wildestranger | Fic: Timewatching; or, five ways Ianto Jones seduces Captain Jack Harkness Jack/Ianto NC-17

Title: Timewatching; or, Five Ways Ianto Jones Seduces Captain Jack Harkness
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: NC-17
Words: 5400
Spoilers: Up to Countrycide.
Notes: Thanks to

shaggydogstail for the beta! Written for

14valentines.

Both characters are over 18.

1. Kink

The most obvious choice, one might think. No one who wears period military as often as Jack does (and braces, for God's sake) can be unaware of the kinky possibilities in such clothing, and Jack's frequent comments on the topic prove that he isn't. Jack likes clothes that remind him of role-play, and Ianto can admit to having had a few pleasurable shivers at the thought of what games such costumes might lend themselves to. Not enough to consider taking up wearing braces himself, though. It would be too obvious and besides, the belt has its uses.

But the suit he wears is no less a costume, and it pleases Ianto that Jack clearly thinks of it as such. The precise shade of blue in his tie, the way it rests tight on his collar, the contrast provided by his shirt and waistcoat, all smooth and fitted against his narrow body. Ianto knows he looks like a butler and he doesn't mind; there is competence, attention to detail and dedication to service in that look, and these are all ideas he is keen to promote in Jack's mind. Add a few Jeevesisms ("Very good, sir.") and the stopwatch in his pocket, and Ianto is ready to take the role-play a little further.

His posture is always ramrod straight, and considering the untidiness of his workmates, there are many opportunities for bending over to clean something in the Hub. Ianto makes a point of doing so at least once a day (but not more often – it would not do to give the game away) and he sees that Jack makes a point of watching him. Sometimes, after straightening up and brushing non-existent dust from his trousers, Ianto turns around to find Jack looking. Jack salutes him with a cup of coffee Ianto has made, and Ianto nods, glad to see that things are proceeding on time.

There is innuendo, of course. Ianto is grateful for a face that looks like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, which allows him to get away with the most outrageous double entendres. Sometimes he holds Jack's gaze a little too long, enough to suggest that the earnest innocence on his face might be a ruse; a mask that might one day be removed. Ianto has not yet invited Jack to unmask him – it is enough that Jack has the option to consider it.

"Everything okay while we were gone? Have you been keeping busy?"

"Yes, sir. I've been tied down in the basement for most of the morning. With the weevils."

"Really? Well, I hope we're not working you too hard, Ianto."

"Not at all, sir. And I don't mind."

Jack nods, a dirty grin threatening at the curve of his mouth, but mostly succeeding in keeping a straight face.

Ianto nods too, then smiles, a smile that can't be anything other than shy no matter how much he tries, and walks away.

Not yet.

2. Proximity

It's not that Ianto thinks Jack will go for the closest piece of meat. He hasn't, after all, chosen to flirt (well, not that much, not by Jack's standards) with any of the other members of his team, hasn't made any effort to get them to bed (not that Jack would have to make much of an effort, with any of them). But proximity does offer certain advantages, and Ianto is in a unique position to make use of them.

He still keeps the room he had when Lisa lived in the Hub. Immediately afterwards he'd taken to sleeping back at the flat he'd rented when he moved to Cardiff. But the reason he had first stayed away is the reason he is now moving back, suit by suit, expensive soap by expensive soap; slowly and with careful attention to whether he is seen. Should anyone care to notice, it is obvious that Ianto does keep some things in the Hub, but the questions of where, how and why are not so easily answered.

Jack lives in the Hub. He has a room under his office, and he spends a few hours there every night. Otherwise he can be found wandering from workstation to a weevil cell to the morgue or to his office, where at the end of the night Ianto often spies him lost in thought, a tumbler of clear liquid in hand.

Jack's office also has a CCTV display, so when Ianto starts taking showers in the communal bathroom at six in the morning there's a good chance Jack will be watching him. Ianto knows Jack tends to be awake at that time, and there's no reason why checking the Hub for nocturnal activities can't be combined with a bit of voyeurism. And when Ianto, casually but with every sign of nervousness, starts jerking himself off in the showers, the chances of Jack not watching him are slim. He puts on a bit of show, which feels weird since he can't know for sure that there's an audience (although he checks the computer logs later and yes, there was). It's not unpleasant, though, touching himself and imagining what he must look like, what Jack is seeing. Just unusual, to think of himself as someone who would do such things.

