Rating & Warnings: 18/NC-17. Graphic sex. PWP.
A/N: I have been struggling for ages to write a fic to break my veeeeery long hiatus. In the end, I decided that a bit of porn was what I was really hankering for. Shameless, shameless porn. No angsting, no soul searching, nothing: just sex. And kink. There is far too much angst in Torchwood sex, and even though I'm sure there are a whole bundle of tensions--I don't see Jack and Ianto having True Love Romance--I also think that the infamous stopwatch conversation is pretty supportive of the theory that, within a certain time period, Jack and Ianto have pretty straightforward, kinky sex. Possibly quite often. (I can only hope.)
Dedicated to wildestranger, because it's been a long time coming.
Summary: Ianto's never tried phonesex before, but when he receives a priority call he's open to persuasion.
Comments & constructive criticism welcomed.
JACK: Are you alone?
Ianto blinks at his computer screen, scanning the line over again with a frown. He is not quite sure what to make of it.
JACK: Are you alone?
After a pause Ianto neatly folds the newspaper he has been reading and lays it on the desk beside the monitor, careful not to knock over any stacks of leaflets.
IANTO: Of course I am, sir. I'm at work.
JACK: Where are the others?
Ianto is fairly sure that most people, on receiving this type of message from their boss, would not instantly assume that either he wants sex or there is some kind of alien life form at large in the office. Sometimes Ianto thinks that a nice, simple job in accountancy might be quite pleasantly uneventful, really. Opening the top drawer of his desk with one hand--so he can reach his handgun in case of the second eventuality--Ianto taps the necessary keys into the computer with the other, flicking through the different CCTV cameras with quick presses of the right arrow.
IANTO: Owen's reading what looks like a copy of Nuts in the autopsy bay, sir. Gwen and Toshiko seem to be at their desks.
JACK: Excellent. You set up the relay so we can make calls down here, didn't you?
IANTO: Yes, sir.
JACK: Great. I'm going to call you in just a moment, Ianto, and I need you to pick up your phone. I suggest that before I do you put up the 'closed' sign and lock yourself in the back room up there.
IANTO: Am I right in thinking that this is about sex, sir?
[ Jack has left the conversation ]
* * *
Ianto answers the phone on its third ring. It wouldn't do to make Jack think he's too keen.
"Uh, hi, this is a call about some... some pizza? Yeah, about your tab. This is Torchwood, right?"
Ianto realizes that he should probably have checked the caller ID on the screen of his mobile. He doesn't have to recognize the adolescent squeakiness of the voice on the other end of the line to know that it isn't Jack: his chat-up lines may be adventurous, but they rarely involve fast food.
"Yes, it is. How precisely can I--"
The mobile begins to vibrate again, and a warning beep sounds close to Ianto's ear.
"--Excuse me for just one moment; I have a call on the other line."
Jack sounds quite worked up. "Ianto, you know most places you'd think twice before being engaged for a scheduled call with your boss."
"Of course, sir. Shall I tell them I have a priority call?"
Ianto switches back to the first line and politely and swiftly dismisses the pizza boy--promising he will settle the Torchwood tab--before returning to Jack's call. "Done, sir."
Across the phone line Jack's grunt is ever so slightly tinny. "Huh. Was it important?"
Ianto switches the phone to his other ear so that he can check the door to the back room with his right hand. A few rattles of the handle reassure him that he's firmly locked in with the files and boxes of brochures. "Not really, sir, though it does make me nervous that the pizza boy has us down under 'Torchwood'."
"Owen," Jack says, as if it is the entire explanation, not sounding very concerned. After a moment, though, he seems to perk up, his voice audibly brightening. "So you're alone now?"
"Yes. This is about sex, isn't it, sir?"
Jack laughs. "Are you turned on, Ianto?"
For a moment Ianto considers this, leaning back against one of the filing cupboards and fiddling thoughtfully with his tie. "...No, sir, not really. I was just reading the financial pages."
Unlike most people, Jack doesn't seem to be discouraged by that: he laughs again, deep and spontaneous, and in the background Ianto can hear the distinctive creak of his chair as he leans back. "Well, damn. That's exactly what I thought would get you hot under the collar."
Ianto's lips twitch into a little smile. "Sadly not, sir."
There is a slight pause, and more creaking of Jack's chair; when he does speak again Ianto is taken by surprise at how suddenly close his voice seems to be, lowered to a husky whisper. "What does turn you on, Ianto?"
