Making Excuses

Notes: Inspired by a very boring training class, which at least gives me the time to write down this stuff. This is set sometime around the middle of Series Two but contains no specific episode spoilers. Oh, and WARNING SEXX0RS or something.

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.

Half an hour into Tosh's lecture on how Mayan heiroglyphs might be related to the alien language she just finished translating, Ianto feels something poke at his foot.

He sits up a little. He's been spacing out a bit, true, though he was interested (at first) and Tosh is nothing if not passionate on the subject. Discreetly, he glances around the table. Gwen's feigning polite interest, though Ianto can see the slight vacancy to her gaze. Owen, opposite her, isn't even pretending to give a shit. He's doodling dirty pictures on his A4 notepad in between brief jots of 'jesus christ kill me already' and 'when will ianto get more coffees'.

Ianto turns his head very slowly. Jack, leaning back in his chair at the head of the table, is watching Tosh with apparent total interest; but when he sees Ianto watching him, he drops a subtle wink in his direction. The tap against Ianto's shoe repeats itself: Jack's boot, no doubt about it now.

Ianto swallows and turns to face Tosh again. She changes the display on the screen. Owen makes a whinging sound which Tosh either doesn't hear or chooses to ignore. Gwen's still frozen in the thousand-yard stare.

Jack taps at Ianto's foot again. It's a repetitive rhythm; Ianto thinks it might be Morse code, not that he knows Morse even when it's being tapped against his shoe. He expects he knows what Jack is trying to communicate to him anyway: 'Let's go fuck - let's go fuck - let's go fuck.'

When Tosh pauses to gather her thoughts, Ianto pushes his chair back and gets to his feet. "More coffee?" he says brightly. A chorus of pleas rise for a fresh pot, and Ianto makes good his escape.

Upstairs, he grinds new beans and starts the coffee brewing. Primary task accomplished, he proceeds into Jack's office, picking up the phone and dialing a certain combination of buttons. He replaces the receiver and leans on the desk to wait.

From the lower level, he hears doors bang open. Jack's voice echoes in the hall outside the boardroom: "I'll just be a minute, it's probably nothing. Go on without me." His footsteps mount the stairs to the Hub's main level; as he enters the office, he grins and closes the cover on his wriststrap, quiet now, no longer beeping its false alarm. "Took your time," he all but growls at Ianto.

Ianto shrugs a bit, barely smiling. "Had to make the coffee. It would have looked suspicious."

Jack closes the office door and steps in close to Ianto, bracketing Ianto's thighs by propping his hands on the desk. "Like it doesn't look suspicious now?" he murmurs. He smells of soap and spice.

"Close the blinds," Ianto says by way of response. With a low chuckle, Jack complies, making a quick circuit of the office to lower the blinds at each window. While he does this, Ianto undoes his tie, rolls it into his pocket, opens his belt, lets the trousers and pants fall.

Jack turns. Ianto, bare from waist to ankles, leans against the desk once more, hands resting to either side of his narrow hips. He's completely comfortable with the fact that his bare cock juts out from beneath his plum-coloured shirttails.

"Jesus Christ," Jack whispers, swallowing hard. Ianto grins.

"What do you want, Jack? We don't have much time. Do you want me to suck you off? Or should it be me in your mouth?" One of Ianto's hands comes up to cover his erection. Almost absently, he begins to move his curled fingers, giving himself lazy, slow strokes. "Want to watch me wank?" he offers, his voice lower with each question. "Or you could come over here and do this for me. Rub up on me 'til I come all over your belly--"

Jack's hands move rapidly, shaking as they pull at his clothes. Braces down, belt open, trousers and boxers dropping to the floor; he steps out of them, tearing at his shirt and then giving up and dragging it over his head to yank it off, taking the undershirt with it. "You're killing me, Ianto," he says, his voice hoarse.

"Come here," Ianto whispers, and Jack does, stumbling over the pile of discarded clothes in his effort to reach Ianto. The first kiss is desperate, hungry. Jack pushes Ianto down on the desk, shoving Ianto's shirt up in front, and as he works open the buttons of the shirt, he reaches over to a drawer of the desk. "Always prepared," Ianto says. Jack laughs as he comes back and mouths a path down Ianto's chest, where it's now bared by the open shirt.

"Tell me what you want, Ianto," Jack mutters against Ianto's quivering belly. "You want me to go down on you? Want my fingers, or would you rather have my cock in you?"

The filthy words in Jack's American accent make Ianto groan. "You," he gasps. "I want you in me. Fuck me, Jack, that's what I want."

