Frottage Comment Porn Battle

[51stcenturyfox]

Hey, it's frot party time!  Everybody's welcome to kick in some porn!

PS: Please take a poll on the kink for the next battle 

Guidelines:

1. Frottage = expanded definition here. Sexual activity with no penetration. You know, humping and rubbing and stroking and shoving and grinding... maybe a little squeezing. Clothed or not.  Hands are fine.  ;)
2. It should fit in the comment box. (That's about 500 words, max.) Please put the fandom and pairing in the subject line.
Example: Torchwood  Jack/PC Andy 
3. If you wish to write something longer, just add a summary or snippet and link to your LJ, or reply to your first comment with extra porn.
4. Any fandom is fine, but Torchwood and Doctor Who will probably predominate.
5. Anon commenting is turned on with screening, in case you prefer to be anonymous.

Give posters a chance to edit, etc. before replying to a porn post, please.  You know how that ruddy preview thing works (badly).

Any ship-war sniping/negativity will be deleted.  The goal: Hot, smutty fun for all!  Any issues/queries-  just message andreth47  or me, or post on the discussion thread here.

ETA following query: No gender restrictions, either. Femslash? Het?  Go for it.
ETA II: Music added. Its a party. We need music. (Requests for the playlist? PM me.)  LINK to playlist.

Comments

Torchwood, Jack/Jack

[shane-mayhem.livejournal.com]

Air escapes Jack's lungs in a forced gust of surprised breath when the Captain shoves him against a wall in the closed-off darkened room upstairs at the Ritz. His hands reflexively grab for the man's arms, fingers tensing on the strength of tight muscle hidden under the almost demur propriety of his uniform. Their mouths battle, wet and open and gasping, and Jack finds himself caught off guard, unbalanced, head spinning, breaths caught in his chest as lips and teeth and tongue steal them before he can even properly exhale.

The long, firm body pressed against his is strong and hard, bruising his spine against the plaster, hips shoving against his hips, ribs against his ribs. He moans, clutches, shoves back, and is muscled right back up against the wall, the faded Victorian paper and the dust that rises around them in an invisible cloud when his solid body disturbs it.

The back of Jack's head smacks against the wood panelling. There is a hand at his waist, holding firm, and a hand at his shirt buttons, undoing them shakily but deftly, fingertips brushing electrically over every inch of pale smooth skin laid bare, drawing him forward and pushing him back all at once. Jack gasps, a helpless "Oh," a shiver of a sound that involuntarily escapes his throat, right before hot, wet lips press against it, not a kiss, not a bite, but something of both.

He writhes.
The fingers rake down his chest and belly, and the Captain's weight against him shifts as he lowers his head, now drawing his mouth over Jack's prickling skin, leaving cool trails of wetness over his nipples. He tries to thrust his body forward, but a strong arm pins him, and he can only squirm, mouth open, body singing with electricity. His fingers find their desperate way into the Captain's short, dark hair and he tugs, eliciting a sound that's half growl, half groan. Teeth pinch at his skin; he bucks his hips. They come up hard against the Captain's slender hips, and he can feel the Captain's arousal through his uniform trousers, matching his own. The Captain thrusts, suddenly, fiercely against Jack's body, his mouth again attacking Jack's throat, and making him cry out, utterly helpless to stop himself. His fingers grope in the dimness, finding the sleekly moving muscles beneath the woolen uniform jacket. Sweat slides down the hollow of Jack's throat.

The Captain's hand slips down the front of Jack's trousers, strong fingers rubbing at his cock through the rough fabric. He arches his back, trying to drag him closer, and their bodies collide, again, the weight of the Captain dragging Jack's clothing almost painfully across his sensitive skin. His hands curl around the back of the Captain's neck; he can feel warm sweat dewing in his hair. He closes his eyes, lets the Captain's lips find his own again, a more tender and delicate taste in counterpoint to the rough thrusting of their bodies...

A knock at the door. They push apart; Jack feels the Captain's pulse race against his chest in the split second before they are separated, perhaps forever.

Re: Torchwood, Jack/Jack

[51stcenturyfox.livejournal.com]

Firsties. And... guh. Fantastic start, Shane!

Torchwood, Jack/Ianto

[lionessvalenti.livejournal.com]

Jack sidled up behind Ianto, setting one hand on his hip and placing the other over his groin. "Have you been hard like this all day?"

"Not all day," Ianto replied, tilting his head away from Jack; an invitation to kiss or bite the exposed skin. Or at least that's how Jack took it, wetting his lips and pressing them against Ianto's neck.

"We should do something about this."

"Mmm," Ianto replied, leaning forward to press himself against Jack's hand.

Jack grinned. "Do you like that?"

"Mm. Yes. We should... probably be quick, the others-"

"What about them?"

"They'll be back soon," Ianto said.

"We can put this off 'til later," Jack said, slowly pulling his hand away. Ianto slapped his hand over Jack's hand, forcing it hard against the front of his trousers. Jack chuckled in his ear. "That's what I thought. Come here, to the sofa."

Ianto reluctantly released Jack's hand and let himself be led to the sofa. Jack sat down and patted his leg. "Sit."

Ianto raised his eyebrows. "You can't be serious."

"We've got fifteen minutes at best," Jack said. "It's now or later. I can wait all day."

"You're such a liar," Ianto replied. He sat down on Jack's lap, facing him, and straddling his leg. He leaned forward, his cock pressing into Jack's thigh. He nudged his knee forward, pushing it against Jack's groin. "And how's that?"

Jack grinned. "That's good." He wrapped his arms around Ianto and pulled him closer, sucking on his earlobe. "You know what to do."

There was hesitation on Ianto's face, so Jack raised his leg just enough and Ianto's eyes closed. "We could-"

"Humor me." Jack smiled, stroking Ianto's cheek. "Take it slow."

If there was one thing Ianto wasn't, it was shy about sex. However, he held himself to certain standards, and Jack suspected there was something about dry humping your boss' leg (even if you're shagging him) in the middle of the workplace, in the middle of the day that didn't set quite right with him.

Ianto rocked against Jack's thigh. He buried his face in Jack's neck, making soft moaning sounds with each rock forward. Jack reached up and took Ianto's face in his hands, gently pulling his head back. "Look at me."

Ianto looked almost pained as he looked Jack in the eye. He was rocking furiously now, lifting himself up and coming down hard on Jack's leg, each time digging his knee roughly into Jack's crotch. Jack hardly paid attention to that, as Ianto's head lolled back, revealing every swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing, every choked breath, and Jack was hypnotized. He reached down with one hand and cupped Ianto's balls through his trousers, not minding his hand being crushed between his leg and the force of Ianto's downward thrusts.

Ianto let out a quiet, strangled cry, and he groped blindly for Jack, his hands finally settling on either side of Jack's neck, thumbs pressing slightly against against his windpipe.

Fuck. That was it. Jack came, biting the inside of his lip so he wouldn't be loud enough to distract Ianto. He leaned forward, biting at Ianto's neck, letting him cut off his breath.

Ianto was practically out of control, humping unabashedly, as he moaned Jack's name. Jack watched, his jaw slightly dropped, and his mouth dry. It was barely possible for someone to be that hot. He loved watching Ianto so completely undone.

Ianto fell forward, his forehead pressing hard into Jack's shoulder as he came, clearly trying to suppress his wordless cries. He gasped, sucking in audible breaths as he continued rocking on Jack's leg.

Jack ran his hands through Ianto's hair. "Now that's what I'm talking about."

Ianto laughed half-heartedly, but the smile on his face when he pulled back to look at Jack was genuine. "Do you need-" he asked, reaching his hand down, but Jack cut him off with a shake of his head.

"You already took care of that. You have no idea how hot you are."

"I should get cleaned up," Ianto said, but even before he started to move off, he wavered, and bent back down. He kissed Jack. "Or I could wait a minute."

Jack laughed, kissing him again. He wrapped his arms around Ianto and pulled him closer. "Take all the time you need."

Re: Torchwood, Jack/Ianto

[bookofsorrow.livejournal.com]

*stares*


uhm. scuse me, I suddenly feel the need to take a cold shower



:P

Dr. Who, S1: Jack/OMC

[alba17.livejournal.com]

Brushing his hand up against the young man’s pert and rounded arse, draped only with a thin clingy cloth, Jack murmured into his ear, “What’s your name?”

“Lucius,” said the young man, mouth quirked knowingly and brown eyes wide with invitation. His golden blonde hair was curling at the ends in the humid air. Jack’s eyes roamed over him, fingers itching to tamp down those curls and rake off the flimsy undergarment that barely covered him.

Jack looked him deep in the eyes, so lovely he could get lost in them for a week, and spread his large hand possessively over that delightful bottom, squeezing.

“Just call me the Captain. Lovely Lucius, where can we go to get some privacy around here?”

The boy took his hand and led him out of the caladarium and into a changing room. A slave impassively stood there, guarding bathers’ belongings. He didn’t blink as the boy drew Jack into an alcove and wrapped his arms around his broad shoulders. Jack brought his hands up to caress those golden curls, and held the boy’s head as he hungrily pressed his lips to his.

As they ground their hips together, Jack backed him up against the wall and thrust his tongue into Lucius’s full red mouth. The young man eagerly sucked at it, pulling Jack’s hips further into him. His arousal was evident through the thin undergarment and he forcefully rubbed it against Jack’s equally hard cock.

Jack tried to untie the knot at the side of the young man’s undergarment, but the boy was faster, quickly slipping off Jack’s similar garment and then his own. Blissfully naked, the sight of their two erect penises centimetres apart nearly sent Jack over the edge right then. Lucius licked his lips and rubbed his cock on Jack’s, sliding it up and down, back and forth. It felt amazing, and Jack kissed the beautiful boy enthusiastically, their bodies writhing against each other.

Lucius grabbed Jack’s cock and pushed it between his legs, surrounding it with tight heat and soft skin. Jack sighed and plunged in further, then pulled back, thrusting in and out. He could feel the boy’s hard shaft rub against his belly with every thrust, urging him onward. Soon he was spent, lazily kissing the boy’s neck while he fondled his still-hard cock.

He guided Lucius’ cock between his own legs, tightening them to increase the friction. Clinging to Jack’s shoulders, the boy pumped until he came also, and they leaned against the wall hazily.

“Jack!” A hissed whisper aroused Jack from his post-orgasmic torpor. A familiar closely-cropped head peeked into the changing room. “There’s a time and a place, you know. And it’s time to get out of here. The you-know-what is about to blow. By the looks of it, something else has already been blown.” The Doctor smirked and threw Jack his clothes. He gave Lucius a big smile. “See you later then. Somehow I have the feeling I’ll be back here.”

Re: Dr. Who, S1: Jack/OMC

[mhorrighan.livejournal.com]

OMG, you win! Roman!porn, Lucius, intercrural sex! *iz happy* I love this so much!!! Thank you! You made my day!

Re: Torchwood: Owen/Jack/Ianto

[itsarift-thing.livejournal.com]

Post Reset/Dead Man Walking porn involving Owen? Normally the very idea squicks me out to be honest - but I really do believe there's a lot about sex that is all in the mind...

So you made this kind of work for me.

Dr Who: Jack/Nine

[xtricks.livejournal.com]

The sky was sparkling like fireworks above them as they ran through the heavy air, Jack's hand clamped in the his fist. The Doctor hared off in a right angle to their previous path and Jack jogged along, little bursts of laughter making him stumble occasionally. Somewhere in the dimness, the Doctor swung 'round to glare at Jack. "What are you going on about?"

