Fic: "Kinky Boots" (Torchwood, Gwen/Jack, NC-17)
Title: Kinky Boots
Author: Shane Mayhem
Pairing: Gwen/Jack
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Spoilers: pre-CoE. Mild kink. Warnings for multiple uses of the "C-word." Some people are sensitive to it; if you'd like to discuss why I use it here, message me. :)
Notes: Inspired by a clip from the Children of Earth: Day One "Up Close" with Eve Myles.
Edit: Now with Sexified artwork from laurab1!
He'd been teasing her about them since she bought them.
In fact, she could recall the exact moment when he first noticed them, walking past her computer station, hands in trouser pockets, on his way to his office. She had felt him stop, behind her. Even after all this time, her prickling skin was attuned to his sudden moves.
"Nice boots."
The arched eyebrow, the hint of a smirk, those prettily curved lips curling into the barest of naughty expressions. He'd been paused in the doorway of his office, body curved around the doorjamb as he leaned back to give her a quite obvious once-over.
Two years before, it might have been enough to make her blush, might have kept her from wearing the boots to work ever again, but Gwen had come to know Jack well, had suffered enough from the unbearable temptation of his nearness, tormented herself and given into torment, and now...after sin and danger and loss, she had broken through something in herself.
She tossed her hair a little, giving him the slightest of glances over her shoulder.
"Thanks."
Her eyes called him on his bluff. His smirk broadened into a cheeky grin, and he ducked away, back to his desk and his work. Gwen laughed and shook her head, returning her attention to the Rift monitor and dismissing this as more of Jack's incorrigible flirtation. No one else could've gotten away with it--not even Rhys--without being called to accountability.
~
Gwen did her best to ignore the comments, but Jack could be such a bastard sometimes.
"I bet Rhys likes them, too."
This was a week later, and she was wearing them again, taking them for a spin as it were, finding out just how mission capable she could be with her calves encased in tight black leather. All in all, it hadn't gone too badly, and they even buffed up nicely after being awash in alien goo. And there was Jack, lounging in the door again, giving her that leer that she would have slapped off the face of any other man. She narrowed her eyes.
"In fact he does, Captain Harkness." She knew what tones of voice could shut him up, and what ones would just lead him on. This was somewhere between the two.
He rested his weight back against his shoulders--she watched the subtle shift of muscle, all that physical power hidden under nice blue dress shirts--and regarded her with an expression too akin to calculation for her liking. Damn him, anyway; he seemed to enjoy this precarious balance between responsibly urging her towards a stable life with Rhys, and endlessly baiting her to the edge of something far wilder, more exciting, and more immoral. She could always sense that danger in him--the fine line of decency which his instinct seemed to cross but his training kept him just the right side of. She often found herself wondering what he'd been like before the Doctor found him, and could only imagine a slightly more heartless version of Han Solo from Star Wars, blasting his way through the galaxies with astonishing violence and that wicked, knee-shaking charm.
Something in her was alarmed and even ashamed at how much that image turned her on.
She glared up at him, daring him to say something more, poke fun at Rhys, subtly malign their relationship while at the same time ostensibly praising it. To her mild surprise and slight disappointment, he said nothing, but that disappointment turned a sharp corner when she noticed how his expression had changed, how he caught his lower lip just so--almost unconsciously--between his teeth. He seemed to mentally shake himself, giving her a cocky half-smile and a raised eyebrow before disappearing. She stared after him, mind whirring and thighs prickling with sudden, embarrassing heat.
~
It wasn't until three days later that she wore the boots again. For some reason, she'd taken care to polish them--not something Gwen ever thought she'd find herself doing, putting that much effort into footwear--but the look in Jack's eyes was worth it, on some subliminal level that she was careful not to explore.
She enjoyed having him at a disadvantage for once, enjoyed the feeling--however subtle--of his eyes following her, the thrilling edge of helplessness in his snide remarks.
He was even more of a bastard on their mission, cutting her off on the comms, driving even more like a maniac than usual, generally being rude and relentlessly arrogant, and then getting killed at the end of it all by the poisonous creature they'd cornered in the sewer entrance. Gwen and Ianto had to drag his heavy body back to the SUV through ankle-deep sewage, and by the end of that, Gwen wanted to kill him herself.
"If you'd been a quicker shot..." he started, back at the Hub, after he'd revived and they'd all gotten cleaned up. He was smirking again, teasing a little too harshly. Ianto had cleaned up quickly and gone on some last-minute errands for chemicals that could deal with alien ichor. Gwen was pulling the boots back on, not having wanted to wait till she got home to Rhys to wash the blood and gore off of her. She'd done what she could with her jacket--it was still a bit stained.