Jack grins savagely and turns his head, giving in to the need to lick and suck at Ianto's cock. While Ianto shakes and mewls, Jack's hands are busy rolling the condom on himself, readying Ianto's body. Ianto never seems to need much prep, though Jack loves doing it to him anyway. It's a fascinating dichotomy. Ianto, so reserved and dry and quiet in everyday activities, takes two of Jack's slicked-up fingers with ease, clamping muscle on the questing digits, his raspy voice climbing into progressively higher registers as he begs Jack for more, more, "just fuck me already will you" and Jack about loses his mind smearing lube on himself and lining his cock up.

He holds Ianto's legs up against his body and they both shout together when he pushes in. Sometimes they go slow, but this isn't one of those times. Jack couldn't slow down if he wanted to, and why would he when Ianto's so tight and hot around him, when his hands are curled around Ianto's knees to hold his legs up, when his senses are full of Ianto, sight, scent, sound, taste, touch.

Ianto's got a hand on his own cock and the other over his head, clutching the edge of the desk. The blotter moves under him; papers fly free and Jack's glad to see that Ianto doesn't even notice. He pushes hard, a series of fast hungry thrusts; rewarded by Ianto's shocked stuttering groan, he grins, does it again.

"Please-- oh God--" Ianto gasps. Jack lets Ianto's legs slide down -- they lock loosely at his waist -- and leans over Ianto, blanketing him with his body, every stroke fast and urgent now. His hand covers Ianto's on his erection.

"Come on, Ianto," Jack hisses, nipping at Ianto's lower lip. "Come for me, come on--"

Ianto shakes, cries out, and comes. His head arches back and he pushes hard into their doubled grip, the curve of his body beautiful in release. Jack follows him over, lost in the heated clench of Ianto's body, thrusting until it's left him trembling and weak. He's helpless to do anything but sink down on Ianto and gasp for air. Ianto's arms come up around him, legs dropping away.

"Jack," Ianto murmurs after a few quiet moments where the only sound in the office is their harsh breathing.


"I think there's a pen set digging into my ribs."

Laughing, Jack pushes up and gropes under Ianto's back until he locates the offending pens and their accompanying stand. He tosses it all aside and takes Ianto's hands to pull him into a sitting position.

Ianto loops his arms around Jack's waist, grinning in a way that can only be defined as goofy. "Do we have to go back?" he murmurs.

Chuckling, Jack kisses Ianto. It's soft now, gentle, the passion spent to leave them comfortable and limp. "I think we've spent way too long in here," he says, "for anyone to think we were doing anything other than exactly what we just did."

Ianto laughs. He shifts forward, letting the shirt fall at last from his arms, and puts his feet on the floor, Jack still standing between his legs. "Then I say," he says, "let's be completely rude--" He delivers a soft kiss to Jack's vulnerable throat. "--and let them think the worst of us." Ianto nips at Jack's ear and Jack swallows.

"Shocking," he manages to say at last. "Absolutely shocking behaviour. I expected better of you, Ianto Jones." He is, however, busily disposing of the condom as he speaks.

Ianto gives him a wicked grin. He slips past Jack and tugs open the manhole-cover opening to Jack's bedroom. "Coming?" He arches an eyebrow and disappears into the room below. Laughter ringing out in the office, Jack follows him.

Tosh pushes away from her workstation, fanning herself with a manila folder. "Well," she says, her smirk triumphant, "I believe it's me won that pool."

Grumbling, Owen digs out his wallet and slaps down a bill. "How was I supposed to know they'd actually try to pay attention to all that shit?"

"And I even did my best to be extra-dull." Tosh holds a hand out to Gwen next. Red-cheeked, Gwen fumbles for the billfold in her purse and hands over the money.

"Half a bloody hour," Gwen mutters. "I thought for sure they'd fold inside of ten minutes."

Grinning, Tosh tucks the folded bills into a pocket and rolls back to her workstation, where she taps a couple of keys. "Now, just in case they think to try deleting the log..."

"That's blackmail material for months," Owen says, the smirk catching on his own face.

"Only for Ianto," Gwen comments, tapping a finger on her chin. "Jack will want copies."

"Why else would the CCTV still be on?" Tosh suggests coyly. She knows she didn't miss it: just before Jack climbed down into his quarters, he'd looked back up into the corner where his office camera was located, smiled, and gave the CCTV a distinct and unsubtle wink.

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this page last updated on 20 april 2009