Warm under the Ground
Title: Warm under the Ground
Author: etharei
Rating: PG
Timeline: ambiguous, but better suited to S2
Spoilers: none
Summary: “You know, Jack,” says Ianto languidly. “When you invited me to ‘come downstairs and play with some alien tech’, I was expecting something different.
Author's Notes: Another one that came out kind of... strange.
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 #23.
Warm under the Ground
by Etharei
“You know, Jack,” says Ianto languidly. “When you invited me to ‘come downstairs and play with some alien tech’, I was expecting something different. Especially when you mentioned that I needn’t come down clothed.”
He heard Jack chuckling and shifting position beside him. “Not bad, though, eh?”
“It’s very... relaxing,” concedes Ianto, closing his eyes and savoring the warmth on his skin. “Is this how you manage to keep your tan even when we don’t see a hint of sky in weeks?”
“Yup. Don’t tell the others, though.”
“Your beauty secrets are safe with me.”
They’ve been lying there for nearly ten minutes already, naked, so Ianto is not duly surprised when teasing fingers alight on his belly. They trail over the generous swathes of dark hair; Ianto doesn’t quite understand Jack’s fascination for his hairy chest and abdomen, but is willing to assume it as of a piece with Jack’s tactile nature.
He expects Jack to move lower, or press down. But Jack doesn’t; instead investigating Ianto’s skin by only the very tips of his fingers, nothing more.
A quiet shudder runs through Ianto, followed by a flush of warmth that has nothing to do with the large gold tanning globe hovering near the ceiling above them. (Between its powerful light and the comfortable mattress underneath him, it’s easy to imagine that they’re not dozens of feet underground.) He doesn’t know what Jack is doing, exactly, or why. But he senses a vulnerability in the motions, Jack’s own brand of tenderness, so he keeps quiet.
Fingers trailing, skin talking to skin, telling Ianto of the cares that Jack’s blue eyes and firm mouth can’t. Softness can’t survive long in Torchwood without protection. But Jack tasting him through touch, handling him like he’s fragile, allows him to feel that he is. Like glass, like skin, like a perfect moment; he is a mass of heat and five small points of contact.
Eventually, after an indeterminable length of time, Jack settles back down. Ianto drifts off again, but wakes up fully when Jack’s fingers slide over the palm of Ianto’s hand, slowly twining their fingers.
After the tip-finger touch earlier, the pressure and added contact feels strangely intense on his warmed skin. Or so Ianto tells himself, to explain why he closes his fingers and grips Jack tight to the point of pain. Because Jack is permanent, forever; but still human, breakable.
“Is it possible to get sunburn from this?” he asks, presently.
Jack shrugs. ‘I never have, and I fell asleep for half a day in here, once.” Before Ianto can point out that Jack’s skin cells can regenerate if he got too high a dose of the warm rays, he feels Jack move, and a shadow blocks out the light. “Don’t worry,” says Jack, grinning mischievously. “I’ll save you.”
Ianto smiles, despite himself. Then he directs a pointedly dubious expression at Jack, complete with raised eyebrow. “Don’t. If I ever need saving, I’ll do it myself.”
Author: etharei
Rating: PG
Timeline: ambiguous, but better suited to S2
Spoilers: none
Summary: “You know, Jack,” says Ianto languidly. “When you invited me to ‘come downstairs and play with some alien tech’, I was expecting something different.
Author's Notes: Another one that came out kind of... strange.
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 #23.
Warm under the Ground
by Etharei
“You know, Jack,” says Ianto languidly. “When you invited me to ‘come downstairs and play with some alien tech’, I was expecting something different. Especially when you mentioned that I needn’t come down clothed.”
He heard Jack chuckling and shifting position beside him. “Not bad, though, eh?”
“It’s very... relaxing,” concedes Ianto, closing his eyes and savoring the warmth on his skin. “Is this how you manage to keep your tan even when we don’t see a hint of sky in weeks?”
“Yup. Don’t tell the others, though.”
“Your beauty secrets are safe with me.”
They’ve been lying there for nearly ten minutes already, naked, so Ianto is not duly surprised when teasing fingers alight on his belly. They trail over the generous swathes of dark hair; Ianto doesn’t quite understand Jack’s fascination for his hairy chest and abdomen, but is willing to assume it as of a piece with Jack’s tactile nature.
He expects Jack to move lower, or press down. But Jack doesn’t; instead investigating Ianto’s skin by only the very tips of his fingers, nothing more.
A quiet shudder runs through Ianto, followed by a flush of warmth that has nothing to do with the large gold tanning globe hovering near the ceiling above them. (Between its powerful light and the comfortable mattress underneath him, it’s easy to imagine that they’re not dozens of feet underground.) He doesn’t know what Jack is doing, exactly, or why. But he senses a vulnerability in the motions, Jack’s own brand of tenderness, so he keeps quiet.
Fingers trailing, skin talking to skin, telling Ianto of the cares that Jack’s blue eyes and firm mouth can’t. Softness can’t survive long in Torchwood without protection. But Jack tasting him through touch, handling him like he’s fragile, allows him to feel that he is. Like glass, like skin, like a perfect moment; he is a mass of heat and five small points of contact.
Eventually, after an indeterminable length of time, Jack settles back down. Ianto drifts off again, but wakes up fully when Jack’s fingers slide over the palm of Ianto’s hand, slowly twining their fingers.
After the tip-finger touch earlier, the pressure and added contact feels strangely intense on his warmed skin. Or so Ianto tells himself, to explain why he closes his fingers and grips Jack tight to the point of pain. Because Jack is permanent, forever; but still human, breakable.
“Is it possible to get sunburn from this?” he asks, presently.
Jack shrugs. ‘I never have, and I fell asleep for half a day in here, once.” Before Ianto can point out that Jack’s skin cells can regenerate if he got too high a dose of the warm rays, he feels Jack move, and a shadow blocks out the light. “Don’t worry,” says Jack, grinning mischievously. “I’ll save you.”
Ianto smiles, despite himself. Then he directs a pointedly dubious expression at Jack, complete with raised eyebrow. “Don’t. If I ever need saving, I’ll do it myself.”