out_there | TW Fic: Best-Laid Plans

Title: Best-Laid Plans
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Still not RTD. *sigh*
Notes: PWP set directly after the stopwatch scene in They Keep Killing Suzie. Thanks to

ainsley for the speedy beta and the puntastic title.

in_the_bottle and

godofwine, I totally expect to claim my bribes now.

ETA: Now also translated into Russian by

my_autumn_tale (part 1, part 2 and part 3).

Summary: The porn that happened after the stopwatch flirting.

Ten minutes later, Ianto steps into Jack's office, stopwatch in hand. Jack's perched on the corner of his desk, dressed but lounging back in a thoroughly indecent way.

Jack grins, eyes falling to the stopwatch. "Did you really plan on using that?"

Swallowing, Ianto guesses there's no point in lying. "Not really, sir. But it seemed like an appropriate way to broach the subject."

"We could." Jack doesn't come any closer. If anything, he leans back, spreading his legs a little farther across the corners of the desk. Ianto can't help noticing the bulge between his legs. "There's a whole range of things we could do."

Ianto licks his lips, tries to slow his breathing to something approaching normal. "For example?"

"We could time how long it takes me to get you out of those layers." A long slow look down and Ianto feels like he's naked already. "How long I could just kiss you before you'd start pulling them off yourself."

Ianto takes a step forward. His fingers are curled tightly around the stopwatch; body heat makes the metal feel warm. "Is that all?"

"Do you have a better suggestion?"

"You could suck me off, sir," Ianto says, surprisingly calm despite his sweating palms, and Jack's grin goes feral around the edges. "Time how quickly you could make me come. Or how long it took me to beg."

Jack runs his tongue over the front of his teeth. Ianto wonders what they'd feel like, sharp against his skin. If Jack would scrape, or nibble, or bite hard.

"But you hadn't planned on using it?"

"No." Ianto shakes his head twice. If Jack wants to, well, they can; Ianto won't object. But he hadn't intended to make this all about games.

Whatever this is.

Jack gives nothing away. He just sits there, sprawled across his desk, waiting for Ianto to step closer. "You've clearly thought about it."

"Ten minutes is a long time to consider possibilities," Ianto replies, "like the possibility that there's more chance you'll flirt than do anything."

"You think I'm all talk?" Jack sounds amused.

A quick glance at the stopwatch. "You have been for the last two minutes and twelve seconds, sir."

"But, Ianto Jones," Jack drawls. He has this trick, this way of saying someone's full name and making it sound so intimate. Ianto knows it doesn't mean anything; it's just another way Jack charms people. "You're the one on the other side of the room."

Maybe it's as simple as that, as putting one foot in front of the other and stepping forward. Crossing Jack's office one step at a time. It's ridiculous that this makes him feel exposed, this definite gesture of wanting Jack, but it does. Ianto knows this isn't returning Jack's interest or indulging Jack's flirtatious comments; he's not really here to distract Jack from Suzie and Gwen, from dangers Jack didn't know and things he can't protect them from.

Ianto's here for a simple, selfish reason: because he wants this. Wanting something for himself -- not for Lisa, not for Torchwood, not for the general good, but just for him -- is something Ianto hasn't felt for a long while.

His bravado lasts until a step away from Jack's desk, until two feet away from Jack's spread legs.

Despite the openness of Jack's posture, arms wide across the desk, fingers splayed and palms flat, thighs open and hiding none of his arousal, Ianto can't take that last step. Can't be the one to reach. He glances down at the stopwatch and feels seconds tick by.

"You don't need to hide behind the stopwatch," Jack says softly, and Ianto looks up. "Put it away."

As he slides it into his waistcoat pocket, Jack leans forward and hooks two fingers between Ianto's buttons. Then he drags Ianto to him, as irresistible as gravity.

Ianto goes easily. Lets his eyes fall shut when Jack stretches up to him. Lets his lips fall open when Jack kisses him. Jack's tongue in his mouth is wet and confident but endlessly tender. Ianto can feel the tug on his clothes as Jack fists his hand in Ianto's waistcoat, but for a long moment, that's the only place Jack touches him: mouth on his and one hand on his chest.

When Jack pauses -- pulling back for breath, Ianto realises as he catches his own -- another hand gets added, sliding around Ianto's shoulder. "As appealing as the idea of getting naked on top of a desk may be, my bed is close by."