"What?" Jack said defensively, rubbing a hand across his mouth and realizing belatedly that it was shaking. Then he was pressed up against one of the trees, shaking all over with the Doctor's hands holding him up. Jack grinned.

"No," the Doctor said severely. Always severe from the tips of his ears to the toes of his boots. It made Jack, alarmingly, laugh some more. Then the Doctor clamped a relentless hand over his mouth and nose. That had two predictable reactions; Jack arched in shock, clawing at the Doctor's hand and his cock stiffened in a series of wrenchingly intense pulses. "Oh, you're not serious, Jack!" The Doctor said in exasperation, even as he leaned hard to pin him still, ignoring his thrashing and muffled pleas and his dick.

"Oxygen poisoning," the Doctor said over the growing roar in Jack's ears. Jack clutched his jacket, leather warm in his hands, whimpering. The thud of his pulse ached in his cock and he could feel the long, hard, unyielding line of the Doctor's body; his fingers were bruising his face. Jack squirmed desperately.

"Hold still!"

Jack didn't hold still and the Doctor's boots skidded, hip digging hard against Jack. Jack brought up a knee - to drive him off, to work it between his legs ... he wasn't sure. He was sure that he was nudging up against a cock as hard as his own though; the Doctor's fingers flexed hard into his skin. Jack groaned and stopped fighting to get away, staring wide-eyed into the Doctor's familiar face. His pupils were blown wide as he stared at Jack with all the restrained ferocity of a desperate, guilty - horny - man.

Jack managed to wedge a thigh between the Doctor's legs, ignoring the hiss of his breath - the Doctor was the only one breathing just now - and arched sluttishly to rub against the lean angle of the man's hip. The world was darkening at the edges and if Jack was going to be smothered, while the Doctor got off on it, he was going to get off too.

The Doctor jerked his hand back and Jack whooped for the air that was killing him, tears streaming down his face as his heart thumped like a drum. "Don't you dare stop now, dammit, want me to die?"

"Breath shallowly and -"

Jack bared his teeth and dragged in great lungfuls, then bucked his hips. The Doctor couldn't quite restrain his twitch of response but his worry shifted quicksilver to anger.

"You don't know what I'm capable of," he hissed, palm hard and cool and heavy against Jack's mouth. He leaned hard in, pinning Jack in place until he could feel the double heartbeat thudding against his own chest. "Are you sure I'll stop?"

Jack met those ancient, alien eyes and moaned. Writhing, he strained helplessly against the seal of the Doctor's palm, was muscled back against the tree. The sharp bite of the Doctor's teeth on his throat - over his racing pulse - would have made Jack shout, if he could. Instead he humped frantically against the thigh pushing against his cock.

The Doctor was as immovable as stone while the world came apart around Jack. He heaved for air, hands increasingly frantic and clumsy, needing, needing ... blind and deaf, pleasure jerking him unbearably higher. His only anchor was the pin of the Doctor's teeth in his throat, the murderous grip of his long hand over Jack's face and the rushing, tightening ache of his cock.

The stars had gone dark before the sudden release. Jack whooped for breath, shouting as he rushed back to life; pleasure and heat and light flooding back all at once as he arched like a bow against the Doctor, coming in a mad, violent, almost painful spasm. The Doctor inhaled once, sharply, and shuddered, fingertips pressed to Jack's trembling lips.

Jack buried his face against the Doctor's leather jacket and breathed - shallowly.

Re: Dr Who: Jack/Nine

[51stcenturyfox.livejournal.com]

Unf. Dark and violent and hot. Love it.

Torchwood Jack/Ianto

[51stcenturyfox.livejournal.com]

“Anything else?” he asks, ever solicitous. His employer is congenial, yet distracted. Distracted is perfect. Ianto needs distracted so he can slip away, to Lisa. Keep her alive, bring her back. Fix her. The words are a constant internal litany. Fix her. Fix everything.

Whenever Jack calls him:“Ianto!” his heart jumps and he fears he’s been found out. Lisa, I’m so sorry. He senses Jack's eyes on him, often, but mimics the others and meets the innuendo with a smile and shake of the head. He is not sure what he’d expected after that night Jack decided to hire him, but it never occurs.

One night, very late, he hears a whimper. Suzie. Followed by an answering murmur from Jack. She says something the next day about a back rub, but Ianto isn't dense.

He is relieved, and exhausted from pretence and lack of sleep.

But Ianto can’t relax. Not quite.

He is standing, entering data into the system and senses a presence. A mug appears on the desk beside him. Without moving his head he drops his gaze to study the fine hairs on Jack’s wrist, the thumb running along the lip of the mug.

“Do you need someth-” he begins, but the wrist is gone and he feels a hand, palm flat on his left shoulder, still, then sliding slowly up, then down. He tenses to turn but is checkmated when Jack’s other hand runs slowly up his right sleeve to rest on his collarbone.

“Do-“

“Shhh,” comes a low whisper, stirring the fine hairs at the nape of his neck and he obeys as Jack slides his palms across crisp white pinpoint to Ianto's sides. For a moment, Jack holds him, gently, stroking, but then he feels fingers clutch at the fabric of his shirt and grip his waist. Ianto is holding his breath, but sucks a rush of air though his teeth again when he is tugged back and feels pressure - hard and insistent and real.

A hand grazes the front of his trousers, over his unbidden erection. He gasps at the contact and Jack’s other arm slips around his waist and tightens.

Deft fingers undo the zip, reach in, playing outside the smooth barrier of his briefs. Ianto can feel himself flush and stiffen further as Jack teases at his flesh through the layer of cotton. Ianto rolls his head back. It’s been so long. So long since…

Jack presses him forward into the edge of the desk with enough force to make the mug stutter along the flat plane of its surface. One hand dips between Ianto's thighs to cup him as the other tightens on his cock and a practiced thumb passes roughly over the tip, drawing a shudder of pleasure. Hesitantly, he pushes back and swallows hard when Jack hitches downward and up, then again, panting softly into his ear. Ianto can feel him, feel everything - Jack's cock - hot and hard through two layers of wool, slipping along the curve of his ass.

If the layers weren’t there, he thinks, and he is torn between new and competing urges – to thrust back again or forward into Jack’s rapidly shifting rhythmic grasp. God. God, yes.

Ianto comes hard and fast, his release folding into a shudder, knuckles pressed hard against the top of the desk. “Fuck,” he manages to gasp.

Jack releases his cock with a final soft stroke and allows him to turn. He does, his blurred gaze falling on mother-of-pearl buttons, shiny against the dark blue shirt, as Jack zips, buttons, locks Ianto away again tender and sodden and fastens his belt.

He waits, breath ragged, until Jack looks up and fixes him with a stare, running his fingertips delicately over the planes of his chest before dropping them to rake his ass hard and leaning in to press his lips against Ianto's for the first time.

“Good?” he queries, finally. Ianto responds silently but affirmatively, deepening the kiss, his hand grasping Jack's shoulder.

“Stay late,” Jack says. It doesn't sound like a question, but he tilts his head and waits for a nod of approval before collecting his cooled coffee and retreating to his office as Ianto turns to the desk.

The words fix her do not enter his mind again until morning.

Re: Torchwood Jack/Ianto

[neifile7.livejournal.com]

That was *incredible.* And great description, btw, e.g. "Jack presses him forward into the edge of the desk with enough force to make the mug stutter along the flat plane of its surface."

Just beautifully sustained, and all the details come in the right places.

Okay if I edit my entry? I posted it in a bit of a hurry this a.m. and now I want to add a little.

Who: Nine/Jack/Rose

[mad-jaks.livejournal.com]

Authors Note: H/c Who knew?? Actual porn may come later, now I have got this out of my system.


Five years later, with yet another searing bolt of electricity running through him, and the smell of scorched skin - his own – filling his nostrils, Jack will remember this planet, the one they fled to after Burn. After the bright, gleaming corridors of polished steel hidden beneath pristine white sands. After the screaming.

***

Stepping, stiff limbed and bone weary, out of the TARDIS into the enveloping stillness of what could have passed for a summer evening back home – only the salt laden tang of a sea breeze is missing - Jack's immediately grateful to the TARDIS for bringing them here. Away from Burn's scorched landscape and its buried terrors. Away from its dead-eyed population, who, even the Doctor had finally had to accept, were beyond redemption.

With Rose standing, trembling, beside him, he watches the Doctor trudge out through the door to join them, eyes guarded; shoulders slumped in defeat as he turns back - hesitating for a moment before he turns the key in the lock.

“There was nothing we could do,” Jack voices softly as Rose slips her hand into Doctor's, leading him away across the soft, springy turf so Jack has no other option but follow them or be left behind.

***

Ten years later - one painfully lonely night, incarcerated deep under the streets of Cardiff - Jack will dry hump himself into the thinness of his Victorian bolster. Remembering the Doctor's head buried in the crook of his neck and the gossamer light trail of Rose's hair against his cheek as she'd knelt, facing them, thin arms drawing them to her. The twin moons shining pale above them in a cloudless sky. The deep purple of night blanketing them in silence.

***

Slow and careful and silent gives way to slow and careful and needy. Softly spoken terms of endearment replaced by panted words of encouragement spun out of crystal – high and thready and beautiful - as he and Rose coil their arms around the Doctor and each other, legs tangled together – hip to thigh, thigh to cock, cock to hip.

You're beautiful, he wants to say. Wants to burn it into the Doctor's skin like brand, for the whole of Time to see. Beautiful and mine.

You're beautiful, he paints across Rose's bare shoulders with his tongue instead, feeling her fingers curl against his chest. And she passes the message on, lips fastening around the Doctor's, drawing him into a slow kiss even as she tugs Jack's shirt tails free of his trousers.

It's the most naked any one of them gets.

***

A century later he'll hear the echo of Rose's breathless laughter in another woman's smile or feel the weight of the Doctor's arm across his chest when he's with another man and he'll point to the lump of alien coral growing on his desk and tell tales of distant planets under alien suns, of his vagabond life amongst the stars, and how he'd been... rescued. How the three of them were together. How they'd lived, and laughed, and fucked, and made love together.

Re: Who: Nine/Jack/Rose

[neifile7.livejournal.com]

Really gorgeous, and the timeplay adds a layer that's just achingly poignant. I'm a sucker for Jack's erotic memories.

TW, Jack/Ianto. Starts immediately at end of 'Meat'.

[andreth47.livejournal.com]

Jack was pacing his office. He'd tried settling down with a drink and an old Barsoom novel, but the words wouldn't stick. Jack needed something, and it wasn't 1930s pulp fiction. He slung on his coat and barreled out, the image of a man on a mission.

He found Ianto down the pub, leaning into a dark corner, pint in hand. Ianto nodded at him and raised his glass. And oh fuck, he had his waistcoat unbuttoned and his shirtsleeves rolled up, and nothing, nothing did it for Jack like Ianto with his sleeves rolled up, and now he had a hard-on and there was no way this was stopping before it reached its necessary conclusion. Jack's necessary conclusion.

Jack slid between Ianto and the wall, grabbed his hips and yanked, pulling him flush with Jack's erection. Fuck, yes, this was what he needed. Ianto's ass gave deliciously when Jack shoved forward. Jack groaned and nuzzled his face into Ianto's neck.

"Just hold still. This won't take long."

