Fic: "Initial Velocity" Jack/Ianto NC-17
Apr. 7th, 2009 11:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
51stcenturyfoxTitle: Initial Velocity
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
51stcenturyfox
Pairing: Jack/Ianto,
Wordcount: 1,885
Summary: Everyone else has left the Hub for the evening...
Rating: NC-17 for sex + language
A/N: This is the follow-up story to Desk Set
Follows Desk Set
Alone at his workstation again, Ianto swallows hard and feels the snug tickle of knotted tie at his Adam's apple. A reassuring thing, these clothes. Armour, in a way.
What the hell was that?
He wonders if maybe Jack has just run a fingertip down the staff roster printout to finally land on J. J for Jones, Ianto.
He'd known it was coming. Intellectually, at least, though there hadn't been anything improper since he'd been hired on. Well, comments here and there. But Jack said suggestive things to every one of them, constantly. They all laughed them off.
But hadn't he banked on this when he'd... accidentally met Jack in the first place?
Being prepared for something is really not the same thing as... being prepared for something, he thinks... and laughs silently, remembering his debut ride on a rollercoaster. Everyone knows what rollercoasters do and has seen the view from the front seat in films, even. But being upside-down for the first time was different than he'd imagined it would be.
This seems to be true, too, for the first time Jack Harkness gets you off.
The computer's tiny digits read 20:11 and the Hub has been silent for over an hour. Suzie and Owen had filed through the door together, laughing. Tosh had left a bit later, gathering her laptop bag and granting Ianto a sliver of a smile on the way out.
Ianto loosens the tie, flips the cap off a bottle of beer with the opener tied to the refrigerator door handle with a cord and takes a deep pull.
He's never been with a man before. Well. In university, once. Sort of. A few weeks before the end of term, there had been a night of watching World Cup highlights over too many cans of lager. His flatmate at the time had ended up with his head in Ianto's lap and when he'd drunkenly scrabbled for the zip Ianto hadn't stopped him. He'd just tipped his head back on the lumpy treillage-patterned settee and studied the blurry swirls of plaster work on the ceiling until he shut his eyes hard and came.
It had happened just the one time - and they'd both wordlessly agreed that it actually hadn't.
Ianto was fairly certain that whatever Jack's plans might be, blowing him while he reclines on the sofa with a beer in one hand pretending a girl's lips were doing the work isn't on the agenda.
The thing was... he didn't plan to pretend.
I could just go home, Ianto thinks. He is fairly certain he won't be sacked for backing out.
"Nerves," he could say apologetically tomorrow, as he hands Jack his morning mug.
Since he'd been here. Since Lisa... he'd pushed thoughts of other women out of his mind. He'd turned down Suzie's probably platonic offer of a dinner out and had averted his eyes from Tosh's pretty backside when she'd bend over to pick something up, skirt tight, one leg kicked back.
He'd head home to his flat, late at night, exhausted. When he wanked it was a purely mechanical- or- biological motion, like having a shower or eating a bowl of soup.
Until his second week at Torchwood 3, when he'd been standing beside Jack waiting for signatures on some documents ready for filing in the archives. He'd inhaled sandalwood soap and the other indefinably arousing components of Jack's aura as he watched his boss trace over the sheets with one hand, grip a fountain pen with the other and sign with a flourish.
And that night, when Ianto was in his flat, in bed alone with the volume turned down on the television as the residents in the Big Brother house slept, he'd thought about those hands and moaned Jack's name as he brought himself off.
The next day, he'd wondered whether the evidence of his thoughts was written all over his face.
Ianto notices a shift in the light and glances up mid-swig to see Jack looking down at him from the upstairs window - expression unreadable, hands in pockets. He turns to the side and Ianto watches as he pulls down his braces.
Has anyone ever said. "Thanks, but no thanks" to Jack Harkness? When the proposition was more than just an offhand joke over a carton of king prawns in chilli sauce?
Ianto polishes off the beer, grabs two more, opens them and heads upstairs.