It's an offer. A very gentle, careful offer and Ianto finds that he's nodding before he's really thought about it. Jack's quarters make it a little bit more about Jack, a little bit less like sleeping with the boss, but Ianto doesn't want to say any of that.

Thankfully, Jack smiles again, gives him a quick kiss, and then pushes himself off the desk. Ianto doesn't think to step back, so for a moment they're pressed up against each other, Jack's knees on either side of his own, Jack's chest solid and alive, moving as he breathes, and there's a flash of lust so strong Ianto's almost dizzy with it.

Jack raises a hand to cup Ianto's jaw -- Jack's hands finally on his bare skin -- and then nods towards the hatch. "This way."

Ianto blinks. Tries to make his brain work. Manages a fumbling step backward to let Jack move to the hatch and open it.

Jack disappears down the hole with a grin, as if climbing into a bedroom is terribly romantic. It occurs to Ianto as he carefully lowers himself to the third rung that it's certainly different, just like everything else about Jack.

Halfway down, the lights above go out. For a moment, Ianto's in utter darkness and remembering that time when he was eleven, when he slipped climbing on the playground and caught his leg in the ladder, leaving him hanging upside down. He twisted it badly, but if he'd fallen, he probably would have broken something. If he falls now, the floors are concrete (or stone) so he'll definitely break something.

"Don't tell me you're stuck," Jack calls out from beneath him.

Ianto feels carefully for the next rung below him. "I refuse to tell Owen that I broke a bone trying to get into your bed, sir."

"I'm sure there's some bone-related joke I really should be making," Jack says, voice getting closer. Then Ianto feels a hand around his ankle, guiding his foot down. Once he's got both feet steady on the next rung, Jack leads his other foot down. "But I can't quite figure the punch line."

"I'm sure it'll come to you in time." Ianto smiles in the darkness, stepping down to the third rung with Jack's help. After the fourth, Jack's hands disappear. It seems like a shame until Jack's arms loop low around his chest, and he can feel warm breath at the back of his neck.

Jack tugs, pulling them backwards, so Ianto lets go.

Apparently, Jack hadn't expected that because he loses his footing, and they both reel backward, falling... not to the floor, but the bed. Ianto peers over his shoulder and stares disapprovingly at Jack, even though there's absolutely no light down here.

Either Jack's eyesight is far better than expected or he knows Ianto's reactions a little too well. "Hard to stay balanced on a mattress," he admits with a chuckle. "At least when you're standing up."

"You were standing on your bed?" Ianto repeats carefully. "Considering you protect the world against aliens, anyone judging by your actions would think you were five."

"Five star?"

"Five years old," Ianto replies quickly. Then he feels a pull against his chest and he suddenly notices their position. He's lying on Jack's bed, on Jack's chest, and from the moist air by his ear, Jack's mouth is very near his. He can feel Jack underneath him, feel the movement of every breath and the cold air on his skin.

That's when Ianto realises that he's partially naked. In the short time between falling and now, Jack's unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt, and is now smoothing one strong hand across his skin. Frankly, it's impressive.

Ianto holds his breath, waiting for the hand trailing down his stomach to start pulling at his belt and opening his trousers. But Jack sweeps fingers along the edge of the material and then lazily moves his hand up. Slowly, he explores Ianto's chest with fingertips and nails: light strokes along his ribs, the blunt scratch of nails along a curve of muscle. Jack traces across the dip of collarbone, sliding from one to the other, and then up the side of Ianto's neck. He runs his thumbnail behind Ianto's ear and Ianto shivers, gasping in surprise. He's never considered his ears an erogenous area, but as Jack brushes warm fingers over the skin, Ianto's willing to change his mind.

Jack scrapes a nail over that spot again, and for a second, Ianto can feel goosebumps rise on his skin. Then Jack says, "Wouldn't want you to break anything I was planning on using tonight."

"What?"

"That would be the punch line," Jack explains, his hand wandering down Ianto's sternum. "Might need a little more set-up, but with the right timing, it would work."

Sitting up, Ianto twists away from Jack. He plants a hand on the cotton sheet and leans close to Jack's face (or a close approximation, given that he can't currently see anything). "You're not supposed to be thinking of punch lines."

"What am I supposed to be doing?" There's a tug as Jack reaches up, toying with the open edge of Ianto's shirt.

Jack's hand moves around to Ianto's side, settling on his waist for a moment then sliding warm and solid against Ianto's back. Ianto, very intently, keeps his voice level. "Concentrating on something other than witty comebacks."