Ianto slid his eyes at that, but he settled back easily enough, letting Jack grind. Jack pushed Ianto's collar down and fastened his mouth on the back of Ianto's neck. Salt, cologne, bone under his teeth as he bit down, mouth full of Ianto's fragrant flesh.

Ianto shifted, tipped his head back to take a drink, pushing Jack off his neck. Put his mouth right up to Jack's ear and murmured contemplatively, "I'd quite like to fuck that couple over there."

Jack froze.

"It's that top she has on, with her tits spilling out the sides. I was thinking about fucking her tits when you came in. You like to titty-fuck, Jack?"

Jack made an involuntary sound. The corner of Ianto's mouth quirked for an instant.

"It's a visual more than a sensual thing, I think. The whiteness of a girl's tits compared to how red your cock is, poking out between them. How malleable her flesh is, how hard you are, how you can squeeze her tits together, really wedge your cock in there and fuck."

Jack's hips were rutting again of their own accord, trying to force his cock into the cleft of Ianto's ass, sliding inside his boxers, delicious friction of the silk. He needed. Needed more friction, but Ianto kept shifting forward, wouldn't let him--

Ianto's voice was rocky and intimate in Jack's ear. "And he's quite delicious too. Lovely hands. Looks very well-hung. I don't suppose it's logistically possible to be buggered while titty-fucking," he added calmly. "Too much movement. But if that cock's as big as it looks, I'd love to feel it up my arse."

Jack shivered. Pushed forward, but Ianto kept just out of reach, kept talking. Whispered in Jack's ear, "I'd like to be between them, maybe fuck her while he's fucking me. I miss cunt sometimes, Jack. The scent of it. How slick it is, how easy to fuck hard and fast and careless."

Jack groaned.

"Close, aren't you, Jack? You want to come."

Jack, utterly blinded by the thought of Ianto fucking and being fucked, clamped his hands hard onto Ianto's hips, forcibly holding him in place, and oh he was pushing back now, letting Jack, letting him rut. He shoved, hard, over and over, cock making a mess in his boxers, couldn't stop pumping. Someone was making these small grunting noises.

"Fucking tease," Jack bit out against Ianto's neck, "yes."

"Not until I say," and Ianto slipped out of Jack's grasp and pulled away, leaving him humping thin air and gaping like a stranded fish.

"Ianto! What the hell--"

Ianto stepped back into Jack, reached out, gripped Jack's erection. Jack nearly doubled over Ianto's hand as his fingers found the head of Jack's cock. Ianto smiled, fingers working.

"God you're ready, aren't you, about to burst, I can feel how swollen you are." He leaned forward into Jack, "Gonna come right here for me? Should I let you?"

"Ianto, please," gasping, "I need--"

"Okay, it's all right, you can do it now, go ahead," foreheads together, intimate whisper. "Fuck, Jack, do it, spill for me." Fingers stroking the rim, pressing, rubbing over and over underneath the head, thumb sliding in the loose skin.

"Come on, do it. I want to feel it. Want to feel the wet, feel the warmth spreading under my fingers," harsh breath in Jack's ear, "come on, Jack, give it to me."

And Jack gave it to him.

Re: TW, Jack/Ianto. Starts immediately at end of 'Meat'.

[51stcenturyfox.livejournal.com]

You're really filthy. I like that about you. A lot.

Torchwood, Jack/Ianto

[blue-fjords.livejournal.com]

Ianto had been thinking about it all day, basically since their shower was interrupted by the Rift alarm and a horde of ankle-high aliens that resembled nothing so much as lobsters on crack. Each time he bent over to grab a wriggling handful of crack lobster, he imagined he was rubbing against Jack’s body instead of the inside of his trousers. Not that the friction wasn’t nice, but what he wanted was what he had been getting in the shower: Jack.

Now it was half past seven, and Ianto was impatiently waiting for his order at the French bistro while dreaming of dessert. Finally, dinner tucked under his arm, he hurried through the streets, spotting signs (“Fromage, Oo-La-La!”) and catching snatches of conversation:

“Ha, you’re really rubbing off on me –”

“Watch that end; there’s too much friction –”

“Escape the daily grind –”

“Nerve endings tingling –”

“Come on –”

“Hot –”

“Jack!” he called, slightly breathless, rushing into the Hub with less than his usual grace. Jack was hunched over his desk, but looked up with a smile when Ianto burst in.

“Why, Ianto, you look a little flushed,” he leaned back in his chair and grinned wickedly. “Do you need something?”

Ianto dropped the bag of food on the desk and stalked over to the chair, straddling Jack’s hips. The chair tipped back to a dangerous angle as Jack responded by pulling him into a series of increasingly deeper kisses. Ianto started a grinding rhythm, and the chair provided a squeaking counterpoint to his moans. Jack’s hands fumbled between them to get at their belt buckles and zippers, his body arching into Ianto’s and the feel of Ianto’s hands stroking his neck, strangely gentle despite the frantic way he had started all this.

The first touch of cock against cock drew a drawn out “Jack” from Ianto, and Jack grinned fiercely into the kiss, hands sliding around Ianto’s waist and pulling him even closer. The chair dipped back as low as it could go, and Ianto shifted one arm to brace themselves against a filing cabinet to prevent their unceremonious ejection onto the floor. Ianto moved his other hand down, grasping along Jack’s hip, trying to keep them together, fingers dancing along Jack’s skin until he could rub and squeeze. The added friction caused Jack to throw his head back and Ianto took full advantage of the proffered neck, sucking down to his pulse point. Jack arched once more, the chair squeaked loudly, and Jack came, hands clenching hard around Ianto’s waist. Ianto gasped at the pain, and Jack struggled to focus on his face: flushed cheeks, swollen lips, lust-darkened eyes. He reached up to pull his face down to his own, kissing his eyelids, nose, cheeks, and Ianto laughed softly, grinding into Jack until he came, too.

They stayed balanced on the chair for a few more minutes before Jack kissed Ianto’s forehead. “Was that what you needed?”

“Yes. We can eat dinner now.”

Re: Torchwood, Jack/Ianto

[wiredblowfish.livejournal.com]

I like how forward Ianto is here. Very hot.

Great description of how much they like to please each other.

(Also, really funny with the crack lobsters and Ianto only hearing things that make him hornier:)

Torchwood, Owen/Mark Part One

[wiredblowfish.livejournal.com]

Mark Lynch smiles at Owen Harper with a mad glee. "Punch it!"

"Why?" Owen’s eyes dart from the man to the chained weevil and back again, unsure how to react.

"That's what it's there for. Or do you want me to do it for you?" Mark peels off his unbuttoned shirt.

"It just feels a bit... weird, that's all," Owen offers hesitantly.

Mark approaches the weevil and punches it like a punching bag. He laughs maniacally and punches it again with more force. The weevil tries to bend over to protect its stomach, but the chains hold him up.

"All right, that's enough!" Owen lashes out in anger, unable to maintain the role.

The weevil lunges forward and the links begin to break. The weevil looks up, and then lunges again. The chains fall to the ground. The weevil stares at its arms as if it is stunned to be free.

"Holy shit!" Owen whispers. His eyes grow wide. He begins to back up – trying not to startle the weevil.

Mark grabs Owen’s forearm and spins him around. He pulls him out of the room and down the hallway. Mark opens a linen closet and reaches around Owen's shoulders, pulling him into the small space in front of the shelves. He closes the door slowly and quietly. As the door jamb connects, it makes a small clicking sound. The men grimace in unison. They hear the weevil growl indignantly and charge down the stairs.

"What the hell do we do now?" Owen hisses in hostility and moves toward the door just far enough so that his back is no longer touching Mark’s front.

"This has happened before, actually," Mark says. sheepishly.

"Great!"

"No... it's just a waiting game," he says, in a confident, steady whisper. "They need about 20 hours of sleep a day. Any time now, he’ll be taking the kip."

Re: Torchwood, Owen/Mark Part Two

[wiredblowfish.livejournal.com]

Both men suddenly freeze at the sound of the weevil loping heavily back up the steps. Owen feels Mark’s breath on the back of his neck. It tingles, and he unconsciously bends toward the sensation. Mark leans forward, lightly touching his chest against Owen’s shoulders. They both hold their breath as the weevil slows down and loudly sniffs the air just outside the closet. They hear it scratching the rough skin of its pate. Owen feels himself go hard: something about tight spaces and fear.

The weevil yawns and saunters back down the steps of the loft. They hear a creak. The settee. Mark lets out his breath against Owen’s ear and wraps his arms around his chest, pinning his arms down. "Be very quiet, mate,‘til it’s dead asleep".

Mark’s smile at the bar brawl, the scratches on his back, his unbuttoned shirt flash through Owen’s mind. He tenses his shoulders and halfheartedly pulls away. Mark holds him tighter. "Who are you, Owen Harper?" he whispers.

Owen elbows Mark’s arms away from his chest. Mark moves them down to Owen’s thighs and grips them, hard, as he gently rubs his lips against Owen’s neck. The weevil lets out a low growl. The men freeze. Owen’s head spins from fear and arousal. The weevil yawns again.

After a long moment, Owen feels Mark’s lips moving on his neck. He moves Mark’s hand from his thigh to his cock, tenting the front of his trousers. The encouragement piques Mark, and he presses his own cock against Owen’s arse. Owen thinks he can feel the blood pumping in Mark’s cock through the fabric. He begins to pant, his chest heaving to suck air. Mark bites Owen’s neck. He has found his weakness. Owen moans sharply.

Mark brutally covers his mouth with one hand while he grips his cock with the other. Through the weave of Owen’s fly he is just able to rub the skin up and down the shaft. He senses Owen is about to moan again and tightens his grip on his mouth, wrenching his head sideways.

"Quiet, now," he whispers in Owen’s ear. This pushes Owen to the point, soaking Mark’s hand through his trousers.

He falls against Mark’s chest. Mark grips Owen’s hips and thrusts his arse against his own hard cock. Owen bends over as far as he can in the small space, holding the slats on the closet door as Mark rubs his cock against Owen’s ass. The wool of his trousers scratch against his skin. He supports himself with one hand against Owen’s back. Owen turns to see Mark run his hand up his own stomach to his nipples. His mouth agape as he gasps loudly, and then Owen feels a burst of wet.

Mark opens his eyes and meets Owen’s in the half-dark closet. "Have I got something to show you," he whispers.

[neifile7.livejournal.com]

He's had worse days, Owen thinks, striding through the cog-door. He couldn’t save Parker, but at least he’d talked the girl out of jumping. He’s still the doctor, and Torchwood bloody needs him. And he’s got ideas for a few projects, since he can't sleep --

Oh, god. The Captain and Teaboy. Up to their games again at _his_ desk.

He freezes. Ianto’s sprawled in his chair, hands bound behind his back (Gwen’s handcuffs, and dammit, he’d fantasized this, never been able to talk her into it); Jack’s straddling his lap, face buried in his neck. They’re both fully dressed. Jack strokes slowly with his hips, an up-and-down roll that is driving Teaboy mad, if that strangled whine is anything to go by.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake –“

They break apart, and Owen glimpses Ianto’s face, pupils blown and unfocused, lips bruised. Jack gives a long lick up his chin and then turns lazily to face Owen. No sign of embarrassment, the bastard.

“The good doctor! Just who we need.” He hitches up off Ianto’s lap and strolls over. Owen can’t help glancing at the tent in his trousers, and Jack’s grin widens. He pushes right into Owen’s space, bumps him a little with his hip. “Quite a day we’ve had,” he says conversationally. “All of us need to unwind. You most of all.” He raises a hand to Owen’s face, trailing his knuckles along one cheek. Owen can’t feel the touch, but there’s an obscene tenderness in Jack’s eyes that jolts him.

