catch on his skin. Jack looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe. Ianto shivered. He licked the head, just a quick dart of the tongue, and took it between his lips, smiling awkwardly at Jack’s short intake of breath. He loosened his jaw, breathed in through his nose, then slowly slid Jack into his mouth, down his throat, lips stretched over the thrumming muscle.
Jack let out a loud, wordless groan. Ianto stayed as he was for a moment, savoring the feel and taste of Jack in his mouth. The only man he’d ever known this way; nothing on the female body could compare to this, the texture of it, soft and hard and heavy. Ianto worked his throat around the tip, a trick he’d picked up only recently, heard Jack’s “That’s it, Ianto, so good” and felt Jack’s hand carding through his hair. A trickle of saliva slid out from between his lips, to be caught by the fine hairs at the base of Jack’s cock. Ianto paid it no mind, instead pulling back, letting inch after inch of Jack slip out of him, wet and glistening. The musky scent of Jack, with a chaser of Ianto.
Instead of going back down again, Ianto surged up, closing his lips around Jack’s and inviting Jack to taste himself. “I want you,” Ianto whispered, voice deep like it often was after he’d had Jack in his throat; a favorite of Jack’s, for that reason.
“You know, I think I have been a bad influence on you,” remarked Jack, as his hands scratched Ianto’s sides and his legs wrapped around Ianto’s hips.
“Don’t know why you’d think that,” said Ianto. He fumbled about under the pillows until he found the bottle and packet.
He was about to slick up his fingers when Jack caught his wrist. “Don’t. Want to feel you.” At Ianto’s further hesitation, Jack added, “Trust me, I can take it.”
Ianto nodded. A now well-practiced tearing of the foil, condom on his cock, and a generous coating of lube, no matter what Jack said. He lined himself up, thumb teasing the puckered rim of muscle, paused for a final impatient urging by Jack’s grip on his arm, and pushed.
Oh God.
Tight, breathless, exquisite heat. Fuck, Jack swore, legs pulling Ianto in further, faster, when Ianto would have slowed down. Ianto groaned into Jack’s neck, lapping up the salty sweat, fingers digging into Jack’s skin. Hardly any resistance from Jack’s body, just a sweet, slick pressure, and Jack took him in to the hilt. He was left shaking, energized, a bit incoherent, and there was Jack kissing him hungrily, clutching at him, hips and mouth urging him to move, dammit.
And then there was no time, no space, no breath left for thought. Just sweat and groans and thrusting, thrusting, come on, Ianto, deep and powerful, steady but not for long. He drove into Jack, wanting more, wanting Jack to forget his own name, wanting them both to remember this. He was dimly aware of Jack’s nails taking skin off his arms, his back, but even the distant stinging sparks only heightened the building bliss. The bed creaked beneath them in protest, but Ianto only grabbed the headboard, using the leverage to snap his hips harder, faster. Jack slid up the bed from the force of Ianto’s thrusts, but he only pulled his legs up higher. Opening himself up for Ianto.
Ianto could hear a strange, almost animal-like growling and moaning, and took a while to identify himself as the source. He felt a distant flush of embarrassment, but was distracted by Jack reaching a hand between them. Ianto slapped it away, gripping Jack’s cock himself with a grunt that sounded suspiciously like Mine! He stroked Jack quickly, in time with his punishing thrusts, and in seconds he heard Jack shout, a sudden sound; hot liquid spattered over Ianto’s stomach, chest, dribbled down his hands, the continued motions smearing it over both their bodies. Ianto kept thrusting, gasping at the contractions around his cock. His own climax took him by surprise, a heaven of heat exploding out from his core, blazing outwards, driving the breath from him.
He collapsed on top of Jack, struggling to get his breath back, heart beating almost painfully inside his chest. Jack’s arms came up around him, held him, and after a few minutes Ianto was able to slowly pull out and dispose of the filled condom. Used a clean rag on the bedside table to clean them both, then settled back down, using Jack’s shoulder as a pillow.
“Wow,” said Jack.
Ianto nodded, not quite sure he remembered how to work his mouth. His body floated down from the high, bringing with it a pleasant buzz and heavy blanket that weighed down even his eyelids.
“That must be hottest work yet. Wonder if I should spring that kid’s bail, as a sort of thank-you?” Jack shifted. “I don’t think I can feel my legs.”
“Good,” mumbled Ianto, stifling a yawn. The adrenaline and the exertions of the day seemed to have crept up on him, now unleashing their toll. “Can’t go swannin’ off in the middle of the night.” A second yawn escaped him. Jack stopped wriggling about, and a large warm hand began to stroke Ianto’s back.
