Every Position Must Be Held.

Notes: Fill-in scene for "To the Last Man". Yeah, that one. What can I say; I am an unapologetic Jack/Ianto fan. This was also inspired partly by a beautiful manip by clarity_lore.

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.

"...I wouldn't change that for the world."

Ianto's not looking at Jack for those words, so he nearly misses it -- until he glances up at Jack again and realises that Jack's looking directly at him. Directing the statement straight to him.

He's too stunned to respond for a long moment. Jack's perfectly still, leaning forward just a little as if hanging on Ianto's reply. The moment begins to stretch and still Ianto can't speak, the impact of Jack's statement still processing. Finally, driven by his own incoherency, he leans in and clasps Jack's face in his hands, kissing him swiftly.

It's not the first kiss they've shared since Jack returned from his travels with the Doctor; they've been on more than one date, even managed to spend a blissfully quiet afternoon together at Ianto's flat. But Ianto's a little shaken by the way Jack opened up to him tonight, and he needs to show how it's affected him.

Jack seems to get it, though. His hands come up to Ianto's shoulders, his mouth opening for Ianto's tongue, his body pliant under Ianto's hands. When they break apart, both shallowly panting, Ianto presses his forehead to Jack's. "Let's go downstairs," he murmurs.

Jack nods, licking his lips, and together they stand. Ianto climbs down the ladder first; Jack follows as soon as Ianto's hands are free of the rungs, joining him in the tiny bunker that passes for Jack's bedroom.

Ianto hasn't been down here since before Jack left (before Abaddon; before weeks of wondering if he'd meant to go, if he'd ever return, what would happen if he did), but nothing much has changed. The camp bed still occupies a large portion of the room, the remainder taken up by a wardrobe that must have been assembled down here. Even before they started sleeping together, Ianto was frequently down here, fetching Jack's dirty clothes and returning with the dry cleaning. Now, as Jack fetches up at the bottom of the ladder and pulls the chain to turn the light on, Ianto swallows and turns to face him again.

"Is this all right?" Jack asks. He reaches for Ianto's hands, and he glances around, as if giving the space a critical once-over, before looking at Ianto again. "If you don't -- I mean. We can go somewhere--"

Ianto shakes his head and steps close, tugging at the same time to bring Jack to him. It's sweet the way Jack's actually nervous. "It's fine," he says, and presses his mouth to Jack's to seal it. Jack seems to relax a little, letting himself press to Ianto; Ianto lets go of Jack's hands to bring his own up to Jack's face again, fingers pushing back into the soft warmth of Jack's hair. At the back, it goes just a little curly, silkier than the rest of it. Ianto's always loved stroking him there, and Jack always liked it, too; he does still, if his open-mouthed sigh of pleasure is any indication.

Turning a little, Ianto draws them back toward the bed. There's a chest beneath with various necessities; Ianto confirms with the kick of an exploratory heel that it's still there, and then sits on the camp bed, pulling Jack between his knees. This way he can keep kissing Jack and start undressing him at the same time.

Jack seems to have the same idea, though; his hands push at Ianto's jacket even as Ianto tugs Jack's braces down, and they laugh together for a moment when hands become tangled in fabric. Ianto lets Jack free so that he can remove his own jacket, and Jack skins the braces off his shoulders. Ianto doesn't mind when Jack slips his tie off, though. It's strangely sensual, the way the silk slides through his long square fingers, and his eyes follow that motion. Then the tie's discarded, and Ianto refocuses on the task at hand, making quick work of Jack's shirt, unbuttoning and tugging the fabric out from his trousers.

The undressing is slower, possibly, than they've ever done before. Most past encounters didn't even involve nudity; Jack would slip gracelessly to his knees and just undo Ianto's flies, or they might go so far as to have a pair of trousers unbuckled around ankles. Ianto liked the feel of Jack's hands sliding under his shirt, tracing secret paths; he found a previously-unknown eroticism in being half-dressed while Jack fucked his brains out. Now, though, he doesn't feel shy. It's right to be naked with the man he-- He cuts that thought short; too many possible endings. Jack's fingers finish undoing Ianto's trousers; moments later, Jack's naked too, and Ianto pushes himself back on the bed to rid himself of the rest of his clothes.

It's a moment's work to strip the sheets back and slide under them; Ianto holds up a corner for Jack, who joins him a moment later. He'd paused long enough to rustle in the box under the bed; he's grinning, now, as he lays supplies on the shelf that passes for a night table. "Still with me?" he asks. Somehow, it's just the right thing to say.

Ianto nods. "Always," he murmurs, and tugs Jack in for another kiss. Pressed to the length of Jack's body, he can feel himself trembling a little from a sort of hyper excitement and anticipation. He curls a leg over Jack's calf and murmurs into his ear, "I want you in me."