Behind them, Ianto makes an urgent noise, then whispers, “Jack.” His eyes, however, are on Owen.

Owen swallows – well, what used to be swallowing – and says, “Uh, listen mate, in case you’ve forgotten, this was never my thing to start with, and I still can’t – uh –“

“Oh, but I think that’s where you’re wrong, Dr. Harper,” Jack breathes into his ear. Jesus, the man has a pornographic voice. He grabs Owen’s arm, towing him over to the chair. “Not been all that long, has it? You still remember how it feels. Just like you remember how to be a doctor,” and Jack slides behind Owen, hands on shoulders, gently nudging him toward Ianto. “Always room for one more, right?”

This last seems directed at Ianto, whose gaze sweeps them both and sharpens. He’s fucking undressing me with his eyes, Owen thinks. This is mad.

But oh, god, lust like this, aimed at him, _including_ him, something he’d never thought he'd see again; it’s all real and raw, Ianto’s harsh breathing, Jack’s arms snaking over his torso and that voice murmuring in his ear. And he's present. He's part of it, dead or not.

“There’s all kinds of things you can still do,” Jack hisses, and his tongue sweeps Owen's neck. “You could start by taking Ianto’s cock out and having a good look at it. Go on,” and Owen rocks forward, sensing that Jack's hips are pressing his own, guiding him down.

_What am I doing here?_ But after a moment’s hesitation, Owen fumbles cautiously into Ianto’s trousers. Ianto immediately arches up, and jesus, he is beautiful, his cock is swollen and curves up just so, and he's so damn wanton that it sets off echoes in Owen’s mind of all the best fucks he’d ever had. Had he ever looked like this?

“Put your hands on his shoulders,” the voice in his ear instructs, and Owen complies. Bloody hell, Jack’s hands have come around his waist and they’re undoing his fly, sliding trousers and pants down; a hint of pressure, that's Jack pushing his own cock right behind his balls. The rhythm, he can feel that, steady movement of hips, and now Ianto is arching up, urgently rubbing Owen’s belly. He can see it, he remembers how good that was, remembers in every thrust and the open mouth and glazed eyes under him.

“Dead or alive,” Jack’s voice a little hoarse now as the rhythm builds, “you are –still – so – damn – hot –“

And Ianto shouts raggedly and comes against Owen’s belly, while Jack gasps harshly behind. Something fizzles behind Owen’s eyes, a few synapses that still seem to be firing, and everything whites out for a moment.

It can’t be. He wasn't hard, there’s no sensation at all, but he’ll swear that he just came.

He dimly senses pressure against his neck – is that a kiss? – and then Jack's voice whispers, “Just remember, Dr. Harper. The mind is still the biggest erogenous zone of all.”

[lionessvalenti.livejournal.com]

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh. Dead Owen!porn makes me HAPPY. This is so very hot.

Torchwood, PC Andy/OC

[cruentum.livejournal.com]

The coffeeplace is deserted, dock workers come and gone for their lunch. A gum chewing girl is dragging a rag over the tables. Plastic flowers on plastic tables say cheap American as much as they spell out Cardiff in dull reflections. As Andy turns from the counter, a cup of coffee in his hand, he sees her from the corner of his eye: the chin length brown hair; he freezes, an apology on his lips and a stammer that makes it past them, choked sound, swallowed syllables. She turns, interest gained, but it is not her, and now that the ruby lips purse for a comment, he doesn't know how he could have thought it had been: they have the same hair colour, but this one has far fewer clothes.

She isn't advertising, he doesn't think, but carefully looks her over. She does the same to him.

Andy snaps his gaze to the steam rising from the small hole in the plastic lid of the coffee cup, but the clickety-clack of heels is on to him. The door bell chimes, two lorry drivers move past, and he's the copper in a carnival's costume as much as he is the shame-faced boy caught with his hands down his pants.

"Looking for some action?" the woman titters, and her leg shoves between Andy's thighs, skirt riding up and rubbing along his groin.

Andy stares at the skirt, follows its creases up to her hips. Her breasts strain against her top. Garishly painted lips, they stand out.

"I'm a copper," he mutters and backs away.

She follows easily until he is backed into a corner, their bodies tight, and she shoves her hand between them.

One of the lorry drivers catches his gaze over her shoulder, shakes his head and turns back to his coffee. Her nails dig into his side, he feels them through the shirt and damns Splott and what it attracts. His head falls back against the wall, eyes closed. He hisses as she turns her wrist, grabs his tackle through his trousers. He turns sideways, but she has him trapped, thigh between this, hard against his cock.

She presses closer.

His eyes fly open.

She smiles, and rubs her crotch, package and all against him: cock, and balls. His hips jerk forward hard, fingers dig into her side.His groan gets lost behind closed lips, but it is right there, in his throat, and he flushes as she chuckles, her lips brushing his ear. His hand tightens on her hip, thighs tense, push his crotch against hers, and she does the same to him while the cheap music is jingling from the speakers.

"Nice one," she says.

"I'm not-"

She squeezes him. "Like that," she murmurs and rubs him through his trousers, her thigh pushing up against his balls.

His groan pushes past his teeth, too fucking close, he jerks. The lid flies off the coffee cup in his hand, the cup collapes, coffee spills, hot over his hand and shirt and to the floor. She jerks back. Coffee drips between them and he looks at her eyes wide, gestures with the sodden cup.

A second's pause, and she laughs.

It takes him one moment, then he hurries out with his head down, shirt wet, and really, how is that different from fleeing. The lorry drivers have a laugh, and he would join in with the fun if it was in the least comical.

"PC Davidson, is it?" she calls after him. "I owe you a coffee."

Re: Torchwood, PC Andy/OC

[neifile7.livejournal.com]

I have no words adequate to the sheer smut value of this. Twisty with the best of twists. Can't judge the package by its wrapping=major kink!

Torchwood/Buffy, Faith/Ianto [Part One]

[lionessvalenti.livejournal.com]

Faith hoisted herself up onto the counter of the tourist information office, pulling her legs up onto the desk, the mud from her boots splattering across the surface. She pulled her knees up and looked at Ianto. "Is there anything to do around here?"

"Hmm..." Ianto eyed the mud on the counter, annoyed, but he let it go. "I suppose the castles of Wales won't interest you. We do have this rift in space and time running through the city and aliens pour out of it all the time. You can hit those. That's what you do, right?"

"There aren't aliens right now, and castles?" Faith shrugged and made a clicking sound with her mouth. "Not my thing."

"How did I become the Slayer baby-sitter?"

"I don't need a baby-sitter, Jones." She smiled. "I need an entertainer."

Ianto motioned for the door. "We have a wide array of clubs and bars. I'm sure you can find plenty of men -or women, if you fancy- who would be willing to buy you a drink and fuck you into next week-"

"There's your first mistake, Suit boy," Faith said, pointing at him. "No one fucks me into next week. I take them for a ride." She leaned back casually, tucking her hands behind her head, letting her tightly fitting t-shirt ride up. "I had Jack."

"Mmm, I'm impressed," Ianto said, sounding bored more than anything. He reached under the counter and picked up a magazine. "You and half of Cardiff."

"Only half?"

Ianto chuckled and looked up with his eyes only. His voice lowering he said, "I've been keeping him very busy."

Faith grinned and it was dangerous. Ianto felt it shoot straight to his cock. He knew she was hot, but she was suddenly radiating heat and - fuck, what kind of pheromones did Faith have? Was this some sort of Slayer thing, or was she actually as good as she was boasting to be?

She let her knees fall slack. "How busy?"

"Pretty busy," Ianto replied, focusing more on the curves of Faith's body than a witty comeback.

She reached out and took a hold out of his tie. She tugged on it suggestively. "You're coiled tighter than a spring, Jones. Let's see if we get you to unwind." She swung her legs over the other side of the counter, facing him.

Ianto looked at the door. It was unlocked. Anyone could walk in at any moment. Not just his fellow employees (who would probably either not give them a second glance, or join in, depending on who it was), but strangers, actual tourists. However, a gorgeous, aroused woman was sitting in front of his with her legs spread open, inviting him to have no-string-attached sex. Fuck the tourists.

He grabbed Faith by the belt loops of her jeans and pulled her to the edge of the counter. He unbuttoned her jeans and pulled down the zipper. Faith placed her palms on the counter and lifted herself up long enough for Ianto to pull her jeans down around her ankles. No underwear. Oh, yes.

Ianto's fingers dipped into the wet folds of Faith's cunt, the smell of her, sweet and dirty, driving him wild. His thumb found her clit and she growled, pushing against him.

"Harder, Jeeves."

Ianto was tempted to smack her across the face, and she'd probably get off on it, but instead he shoved her mouth messily against her's, and she kissed him back, wrapping an arm around his neck. She bit his lower lip and Ianto squeezed her clit between his thumb and forefinger.

He reached down with his free hand and unbuckled his belt, and letting his trousers fall to the ground. He worked his cock out of his pants, but when he began stroking himself, Faith grabbed his hand and pulled it up, sliding it under her shirt. He instinctively grabbed for her breast.

"What the-" he tried, but Faith covered his mouth with her own, jamming her tongue inside. She swung one leg between his, her shin rubbing against his cock. He tried to step between her legs, but he couldn't, because of her jeans trapped atop her boots. Ianto growled in Faith's mouth, frustrated.

Re: Torchwood/Buffy, Faith/Ianto [Part Two]

[lionessvalenti.livejournal.com]

Faith snapped her legs shut, trapping Ianto's hand against her clit, and his cock between her calves. She pulled her head back and grinned. "Let's do this."

She bucked against his fingers, the hot, wet friction sending a jolt all the way up Ianto's arm and into his shoulders. He moaned, dropping his head back, letting her do her work on his hand, while he set his hips at a rhythm, his cock sliding between Faith's smooth, hairless legs.

"You like it like this, Jones?" Faith hissed. "Hot and dirty? Public? You're such a horndog you don't even need a pussy to fuck, you'll just take it anyway you can get it."

"Don't you?" Ianto replied breathlessly. "I could have you on silk sheets, but you'd rather have it like this."

"No one has me, and don't you forget it," she said, kissing him hard, sucking his tongue into her mouth. She grabbed him by his hair and held him there, forcing her mouth hard against his. She sat up, leveraging all her weight to the edge of the counter and rocked her hips, pushing herself down onto Ianto's hand. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" she shouted into Ianto's ear, yanking on his hair. She sat back, releasing him. "Fuck."

Ianto laughed, still fondling her with his fingers. He could feel every pulsation from her orgasm, contracting everything.

"You were right," he said, pulling his hand away. He brought his fingers to his lips and sucked off the tangy wetness. "I certainly didn't have you."

"Damn straight," Faith replied with a satisfied, superior grin.

"This time, anyway," Ianto replied. He tucked his still-hard cock into his pants, and pulled up his trousers.

"What d'you mean?" Faith asked. Her grin faded and she cocked her head to the side eying him carefully.

"This time. You had a position advantage over me. I'd be interested in seeing how you do if we were on equal footing."

She laughed and hopped off the counter. She tugged up her jeans. "Jack said you'd be a good lay."

"Did he?"

Faith considered him for a moment. "You know, in Slayer training, we learn a very strict code of no man left behind." She plunged her hand into his trousers, and stroked Ianto's cock through his pants and looked up at him seriously, almost innocently, if Faith had any innocence left in her. "No man left behind."