"Should we be discussing this during office hours, sir? It sounds a more appropriate conversation to have over a pint, say nine o'clock at the Dog and Pheasant--"
"I'm in control of your payroll, Ianto," Jack cuts in. "If I say office hours, it's office hours. Understood?"
Ianto feels the faintest of tingles runs down his spine and he cannot stop himself swallowing, his mouth suddenly awkwardly dry. "Yes, sir."
"Very good." There is another pause, and a few more creaks as Jack makes himself totally comfortable. "So. What are you wearing?"
"You saw me this morning, sir."
Jack persists. "Describe it to me."
"Well..." Pausing, Ianto looks down at himself. "A dark tie, blue shirt and a pinstripe suit, sir."
A chuckle. "Oh, yeah. The cute suit."
Ianto raises a hand and rubs his jaw slowly as he grins. "You could say that, sir."
"And what about underneath?"
After considering making it up for a brief moment Ianto decides he has nothing to lose--it isn't as though anyone could get in through the locked door, even if the others did ever visit him at the front desk--and reaches down to unzip his trousers, spreading his fly with the index and middle fingers of his right hand, arching his hips forward to have a look. "Blue silk boxers, sir."
Jack's lascivious grin is audible. "Was that a zipper I heard?"
"I think I'd be in danger of losing my mysterious allure if I confirmed or denied that, sir."
"Well we wouldn't want that now, would we?" Jack responds with a laugh. "Okay. Let's just say that--theoretically--you just unzipped yourself."
"Now can you--theoretically--undo your belt for me?"
For a moment, Ianto hesitates. He and Jack have had fairly kinky sex before (the stopwatch springs to mind, in particular) but, up until now, phones haven't been part of their repertoire: Ianto would be far more comfortable with just going downstairs and having sex in the showers.
"Ianto? I don't hear any theoretical belt-undoing."
After a very slight pause, Ianto tilts his head to hold the mobile between his cheek and his shoulder, reaching down with both hands to quickly unbuckle his belt. The clicking of the metal parts against each other seems obscenely loud.
"Great. Now," and Ianto is sure that right here he hears the sound of Jack's own zipper, sliding down so slowly it is somehow obscene, not to mention arousing. "I want you--theoretically--to slide your hand into your trousers."
Ianto swallows again. "My trousers, sir?"
"Your trousers, Ianto," Jack says slowly, clearly relishing every syllable. "I want you to slide your hand down your body and into your trousers, and I want you to tell me exactly what that feels like."
Closing his eyes Ianto leans back against the filing cabinet, shifting slightly so that the handles don't press painfully into his back, and slowly exhales. As soon as he rests his right hand on his chest, half-over his tie, he can feel the quick beating of his heart; he hadn't realized he was so worked up.
"Tell me." Jack's voice is ever so slightly thick and Ianto finds himself, briefly, imagining Jack's erection--the feel of it in his hand, in his mouth...
Ianto bites his lip to stop an involuntary moan escaping. "It's--soft, sir."
"My shirt. Smooth."
A small noise of approval comes from the receiver. "Keep going."
Letting his hand slide down over his belly, Ianto keeps his touch light: suddenly he is overheating in here, his breath heavy, and as he slips his hand into the front of his trousers, brushing away the ends of his shirt, he feels the growing press of his erection through his boxers, firm and hot against his fingertips and palm.
"Ianto. Speak up," Jack says sharply.
Taking a steadying breath, Ianto tries to think straight, letting his fingertips slide over himself slowly, arousal flaring low in his body. "My boxers are smooth."
"I'm--I'm hard, sir. I can feel myself. I'm feeling myself." Ianto opens his eyes halfway to watch himself, only becoming harder as he sees his own hand moving in the same old familiar rhythm, steady and promising and good.
Jack grunts under his breath, and the chair creaks again as he moves. When he speaks his voice is husky with breathlessness. "What do you feel like, Ianto? D'you feel good?"
Yes, Ianto thinks: yes, he feels good. He nods before realizing that Jack can't see him and he has to scramble for thoughts, any thoughts, as he tries to resist the urge to slide his hands into his boxers and wank off right now, quickly. "Yes. I feel--" and he presses his hips forward against his hand, almost involuntarily, voice catching as thrills tingle over his skin and the pressure rises, "Jack, fuck, I need to come downstairs now--"
"No," Jack says, sudden and firm. "No, you won't come downstairs, Ianto. I'm going to tell you exactly what you are going to do and you are going to do exactly what I tell you. Understood?"