"Fuck you."
She glared up at him, her words coming out more viciously than she'd intended. The way he stood there, shirt open, hips cocked, chin tilted, eyes trailing palpably up her leg, had her in a state, and she wasn't sure she could take it with good grace anymore.
He raised an eyebrow, and that was when she felt the familiar chemical rush of aggression; it seemed so close to the surface these days.
She was shoving him back against the wall before she was aware she'd moved, her eyes blazing up into his, her muscles shaking with adrenaline.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Jack?" She snarled, but the words were just a facade, something to go along with the irrevocability of her actions. He stumbled back; it was always secretly gratifying to Gwen how easily he gave way before her onslaughts. He was mysteriously easy to abuse. Some part of her always felt guilty.
She felt his heart thumping in his chest, her arm braced against it as she pushed him into the wall and he did nothing to repel her, only brought his hand up to lightly touch her clenched triceps, a laugh forced out of him by the impact.
"Whoa, there...don't--"
But she didn't let him finish. She moved her forearm down to slam into his diaphragm, cutting off his sentence in a choke of surprised air. Her whole body shook, wanting to push him farther, yet afraid of what he might do. A split second passed like an hour, and she didn't breathe, waiting for him to push her away, waiting for the anger to flare in his eyes. It didn't. Instead, his hands stroked lightly, placatingly over her shoulders, and Gwen felt a tremble moving upwards through her body from the heat between her legs.
She pushed him down onto the sofa, and he sat heavily, half-falling, looking silently up at her with those wide, sky-blue eyes. She watched his chest rise and fall, sharp but steady, with his breaths, and she stared right back at him, holding his gaze the way few people seemed to be able to, as though they both had each other trapped. She let her breathing even out, and, tossing her hair back over her shoulders with a roll of her neck, she lifted one booted foot.
Her heart slammed in her chest, haphazard and ecstatic, and Gwen forced away all of the screaming warnings in her brain. Ianto won't be back for at least an hour. And Rhys will never have to know. It almost surprised her, how calm her voice of reason was, and how logically it was able to make this foolish decision for her. Later, she might be wracked by guilt, but now, something else had hold of her and it was such a thrill to let go of reason completely.
She placed the toe of her boot in his groin, and Jack's eyelids fluttered, his lips parted in a barely audible, shaky little gust of breath. She rubbed her foot up and down, tiny motions, the flex of taut muscles in her calf, and her eyes didn't leave his face. His fingers tensed on the sofa, but he didn't move, only let his head fall back a little, his hips twitch. The heat of him radiated--she could feel it rising from where she stood. He was always warm; now his body was like a human furnace, and Gwen felt a flush prickle her neck. She rubbed harder, and he gasped; she arched her back just a bit, eyes wide and staring down at him, tongue flicking out to wet her lips as she felt his hard-on throbbing through her leather sole.
The tiny trill of panic that raced around in her brain, trapped below layers of dense want and desperate need, made her heart beat faster. That and the sight of Captain Jack Harkness, eyes closed and cheeks flushed, slowly bucking his hips upward against the increasing pressure of her boot on the crotch of his trousers. She felt the skin on her arms and neck shiver with goosebumps, and she inched her foot upward, keeping the high heel of her boot pressing against his cock, the toe now digging into his belly, harder, more mercilessly. He made a whimpering noise, sucked hard on his lower lip, and Gwen's stomach trembled, her hips rocking minutely, instinctively, rubbing her own aching clit against the rough inside seam of her tight jeans. A long, slow, tremulous rush of air passed her open lips, echoing Jack's own louder, more ragged breathing.
Jack's head rolled to the side, his eyes still shut, as Gwen pushed harder, her heel now crushed against his throbbing cock, the solid leather toe of her boot digging into his shaking belly. She leaned forward, weight against her own upraised thigh, rumpling the fabric of his undershirt with her foot until she felt the slide of his flesh over the solid muscle beneath. She pushed down until those muscles gave, with a shudder and a helpless gasped moan of breath from his throat. She dug her heel into his erection, making him squirm and spread his legs wider, jerking his body against her force, panting now--she could feel the quick rise and fall of his breath in his belly, the vibration of it traveling up her leg into her thigh and groin. Lips parted, she kept her eyes riveted on him, and let out the smallest gasp, arching her spine just enough so that she could thrust her hand down inside the waistband of her trousers.