“Yeah, guess not,” Ianto heard Jack say, followed by a soft kiss to the top of Ianto’s head. “Goodnight, Ianto.”
The blanket was, in fact, real. Ianto slipped further under it, now that the sweat was cooling on his skin. “Don’t hog the covers,” he muttered in warning. Warm at last. Jack, not a bad pillow, actually. And... stroking was... nice.
Somewhere nearby, a clock ticked out the seconds in good old-fashioned gears and cogs and crystal. Much closer, just as steady, a rhythmic beating, quiet enough to fill up the world.
Author: etharei
Rating: NC-17
Timeline: early S2, between "Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang" (201) and "Sleeper" (202)
Spoilers: "The End of Days" (113), "Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang" (201)
Summary: The night after a date.
Author's Notes: Took a while with this because smut always wears me out. ::flops into bed::
Disclaimer: Torchwood and all the characters and situations featured therein are the property of Russell T. Davies, the BBC and their affiliates. I’m only borrowing them for purely non-profit, recreational purposes.
Written for: horizonssing, Day #28.
It's Bad For Me
Rosemary Clooney
Oh it's bad for me it's bad for me
this knowledge that you're going mad for me
I feel certain my friends would be glad for me
but it's bad for me
It's so good for you so new for you
to see someone in such a stew for you
and when I say I'd do all you could for you
it's so good for you it's bad for you
I felt til you whispered to me
completely left on the shelf
but since you started to woo me
I'm just crazy about myself
it's a boon for you a break for you
to hear that my heart's on the make for you
yet no matter however appealing
I still have a feeling it's bad for me.
so good for you, so new for you
by etharei
There was something a bit ridiculous about two grown men inside a parked car snogging like the world is about to end. If the world were ending, it would of course be another matter entirely, but Ianto Jones had viewed such a scenario from a distance many times and knew very well that, at the present, Wales would go on to rain another day...
“Too much thinking,” murmured Jack against Ianto’s lips, before grabbing the back of Ianto’s head and pulling him in for another round.
The air inside the closed space was hot, humidity rising, and not likely to improve with only a twenty percept chance of clothing remaining on- “Ah,” gasped Ianto, when Jack’s hand cupped him through his trousers. “All right, out of the car. Now.”
Jack chuckled, in the deep self-satisfied tone he often used when anticipating sex. Ianto pulled back, took a good look at him, and yep - Jack looked, if not like the cat that got the cream, then like the cat that was looking forward to licking the cream off someone else very soon. The younger man shook his head, checked that he had all his things, and got out of his car. On the other side, Jack similarly exited the passenger’s chair.
In the light of a nearby lamppost, Ianto could see the extent of the damage wreaked by Jack’s expertly nimble fingers. Tie loose, the front of his waistcoat hanging open, most of his shirt pulled out of his trousers. While Ianto examined himself, Jack strode around to stand next to him. Jack’s appearance wasn’t much better, really: swollen, well-used lips, eyes gleaming, bulge in his trousers obscured by only the shadow cast by his coat.
It’d been a nice night. A great night, if Ianto was honest. Dinner, wine, and movie; not a glimmer of alien presence, discounting the inevitable story-telling from both sides of the table. It had been change, to have stories of his own to tell. Ianto had gotten a funny feeling in his chest, seeing the expression on the other man’s face, like Jack was lapping up every word, each remembered moment from the time Jack had been away. Most included the team, but Jack wanted the stories with just Ianto in them as well.
And, for once, not a tale was told from Jack’s side of that time. Since Jack’s silences should only be navigated with sonar, radar, GPS system, and a time machine held in reserve, Ianto decided to wait on that front.
Presently, he noticed a smile on Jack’s face. “What are you planning?” Ianto asked.
“Not planning,” replied Jack, stepping close. Grabbed Ianto’s hand, like he had in the restaurant. “Just remembering.” A hand on the small of Ianto’s back. “Oh it’s bad for me, it’s bad for me, this knowledge that you’re going mad for me…”
Ianto laughed, pushing Jack back against the car. Kissing him deeply. Jack emitted a pleased sound, opened his mouth wider, sucking in Ianto’s tongue, his hand teasing the back of Ianto’s neck. Ianto grabbed onto Jack’s shoulders, slid a thigh in between Jack’s legs and rubbed up.
A sharp inhale from Jack, followed by a groan into Ianto’s mouth. Heat lanced through Ianto’s body at feeling Jack growing harder against his upper thigh, through the fabric of their trousers.
Too late, a sound from behind. Ianto opened his eyes, barely had time to break their lips before a gloved hand closed around his arm and roughly yanked him backwards. A knife flashed in the gloom, and hovered threateningly close to his throat.