Jack is sitting on the sofa in trousers and a t-shirt, unlacing his shoes. His braces are still attached but falling to the sides. He looks up, eyes expectant, and smiles.
He accepts the proffered bottle of beer, glances at the label and places it on the small table next to the sofa.
Ianto notches a finger under his loosened tie and pulls the fabric free with a soft slllllllitch. He's thinking. Thinking too much about what's supposed to happen next. Because he really isn't certain what will.
In between work and sleep there is taking care of Lisa. Research, taking care of Lisa. Trying to connect with the Lisa trapped inside the metal. And rarely, there was a night at his local, making small talk with a couple of other men who worked round the corner and would drink late on Fridays.
One night there had been a woman - a friend of theirs - petite and blond. Eleanor or Alison or something. She'd bought him a shot to go with the round when it was her turn to buy - and then touched his arm before they'd toasted and his thigh after.
In her eyes there was an invitation. It was unmistakable this time, but he wondered what he normally missed. Subtle desire was a code he couldn't read anymore, with Lisa gone. No, not gone, but ...
"Sorry. There's someone..."
"Oh, you've got a girlfriend?"
"Something like that."
Jack's desire isn't subtle. In the space of a day his demeanour towards Ianto has moved from managerial indifference to full-on attention - and the swift shift has left Ianto almost unable to process the change.
This morning Jack hadn't even looked up or thanked him for breakfast and two requested files, and this afternoon he'd clutched Ianto from behind and brought him off where he stood.
And tonight Jack is standing up and unbuttoning his shirt, pressing his lips to a bared spot on the side of his neck, running one hand under the white undershirt he's wearing to the muscles of his back and pulling him forward with the other.
Ianto feels Jack against him. Hard already. He closes his eyes.
Okay. Yes. Yes, we're doing this. Whatever it is we're doing.
He wraps his own arms around Jack at the waist, pulls him in tight.
And suddenly he is on the sofa beneath his boss wearing just trousers and socks and Jack's breath is hot in his ear. Ianto tugs upward and pulls Jack's t-shirt up and together they work it over his head. The warm, firm flesh against his own chest is unexpected. Jack is so... male. Ianto hadn't figured this bit into the equation - being pressed skin-to-skin with Jack. It's good. Different. Good.
Almost as good as the way Jack is kissing him. Slow and deep and wet. Exploring the contours of his mouth more gently than he expects.
Ianto grips his shoulders and pulls him closer, then smooths a hand down the expanse of Jack's back to his ass and tightens his fingers around the curve. Jack inhales through clenched teeth and shifts to bring one hand down to Ianto's zip.
Jack speaks for the first time: "Too many... trousers," he murmurs, between kisses, making Ianto smile before he can gasp a reply.
"Yes," he manages. "Too many," because Jack is now smoothing the back of his knuckles lightly against his fly and there's nothing he wants more than those fingers, that hand, on his skin.
The fingers wrap around him through the wool and he's moaning into Jack's mouth - even before they reach for the belt clasp and button and zip and he realises he should probably help. He reaches down but Jack is on his knees, pulling Ianto's trousers halfway down his thighs. His boxers are in a gym bag under his desk after this afternoon.
This afternoon. When Jack had brought him off right through the layer of cotton, not even touching flesh.
"Nice, very nice," Jack pauses to say, just before he lowers his head and slides his tongue along the underside of Ianto's very hard cock.
"Oh... God." Ianto isn't imagining anyone else's lips as he lifts his head off the armrest to watch himself disappear slowly into Jack's mouth. It's so warm. Warm and wet and his eyes are closed and he's making sounds in his throat as he draws Ianto in slow and deep and back out. He bucks as Jack's tongue smooths along the head and he feels a tug and sudden suction.
He looks down and sees Jack's cheeks form hollows as his own hands form into fists.
"Fuck," he says, and Jack moans in reply, one hand sliding flat up against his torso, stopping to smooth against a nipple just before he pinches.