She ground her hips against her own hand, air shuddering out between her lips, and when she looked back at him from between mussed tendrils of dark hair, he was gazing at her, slits of blue under hooded lashes, expression a bit dazed. They held each other's gazes again, for far too long, panting in the silence. Slowly, Gwen started rocking her hips again, each forward motion pressing her boot down into Jack's cock and belly, making his eyes roll back in his head, his wetted lips gasp softly. His soft moans of pain made her press harder, air shivering in her lungs, heat prickling up her back and sides as her hand massaged her wet panties in the tight confines of her trousers.
Jack's hands came up to caress pleadingly, the fingertips unexpectedly light against the stiff leather at her ankles, stroking up her calf as she leaned into him, head tossed back, fingers rubbing herself in long, hard strokes. He tried to lean forward, but she planted her boot in his gut and pressed, forcing a squeak out of him. His moans became more high-pitched, his face a picture of helpless abandon as he fruitlessly licked his lips and squirmed. His fingers swirled around her ankle, spread out and drew slowly down the upper of her boot, begging. She inched her foot upward, rocking her hips back and forth, green eyes blazing down at him. He craned his neck downward, eyes locked with hers, and he flicked out his tongue, lapping at the toe of her boot with the pointed tip of it as she planted her heel on his chest and pushed down. He moaned, louder. She ground her heel in a small circle in the center of his chest, teasing his open lips with the toe, making him whimper and tip his head further to suck at the hard black leather.
She stared at the way his mouth encircled the toe of her boot, fingers rubbing harder against her clit as she imagined those lips parted around someone's cock, that tongue slipping inside her...Gwen let out a surprised groan, hips bucking against her own hand, bruising her knuckles against the rough denim. Jack's hands slid up the back of her calf, caressing the smooth leather and cupping her tensed muscles, fingertips brushing against the tender flesh at the back of her knee and making her gasp. She shoved the toe of her boot further between his wanting lips, feeling the firm press of his tongue against the leather. He pulled back, leaving a trail of saliva shining across the black, flickers of bright blue glimmering between his lashes.
He shifted; Gwen felt the rolling of firm muscles pushing up against her leg, but all he did was to squirm around and lick his tongue--that long, devilish tongue--up the side of her boot. It tickled at her ankle through the creased leather and Gwen sucked in a sharp breath, stabbing him harder with her heel, right in the center of his chest. His ragged breaths gusted out unsteadily over her foot and shin; she could feel the warmth of it just barely, and the halting rhythm of it made her heart pound harder. She thrust her hips, hair falling in her face as she closed her eyes and moaned, cunt clenching as her insides throbbed with need, making her grit her teeth. A shivering wave of arousal rushed over her skin and brought with it a spike of aggression, prickling like needles on the back of her neck, her ribs and chest. She stepped down on Jack's willing mouth, forcing his lips open again, the rough sole tearing the skin a little and making a bead of bright red spring up on his wetted lower lip, a startling color against his pale skin.
Gwen sucked in another labored breath. Part of her brain wondered if she'd gone too far, if this whole thing was going to end in disaster, if Ianto would walk back in, if Rhys would somehow find out, if--
But Jack's back arched up off of the sofa and he made a noise that went straight to her groin--shivering through her body like electricity, a buzzing frequency of pure lust that made her inhale sharply and bite her lips, struggling not to cry out as her fingers slipped inside her wet cunt and her hips jerked helplessly. She leaned her weight forward, thigh muscles shaking and squeezing, pushing her boot into his mouth and stifling his soft cries. His tongue lapped pliantly, his eyes flickering from her leg up to her face, then slipping shut. There was a slight furrow between his dark eyebrows, as he writhed beneath her weight, hips thrusting as he slid a hand down his belly into the waistband of his trousers.
"No."
She was surprised at how steady and commanding she managed to sound; it halted him, his fingers twitching at the fly of his trousers, obviously longing to free his desperate cock. He gave her a pleading look, bright blue, wide-eyed innocence that almost worked, but she held firm, staring him down, and was rewarded with a sharp tingle in her guts when he closed his eyes in surrender, that expression of resigned suffering that looked both tragic and beautiful on his face. Gwen moaned almost inaudibly, hand pressed hard against the mound of her groin, and began fucking his mouth with the hard leather toe of her boot. His hands, thwarted from relieving his own arousal, caressed up and down her leg, lighting her nerves all the
way up her muscles to the center of her dripping, aching cunt. The long fingers she knew to be capable of such strength and violence played her nerves like the hands of an expert violinist, smoothing along the long, taut muscles of her calf and shin, pressing firmly at the flesh through the black leather.
