Stir-Crazy Strawberry (Jack/Ianto; light R)
Title: Stir-Crazy Strawberry
Author: etharei
Rating: light R
Timeline: late S2
Spoilers: a tiny one for "Dead Man Walking" (207)
Summary: In which Jack finds out that having such good senses can also be a bad thing.
Author's Notes: Oh noes, I'm behind! I wouldn't be, you know, if my muses just knew when to stop. But clearly they don't.
Disclaimer: Torchwood and all the characters and situations featured therein are the property of Russell T. Davies, the BBC and their affiliates. I’m only borrowing them for purely non-profit, recreational purposes.
Written for: horizonssing, Day #8.
Stir-Crazy Strawberry
by Etharei
It’s inevitable, of course, that Jack would find himself at odds with Ianto. It sometimes surprises him that they don’t fight argue more often, considering their shared history, and Jack credits Torchwood for this. Because there’s nothing like seeing the Earth on the brink of destruction and facing death on a regular basis for shrinking petty squabbles to insignificance.
But Torchwood business and Rift activity been relatively low, meaning everyone’s set to max: Owen on the snipe, Tosh on protective lioness around the four special projects she appears to be trying to finish all at once, Gwen on not being at the Hub but doing unspeakable things to pasta at home, Jack on the- well.
He’s not entirely sure what he’s done wrong, which may be a warning sign. It could have been the stacks of paperwork he’s been ignoring in favor of reacquainting himself with contemporary pop culture (surprising Tosh, of all people, with a passing comment about Robert Downey Jr.) . Or accidentally tipping over the sugar when attempting a discreet grope en route to the board room. Or trying to feed chow mein to the pterodactyl, because there’s something unforgettable about a big beaked thing trying to eat noodles, and how was he to remember that the sauce made her gassy? Then there was the new pizza girl, delicate blonde with legs that went on forever. And that little business with pressing random buttons on the big alien bazooka thing...
So it could have been any one of those things. Or all of them. But he’s not sure which straw broke the camel’s back, and he’s not going to apologize for any random thing, when he’s done variations of them all before separately and Ianto hadn’t so much as blinked.
Jack leaves his office and does a casual round of the main Hub, pointedly ignoring the contents of Tosh and Owen’s screens. Ianto’s up in the Information Center, last time Jack checked the internal cameras, and he throws a glare at the Rift manipulator, mentally wishing it to bring do something. But no, clearly even the roiling coils of space and time have better things to do on a summer afternoon.
At least the restrictions Ianto himself had placed for the workplace seems to be putting the younger man at a disadvantage. He can’t be anything less than civil when interacting with Jack, because that would mean he’s letting personal interfere with work. Maybe Jack should just wait it out; somebody was going to try and invade Earth eventually.
He wanders back to his office, feeling a little better. Behind, he hears Owen quietly asking, “Why is Ianto pissed off at Jack?”
“How could you tell?” Tosh whispers back; really, they should know how good is hearing is by now.
“I practically live here now, remember? Three days and I haven’t gotten an eyeful. Figured it’s either alien possession, or Jack’s done something.”
“Ianto hasn’t really said. I thought he’d done something.”
“Nah. When Jack’s angry at Ianto, I keep well away from the Hub.”
Jack can’t help grinning; remembers the mess they’d made of the Hub, chairs knocked over and the wakened pterodactyl making an investigatory swoop. He resists the urge to call out that his method was better, and sits down heavily behind his desk.
He has reluctantly pulled the top folder off the stack when he glimpses Ianto back in the main Hub. Ah, lunch time. He sniffs - sandwiches from the lovely deli five blocks away. The coffee takes a while longer to brew, allowing Jack to add three more folders to the ‘finished’ file. It should worry him that he’d basically signed or wrote where Ianto’s post-its instructed him to, barely reading the contents of the papers. But, well, it’s Ianto.
And the man himself is standing at the door. Jack instinctively smiles up at him. The paper bag, still warm, and coffee, hot but cool enough to drink, are placed on the desk. As Ianto comes near to do so, Jack catches a whiff of something... fruity? He sniffs the air, not bothering to hide the action, and almost misses the flash of smugness in Ianto’s tight smile. But before Jack can ask, or ferret out what the scent is, Ianto wishes him a good lunch and slips out the door.
