The first thing Gwen becomes aware of is pleasure. Intense and completely hedonistic, originating between her legs and spreading out throughout her entire body in little delightful currents.
Next, she becomes aware of sound. Moans – breathy, loud, uninhibited and hers.
But not just hers.
There are also the occasional grunt, and low, hoarse groans that sound nothing like Rhys.
She opens her eyes.
Ianto is beneath her. On his back, naked, eyes tightly shut and face drawn almost as if he’s in pain. She’s straddling him, moving up and down on his cock slowly, rhythmically. Ianto’s hands have a tight grip on her hips, and he thrusts up to meet her on every stroke. It feels bloody fantastic.
They’re in Jack’s office, behind the desk, and as she looks around, following the trail of discarded clothes across the floor, to try and understand how they ended up in this position, her eyes fall on a the small puddle and fragments of the broken pheromone spray bottle, right underneath the still-open safe.
Right.
Jack was away on a meeting, and they had a little accident.
As more senses start coming back, she realizes she can still smell the pheromone in the air, sweet and fruity. She remembers Owen’s explanation. “Human become desensitized after a prolonged exposure, and because some areas of the brain become desensitized before other areas, you actually regain control of your actions even as your body continues to demand sexual gratification. Talk about an exercise in self control.”
Gwen whimpers, then cries out as a particularly well-angled thrust sends her into another orgasm.
Fuck, they were in so much trouble.
When she recovers a little, she looks at clock on the wall. They’ve been at it for hours, but for some reason, probably due to even more pheromone side-effects, she’s not feeling the least bit sore.
Ianto’s movements inside her slow down a fraction, and as she looks down she finds him watching her, his eyes wide with returning clarity.
“I… Do you…?” he asks roughly.
His hips, like hers, seem to keep moving of their own volition.
She nods at him. “Don’t even think about stopping. I’ll bloody kill you if you do.”
Ianto makes a sudden move, rolling sideways and flipping their positions without ever disentangling their bodies. Now Gwen’s back is pressed against the cold floor, and Ianto runs his hand down the curve of her ass, along her thigh, to hook behind her right knee. He pulls her leg up, so her thigh is nearly pressed against her chest. His next thrust pushes him impossibly deep into her, and they both cry out at the sensation.
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Torchwood Ianto/Gwen
Date: 2009-05-16 06:44 pm (UTC)Next, she becomes aware of sound. Moans – breathy, loud, uninhibited and hers.
But not just hers.
There are also the occasional grunt, and low, hoarse groans that sound nothing like Rhys.
She opens her eyes.
Ianto is beneath her. On his back, naked, eyes tightly shut and face drawn almost as if he’s in pain. She’s straddling him, moving up and down on his cock slowly, rhythmically. Ianto’s hands have a tight grip on her hips, and he thrusts up to meet her on every stroke. It feels bloody fantastic.
They’re in Jack’s office, behind the desk, and as she looks around, following the trail of discarded clothes across the floor, to try and understand how they ended up in this position, her eyes fall on a the small puddle and fragments of the broken pheromone spray bottle, right underneath the still-open safe.
Right.
Jack was away on a meeting, and they had a little accident.
As more senses start coming back, she realizes she can still smell the pheromone in the air, sweet and fruity. She remembers Owen’s explanation. “Human become desensitized after a prolonged exposure, and because some areas of the brain become desensitized before other areas, you actually regain control of your actions even as your body continues to demand sexual gratification. Talk about an exercise in self control.”
Gwen whimpers, then cries out as a particularly well-angled thrust sends her into another orgasm.
Fuck, they were in so much trouble.
When she recovers a little, she looks at clock on the wall. They’ve been at it for hours, but for some reason, probably due to even more pheromone side-effects, she’s not feeling the least bit sore.
Ianto’s movements inside her slow down a fraction, and as she looks down she finds him watching her, his eyes wide with returning clarity.
“I… Do you…?” he asks roughly.
His hips, like hers, seem to keep moving of their own volition.
She nods at him. “Don’t even think about stopping. I’ll bloody kill you if you do.”
Ianto makes a sudden move, rolling sideways and flipping their positions without ever disentangling their bodies. Now Gwen’s back is pressed against the cold floor, and Ianto runs his hand down the curve of her ass, along her thigh, to hook behind her right knee. He pulls her leg up, so her thigh is nearly pressed against her chest. His next thrust pushes him impossibly deep into her, and they both cry out at the sensation.
“Not stopping,” he manages to gasp out.
Gwen arches her back and moans loudly.
They were both going to hell.
---
This is sort of a prequel to my fic "Call it what you will" found here: http://marita-c.livejournal.com/19443.html