She leaned her head back; she could hear him whimpering for release, little gasps and cries that barely pierced the fog of lust in her brain, her shaking body as she thrust her fingers deeper into herself, palm crushed against her swollen clit, rubbing faster and harder as she felt Jack's muscular body tremble and squirm under the pressure of her foot. She felt his tongue slide up her ankle again, the point of it trailing the path of flame his fingers had lit in her too-sensitive flesh; she tensed her muscles, glanced down through her hair and the sweat and heat and mist of arousal and saw him, neck arched as he trailed his tongue over and over again along the length of her boot, moaning, his cheeks prettily flushed.
She cried out quietly as she came, cunt shuddering and clenching, her hips snapping forward as every muscle in her body shook. She let her head fall forward, the toe of her boot now on his throat, tipping his head back. She could feel him swallowing and breathing hard, and she gasped and cursed as orgasmic aftershocks rippled through her, threatening her balance.
Jack's throat moved pitiably beneath her boot, making soft strangled noises of supplication. Her eyes took him all in--shirt open, undershirt rumpled, hair mussed and lips bloodied and wet, gasping in helpless pain and pleasure as he squirmed. His erection pressed at the fly of his trousers, rampant, staining the dark blue darker where his cock had leaked fluid, unfulfilled. Gwen's breathing was harsh in the quiet, her face flushed, eyes focusing and unfocusing as she continued to thrust her cunt against her own hand, soaking through the fabric of her tight trousers at the sight and feel of him--helpless, submissive, at her mercy.
Slowly, shakily, she leaned back, precariously balancing, and dragged her boot down his throat, pressing at the soft pulse in the hollow of his clavicle, then scooting herself backward to continue, the saliva-wetted boot dragging down his chest and belly, where she leaned on it again, making him groan and twitch. Her heel rested lightly on his cock, and she began to rock, pressing up and down in time with the rhythm of her hand on her clit, and her fingers inside herself. He groaned and his body jolted, his hands moving to encircle her ankle, a pleading motion, as he tried to grind his hips upward against the hardness of her boot heel.
She pressed and rocked, fucking his cock and belly with her boot, fucking herself with two fingers inside the slippery heat of her shivering cunt, chest heaving with short, sharp breaths as she leaned her head and groaned, echoing Jack's keening, frantic sounds. He came with a high-pitched cry, hands tightening around her leather-encased ankle, his heavy body jerking upward off of the sofa cushions, nearly throwing her backward as she panted and shivered through another orgasm, one that left her legs nearly useless and her vision blurred. She felt him spasm under her boot, his breaths coming out in frenzied, pitiful gusts. He bit his lip and shuddered all over, writhing and still cupping her boot in his hands until he went limp and lay there, breathing hard with his eyes half-closed. Slowly, his fingers released her and his hands fell to his sides, completely lax. His chest heaved a few times, until his breathing slowed and deepened.
Gwen watched a line of sweat tracing the tendons in his sleek neck, glimmering faintly in the dim Hub lighting. She let her leg fall from where her foot was still propped against his sated body, wincing a bit at the cramp in her muscles. Damp strands of hair clung to her sweaty face and neck, and she slowly pulled her hand out of her trousers, keeping her eyes on Jack's face to stave off the mortification just waiting to flood into the vacuum of satisfied arousal in her brain. He shifted his weight, unabashed, still sprawled limply on the sofa, looking utterly debauched. She expected him to grin now, steeled herself in horror against the teasing that was sure to come, but instead he dragged his eyes up the length of her body to her face, held her gaze for a brief second, and then cut his eyes away, lashes flickering on his cheeks almost shyly. His lips curved in a sleepy, naughty smile, and he said nothing. Gwen clenched her thighs and shivered.
~
In some ways it was easy for Gwen to pretend it had never happened. She pushed guilt completely out of her conscious mind, and her days were filled, as before, with the stress and complications of her job. If Jack was more of a smug bastard than usual, she couldn't really tell, but sometimes, out of the corner of her eye, she caught him watching her. Not in the over-protective or obviously flirtatious ways that she was by now used to, but more secretively: little glances that he'd quickly avert when she turned her head, the lingering sensation of supplication in his keen blue eyes.
It might have been her imagination, but there seemed to be a slight tremor in his voice when he complimented her on her gun-handling a week later. "You were great out there. Looked good, too." He was trying to be cheeky again, but she caught a meaningful edge to his sidelong glance as they drove back to the Hub. "Love the boots."
