Fic: Calling Up (Slash, Janto, NC-17)
Nov. 2nd, 2008 06:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
d8rkmessngrTitle: Calling Up
Author: d8rkmessngr
Pairing: Janto (of course)
Rating: NC-17
Warning: SEX, angst, h/c
Summary: There's no substitute to being there.
Author's Note: A small contribution to Sunday Smut. This mentions OC from TOS and refers to, in particular, the canon events of Canary Wharf but you're fine if you hadn't read TOS.
Note: The mental break helped, guys, but I'm begging an extension due to Post Halloween Stress Disorder. LOL. I'll be posting TOS on Wednesday. In the meantime, for Sunday Smut…
It was the anniversary of Canary Wharf again before he realized it.
It was an email waiting for him to open that week, lying in wait dormant like a land mine. It was shorter than last year's, longer than the usually brief emails he used to get from everyone else.
Ianto thought he handled it better than the first time when an email like this was sent. He saw the email, read it twice, called to purchase a train ticket then confirmed with Abigail's receptionist that he was indeed coming and to please reserve a hotel room in the Hilton where the event was being held. It was with hesitation though when Ianto told her it was a reservation just for one.
Two days from Friday to Saturday, it felt like it was more conference than memorial as there were panels on grieving, job placement (mostly UNIT), and scattered meeting rooms where people gathered to form impromptu support groups.
Ianto was tempted to leave the moment he was handed a glossy pamphlet when he registered.
Lisa would have been bored instantly. Her best friend Lorrie would have complained about the employee photo of hers that they used on the memorial wall where all the visitors were writing messages. And Elisa and Fred would have been perched by the hotel bar, bickering as always even as they bent their heads closer together.
God, he missed them. It was more pronounced as he wandered the main ballroom and listened to their names being read.
Ianto nearly left after a speech someone from MOD (like Jack, he lost his patience dealing with Whitehall) made. It was yet another blustery speech about Torchwood Institute's contributions and accomplishments with a dash of feigned forgetfulness on the disaster that led to its downfall.
Ianto bowed out of the cocktail hour. What was the point of reacquainting himself with mourners he barely remembered from last year? The questions everyone kept asking about who he knew stung like knife pricks on his skin. And he kept seeing them, hearing them at every turn. He spun around at every laugh that sounded like from one of his friends and the sympathetic faces that surrounded him were too much again.
After a few awkward minutes of conversation, Ianto gave an even more awkward excuse and returned to his hotel room, his feet dragging across the carpet to prevent himself from running.
His room was decorated in a tasteful palette of crèmes and warm browns. One large king-sized bed took up most of the space, a full-length mirror propped up next to the bed and a work desk in marching mahogany looking furniture was provided with all the trappings a traditional business traveler would require. A large screen television hung across from his bed and to Ianto's dismay, his window faced the narrow waterway that surrounded the newly reconstructed Canary Wharf. It was the only flaw to an otherwise generous space. He could even see the memorial wall from his window. Ianto kept his curtains firmly shut after that.
Ianto shed his jacket and tossed it over a chair by the work desk. He sighed and dropped into the king sized-bed covered in a thick mocha brown duvet and generous mounds of cream-colored pillows. He toed off his shoes, freed his feet from its tan striped trouser socks, laid on the bed and mused how funny it was that the bed now felt too big, too lonely. The room wasn't particularly spacious, but the walls loomed over him.
Even the pillows smelled too clean, too laundered against his back. He missed the scent of musk and the salty tang of sweat that always lingered faintly on his sheets. Ianto lay there on the center of the bed and glumly stared at his outstretched legs.
When the mobile rang, Ianto fumbled it out of his pocket and answered the call without looking.
"Good time to call?" Jack asked cheerfully as soon as Ianto said a weary "Hello." His baritone was a pleasant rumble in his ear despite the tinny quality of the phone.
"Back in my room," Ianto said as he levered off the bed for the hotel portfolio to browse the room service menu. He caught himself smiling on the mirror when he went to the desk. "How's everything in Cardiff?"
"Well…turns out the pound shop by the arcade wasn't haunted, it was just a fabricator animating all the toys, traffic was stopped because of a Gretican version of an anteater and the size of an elephant showed up through the rift only to fall asleep on the M11. Otherwise, the universe didn't implode, the Weevils are behaving and I'm horny."
Ianto chuckled. God, how could he miss the man already? "So then, things haven't changed much since I left this morning."
"Ouch." Jack grumbled good-naturedly. "I sent everyone home early. No point in all of us sitting around and listen to the pterodactyl snore."