He's allowed a few months to pass, at first spending only a few nights a week at the Hub, when there was work to be done and it was just more convenient. Ianto has a tendency towards workaholism in any case, and it's no hardship to extend that a bit further; do a bit more research on the Rift, help Owen out with the next weevil autopsy (and the clean-up, both of the weevil and of Owen after he goes and gets himself hammered and arrives to throw up at the Hub's entrance in the morning), offer his services as data analyst to Tosh. He is careful not ask Jack for extra work (which he notices that Jack notices, and gives Ianto slightly miffed but also intrigued glances for the next couple of weeks).

He is there, however, and he knows Jack is aware of his presence.

And sometimes, at night, they bump into each other by the coffee station. Ianto looks ups from the espresso maker to find Jack standing a few feet away, staring at him.

"Coffee, sir?"

"It's a bit late for that, isn't it? And what are you doing here, anyway? I thought I told you to go home."

Ianto puts on a wounded face.

"There is still filing to do. And I might ask you the same question. Sir."

"I've got things…Ianto, you shouldn't spend all your time here. You should have a life outside, you know."

Ianto takes a long breath, looks at his shoes. Looks back at Jack.

"And where would I go?"

He doesn't say I had a life but you killed her, but Jack seems to hear it anyway. Even though Ianto doesn't mean it like that, doesn't blame Jack.

"Is this better, then?"

"Yes, it is."

Now it's Jack who turns away and Ianto who follows, hungry eyes taking in the late night stubble, the creased shirt, the messed up hair. He shouldn't watch. He can't not.

"You think it's better too, Jack," he says, quietly, because it's never a good idea to let Jack brood, and it's also true.

And Jack smiles, his grin widening from private joke to all-encompassing joy, and all Ianto can think is oh shit I'm in too deep. This wasn't supposed to happen.

"Yeah, it is," jack says, and claps Ianto on the back as he passes. Ianto stays still, the muscles in his shoulders clenching and shivering, his mouth dry and his insides heaving.

The espresso maker starts to spew dark liquid over him.

3. Proficiency

In the end he caves in, and asks for extra lessons in firearms. Ianto doesn't want to look like he's trying to get Jack's attention (it is important that he gains it without seeming to work for it), but this is the only way he can acquire the necessary skills. Jack gives him a slow smile when he presents his request, and Ianto tries not to remember how flushed and short of breath Gwen was after her instruction. But a face of calm politeness is second nature to him now, and after a while Jack simply nods and says: "Later tonight, then."

Ianto has taken the precaution of asking Gwen about it (as well as doing detailed internet searches on the variety of weapons they use) so that he knows what to expect, from the guns as well as from Jack. He already knows that Jack likes to touch people whether he fancies them or not (although the likelihood of Jack not fancying somebody has turned out to be exceedingly slim); there are always supporting hands on the back, guiding fingers on the arm and occasionally an attention-grabbing kick on the shin. He knows to expect warm hands on his shoulders, moulding his body into position and enveloping his fingers as they lift the weapon, but it is still a shock to feel Jack's body wrapped around him, Jack's breath against his ear. He doesn't quite manage to hide the twitching this causes, and every slight jolt of electricity is followed by a smirk he can feel against his neck.

He says, nothing, though, and neither does Jack. And when he steps forward from the circle of Jack's arms, and goes on to hit bull's-eye after bull's-eye on the target, the slow smile of satisfaction rising on his lips is enough to visibly unnerve Jack.

Not enough to stop him from smirking, of course.

"Is that my heart you're blasting away at, pretty Ianto?"

"Do you have a heart, then, sir?"

Perhaps the wrong thing to say, judging from the sudden blast of cold from Jack, but the only alternative would have been I'm sure I could never reach you heart and that would have been worse. And this will at least serve to convince Jack that Ianto's request to be instructed was not a euphemism for something else. Not yet, anyway, which is why Ianto turns back and continues to shoot the crap out of the target, sometimes hitting it, sometimes not. He doesn't turn around until after he's run out of bullets, and by then Jack is long gone.