~*~
Maybe it’s because he searches for it, but Jack can swear the scent grows stronger with every hour, every near passage of Ianto Jones. Definitely something fruity, but not the usual acidic flavors. Sugary sweet.
And, well, his eyes are naturally drawn to Ianto anyway, in those damned suits (but also anything else, if he’s honest with himself). He’s got abundant memories of what the body underneath the layers looks like, it being a favorite pastime of his to go over his collection when he couldn’t collect some more. But the suggestion of a sweet flavoring lends new potency to the living body’s allure, and Jack has to actively keep himself from following Ianto around with eyes and nose, or better yet body. Trapping Ianto against a wall, or desk, or the sofa, and finding where he’d applied the scent. Baring and nosing every patch of skin, and then licking, to see if it’s just scent or if there’s a real sweetness too...
“Hub to Jack.”
Jack shakes his head. “Sorry,” he says curtly to Owen. Their medic just rolls his eyes and continues explaining the results of his latest experiments in the hothouse. Which only reminds Jack of the time he and Ianto discovered the sensory enhancing effects of the pollen from that red spiny flower-
And then Ianto is there, leaning past Jack to comment about something on the screen. Close enough for Jack’s enervated senses to hone in. There. Ianto’s looking at him expectantly, eyebrow questioning, and Jack realizes he’s grabbed hold of Ianto’s arm.
“Ianto - office, please,” is all Jack can manage, before wheeling around and leading the way. (He definitely ignores Owen’s thought he’d last longer, a little bit embarrassing, really.)
Once inside the illusory privacy of his office, Jack doesn’t waste time and crowds Ianto against a wall. He can identify the scent now, remembers it, and it only draws him closer.
“Strawberry,” he whispers. “Strawberry lip gloss.”
“Very good, Captain,” answers Ianto in a low tone that sparks off a small trill of pleasure at the base of Jack’s spine.
Jack moves in for a kiss, for that lick, but is stopped by Ianto’s firm hand on his chest.
“Not yet, sir,” he says, and takes advantage of Jack’s surprise at being refused to slip away.
~*~
For the remainder of the day, Ianto seems to find small tasks to do that take him close to Jack, but never long enough for Jack to figure out a way to discreetly grab him. Jack tries not to return his mind to work, to think about aliens, but there’s no easy way to get rid of a smell short of spraying the room with air fresheners, and even then all Ianto would need to do is walk past again.
Ianto’s lips, memories of them on Jack’s mouth, on Jack’s skin, around Jack’s slick cock, constantly kept in mind by the pervading strawberry scent, leaves Jack in enough of a state to declare, in the middle of the Hub when Owen is upstairs and Tosh is in the ladies’, “I’m sorry, all right?”
An eyebrow quirks up. “You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for, do you?”
“No,” Jack admits, quite readily. “But I am sorry. Can I kiss you now?”
For a moment, he’s sure Ianto will refuse. Then warm and soft flesh on his lips, and he licks, finally. Finds that there’s a sweetness beneath the scent, and does it again to double-check, eliciting a quiet whimper from Ianto. Pent-up energy from the day, and the two before, take over, and he distantly hears chairs clattering to the floor, pens scattering, but his focus is on the way Ianto gasps when Jack finally finds purchase, a hard surface, and grinds.
It’s not technically after work while Tosh and Owen are still in the Hub, and Jack really shouldn’t be surprised when Ianto pushes him back. They look at the mess mere minutes had made, and start when Tosh and Owen suddenly materialize, sweep past with too-bright goodnights directed vaguely at the air above the two men’s heads, and exit the Hub before Ianto had finished redoing his buttons.
There’s silence for a long moment. Then Ianto steps close, grabs the back of Jack’s head in a way that make Jack grow breathless again (not the only part of him that grows, either), fingers exerting an unmistakable downward pressure. “I believe you were in the middle of apologizing, sir?”