Ianto frowned. He could hear crunching in the background. "What are you eating?"
"Pot noodle and toast," Jack replied before there was another crunch. It sounded like rocks.
With a grimace, Ianto loosened the top button of his shirt. He settled deeper into the pillows and tried to imagine Jack sitting on their couch eating—Wait.
"Pot noodle and toast?" Ianto repeated.
"Owen was talking about how he used to eat it all the time when he was a student. Thought I would try it." A loud enough crunch made Ianto wince. Jack must have burnt the toast again. Knowledgeable in hundreds of alien tech and yet bested by a five year old toaster Ianto got on sale in Harrods. "You know, absorb twenty first century culture."
"Somehow I don't think learning our culture by way of indigestion is a recommended curriculum," Ianto grimaced.
Ianto gave it some thought before he started.
"Wait a minute, I didn't get any pot noodle for the flat…Where are you?"
Another crunch before Jack mumbled "Hub. Couch."
The thought of Jack sitting alone in the Hub made his insides twist.
"You could have stayed in the flat," Ianto murmured, his throat working. "I wouldn't have minded."
"Feels strange to be in there when you're not."
"Oh," Ianto stammered. He sat on the edge of the bed with the portfolio on his lap, feeling ridiculously like grinning. Any thought about getting room service was gone.
"You're back in your room pretty early. It's only 1910. Weren't you going to attend the cocktail hour?"
Ianto frowned again. "How did you know about the cocktail hour?"
"The itinerary listed a cocktail hour for every one of those days." There was a rustle of paper heard before Jack continued. "Yeah, here it is; 1900 every night."
Something pinched in his chest like a rubber band snap. Ianto swiped his lower lip with his tongue. "You uh…received an invitation as well?"
The shrug was audible in Jack's voice. "When you asked for the time off, I figured you didn't want company since you didn't mention anything."
It would have been better if Jack sounded angry instead of being understanding.
"Sorry." Ianto crossed his legs and tapped his fingers on the leather portfolio before he remembered and stopped.
"I just…I'm not really comfortable with the idea of having anyone from Torchwood One near you."
Ianto heard Jack chuckle but he also thought he detected a tiny sigh of relief as well.
"I'm sure I'm safe from them, Ianto. I don't think anyone is going to string me up as a battery anytime soon."
"I know…it's silly. I—"
"No," Jack interrupted, suddenly very serious, "I don't think it's silly at all." Jack paused before adding "Thank you."
Ianto smiled into the mobile as he loosened his tie. "Now that I think about it, I wish I did ask you to come with me." Somehow the room felt too big and empty without Jack in it.
"Bad?"
Ianto pinched a spot between his burning eyes. Now the room felt too small. "Not exactly brilliant."
"Tell me," Jack invited.
"Nothing. I just…it's like time never past. Everywhere I go, it's…" Ianto sucked in his breath. He wanted to strike the lamp off its nightstand. "You would think after all this time, I would have…coped by now."
"Some things just stay with you." Jack paused. "No matter how much time passes."
Jack's voice was too gruff and too understanding for Ianto's comfort. It was too heavy with memories Ianto could do nothing about in London.
"Anyway," Ianto fumbled, thinking quickly. "So ah…what are you doing?"
Jack snickered. "Hello? Pot noodle? Toast? Unless…Ooh, is this the phone sex we were talking about?"
God. The faux leather binder dropped to the rug.
"What? No, I—" Ianto stuttered.
"Come on, that's the one thing I wish I didn't miss in the later part of the twentieth century," Jack wheedled.
"Well, I…I for a good…I mean, now's not a good time…I mean—we shouldn't…" Ianto scrambled for a good enough reason to deter one far too eager Jack Harkness.
"We're both on the phone, alone, on a secure line." Jack's voice lowered. "And I'm already ready."
"Pardon?" Whereas Jack's voice dropped an octave, Ianto's shot up one.
"Phone sex? I'm assuming that meant no clothes? If not, I have to say I am seriously disillusioned with the concept of—"
"Wait, wait, wait," Ianto yelped. "You're telling me you're in the Hub, ready, right now, ah…ready as in…n-naked?"
"Trousers on the couch, shirt on the table, shoes off, yup." Jack paused.
"The couch needs vacuuming, by the way," Jack added.
It was unnerving how cheerful Jack could sound at times.
Ianto's mouth opened and closed. Bugger, Lisa was far better at this. She used to call Ianto on the mobile and just…
"I, I, I…" Blast it, say something, Jones!