Suddenly Ianto's cock, stiff and damp, cools as Jack drops a leg to the floor, half-stands, unfastens his own trousers and swings his other leg over to pull them off, dragging his socks off as well, before squatting at the opposite end of the sofa and pulling Ianto's legs free.
"Gonna feel good," Jack says and all Ianto can do is nod and watch Jack move and God, he's fucking... beautiful stem to stern and reposition himself, this time between his knees - as he reaches for his trousers on the floor, pulls something from the pockets.
Ianto closes his eyes as Jack's hand wraps around him again at the root and he feels himself tense as fingers dip beneath his balls and slide slick against the tender skin beneath.
Jack stops and his shoulder muscles tense in reply under Ianto's hand, and then Jack is pressing his chest to the side of his again and seeking his mouth out with his own, gripping both of them together with a large, slick hand - stroking harder as he builds up a rhythm so frantic and perfect it's nearly painful as he grinds with his hips.
Ianto comes first, with a tight, hard gasp, holding fast to the muscular side of Jack's back. Jack lets him go and keeps stroking until he follows with a moan and collapses, head down, forehead hot and damp against his shoulder.
Jack pushes up with one arm, drags a finger through the mingled fluids on Ianto's belly before sliding up against him and covering his mouth with his own.
"I thought you were... that you wanted," Ianto says, still panting, as Jack shifts to suck a kiss into his jawline.
Jack laughs against his neck. "To what? To deflower you?"
Ianto is quiet.
"What?" Jack says, still laughing at his own joke. "You've never done that before, have you?"
"No."
"Thought so. No rush, right?" Jack's eyes are half-closed but watching him closely.
Ianto realises he'd been holding his breath. "No, no rush."
"Another day. Or maybe you'd rather fuck me first, huh?" Jack whispers, and grins as Ianto shudders beneath him.
Seconds later, Jack is passing him a handkerchief and reaching for his clothes.
Unsure what to say as he finds his own and begins to dress, Ianto realises he's still never addressed Jack by his first name.
More stories here
Author:
51stcenturyfox Pairing: Jack/Ianto,
Wordcount: 1,885
Summary: Everyone else has left the Hub for the evening...
Rating: NC-17 for sex + language
A/N: This is the follow-up story to Desk Set
Follows Desk Set
Alone at his workstation again, Ianto swallows hard and feels the snug tickle of knotted tie at his Adam's apple. A reassuring thing, these clothes. Armour, in a way.
What the hell was that?
He wonders if maybe Jack has just run a fingertip down the staff roster printout to finally land on J. J for Jones, Ianto.
He'd known it was coming. Intellectually, at least, though there hadn't been anything improper since he'd been hired on. Well, comments here and there. But Jack said suggestive things to every one of them, constantly. They all laughed them off.
But hadn't he banked on this when he'd... accidentally met Jack in the first place?
Being prepared for something is really not the same thing as... being prepared for something, he thinks... and laughs silently, remembering his debut ride on a rollercoaster. Everyone knows what rollercoasters do and has seen the view from the front seat in films, even. But being upside-down for the first time was different than he'd imagined it would be.
This seems to be true, too, for the first time Jack Harkness gets you off.
The computer's tiny digits read 20:11 and the Hub has been silent for over an hour. Suzie and Owen had filed through the door together, laughing. Tosh had left a bit later, gathering her laptop bag and granting Ianto a sliver of a smile on the way out.
Ianto loosens the tie, flips the cap off a bottle of beer with the opener tied to the refrigerator door handle with a cord and takes a deep pull.
He's never been with a man before. Well. In university, once. Sort of. A few weeks before the end of term, there had been a night of watching World Cup highlights over too many cans of lager. His flatmate at the time had ended up with his head in Ianto's lap and when he'd drunkenly scrabbled for the zip Ianto hadn't stopped him. He'd just tipped his head back on the lumpy treillage-patterned settee and studied the blurry swirls of plaster work on the ceiling until he shut his eyes hard and came.
