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d8rkmessngrAn apology fic that is a tiny snippet that relates to my MPREG series Nine Months To Heaven. For Christmas, for the fact TOS is not up yet, a little ficlet I wrote for you all. Dedicated to everyone. Happy holidays, all.
Title: Month 2: Wednesday Evening
Author: d8rkmessngr
Pairing: Janto (of course)
Rating: NC-17
Warning: mega-fluff, domestics, mpreg
Summary: What are our boys doing right now on Christmas Eve. Set in the Storm-verse, far future.
Author's Note: For Christmas, for the fact TOS is not up yet, a little ficlet I wrote for you all. Dedicated to everyone. Happy holidays, all.
Master Fic List: here
It wasn't until the toaster ping, did Ianto realize the time. He had stood there, dozing on his feet, waiting for the toast to be ready.
The tiny bell sang out that the bread slices were now a golden, crunchy brown. Ianto jerked and blinked blearily at the appliance before he fumbled out his stopwatch. Damn it. Christmas was in ten minutes.
There had been plans, a dinner to order, wine (not for Jack though) to consume, gifts to exchange and sex to be had. Those plans were dashed when five Weevils, three Rift bursts and a no longer hibernating alien three meters tall decided today was the day to run amuck Cardiff.
Ianto scrubbed a hand through his hair. Jack was not happy to be left waiting in the SUV, a concession because Jack absolutely refused to wait in the Hub while the rest of Torchwood chased down the aliens. But in a rare moment of agreement, both Ianto and Owen thought at seven weeks pregnant, Jack's fetus was still in a precarious stage and all the running and chasing Torchwood normally did was now forbidden to Jack.
One hand elbow deep in the fridge, Ianto paused.
Who knew the words 'Jack' and 'pregnant' would be part of his vocabulary now?
Ianto shook his head, a wry smile on his lips, as he pulled out the cold Chinese takeaway he hoped was still good after two nights. Ianto avoided the moo shu pork (Jack still thought it smelled like feet), Ianto decided on reheating the broccoli beef and the lo mein to serve as their dinner.
It was a shame, Ianto thought as he divided up the food on two dishes. He originally planned a five-course meal from the Italian bistro five minutes away. Gwen bought him the perfect wine for it and Tosh found the perfect chai tea safe for Jack to drink. Owen vetoed some of the foods, approved others when he reviewed the menu before finally, he deemed the menu safe for a pregnant man.
Ianto sighed. All that work for nothing. He stared glumly at the toaster as he waited for the dishes to warm. When ready, he set them on the tray with the wine, the tea and the leftover cake Francine Jones had made when she visited the week before.
"Merry Christmas indeed," Ianto grumbled as he balanced the tray and made his way into the living room.
"Jack. Unfortunately, we…" Ianto stopped.
The tree that had been sitting neglected for days was moved to a clear spot in a corner of the living room, standing next to the archway that divided the living room from the bedroom. There was glittering tinsel on top, strings of tiny lights wound around the tree.
Halfway down, however, the tree was bare and under the tree, Jack was sleeping slouched against the wall, the tree skirt on his lap, a frosted gingerbread ornament half-eaten in his slack left hand, the rest—what was left—in a chipped porcelain bowl by his knee.
Quietly, Ianto set the tray down on the coffee table, shut off the holiday special Jack must have turned the telly on to and carefully, slowly, sat down cross-legged in front of Jack.
Ianto bit back a smile at the sight of Jack snoring quietly, seemingly unbothered by the fact that pine needles was his pillow. Cross-legged as well, Jack's left hand was on the ornament he was suppose to hang not nibble on and his right hand…
There was a warm feeling blossomed in Ianto's chest when he saw where Jack's other hand was: curled loosely over his stomach. There was no hint of the miracle Ianto was still trying to digest showing. In fact, there would be no hint for a few months. But it seemed there was some instinct in-born in every parent to seek out and protect the vulnerable growing inside. And Jack, even though he was male, was no exception.
Jack's face was different when he was asleep—when sleep was available to him, that is. There was a layer shed when Jack sleeps; the sardonic, jaded, timeless shadow that is always there during the day, peels away in slumber. Like this, Jack wasn't centuries old, immortal, or the leader of Torchwood. Like this, Jack was the fragile yet resilient soul who was also his partner, his lover, his best friend and now also, the father of his child.
God, he loves his captain so much.
Ianto reached over and brushed away the bangs from Jack's forehead. He shuffled closer and before he lost his nerve, leaned in and pressed his lips lightly over Jack's mouth.
Hands reached up to cradle his shoulders.
Jack was different when he was awake: he thrummed with power, with solid strength that anchored Ianto. Yet Jack was graceful in the way his fingers carded through his hair, in the way his legs opened to let Ianto settle between them, in the way his tongue slipped into Ianto's mouth.
Ianto kneaded Jack's biceps as he deepened his kiss, brushed his clothed crotch to Jack's torso in clear message that clothing was presently inconvenient.
