Jack/Ianto (two connected ficlets)
spoilers for 1x10
There is spiked eggnog and mistletoe and music playing loudly. Owen dances with the girls, and with Jack. There is a snog that makes Tosh blush and Gwen giggle, but Ianto isn't privy to any of this. He hangs back from the crowd. This is his first Christmas without Lisa, his first Christmas with no distraction from the celebration. He is drowning in guilt and regret, and in no mood to party.
He sips cider and keeps an eye on the storefront, thinking that no one misses his presence. He is wrong, of course, and Jack seeks him out.
"You need to come relax." Jack leans on the counter, arms crossed against the surface of it. Ianto stares down at his novel and shrugs.
"I don't feel much like partying, sir." He says, respectfully dismissive.
"I didn't ask you what you felt like. I said you need to relax." Jack replies and grabs the book out of Ianto's hands cleverly, snapping it shut.
Ianto sighs the sigh of a man who has had to put up with this for too many hours in the day. "Jack."
Jack props his chin on his balled up fist and gives Ianto a blinding smile. "Yes?"
"I'll relax at home."
"You're not off work yet. You'll relax here."
Jack rounds the counter and stands in front of Ianto. He reaches out and touches with purpose, dragging his hand down the slope of Ianto's neck and over his shoulders. "Take off the jacket."
Ianto's shoulders stiffen. "I can't-"
"Then I'll do it for you." He tugs at Ianto's tie. "Do you want to make me have to do it for you?"
Ianto shrugs the jacket off, fighting a smile. "Happy?" He asks dryly.
Jack wraps the tie around his hand until his fingers are brushing Ianto's adam's apple. "With you still wearing that many clothes? I don't think so."
Ianto flushes, cursing his pale-skinned ancestry. "Not here," he mumbles.
"What was that?" Jack raises an eyebrow and leans in close.
"I said," Ianto speaks through clenched teeth, "Not here."
The tie slowly unravels as Jack's hand drops, palm pressing flat against Ianto's chest and drawing downward until his fingertips are exploring the soft bulge in his trousers. "I still don't think I quite caught that."
"Jack," Ianto protests. "Anyone could walk in."
"Well," Jack feigns perfect innocence. "You didn't want to go down to the hub and relax..."
Ianto sees the ploy now and groans. "Fine. You win."
Jack is all smiles again. "Great. Come on, then."
Ianto tries to grab his jacket with every intention of putting it back on, but Jack gets to it first. "Nope. Rule number one of relaxing: No formal attire allowed."
Ianto rolls his eyes. "There are rules?"
"Oh, yeah." Jack smirks. "But you have to earn the rest."
Rule number two, as Jack has just informed Ianto, is that all inhibitions must be left behind. Somehow Ianto mistakes inhibitions for trousers, and Jack will definitely have to make a note to collect those before Owen finds them on his desk. Ianto is drunk but he's laughing and Jack has every intention of taking advantage of him in this state. They kiss sloppily, wetly, bumping against the cold walls in the hallway and stumbling up the stairs until they're tripping their way onto Jack's bed.
Jack's spent the week moping and hiding away, but his period of grieving for a man he barely even knew is coming to a close. He launches himself at Ianto and they tangle limbs together on the bed. He gets Ianto's thigh between his leg and grinds, the wet head leaving smears of precome on Ianto's skin. Ianto's hand wraps around him and starts to wank him with sure, confident strokes.
This one's a quick study, all right. Jack's never been more grateful for intelligent associates. He bites down on Ianto's shoulder and groans something appreciative through the mouthful of flesh. He's already imagining how nice it will be - tight, warm, gripping, tugging body - when Ianto flips him over. "I want to fuck you," Ianto growls, pupils almost devoured by blackness. It screams lust and arousal and inebriation.
Jack often makes it known that he prefers being the one doing the fucking, but something about the look Ianto gives him makes him want to drop to his knees and ask for more, sir, please. There's a blurry minute or two of preparation and getting positions sorted. Then Ianto has two fingers up Jack's ass and a seemingly built in encyclopedia of ways to make Jack writhe that he doesn't hesitate to call upon. Jack is bites the pillow and then spits it back out, deciding that verbalisation is much better.
Ianto's cock is big and thick and for the first few seconds it feels like it's splitting Jack apart. His body adjusts and the sparks of pain turn to flames of pleasures that lick at his spine and cause a flush to spread over his chest and neck and face. He's rocking back against Ianto, pushing his own cock into the sheets beneath him. The head of his dick will be raw tomorrow but it's worth it now to eke out every bit of possible sensation that he can. Ianto's fingers bruise his hip and his teeth leaves marks on the back of Jack's neck. It'll be fun to watch their eyebrows raise tomorrow, watch them wonder what and who and how and when. Be even more fun to watch Ianto gloat, in that silent stoic Ianto way.
He shouts and twists, reaching between his thighs to give his cock a few quick jerks. It burns through him, his balls tightening and throbbing, the shaft of his cock thickening and then spurting out of the tip. Come clings to the sheets and gets everywhere as he fucks his tight fist. He can feel Ianto getting wilder and wilder, each thrust less coordinated than the last, until he's coming deep inside Jack.
Jack falls face forward onto the bed. Ianto's not longer after him, slumping half on and half beside Jack. Sweat seals their skin together. Ianto's fingers open and close weakly on Jack's wrist. A smear of Jack's come gets onto his fingertips and Ianto licks it off. Jack's cock gives one last belated twitch at the sight. He tries to stop panting but between Ianto's weight on his chest and the breath-taking quality of the satisfied smirk on Ianto's face it’s useless.