Ianto took a deep breath. "Um…"
A soft snore whispered into his ear.
"Jack!"
Jack laughed. "Okay, sorry, sorry, but geez, you were taking your time, I was going to start without you."
"Y-you were going to s-start without…" Ianto wished his voice would remember puberty was long past and stop reverting. "W-what…" Ianto swallowed. "What were you planning to do?"
"Well, for one thing, I was going to let my finger fuck me," Jack purred. "Maybe two fingers, what do you think?"
Ianto dropped back on the bed. He fumbled for his earpiece. His fingers shook as he tried to activate the hands-free device. He set the mobile on the nightstand. "I ah…only two?" Ianto lowered his unsteady voice. "You would be too tight still."
"Mm, maybe I want to be tight. Maybe I want you to just take me dry, let me feel that thick cock of yours so snug and deep in me, you can't move because you're worried you might tear me apart."
Jack sounded breathless, his voice catching at the last part.
Ianto closed his eyes and envisioned Jack splayed out lazily on the couch, his hand snaked behind him, his back arched as his own fingers breached him.
"You're doing it right now, aren't you?" Ianto absently rubbed the gentle swell between his legs. The fabric brushed enticingly against his crotch.
"I was going to wet my fingers with my mouth," Jack said, his words liquid and heavy, "but I wanted to feel you inching your way in slowly." Jack groaned a little. "It burns, but you feel so good, Ianto."
"How many fingers now?" Ianto pulled his flies down. His fingers fumbled through the frustrating folds of pressed wool and cotton shorts until they bunched low on his hips.
"Three." Jack was breathless now. "But I'll need four. I need you full and big in me, Ianto."
"God," Ianto whimpered. His cock was weeping now. He curled a fist over his growing erection and squeezed hard the spongy tip. Ianto tried to imagine breaching that impossible tightness that always welcomed him.
"Do you want me on my back or on my hands and knees?" Jack rasped.
"Back," Ianto whispered. He pumped lightly his erection. His hips jerked up as he tried to thrust into his own fist.
"I want to see you come," Ianto continued. "I want to see you, my beautiful Jack."
There was a short breathy laugh. "Someone needs to get his eyes checked and take a good look in the mirror." Jack moaned, low and long in a way that curled Ianto's toes.
"How many now," Ianto managed as his fist gripped hard and glided over his own cock with a roughness he could see himself rocking into Jack. Ianto made a sound in the back of his throat. He could see himself, his hands curled around Jack's thighs, his cock red and throbbing from exertion, disappearing and reappearing into Jack's body with a quick, almost rabid succession.
"Jack," Ianto moaned. His hips bucked off the bed.
"Four," Jack panted. He made a little sob. "It's still not enough though. Not…not deep enough."
Ianto thought he could hear the couch springs creak and he could imagine Jack thrashing on the couch, his head thrown back, his eyes squeezed tight as he rode Ianto with a wild abandon he shows no one else.
"Touch yourself," Ianto demanded, or tried as he gasped along with the heady moans in his ear. "Wrap your hand around yourself Jack. Imagine it being me, fisting your cock as I fuck you."
"Ianto…" Jack whimpered. "Christ, harder. I'm not fragile."
Ianto rolled to his right side as he curled slightly and wrapped both fists around his erection and pumped in earnest. But it wasn't enough. So tight. Jack was gloriously tight.
By now, his trousers, his underpants were twisted around his ankles. His hair was plastered around his brow, his shirt clinging to his back.
"God, Ianto," Jack wailed. "Not…more…Christ, fuck me already!"
"Can't you feel me?" Ianto panted. "Can't you feel me inside you, hammering into you as hard as you hammer into me? I'm nailing you to the couch, to the floor. Can you taste me in your mouth yet?"
There was no reply in his ear, just incoherent groans and desperate keening.
The words poured easily out of him now.
"I wish I can see you. I wish I could feel your legs wrapped around me, your fist around your cock, your mouth opened so I can kiss you. I would bend you in half, just so I can bury myself deeper inside you."
Jack moaned into the mobile.
"Are you close yet?" Ianto breathed. "Harder, Jack, like I would, harder until your skin burns."
"Ianto!" Jack screamed.
There was a thump and what sounded like a leg dropping to the floor and then silence.
One squeeze that made him see spots and Ianto threw his head back and cried out Jack's name. He came violently, each time sending shudders throughout his body. Ianto gulped for air. He lay almost fetal like around a spectacular wet spot on the duvet he knew he'd need to tip generously for.