The shirts were discarded, Jack's trousers pooled around his calves, Ianto's crumpled under the couch, Ianto sighed Jack's name as he suddenly found himself lying on the tree skirt, pine wafting throughout his senses, Jack's cock hot and large stretching him inside.
No words were uttered when Jack stroked into Ianto, his blue eyes dark with all the things they never say to each other because there was no need. Ianto closed his eyes, back arched slightly to angle Jack deeper, deep enough to touch a part of him Ianto thought no one could ever could again.
Jack rocked with Ianto as they both found a pace, a pace they always found together. Perfect synchronicity by way of bodies swaying under a half-dressed tree and multi-colored lights blinking prisms on their slick skin.
The air heady with the smell of sex, their bellies still damp from Ianto's come, slipping into the hot surroundings of Jack's body made him lightheaded. Ianto thrust while his palms smoothed around where Jack had his hand over before, caressing, massaging as he dove into a velvet heat he never he would never, ever tire of.
They came with each other's name gasped out. Jack moan when Ianto's cock slipped out. Ianto fingered his entrance, swirled the come trickling out and painted his ownership with it on the sensitive skin under Jack's balls. Ianto kissed, licked a trail down Jack's abdomen. He tasted their combined come, the sweat that made Jack's skin pick up the sheen of the tree lights above and the cocktail of scent permanently imprinted in Ianto's heart.
Spent, they laid curled around each other under the tree, unwilling to move because they both knew this was only the beginning of their night. Just the feel of Jack's body breathing quietly next to him made his cock stir again. Jack's already stood half-erect during the lull.
"It's Christmas," Ianto whispered as he propped himself sideways with an elbow and checked the time blinking on the clock on the wall. He let his left hand drift lazily down the contours of Jack's body: the defined pecs, his rib cage and the still firm stomach.
Jack watched Ianto with half-mast eyes. He watched Ianto's hand as it drifted to his stomach. A tiny smile twitch and Jack caught Ianto's hand before it could pull away.
"I was going to do the tree," Jack murmured. He threaded his fingers with Ianto's hand and settled their clasped hands over his belly. "I—" Jack yawned, interrupting himself.
Ianto chuckled at Jack's scowl. "It was a long day."
"Damn it," Jack muttered. His frown, if anything, deepened. "I left your present in the Hub."
Ianto studied their hands over the life they somehow have created. He gave the fingers he held a gentle squeeze and felt an answering squeeze. He stooped down and kissed the grimace.
"I already have my gift," Ianto whispered and straddled Jack, determined to thank his Jack again and again.
The End
Next --> Month 3: Name Calling
Title: Month 2: Wednesday Evening
Author: d8rkmessngr
Pairing: Janto (of course)
Rating: NC-17
Warning: mega-fluff, domestics, mpreg
Summary: What are our boys doing right now on Christmas Eve. Set in the Storm-verse, far future.
Author's Note: For Christmas, for the fact TOS is not up yet, a little ficlet I wrote for you all. Dedicated to everyone. Happy holidays, all.
Master Fic List: here
It wasn't until the toaster ping, did Ianto realize the time. He had stood there, dozing on his feet, waiting for the toast to be ready.
The tiny bell sang out that the bread slices were now a golden, crunchy brown. Ianto jerked and blinked blearily at the appliance before he fumbled out his stopwatch. Damn it. Christmas was in ten minutes.
There had been plans, a dinner to order, wine (not for Jack though) to consume, gifts to exchange and sex to be had. Those plans were dashed when five Weevils, three Rift bursts and a no longer hibernating alien three meters tall decided today was the day to run amuck Cardiff.
Ianto scrubbed a hand through his hair. Jack was not happy to be left waiting in the SUV, a concession because Jack absolutely refused to wait in the Hub while the rest of Torchwood chased down the aliens. But in a rare moment of agreement, both Ianto and Owen thought at seven weeks pregnant, Jack's fetus was still in a precarious stage and all the running and chasing Torchwood normally did was now forbidden to Jack.
One hand elbow deep in the fridge, Ianto paused.
Who knew the words 'Jack' and 'pregnant' would be part of his vocabulary now?
Ianto shook his head, a wry smile on his lips, as he pulled out the cold Chinese takeaway he hoped was still good after two nights. Ianto avoided the moo shu pork (Jack still thought it smelled like feet), Ianto decided on reheating the broccoli beef and the lo mein to serve as their dinner.
It was a shame, Ianto thought as he divided up the food on two dishes. He originally planned a five-course meal from the Italian bistro five minutes away. Gwen bought him the perfect wine for it and Tosh found the perfect chai tea safe for Jack to drink. Owen vetoed some of the foods, approved others when he reviewed the menu before finally, he deemed the menu safe for a pregnant man.
Ianto sighed. All that work for nothing. He stared glumly at the toaster as he waited for the dishes to warm. When ready, he set them on the tray with the wine, the tea and the leftover cake Francine Jones had made when she visited the week before.