"I can do that," Jack says, and there's a pause. Ianto wonders what Jack will say next (if Jack's capable of resisting the urge to be the most entertaining person in the room) and considers kissing him to return Jack's attention to less humorous matters. "What's next in the plan?"

"Does there need to be a plan?" Ianto replies, but the retort falls flat. The serious note in his tone betrays far too much.

"My Ianto, who always plans three alternate routes to get us through city traffic," Jack says gently, fingers spanning Ianto's spine. Ianto ignores the possessive phrasing: like the wide smiles and suggestive glances, it's simply another way Jack charms. It doesn't mean anything. "I'm starting to suspect you didn't plan this at all."

Ianto hadn't, not really. He hadn't come into work thinking, 'I need to buy new towels for the employee showers, talk to Tosh about her missing expense receipts and sleep with Jack tonight'. It wasn't a seduction, just... an instinct that he'd followed. "Given your self-publicised reputation, I didn't think you'd have any trouble improvising, sir."

"Oh, I've got no trouble improvising." And just like that, Jack's back to turning everything into innuendo. "I can improvise with the best of them. In fact, I have."

"I suppose you taught them everything they know?" Ianto asks dryly and Jack laughs.

"There's always something new to learn." Before Ianto can ask what, Jack pulls him down fast, chest to chest, Jack's open mouth blurring along the edge of Ianto's jaw. "For example, I don't know if you'd moan or gasp when I run my tongue over the head of your cock."

Ianto's sudden gasp answers that question. But Jack has one insistent hand on the small of his back, holding him down, and keeps shifting his thigh in tiny circles, and the rub is maddeningly light, and Ianto has to blink a few times to remember words. "Um," he manages and feels quite proud of himself.

"Mind you, if I had to come up with a plan right now, I think I could do it."

Jack's mouth is against his ear, lips catching Ianto's skin as he talks. His breath is hot and moist, and real. One of those sharply real details that Ianto had never imagined, had never accounted for when he thought about Jack and sex and hands and skin. He'd never thought about voice and Jack's strong legs and hot breath on his neck.

"It would involve nakedness," Jack's saying, "but I generally think that's a good idea."

Drawing in a slow breath, Ianto shuts his eyes and pulls himself together. He manages to -- almost -- stop his hips from twitching and rocking against Jack's thigh. "The plan's just naked?"

"Both of us," Jack drawls, so very close, "completely bare. Then you, on your back, spread out on my bed. And then we fuck."

Nodding, Ianto pushes himself onto his hands and scrambles up, ignoring Jack's whine of protest as he moves out of contact. "Naked. Now."

"I didn't mean to rush things," Jack says, but he doesn't sound at all unhappy. From the rustles in Jack's direction, he's pulling off clothes as urgently as Ianto is.

"Best to get undressed now," Ianto says, able to think a bit more clearly with Jack on the other end of the bed. "While I can still remember how to untie shoelaces."

While he'll remember to fold his jacket over a ladder rung, Ianto thinks but doesn't say. If possible, he'd prefer his suit to remain presentable, instead of a crumpled mess. He shrugs out of his jacket and waistcoat (both already unbuttoned by Jack's helpful hands), and drapes them on the ladder. His tie requires a bit of untangling -- how Jack managed to knot it, he has no idea -- so he sits back on the bed to do it.

He bites his tongue as he concentrates on undoing the mess by feel alone and ignores the movement on the bed. Well, until Jack's kneeling behind him, knees to either side of Ianto's hips, chest firm against Ianto's back and mouth sliding down the curve of his neck. "I thought the plan required nakedness for both parties," Ianto chides gently, pretending, for the moment, that he can't feel Jack's erection lightly pressing against his back.

Jack keeps kissing, so Ianto reaches behind to push Jack away and gets a hand on Jack's hip. Not on woollen trousers or cotton underwear, but Jack's hip. Jack's skin. Bare skin, under his hand.

The thought is surreal, feels impossible. He moves his fingers up a few inches: firmness of hipbone, softer curve of Jack's stomach, muscles not far under the flesh. Jack moans into his neck, a low, pleased sound, and it's not like that's incentive for Ianto to stop. He presses his hand flat, palm pushing into the smooth curve, sliding his hand down and noticing the lack of hair. He gets to the crease between groin and thigh, hot beneath his fingers, and is tantalizingly aware how close Jack's cock is to his hand.

