Notes: This was written for the fourth comment porn battle, hosted by 51stcenturyfox and cruentum. It's a sequel to Parallel Perception, but that doesn't have to be read first. I didn't really have any ideas for a follow-up until, well, I actually saw the porn battle post. The prompts were: telepathy, toys, the Plass.

Pairing: Jack/Ianto

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: Torchwood and its characters are the property of the BBC and Russell T. Davies. I make no profit from this fanfic.

It's strange, when Ianto brings Jack his coffee the next morning, but Jack thinks he can feel Ianto trembling the slightest bit as he takes the mug.

"Anything else you'll be needing, Jack?" Ianto asks, his voice low and quiet.

"Maybe later," Jack winks. "Do me a favour and see if there's anything Owen needs help with."

"Right." Ianto stiffens the slightest bit as he steps from the office. Jack raises an eyebrow, but then he's distracted by the report Toshiko's emailing him.

When the Rift alarm goes off that afternoon, Gwen promptly offers to investigate. It's small and doesn't look too serious, but Jack tells her to take Owen with her anyway. Toshiko stays in place to monitor them.

Jack grins to himself and asks Ianto for more coffee -- while they wait to see what's come through, of course, nothing more. This time he can't help but notice the slightly stiff-legged way Ianto walks; it's just a bit more pronounced now, and Jack doesn't know if he should be worried.

He shrugs. What good is a little psychic training if he never gets to use it? (He could ask Ianto, sure, but hell, that wouldn't be any fun.) He closes his eyes and reaches out. It's easier when he's touching the thing he's trying to suss out, but he can do it remotely, too. He feels Tosh's mind at work, half of her focused on directing Gwen and Owen to the site, the other -- interesting -- dreamily turning over an image of Owen in bed. He smiles in sympathy and moves past her bright thoughts to Ianto.

Oh. Ianto's mind is focused entirely around one thing: the thing that's making him walk in discomfort, the thing that he's been dealing with since he came in to work this morning. Jack inhales hard, losing the connection, his eyes blinking open. Oh, Jesus.

When Ianto returns to the office, Jack's still breathing a little shallowly, the flush of arousal heating his cheeks. Before Ianto can say anything, Jack sits up, licking his lips. "All day?" he says.

"Jack?" Ianto says slowly, confused, placing the mug on his desk. Jack grasps at Ianto's hand. Ianto lets him take it, his eyes tracking to where Jack's fingers curl around his.

"You've had it in all day," Jack says. Ianto's eyes widen in awareness, and he nods, tongue slipping out over suddenly-dry lips.

"Took you long enough to figure it out," Ianto murmurs.

"Tosh!" Jack yells, letting go of Jack's hand. "Cover things, we'll be right back."

"Got it," she calls, so involved in what she's doing that -- Jack hopes -- she only catches the words and not the meaning beneath. He stands, abrupt and clumsy, knocking his chair away. Ianto's already opening the manhole cover and dropping down the ladder; Jack hears him hiss as he sits before climbing down, and his dick goes stone in his trousers.

By the time Jack's reached the floor of his bedroom, Ianto's already half-undressed; while Jack would normally prefer to do that job himself, he can't fault Ianto's haste. He strips his own braces off and shucks out of his trousers, starting to unbutton his shirt; Ianto, shirtless and with his trousers undone, shakes his head, a hand in the center of Jack's chest to push him back to the camp bed.

"Stay there," he says, and Jack swallows and nods, laying back and pushing his pants down around his ankles. He feels thick with arousal in more ways than one, stunned and shaking at how quickly this is happening. (For him, at least, he admits; then he starts imagining Ianto getting himself ready before work and another shock of heat and need hits him so hard he can barely see for a moment.)

Ianto wastes no more time in stripping off, dropping clothes uncaringly to the floor; only his socks stay on (the floor's cold, Jack doesn't blame him) as he approaches the bed. He climbs easily over Jack's thighs, straddling him, long and lean and pale, cock hard against his belly: it's a sight that never fails to make Jack's mouth go dry, and this is no exception. Ianto reaches for one of Jack's hands, guiding it around behind him. Jack lets out a breath when his questing fingers encounter the wide, round base, and he gives a smooth tug, letting it slip out to a long, low accompanying groan from Ianto.

It's nothing exceptional. He's used plugs more often and in more ways than he can even think about at the moment. The object itself is simple and conventional in construction, wider toward the base, rounding to a narrow tip, marbled in red and white. It's the fact that Ianto thought about this, planned ahead, bought it, made himself ready for Jack.

"Is this my payback?" Jack whispers. He reaches blindly for the tube of slick tucked under his pillow, squirts a little into his hand. Ianto may be stretched and ohGodso ready for him, but he doesn't want to take any chances. He slicks himself up, swallowing at the sensation. Then he lets go, holding his cock up and steady for Ianto.

Ianto's startled into a laugh as he starts to move down. They gasp together at the first moment of entry, sudden heat and fulfillment.

"Maybe," Ianto says with a grin.

Jack's hands squeeze at Ianto's hips. Ianto stays where he is, just the head of Jack's cock in him. "Maybe?" Jack repeats. His voice grates, raw with need.

"Yeah," Ianto breathes out, and sinks down. He's so open, taking Jack in, that impossible dense heat enveloping him so deliciously that Jack's lost his breath, the ability to think, until Ianto's settled completely on him. Wriggling a little. Jack groans.

"Fuck," he mutters, his hands moving restlessly now, around to grasp at Ianto's arse, back down his thighs, skimming up his chest. Ianto makes a low, hoarse sound and lifts up again for another smooth slide.

It can't last; it's too hot, too quick. Jack can make himself hold out, sometimes, if he's prepared for it, but this is not one of those situations. Ianto moves on him with sleek grace, long thighs flexing for every push, and when Jack rocks up to grind into him, their cries are loud enough to echo off the concrete walls. Jack bites his lip in an effort to make it last, to drag out the pleasure for as long as possible. Then Ianto takes himself in hand, and Jack's gone at the sight of those wicked fingers wrapped around Ianto's cock.

While he's still gasping from the force of the orgasm, Ianto flops down on him, heavy and limp. Jack hooks an arm around him and presses a kiss to Ianto's temple.

"Thank you," he whispers, and feels Ianto smile against his shoulder.

"All in a day's work," Ianto replies. Jack can't stop laughing.

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this page last updated on 23 january 2010