It had happened just the one time - and they'd both wordlessly agreed that it actually hadn't.
Ianto was fairly certain that whatever Jack's plans might be, blowing him while he reclines on the sofa with a beer in one hand pretending a girl's lips were doing the work isn't on the agenda.
The thing was... he didn't plan to pretend.
I could just go home, Ianto thinks. He is fairly certain he won't be sacked for backing out.
"Nerves," he could say apologetically tomorrow, as he hands Jack his morning mug.
Since he'd been here. Since Lisa... he'd pushed thoughts of other women out of his mind. He'd turned down Suzie's probably platonic offer of a dinner out and had averted his eyes from Tosh's pretty backside when she'd bend over to pick something up, skirt tight, one leg kicked back.
He'd head home to his flat, late at night, exhausted. When he wanked it was a purely mechanical- or- biological motion, like having a shower or eating a bowl of soup.
Until his second week at Torchwood 3, when he'd been standing beside Jack waiting for signatures on some documents ready for filing in the archives. He'd inhaled sandalwood soap and the other indefinably arousing components of Jack's aura as he watched his boss trace over the sheets with one hand, grip a fountain pen with the other and sign with a flourish.
And that night, when Ianto was in his flat, in bed alone with the volume turned down on the television as the residents in the Big Brother house slept, he'd thought about those hands and moaned Jack's name as he brought himself off.
The next day, he'd wondered whether the evidence of his thoughts was written all over his face.
Ianto notices a shift in the light and glances up mid-swig to see Jack looking down at him from the upstairs window - expression unreadable, hands in pockets. He turns to the side and Ianto watches as he pulls down his braces.
Has anyone ever said. "Thanks, but no thanks" to Jack Harkness? When the proposition was more than just an offhand joke over a carton of king prawns in chilli sauce?
Ianto polishes off the beer, grabs two more, opens them and heads upstairs.
Jack is sitting on the sofa in trousers and a t-shirt, unlacing his shoes. His braces are still attached but falling to the sides. He looks up, eyes expectant, and smiles.
He accepts the proffered bottle of beer, glances at the label and places it on the small table next to the sofa.
Ianto notches a finger under his loosened tie and pulls the fabric free with a soft slllllllitch. He's thinking. Thinking too much about what's supposed to happen next. Because he really isn't certain what will.
In between work and sleep there is taking care of Lisa. Research, taking care of Lisa. Trying to connect with the Lisa trapped inside the metal. And rarely, there was a night at his local, making small talk with a couple of other men who worked round the corner and would drink late on Fridays.
One night there had been a woman - a friend of theirs - petite and blond. Eleanor or Alison or something. She'd bought him a shot to go with the round when it was her turn to buy - and then touched his arm before they'd toasted and his thigh after.
In her eyes there was an invitation. It was unmistakable this time, but he wondered what he normally missed. Subtle desire was a code he couldn't read anymore, with Lisa gone. No, not gone, but ...
"Sorry. There's someone..."
"Oh, you've got a girlfriend?"
"Something like that."
Jack's desire isn't subtle. In the space of a day his demeanour towards Ianto has moved from managerial indifference to full-on attention - and the swift shift has left Ianto almost unable to process the change.
This morning Jack hadn't even looked up or thanked him for breakfast and two requested files, and this afternoon he'd clutched Ianto from behind and brought him off where he stood.
And tonight Jack is standing up and unbuttoning his shirt, pressing his lips to a bared spot on the side of his neck, running one hand under the white undershirt he's wearing to the muscles of his back and pulling him forward with the other.
Ianto feels Jack against him. Hard already. He closes his eyes.
Okay. Yes. Yes, we're doing this. Whatever it is we're doing.
He wraps his own arms around Jack at the waist, pulls him in tight.
And suddenly he is on the sofa beneath his boss wearing just trousers and socks and Jack's breath is hot in his ear. Ianto tugs upward and pulls Jack's t-shirt up and together they work it over his head. The warm, firm flesh against his own chest is unexpected. Jack is so... male. Ianto hadn't figured this bit into the equation - being pressed skin-to-skin with Jack. It's good. Different. Good.