“Don’t move, or this one gets it,” spoke his assailant, followed by a word that made Ianto think cigarettes? And then, Oh. I’ve spent too much time with Jack. He did some obligatory struggling and half-hearted flailing, which incidentally earned him an idea of his attacker’s physicality. Human male, wiry, too short to sensibly be attacking men of Jack and Ianto’s height. A voice fresh from the perils of adolescence. Wearing a ski mask. “Give me your wallet, cell phones, and the car keys.”
Another mark of Torchwood - the rush of relief from hearing that the man only wanted money. No security codes, alien weaponry, world domination and destruction. Just bloody change.
The speechless surprise on Jack’s face was appropriate, and appeared quite genuine. Ianto supposed this sort of thing had never happened to him before, the smug bastard.
“Okay, all right,” said Jack, putting his hands up in a placating manner. “No need to do anything rash here, friend.” He reached into his pocket for his wallet, carefully keeping the coat over the Webley on his belt. It reminded Ianto of the weight of his own gun, inside his jacket. But his assailant’s eyes were focused entirely on Jack. Perhaps he’d just noticed how physically imposing Jack was, even with his shirt unbuttoned and hair askew. Ianto sensed the enterprising thief’s nervousness growing by the second, especially at the absence of fear from either man, and Ianto was forced to take a couple of steps back.
“Just toss it ‘ere,” ordered the attacker. “No, actually, leave it on the car, with your cell phone and car keys.”
“Actually, the keys are with me,” Ianto interjected.
“Give it to me, then. And your wallet, too.”
Ianto nodded, reached slowly into his suit. Jingled the keys, got a hold on his wallet, considered the familiar solid weight. Jack was very pointedly not looking at his hand, though his eyebrows went up when Ianto smoothly handed the wallet and car keys to the thief.
The masked kid automatically took them in his free hand, which meant his only hold on Ianto was the arm across Ianto’s chest, at the end of which was the hand with the knife at Ianto’s throat. Jack shook his head, giving him a look of ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ But Ianto remained a pliant hostage.
Later, he would spare a shiver for all the ways it could have gone wrong. All the risks he’d taken by not neutralizing the threat as soon as possible. He was growing overconfident, he knew. But at the parking lot, all he could think of was the number of explosives, guns, toxins, and bloody teeth he’d been faced with in the past month alone; and here was some kid, a hooligan with a pen knife, threatening his life for a bit of pocket money.
Ianto Jones, in short, was pissed.
The thief pocketed the wallet and keys. Apparently feeling a lot more sure of himself, he ranted out a few more derisive comments regarding Jack and Ianto’s masculinity. Jack didn’t appear to be hearing him at all, instead gazing at Ianto with the beginnings of a sly smile, his face clearly asking, What are you up to, Mr. Jones?
“And now I’ll have my things back, please,” Ianto cut the kid off mid-word. He noticed Jack leaning back against the car, arms folded.
A startled pause. “What?”
“I’d like my wallet and keys back, please,” repeated Ianto, with a slowness and tone designed to infuriate.
“Or what, mister? Or should I call you miss? Reckon he’s the one wearing the-“
Ianto rolled his eyes. “Give me my things, or you’ll wake up in the police station tomorrow with absolutely no memory of what happened tonight.”
The kid laughed. “I don’t think so. But I can leave you with something, for you and your friend to remember-”
His voice cut off abruptly, probably because of the fingers Ianto had at that moment driven into his throat. At the same time, Ianto used his other arm to knock away the hand with the knife, then grabbed it and smashed the wrist against his knee coming up the other way. The knife fell to the ground with a loud clatter; Ianto kicked it away. Coughing, the kid clutched at his throat, and from there it was a simple matter of hitting the side of the kid’s head with a hard back-handed slap.
The kid sprawled across the ground, spluttering obscenities. He stared at Ianto looming over him, managed a last ’What the fuck?” before a bolt of blue-white energy left him collapsed in a limp heap.
Ianto slid the stun gun back into his suit. He took out the emergency Retcon pills in his pocket, efficiently halved one, and carefully induced the kid to swallow it. Then he used his mobile to send a message to the Hub mainframe, which would result in an anonymous reporting of a robbery at his current coordinates to the police.
Jack was still standing next to the car when Ianto stalked back to him, wallet and keys back in his pocket. The older man’s face was full of admiration. “That must be one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen you mmmph.” Feeling like he was on a roll and might as well, Ianto abruptly cut Jack off via the forceful application of tongue in mouth, teeth on lips.