His own trousers feel unbearably tight.

When he was seventeen and full of hormones, he wasn't this sex-addled; it's ridiculous that half a dozen years later, he's having trouble focusing on anything other than Jack's skin and Jack's mouth and Jack's hand sliding under his shirt again, fingernails scraping over his ribcage and making him shiver.

If he can't get a grip, he's going to come just like this: fully dressed and embarrassingly quickly, from nothing more than a few kisses and a quick grope. He should pull his hand back and get undressed, but stopping himself from touching Jack is out of the question.

"I thought only Clark Kent could change so quickly," Ianto says, trying to think of something else. Anything else.

"Maybe I have a superpower of my own," Jack replies.

"The ability to make anything sound like a double entredre--" Ianto's voice breaks into a groan, not quite finishing the word. It's Jack's fault for dragging teeth over that spot behind Ianto's ear, but when Ianto stutters out Jack's name, it doesn't sound reprimanding. It sounds shameless, like he's begging.

Jack reaches down with one wide hand and cups Ianto's cock. There's nothing teasing about it, just firm, fantastic pressure. Jack rubs him hard through the fabric and Ianto can feel the ridge of his fly, the hard metal of his zipper, but he doesn't care.

He leans back on Jack. If this was Lisa, they'd overbalance and fall back to the bed, but Jack takes his weight like it's nothing. He just keeps rubbing Ianto through his trousers, using his other hand to undo Ianto's belt.

Ianto gets a hand on Jack's wrist and clings. "Jack," he gasps out, breathless and brainless and working his hips against Jack's hand, "stop--"

Jack kisses him, tongue wet and thick inside Ianto's mouth. Ianto hopes it's enough to smother the rough, desperate noises that he can't be making, because he doesn't sound like that during sex. He's sure that couldn't be him, all needy moans and urgent grunts, like a too-enthusiastic porn star.

Then Jack gets a hand down the front of his trousers, pulls his cock free, and skin on skin, and yes -- Ianto realises -- those noises are his. They must be, because when Jack twists his thumb over the head of Ianto's cock, the high-pitched whine only stops when Ianto forces Jack's name out.

"Hmmm?" Jack murmurs against his cheek, lips soft and warm.

"If you don't--" Ianto has to stop, panting for breath, for words. Trying to grasp why he's holding on to Jack's arm and wanting him to stop. "The plan won't-- fuck!"

"The plan will be fine." Hot air against his earlobe. Jack's free hand on his, smoothing out the fingers clawed into Jack's wrist. Jack solid against his back while Jack's hips shift, grinding just a little. "We haven't abandoned the plan. We've just added a few details along the way."

Then Jack increases the speed of his strokes, pulling Ianto's self-consciousness and objections and ability to think out in short, sharp movements. Ianto pushes his head against Jack's shoulder, face turned upwards, just trying to breath through it. Pushes his feet against the floor, using it to steady him, to thrust his hips through Jack's fist. Gasps and squints his eyes shut, and can't think of anything but Jack's hand around his cock and the orgasm building in his balls, at the base of his spine, in every fucking inch of his skin.

Then Jack bites down on his shoulder and squeezes, and Ianto's pretty sure he shouts as he comes.

Awareness kicks back in slowly. Starts in his chest, in a slow knowledge of each breath making his chest move. Then he notices Jack breathing behind him, chest still tight against Ianto's back, arms loose around Ianto's waist.

Ianto keeps his eyes closed, indulging in that fuzzy feeling of mental emptiness. It sounds stupid, but he'd forgotten how good sex feels. It's been… well, he doesn't care enough to count, but definitely over a year since he's felt this good, since sex was anything other than his own right hand.

He sighs contentedly and Jack asks, "Better?"

Ianto smiles. "I may never move again."

"Huh." Jack mouths the curve of his shirt-covered shoulder. It's not kissing, more... Jack rubbing his lips against it because he can. "I can work with that."

"I'm still dressed," Ianto says lazily.

"Uh-huh?"

"You should fix that."

Jack chuckles. Ianto decides he likes that, likes that Jack laughs in bed. Sex is one of those things that feels far too good to take seriously.

"Okay," Jack says, reaching up and pulling at Ianto's tie. He huffs when the knot tightens, silk tangling in his hands. "Well, maybe we'll leave the tie on."