Jack beams, though tempers it in an attempt to look a bit contrite, and sinks to his knees.
Author: etharei
Rating: light R
Timeline: late S2
Spoilers: a tiny one for "Dead Man Walking" (207)
Summary: In which Jack finds out that having such good senses can also be a bad thing.
Author's Notes: Oh noes, I'm behind! I wouldn't be, you know, if my muses just knew when to stop. But clearly they don't.
Disclaimer: Torchwood and all the characters and situations featured therein are the property of Russell T. Davies, the BBC and their affiliates. I’m only borrowing them for purely non-profit, recreational purposes.
Written for: horizonssing, Day #8.
Stir-Crazy Strawberry
by Etharei
It’s inevitable, of course, that Jack would find himself at odds with Ianto. It sometimes surprises him that they don’t fight argue more often, considering their shared history, and Jack credits Torchwood for this. Because there’s nothing like seeing the Earth on the brink of destruction and facing death on a regular basis for shrinking petty squabbles to insignificance.
But Torchwood business and Rift activity been relatively low, meaning everyone’s set to max: Owen on the snipe, Tosh on protective lioness around the four special projects she appears to be trying to finish all at once, Gwen on not being at the Hub but doing unspeakable things to pasta at home, Jack on the- well.
He’s not entirely sure what he’s done wrong, which may be a warning sign. It could have been the stacks of paperwork he’s been ignoring in favor of reacquainting himself with contemporary pop culture (surprising Tosh, of all people, with a passing comment about Robert Downey Jr.) . Or accidentally tipping over the sugar when attempting a discreet grope en route to the board room. Or trying to feed chow mein to the pterodactyl, because there’s something unforgettable about a big beaked thing trying to eat noodles, and how was he to remember that the sauce made her gassy? Then there was the new pizza girl, delicate blonde with legs that went on forever. And that little business with pressing random buttons on the big alien bazooka thing...
So it could have been any one of those things. Or all of them. But he’s not sure which straw broke the camel’s back, and he’s not going to apologize for any random thing, when he’s done variations of them all before separately and Ianto hadn’t so much as blinked.
Jack leaves his office and does a casual round of the main Hub, pointedly ignoring the contents of Tosh and Owen’s screens. Ianto’s up in the Information Center, last time Jack checked the internal cameras, and he throws a glare at the Rift manipulator, mentally wishing it to bring do something. But no, clearly even the roiling coils of space and time have better things to do on a summer afternoon.
At least the restrictions Ianto himself had placed for the workplace seems to be putting the younger man at a disadvantage. He can’t be anything less than civil when interacting with Jack, because that would mean he’s letting personal interfere with work. Maybe Jack should just wait it out; somebody was going to try and invade Earth eventually.
He wanders back to his office, feeling a little better. Behind, he hears Owen quietly asking, “Why is Ianto pissed off at Jack?”
“How could you tell?” Tosh whispers back; really, they should know how good is hearing is by now.
“I practically live here now, remember? Three days and I haven’t gotten an eyeful. Figured it’s either alien possession, or Jack’s done something.”
“Ianto hasn’t really said. I thought he’d done something.”
“Nah. When Jack’s angry at Ianto, I keep well away from the Hub.”
Jack can’t help grinning; remembers the mess they’d made of the Hub, chairs knocked over and the wakened pterodactyl making an investigatory swoop. He resists the urge to call out that his method was better, and sits down heavily behind his desk.
He has reluctantly pulled the top folder off the stack when he glimpses Ianto back in the main Hub. Ah, lunch time. He sniffs - sandwiches from the lovely deli five blocks away. The coffee takes a while longer to brew, allowing Jack to add three more folders to the ‘finished’ file. It should worry him that he’d basically signed or wrote where Ianto’s post-its instructed him to, barely reading the contents of the papers. But, well, it’s Ianto.
And the man himself is standing at the door. Jack instinctively smiles up at him. The paper bag, still warm, and coffee, hot but cool enough to drink, are placed on the desk. As Ianto comes near to do so, Jack catches a whiff of something... fruity? He sniffs the air, not bothering to hide the action, and almost misses the flash of smugness in Ianto’s tight smile. But before Jack can ask, or ferret out what the scent is, Ianto wishes him a good lunch and slips out the door.