Almost as good as the way Jack is kissing him. Slow and deep and wet. Exploring the contours of his mouth more gently than he expects.
Ianto grips his shoulders and pulls him closer, then smooths a hand down the expanse of Jack's back to his ass and tightens his fingers around the curve. Jack inhales through clenched teeth and shifts to bring one hand down to Ianto's zip.
Jack speaks for the first time: "Too many... trousers," he murmurs, between kisses, making Ianto smile before he can gasp a reply.
"Yes," he manages. "Too many," because Jack is now smoothing the back of his knuckles lightly against his fly and there's nothing he wants more than those fingers, that hand, on his skin.
The fingers wrap around him through the wool and he's moaning into Jack's mouth - even before they reach for the belt clasp and button and zip and he realises he should probably help. He reaches down but Jack is on his knees, pulling Ianto's trousers halfway down his thighs. His boxers are in a gym bag under his desk after this afternoon.
This afternoon. When Jack had brought him off right through the layer of cotton, not even touching flesh.
"Nice, very nice," Jack pauses to say, just before he lowers his head and slides his tongue along the underside of Ianto's very hard cock.
"Oh... God." Ianto isn't imagining anyone else's lips as he lifts his head off the armrest to watch himself disappear slowly into Jack's mouth. It's so warm. Warm and wet and his eyes are closed and he's making sounds in his throat as he draws Ianto in slow and deep and back out. He bucks as Jack's tongue smooths along the head and he feels a tug and sudden suction.
He looks down and sees Jack's cheeks form hollows as his own hands form into fists.
"Fuck," he says, and Jack moans in reply, one hand sliding flat up against his torso, stopping to smooth against a nipple just before he pinches.
Suddenly Ianto's cock, stiff and damp, cools as Jack drops a leg to the floor, half-stands, unfastens his own trousers and swings his other leg over to pull them off, dragging his socks off as well, before squatting at the opposite end of the sofa and pulling Ianto's legs free.
"Gonna feel good," Jack says and all Ianto can do is nod and watch Jack move and God, he's fucking... beautiful stem to stern and reposition himself, this time between his knees - as he reaches for his trousers on the floor, pulls something from the pockets.
Ianto closes his eyes as Jack's hand wraps around him again at the root and he feels himself tense as fingers dip beneath his balls and slide slick against the tender skin beneath.
Jack stops and his shoulder muscles tense in reply under Ianto's hand, and then Jack is pressing his chest to the side of his again and seeking his mouth out with his own, gripping both of them together with a large, slick hand - stroking harder as he builds up a rhythm so frantic and perfect it's nearly painful as he grinds with his hips.
Ianto comes first, with a tight, hard gasp, holding fast to the muscular side of Jack's back. Jack lets him go and keeps stroking until he follows with a moan and collapses, head down, forehead hot and damp against his shoulder.
Jack pushes up with one arm, drags a finger through the mingled fluids on Ianto's belly before sliding up against him and covering his mouth with his own.
"I thought you were... that you wanted," Ianto says, still panting, as Jack shifts to suck a kiss into his jawline.
Jack laughs against his neck. "To what? To deflower you?"
Ianto is quiet.
"What?" Jack says, still laughing at his own joke. "You've never done that before, have you?"
"No."
"Thought so. No rush, right?" Jack's eyes are half-closed but watching him closely.
Ianto realises he'd been holding his breath. "No, no rush."
"Another day. Or maybe you'd rather fuck me first, huh?" Jack whispers, and grins as Ianto shudders beneath him.
Seconds later, Jack is passing him a handkerchief and reaching for his clothes.
Unsure what to say as he finds his own and begins to dress, Ianto realises he's still never addressed Jack by his first name.
More stories here
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Date: 2009-04-08 11:24 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-08 01:52 pm (UTC)