The younger man grinded his hips against Jack’s, discovering that Jack had indeed been aroused by watching Ianto taking out an attacker. Jack’s hands left the car to clutch at Ianto, at Ianto’s arse, the back of Ianto’s head, Ianto’s arm, while Ianto relentlessly sampled and stroked every inch of Jack’s mouth, every muffled sound acting as fuel to his want. By the time Ianto pulled back, Jack was distinctly panting, leaning heavily on the car.
“Come on,” murmured Ianto, half-dragging Jack up to his flat.
Wandering hands nearly stranded them in the lift, but Ianto’s desire for a more comfortable horizontal surface won out by a small margin. Gaining his flat, he shut the door by shoving Jack against it, and closed the locks with one hand even as the other efficiently undid Jack’s belt, Jack’s trousers. Jack moaned in encouragement, strangely compliant, flicking on the light switch and speedily undoing the rest of Ianto’s shirt buttons. The vaguely linear journey to the bedroom was a blur of greedy mouths, hands busily undressing, an occasional encounter with furniture.
“Oh God,” gasped Jack, skidding a little on his discarded trousers when Ianto slid a hand down the back of his underwear. Ianto hummed happily, enjoying the feel of the hard buttocks tensing beneath his fingers. His mouth traveled down Jack’s throat, nipping at the Adam’s apple, wetly lapping at the collarbone. Jack’s hand wound around his waist, clinching their hips together tight, and Ianto gasped at the feel of the hot, rock-hard length rubbing against his own under stretched fabric. The hand on Jack’s arse scraped nails gently over quivering skin, gave each mound a generous squeeze before dipping into the heated gorge between, finding the puckered entrance just as Ianto sucked hard on the skin at the juncture of neck and shoulder.
Jack cried out, legs widening. They finally reached the bed, falling together onto the cool sheets, fumbling impatiently, their harsh breathing filling the small room. What little clothing remained flew into the dark.
“Jack,” breathed Ianto, and found himself being pulled on top. It was not a wholly unusual arrangement, Jack being one for getting as good as he gave, but tonight Ianto felt strangely… powerful. And more turned on than ever; the tacit invitation at one with his desire to take Jack, to have him, to pound him into the mattress and shag the ever-living daylight out of him.
Ianto pushed himself up, supporting his upper body with his arms, and closed his eyes to better enjoy the feel of Jack’s body underneath him, even though the darkness of the bedroom hardly required him to do so. He ducked down for a kiss, wet and sloppy and full of tongue, and then pulled away to kiss Jack’s chin, throat, collarbone, down and down, marking a wet line with open mouth and tongue and the occasionally graze of teeth. Took care to make a lot of wet, eager noises, knowing how Jack got off on them.
He got to the middle of Jack’s chest, and shifted his weight to his elbows. Traced the dip of skin between the two pectorals with his tongue, licked a finger on each hand, and reached out to tease and roll Jack’s nipples as his mouth made its patient way lower. Through the sound of his blood rushing and heart thudding, he could hear Jack saying his name, a breathless chant. Jack’s legs parted under him, muscular thighs giving way. Ianto got to Jack’s navel, closed his mouth around the belly button and tongued it as if it was Jack’s mouth. Jack’s body trembled, his hands coming to rest on top of Ianto’s on his chest. Ianto continued, slowing down despite the shameless way Jack kept thrusting up his hips.
“Ianto, please,” said Jack, somewhere between a plea and a command. Ianto made a vague noise of assent, sitting back on his knees to give his arms a rest, planted between Jack’s sprawled legs. He leaned forward, pressed a kiss to the tip of Jack’s cock. Licked the precome off his lips, and lowered his head to mouth Jack’s balls. This close, he felt Jack’s cock twitch, and the next time he looked up, Jack had pushed himself to a semi-sitting position, gazing down at Ianto with dark, lidded eyes. Beautiful, just like this.
Light spilled into the bedroom from the living room through the open door, the only source of illumination; but their vision had adjusted to the dark. Ianto did not take his eyes off Jack’s face as he slid his cheek along the length Jack’s cock, from the base up, mouth open to breath out hotly against the sensitive skin as he passed it, and letting the viscous liquid at the tip catch on his skin. Jack looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe. Ianto shivered. He licked the head, just a quick dart of the tongue, and took it between his lips, smiling awkwardly at Jack’s short intake of breath. He loosened his jaw, breathed in through his nose, then slowly slid Jack into his mouth, down his throat, lips stretched over the thrumming muscle.