::

Ianto makes a point of practicing a few hours every morning, and one hour after everyone else has gone. It's important to learn things while the mind is clear and the body refreshed and flexible, but he also needs to be able to focus when tired and restless. He only does this when the gunroom is empty, though, refusing both Gwen's and Jack's offers of company. He assumes Jack is watching him from the CCTV (and finds out for certain by checking the logs afterwards).

The first time he is required to use these skills is when a man bumps into a weevil late at night and gets his belly torn apart. Owen spends two hours trying to piece him back together before deciding it's no use, the wounds are too severe. The man is a few years younger than Ianto, and his voice is too broken from screaming to do more than moan pitifully for someone to kill him and put him out of his misery. Usually, it would be Jack's job to take care of this, but he's off somewhere chasing the weevil. Ianto asks Owen three times whether the man can be saved before putting a bullet between his eyes.

Afterwards, he stays silent when Owen tells Jack and Tosh what had happened. He can feel their eyes on him, and at another time it would be important to look back, or to look away, but right now Ianto doesn't care and so he just stares at his shoes. He notices, however, that Owen's voice cracks a bit when he describes the injury and that he doesn't look at Ianto. It isn't hard to guess what he's thinking, what they are all thinking.

Jack tries to speak to him later, corners him next to the coffeemaker and refuses to step away from between Ianto and the beans.

"You shouldn't have had to do that."

Ianto nods, because yes, he shouldn't have. But:

"It needed to be done, though. Unless you think there was another way?"

Jack shifts a little, moves a little closer and almost touches Ianto as if to reassure him. That could be just Jack, though. Not that he would turn away from a murderer. In the end, he settles for shaking his head.

"No, there was nothing else. I would have done the same thing if I had been there."

Ianto lets out a short breath, and allows himself to smile. Jack should know that he's relieved by that, that he cared enough to be worried. That he isn't turning into an uncaring killer, yet.

"Yes, sir."

Jack isn't moving away, even though the conversation should now be over. And while Ianto is happy to encourage Jack to watch him, now is not the time.

"Was there anything else, sir?"

Ianto knows how to say the line with tantalising innocence as well as with suggestive intent. But this time there is only dismissal, and clear desire not to continue the conversation. The lascivious grin that appears on Jack's face, though, implies that he has heard something else.

Ianto ignores him and steps around Jack to get to the coffee.

: :

It occurs to him how incongruous it is that his first kill should be an innocent man; not an act of defence, not against an enemy, but an act of mercy. But as more opportunities arise, Ianto finds that he doesn't have time to worry about it.

Yet there is something disturbing about how little he feels after shooting down three life-sucking aliens in Splott on night. He saved Tosh's life, and spared Jack the task of getting up and fighting with a broken leg. But the deaths he has caused seem to mean nothing, and Ianto isn't sure if that's because they were aliens. One doesn't work at Torchwood for long by holding on to strict distinctions of Them and Us. Not at Torchwood Cardiff, at least.

It makes him cling more strongly to the relief he feels that Tosh is alive, returns her shaky hug with equal affection. Jack's thanks are delivered with the perennial grin and some inquisitive questions about his position: what he could see, what did they do. That Jack might be concerned about his lack of apparent reaction occurs to him only later. Ianto considers exhibiting some signs of tightly controlled distress, until he remembers that the point of this whole thing is to attract Jack's attention, and that it wouldn't do to offer him all the pieces of the puzzle. Also, he doesn't want to display emotions he doesn’t feel.

Worrying about the things he does feel is enough.

4. Intimacy

This is the most difficult part of his plan; not only because Jack isn't keen to share his secrets, but also because Ianto himself dislikes both asking and answering questions. He has lived most of his life with a strict code of privacy, and now to go willingly beyond that, to make invasive enquiries, is something that disturbs him to the core.

There should be ways around that, though. To be visibly curious would be uncharacteristic of Ianto whereas research, well, is something he is well trained in. Finding out things about Jack isn't easy, of course, as Jack has clearly erased any recognisable remnants of himself in the archives. But Ianto is cunning enough to follow the trail of Jack's interests, rather than Jack himself.

