Entry tags:

complete, jack/ianto, smut, torchwood

Fic: Glass
Title: Glass
Author: kiwi_from_hell
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The Torchwood Institue has always reminded Ianto of glass. It's physics and sex.
Disclaimer: I wish.
Notes: This is my first fic for a while; it took me far longer than it should have. Also, it's my first venture into the Torchwood fandom.

Incident Ray: Light striking glass at any angle other than the normal.

The Torchwood Institute has always reminded Ianto of glass. Despite the dark metal struts and hard, plastered walls, he can’t shake the association. He’s in a prism; light refracts and splits, it makes blinding focus. He’s had it since he started working there, or perhaps, he sometimes wonders, since he first saw Jack working there.

Not since he first saw him, he fleetingly reminds himself. Nothing remains from the first meeting. In the course of the interview, all candidates were introduced to the workings of the institute, as well as some of its more unusual residents. As procedure dictates, they then took a drink with the Captain that erased their memories. All the best drinks with Jack do that.

Ianto has been told the first time he saw a weevil, he squealed like a girl. He doesn’t believe it. In his second time, the time he recalls as the first, he remained calm. Of course, logic isn’t something Jack cares for or something that’s suited to Torchwood.

He’s also been told he was hired for more reasons than looking good in a suit. He isn’t sure about that either; a lot of people can make coffee.

When Jack slips his hand between Ianto’s thighs and remarks, “That suit really is stunning,” with a mischievous grin, Ianto doesn’t know if it counts for the suit argument, or defines another reason. Not that his mind is really on that topic as he pretends to continue reading the file over Jack’s shoulder, trying to keep cool, trying not to gasp.

“Thank you, Sir,” he half-stammers, well and truly caught off guard.

“Ianto,” Jack says, “I would appreciate it you could work late tonight, I have a few thing I need you to give me a hand with. So long as that’s not a problem for you.”

No one has so much as glances up from their work stations, so Ianto leans in and shifts his leg to give Jack more opportunities for his circling fingers. “No problem at all, Sir.”

Refraction: Changing the speed, wavelength and direction of the incident ray.

Toshiko is the last to leave. Ianto holds the door open for her and bids her a good evening with a smile and a nod. As soon as the door clangs shut, he leaves the lobby and enters the Hub. He closes that door too, glancing across the room to Jack’s desk. It’s empty.

Before he has time to react, a flash of movement to his right has him pinned to the door. Jack’s face is inches from his own and his breath is hot and fast.

“Ianto Jones.” Jack seems to relish saying his name. The words roll around his mouth and his lips shape each sound carefully.

Ianto moves to try and find a more comfortable position and realises Jack is holding him firmly by his upper arms, pressing him against the cold steel with the weight of his body. He is savouring the sensation of being held between the cold and the heat when Jack bends his head. Waiting for the meeting of their lips, Ianto is surprised at the precision Jack has. He is being teased; Jack nips his bottom lip, repeatedly pulling at it and tempting with the very tip of his tongue until their hips are swaying together and Ianto’s mouth is open.

Ianto feels pressure relent on his arm and Jack’s fingers trail over his neck, causing him to shiver, then to his face and lips. He takes one finger into his mouth, passing his lips slowly over it and twirling his tongue. A slight salty tang, he notes. As Jack bites his neck, Ianto presses his teeth down, mimicking the motion. He feels a slow stream of air across his collarbone as Jack exhales.

“I’ve been waiting for this all day,” Jack whispers.

With Jack’s tongue flicking against his ear, Ianto struggles to find a reply, but all he has are vowel sounds, followed by, “Sir.”

The reply is just a laugh, before Ianto’s shoulders are seized once more and he is spun to face the door. Jack is breathing heavily on the back of his neck and his hands are around his waist, deftly lowering his trousers and boxers. For a brief moment, Ianto reminds himself that this is his work place, and that is his boss. Just for a brief moment, before he hears Jack unzip his own pants, when he is reminded he doesn’t care.

Jack’s mouth is working on the back of his neck insistently, but he won’t meet his lips no matter how Ianto tries to turn his head. He sees Jack’s coat swish in the corner of his eye, and hears the wet slap of lubricant being applied to skin. A cold finger sliding into him elicits a gasp.

“Ready?” Jack breathes in his ear.

“Y-yes, Sir.” A delicious shiver of anticipation runs down Ianto’s spine. He raises his hands to the door and braces himself.

Jack’s hand digs into his right hip, the nails will definitely leave crescent indentations, maybe even bruises. Before he has time to stop himself, Ianto hopes they’ll leave bruises. The curve of his hipbone fits into Jack’s hand perfectly; he is pulled back and forth in time with Jack’s thrusts. Breath burns in Ianto’s chest as Jack grunts and moans in his ear. Already, Ianto can see his vision blurring and feel his arms trembling as each thrust sends a bolt of pleasure through his body.

“Jack,” he says in a strangled cry.

Jack does exactly what Ianto was pleading for, begging for, in that one syllable and reaches around to grab his cock. Gasping, Ianto lets his head fall forward and watches Jack’s hand pulling slowly over him, matching the rhythm they’ve built up together. The quickening of pace is the only sign that Jack is starting to lose control; his grunts and moans remain the same, with a muttered word thrown in now and then. Ianto’s body tenses as he gets closer to the edge, and he feels Jack tense behind him. Jack’s hand draws up and away from his hip, leaving red scratches over Ianto’s abdomen as he searches for something to hold onto.

Ianto comes with the same strangled, pleading and begging cry he uttered moments ago. Haze swims in front of his eyes and he struggles to calm his breathing; he’s so light-headed he fears he may pass out. Jack has pulled out of him – Ianto doesn’t remember him coming, he was too caught up in his own affairs – and is leaning against the wall beside him, hair stuck to the sweat on his forehead and a blissful smile on his face.

He feels like making a butler-style quip, like, “Would you like some coffee?” or “Is there anything else I can give you a hand with?” but right now, he can’t quite remember the proper grammar.

Emergent Ray: Parallel to the incident ray, refracted through the glass and angled away from the normal.

“Good morning, Sir. I trust you slept well?”

Jack nods. He isn’t much of a morning person.

Ianto hands him his coffee with a coy smile. “If it is at all possible, there is some information I would like you to assist me in updating in the archives.”

Jack raises an eyebrow.

“So long as that’s not a problem for you, Sir,” Ianto says, eyes twinkling. “I have some things to do for the moment, but say, tonight, assuming no aliens run amuck throughout Cardiff?”

Jack takes a long sip of his coffee and nods approvingly. “Assuming no aliens, I should be free around lunch. I might need another cup of coffee though, I’m exhausted this morning. Can’t think why.”