Ianto slid a hand around her waist, under her shirt, just to touch her skin as she pumped his cock. He lurched forward as he came almost immediately.

She pulled her hand out and stepped away from him. "Impressed yet?" she asked with a smirk.

God, he knew that smirk. He'd seen it a million times on Jack's mouth, and he knew the best way to keep her interested in the game. They were so much alike, Ianto suddenly wished he'd seen them in bed together. There would be time for that later.

Ianto smiled, half amused, as he buckled his belt. "Not quite yet."

Torchwood: Jack/Ianto

[lefaym.livejournal.com]

All Tied Up

“Ia—oo!” came Jack’s muffled voice. “Emmeeoou.”

Ianto decided to be kind, and he removed the gag from Jack’s mouth.

“There’s no need to laugh!” said Jack petulantly. Ianto tried to school his face into seriousness. And failed.

It really was very funny, even if Jack didn’t see it that way. True, seeing Jack all tied up wasn’t exactly a new experience for Ianto, but given that the culprit was a graske, not even four foot tall, and given that the graske had managed to tie Jack, spreadeagled, to the conference room table (which he’d then turned on its side, so that Jack was standing upright) before wreaking havoc in the city (not hurting anyone, fortunately), well, it was amusing. And Ianto needed some amusement right now, what with the clean-up job that awaited him in the Hub.

“Ianto?” said Jack. “Are you gonna get me off of this thing?”

Ianto smiled, and decided to ignore a certain preposition. “Certainly,” he said, walking across the room to stand in front of Jack. “Will this be adequate?” He placed a hand over Jack’s groin. “For getting you off, I mean?”

Jack drew in a sharp breath, and then grinned. “Oh, yes,” he said.

Ianto nodded. “Good.” He leaned forward and pressed their mouths together, raising both his hands and gripping Jack behind his head.

As the kiss continued, Ianto pushed his thigh against Jack’s crotch, so that he could feel his cock growing hard through the wool of his trousers. Jack moaned into Ianto’s mouth, a sound that vibrated right down Ianto’s spine and into his groin. He pressed harder against Jack, increasing the friction between them.

Ianto ran his hands along the top of Jack’s belt, and undid the buckle, but then he moved his hands upwards, underneath Jack’s shirt, his fingers skimming lightly across Jack’s stomach, along his sides. He ran his tongue along Jack’s neck, and nipped at his jaw-line, all the while pushing against him, driving him closer to the edge.

“Damn it, Ianto,” Jack groaned. “Aren’t you going to—” He broke off, distracted by Ianto’s lips on his earlobe.

“Aren’t I going to what, Jack?”

“Undo – undo my fly. It’s – it’s getting pretty tight down there.”

Ianto smiled into Jack’s neck. “No.”

“No?”

“I already have enough mess to clean up this afternoon.”

“You – you bastard.”

Ianto just chuckled and increased the pressure of his thigh against Jack’s groin. When he sensed that Jack was getting close (the familiar quickening of breath, the flush on his cheeks, a certain dark brightness in his eyes), Ianto cupped his left hand around Jack’s cock, through his trousers, and wedged his right hand in between Jack and the table, letting it slip down into his pants, his fingers teasing at the sensitive skin between Jack’s buttocks, until Jack came, shuddering, groaning into Ianto’s ear.

Ianto didn’t even wait for Jack to catch his breath before he deftly undid the graske’s bonds. Jack started to slide down the tabletop, rolling his shoulders to ease his stiff joints, eventually allowing himself to sit down gently on the floor.

Ianto smiled, and stood in front of him, stopwatch in his hand. “Okay, Jack. You have two minutes to rest and clean yourself up. Then it’s my turn.”

Re: Torchwood: Jack/Ianto

[lionessvalenti.livejournal.com]

I already mmmm'd over tied up!Jack at you, but I should probably do it again. What I really love here in the familiarity between the two of them and, well, Ianto not wanting to be left out of the action. :D

Had We But World Enough, And Time, Torchwood, Jack/Estelle

[laurab1.livejournal.com]

With the bombs and the sirens, there’s hardly ever enough time for them to do much. To her distinct displeasure, Estelle still hasn’t made love with Jack. She wants to, so very much. When she does, it’ll be her first sexual encounter. They’re fully clothed, lying on their sides on her bed, kissing. But Jack’s got to go, soon, and she’d like something, before he does.

“Jack. Is there anything else we can do?” Estelle asks, when they break for air, more than a little teenage petulance in her voice.

He smiles at her, moves his hand from her cheek and twirls her hair with one of his long fingers. “You bet, sweetheart,” he says, voice low. “C’mere.”

As Jack’s other hand goes to her bottom, firmly pressing them so very intimately together, Estelle’s made aware of how attracted to her Jack is, and she gasps. Encouraging her to lie flat on the bed, he stays pressed close to her, and takes his hand from her bottom. Then, slowly, Jack begins to move against her.

Oh, my! “What’s this called, darling?” Estelle says, when she manages to find her voice.

Jack has to search a little for his own words, but he soon tells her, “This, my gorgeous Estelle, is frottage. From our occupied neighbours’ verb, frotter, to rub. Consensual sexual rubbing between lovers.”

Lovers. Yes. Smiling, Estelle tilts up her hips, and starts rubbing against Jack.

“That’s it, darling,” he replies, smiling back.

“It’ll do until we can actually make love completely naked, Jack.”

He laughs, big and loud. “Hell, yes!”

“Which will be next time we see each other, Captain Harkness.”

“I always did like forceful women, Miss Cole.”

She’s warm, and wet, between her legs. Estelle moves her hand, placing it on Jack’s bottom, taking charge, pressing him firmly against her, once more.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he moans, taking Estelle’s face between his hands, kissing her.

“Was that forceful enough for you, Jack?” she asks.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, chuckling. “Should’ve figured you’d understand so quickly.”

“Indeed, Jack.” Estelle then moves her own hands to Jack’s face. “I know something else the French invented,” she teasingly whispers.

“What might that be?” Jack asks, matching her wicked tone.

“This,” she replies, kissing his lips open, stroking her tongue over his.

They both close their eyes. In the darkness, overcome by sensation, sexual arousal reaching its peak, Estelle sees stars.

“You okay?” Jack asks her, when she opens her eyes again.

“Oh, yes,” she breathes, stretching. “That was wonderful, Jack.”

“You expected anything less, sweetheart?” he teases, kissing her very softly indeed.

“Of course not.”

“Good! Now, I’m sorry, but I gotta go, Estelle.” He lets go of her, and climbs off the bed.

She wishes he didn’t have leave, but she knows he has a job to do. “I understand, Jack Europe needs saving.”

“Yeah, it sure does.” That thought clearly going from his mind, he leans in and kisses her once again. He moves his lips to her ear, and whispers into it, low and seductive: “If you were that sexually responsive fully clothed, I can’t wait to see you in all your naked glory, Estelle Cole. We’ll make love all night, then.”

“Next time, Captain Harkness,” she replies, sneaking a quick kiss of her own. “Next time.”

-end-

Re: Had We But World Enough, And Time, Torchwood, Jack/Estelle

[bugeyedmonster.livejournal.com]

Darn, you! Now I want Jack/Estelle smut, dagnabbit!

Torchwood, Jack/Ianto -- schmoopy porn

[blue-fjords.livejournal.com]

All things considered, it had been a very good wedding.

Only half of Martha and Tom’s guests had needed Retcon-ing, the benefits of having so many Torchwood and UNIT members on your guest list. No one had died and the aliens were apprehended. The wedding cake, though dropped on the floor, had recovered nicely. And, though the wedding band had suffered a nervous breakdown and refused to go on, Ianto had played the piano and Jack had sung. One of Martha’s aunts had gamely contributed a couple of numbers so Jack could dance once with Martha and once with Gwen, but Ianto hadn’t left the bench in hours, excepting a quick trip to the loo and three minutes to stuff a slightly smushed piece of cake in his mouth.
He was still playing the piano now, long after Martha and Tom had retired to their honeymoon suite. Rhys was splayed over a table in the corner, snoring, while Gwen and Martha’s sister cleaned up the antechamber the bridal party had used for costume changes.

Ianto’s long fingers idly stroked the keys, his eyes tracking Jack as he made his way over to him from the empty bar. He’d managed to procure a half empty bottle of whiskey. Ianto struck up a whimsical take on the bridal procession as he drew closer and Jack grinned and twirled before sliding onto the bench next to him. Jack kissed him rather sloppily, using prodigious amounts of tongue and running a hand through his hair. When he finally broke the kiss, Ianto had to reach for the whiskey and took a long swallow.

Jack chuckled into his shoulder, and reached across to the songbook. “Play this one for me?” he asked, sidling even closer.

Ianto swallowed at the title and flexed his fingers, and began to play.

What are you doing the rest of your life?
North and south and east and west of your life?
I have only one request of your life
That you spend it all with me.

Jack sang softly, his breath caressing the shell of Ianto’s ear. He moved his leg around so he was half-straddling Ianto. It was difficult to play the piano with someone so close, but Ianto wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

All the seasons and the times of your days,
All the nickels and the dimes of your days,
Let the reasons and the rhymes of your days,
All begin and end with me.

Jack began moving against him then, and Ianto could feel his cock, hard against his hip. It took every ounce of his will to continue playing the song.

I want to see your face,
In every kind of light,
In fields of gold and
Forests of the night;
And when you stand before
The candles on a cake.
Oh let me be the one to hear
The silent wish you make.

Jack had placed one of his hands on Ianto’s thigh and the other on his opposite hip as he rubbed against him. No one else on Earth could do that and still stay singing perfectly in key, Ianto was firmly convinced.

Those tomorrows waiting deep in your eyes
In the world of love you keep in your eyes,
I’ll awaken what’s asleep in your eyes,
It may take a kiss or two…

Jack was moving faster now, grinding into him, hands rubbing circles on his thigh and hip. Ianto could feel his eyes boring into him, burning with lust and something stronger, and as he moved even closer on the last word, Ianto could also feel him coming, hot against his hip. But there was still one more verse, and Jack wasn’t going to finish it. Ianto sang awkwardly, close to coming himself.

Through all of my life
Summer, winter, spring and fall of my life,
All I ever will recall of my life
Is all of my life with you.

Jack smiled delightedly at him. His hand barely ghosted over Ianto’s clothed cock, but it was enough to send him over the edge.

He craned his neck around to kiss Jack once he had caught his breath. It might be that they were a bit crass, hot sticky messes on the piano bench, coming in their pants at a wedding. But they were in their own tuxedos and their own happiness, and they couldn’t care less what anyone else thought.

All things considered, it had been a very good wedding.

Re: Torchwood, Jack/Ianto -- schmoopy porn

[thrace-adams.livejournal.com]

Oh I liked this...schmoopy pron is the best :)

[oneloveonelight.livejournal.com]

Ohhh, I wish I could have participated, tonight was my kinda sorta birthday party. I would have gotten a lot more action HERE than at my party, that's for sure!

Torchwood: Jack/Ianto - Fun In The Archives Part One

[thrace-adams.livejournal.com]

Jack sat at his desk watching Ianto over the CCTV. He was busy doing whatever it was he did down in the archives. Jack shifted in his seat as he watched Ianto bend and stretch, trousers pulling tight across that delicious Welsh bum. Suddenly, his own trousers felt too tight. He glanced at his watch, grimacing when he realized it was too early to send everyone home. His hand slipped down to his lap as he palmed his growing erection firmly, continuing to watch Ianto on the screen. He almost groaned out loud when Ianto turned to face the camera and Jack saw a smudge of dirt on his cheek.