"Merry Christmas indeed," Ianto grumbled as he balanced the tray and made his way into the living room.
"Jack. Unfortunately, we…" Ianto stopped.
The tree that had been sitting neglected for days was moved to a clear spot in a corner of the living room, standing next to the archway that divided the living room from the bedroom. There was glittering tinsel on top, strings of tiny lights wound around the tree.
Halfway down, however, the tree was bare and under the tree, Jack was sleeping slouched against the wall, the tree skirt on his lap, a frosted gingerbread ornament half-eaten in his slack left hand, the rest—what was left—in a chipped porcelain bowl by his knee.
Quietly, Ianto set the tray down on the coffee table, shut off the holiday special Jack must have turned the telly on to and carefully, slowly, sat down cross-legged in front of Jack.
Ianto bit back a smile at the sight of Jack snoring quietly, seemingly unbothered by the fact that pine needles was his pillow. Cross-legged as well, Jack's left hand was on the ornament he was suppose to hang not nibble on and his right hand…
There was a warm feeling blossomed in Ianto's chest when he saw where Jack's other hand was: curled loosely over his stomach. There was no hint of the miracle Ianto was still trying to digest showing. In fact, there would be no hint for a few months. But it seemed there was some instinct in-born in every parent to seek out and protect the vulnerable growing inside. And Jack, even though he was male, was no exception.
Jack's face was different when he was asleep—when sleep was available to him, that is. There was a layer shed when Jack sleeps; the sardonic, jaded, timeless shadow that is always there during the day, peels away in slumber. Like this, Jack wasn't centuries old, immortal, or the leader of Torchwood. Like this, Jack was the fragile yet resilient soul who was also his partner, his lover, his best friend and now also, the father of his child.
God, he loves his captain so much.
Ianto reached over and brushed away the bangs from Jack's forehead. He shuffled closer and before he lost his nerve, leaned in and pressed his lips lightly over Jack's mouth.
Hands reached up to cradle his shoulders.
Jack was different when he was awake: he thrummed with power, with solid strength that anchored Ianto. Yet Jack was graceful in the way his fingers carded through his hair, in the way his legs opened to let Ianto settle between them, in the way his tongue slipped into Ianto's mouth.
Ianto kneaded Jack's biceps as he deepened his kiss, brushed his clothed crotch to Jack's torso in clear message that clothing was presently inconvenient.
The shirts were discarded, Jack's trousers pooled around his calves, Ianto's crumpled under the couch, Ianto sighed Jack's name as he suddenly found himself lying on the tree skirt, pine wafting throughout his senses, Jack's cock hot and large stretching him inside.
No words were uttered when Jack stroked into Ianto, his blue eyes dark with all the things they never say to each other because there was no need. Ianto closed his eyes, back arched slightly to angle Jack deeper, deep enough to touch a part of him Ianto thought no one could ever could again.
Jack rocked with Ianto as they both found a pace, a pace they always found together. Perfect synchronicity by way of bodies swaying under a half-dressed tree and multi-colored lights blinking prisms on their slick skin.
The air heady with the smell of sex, their bellies still damp from Ianto's come, slipping into the hot surroundings of Jack's body made him lightheaded. Ianto thrust while his palms smoothed around where Jack had his hand over before, caressing, massaging as he dove into a velvet heat he never he would never, ever tire of.
They came with each other's name gasped out. Jack moan when Ianto's cock slipped out. Ianto fingered his entrance, swirled the come trickling out and painted his ownership with it on the sensitive skin under Jack's balls. Ianto kissed, licked a trail down Jack's abdomen. He tasted their combined come, the sweat that made Jack's skin pick up the sheen of the tree lights above and the cocktail of scent permanently imprinted in Ianto's heart.
Spent, they laid curled around each other under the tree, unwilling to move because they both knew this was only the beginning of their night. Just the feel of Jack's body breathing quietly next to him made his cock stir again. Jack's already stood half-erect during the lull.
"It's Christmas," Ianto whispered as he propped himself sideways with an elbow and checked the time blinking on the clock on the wall. He let his left hand drift lazily down the contours of Jack's body: the defined pecs, his rib cage and the still firm stomach.
Jack watched Ianto with half-mast eyes. He watched Ianto's hand as it drifted to his stomach. A tiny smile twitch and Jack caught Ianto's hand before it could pull away.
"I was going to do the tree," Jack murmured. He threaded his fingers with Ianto's hand and settled their clasped hands over his belly. "I—" Jack yawned, interrupting himself.
Ianto chuckled at Jack's scowl. "It was a long day."
"Damn it," Jack muttered. His frown, if anything, deepened. "I left your present in the Hub."
Ianto studied their hands over the life they somehow have created. He gave the fingers he held a gentle squeeze and felt an answering squeeze. He stooped down and kissed the grimace.
"I already have my gift," Ianto whispered and straddled Jack, determined to thank his Jack again and again.
The End
Next --> Month 3: Name Calling