TW-ficlet: Too Easy (NC-17)
It’s easy to belive.
They go to a fancy Italian restaurant, complete with linen napkins and snotty waiters, because Jack wants to do it properly. He keeps smiling - a bright attentive smile that almost chases away the timeless, restless look in his eyes, the look that Jack probably isn’t even aware of himself.
After dinner, they go to see a movie; some stupid action film that neither of them pays any attention to because they’re too busy necking like teenagers, tongues playing tag in the dark.
Yes, it’s easy to belive. In fact it’s almost too easy, which means that there has to be a catch - with Jack there’s always a catch. Even if Jack has managed to convince himself that he’s here to stay, that Ianto and Torchwood is enough to keep him on Earth, he will never convince Ianto. Jack left once. He will leave again.
But knowing this doesn’t stop Ianto from inviting Jack up for coffee afterwards. Doesn’t stop him from leaning into Jack’s touch, letting Jack undress him and press hot lips against his bare skin. It doesn’t stop him from getting hard in Jack’s hand, like some Pavlovian response to Jack’s mere presence.
And when Jack lies down in Ianto’s bed, smiles, spreads his legs and says, “Fuck me,” it doesn’t stop Ianto from going to him. He kneels between Jack’s thighs and works him open, feels Jack’s body clench around his fingers, hears the way Jack’s breath catches when Ianto hits that spot inside him that makes him squirm.
Ianto has never been with anyone who’s enjoyed sex quite like Jack, someone who can just let go like this, without a shred of self-consciousness. Jack melts around him, loses himself in the pleasure that Ianto is only too willing to give. He doesn’t rush, there’s nothing urgent about this. Ianto takes his time to re-learn Jack’s body, to touch and taste every inch.
When he takes Jack’s cock into his mouth, Jack’s fingers come to rest on his head, combing lightly through his hair. His touch is so gentle, and it makes it so easy for Ianto to believe that this is
(love)
real, too easy to believe that this is permanent.
The taste of Jack on his tongue is familiar, like it was only yesterday they were doing this, like it hasn’t been months. God, it’s been months, it could have been years; maybe someday it will. And suddenly Ianto is being a little rougher than usual, using his teeth to draw deep groans from Jack, but there’s anger burning in his throat and behind his eyes. Jack left, he left without a word and now he’s back, thinking that everything can just go back to the way it was, like nothing has changed.
So maybe Ianto is being a little rough. Maybe he’s gripping Jack’s hips a little harder than necessary when he lines himself up and slams inside Jack’s body. Maybe he’s going a little faster than he meant to, driving a little deeper, like he’s trying to reclaim this, find some way to tie Jack back to Earth so he’ll never be able to leave again.
Maybe there are tears in his eyes. Maybe his kisses draw blood from Jack’s lips. Maybe he likes it, likes that he’s able to make Jack bleed and writhe and come beneath him.
It has to hurt, but Jack says nothing. Instead, he reaches up and wraps his arms around Ianto, holds him while he shudders and spills deep inside Jack’s body.
Afterwards, Ianto rests his head on Jack’s chest, softening inside him, but not ready to slide out just yet. His breath is coming in near sobs, and Jack has his fingers back in Ianto’s hair, rubbing gentle circles against his scalp with his fingertips and whispering, “Ianto, my beautiful Ianto. It’s all right, I’m here, I’m home.”
And maybe, just for now, it’s okay to believe.
They go to a fancy Italian restaurant, complete with linen napkins and snotty waiters, because Jack wants to do it properly. He keeps smiling - a bright attentive smile that almost chases away the timeless, restless look in his eyes, the look that Jack probably isn’t even aware of himself.
After dinner, they go to see a movie; some stupid action film that neither of them pays any attention to because they’re too busy necking like teenagers, tongues playing tag in the dark.
Yes, it’s easy to belive. In fact it’s almost too easy, which means that there has to be a catch - with Jack there’s always a catch. Even if Jack has managed to convince himself that he’s here to stay, that Ianto and Torchwood is enough to keep him on Earth, he will never convince Ianto. Jack left once. He will leave again.
But knowing this doesn’t stop Ianto from inviting Jack up for coffee afterwards. Doesn’t stop him from leaning into Jack’s touch, letting Jack undress him and press hot lips against his bare skin. It doesn’t stop him from getting hard in Jack’s hand, like some Pavlovian response to Jack’s mere presence.
And when Jack lies down in Ianto’s bed, smiles, spreads his legs and says, “Fuck me,” it doesn’t stop Ianto from going to him. He kneels between Jack’s thighs and works him open, feels Jack’s body clench around his fingers, hears the way Jack’s breath catches when Ianto hits that spot inside him that makes him squirm.
Ianto has never been with anyone who’s enjoyed sex quite like Jack, someone who can just let go like this, without a shred of self-consciousness. Jack melts around him, loses himself in the pleasure that Ianto is only too willing to give. He doesn’t rush, there’s nothing urgent about this. Ianto takes his time to re-learn Jack’s body, to touch and taste every inch.
When he takes Jack’s cock into his mouth, Jack’s fingers come to rest on his head, combing lightly through his hair. His touch is so gentle, and it makes it so easy for Ianto to believe that this is
(love)
real, too easy to believe that this is permanent.
The taste of Jack on his tongue is familiar, like it was only yesterday they were doing this, like it hasn’t been months. God, it’s been months, it could have been years; maybe someday it will. And suddenly Ianto is being a little rougher than usual, using his teeth to draw deep groans from Jack, but there’s anger burning in his throat and behind his eyes. Jack left, he left without a word and now he’s back, thinking that everything can just go back to the way it was, like nothing has changed.
So maybe Ianto is being a little rough. Maybe he’s gripping Jack’s hips a little harder than necessary when he lines himself up and slams inside Jack’s body. Maybe he’s going a little faster than he meant to, driving a little deeper, like he’s trying to reclaim this, find some way to tie Jack back to Earth so he’ll never be able to leave again.
Maybe there are tears in his eyes. Maybe his kisses draw blood from Jack’s lips. Maybe he likes it, likes that he’s able to make Jack bleed and writhe and come beneath him.
It has to hurt, but Jack says nothing. Instead, he reaches up and wraps his arms around Ianto, holds him while he shudders and spills deep inside Jack’s body.
Afterwards, Ianto rests his head on Jack’s chest, softening inside him, but not ready to slide out just yet. His breath is coming in near sobs, and Jack has his fingers back in Ianto’s hair, rubbing gentle circles against his scalp with his fingertips and whispering, “Ianto, my beautiful Ianto. It’s all right, I’m here, I’m home.”
And maybe, just for now, it’s okay to believe.