“Fuck,” he hissed out, slamming his chair back so hard it hit the glass behind him.

Owen barely looked up from the autopsy he was performing when Jack stormed out of his office, flew down the stairs, and disappeared in the direction of the archives without a word.

Tosh blushed as she deftly made a few keystrokes to save what she was sure would prove to be blisteringly hot footage.

Gwen blushed before pushing her chair back away from her desk.

“All right, lunch time. Who’s going to the Pub with me?”

“I will,” Tosh said softly.

“You can count me in,” Owen said, quickly stripping off his gloves, washing his hands, and grabbing his coat.

The three walked out through the cog door without a backwards glance, the sound of Owen’s voice echoing through the empty Hub.

“Figure we got an hour or so with the two of them shagging down there.”

“OWEN!”

***************

Jack grinned when he rounded the corner and saw Ianto bending over dusting his trouser legs off. Quietly he walked up behind him and grasped his hips firmly. He grinned when Ianto straightened up immediately, pushing his arse back into Jack. Jack slid his hands up Ianto’s chest, tweaking one of his nipples through his shirt, loving the shudder of desire that rippled through his lover’s body.

“Just how long have you been watching me, Jack?”

“Long enough,” he growled, he breath caressing Ianto’s ear.

Jack slid his nimble fingers along Ianto’s chest and popped a few buttons on Iannto’s shirt open, slipping his hand inside. Ianto gasped, his head lolling back against Jack’s shoulder as Jack’s fingers pinched his nipple until it peaked. Jack licked up the side of Ianto’s exposed neck, before biting down with just enough pressure to raise a mark right over Ianto’s pulse.

“Oh God, Jack,” Ianto moaned, pushing back into Jack’s hardening erection.

Jack slid his free arm around Ianto’s waist, pulling him tightly against him. He slid his hand down to cup Ianto’s own erection through his wool trousers.

“And just how long have you been thinking about me coming down here?”

Jack could feel Ianto’s blush in the rising heat of the cheek pressed to his neck. He felt the younger man’s cock twitch in his grasp and couldn’t help the smug grin from appearing on his face.

“Long enough, Jack, long enough. Now are you going to fuck me, or did you just come down here to tease?”

“Oh, Ianto Jones, you know I never tease.”

Re: Torchwood: Jack/Ianto - Fun In The Archives Part Two

[thrace-adams.livejournal.com]

Jack stopped playing with his nipple and slid his hand around his waist, holding Ianto firmly against him. Slowly he started to thrust against that round backside, rubbing Ianto’s erection.

“Jack,” Ianto gasped out.

“Ianto,” Jack answered as he spun him around, pinning him to the filing cabinet behind him.

He thrust his tongue into Ianto’s mouth forestalling anymore talking. He slid his thigh between Ianto’s legs, rubbing against the hard shaft he could feel through both of their trousers. His own erection was trapped against Ianto’s thigh and he groaned at the pleasurable pressure.

Jack glided his hands across Ianto’s shoulders and down his arms, clasping their hands together. He raised their joined hands up above Ianto’s head and pressed them against the wall before starting to thrust in earnest. He licked along Ianto’s jaw, down his neck, sucking the skin in again, darkening the mark he’d made just moments ago.

He thrust his hips against Ianto who met him thrust for powerful thrust, both of them grinding their wool-covered cocks against wool-covered thighs. Jack felt Ianto’s hands tighten around his and knew that his lover was close. He slid his mouth back up and thrust his tongue inside, moaning as sensation after sensation rocked his body. He felt his own grasp tighten around Ianto’s hands as their thrusts became erratic and he knew their orgasms weren’t far off.

“Ianto,” he groaned out softly, licking the pliant lips underneath his.

“Jack,” Ianto gasped out, squeezing his hands tighter.

The thrusting became frantic, hard cock pushing desperately against muscled thigh, until both men shuddered, and Jack felt liquid warmth spurting from him. He continued to grind against Ianto, through both their orgasms, only stopping when he felt Ianto’s hands go slack in his own. Ianto continued making a few shallow thrusts until he slumped forward against Jack. Jack grinned against Ianto’s neck, sliding his arms down to his sides, and then wrapping his own around Ianto’s waist and pulling him close.

They stayed like that for several minutes, catching their breath, finally resting their foreheads together. Both of them started to chuckle about the same time.

“What brought that on?”

“You, watching you bending over, trousers stretching across that incredible arse.”

Ianto laughed, “I told you watching me over the CCTV was going to get you into trouble one of these days.”

Jack pulled back and looked at him, a sudden worried look on his face, “Am I in trouble?”

Ianto’s eyes softened a bit. He leaned forward and kissed Jack softly.

“Nope, lucky for you I have an extra set of trousers here.”

Jack started to pout again. Ianto pushed away from the wall, grabbed Jack’s hand and tugged him.

“Come on you, shower now, clean trousers, and maybe if you’re good, you’ll get some fresh
coffee.”

Jack smiled as he followed Ianto to the showers.

“So does being good mean we can’t shower together?”

Torchwood, Jack/Ianto, Ianto/Gwen [Part One]

[lionessvalenti.livejournal.com]

Ianto knelt down and opened up Jack's wool trousers, pulling his cock from his pants. God, it was perfect. Completely hard, the head wet with pre-come, and twitching under his touch. He wanted nothing more than to take the whole thing in his mouth and tease and torture Jack until he was begging to come. But this wasn't the time for that.

Ianto wrapped his hand around Jack's cock and began stroking, slowly at first, but working up to a quick jerk.

"More, more, please," Jack's voice rumbled from above him.

Undignified, but getting the job done, Ianto stopped long enough to spit in his hand and he picked up where he left off, pumping Jack's cock harder, squeezing his balls with his other hand. There weren't any sounds in Ianto's concentration except the slapping of skin against skin, and Jack's quiet moaning.

"Oh, Ianto, Iant-oh!" Jack came hard and before he knew it, Ianto had semen dripping down the front of his jacket. He reached into his pocket for a handkerchief.

"Oops."

Ianto looked up and smiled as he mopped up the spunk. "Don't worry about it. My dry cleaner is used to it. And no one is expecting you to have perfect aim."

"Jack would have perfect aim."

"No, believe it or not, he doesn't. Not all the time." Ianto stood up. "If you need me again, don't hesitate to ask. There's no sense in you being anymore distracted than you are and... well, I don't mind."

There was Jack's grin, Jack's laugh, but it wasn't quite right. There was an embarrassed hesitation that Jack never had. It was like fitting a square peg into a round hole (oh, god, Ianto, don't think round hole).

"I'll try to keep things under control, the best I can, but... well, thank you, Ianto. Really." Jack's hand squeezed his arm and Ianto felt a wave of something, possibly sadness, or loneliness, as Gwen walked away.

Ianto turned, inspecting the spots on his jacket, when he heard a cough. He jumped and looked up. Gwen standing in front of him.

"You startled me," Ianto said. This whole thing was so confusing. He knew in his head how things were, but when he looked at Jack he saw Gwen, and looking at Gwen, he still saw Jack. Especially if he was going to be servicing her. He couldn't completely reprogram his brain in twenty-four hours.

"What were you doing with Gwen?" Jack asked, tilting his new feminine head up toward Ianto.

"Handjob," Ianto replied easily. "It seems being ridiculously oversexed is part of your biological makeup, Jack. Not to mention not sleeping, and probably not dying. Her erection didn't seem to be going away, so she asked me to help. She wasn't going to go to Rhys with this problem, as he's barely coping with this as it is, and apparently there's some major difference in masturbating yourself versus someone else that I don't completely understand. Or she just knew I could get you off in sixty seconds."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Did you have the stopwatch out?"

"Not this time, no."

"I didn't think so. I saw the whole thing. We look good together, did you know that? I was hoping you'd go a bit further. I'd love to watch you fucking me from the outside perspective," Jack said. "We should talk to Gwen about it. Maybe she would like to fuck you, would you be okay with that? You should really at least give her a blowjob, Ianto. If she's going to be in my body, she deserves to experience that."

Ianto forced himself not roll his eyes. He reached for his chair and sat down. He looked up at Jack, but he couldn't help it. He was looking at Gwen.

"I know I love it when you're sucking me off, and you reach around and stick your fingers-"

"Stop it," Ianto snapped. "Please."

Jack's eyes grew wide, looking almost like a parody of Gwen. "Why?"

Re: Torchwood, Jack/Ianto, Ianto/Gwen [Part Two]

[lionessvalenti.livejournal.com]

"Because you're Gwen! You look like Gwen. I don't want to hear Gwen say those things to me. I know it's you, but you still sound and look like her. It's uncomfortable. I know if I had swapped bodies with Gwen, you wouldn't have this problem, but I do."

"Sorry," Jack mumbled grumpily. "I guess this means you won't help me out with my problem. Watching the two of you, I think I've soaked through my knickers."

Ianto smiled. "No, I won't. Even if I - that would be taking advantage of Gwen's body."

"And it's not taking advantage of my body for you to get her a handjob?"

"Please, like you mind. You're getting off on it for Christ's sake."

Jack smiled, looking pleased. "I suppose so. What about you? Did sucking Gwen off get you-"

"That would still be taking advantage of Gwen's body, Jack. I have a moral issue with this. And so does Gwen. And Rhys. And probably Torchwood protocol."

"Torchwood protocol would have Gwen and me both in quarantine until we got this sorted, but considering it's just the three of us, you can't run the show single-handedly." Jack sat down on Ianto's lap, straddling one of his legs. He started rocking slowly. "Is this taking advantage?"

"Of my knee," Ianto replied. Gwen's body was practically weightless on him in a way Jack's body would never be. He placed his hands on the curve of Jack's hips.

Jack grinned Gwen's endearing gap-toothed grin. He ground himself hard against Ianto's thigh, shamelessly humping him. Jack did everything shamelessly. It was surprising and somewhat refreshing to see it on Gwen's face. He leaned forward and kissed Ianto's neck, his soft, stubbleless cheek pressing against Ianto's.

"You seem so big from here," Jack gasped into Ianto's ear. "Your hands are huge, and your shoulders... take off your jacket."

"Jack - this, it's barely right, just... please," Ianto said. He looked around. He didn't want Gwen catching them like this. If it had been any other body, Ianto wouldn't have cared about the moral code. But this was Gwen, she was his friend and there was something in the pit of his stomach that felt so wrong about this, even with the extent of Jack's persuasion. All of it, blowing Gwen, Jack's dry humping, Ianto couldn't deny the whole thing was incredibly arousing.

Jack unzipped his jeans and shoved his down the front of them. He rocked on Ianto's leg and Ianto watched as Gwen's -Jack's- head tilted back and his eyes closed and gasped. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. "The female orgasm exists. Just in case you weren't sure."

Ianto laughed. "Are you satisfied now, Jack?"

He removed his hand from Gwen's jeans and sniffed his fingers. "Mmm. What? Yes, I am." Jack pressed one of Gwen's small hands against bulge in Ianto's trousers. "What about you? I wasn't kidding when I said you seem bigger. I'd love to suck you off like this."

"It would be-"

"Right. I know." Jack sighed. "What about going to the men's room and I watch you masturbate?"

Ianto sighed, too. "I miss you, Jack. I know it's you, but I miss your body - with you in it. We need to fix this, not engage in sexual experimentation."