The most frequently searched files are those pertaining to the Battle of Canary Wharf. Not, Ianto notes with some relief, those relating to the Cybermen, but those relating to the Doctor. And the list of the dead.

He discovers that these searches on Jack's computer go beyond their discovery of Lisa in the basement, so there is no question of Jack being curious about him (Not that Ianto would assume that anyway, ever). He also finds that the instructions on apprehending the Doctor at Torchwood Three differ slightly from those at the other institutions. Fewer precautions, more immediate informing of Jack, regardless of time and place. Ianto also learns that there have been sightings of the Doctor in Cardiff a few years earlier, when he had been accompanied by a blonde girl (early twenties, London accent, chavvy clothes), young black man (also early twenties, also from London), and a brown-haired man with a smirk and an American accent.

But it's one thing to know that Jack is interested in the Doctor, and quite another to make use of this knowledge.

In the end, he can only offer up himself as bait.

Ianto knocks on the door of Jack's office, and enters the room holding a tray. A steaming cup of coffee, and a blueberry muffin from the bakery across the street. Jack smiles at the smell of the coffee, then smiles wider when he turns to see the rest of Ianto's offerings.

"What is this? A special treat?"

"I thought you could use something to eat, sir. Since you're working late."

Ianto nods towards the computer screen, which, he knows, contains CCTV images from Torchwood One. Jack's smile grows distracted and he nods, enough to suggest gratitude as well as dismissal.

"Anything else I can help you with?"

His tone is impeccably innocent, Ianto knows, but Jack nevertheless turns to give him a suggestive look. Something in the eyebrows, maybe, or the extra glint of teeth in the grin.

"Why, what did you have in mind, Ianto?"

"I could help you with research. Or, if you're looking for something in particular, I could tell you where to look. You'll recall that I was there when it happened."

This is the first time Ianto has mentioned anything to do with Lisa to the other members of the team. Jack seems to be aware that this means something; he gives Ianto a searching look, and doesn't turn away when Ianto starts to twitch under his gaze. But it's important to maintain eye-contact; to convince Jack that he is in earnest and can be trusted to tell the truth, but also to show that he is willing to talk about this. Ianto doesn't look away even as his hands start to sweat and his breathing grows faster.

Finally, Jack grins and turns to face the computer.

"What do you remember?"

"What don't I remember? You need to be more specific. Sir."

Not the strictly appropriate answer, but Jack doesn't seem to mind as he gives Ianto another inquisitive grin. Although that could be just for the extra suggestive honorific.

"Do you remember him?"

And there he is, the man with the stripy suit and the jaunty step, the man who'd managed to both fluster Yvonne and resist her bulldozing style of questioning. The Doctor.

"Yes. I met him, briefly."

"Oh?"

It should be funny, how badly Jack does fake-casual, but instead it is almost heartbreaking. Ianto can't help the reassuring smile that rises on his lips.

"A charming man. He seemed to find Torchwood quite amusing. Even though our boss tried to take him prisoner. But in the end, once he'd figured out what was going on, he did save the day. He knew what needed to be done, and did it. No matter the cost, to himself or anyone else."

"Yeah. He's like that."

"An impressive man. But I'm not sure I'd care to meet him again."

Jack looks at him sharply, frowning. Ianto puts on a placid front, and raises his eyebrows slightly.

"How are you holding up, Ianto?"

Not what he was expecting to hear. He's tempted to say something like that's a rather personal question, sir, or I've been able to fulfil my duties satisfactorily, or would you like to see for yourself, but in the end, after a few moments of blinking and trying not to cough or stare at his shoes, Ianto simply says: "Fine."

That doesn't make Jack stop, of course, but then again Ianto wouldn't want him to. He stays still as Jack pushes back his chair, stands up, and leans against the desk with his hands in his pockets, his arm inches away from Ianto's. The distance isn't accidental, Ianto knows, and he has to make an effort to keep from moving, towards or away.

"Really? You seem calmer, these days. But I'm not sure that you seem happier."

There's something unnerving in the idea of Jack considering his happiness. Ianto makes sure that a self-deprecating smile is in place before speaking.