After that, she was careful to wear them every single day.
Author: Shane Mayhem
Pairing: Gwen/Jack
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Spoilers: pre-CoE. Mild kink. Warnings for multiple uses of the "C-word." Some people are sensitive to it; if you'd like to discuss why I use it here, message me. :)
Notes: Inspired by a clip from the Children of Earth: Day One "Up Close" with Eve Myles.
Edit: Now with Sexified artwork from laurab1!
He'd been teasing her about them since she bought them.
In fact, she could recall the exact moment when he first noticed them, walking past her computer station, hands in trouser pockets, on his way to his office. She had felt him stop, behind her. Even after all this time, her prickling skin was attuned to his sudden moves.
"Nice boots."
The arched eyebrow, the hint of a smirk, those prettily curved lips curling into the barest of naughty expressions. He'd been paused in the doorway of his office, body curved around the doorjamb as he leaned back to give her a quite obvious once-over.
Two years before, it might have been enough to make her blush, might have kept her from wearing the boots to work ever again, but Gwen had come to know Jack well, had suffered enough from the unbearable temptation of his nearness, tormented herself and given into torment, and now...after sin and danger and loss, she had broken through something in herself.
She tossed her hair a little, giving him the slightest of glances over her shoulder.
"Thanks."
Her eyes called him on his bluff. His smirk broadened into a cheeky grin, and he ducked away, back to his desk and his work. Gwen laughed and shook her head, returning her attention to the Rift monitor and dismissing this as more of Jack's incorrigible flirtation. No one else could've gotten away with it--not even Rhys--without being called to accountability.
~
Gwen did her best to ignore the comments, but Jack could be such a bastard sometimes.
"I bet Rhys likes them, too."
This was a week later, and she was wearing them again, taking them for a spin as it were, finding out just how mission capable she could be with her calves encased in tight black leather. All in all, it hadn't gone too badly, and they even buffed up nicely after being awash in alien goo. And there was Jack, lounging in the door again, giving her that leer that she would have slapped off the face of any other man. She narrowed her eyes.
"In fact he does, Captain Harkness." She knew what tones of voice could shut him up, and what ones would just lead him on. This was somewhere between the two.
He rested his weight back against his shoulders--she watched the subtle shift of muscle, all that physical power hidden under nice blue dress shirts--and regarded her with an expression too akin to calculation for her liking. Damn him, anyway; he seemed to enjoy this precarious balance between responsibly urging her towards a stable life with Rhys, and endlessly baiting her to the edge of something far wilder, more exciting, and more immoral. She could always sense that danger in him--the fine line of decency which his instinct seemed to cross but his training kept him just the right side of. She often found herself wondering what he'd been like before the Doctor found him, and could only imagine a slightly more heartless version of Han Solo from Star Wars, blasting his way through the galaxies with astonishing violence and that wicked, knee-shaking charm.
Something in her was alarmed and even ashamed at how much that image turned her on.
She glared up at him, daring him to say something more, poke fun at Rhys, subtly malign their relationship while at the same time ostensibly praising it. To her mild surprise and slight disappointment, he said nothing, but that disappointment turned a sharp corner when she noticed how his expression had changed, how he caught his lower lip just so--almost unconsciously--between his teeth. He seemed to mentally shake himself, giving her a cocky half-smile and a raised eyebrow before disappearing. She stared after him, mind whirring and thighs prickling with sudden, embarrassing heat.
~
It wasn't until three days later that she wore the boots again. For some reason, she'd taken care to polish them--not something Gwen ever thought she'd find herself doing, putting that much effort into footwear--but the look in Jack's eyes was worth it, on some subliminal level that she was careful not to explore.
She enjoyed having him at a disadvantage for once, enjoyed the feeling--however subtle--of his eyes following her, the thrilling edge of helplessness in his snide remarks.
He was even more of a bastard on their mission, cutting her off on the comms, driving even more like a maniac than usual, generally being rude and relentlessly arrogant, and then getting killed at the end of it all by the poisonous creature they'd cornered in the sewer entrance. Gwen and Ianto had to drag his heavy body back to the SUV through ankle-deep sewage, and by the end of that, Gwen wanted to kill him herself.
"If you'd been a quicker shot..." he started, back at the Hub, after he'd revived and they'd all gotten cleaned up. He was smirking again, teasing a little too harshly. Ianto had cleaned up quickly and gone on some last-minute errands for chemicals that could deal with alien ichor. Gwen was pulling the boots back on, not having wanted to wait till she got home to Rhys to wash the blood and gore off of her. She'd done what she could with her jacket--it was still a bit stained.