"We will." Jack ran his hands through Ianto's hair and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "This has happened before, and they fixed it. We'll work it out. You won't get anything done, or at least not done well, with that hard-on, so... trip to the loo?"

"You're hopeless," Ianto said with a smile. "That... that works. It's only your mind that I'd be taking advantage of."

Torchwood/Grey's Anatomy, Owen Harper/Owen Hunt (some Jack/Owen Harper implied)

[coneyislandbaby]

It was as simple as alphabetical room assignments. Owen Harper and Owen Hunt, ending up in the same - rather nice - hotel suite because their respective jobs had sent them to the same - rather boring, all told - conference.

It wasn't like either Owen had spent much time in the room, and they'd fallen into using last names, just to escape confusion on the rare times they were in the same room.

One night, around the middle of the week-long conference, neither had plans for the night, and they ended up in the room.

"Want to get drunk?" Harper asked, "Not so much that we'll be unable to do whatever torture they have in mind for tomorrow, but enough to dull the pain?"

Hunt nodded. "Yeah. Beer okay?"

"Whatever works," Harper said.

Which was how they ended up sprawled over one of the king size beds, two beers under each of their belts, and the third just opened. A six-pack hadn't seemed enough until they'd had two and now they were taking the third very slowly.

"Lost my fiancée," Harper said. "Sometimes it didn't seem like it was worth going on. But life's worth living, you know?"

Hunt nodded. "The things I could tell you, the things I've seen, I don't know if you could handle them. But the spark of life. Yeah."

"Oh I doubt you could shock me," Harper snickered, silently thinking he'd be the one to do the shocking if they got too deep into exchanging stories. He absently moved, and found himself staring at Owen Hunt's crotch. And came up with a way from distracting him from "weirdest stories" - maybe.

"You ever do a guy?" he asked. "Hear lots of stories of guys out there, doesn't mean a thing of course, but a body's a body."

"Yes, but not like that," Hunt answered. "Sometimes, sure, there's the adrenaline rush of 'omg we're alive,' but that's not why. Guys feel different. Hard and soft in different ways. Stronger, sometimes. Just plain good." He raised an eyebrow. "Or is that all you're interested in, debauched stories?"

"I hear enough of those," Harper grinned. "I'm not interested in hearing you talk. Well, not unless you're murmuring filth into my ear as you slide your cock inside me. And yeah. I bloody well am propositioning you and no, it's got nothing to do with the beer. Except maybe hoping you'll hold my cock like you're holding the neck of that bottle."

"Fuck," Hunt moved, put the bottle on the bedstand and took Harper's too. Then he slid his arms around the other man, placing a hard kiss on his lips.

Harper moaned and pressed against Hunt, their cocks meeting through their clothes. He was almost lost in the kisses and imagining what that cock would feel like in him, when he remembered. "Fuck!" not in a good way. "You got any condoms?"

"No, you?" Hunt asked.

"No. Fuck," Harper buried his head in the pillow. "We could go downstairs?" he suggested.

"With raging hard ons?" Hunt chuckled.

"Wouldn't be my first time," Harper admitted, and he couldn't help thrusting against Hunt. "Or..." he looked up, grinning. "Got to say your boxers feel pretty good against me, we could... get off, and then figure out a way to get some condoms. How's that sound?"

"The old-fashioned way, huh?" Hunt pushed a hand between them, grasped their cocks through the thin fabric of their boxers and set a rhythm that had Harper unable to talk, beyond moans. It hadn't been that long for him, but Hunt had a skill he'd only seen in one other man, and he didn't think Hunt had the same background, so he must just be really good.

He knew Hunt was murmuring words, and caught the occasional one, a swear or a soft, "more," and then he seemed to be saying one word. Harper listened and he groaned, loudly, when he realised that Hunt was saying one word.

"Owen!"

And that made Harper come, hard, flooding his boxers, and he didn't know how long after it that he felt a pulse of wet warmth and felt Hunt trembling in his arms.

They lay together, panting, Harper kissing Hunt again. He couldn't get enough of the other man's lips.

"Think we can get the condoms tomorrow?" Hunt asked. "If you want to do this again."

Harper couldn't resist - Jack would be proud. "Who says we'd need condoms to do this again?"

They both laughed. But they did get condoms for tomorrow. Hunt wanted Harper to make good on that promise of letting him inside him.

Re: Torchwood/Grey's Anatomy, Owen Harper/Owen Hunt (some Jack/Owen Harper implied)

[51stcenturyfox.livejournal.com]

Doctor OHs. Brilliant. And getting off with someone with the same first name?

Owen Hunt has great lips. I just looked at a pile of Google images.

Torchwood Jack/Ianto

[lefaym.livejournal.com]

Relief

Jack picked his way through the rubble, his heart pounding and then stopping suddenly when his torch illuminated something that might be – no, it was just a pile of blankets, tattered, singed and torn in the explosion. He resumed his search, picking through broken bricks and charred timber, slabs of concrete and sheets of metal. Fuck – no one could have – Jack swallowed his rising panic, and forced himself to keep looking.

He heard something move behind him, and he turned swiftly, dropping his torch and drawing his gun, pointing it at the source of the noise. A silhouette emerged from the shadows.

“Jack?”

“Ianto?” To his own ears, Jack sounded incredulous, as though he didn’t quite believe it. But then the figure moved out of the shadows and into the light thrown by Jack’s discarded torch, bruised, and battered and covered in dust, but very much alive. “Ianto,” Jack breathed, “I thought – ” Jack, not wanting to admit that he’d been searching for a corpse, and not sure that he could keep his voice from breaking even if he did continue. He returned his gun to its holster and tried again. “I thought you were – ”

“Me too,” said Ianto softly.

“How?”

“There was an old bank safe in the back room, big enough for me to hide in,” Ianto told him. “It protected me from the worst of it.”

“God, Ianto, I – ”

Jack was never sure afterward which one of them had covered the space between them (or perhaps they’d met half-way); all he knew was that suddenly he couldn’t speak anymore because their mouths were pressed together, hungry, bruising, desperate. His hands were in Ianto’s hair, and Ianto’s hands gripped his shoulders tightly, and his breath was so warm, so full of life, brilliant fucking life.

And then Ianto was pushing him backwards onto a large slab of concrete, working at his coat, and then palming him through his trousers for a moment before unbuckling him, unzipping him. Jack lowered his own hands to Ianto’s belt buckle, and undid his fly, and, god, there wasn’t time for anything more than that, no time to remove any more of their clothing, no time for words or gentle caresses. Later – later they would take things slowly, tenderly, carefully – but right now they both needed hard and fast, hot blood and teeth and tongues, cocks rubbing against each other, harder, faster, without stopping, until –

Jack hooked a leg around Ianto’s knee, trying to pull him closer as he felt his orgasm building. Ianto bucked against him, his teeth flashing in the darkness, and Jack let go with a yell, feeling the warmth spreading between them as he came, as Ianto came and then collapsed against him, trembling.

And Jack knew that he was shaking too, as relief coursed through every inch of him. He made a sound that might have been a laugh or a sob, he wasn’t quite sure, and he locked his arms around Ianto’s shoulders as he felt Ianto’s breath tickle his neck.

“I’m not – ” Jack managed – “I’m not ready to lose you, yet.”

For a moment Ianto didn’t respond, but then he lifted his head, and placed a kiss on Jack’s jaw-line, just below his ear. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m still here.”

“I know,” said Jack.

Re: Torchwood Jack/Ianto

[paragraphs.livejournal.com]

Oh much love for this one. Sniff.

Doctor Who, Martha Jones/Lucy Saxon

[coneyislandbaby]

It had taken a long time. Lucy had needed a lot of therapy, and Martha had wondered at times if she would ever be completely healthy enough to come out into the world again. But she had been declared sane and healthy, and tonight was her first party.

Martha held Lucy's hand, and her other hand rested on Lucy's neck, lightly stroking the necklace that was taking the place of Lucy's thicker collar, as it would for use outside of their home.

"I owe so much of tonight to you, Mistress," Lucy whispered in Martha's ear as they made their way into the party. The world knew that Dr Martha Jones and her fiancé, Tom, were Lucy's lovers. But they didn't know the nature of the relationship, or that Tom hadn't become Lucy's lover in the physical sense yet, because Lucy was still too fragile after what the Master had done to her. But the love was there, even if, right now, Martha was the only one she could express it with in every sense.

"If you didn't have the strength to be here, you wouldn't," Martha said. "But you are doing wonderfully, my beautiful girl." She smiled and nodded at several important people, and eventually they found themselves in a quiet corner, Tom standing in front of them so Lucy could have a moment of privacy.

"I'm doing better than I thought," she whispered to Martha. "But I still feel fragile."

"That's understandable," Martha said, her arms around Lucy, her lips at her girl's ear. 'If it's too much, we can go home. I doubt more than a few of our guests would even notice."

Tom snorted with laughter at that, she wasn't wrong.

"I want to dance with you," Lucy said. "Please, Mistress. Then perhaps we can go?"

Martha nodded. She murmured to Tom for him to go up to the DJ and ask for a song for a slow dance, and she took Lucy's hand again. "Ready, darling?" she asked her.

"Always for you, Mistress," Lucy answered, and she smiled as the song started. "Celine Dion, my favourite." She smiled as the notes wrapped around them, then Martha's arms wrapped around her. They twirled around the dancefloor, the fabric of their dresses moving as smoothly as their skin did when they made love.

The only person they were aware of was Tom, smiling on them. Martha acknowledged him, and she widened her eyes for a moment when the Doctor looked in and smiled at her widely, but he was gone on the next turn, and she wondered if he had been there at all. But she couldn't concentrate on that and Lucy, and Lucy was far more important. She danced Lucy into another corner, behind Tom again, and held her close as the final notes of the song played. She'd noticed Lucy's breathing getting heavier, and Martha wanted to be sure she was all right.

"Are you okay?" Martha asked, slipping a hand up to cup Lucy's cheek.

"I'm fine," Lucy whispered. "Better than fine. Being in your arms, the music. I... Mistress, I'm turned on. So much." She blushed.

"Oh," Martha smiled. This she could handle. She leaned in for a long kiss. "Maybe it's time now for us to go home?" she whispered.

"I... Mistress, I need you now," Lucy was shaking in Martha's arms. "Please. I need your touch."

Martha swallowed. She knew that if anyone actually saw, this could be very dangerous.

"I'll keep a look out," Tom said. "You look after our girl."

Martha nodded, and pressed her lips to Lucy's. Luckily she knew ways to get her off fast. They certainly couldn't waste time right now. One hand cupping Lucy's breast, the other up under her skirt, and Martha gasped at the wetness she found, the swollen needy clit difficult to find through the fabric at first, but after a moment, and a particular whimper from Lucy's lips, and she knew she'd found it. Long, quick strokes, through the tiny scrap of material that was Lucy's panties, and soon Martha felt her quiver and come, coating Martha's fingers, which she licked off, slowly, watching Lucy's eyes as she did so.

"Now I'm taking you home," Martha said, with a smile. "And you're going to show me just how grateful you are to me for not making you wait."

Re: Doctor Who, Martha Jones/Lucy Saxon

[51stcenturyfox.livejournal.com]

Thank you for bringing femslash to the bash. I can really see Lucy in this scenario/relationship. And I love dancing in fic.