Ianto swallows and feels every inch of his body thrum with need. "Yes, sir," he says, keeping his voice as level as he can, taking a deep, steadying breath and loosening his grip on his cock. "Yes."
"Good boy. I bet you're getting pretty hot up there, aren't you? I know I'm getting hot down here, thinking about you getting all worked up for me, imagining your face as you touch yourself..."
This time Ianto can't hold back his whimper and he bucks his hips forward again, thumb and forefinger joining about himself for a few quick, needy jerks. "Sir..."
"I want you to take your hand out of your trousers, Ianto, and I want you to unbutton your shirt," Jack says, voice smooth and thick with lust.
"That's an order."
Ianto forces himself to pull his hand away, and cradling the phone between his shoulder and cheek again he fumbles with the buttons of his shirt, fingers trembling so much that it is almost impossible. He's almost too distracted to finish the task: he's quivering with need, muscles over his thighs and belly tense, and he can already see the wet patch on his boxers where the tip of his cock is pressed against the fabric-- He closes his eyes and tries to focus on something else instead: on Jack. Yes, Jack. Ianto licks his lips, takes the mobile back into his left hand. "Done, sir."
"Perfect," Jack responds after a faint pause, rolling the 'r'. Beneath his voice Ianto can hear a faint rustling sound, the rhythmic movement of fabric over fabric and palm over skin. "Are your nipples hard?"
Hissing slightly as his fingernail scrapes over the skin of his chest Ianto checks, briefly squeezing each nub of flesh between his thumb and forefinger, biting his lip as he presses forward against the stimulation. "Yes, sir."
"Mmmm." Exhaling slowly, Jack takes his time in replying, voice deep and languorous. "I'm so hard for you. I'm sitting here and imagining you as I touch myself. I'm imagining your hand here on me." He pauses, for a moment, and his breath hitches. "I'm imagining you getting down on your knees, Ianto. I'm imagining you begging to suck me."
Ianto can't hold back a groan and he feels a fresh pulse of need press through his body, his cock suddenly painfully hard, and before he can think it through logically he's touching himself again, gripping himself hard and rubbing his tip with his thumb, feeling the moisture there, and he can smell himself, arousal and sweat thick in the air--
"Do you want to suck me off, Ianto?" Jack whispers, voice so close to Ianto's ear that he expects it to feel Jack's breath on his neck, hot and moist. "Tell me you want my cock in your mouth."
Right at this moment, Ianto can't think of anything else he has ever wanted more: he half-remembers, half-imagines Jack naked, imagines being close to him, thinks of how close Jack is right now, how easy it would be to go there, to give him exactly what he wants... Clenching his eyes tight shut, his breath catching in his throat with each jerk, Ianto tightens his fingers about himself, nods frantically even though Jack can't see. "God, Jack, please, I want to--"
"Tell me," Jack half-gasps, "tell me how much you want it, Ianto, tell me how much you want to taste me, how much you want to blow me--"
Ianto feels as if his knees are going to give way, and he thrusts forward into his fist over and over and over and over, feeling like he's going to lose himself now, right now, in his hard grip and the smooth silk and the damp of his precome, and he's whining and moaning and he doesn't think he could talk ever, doesn't think--
"Stop." Sudden and firm: Jack's voice, surprisingly in control, a little ragged about the edges, maybe, but no more. "Ianto. Stop."
With a whimper Ianto forces his wrist to stop moving, but he can't quite bring himself to let go of his cock; he holds himself, feels his heat and his hardness in his hand, so familiar, and tries, tries, tries not to come. "S-sir?"
"Stop touching yourself," Jack says, and it's an order.
Ianto takes a deep breath and removes his hand from his trousers, squeezing it into a fist and tries to use his willpower to slow the beating of his heart. "Sir."
"Good," Jack says, and Ianto realizes with a little flurry of lust that it's practically a purr, that Jack is still jerking himself off, is still giving himself pleasure. His voice is heavy with it. "Now that you're less distracted... Tell me."
"What you want to do." When Ianto doesn't speak for a few moments, Jack adds: "taking your time only harms you, Ianto. No touching yourself till I say so. And me..." he laughs. "I can wait for you. It's not like I have to stop."
Ianto whimpers with frustration, arching his back slightly as if to press himself against the hand that's no longer there. "Sir..."