God, his legs were like rubber. Ianto weakly kicked off his trousers and shorts and let them drop to the floor.
Jack could be heard working his jaw, trying to catch his breath.
"Wow," Jack slurred. "The words coming out of your mouth." The mobile didn't quite catch the sound Jack made.
"Ianto Jones, you dirty man." Jack chuckled throatily into his ear. "Thank God."
"Luckily," Ianto wheezed, "you called during off-peak hours…otherwise the charges for that would have been astronomical!" Ianto rolled to his back. "I think I had a stroke," Ianto continued as he blinked towards the ceiling, "I'm seeing spots!"
"No stars?" Jack still sound winded.
"My room is in the fifth floor. All I see is spackle—God, I hope that's spackle."
"Maybe you should go to the roof tomorrow and we can see if we can make you see stars," Jack rumbled.
"Stop," Ianto whimpered. "Let me regain my circulation before you talk like that."
Jack chuckled. "So that was phone sex, huh? Interesting."
"Interesting?" Ianto panted. "That was bloody fantastic. For someone who missed a few decades, you're really good at this."
"I was inspired."
"Let's hear it for inspiration," Ianto stammered.
"Feeling better then?" Jack queried.
Ianto fought to steady his breath. He blinked. The urge to hit something was gone.
"Actually, I do," Ianto murmured. His face softened. "You're a sneaky bastard, Jack. That's why you called, wasn't it?"
"Figured a call might be in order." Ianto could see in his mind Jack shrugging. "Hey, it was either me or the girls. Tosh really wanted to call." Jack hesitated. "Not for that, though."
"Ah." Ianto smiled sadly to himself. "Tell them I'm all right."
"Should I give details?" Jack snickered.
"Don't you dare, Harkness," Ianto growled.
Jack chuckled. "Look, go get dinner because knowing you, you didn't have any and get some sleep, okay?"
"I think I'll get a shower first," Ianto plucked at his shirt. "I'm rather…sticky…"
Jack gave another chuckle, a deep one that sent ripples down his back and bid him good night.
Ianto lay on the bed, listening to the dial tone for a few beeps before he levered off the bed and headed for the bathroom.
The next day was even worse as Ianto sat there in the audience and listened to relatives of the dead recounted stories about them. Some finished before they started to cry. Some didn't.
Ianto skipped cocktail hour again. He felt numb when he returned to his hotel room. He nearly missed his door a few times as he walked down the hall. His fingers trembled and he kept missing the slot with his keycard. Finally he just rested his forehead on the door and kicked the door as he blinked rapidly.
The door opened.
Shit, did he go to the wrong room, Ianto thought as he fell forward neatly into a pair of sturdy arms.
"Wow," a voice exclaimed gleefully, "when the website said their room service here was excellent, they weren't kidding. This is exactly what I ordered."
Ianto raised his head.
"Jack?" Ianto stuttered. He stared at Jack in his dark shirt and silver braces. "W-what are you doing here?"
Jack smiled quietly. He helped Ianto back on his feet and led him into the room, his hand steady on Ianto's lower back.
Jack's greatcoat was folded on the chair, a bottle of wine cooling in a bucket on the nightstand, dinner in covered platters set up on a roll table by the bed.
"How…when…" Ianto blinked at his room. The room, for once, didn't feel too big or too small.
"So many questions," Jack teased. He crooked a finger under Ianto's chin and tilted his head up.
"Hi," Jack murmured.
Ianto blinked back in a daze. "Hi," he managed.
"So how was your day, dear?"
Ianto wrapped his arms around Jack and buried his face into Jack's throat.
"Ah," Jack murmured. "That bad, huh?"
"Not that I'm ungrateful," Ianto mumbled. He pulled back. "But what are you doing here?"
"While I liked this phone sex thing," Jack announced as he busied himself with peeling off Ianto's jacket, then his tie. Jack waggled his brow at Ianto. "I really think there's nothing like the real thing."
Ianto curled his hands around Jack's biceps and let the solid feel of him warm his insides. Something unclenched and Ianto smiled as he felt Jack's fingers nimbly unbutton his shirt.
"Yes," Ianto agreed as he pulled Jack closer to him again, "there is no substitute." Ianto kissed the buttons on Jack's shirt, nipping and humming over the fabric. He felt Jack sighed.
Jack's arm wrapped around his middle, moved one hand to cup the back of Ianto's head and he lowered them both down to the bed. Jack tilted his head and considered Ianto.
"Let's see if I can do anything about those stars," Jack murmured and sealed his mouth over Ianto's for a kiss full of promise and hope.