"Who can be happy, really? In Torchwood?"

Jack laughs a little at that, and looks at Ianto through his eyelashes, a coy smirk stretching his lips.

"Oh, it's not so bad. At least it doesn't have to be. I manage a bit of happiness every now and then."

The beguiling grin starts to turn into an honest smile, and Ianto can't help himself.

"I'm glad to hear it, sir."

The words come out too earnest, too fervent, and Ianto finds himself stepping back and turning away, cringing at the thought of how he must look. There must be some filing for him to do in the basement, something that will require his presence for the next few days. Possibly the next month.

Jack's hand on his wrist stops him.

"Ianto."

It isn't quite a question, but Ianto knows that if he looks at Jack, it will be. And he's not ready to answer it yet.

"Was there anything else, sir? Would you like some more coffee? I'm afraid this one has gone cold."

He can see Jack shaking his head from the corner of his eye, feels the last brush of a thumb against his pulse as Jack lets go. Unable to speak, Ianto nods and walks out as quickly as he can steadily manage.

5. Jealousy

The man is blond. It seems important, somehow, that the man look nothing like Jack and so Ianto allows himself to be pulled by a thin, trendy-looking, blond man. About Ianto's age, and definitely high on something other than Smirnoff Ice. He watches Ianto from the corner of the dance-floor, twitching sluggishly to the music as he downs bottle after bottle. Ianto sips slowly from his pint, pulls his t-shirt down to cover the sliver of bare skin above his jeans, and watches back. This shouldn't be difficult.

It isn't easy, either. Ianto is aware that the awkwardness he shows isn't all an act, that he feels just as sick with nerves and inexperience as he looks. The man doesn't seem to mind, but he doesn't offer any reassurance either as they walk to the gents. His hands are rough on Ianto's shoulders and his breath smells of vomit and Bacardi breezer, and Ianto can't decide whether it's the filth or the sweetness that makes him want to gag. Or the man's fingers on his crotch, groping roughly.

Afterwards, he stands in the shower until the water grows cold, and makes himself not cringe when looking at himself in the mirror, naked body covered in bruises (the door to the gents, the stall, unclean fingers on his jeans) and blushing red from the hot water and shame. A bite mark high up on his neck, the one he'd made sure he got. Not a sign of desire, as he'd hoped, but of despair and drunkenness and foolish abandon, and Ianto has to sit down on the toilet to keep himself from being sick.

He might have to reconsider his plan. Or perhaps answer honestly the question of why he wants this.

The next day he wears his favourite suit, charcoal grey with dark blue shirt, as much a fortress as an invitation. Owen, predictably, pays not attention to the suit but notices the hickey.

"What's that there, Ianto? Got a new girlfriend?"

"Is it necessary to have a girlfriend for this? You're such a romantic, Owen."

Owen frowns, and Gwen chuckles uneasily. She can't not ask, though, nor would Ianto expect her to.

"You've been going out then?"

Ianto shrugs, a slight smile forming on his lips.

"Well, I figured it wouldn't be a good idea to stay around here all the time."

He doesn't look up toward Jack office, although a reflection on one of the gadgets on Tosh's desk tells him that a dark shadow has come to stand above him.

"Was she nice, then? What was her name?"

Gwen is trying to be nice, and sociable and pretending to be interested now that Ianto has joined the crowd of people who go out and pull. He can't decide whether to be amused or insulted by her condescension.

"His name was…actually, I don't remember. I was a bit drunk."

Ianto gives an abashed smile, one that Gwen responds to automatically even though he can see her brain flipping about and going oh my god Ianto is gay. Owen snorts in the background, and mutters I knew it, and Ianto grins wider.

It isn't even six o'clock when Jack asks him to join him in his office. Gwen and Owen have disappeared to "check something in the basement," and Tosh is closing up her workstation with every sign of eagerness to leave. Ianto straightens his tie and smoothes down his jacket before walking up the stairs. He wishes there was an excuse to hold something in his hands.

Jack is leaning against his desk, his arms folded across his chest, unmoving in a way that suggests a readiness to pounce. Ianto notes the gleam in his eyes, the (finally!) predatory curve of his mouth, and feels reckless enough to say: "You wanted me, sir?"