"Naked means no clothes," Ianto points out, not caring if he sounds obnoxious. "No shoes, no socks, plenty of service."

"I don't know. The idea of you wearing nothing but a tie has its appeals."

"Appealing or not, it would mean I wasn't naked. If you've got a plan, you've got to follow it."

Jack presses a kiss to the corner of Ianto's jaw. "Fine." He pushes Ianto forward, making him sit up as Jack shuffles sideways.

Ianto counts to three and then falls back on the bed, stretching his back flat across the mattress, his knees still bent and shoes resting flat on the floor. He folds his hands beneath his head, elbows pointing out, and keeps his eyes closed. Jack works on his tie with careful, gentle touches and Ianto starts to drift.

"Are you falling asleep on me?" Jack asks, when he finally slides the tie free and gets Ianto's collar undone.

"Not on you," Ianto argues sleepily. Jack sucks a kiss to his sternum, drags his mouth along the edge of Ianto's ribcage; there's a spark of interest that lets Ianto know falling asleep isn't really an option. "I'm still wearing my shoes."

Jack stays crouched over Ianto's chest, fingers petting Ianto's chest hair as his tongue traces a rib. "So you are."

"You should fix that," Ianto repeats.

"Why?"

"Why should I be naked?" Ianto asks.

"No," Jack clarifies, hovering close enough that his breath cools Ianto's wet skin, "why do I have to get you undressed? I've already done my half of the work and got one person undressed."

"Because I was in the middle of getting undressed when you distracted me." Ianto wonders if Jack will know he's smiling. "If you insist on making me incapable of coherent thought, you should be the one responsible for remembering how shoelaces work."

"You sound pretty coherent to me," Jack says, but he gets off the bed and starts tugging Ianto's shoes off. And his socks. And then his trousers, pulled from the ankle. Ianto lifts his hips helpfully.

His belt catches on the edge of the bed but Jack keeps tugging, and Ianto ends up shimmying against the bed, trying to wiggle out of the material and laughing at the silliness of it. "See how much easier it would have been to let me take my own clothes off?"

"But not nearly as much fun." Jack leans up on the bed, smooths two hands over Ianto's hips, and Ianto really can't argue with that statement. Jack eases his underwear down, pausing to suck an open-mouthed kiss to the head of Ianto's soft cock as he slides the fabric down Ianto's calves. Ianto goes from sleepy and sated to definitely interested within a heartbeat.

Ianto thinks about what Jack said -- flat on his back, getting fucked -- tries to imagine it. Getting fucked by a man is something he's never done, something that should probably have his gut coiling in anxiety, but he's too blissed out for that kind of reaction.

Or maybe it's just that this is Jack, the walking epitome of sexual confidence. It makes an odd type of sense that if he's trying something new -- like kissing Jack, like touching Jack -- that he might as well try everything on offer.

Sitting up, Ianto crawls backwards on the bed until he can stretch out without his feet hanging over. The mattress dips near his ankles, and he can feel the weight changes as Jack crawls up the bed. "You really need lights in here," Ianto says as Jack settles somewhere above him.

"I have lights in here."

Ianto stares into the darkness. "Invisible lights?"

Jack snorts. "No, normal lights. You struck me as the type to let loose in the dark."

Ianto doesn't deny it, because it's true. He'd been sleeping with Lisa for a month before they'd left the lights on. All things being equal, making love in the darkness seemed right, somehow; more intimate, like it was just the two of them in the world. It vaguely surprises him that he wants to see Jack. "Turn the lights on," he says softly.

Jack reaches over to his wrist -- must still be wearing the wrist cuff, then -- and then his quarters are suddenly exposed. Ianto blinks in the sudden light, closes his eyes as they adjust. When he opens them he looks around. From this angle, the room seems incredibly small: bed taking up most of the floor space, tucked against two corners with a ladder and two doors filling in the other wall.

From this angle, the largest thing in the room is Jack perched above him, balanced on his knees. Bare golden skin smooth over shoulders and chest and abs. The hairlessness he'd noticed earlier is an all-over trait. Ianto trails a hand up Jack's left thigh, noticing the smoothness, and licks his lips when his gaze falls to Jack's cock, jutting out red and eager from his hips (and looking oddly bare against the bald skin).

Seeing Jack grin is worth having the lights on. "Like what you see?"

"Has anyone ever said no to that question?"