~*~
Maybe it’s because he searches for it, but Jack can swear the scent grows stronger with every hour, every near passage of Ianto Jones. Definitely something fruity, but not the usual acidic flavors. Sugary sweet.
And, well, his eyes are naturally drawn to Ianto anyway, in those damned suits (but also anything else, if he’s honest with himself). He’s got abundant memories of what the body underneath the layers looks like, it being a favorite pastime of his to go over his collection when he couldn’t collect some more. But the suggestion of a sweet flavoring lends new potency to the living body’s allure, and Jack has to actively keep himself from following Ianto around with eyes and nose, or better yet body. Trapping Ianto against a wall, or desk, or the sofa, and finding where he’d applied the scent. Baring and nosing every patch of skin, and then licking, to see if it’s just scent or if there’s a real sweetness too...
“Hub to Jack.”
Jack shakes his head. “Sorry,” he says curtly to Owen. Their medic just rolls his eyes and continues explaining the results of his latest experiments in the hothouse. Which only reminds Jack of the time he and Ianto discovered the sensory enhancing effects of the pollen from that red spiny flower-
And then Ianto is there, leaning past Jack to comment about something on the screen. Close enough for Jack’s enervated senses to hone in. There. Ianto’s looking at him expectantly, eyebrow questioning, and Jack realizes he’s grabbed hold of Ianto’s arm.
“Ianto - office, please,” is all Jack can manage, before wheeling around and leading the way. (He definitely ignores Owen’s thought he’d last longer, a little bit embarrassing, really.)
Once inside the illusory privacy of his office, Jack doesn’t waste time and crowds Ianto against a wall. He can identify the scent now, remembers it, and it only draws him closer.
“Strawberry,” he whispers. “Strawberry lip gloss.”
“Very good, Captain,” answers Ianto in a low tone that sparks off a small trill of pleasure at the base of Jack’s spine.
Jack moves in for a kiss, for that lick, but is stopped by Ianto’s firm hand on his chest.
“Not yet, sir,” he says, and takes advantage of Jack’s surprise at being refused to slip away.
~*~
For the remainder of the day, Ianto seems to find small tasks to do that take him close to Jack, but never long enough for Jack to figure out a way to discreetly grab him. Jack tries not to return his mind to work, to think about aliens, but there’s no easy way to get rid of a smell short of spraying the room with air fresheners, and even then all Ianto would need to do is walk past again.
Ianto’s lips, memories of them on Jack’s mouth, on Jack’s skin, around Jack’s slick cock, constantly kept in mind by the pervading strawberry scent, leaves Jack in enough of a state to declare, in the middle of the Hub when Owen is upstairs and Tosh is in the ladies’, “I’m sorry, all right?”
An eyebrow quirks up. “You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for, do you?”
“No,” Jack admits, quite readily. “But I am sorry. Can I kiss you now?”
For a moment, he’s sure Ianto will refuse. Then warm and soft flesh on his lips, and he licks, finally. Finds that there’s a sweetness beneath the scent, and does it again to double-check, eliciting a quiet whimper from Ianto. Pent-up energy from the day, and the two before, take over, and he distantly hears chairs clattering to the floor, pens scattering, but his focus is on the way Ianto gasps when Jack finally finds purchase, a hard surface, and grinds.
It’s not technically after work while Tosh and Owen are still in the Hub, and Jack really shouldn’t be surprised when Ianto pushes him back. They look at the mess mere minutes had made, and start when Tosh and Owen suddenly materialize, sweep past with too-bright goodnights directed vaguely at the air above the two men’s heads, and exit the Hub before Ianto had finished redoing his buttons.
There’s silence for a long moment. Then Ianto steps close, grabs the back of Jack’s head in a way that make Jack grow breathless again (not the only part of him that grows, either), fingers exerting an unmistakable downward pressure. “I believe you were in the middle of apologizing, sir?”
Jack beams, though tempers it in an attempt to look a bit contrite, and sinks to his knees.