"Fuck you."
She glared up at him, her words coming out more viciously than she'd intended. The way he stood there, shirt open, hips cocked, chin tilted, eyes trailing palpably up her leg, had her in a state, and she wasn't sure she could take it with good grace anymore.
He raised an eyebrow, and that was when she felt the familiar chemical rush of aggression; it seemed so close to the surface these days.
She was shoving him back against the wall before she was aware she'd moved, her eyes blazing up into his, her muscles shaking with adrenaline.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Jack?" She snarled, but the words were just a facade, something to go along with the irrevocability of her actions. He stumbled back; it was always secretly gratifying to Gwen how easily he gave way before her onslaughts. He was mysteriously easy to abuse. Some part of her always felt guilty.
She felt his heart thumping in his chest, her arm braced against it as she pushed him into the wall and he did nothing to repel her, only brought his hand up to lightly touch her clenched triceps, a laugh forced out of him by the impact.
"Whoa, there...don't--"
But she didn't let him finish. She moved her forearm down to slam into his diaphragm, cutting off his sentence in a choke of surprised air. Her whole body shook, wanting to push him farther, yet afraid of what he might do. A split second passed like an hour, and she didn't breathe, waiting for him to push her away, waiting for the anger to flare in his eyes. It didn't. Instead, his hands stroked lightly, placatingly over her shoulders, and Gwen felt a tremble moving upwards through her body from the heat between her legs.
She pushed him down onto the sofa, and he sat heavily, half-falling, looking silently up at her with those wide, sky-blue eyes. She watched his chest rise and fall, sharp but steady, with his breaths, and she stared right back at him, holding his gaze the way few people seemed to be able to, as though they both had each other trapped. She let her breathing even out, and, tossing her hair back over her shoulders with a roll of her neck, she lifted one booted foot.
Her heart slammed in her chest, haphazard and ecstatic, and Gwen forced away all of the screaming warnings in her brain. Ianto won't be back for at least an hour. And Rhys will never have to know. It almost surprised her, how calm her voice of reason was, and how logically it was able to make this foolish decision for her. Later, she might be wracked by guilt, but now, something else had hold of her and it was such a thrill to let go of reason completely.
She placed the toe of her boot in his groin, and Jack's eyelids fluttered, his lips parted in a barely audible, shaky little gust of breath. She rubbed her foot up and down, tiny motions, the flex of taut muscles in her calf, and her eyes didn't leave his face. His fingers tensed on the sofa, but he didn't move, only let his head fall back a little, his hips twitch. The heat of him radiated--she could feel it rising from where she stood. He was always warm; now his body was like a human furnace, and Gwen felt a flush prickle her neck. She rubbed harder, and he gasped; she arched her back just a bit, eyes wide and staring down at him, tongue flicking out to wet her lips as she felt his hard-on throbbing through her leather sole.
The tiny trill of panic that raced around in her brain, trapped below layers of dense want and desperate need, made her heart beat faster. That and the sight of Captain Jack Harkness, eyes closed and cheeks flushed, slowly bucking his hips upward against the increasing pressure of her boot on the crotch of his trousers. She felt the skin on her arms and neck shiver with goosebumps, and she inched her foot upward, keeping the high heel of her boot pressing against his cock, the toe now digging into his belly, harder, more mercilessly. He made a whimpering noise, sucked hard on his lower lip, and Gwen's stomach trembled, her hips rocking minutely, instinctively, rubbing her own aching clit against the rough inside seam of her tight jeans. A long, slow, tremulous rush of air passed her open lips, echoing Jack's own louder, more ragged breathing.
Jack's head rolled to the side, his eyes still shut, as Gwen pushed harder, her heel now crushed against his throbbing cock, the solid leather toe of her boot digging into his shaking belly. She leaned forward, weight against her own upraised thigh, rumpling the fabric of his undershirt with her foot until she felt the slide of his flesh over the solid muscle beneath. She pushed down until those muscles gave, with a shudder and a helpless gasped moan of breath from his throat. She dug her heel into his erection, making him squirm and spread his legs wider, jerking his body against her force, panting now--she could feel the quick rise and fall of his breath in his belly, the vibration of it traveling up her leg into her thigh and groin. Lips parted, she kept her eyes riveted on him, and let out the smallest gasp, arching her spine just enough so that she could thrust her hand down inside the waistband of her trousers.