"You'd be surprised how many," Jack says with an exaggerated pout. "Intergalactic standards of beauty are hard to live up to. You never know when a full pelt of fur or a pretty set of wings are going to be more prized than a spectacular jaw-line."

Ianto laughs and wisely doesn't ask any further questions. There are some things he's probably best off not trying to imagine. "So," he says, curling one hand around Jack's bicep, "back to the plan?"

"Yes." Jack leans over and kisses him firmly, supporting himself on hands and knees until Ianto slides his hands up to Jack's hips and tugs him down. Jack's skin is hot against his, but it surprises him that more than that, he can feel the heat of Jack's cock trapped between them, rocking against his stomach.

Ianto touches greedily, soaking in the sensation of Jack's skin under his hands, working fingers up Jack's back, along his spine -- exploring ridges of bone and planes of muscle -- as Jack kisses him. Tracing over shoulders, along Jack's arms, and feeling the flesh shift as Jack moves, as Jack rocks lightly against him.

Jack presses a hand against the wall above Ianto's head and a small shelf pops out. Jack reaches, picks something up, and then meets Ianto's curious gaze. "Excess friction isn't always a good thing." Then Jack grins, and holds the bottle of moisturiser out for Ianto to see.

"Oh," Ianto says, not entirely sure what one says in this situation.

"Did you want to...?" Jack lets the question hang in the air, and then waves the bottle. It still takes a moment for Ianto to understand what he means.

He's pretty sure he blushes from head to toe. "Um, no," he says haltingly, "I don't think I... could."

The idea of… No. Even with the lights off, he's pretty sure he couldn't do that without a great deal of Dutch courage first. With the lights on and Jack being able to see... No. Definitely no.

Jack isn't fazed by it. He just shrugs, squeezes some of the white liquid into his hand and braces himself on his left elbow, leaning down to kiss Ianto again. Ianto breathes in through his nose and forces himself to relax, to stop trying to anticipate Jack's touch. It works when he concentrates on kissing -- on the softness of Jack's lips, the slide of his tongue, the low groan Jack makes when Ianto licks along the even line of Jack's teeth -- and he almost forgets about Jack's slicked fingers until Jack groans again.

It's flattering, but Ianto isn't sure what caused that reaction (and knowing how to cause that reaction in Jack seems very important). He slides his hands along Jack's shoulders, licking along the line of Jack's teeth again to test and feels the movement in Jack's right arm. The muscles bunch under his hand in slow, restrained movements, so Ianto follows from bicep to elbow and realises Jack's hand is twisted back, reaching behind himself.

Swallowing, Ianto traces down to Jack's wrist. He has a sudden mental image of what Jack's doing but he can't quite believe it until he runs his fingers over Jack's and feels the proof. Feels two of Jack's fingers thrusting, sliding in Jack's arse and back out, in time with Jack's breathing. Heavy breath in, and Jack's fingers disappear inside; slow breath out, and Jack's fingers glide out to the first knuckle.

It's surprising how loud Ianto's gasp echoes in the small room.

Jack keeps kissing him, breathing against Ianto's lips as he works his fingers inside himself. Ianto can't help touching. Can't resist the urge to press against the slick skin, to hold his hand over Jack's as he pushes the tip of one finger into Jack. There's an easy give to it and Jack groans, dropping his head to Ianto's shoulder and nodding, so Ianto pushes his finger in deeper, feels wrinkles of knuckles under his fingertips.

Inside, Jack's hot and smooth around their joined fingers, shifting back and catching his hips like he wants more. Ianto gives it to him: cups his hand around the back of Jack's and pushes all three fingers deep as he can. Jack gives a strangled groan and Ianto has a moment of shocked wonder, stunned amazement that he's lying in bed with Jack Harkness, twisting a finger inside him and making him moan.

Then he figures: in for a penny, in for a pound.

He hooks his thumb around Jack's palm and forces Jack's fingers to move. To slide out and thrust back in. He varies the angle, trying slightly different directions, until Jack gasps. Ianto repeats that and Jack gasps again, rocking his hips back against Ianto's hand, clenching fingers into Ianto's shoulder.

Ianto raises a hand and cards his fingers through the short hair at the back of Jack's head. It's a simple touch, an easy way of holding on while Jack rocks his hips -- to push Ianto's fingers deeper, to slide his cock against Ianto's hip -- but it stirs something deceptively tender in Ianto's chest. Ianto knows he'd be a fool to let himself believe this anything other, or anything more, than sex, but it's hard to remember that when Jack's clinging to him, moving so desperately, making soft little gasps and sighs that almost sound like Ianto's name.

