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d8rkmessngrJust a PWP drabble for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gingerlr, missthingsplace, and teachwriteslash for their Sunday Smut fics. In gratitude for making Sundays much more interesting.
Drabble: Sunday Evening
Author: d8rkmessngr
Pairing: Janto (of course)
Rating: NC-17
Warning: fluff, SEX, humor, domestics
Summary: What are our boys doing right now…Set in the Storm-verse.
Author's Note: Dedicated togingerlr, missthingsplace, and teachwriteslash for their Sunday Smut fics. Oh, thank you, thank you, you evil genius writers.
Ianto couldn't remember who shouted first, who shouted the loudest, but it didn't matter in the end. He felt Jack squeeze around him, pulling—what seemed like for the second glorious time—his needhungergodhisasshismouth out of him and with a final thrust, Ianto came violently. His hips surged forward, Jack arched off the couch, and it felt like the fire that was boiling in his chest had pooled down to his cock and burst forth to fill Jack.
Warm, liquid, and musky, Ianto's nostrils flared at the scent of himself trickling out of Jack's ass and decided sleepily he liked the perfume of sex and Jack wrapped around him like spirals of gossamer.
Jack's right leg, damp with exertion, slipped off Ianto's shoulder and settled on his lower back, his heel digging in with gentle command that he didn't want Ianto to go anywhere.
His cock softening, tried to yield to gravity, but then Jack's other leg slipped off Ianto's other shoulder. Both wrapped around Ianto's middle, long, muscular legs simply pulled Ianto in deeper. Jack's arms pawed Ianto's shoulders until Ianto took the drowsy request and lowered himself on Jack's chest.
"You could have waited until I've taken my shirt off," Ianto mumbled before he kissed one rosy nipple, scrapping his teeth lightly over the nub until it hardened.
Jack hummed as he carded his fingers through Ianto's now messy hair. "You said you would join me in a minute. It took you that long to take off your shoes."
"You're not suppose to take it literally," Ianto told him. He raised his eyes at the wrinkled jeans and—huh?—one red sock draped over the back of the sofa. "I just had to take off my shirt. I look odd the only one dressed." Ianto indicated Jack's bare and firm body breathing under him, panting, hot, and—God—pulsating around his cock.
"Well, I meant it literally when I said I was starting without you if you didn't hurry," Jack growled. He folded his hands behind his head, unabashed about his nudity or the fact that Ianto had walked in on him on the sofa, stroking himself absently as he watched the telly.
"You wanted to stay in for dinner," Ianto reminded him. He nodded—he couldn't do anything else wrapped in a Jack Harkness cocoon that smelt like sex—towards the kitchen door. "The chops and the salad will go bad if I don't put them in the fridge." Ianto made to get up, out of Jack. He yelped when Jack…stopped him.
"Jack!" Spots danced behind his eyes as Jack's ass tightened around him. Slick, molten hot, and oh God, still so impossibly snug around him, Ianto found himself no longer interested in preserving perishable foods in his fridge. They could always do Chinese food again. Maybe some pizz—Ianto squeaked when Jack, unhappy at being neglected, caught his attention by a sly finger diving in and pressing into that secret spot until Ianto filled out inside Jack again.
Jack's brow went up and down. He looked far too smug, too satisfied for a man with a once again hard cock up his person.
"Not a word," Ianto warned as he felt himself in Jack like a skintight glove. He was almost afraid to move.
Almost.
"Do incomprehensible words during sex counts?" Jack purred, his eyes dark, fixed on Ianto's mouth.
"Bastard," Ianto groaned as that purr rumbled straight down to his groin. Jack chuckled. "You're a right bastard, Harkness," Ianto moaned. It seemed like everything Jack did vibrated down the entire length of his body. It didn't help matters that Ianto could feel Jack's still slick passage around himself, cum spilling out with each slow thrust.