She ground her hips against her own hand, air shuddering out between her lips, and when she looked back at him from between mussed tendrils of dark hair, he was gazing at her, slits of blue under hooded lashes, expression a bit dazed. They held each other's gazes again, for far too long, panting in the silence. Slowly, Gwen started rocking her hips again, each forward motion pressing her boot down into Jack's cock and belly, making his eyes roll back in his head, his wetted lips gasp softly. His soft moans of pain made her press harder, air shivering in her lungs, heat prickling up her back and sides as her hand massaged her wet panties in the tight confines of her trousers.
Jack's hands came up to caress pleadingly, the fingertips unexpectedly light against the stiff leather at her ankles, stroking up her calf as she leaned into him, head tossed back, fingers rubbing herself in long, hard strokes. He tried to lean forward, but she planted her boot in his gut and pressed, forcing a squeak out of him. His moans became more high-pitched, his face a picture of helpless abandon as he fruitlessly licked his lips and squirmed. His fingers swirled around her ankle, spread out and drew slowly down the upper of her boot, begging. She inched her foot upward, rocking her hips back and forth, green eyes blazing down at him. He craned his neck downward, eyes locked with hers, and he flicked out his tongue, lapping at the toe of her boot with the pointed tip of it as she planted her heel on his chest and pushed down. He moaned, louder. She ground her heel in a small circle in the center of his chest, teasing his open lips with the toe, making him whimper and tip his head further to suck at the hard black leather.
She stared at the way his mouth encircled the toe of her boot, fingers rubbing harder against her clit as she imagined those lips parted around someone's cock, that tongue slipping inside her...Gwen let out a surprised groan, hips bucking against her own hand, bruising her knuckles against the rough denim. Jack's hands slid up the back of her calf, caressing the smooth leather and cupping her tensed muscles, fingertips brushing against the tender flesh at the back of her knee and making her gasp. She shoved the toe of her boot further between his wanting lips, feeling the firm press of his tongue against the leather. He pulled back, leaving a trail of saliva shining across the black, flickers of bright blue glimmering between his lashes.
He shifted; Gwen felt the rolling of firm muscles pushing up against her leg, but all he did was to squirm around and lick his tongue--that long, devilish tongue--up the side of her boot. It tickled at her ankle through the creased leather and Gwen sucked in a sharp breath, stabbing him harder with her heel, right in the center of his chest. His ragged breaths gusted out unsteadily over her foot and shin; she could feel the warmth of it just barely, and the halting rhythm of it made her heart pound harder. She thrust her hips, hair falling in her face as she closed her eyes and moaned, cunt clenching as her insides throbbed with need, making her grit her teeth. A shivering wave of arousal rushed over her skin and brought with it a spike of aggression, prickling like needles on the back of her neck, her ribs and chest. She stepped down on Jack's willing mouth, forcing his lips open again, the rough sole tearing the skin a little and making a bead of bright red spring up on his wetted lower lip, a startling color against his pale skin.
Gwen sucked in another labored breath. Part of her brain wondered if she'd gone too far, if this whole thing was going to end in disaster, if Ianto would walk back in, if Rhys would somehow find out, if--
But Jack's back arched up off of the sofa and he made a noise that went straight to her groin--shivering through her body like electricity, a buzzing frequency of pure lust that made her inhale sharply and bite her lips, struggling not to cry out as her fingers slipped inside her wet cunt and her hips jerked helplessly. She leaned her weight forward, thigh muscles shaking and squeezing, pushing her boot into his mouth and stifling his soft cries. His tongue lapped pliantly, his eyes flickering from her leg up to her face, then slipping shut. There was a slight furrow between his dark eyebrows, as he writhed beneath her weight, hips thrusting as he slid a hand down his belly into the waistband of his trousers.
"No."
She was surprised at how steady and commanding she managed to sound; it halted him, his fingers twitching at the fly of his trousers, obviously longing to free his desperate cock. He gave her a pleading look, bright blue, wide-eyed innocence that almost worked, but she held firm, staring him down, and was rewarded with a sharp tingle in her guts when he closed his eyes in surrender, that expression of resigned suffering that looked both tragic and beautiful on his face. Gwen moaned almost inaudibly, hand pressed hard against the mound of her groin, and began fucking his mouth with the hard leather toe of her boot. His hands, thwarted from relieving his own arousal, caressed up and down her leg, lighting her nerves all the
way up her muscles to the center of her dripping, aching cunt. The long fingers she knew to be capable of such strength and violence played her nerves like the hands of an expert violinist, smoothing along the long, taut muscles of her calf and shin, pressing firmly at the flesh through the black leather.