The End
Author: d8rkmessngr
Pairing: Janto (of course)
Rating: NC-17
Warning: SEX, angst, h/c
Summary: There's no substitute to being there.
Author's Note: A small contribution to Sunday Smut. This mentions OC from TOS and refers to, in particular, the canon events of Canary Wharf but you're fine if you hadn't read TOS.
Note: The mental break helped, guys, but I'm begging an extension due to Post Halloween Stress Disorder. LOL. I'll be posting TOS on Wednesday. In the meantime, for Sunday Smut…
It was the anniversary of Canary Wharf again before he realized it.
It was an email waiting for him to open that week, lying in wait dormant like a land mine. It was shorter than last year's, longer than the usually brief emails he used to get from everyone else.
Ianto thought he handled it better than the first time when an email like this was sent. He saw the email, read it twice, called to purchase a train ticket then confirmed with Abigail's receptionist that he was indeed coming and to please reserve a hotel room in the Hilton where the event was being held. It was with hesitation though when Ianto told her it was a reservation just for one.
Two days from Friday to Saturday, it felt like it was more conference than memorial as there were panels on grieving, job placement (mostly UNIT), and scattered meeting rooms where people gathered to form impromptu support groups.
Ianto was tempted to leave the moment he was handed a glossy pamphlet when he registered.
Lisa would have been bored instantly. Her best friend Lorrie would have complained about the employee photo of hers that they used on the memorial wall where all the visitors were writing messages. And Elisa and Fred would have been perched by the hotel bar, bickering as always even as they bent their heads closer together.
God, he missed them. It was more pronounced as he wandered the main ballroom and listened to their names being read.
Ianto nearly left after a speech someone from MOD (like Jack, he lost his patience dealing with Whitehall) made. It was yet another blustery speech about Torchwood Institute's contributions and accomplishments with a dash of feigned forgetfulness on the disaster that led to its downfall.
Ianto bowed out of the cocktail hour. What was the point of reacquainting himself with mourners he barely remembered from last year? The questions everyone kept asking about who he knew stung like knife pricks on his skin. And he kept seeing them, hearing them at every turn. He spun around at every laugh that sounded like from one of his friends and the sympathetic faces that surrounded him were too much again.
After a few awkward minutes of conversation, Ianto gave an even more awkward excuse and returned to his hotel room, his feet dragging across the carpet to prevent himself from running.
His room was decorated in a tasteful palette of crèmes and warm browns. One large king-sized bed took up most of the space, a full-length mirror propped up next to the bed and a work desk in marching mahogany looking furniture was provided with all the trappings a traditional business traveler would require. A large screen television hung across from his bed and to Ianto's dismay, his window faced the narrow waterway that surrounded the newly reconstructed Canary Wharf. It was the only flaw to an otherwise generous space. He could even see the memorial wall from his window. Ianto kept his curtains firmly shut after that.
Ianto shed his jacket and tossed it over a chair by the work desk. He sighed and dropped into the king sized-bed covered in a thick mocha brown duvet and generous mounds of cream-colored pillows. He toed off his shoes, freed his feet from its tan striped trouser socks, laid on the bed and mused how funny it was that the bed now felt too big, too lonely. The room wasn't particularly spacious, but the walls loomed over him.
Even the pillows smelled too clean, too laundered against his back. He missed the scent of musk and the salty tang of sweat that always lingered faintly on his sheets. Ianto lay there on the center of the bed and glumly stared at his outstretched legs.
When the mobile rang, Ianto fumbled it out of his pocket and answered the call without looking.
"Good time to call?" Jack asked cheerfully as soon as Ianto said a weary "Hello." His baritone was a pleasant rumble in his ear despite the tinny quality of the phone.
"Back in my room," Ianto said as he levered off the bed for the hotel portfolio to browse the room service menu. He caught himself smiling on the mirror when he went to the desk. "How's everything in Cardiff?"
"Well…turns out the pound shop by the arcade wasn't haunted, it was just a fabricator animating all the toys, traffic was stopped because of a Gretican version of an anteater and the size of an elephant showed up through the rift only to fall asleep on the M11. Otherwise, the universe didn't implode, the Weevils are behaving and I'm horny."
Ianto chuckled. God, how could he miss the man already? "So then, things haven't changed much since I left this morning."
"Ouch." Jack grumbled good-naturedly. "I sent everyone home early. No point in all of us sitting around and listen to the pterodactyl snore."
Ianto frowned. He could hear crunching in the background. "What are you eating?"