Jack let out a loud, wordless groan. Ianto stayed as he was for a moment, savoring the feel and taste of Jack in his mouth. The only man he’d ever known this way; nothing on the female body could compare to this, the texture of it, soft and hard and heavy. Ianto worked his throat around the tip, a trick he’d picked up only recently, heard Jack’s “That’s it, Ianto, so good” and felt Jack’s hand carding through his hair. A trickle of saliva slid out from between his lips, to be caught by the fine hairs at the base of Jack’s cock. Ianto paid it no mind, instead pulling back, letting inch after inch of Jack slip out of him, wet and glistening. The musky scent of Jack, with a chaser of Ianto.
Instead of going back down again, Ianto surged up, closing his lips around Jack’s and inviting Jack to taste himself. “I want you,” Ianto whispered, voice deep like it often was after he’d had Jack in his throat; a favorite of Jack’s, for that reason.
“You know, I think I have been a bad influence on you,” remarked Jack, as his hands scratched Ianto’s sides and his legs wrapped around Ianto’s hips.
“Don’t know why you’d think that,” said Ianto. He fumbled about under the pillows until he found the bottle and packet.
He was about to slick up his fingers when Jack caught his wrist. “Don’t. Want to feel you.” At Ianto’s further hesitation, Jack added, “Trust me, I can take it.”
Ianto nodded. A now well-practiced tearing of the foil, condom on his cock, and a generous coating of lube, no matter what Jack said. He lined himself up, thumb teasing the puckered rim of muscle, paused for a final impatient urging by Jack’s grip on his arm, and pushed.
Oh God.
Tight, breathless, exquisite heat. Fuck, Jack swore, legs pulling Ianto in further, faster, when Ianto would have slowed down. Ianto groaned into Jack’s neck, lapping up the salty sweat, fingers digging into Jack’s skin. Hardly any resistance from Jack’s body, just a sweet, slick pressure, and Jack took him in to the hilt. He was left shaking, energized, a bit incoherent, and there was Jack kissing him hungrily, clutching at him, hips and mouth urging him to move, dammit.
And then there was no time, no space, no breath left for thought. Just sweat and groans and thrusting, thrusting, come on, Ianto, deep and powerful, steady but not for long. He drove into Jack, wanting more, wanting Jack to forget his own name, wanting them both to remember this. He was dimly aware of Jack’s nails taking skin off his arms, his back, but even the distant stinging sparks only heightened the building bliss. The bed creaked beneath them in protest, but Ianto only grabbed the headboard, using the leverage to snap his hips harder, faster. Jack slid up the bed from the force of Ianto’s thrusts, but he only pulled his legs up higher. Opening himself up for Ianto.
Ianto could hear a strange, almost animal-like growling and moaning, and took a while to identify himself as the source. He felt a distant flush of embarrassment, but was distracted by Jack reaching a hand between them. Ianto slapped it away, gripping Jack’s cock himself with a grunt that sounded suspiciously like Mine! He stroked Jack quickly, in time with his punishing thrusts, and in seconds he heard Jack shout, a sudden sound; hot liquid spattered over Ianto’s stomach, chest, dribbled down his hands, the continued motions smearing it over both their bodies. Ianto kept thrusting, gasping at the contractions around his cock. His own climax took him by surprise, a heaven of heat exploding out from his core, blazing outwards, driving the breath from him.
He collapsed on top of Jack, struggling to get his breath back, heart beating almost painfully inside his chest. Jack’s arms came up around him, held him, and after a few minutes Ianto was able to slowly pull out and dispose of the filled condom. Used a clean rag on the bedside table to clean them both, then settled back down, using Jack’s shoulder as a pillow.
“Wow,” said Jack.
Ianto nodded, not quite sure he remembered how to work his mouth. His body floated down from the high, bringing with it a pleasant buzz and heavy blanket that weighed down even his eyelids.
“That must be hottest work yet. Wonder if I should spring that kid’s bail, as a sort of thank-you?” Jack shifted. “I don’t think I can feel my legs.”
“Good,” mumbled Ianto, stifling a yawn. The adrenaline and the exertions of the day seemed to have crept up on him, now unleashing their toll. “Can’t go swannin’ off in the middle of the night.” A second yawn escaped him. Jack stopped wriggling about, and a large warm hand began to stroke Ianto’s back.
“Yeah, guess not,” Ianto heard Jack say, followed by a soft kiss to the top of Ianto’s head. “Goodnight, Ianto.”
The blanket was, in fact, real. Ianto slipped further under it, now that the sweat was cooling on his skin. “Don’t hog the covers,” he muttered in warning. Warm at last. Jack, not a bad pillow, actually. And... stroking was... nice.
Somewhere nearby, a clock ticked out the seconds in good old-fashioned gears and cogs and crystal. Much closer, just as steady, a rhythmic beating, quiet enough to fill up the world.