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d8rkmessngrI am surrounded by laundry. I haven't been writing so thought I would at least get some quickie 15 minutes of free writing involved to at least feel like I'm writing. Beware, this was NOT betaed. Bad mommy. Sorry oh beta of mine.
Title: Moments #1
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: janto
Rating: PG-13
Summary: What are the boys doing right now.
Warning: Not betaed
Click, click, click.
It was unflattering to say the least, Ianto thought as Jack went from Eastenders to Gavin and Stacey to Top Gear. Jack insisted he was just interested in the cars but Ianto noticed how Jack sat up higher whenever Richard Hammond pranced into the screen.
Click, click, click.
Their first weekend off, free of the Torchwood rota and the day was brilliant outside. Jack woke up earlier to make sandwiches, unbury the biscuits Ianto hid in the back of the cupboard (because confound it, it was impossible to find the chocolate caramel ones) and wrapped ice cool towels around a 1932 Chateau de Monsoit. Jack claimed it was a gift from a prince who liked Jack saying no to him because his eyes turned bluer with each refusal.
Then Ianto made the mistake of turning on his telly to check the weather.
Click, click, click.
"Jack," Ianto grumbled against Jack's shoulder. He couldn't do anything else. He was pinned between his sofa and Jack's body as Jack flipped between angst, melodrama and the occasional high impact multiple vehicle destruction. Jack leaned in, curled towards Ianto as if he was the actual couch, his hip pressed snug against Ianto's. One hand was idly going up and down Ianto's thigh, his legs tangled in a way with Ianto's that should be uncomfortable but was instead infuriatingly arousing because folds and bends and the heat of hard muscle was tempting Ianto to do something scandalous that would rival anything on bloody Eastenders.
"Hm?" Jack said distractedly as he paused the hopping between BBCs to eye Richard Hammond climbing into an extremely expensive car. Italian, most likely. Jack's eyes dilated and--bloody hell--he went slackjawed as Hammond wiggled into the bucket seat and the remote dangled from loose fingers. Then the car zipped off screen and Jack was exploring the airwaves of his Sky subscription again.
Click, click, click, click, click...
Ianto rolled his eyes. Sod this. He reached over and slipped a hand across trousers and settled over Jack's groin. His thumb rubbed a spot over the gentle swell of heat he could feel there. Then Ianto squeezed ever so not gently just in case Jack mistaken it for something else. (he better not)
Click, click, cli--
There, Ianto thought with a tiny smirk. Sorted. Now, perhaps they could--
Ianto yelped because abruptly, Jack tossed his remote somewhere behind the couch and lunged at Ianto, his smile feral, his eyes blue enough to make the sky weep.
There was something pornographic about the soundtrack of revving cars, Richard Hammond's commentary and Jack's deep throat moans around them as Ianto sank deep into his body with a force that made his knees ache.
Not that he would ever mention it. Ever.
Title: Moments #1
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: janto
Rating: PG-13
Summary: What are the boys doing right now.
Warning: Not betaed
Click, click, click.
It was unflattering to say the least, Ianto thought as Jack went from Eastenders to Gavin and Stacey to Top Gear. Jack insisted he was just interested in the cars but Ianto noticed how Jack sat up higher whenever Richard Hammond pranced into the screen.
Click, click, click.
Their first weekend off, free of the Torchwood rota and the day was brilliant outside. Jack woke up earlier to make sandwiches, unbury the biscuits Ianto hid in the back of the cupboard (because confound it, it was impossible to find the chocolate caramel ones) and wrapped ice cool towels around a 1932 Chateau de Monsoit. Jack claimed it was a gift from a prince who liked Jack saying no to him because his eyes turned bluer with each refusal.
Then Ianto made the mistake of turning on his telly to check the weather.
Click, click, click.
"Jack," Ianto grumbled against Jack's shoulder. He couldn't do anything else. He was pinned between his sofa and Jack's body as Jack flipped between angst, melodrama and the occasional high impact multiple vehicle destruction. Jack leaned in, curled towards Ianto as if he was the actual couch, his hip pressed snug against Ianto's. One hand was idly going up and down Ianto's thigh, his legs tangled in a way with Ianto's that should be uncomfortable but was instead infuriatingly arousing because folds and bends and the heat of hard muscle was tempting Ianto to do something scandalous that would rival anything on bloody Eastenders.
"Hm?" Jack said distractedly as he paused the hopping between BBCs to eye Richard Hammond climbing into an extremely expensive car. Italian, most likely. Jack's eyes dilated and--bloody hell--he went slackjawed as Hammond wiggled into the bucket seat and the remote dangled from loose fingers. Then the car zipped off screen and Jack was exploring the airwaves of his Sky subscription again.
Click, click, click, click, click...
Ianto rolled his eyes. Sod this. He reached over and slipped a hand across trousers and settled over Jack's groin. His thumb rubbed a spot over the gentle swell of heat he could feel there. Then Ianto squeezed ever so not gently just in case Jack mistaken it for something else. (he better not)
Click, click, cli--
There, Ianto thought with a tiny smirk. Sorted. Now, perhaps they could--
Ianto yelped because abruptly, Jack tossed his remote somewhere behind the couch and lunged at Ianto, his smile feral, his eyes blue enough to make the sky weep.
There was something pornographic about the soundtrack of revving cars, Richard Hammond's commentary and Jack's deep throat moans around them as Ianto sank deep into his body with a force that made his knees ache.
Not that he would ever mention it. Ever.