"Pot noodle and toast," Jack replied before there was another crunch. It sounded like rocks.
With a grimace, Ianto loosened the top button of his shirt. He settled deeper into the pillows and tried to imagine Jack sitting on their couch eating—Wait.
"Pot noodle and toast?" Ianto repeated.
"Owen was talking about how he used to eat it all the time when he was a student. Thought I would try it." A loud enough crunch made Ianto wince. Jack must have burnt the toast again. Knowledgeable in hundreds of alien tech and yet bested by a five year old toaster Ianto got on sale in Harrods. "You know, absorb twenty first century culture."
"Somehow I don't think learning our culture by way of indigestion is a recommended curriculum," Ianto grimaced.
Ianto gave it some thought before he started.
"Wait a minute, I didn't get any pot noodle for the flat…Where are you?"
Another crunch before Jack mumbled "Hub. Couch."
The thought of Jack sitting alone in the Hub made his insides twist.
"You could have stayed in the flat," Ianto murmured, his throat working. "I wouldn't have minded."
"Feels strange to be in there when you're not."
"Oh," Ianto stammered. He sat on the edge of the bed with the portfolio on his lap, feeling ridiculously like grinning. Any thought about getting room service was gone.
"You're back in your room pretty early. It's only 1910. Weren't you going to attend the cocktail hour?"
Ianto frowned again. "How did you know about the cocktail hour?"
"The itinerary listed a cocktail hour for every one of those days." There was a rustle of paper heard before Jack continued. "Yeah, here it is; 1900 every night."
Something pinched in his chest like a rubber band snap. Ianto swiped his lower lip with his tongue. "You uh…received an invitation as well?"
The shrug was audible in Jack's voice. "When you asked for the time off, I figured you didn't want company since you didn't mention anything."
It would have been better if Jack sounded angry instead of being understanding.
"Sorry." Ianto crossed his legs and tapped his fingers on the leather portfolio before he remembered and stopped.
"I just…I'm not really comfortable with the idea of having anyone from Torchwood One near you."
Ianto heard Jack chuckle but he also thought he detected a tiny sigh of relief as well.
"I'm sure I'm safe from them, Ianto. I don't think anyone is going to string me up as a battery anytime soon."
"I know…it's silly. I—"
"No," Jack interrupted, suddenly very serious, "I don't think it's silly at all." Jack paused before adding "Thank you."
Ianto smiled into the mobile as he loosened his tie. "Now that I think about it, I wish I did ask you to come with me." Somehow the room felt too big and empty without Jack in it.
"Bad?"
Ianto pinched a spot between his burning eyes. Now the room felt too small. "Not exactly brilliant."
"Tell me," Jack invited.
"Nothing. I just…it's like time never past. Everywhere I go, it's…" Ianto sucked in his breath. He wanted to strike the lamp off its nightstand. "You would think after all this time, I would have…coped by now."
"Some things just stay with you." Jack paused. "No matter how much time passes."
Jack's voice was too gruff and too understanding for Ianto's comfort. It was too heavy with memories Ianto could do nothing about in London.
"Anyway," Ianto fumbled, thinking quickly. "So ah…what are you doing?"
Jack snickered. "Hello? Pot noodle? Toast? Unless…Ooh, is this the phone sex we were talking about?"
God. The faux leather binder dropped to the rug.
"What? No, I—" Ianto stuttered.
"Come on, that's the one thing I wish I didn't miss in the later part of the twentieth century," Jack wheedled.
"Well, I…I for a good…I mean, now's not a good time…I mean—we shouldn't…" Ianto scrambled for a good enough reason to deter one far too eager Jack Harkness.
"We're both on the phone, alone, on a secure line." Jack's voice lowered. "And I'm already ready."
"Pardon?" Whereas Jack's voice dropped an octave, Ianto's shot up one.
"Phone sex? I'm assuming that meant no clothes? If not, I have to say I am seriously disillusioned with the concept of—"
"Wait, wait, wait," Ianto yelped. "You're telling me you're in the Hub, ready, right now, ah…ready as in…n-naked?"
"Trousers on the couch, shirt on the table, shoes off, yup." Jack paused.
"The couch needs vacuuming, by the way," Jack added.
It was unnerving how cheerful Jack could sound at times.
Ianto's mouth opened and closed. Bugger, Lisa was far better at this. She used to call Ianto on the mobile and just…
"I, I, I…" Blast it, say something, Jones!
Ianto took a deep breath. "Um…"
A soft snore whispered into his ear.
"Jack!"