So he talks to remember that this is still Jack, regardless of the soft noises and sweaty skin. "You could have been a little more specific."

"Specific," Jack says, breath coming fast and shallow against Ianto's neck. "How?"

"When you said naked. And on my back. And fucking," Ianto punctuates the last one with a sharp thrust of his fingers and Jack bites down on his shoulder, teeth sharp and brutal. "It didn't exactly paint this picture."

"What picture did it paint?"

It's faintly infuriating that Jack sounds breathless but otherwise coherent. So Ianto thinks of the crudest way to phrase this. "Your cock in my arse."

The way Jack lifts his head and stares at him, eyes wide and slightly unfocused, is gratifying. Then he blinks and says, "Maybe next time."

Jack kisses Ianto hard enough that Ianto stops thinking about this. He stops analysing what it could mean, what it doesn't mean, and just thinks about Jack's tongue on his, Jack's body squirming and rubbing against him, hot and welcoming around his fingers. Ianto groans and Jack pushes his hand away, his fingers out, and gets off Ianto.

"I was enjoying that," Ianto says, sounding more amused than disciplinary. The lack of contact leaves him feeling a little cold, a little exposed.

"Other plans." Jack grins, kneeling up and pulling a condom from that hidden shelf. "Time to move on."

"I think some people would consider that rude."

"I have a trick to show you," Jack says, and then rips the condom wrapper open with his teeth.

Ianto blinks at him. "Not much of a trick."

"That wasn't the trick." Jack shuffles down the bed, then leans over Ianto's hip, pressing a kiss there. "This is." Then he bends his head over Ianto's cock, and instead of Jack's moist breath and wet tongue, there's the smooth kiss of latex to the head of his cock. It's warm from Jack's mouth, and Ianto can feel the press of Jack's tongue licking over the crown as he uses teeth and lips to unroll the condom and slide it down.

Ianto holds his breath, twists his fingers in the sheet, fighting to stay still as Jack's mouth sinks lower and lower, the lightest graze of teeth all the way down. Until Jack swallows around him, the muscles of Jack's throat working around him, the tip of his cock nudging the back of Jack's throat, and Ianto has to look. Has to push himself up on elbows and see Jack's lips stretched around him, mouth pressed against the root of his cock and the smile in his eyes unmistakeable.

Ianto drops his head back to the bed. "Great trick," he says, and if his voice breaks a little as Jack pulls off fast, he figures it's deserved.

Jack grins, gives a small shrug. "Impressive in its way."

Jack's modesty is entirely false, but Ianto can't be annoyed. Not when his pulse is still ringing in his ears, not when Jack's settling a leg to either side of him and reaching back hold Ianto's cock as he eases down. Jack's hand is warm around his cock, Jack's knees are hot against his hips but it's nothing compared to the heat of Jack's body as Ianto slides inside.

Ianto's struggling to breathe, to remember how to get air into his lungs and back out, but Jack gives into it so easily: head arched back, chest moving with each deep breath, lips caught between his teeth as he drops so slowly onto Ianto's cock. The light gleams on sweat-slick skin, catching the muscles of Jack's chest, his arms, his thighs as he moves and Ianto has to close his eyes against it. Needs to block out the sight of him and give in to the sensation of pushing inside Jack, the torturously slow slide out as Jack lifts up. The low sound of Jack's voice as he says, "You have no idea how long I've thought about this."

Dragging in a steadying breath, Ianto opens his eyes. He stares up at Jack. "Done a lot of planning?" Ianto asks, his own voice high and strangled.

"Mmmm," Jack says, a sound as warm and tempting as espresso, as dark chocolate. "I've thought about clearing that tourist counter of yours, pushing you back over it and doing exactly this. Or on the couch. Or on my desk. Getting you naked and riding you like a feral kondeer."

"I don't know what that is." Ianto reaches up, feels Jack's chest moving under his restless hands.

"Doesn't matter," Jack says, shaking his head, damp hair clinging to his forehead. "Doesn't--"

Ianto moves his hips, meeting Jack's downward glide and gets rewarded with another of those chocolate-dark moans. It's addictive, so Ianto smooths a hand over the curve of Jack's shoulder and shifts his hips again. It's a stilted, restrained movement until he gets his feet on the mattress and his fingers tight on Jack's hips, and thrusts hard.

