[ sorry, cannot thread properly when anon comments are screened ]
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The tension of the sheet pulled across his knees slackens as Ianto rolls over next to him, and Jack swears as the cotton brushes the tip of his cock like silk and sandpaper; he curls his fist over it protectively.
Ianto's breath is humid and unavoidably present against the cap of Jack's shoulder; he flexes his bicep and feels the sweat in his underarms tug and prickle the skin there.
“Jack,” Ianto mumbles. “What--” And Jack can feel the sudden tightening of the body pressed against his side as Ianto comes awake more fully. The muscles on Jack's belly snap taut as Ianto trails his hand down Jack's flank; then Ianto's fingers are wrapping around Jack's on his cock, blood slow from sleep so touch a little cooler where it settles in the gaps between Jack's fingers.
Jack moves his hand again, more deliberate and considered this time, guiding Ianto into the weight and measure of his cock as if getting him up to speed. Ianto groans, uninhibited in lethargy, and Jack feels the beginnings of Ianto's own erection pressed against his hip with a flex of Ianto's own. Ianto keeps the movement of their hands going even when Jack stops; a slow, steady wanking that Jack complements with a rhythmic tugging on his balls.
“What're you thinking about,” Ianto mumbles against his skin.
Jack sniggers and moans at the same time, fantasy and reality colliding viscerally in the sudden jolt of recollection—fantasy Ianto with the dedication of his eager, red mouth and the Ianto here, now; hot skin pressed all against Jack's side and arm heavy across Jack's belly, faint funk of his sleepy breath puffing over Jack's chin.
“You and Gwen,” Jack says breathlessly, squeezing his eyes shut and thinking of Ianto's fingers kneading and pulling at Gwen's tits. “Sucking. Licking me.” Worshipping, more like, their eyes drunk with devotion, bodies open and so fucking willing. He squeezes Ianto's hand around his cock suggestively.
Ianto laughs a little breathlessly, then turns his head and nuzzles across Jack's bare, heaving chest until his teeth find a nipple. Jack's half-expecting him to keep going, drag his sleep-loose mouth down and close it over Jack's cock, claiming the shiny, wet head as his prize where Gwen can't in absentia.
But Ianto keeps talking instead. “Just sucking?” he murmurs in between licks to Jack's nipple, hard point of it rasping against the fine-grained texture of his tongue.
“Well,” Jack prevaricates, utterly failing at nonchalant as Ianto drapes himself further over his chest, corrugated enamel of his closed teeth dragging over the tip of Jack's other nipple, held between Ianto's lips. “She does have amazing tits.”
Ianto grins up a him, hair sleep-tousled and stubbly chin grinding into Jack's pec. He squeezes Jack's hand around his cock one last time in a distinct keep going gesture before bringing his hand up to Jack's chest, fondling the nipple his mouth's just left, just an step away from rough with the tender flesh; then he licks again, wetting his own fingers against Jack's chest.
“That's all?” he asks, then reaches down again, nudging Jack's wrist out of the way as his hand moves past Jack's cock, past his balls to rub his two wet fingers against Jack's arsehole. “She'd let you fuck her, you know.”
The muscles in Jack's groin cramp tightly and he splays his legs wider, giving Ianto more room to move. “Well, I hadn't got quite that far yet before you interrupted me.”
“Interrupted?” Ianto's disbelieving smirk is positively wicked, as is the way his fingertips are still circling Jack's opening, as if testing the tightness of the muscle. It's yielding, still, as if hopeful for Ianto's cock again; Ianto's deliberately forceless contact now makes it contract, grasping at his fingertips. Jack pulls at his cock, a deep tremble of anticipation leaving his hips tilted at a more welcoming angle.
“Well what do you think, then,” Jack says, striving for a verbal goading as well but just coming out breathless, not even a question.
2/3
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The tension of the sheet pulled across his knees slackens as Ianto rolls over next to him, and Jack swears as the cotton brushes the tip of his cock like silk and sandpaper; he curls his fist over it protectively.
Ianto's breath is humid and unavoidably present against the cap of Jack's shoulder; he flexes his bicep and feels the sweat in his underarms tug and prickle the skin there.
“Jack,” Ianto mumbles. “What--” And Jack can feel the sudden tightening of the body pressed against his side as Ianto comes awake more fully. The muscles on Jack's belly snap taut as Ianto trails his hand down Jack's flank; then Ianto's fingers are wrapping around Jack's on his cock, blood slow from sleep so touch a little cooler where it settles in the gaps between Jack's fingers.
Jack moves his hand again, more deliberate and considered this time, guiding Ianto into the weight and measure of his cock as if getting him up to speed. Ianto groans, uninhibited in lethargy, and Jack feels the beginnings of Ianto's own erection pressed against his hip with a flex of Ianto's own. Ianto keeps the movement of their hands going even when Jack stops; a slow, steady wanking that Jack complements with a rhythmic tugging on his balls.
“What're you thinking about,” Ianto mumbles against his skin.
Jack sniggers and moans at the same time, fantasy and reality colliding viscerally in the sudden jolt of recollection—fantasy Ianto with the dedication of his eager, red mouth and the Ianto here, now; hot skin pressed all against Jack's side and arm heavy across Jack's belly, faint funk of his sleepy breath puffing over Jack's chin.
“You and Gwen,” Jack says breathlessly, squeezing his eyes shut and thinking of Ianto's fingers kneading and pulling at Gwen's tits. “Sucking. Licking me.” Worshipping, more like, their eyes drunk with devotion, bodies open and so fucking willing. He squeezes Ianto's hand around his cock suggestively.
Ianto laughs a little breathlessly, then turns his head and nuzzles across Jack's bare, heaving chest until his teeth find a nipple. Jack's half-expecting him to keep going, drag his sleep-loose mouth down and close it over Jack's cock, claiming the shiny, wet head as his prize where Gwen can't in absentia.
But Ianto keeps talking instead. “Just sucking?” he murmurs in between licks to Jack's nipple, hard point of it rasping against the fine-grained texture of his tongue.
“Well,” Jack prevaricates, utterly failing at nonchalant as Ianto drapes himself further over his chest, corrugated enamel of his closed teeth dragging over the tip of Jack's other nipple, held between Ianto's lips. “She does have amazing tits.”
Ianto grins up a him, hair sleep-tousled and stubbly chin grinding into Jack's pec. He squeezes Jack's hand around his cock one last time in a distinct keep going gesture before bringing his hand up to Jack's chest, fondling the nipple his mouth's just left, just an step away from rough with the tender flesh; then he licks again, wetting his own fingers against Jack's chest.
“That's all?” he asks, then reaches down again, nudging Jack's wrist out of the way as his hand moves past Jack's cock, past his balls to rub his two wet fingers against Jack's arsehole. “She'd let you fuck her, you know.”
The muscles in Jack's groin cramp tightly and he splays his legs wider, giving Ianto more room to move. “Well, I hadn't got quite that far yet before you interrupted me.”
“Interrupted?” Ianto's disbelieving smirk is positively wicked, as is the way his fingertips are still circling Jack's opening, as if testing the tightness of the muscle. It's yielding, still, as if hopeful for Ianto's cock again; Ianto's deliberately forceless contact now makes it contract, grasping at his fingertips. Jack pulls at his cock, a deep tremble of anticipation leaving his hips tilted at a more welcoming angle.
“Well what do you think, then,” Jack says, striving for a verbal goading as well but just coming out breathless, not even a question.
[ continued ]