Jack laughed. "Okay, sorry, sorry, but geez, you were taking your time, I was going to start without you."
"Y-you were going to s-start without…" Ianto wished his voice would remember puberty was long past and stop reverting. "W-what…" Ianto swallowed. "What were you planning to do?"
"Well, for one thing, I was going to let my finger fuck me," Jack purred. "Maybe two fingers, what do you think?"
Ianto dropped back on the bed. He fumbled for his earpiece. His fingers shook as he tried to activate the hands-free device. He set the mobile on the nightstand. "I ah…only two?" Ianto lowered his unsteady voice. "You would be too tight still."
"Mm, maybe I want to be tight. Maybe I want you to just take me dry, let me feel that thick cock of yours so snug and deep in me, you can't move because you're worried you might tear me apart."
Jack sounded breathless, his voice catching at the last part.
Ianto closed his eyes and envisioned Jack splayed out lazily on the couch, his hand snaked behind him, his back arched as his own fingers breached him.
"You're doing it right now, aren't you?" Ianto absently rubbed the gentle swell between his legs. The fabric brushed enticingly against his crotch.
"I was going to wet my fingers with my mouth," Jack said, his words liquid and heavy, "but I wanted to feel you inching your way in slowly." Jack groaned a little. "It burns, but you feel so good, Ianto."
"How many fingers now?" Ianto pulled his flies down. His fingers fumbled through the frustrating folds of pressed wool and cotton shorts until they bunched low on his hips.
"Three." Jack was breathless now. "But I'll need four. I need you full and big in me, Ianto."
"God," Ianto whimpered. His cock was weeping now. He curled a fist over his growing erection and squeezed hard the spongy tip. Ianto tried to imagine breaching that impossible tightness that always welcomed him.
"Do you want me on my back or on my hands and knees?" Jack rasped.
"Back," Ianto whispered. He pumped lightly his erection. His hips jerked up as he tried to thrust into his own fist.
"I want to see you come," Ianto continued. "I want to see you, my beautiful Jack."
There was a short breathy laugh. "Someone needs to get his eyes checked and take a good look in the mirror." Jack moaned, low and long in a way that curled Ianto's toes.
"How many now," Ianto managed as his fist gripped hard and glided over his own cock with a roughness he could see himself rocking into Jack. Ianto made a sound in the back of his throat. He could see himself, his hands curled around Jack's thighs, his cock red and throbbing from exertion, disappearing and reappearing into Jack's body with a quick, almost rabid succession.
"Jack," Ianto moaned. His hips bucked off the bed.
"Four," Jack panted. He made a little sob. "It's still not enough though. Not…not deep enough."
Ianto thought he could hear the couch springs creak and he could imagine Jack thrashing on the couch, his head thrown back, his eyes squeezed tight as he rode Ianto with a wild abandon he shows no one else.
"Touch yourself," Ianto demanded, or tried as he gasped along with the heady moans in his ear. "Wrap your hand around yourself Jack. Imagine it being me, fisting your cock as I fuck you."
"Ianto…" Jack whimpered. "Christ, harder. I'm not fragile."
Ianto rolled to his right side as he curled slightly and wrapped both fists around his erection and pumped in earnest. But it wasn't enough. So tight. Jack was gloriously tight.
By now, his trousers, his underpants were twisted around his ankles. His hair was plastered around his brow, his shirt clinging to his back.
"God, Ianto," Jack wailed. "Not…more…Christ, fuck me already!"
"Can't you feel me?" Ianto panted. "Can't you feel me inside you, hammering into you as hard as you hammer into me? I'm nailing you to the couch, to the floor. Can you taste me in your mouth yet?"
There was no reply in his ear, just incoherent groans and desperate keening.
The words poured easily out of him now.
"I wish I can see you. I wish I could feel your legs wrapped around me, your fist around your cock, your mouth opened so I can kiss you. I would bend you in half, just so I can bury myself deeper inside you."
Jack moaned into the mobile.
"Are you close yet?" Ianto breathed. "Harder, Jack, like I would, harder until your skin burns."
"Ianto!" Jack screamed.
There was a thump and what sounded like a leg dropping to the floor and then silence.
One squeeze that made him see spots and Ianto threw his head back and cried out Jack's name. He came violently, each time sending shudders throughout his body. Ianto gulped for air. He lay almost fetal like around a spectacular wet spot on the duvet he knew he'd need to tip generously for.
God, his legs were like rubber. Ianto weakly kicked off his trousers and shorts and let them drop to the floor.
Jack could be heard working his jaw, trying to catch his breath.