Torchwood/X-Files, Krycek/Ianto

[cruentum.livejournal.com]

Couldn't walk away before giving 51centuryfox some XF

Gone are the times of secret signals, when the new cool kids operate out of a base with their own monument and a tourist office for a front. This isn't Moscow that has you slinking along the Moskva river and waiting to go black before you fish a message out of a garbage bin. This is Cardiff in broad mid-July sunlight, children dancing around him as he brushes past them, and he doesn't know why he got stuck with this one, when something in DC went haywire and Mulder is off on another rampage around the country, chasing red herrings like candy.

The CCTV swivel follows him, then he steps into the tourist office. A kid in a suit closes his magazine, looks up. One of his hands disappears under the counter, a camera clicks to the side.

"How may I-" the kid starts.

"Take me to your leader." He drawls the words, eyes rolling.

The kid glances about.

"Look," he steps closer, hand on the counter and leans up into the kid's face. "I don't have time for the bullshit. Torchwood is the new pet project, fine, I'll be laughing my ass off when you get fucked over like everyone else, but for now just call your boss here before I go get him myself, and that wouldn't be pretty."

The kid leans forward, too. "I have no idea what you are talking about." He smiles.

His face tightens. "No. Really." He pulls the Glock with ease and points it at the kid. "I don't have time to fuck around."

The kid backs away, brows furrowed, playing for confusion. "Who are you?"

"Michael," he responds smoothly as he presses the kid up against a wall, bodies tight, the muzzle of the gun under the kid's throat as thighs and hips hold the kid in place. "Is he watching right now?" he whispers into the kid's ear and pushes his crotch hard against the kid's, hooks his foot around one of the kid's ankles to pull him off-balance just enough to shift them groin to groin. The kid gasps. His own gasp is swallowed into half a groan.

"I-"

"Does he let all his employees get eaten by big bad wolves?" He clicks the safety off the gun, nudges the kid with it. "Just making sure, yeah?" He's hard, like a teenager, just brushing against the kid's hip and the kid responds in kind, mouth open and eyes closed and muscles of his thighs trembling underneath as he tries to jerk away and jerk closer. "Like that." He rubs his crotch along the kid's, hisses when they touch. "Think you can come like this? Torchwood jizzes in their pants." He smirks, and pushes hard against him as the kid does the same, eyes open and watching, half-voiced groans and hot breath between them. The kid slides a hand between them and squeezes. He jerks.

"No, really, enough of that now." The voice rings through the tourist office, American accent.

The kid steps sideways, leaving him to scramble for balance as he turns, gun pointed at the guy, and tries to find his voice and the edge of something to hold onto. "Harkness. Took you, what, five minutes?"

"Krycek, is it? The one-armed toy they push around on the board on the off-chance he might become useful again?"

Krycek laughs. "Nice." He stops abruptly, then lowers the gun to his side. "You took something they want back."

"Oh that's it- you're the errand boy, now." Harkness's eyes glint, the smile: all teeth.

Krycek opens his mouth to reply, but then the gun is plucked from his hand. He turns, mouth open.

The kid looks at it, turns it about in his fingers, disassembles the gun, locks the parts into a box.

"Meet Ianto Jones," Harkness says, stepping closer. "Don't tell him I said it," he mock-whispers into Krycek's ear, "but a 'please' goes a long way with him."

The kid smiles pleasantly, looks at Krycek's crotch, then back up at his face again. "Don't think I was the one to 'jizz in my pants'." He reaches under the desk, and a door slides open.

"Welcome to Torchwood," Harkness says and gestures for Krycek to walk ahead of him.

This isn't Moscow, this is Cardiff, and it shows.

Re: Torchwood/X-Files, Krycek/Ianto

[blue-fjords.livejournal.com]

Oh, Krycek. How you've been missed.
And how awesome was Ianto in this? Ha! He doesn't jizz in his pants for just anybody.

TW: Jack/Ianto (Wake Me Up Next Time)

[dvanulya.livejournal.com]

(This is part of a sequel to Tonight's Performance. Re-cap: Jack was exhausted, so Ianto took care of him.)


Wake Me Up Next Time

The almond scent of the oil was stronger when it was warmed – strong enough to wake Jack from a deep sleep. He was disoriented for an instant, only sure that he was lying on his side in his own bed, a testament to his exhaustion. Normally, he would have been wide awake and very alert the second a hard cock began to grind against his backside. Certainly he would have been aware even of a hand gripping his shoulder to hold him in place, of a hand separating his buttocks, of hips snugging up behind his, of an oil-slicked dick sliding hotly in his cleft, head pressing promisingly at his asshole before slipping on by. He was quite certain that none of that had been happening when he had fallen asleep.

“Ianto?”

“I will not,” Ianto commented calmly behind him, “wonder why you would present that as a question.”

The hand on his shoulder tightened while the one on his ass pressed down to make a tighter channel for Ianto’s cock to slide through. The glory that was Jack Harkness’s ass was softer, more pliable, than it looked, and as much as Ianto loved being buried inside his lover, right now he was more than happy to rub off between those firm, perfect cheeks.

“Fuck,” Jack groaned and arched his back, pushing harder into Ianto’s groin. He reached his right hand back to grab at Ianto’s ass, felt the flex of muscles tensing, releasing, tensing again.

“Jack,” Ianto growled. It sounded like a warning. Or a plea.

Jack moaned in encouragement and tipped his head back, twisting to try to reach far enough to kiss Ianto. He succeeded, but just barely, and their lips merely brushed, frustratingly, so they had to content themselves with tongues seeking and finding flesh or teeth. Both men were breathing heavily, gasping into each other’s mouths.

All Jack could think about was how the hard, slick cock felt grinding against him, and how much he wanted to grind his against Ianto.

Later.

Soon.

Now.

And then Ianto pushed him away. Jack looked back, mouth open, eyes glazed with lust, but Ianto had stopped moving, was looking elsewhere – down to where his cock was nestled in the perfection that was Jack’s ass.

“Jack?” His voice was a harsh whisper as he slid his hand from Jack’s shoulder down to his other hip, gripping them both firmly.

“Yeah?”

“I. Love.” He slid up and back. “Your. Ass.” And he was coming, spurting hotly on and between Jack’s buttocks, slicking his empty asshole, painting his ass with wet heat.

Jack moaned, low and soft, but lay there still, listening. Ianto was silent for a long while, and Jack began to worry. Just a little.

“Sorry,” Ianto whispered into the damp skin between Jack’s shoulder blades. “You were sleeping.”

Then Jack did move, sliding to the side and rolling to face Ianto, who seemed unwiilling to chat.

“Any time, Ianto. Next time, though…”

“I know. Wake you up.” He smiled.

“Yes, please.”

“Maybe.” Ianto murmured and leaned closer to give Jack a thorough, leisurely kiss.

He could live with maybe.

Re: TW: Jack/Ianto (Wake Me Up Next Time)

[51stcenturyfox.livejournal.com]

HOLY GOD. I've died AGAIN.

“Ianto?”

“I will not,” Ianto commented calmly behind him, “wonder why you would present that as a question.”

Slain from that. And I love Jack's ass too.

Torchwood, Ianto/Tosh [1/2]

[cruentum.livejournal.com]

might end up reposting this to my LJ, not sure yet

Jack was watching her from the boardroom when Tosh stepped back into the Hub a few minutes later. She looked at him, then down at her feet. Owen was tinkering with something in the medbay and Gwen was at her station. She reached up to around her neck, but it was gone, and the world around her was as silent as before. Only now, she knew the whispers there were, just not spoken.

Tosh walked across the Hub floor, took the steps to levels deeper underground than this. Uncertain, she paused at doors to archives and vaults, not sure what she was looking for except time and more time and something that wasn't Torchwood. The communal showers were rarely used by any of them, what for when they had their flats to go home to, but they were there for a bit of time away, with water or not, and no-one heard your voice echoing off the tiles when you talked to yourself.

She pushed the door open. One of the showers was on, the sounds of water and someone underneath. The mirrors above the basins were foggy, and she had an apology on her lips, sorry to disturb, when the figure standing under the shower turned, looked right at her.

Tosh looked back at him.

Ianto had a hand on the shower controls, the other slipped down to cup himself. He turned off the water, rubbed his face on his shoulder to keep the shampoo from running into his eyes. "Tosh?"

Handle of that door in her hand, she shifted her weight. "Yes, I'm- I'm sorry, I didn't realize-"

"It's-" Ianto shrugged, "it's okay. Really." He looked down himself, and back at Tosh. Soapy suds ran down the side of his face. He squinted at her. He gestured with his body, a little awkward and like he hadn't had anyone look at him naked in too long. "I'm just going to finish up, then you- it's free then."

He nodded at her and turned the shower back on, and Tosh nodded at his back as he stepped under even if he couldn't see her. The sound of water filled the room and she stepped in because it was warm, and because it was human and the door closing wasn't even audible. She leaned against the door, drew her arms around herself as she watched him then looked down, to protect against that feeling in her guts, something torn apart and torn away.

She was supposed to pick up the pieces and put them back together, but how long before you lost something you could never get back?

"Tosh."

She looked up and found him looking at her, standing under the water.

"Come here?" he said, and the word caught on an inflection, turned into a question mark that echoed.

Torchwood, Ianto/Tosh [2/2]

[cruentum.livejournal.com]

A second, and another, passed, and his shoulders slumped, had him turning away. How long before you lost too much? She pushed off the door and walked to him, jacket and shoes and all while he was watching, until the first water droplets reached her.

She looked at the tiles between them, at his feet and dark hair curling along shins and calves. "It hurts," she said, swallowed anything else in a shrug. "How do you-"

He stepped closer, the wet sounds of his feet on the tiles, reached up and pushed her jacket off her shoulders. It dropped to the floor.

She looked up at him.

He shook his head. "It hurts," he said, and his fingers clench into the fabric of her shirt.

She took a step closer until her knee-clad jeans brushed against his bare skin. His fingers smoothed up her shirt, up her side and to her shoulder, and then he was cupping her face, looking at her.

"I can't," he said, and brushed his thumb over her lips as he shifted closer.

She shook her head because she couldn't either, because those memories had been reality just hours ago. Looking at him, it hurt to think what it could become, and she didn't want to hurt, not like that, and didn't want him to hurt, like that, or any way, either.

"Let me," she murmured.

She stepped in and pulled him closer, arm around his back and her face fit against his shoulder. The water off his skin and still falling from the shower soaked her clothes, and it felt real, something that was touching her skin, like this. She rocked into him a little, and he hissed into her ear but pushed back, shifted them both around until her back was against the wall; right there, and steady, and it wouldn't move for anything.

His body was warm, and he slipped an arm around her to pull her close, pull himself closer. His cock was hard as it pushed against her hip, she didn't need to look down for that, and his knees slightly bent. Her arms around him she pulled him closer and rocked her hips up into his. He was crying, and maybe she was crying, too, but they had this, when Torchwood had taken everything else from them.

Movement, and thrusts and bodies warm and willing and right there, chasing memories like mayflies on their skin, until they slowed. He was still hard, and she was wet, but the shower had turned cold. He pushed away from the wall, away from her.

"I'm sorry," he said, "for-" and he nodded up towards the ceiling.

"As am I, for Lisa," she said.

He flinched, but when he nodded it hurt less in her and when he smiled it looked like it hurt less in him, too.

She straightened off the wall, pulled on her sodden clothes. "Have to take a shower now, I suppose," she said, not quite sure if they are the right words.

He nodded.

Left to pick up the pieces, sometime you have to shape them into something you haven't seen before, just to make them fit.