Licking his lips, Ianto is silent for a moment, and just thinks: thinks about how much he's aching with need. Thinks about how much he wants Jack here right now. Thinks about what he wants to do with him, to him. Takes a deep breath. "I want to suck you," he whispers, feeling the flush spreading over his cheeks: doing this is okay, talking about it is harder. "I want to kneel in front of you and give you pleasure, sir. I want to taste you inside my mouth and I want you to--" a tiny waver, a hitch of his breath, he can feel himself getting impossibly harder as he speaks, "--I want you to come in my mouth. I want to swallow your come, sir."
Jack groans, and the sound's nearly enough to get Ianto off, no touching required. "You'd better get down here."
Somehow Ianto manages to get to Jack's office without being seen: he's sure that just one glance and any of the others would know exactly what he's going there for. A glimpse of himself in the mirror at the welcome desk only confirms that he looks exactly as he feels: flustered, breathless, so aroused that he can hardly walk. Even with his shirt done up (offline: the buttons are all one higher than they should be) and his trousers zipped he still feels half-naked; for one thing, his erection is still mortifyingly obvious. Luckily, the others have disappeared: sounds are coming from the kitchen, and women's voices echo up from one of the lower levels, but Ianto manages to reach Jack's office without being seen.
The door is closed. Straightening his suit Ianto takes a moment for himself--closes his eyes, breathes deep. He's so taut with arousal that the tension has risen up over all the muscles of his body, and he can feel the ache of them in his back, shoulders, stomach. Just as he raises his hand to knock, the door opens, and before Ianto can even process Jack standing there--looking remarkably calm but for the flush over his cheeks, the dilation of his pupils, the press of his cock against his trousers--Jack has reached out a hand and pulled him in, closing and locking the door after them.
Ianto can smell Jack's arousal in the room, thick and salty, the scent sending an electrical shiver down his spine. He leans forward for a kiss, lips already parted, desperate to press close and--
Jack presses a hand to Ianto's chest, holding him back; for a moment his expression is hard, unreadable, but in a second his lips quiver and curl into a grin. "Are we forgetting something? Seems to me we didn't agree for you to come down here for a kiss."
Ianto swallows, blinks quickly; before he can respond Jack is walking towards him and Ianto reflexively takes a step back, a step which promptly presses his back against the wall. Jack, however, doesn't stop moving, and suddenly they are pressed together chest to chest and hips to hips and Ianto pushes forward with a little whimper, grinding close--
Jack leans forward to kiss his ear with a grin, breath hot and warm on Ianto's skin, live instead of transmitted through airwaves. "If I'm remembering right," he whispers, and suddenly his hand is between them, stroking Ianto's cock lazily through two layers of fabric, balls to head, "you're down here to suck me off."
The muscles over Ianto's stomach clench at that and he almost, so almost comes--but he catches himself, takes a deep shuddering breath, nods. "Sir."
Jack takes a step back, raising his hands in a gesture of offering. "Then what are you waiting for?"
Without hesitation Ianto drops to his knees. Jack's erection is clearly visible through his trousers and Ianto leans forward to kiss it as he tugs down the zipper, the faint rush of the little metal teeth being drawn apart loud in the room, mixing with Jack's heavy breathing. Raising his hands slowly up Jack's legs Ianto hooks his fingers over the top of Jack's trousers--the braces have already been removed, and for a fleeting moment of coherency Ianto is grateful for that consideration--and tugs them down a little; breathless, suddenly yet more acutely aware of the needy tension between his own legs as he takes Jack's cock into his hand.
"Go on," Jack half-moans, and Ianto tilts his head back to see Jack closed-eyed, flushed, lips wet with saliva. The image sends a jolt through Ianto's body, tingling over his skin and burning low in his chest; he swallows, licks his lips, leans forward, and presses a kiss to the tip of Jack's cock. The smell alone would be enough to make Ianto hard: the familiar, thick scent of Jack, the tang of his precome and the smell of his sweat. Right now, just this--holding Jack's erection in his hand, letting his thumb ever so gently slide across his flesh, just looking at Jack's cock and salivating--has Ianto so impossibly aroused that he's sure he hasn't needed to come this badly since he was a teenager. Almost without thinking he lets his right hand slide down his body, starts to tug open his belt; but he is distracted, suddenly, by Jack's hands on his head, fingers twisting gently in his hair.
"Did I say you could touch yourself, Ianto?"