"Is that the only word you could think of?" Jack dared. He closed his eyes, his hands curled around Ianto's shoulders. He tilted his head back, a graceful long neck exposed to Ianto as he absorbed each stroke, each jerk of Ianto's hips like Tantalus with a drink of water.
There were more words Ianto could think of, words he and Lisa used in some playful nights, but they were words Ianto knew he used and the thought of him doing the same numbed the fire in his gut.
Jack's eyes flew open. "Hey," he protested. "Who said you could stop?"
"No, I was just—Jack!" Ianto yelped when Jack gripped him with his arms and legs and rolled him without warning. Ianto now found himself on his back, staring open-mouthed at Jack riding his cock.
"Jack," Ianto whined. Unbidden, his hips moved in accordance with Jack as Jack glided down on his reddened cock, his eyes closed, his mouth parted, his brow knitted in concentration.
Somewhere in the sofa, something creaked with each growing and desperate slam of Jack's body and in the back of his mind, Ianto made a note, but then Jack came down particularly hard over his cock and the room flared up with every nerve in his body. Ianto clutched Jack's hips, probably harder than he should and piston up into Jack's body so hard, his back ached.
The shirt became an official lost cause when Jack threw his head back and came across him even before Ianto could touch him. Ianto cried out, thought he blacked out and came to slipping out of Jack as Jack pressed his sweaty face over his throat.
Ianto could hear themselves pant in unison, his chest heaving against Jack's.
Soft kisses to his jaw, his brow, roused Ianto from the haze that settled around him like Jack's scent.
Jack was flushed, his hair plastered in messy clumps on his forehead, his lower lip swollen and lush from him biting it during the whole time he rode Ianto.
He never looked more beautiful.
"And to think," Jack rumbled as he pulled his leg up just enough to let Ianto see his own engorged cock now poking Ianto on his thigh. "I only watched up to disk two of The Office."
"Oh my God," Ianto whimpered as he wrapped his arms around Jack. Dinner was now the farthest in his mind as Jack lowered his mouth and very nimbly unbuttoned Ianto's shirt with his tongue.
The End
gingerlr, missthingsplace, and teachwriteslash for their Sunday Smut fics. In gratitude for making Sundays much more interesting.Drabble: Sunday Evening
Author: d8rkmessngr
Pairing: Janto (of course)
Rating: NC-17
Warning: fluff, SEX, humor, domestics
Summary: What are our boys doing right now…Set in the Storm-verse.
Author's Note: Dedicated to
gingerlr, missthingsplace, and teachwriteslash for their Sunday Smut fics. Oh, thank you, thank you, you evil genius writers.Ianto couldn't remember who shouted first, who shouted the loudest, but it didn't matter in the end. He felt Jack squeeze around him, pulling—what seemed like for the second glorious time—his needhungergodhisasshismouth out of him and with a final thrust, Ianto came violently. His hips surged forward, Jack arched off the couch, and it felt like the fire that was boiling in his chest had pooled down to his cock and burst forth to fill Jack.
Warm, liquid, and musky, Ianto's nostrils flared at the scent of himself trickling out of Jack's ass and decided sleepily he liked the perfume of sex and Jack wrapped around him like spirals of gossamer.
Jack's right leg, damp with exertion, slipped off Ianto's shoulder and settled on his lower back, his heel digging in with gentle command that he didn't want Ianto to go anywhere.
His cock softening, tried to yield to gravity, but then Jack's other leg slipped off Ianto's other shoulder. Both wrapped around Ianto's middle, long, muscular legs simply pulled Ianto in deeper. Jack's arms pawed Ianto's shoulders until Ianto took the drowsy request and lowered himself on Jack's chest.
"You could have waited until I've taken my shirt off," Ianto mumbled before he kissed one rosy nipple, scrapping his teeth lightly over the nub until it hardened.
Jack hummed as he carded his fingers through Ianto's now messy hair. "You said you would join me in a minute. It took you that long to take off your shoes."