The sound Jack makes is shameless and encouraging, so Ianto urges Jack faster, harder. Pushes deeper inside him, lifting his hips off the bed and ignoring the way the springs squeak. Jack seems at a loss for words as Ianto pushes and pulls, demanding more and faster and now. Jack doesn't fight the pace, he just leans back, bracing a hand on Ianto's knee, and shifts the angle as he reaches around for his own cock.

Jack's hand looks so tanned around his red cock, fingers moving fast as his breathing becomes louder and louder, echoing in the small room. It almost buries the sound of skin slapping against skin.

Ianto wants to touch Jack. Wants to run his hand over biceps and thighs, explore every curve of Jack's chest and know what it's like to wrap his hand around Jack's cock, but he can't move his fingers from Jack's hips. Can't stop holding him steady as Ianto thrusts down, pulling him down as Ianto pushes up. Can't think about anything but Jack's tight heat around his cock and the need to come right now.

A few more unsteady, hurried thrusts and Ianto's so close he can feel it. Then Jack clenches around him and Ianto's entire world narrows to this moment -- this one hot slide in, the smell of sex and sweat and Jack, warm and solid and gasping above him -- and everything hovers for one perfect second, and then Ianto comes in a rush and collapses against the bed.

Jack's still moving, still gasping, so Ianto pulls him down and kisses him lazily. His cock slips free of Jack's body, and Jack moans into the kiss, his hand working frantically between their bodies. Ianto runs his fingers down Jack's spine and keeps kissing him. He doesn't really think about it, just pushes inside Jack easily, finding the angle that made Jack groan earlier.

Ianto keeps his fingers still, lets Jack's hips do the work -- short, sharp movements that slide Jack's chest against his -- and wraps his other hand around Jack's neck, holding him there while they kiss. Jack grunts into the kiss and Ianto swallows the sound, sucking on Jack's tongue. Then Jack's body stutters, clenching around Ianto's fingers and coming warm and wet on his stomach, and still Ianto keeps kissing him.

Keeps kissing him until Jack rolls over and flops to the mattress beside Ianto. Then Jack laughs.

It's a happy, carefree sound but Ianto's still not sure what to make of it. "Something amusing?"

"I don't know why I'm surprised," Jack says, brushing knuckles along Ianto's collarbone, "that you're exceptional at everything you do."

"Oh," Ianto says, even less sure what to make of that.

Jack yawns, covering his mouth, and points to one of the doors. "Shower's in there," he says sleepily, and Ianto blinks. Somehow, he hadn't expected marching orders to come quite so quickly. He isn't sure what he expected, but this isn't his bed, isn't his flat, and staying the night would make tomorrow morning awkward at best. So he gets up, gathers his clothes and has the quickest shower of his life, not entirely sure he wants the scent of sex and sweat and Jack off his skin.

Once he's dressed and fairly presentable, Ianto pauses by the ladder. He guesses any one-night stand would feel uncomfortable after years of living with Lisa, and pulling some random girl at a pub would have felt much stranger. At least Jack is… Jack.

Come tomorrow, there'll be the Rift and tidying the Hub, taking the SUV to be fixed and whatever disaster strikes next. Feeling uneasy about casual sex will be the last of their concerns. It's an unexpected perk of working for Torchwood.

"Are you leaving?" Jack asks around a yawn, blinking sleepily.

"No, sir," Ianto says, surprised at how easily the words come. "I wanted to finish some archiving tonight."

Jack stretches unselfconsciously. Lean and naked, and Ianto tries not to stare. "Any chance of a coffee?"

"If you want it at your desk." Jack pulls a face, so Ianto adds, "I'm not climbing down that ladder with a cup in my hand."

"I'll get up then." Jack sighs as if getting out of bed is the worst thing in the world. Then he sits up and grabs Ianto's hand, pressing a strangely courteous kiss to Ianto's palm. "About next time..."

Ianto swallows. "Yes?"

"Any chance of you coming back to bed?"

"Not tonight, sir." Ianto can't help being amused at the way Jack's hopeful expression falls. "Some of us need sleep."

"How about tomorrow night?" Jack calls out as Ianto starts climbing up the ladder.

Ianto waits until he gets his feet firmly on the floor before he answers. "We'll see, sir." Fingering the old stopwatch in his pocket, Ianto smiles to himself. Then he heads to the coffee machine.