Ianto bites his lip hard to hold back a whimper, closing his eyes briefly as he takes a deep, slow breath. Not trusting himself to speak, he does as Jack says: withdraws his left hand from his trousers and brings it up, instead, to cup Jack's balls, massaging one gently with fingers that, Ianto is not entirely surprised to see, are still trembling. With his other hand he begins to stroke Jack's cock, slow and steady, and then leans forward--
He loves the taste of Jack. Loves the fact that he loves this, every bit of being on his knees and having Jack in his mouth and wanting it, needing it. Jack's cock is hot and hard in his mouth, slick with his precome and Ianto's saliva, and for a long moment Ianto stays still, eyes closed, savouring it--him--his cock--the slow, rhythmic strokes of Jack's fingers through his hair. Only when Jack bucks his hips slightly, prompting, does Ianto begin to move again: sets a rhythm with his hand and his mouth, swirling his tongue over the head of Jack's cock before taking him further into his mouth for a deep, hungry suck.
"Fuck, Ianto," Jack groans above him, his grip in Ianto's hair tightening painfully for a moment, "you have no idea how hot it is seeing you on your knees for me--"
Ianto takes his time, settling into a comfortable rhythm between the steady, rhythmical jerks of his hand and sucking, pulling back every now and again to tilt his head, run his tongue slowly up the sensitive underside of Jack's cock. He's aching to touch himself, is sure that he's going to explode with need--but one look up at Jack's face is enough to persuade him that going without is worth it to make Jack look like that: eyes half-closed, mouth open as he pants, cheeks flushed with arousal. Instead, Ianto focuses on touching Jack, on making Jack feel good, on making Jack come: massaging Jack's balls ever so gently with his off hand as he begins to bob his head slowly, relishing the feeling of Jack sliding between his lips, of Jack's precome on his tongue, taking him deeper and deeper into his mouth. He's not sure how long it is before he feels the telltale tightening of Jack's muscles--how to measure time with only the ache of his knees, the increasing desperation of Jack's groans?--but Ianto knows exactly what to do: even as Jack's fingers tighten in his hair Ianto pulls back, ever so slightly, sliding his fingers behind Jack's balls to that spot right there that makes Jack go crazy every single time, caresses the sensitive skin, increases the speed of his hand on Jack's cock--
Jack comes with a shout that's so loud Ianto is sure everyone has heard, but he doesn't care. Instead he just opens his eyes, looks up, and keeps staring at Jack, eyes locked onto each other, as Jack's come hits his tongue: thick and salty and hot, and Ianto swallows quickly, hungrily, sucking every last drop from it as Jack presses hard into his mouth, hands twisting tight in Ianto's hair.
When Jack is entirely done Ianto slowly, slowly draws back, kissing Jack's wet cock one last time before raising his arm, wiping the saliva and traces of come from his lips with the back of his hand. Freed from the need to get Jack off he's suddenly painfully aware of his own arousal: pulsing and burning and pressed hard against his trousers, aching with need. His knees hurt, too, from the hard floor; it's just as he's about to stand up that, to his surprise, Jack drops to his knees beside him and very, very suddenly reaches for Ianto's cock.
Jack doesn't respond, just gives Ianto a warning glance as he deftly unbuckles Ianto's belt and slides his hand into the other man's trousers, exactly, exactly, exactly where Ianto needs him. For a moment the sensation, the feeling of finally being touched, is so intense that Ianto squeezes his eyes tight shut, bites his lip, involuntarily bucks up against Jack's hand, against Jack's palm.
"Good boy," Jack whispers. "Good boy, Ianto. You can come for me. Come now."
In the tight grip of Jack's hand, slick with Ianto's precome, Ianto doesn't have a choice: his whole body tenses and buckles and sparks and he hears himself calling out, sees stars over his eyes and comes so hard--
When Ianto is next aware of himself he is slumped against the wall, Jack beside him, and Ianto is gasping for breath, feeling as if his lungs are on fire, motionless and wasted in the wake of his orgasm. He blinks slowly--once, twice--and turns his head towards Jack, moaning quietly as Jack raises his hand to his mouth, licks Ianto's come carefully, deftly from his fingers before grinning.
It's nearly all Ianto can do just to nod. "Yes. But next time--next time I'm the one making the call."
Jack laughs and leans over to kiss him, and Ianto can taste his come on Jack's lips.
"Is that a promise?"
Comments & constructive criticism welcomed!