51stcenturyfox: Jack Harkness, looking doubtful (Doubt)
[personal profile] 51stcenturyfox
Title: Initiation
Author: 51stcenturyfox
Pairing(s): Jack/Ianto (mentions Jack's previous partners)
Rating: R
Length: 1,300 words
Warnings/Kinks: Virginity (for [community profile] kink_bingo -- a first time fic)
A/N: It's the first time Ianto's ever done. This.
This story can be read as a followup to Initial Velocity or a PWP standalone.
(And yeah, I know the concept of "virginity" is kind of...hmm. But it's a bingo square, so...)



"You know, we don't have to..." Jack trails off, his hand slicking along the length of his own very hard, very ready cock. The storm had blown over and cracks of sunlight shone through the blinds in Ianto's bedroom, casting bright slatlines along his torso. Jack licks one of them, slowly. They've got all afternoon blocked off, which is unusual, and the perfect opportunity.

"No, I do. Want to, I mean," Ianto says, inclining his head sideways on the pillow, meeting Jack's gaze. "I'm sure... I'm sure you're probably very good at this."

Jack struggles to keep his expression neutral as opposed to letting it wander into smug, fuck yeah territory, because damned right he's experienced. And good. "Right. You're right. No, I mean, I know what I'm doing." And as Ianto rolls his eyes, Jack realises that the pronouncement came out smug after all.

"This isn't going to hurt, is it?"

"No. And if you don't like it, we'll stop, but-" Jack pushes a pillow under Ianto's hips and pauses. "You will. It'll be good."

Jack wants to say that obviously it is, or nobody would do it again after the first time, but they do, so... but no, wrong thing to say and it's so difficult with men who think of themselves as straight anyway -- some of whom won't even do this with women despite the popularity of the porn, maybe afraid they'll like it a little bit too much (which Jack tends to forget ever so often). A hand job? Fine. Blow job? Just a little diversion, a little sump'n sump'n, friendly, drunken messing around, a lark, but penetration, but for some reason, was whoa. Serious business. It meant something for women too, of course; fucking versus fucking around. he'd spent hours messing around with Lucia in the Morris 1100 two-door (awkward), the tall grass of Bute Park, the ex-ex settee in the Hub (that one had been light green boucle, with buttons along the back, and it left persistent friction burns on Jack's knees) but it meant something here, being fucked, even now, in the 21st century. It meant something. Lucia had been a virgin too, and hadn't told him until it was over with, the first time. "I thought you'd laugh at me. It's 1968!"

Jack hates now for a second. Almost as much as he hated the last century. Labels.  He tucks his forehead into the curve of Ianto's neck. Dr. Bronner's castile peppermint soap and some expensive and unnecessary cologne and whatever antiperspirant he wore and the faint hint of clean sweat underneath. Jack breathes in and files Ianto's scent into his memory banks. Don't forget this.

Ianto wouldn't, for sure; you never forget your first, do you? Jack remembers Mina with the sensate strap-on -- he'd been her first, too -- and Soro, who was practically a legend in their set, and how they'd started the day with skinny-dipping and Jack had come home late and sated and sunburned. He'd got in trouble for not letting his mum know where he was and he didn't tell his mother about Soro. She wasn't proud of Jack's milestones and Jack thought it was because she was afraid he'd grow up and go away. It turned out he was right about both.

Ianto stares at the ceiling and the pause is what's wrong, because they're supposed to roll around in his bed, kissing, not stopping, getting carried the hell away and what happens, happens. They should have put some music on, because Ianto is thinking too much, even after two glasses of Rioja, but Jack can roll with this. Jack slicks his fingers with a curl of clear gel from the tube again, and slowly edges two of them inside his partner, curling, hitting that spot he knows Ianto likes. Because everybody likes it. He swipes his tongue over the very tip of the sunlit cock and feels Ianto's contented shudder beneath him.

"Okay," Jack says, and pulls back, stretches over Ianto's body like a plasticine thing and kisses him soundly, fingers working overtime, then he slicks and aims again and slowly, so very slowly, edges inside, feels Ianto gasp and tighten -- he can't help it -- pulls back out, kisses him again, slow and deep.

Jack thinks about words: mesmer... mesmerise. But he can't eye-magic Ianto because his eyes are shut tight. Jack leans back, runs his fingertips along the inside of Ianto's thighs and repositions, then slicks even more lubricant over his condom-clad cock and pushes forward. This time it's right and he's in, the head breaching the tight ring of muscle as Ianto's hands fly to Jack's arms, holding him there, as if he's afraid Jack will suddenly lose his faculties to sheer lust and pound him raw. Jack bites his lip as Ianto's fingernails etch small crescents into his biceps and slowly moves forward.

"Breathe, Ianto," Jack whispers, and Ianto gasps like he'd forgotten how. "Doesn't hurt, does it?"

Ianto loosens his death grip on Jack's arms. "No," he says, shifting his legs. "It's just... different."

Jack pulls out -- just a bit, not all the way, and edges forward again, slowly, his hands gripping Ianto's hips, thumbs skittering in circles along his flesh. He feels Ianto relax and then push back and he slides in another few centimetres, then takes his chance and eases forward all the way. Ianto's eyes crack open and fix on Jack's.

"Oh my god," Jack says. "Oh yeah. That's so good, so hot." He's still for a moment, enjoying the drum-tight sensation and the flush over Ianto's chest, before he slowly pulls backward and pushes in again, deep.

Ianto groans in response and tips his hips, slides his hands down to Jack's fingers and squeezes them.

"How do you feel?" Jack asks, and shifts a little, pressing against Ianto's hotspot, a bit faster.

"Stuffed," Ianto says, dryly, trying to sound detached and sarcastic but his breath is coming faster and Jack wraps his hand around Ianto's swelling cock and slides, then begins to pump with his fist, watching Ianto's lashes flutter. He pulls Ianto's hand away from his hip and clasps his fingers tightly, matching the rhythm of his thrusts to the speed of his busier hand. He feels Ianto's muscles tighten as he comes, faster than expected, silently but for a hard exhale, pulsing around Jack's cock, and Jack fucks forward, this time without resistance, then shudders hard as he follows Ianto into bliss.

He slides the pillow out from under Ianto's hips and stretches out atop him for a kiss, wondering how long he can stay inside him, just like this, as he feels himself soften. He splays his fingers over Ianto's chest, slides them down to his stomach to his cock and just rests it there.

"Whew," Ianto breathes. "Whew."

"Whew... good?" Jack asks, grinning. He leans backward and slowly disengages, holding the edge of the condom as he pulls out. He pulls it off and grabs a tissue from the night table, with which he dabs at Ianto's navel.

"Yeah. Yeah."

"Good." I told you. "Think you'd do this again?" Jack queries.  Because he loves first times, but they're never enough.

"Today?"

Jack laughs in response and wads up the tissue, electing to tidy Ianto's cock with his mouth instead. Ianto's fingers slip into his hair at the temples and Jack answers by sucking harder before he pulls away, licking his lips.

Ianto eases up slowly, swings his legs over the side of his bed and sits. "I... need another shower, I think," he says simply, and Jack nods, watching him retreat, knowing what Ianto is feeling; relief that he's not walking like a cowboy. Jack smiles and picks up the phone to order takeaway, then pours Ianto another half-glass of Spanish wine before joining him under the steamy spray and the slick of peppermint soap.



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