"You're not suppose to take it literally," Ianto told him. He raised his eyes at the wrinkled jeans and—huh?—one red sock draped over the back of the sofa. "I just had to take off my shirt. I look odd the only one dressed." Ianto indicated Jack's bare and firm body breathing under him, panting, hot, and—God—pulsating around his cock.
"Well, I meant it literally when I said I was starting without you if you didn't hurry," Jack growled. He folded his hands behind his head, unabashed about his nudity or the fact that Ianto had walked in on him on the sofa, stroking himself absently as he watched the telly.
"You wanted to stay in for dinner," Ianto reminded him. He nodded—he couldn't do anything else wrapped in a Jack Harkness cocoon that smelt like sex—towards the kitchen door. "The chops and the salad will go bad if I don't put them in the fridge." Ianto made to get up, out of Jack. He yelped when Jack…stopped him.
"Jack!" Spots danced behind his eyes as Jack's ass tightened around him. Slick, molten hot, and oh God, still so impossibly snug around him, Ianto found himself no longer interested in preserving perishable foods in his fridge. They could always do Chinese food again. Maybe some pizz—Ianto squeaked when Jack, unhappy at being neglected, caught his attention by a sly finger diving in and pressing into that secret spot until Ianto filled out inside Jack again.
Jack's brow went up and down. He looked far too smug, too satisfied for a man with a once again hard cock up his person.
"Not a word," Ianto warned as he felt himself in Jack like a skintight glove. He was almost afraid to move.
Almost.
"Do incomprehensible words during sex counts?" Jack purred, his eyes dark, fixed on Ianto's mouth.
"Bastard," Ianto groaned as that purr rumbled straight down to his groin. Jack chuckled. "You're a right bastard, Harkness," Ianto moaned. It seemed like everything Jack did vibrated down the entire length of his body. It didn't help matters that Ianto could feel Jack's still slick passage around himself, cum spilling out with each slow thrust.
"Is that the only word you could think of?" Jack dared. He closed his eyes, his hands curled around Ianto's shoulders. He tilted his head back, a graceful long neck exposed to Ianto as he absorbed each stroke, each jerk of Ianto's hips like Tantalus with a drink of water.
There were more words Ianto could think of, words he and Lisa used in some playful nights, but they were words Ianto knew he used and the thought of him doing the same numbed the fire in his gut.
Jack's eyes flew open. "Hey," he protested. "Who said you could stop?"
"No, I was just—Jack!" Ianto yelped when Jack gripped him with his arms and legs and rolled him without warning. Ianto now found himself on his back, staring open-mouthed at Jack riding his cock.
"Jack," Ianto whined. Unbidden, his hips moved in accordance with Jack as Jack glided down on his reddened cock, his eyes closed, his mouth parted, his brow knitted in concentration.
Somewhere in the sofa, something creaked with each growing and desperate slam of Jack's body and in the back of his mind, Ianto made a note, but then Jack came down particularly hard over his cock and the room flared up with every nerve in his body. Ianto clutched Jack's hips, probably harder than he should and piston up into Jack's body so hard, his back ached.
The shirt became an official lost cause when Jack threw his head back and came across him even before Ianto could touch him. Ianto cried out, thought he blacked out and came to slipping out of Jack as Jack pressed his sweaty face over his throat.
Ianto could hear themselves pant in unison, his chest heaving against Jack's.
Soft kisses to his jaw, his brow, roused Ianto from the haze that settled around him like Jack's scent.
Jack was flushed, his hair plastered in messy clumps on his forehead, his lower lip swollen and lush from him biting it during the whole time he rode Ianto.
He never looked more beautiful.
"And to think," Jack rumbled as he pulled his leg up just enough to let Ianto see his own engorged cock now poking Ianto on his thigh. "I only watched up to disk two of The Office."
"Oh my God," Ianto whimpered as he wrapped his arms around Jack. Dinner was now the farthest in his mind as Jack lowered his mouth and very nimbly unbuttoned Ianto's shirt with his tongue.
The End