She leaned her head back; she could hear him whimpering for release, little gasps and cries that barely pierced the fog of lust in her brain, her shaking body as she thrust her fingers deeper into herself, palm crushed against her swollen clit, rubbing faster and harder as she felt Jack's muscular body tremble and squirm under the pressure of her foot. She felt his tongue slide up her ankle again, the point of it trailing the path of flame his fingers had lit in her too-sensitive flesh; she tensed her muscles, glanced down through her hair and the sweat and heat and mist of arousal and saw him, neck arched as he trailed his tongue over and over again along the length of her boot, moaning, his cheeks prettily flushed.
She cried out quietly as she came, cunt shuddering and clenching, her hips snapping forward as every muscle in her body shook. She let her head fall forward, the toe of her boot now on his throat, tipping his head back. She could feel him swallowing and breathing hard, and she gasped and cursed as orgasmic aftershocks rippled through her, threatening her balance.
Jack's throat moved pitiably beneath her boot, making soft strangled noises of supplication. Her eyes took him all in--shirt open, undershirt rumpled, hair mussed and lips bloodied and wet, gasping in helpless pain and pleasure as he squirmed. His erection pressed at the fly of his trousers, rampant, staining the dark blue darker where his cock had leaked fluid, unfulfilled. Gwen's breathing was harsh in the quiet, her face flushed, eyes focusing and unfocusing as she continued to thrust her cunt against her own hand, soaking through the fabric of her tight trousers at the sight and feel of him--helpless, submissive, at her mercy.
Slowly, shakily, she leaned back, precariously balancing, and dragged her boot down his throat, pressing at the soft pulse in the hollow of his clavicle, then scooting herself backward to continue, the saliva-wetted boot dragging down his chest and belly, where she leaned on it again, making him groan and twitch. Her heel rested lightly on his cock, and she began to rock, pressing up and down in time with the rhythm of her hand on her clit, and her fingers inside herself. He groaned and his body jolted, his hands moving to encircle her ankle, a pleading motion, as he tried to grind his hips upward against the hardness of her boot heel.
She pressed and rocked, fucking his cock and belly with her boot, fucking herself with two fingers inside the slippery heat of her shivering cunt, chest heaving with short, sharp breaths as she leaned her head and groaned, echoing Jack's keening, frantic sounds. He came with a high-pitched cry, hands tightening around her leather-encased ankle, his heavy body jerking upward off of the sofa cushions, nearly throwing her backward as she panted and shivered through another orgasm, one that left her legs nearly useless and her vision blurred. She felt him spasm under her boot, his breaths coming out in frenzied, pitiful gusts. He bit his lip and shuddered all over, writhing and still cupping her boot in his hands until he went limp and lay there, breathing hard with his eyes half-closed. Slowly, his fingers released her and his hands fell to his sides, completely lax. His chest heaved a few times, until his breathing slowed and deepened.
Gwen watched a line of sweat tracing the tendons in his sleek neck, glimmering faintly in the dim Hub lighting. She let her leg fall from where her foot was still propped against his sated body, wincing a bit at the cramp in her muscles. Damp strands of hair clung to her sweaty face and neck, and she slowly pulled her hand out of her trousers, keeping her eyes on Jack's face to stave off the mortification just waiting to flood into the vacuum of satisfied arousal in her brain. He shifted his weight, unabashed, still sprawled limply on the sofa, looking utterly debauched. She expected him to grin now, steeled herself in horror against the teasing that was sure to come, but instead he dragged his eyes up the length of her body to her face, held her gaze for a brief second, and then cut his eyes away, lashes flickering on his cheeks almost shyly. His lips curved in a sleepy, naughty smile, and he said nothing. Gwen clenched her thighs and shivered.
~
In some ways it was easy for Gwen to pretend it had never happened. She pushed guilt completely out of her conscious mind, and her days were filled, as before, with the stress and complications of her job. If Jack was more of a smug bastard than usual, she couldn't really tell, but sometimes, out of the corner of her eye, she caught him watching her. Not in the over-protective or obviously flirtatious ways that she was by now used to, but more secretively: little glances that he'd quickly avert when she turned her head, the lingering sensation of supplication in his keen blue eyes.
It might have been her imagination, but there seemed to be a slight tremor in his voice when he complimented her on her gun-handling a week later. "You were great out there. Looked good, too." He was trying to be cheeky again, but she caught a meaningful edge to his sidelong glance as they drove back to the Hub. "Love the boots."
After that, she was careful to wear them every single day.