"Wow," Jack slurred. "The words coming out of your mouth." The mobile didn't quite catch the sound Jack made.
"Ianto Jones, you dirty man." Jack chuckled throatily into his ear. "Thank God."
"Luckily," Ianto wheezed, "you called during off-peak hours…otherwise the charges for that would have been astronomical!" Ianto rolled to his back. "I think I had a stroke," Ianto continued as he blinked towards the ceiling, "I'm seeing spots!"
"No stars?" Jack still sound winded.
"My room is in the fifth floor. All I see is spackle—God, I hope that's spackle."
"Maybe you should go to the roof tomorrow and we can see if we can make you see stars," Jack rumbled.
"Stop," Ianto whimpered. "Let me regain my circulation before you talk like that."
Jack chuckled. "So that was phone sex, huh? Interesting."
"Interesting?" Ianto panted. "That was bloody fantastic. For someone who missed a few decades, you're really good at this."
"I was inspired."
"Let's hear it for inspiration," Ianto stammered.
"Feeling better then?" Jack queried.
Ianto fought to steady his breath. He blinked. The urge to hit something was gone.
"Actually, I do," Ianto murmured. His face softened. "You're a sneaky bastard, Jack. That's why you called, wasn't it?"
"Figured a call might be in order." Ianto could see in his mind Jack shrugging. "Hey, it was either me or the girls. Tosh really wanted to call." Jack hesitated. "Not for that, though."
"Ah." Ianto smiled sadly to himself. "Tell them I'm all right."
"Should I give details?" Jack snickered.
"Don't you dare, Harkness," Ianto growled.
Jack chuckled. "Look, go get dinner because knowing you, you didn't have any and get some sleep, okay?"
"I think I'll get a shower first," Ianto plucked at his shirt. "I'm rather…sticky…"
Jack gave another chuckle, a deep one that sent ripples down his back and bid him good night.
Ianto lay on the bed, listening to the dial tone for a few beeps before he levered off the bed and headed for the bathroom.
The next day was even worse as Ianto sat there in the audience and listened to relatives of the dead recounted stories about them. Some finished before they started to cry. Some didn't.
Ianto skipped cocktail hour again. He felt numb when he returned to his hotel room. He nearly missed his door a few times as he walked down the hall. His fingers trembled and he kept missing the slot with his keycard. Finally he just rested his forehead on the door and kicked the door as he blinked rapidly.
The door opened.
Shit, did he go to the wrong room, Ianto thought as he fell forward neatly into a pair of sturdy arms.
"Wow," a voice exclaimed gleefully, "when the website said their room service here was excellent, they weren't kidding. This is exactly what I ordered."
Ianto raised his head.
"Jack?" Ianto stuttered. He stared at Jack in his dark shirt and silver braces. "W-what are you doing here?"
Jack smiled quietly. He helped Ianto back on his feet and led him into the room, his hand steady on Ianto's lower back.
Jack's greatcoat was folded on the chair, a bottle of wine cooling in a bucket on the nightstand, dinner in covered platters set up on a roll table by the bed.
"How…when…" Ianto blinked at his room. The room, for once, didn't feel too big or too small.
"So many questions," Jack teased. He crooked a finger under Ianto's chin and tilted his head up.
"Hi," Jack murmured.
Ianto blinked back in a daze. "Hi," he managed.
"So how was your day, dear?"
Ianto wrapped his arms around Jack and buried his face into Jack's throat.
"Ah," Jack murmured. "That bad, huh?"
"Not that I'm ungrateful," Ianto mumbled. He pulled back. "But what are you doing here?"
"While I liked this phone sex thing," Jack announced as he busied himself with peeling off Ianto's jacket, then his tie. Jack waggled his brow at Ianto. "I really think there's nothing like the real thing."
Ianto curled his hands around Jack's biceps and let the solid feel of him warm his insides. Something unclenched and Ianto smiled as he felt Jack's fingers nimbly unbutton his shirt.
"Yes," Ianto agreed as he pulled Jack closer to him again, "there is no substitute." Ianto kissed the buttons on Jack's shirt, nipping and humming over the fabric. He felt Jack sighed.
Jack's arm wrapped around his middle, moved one hand to cup the back of Ianto's head and he lowered them both down to the bed. Jack tilted his head and considered Ianto.
"Let's see if I can do anything about those stars," Jack murmured and sealed his mouth over Ianto's for a kiss full of promise and hope.
The End
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Date: 2008-11-03 05:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-03 02:47 pm (UTC)