Jack's breath catches, then lets out in a gusty sigh against Ianto's neck, and he nods hastily. "Yes. Absolutely, yes." Levering himself up, he grabs at the foil tube of gel, nudging Ianto's knees apart at the same time. The covers go sliding back and Ianto shivers from cold this time: brick against his shoulder, cool air surrounding them.

"Cold?" Jack murmurs. When Ianto nods, he grins that wicked grin. "I'll warm you up," he promises, and lowers his mouth to Ianto's belly. Ianto can hear the cap of the tube being opened, knows Jack's slicking up his fingers, but the breach still comes as a surprise: two fingers pushing against the sensitive muscle, parting him, opening him -- while at the same time Jack's mouth finds Ianto's cock.

Ianto succumbs eagerly to Jack. Right at this second, that's all he wants to do. Jack opened up to him emotionally; Ianto's too inarticulate to respond in any other way but physical, but it's enough for the moment. Jack plays him, an expert musician with Ianto his instrument, fingers bowing deep in him and drawing out sighs, groans; Ianto arches up when Jack pushes deep and finds that spot that makes his vision burst white, and he shouts inarticulate need at the ceiling. "Please," he gasps, when the wave of pleasure recedes and he can breathe again. "Please, Jack, please--"

"Please what?" Jack lifts his mouth, shining wet, lips glossy. Ianto hadn't forgotten the way Jack's eyes can flicker black with want and promise and lust; it still makes his chest tighten. "Tell me what you want me to do to you, Ianto. Tell me."

The words spill out of Ianto before he's conscious of what he's saying. "Fuck me, Jack, I want your cock in me, I want you to fucking fill me up and take me, want to feel you fucking me good and hard--"

Jack makes a sound of need, a low growl, and Ianto drops his head back, panting sharply. Even he's a little shocked by the confession. It's not as if they haven't done this before, but he's never said it so explicitly. Arousal washes over him with every heartbeat and he swallows hard. "Please," he mumbles again, eyes on the ceiling without really registering it.

The next moment, Jack's over him. One hand slips between them, fitting himself, but Jack's eyes are focused solely on Ianto's as he finds the opening and starts to push. Ianto's aware of a blaze of blue, fired hot with desire; then he has to close his own eyes as the blunt round head of Jack's cock starts to push into him.

Some nights are slow, leisurely, Jack taking his time working himself into Ianto: this isn't one of them. Jack jerks his hips in a rough push and just like that he's buried himself, his full length heavy inside Ianto. Ianto loves the feeling of Jack's balls against his ass. It's so strange, it's all so much stranger than he ever thought he'd be all right with, but it's the maleness of Jack that he loves, the hair on his strong thighs, the thickness of his cock, the brush of stubble on his jaw when they kiss, Jack's broad hands and flat chest against his. He reaches up and his hands curl around Jack's upper arms, and he holds there for the sheer pleasure of having Jack there to hold to, his anchor in the storm of sensation washing over him.

Jack jerks back and thrusts hard again; this time they both cry out, voices loud in the small space. "Yeah," Jack mutters, "that's good, yeah? You like that, you like how I feel when I'm fucking you?"

Every word triggers another hot rush of arousal. Ianto thinks the top of his head is going to come off. "F-fuck," he gasps. "I do, I fucking love it--" He's cut off by another thrust that drives the air from his lungs and the sense from his brain. Jack starts settling into a regular rhythm now, gradually speeding; it's easier for Ianto to push up and meet him, every slide slick now, the meeting of their bodies jarring in sudden intensity.

When Jack's hand snakes between them and fists his cock in fast pulls, Ianto's gone. He drops his head back and shouts as the climax takes him in an intense, blinding rush. It's a moment before he registers Jack straining against him, gasping his orgasm into Ianto's neck.

Afterward, Ianto barely dares to breathe. Around him -- around them -- the Hub is still with a rare silence that Ianto wants to preserve. The overhead light is harsh and he closes his eyes against it. In the almost eerie quiet, he and Jack might be the only living things breathing in the Hub.

Jack lays sprawled on him, carelessly draped, head on Ianto's shoulder. He's already starting to drift; his breathing is settling into a steady rhythm. Ianto will shift him in a moment, when the fluids start to cool and stick between them; he'll wipe them both up and peel the condom wrapper off his arse cheek. For now, though, he brings his hands up, curls his fingers on a broad shoulderblade, to hold Jack close. He wants to preserve this moment in his memory. Jack lays on him in blind trust; his face in repose is innocent. This is where he wants to be. The thought shakes Ianto. It's where Ianto wants to be, too; nowhere else.

Back to the Torchwood Fic.

this page last updated on 23 january 2010