Usually that would make Jack laugh and say something outrageous in return, but now there is only "Yes," and another glint of teeth. Ianto nods, and tries to look inquisitive and polite.

"Owen tells me that you've been out pulling. Pulling strangers, at that. Strange men."

Owen has been making cow-eyes at Gwen's breasts all day long, and has barely spoken to Jack. Interesting that Jack should feel the need to excuse his eavesdropping – he is generally quite shameless about it. Ianto raises a casual eyebrows and hides his smirk.

"I'm not sure how my personal life concerns you, sir. As long as it doesn't affect my performance at work."

Not that maintaining appropriate workplace relations has ever occurred to Jack. It's good to remind him every now and then, though. Ianto finds it adds to the kinkiness.

"Oh but I am concerned, Ianto. Shagging strangers isn't like you."

"Really, sir? How would you know that?"

Jack smiles, and the curve of his lips sends shivers up Ianto's spine. "I know you."

Then Jack is standing up, stepping closer and putting his hands in his pockets. His voice is low and steady, almost casual. "What was he like?"

Ianto swallows, and doesn't look away. "I don't remember."

"Really? Was he good, at least?"

A slight shake of head. "No, he wasn't."

"Why do it then?"

A deep breath, and a quick lick of his lips. "I was curious."

"Were you? And tell me, Ianto, why didn't you come to me to assuage your…curiosity?"

And this one is easy, this one he has prepared. Ianto puts on his most placid face. "I wouldn't want to impose, sir."

And with one fluid move Jack's there, breathing into Ianto's space, trailing a finger down his cheek. Close enough for Ianto to feel the heat of Jack's body, to feel the cold of not touching him.

"You're not running away, Ianto."

He turns his face into Jack's hand. "No, I'm not, sir."

Jack smiles at that, says "Good," and kisses him.

Some time later, when they are both breathless and Jack's hands are cupping Ianto's face and Ianto's hands are holding on to Jack's shirt, they come up for air and Jack asks: "Will you let me take you to bed?"

There can only be one answer to that. "Yes."

: :

Jack leads him downstairs, pulls him onto the bed and doesn't undress him. There are hands finding their way under his shirt, learning the shape of his body with keen fingers, but most of Ianto is left covered. Only his tie is loosened, pulled off and thrown somewhere (Ianto starts to remonstrate but Jack sucks his complaints into his mouth); only a small sliver of flesh on his neck is revealed. Jack keeps nuzzling him, sliding his lips across Ianto's throat, sucking gently on his Adam's apple. It's enough to make Ianto twitch and moan, to push up against Jack's body, to curl a still-clothed leg around Jack's ankle.

It's only when Ianto asks, begs "Please, Jack, I want, skin, please," that Jack chuckles, rewards him with a light nip under his jaw, and starts taking off his braces. And Ianto can only stare, swallow painfully with his dry mouth, as Jack's body is bared before him. So much strength and beauty in the curve of his arms, the line of his hip. Ianto reaches out, trails a hand across Jack's belly, feels the jolt in both their bodies. Then Jack laughs and kisses him again, slides his hands under Ianto's clothes. "Let's get rid of these, shall we?"

Later, when Ianto is gasping from the feel of Jack's mouth all over his body, Jack turns him over to lie on his belly. He's prepared for this, he thinks, has spent many moments thinking about this. He still tenses up, though, at the touch of Jack's fingers on his arse, caressing him and spreading him open. And when he feels Jack's mouth there, kissing him with the same abandon, licking him open with unbearable finesse and want, Ianto can't help but groan and grab his cock to keep from coming.

When Jack finally presses inside him, his mouth leaving bite marks on Ianto's shoulders and his hands entangling with Ianto's on the sheets, it feels like too much and not enough. You can only want more, Ianto thinks, more skin, more touch, more and harder and deeper. His mouth is open and he can barely breathe, can only whine low in his throat with every push of Jack's body. He comes with one slide of Jack's fingers on his cock and the feel of Jack's teeth on his neck.

Afterwards, Jack cleans him up and pulls him close, tucks Ianto's head under his chin and strokes his hair. It's strangely comforting, and strange that he should feel the need for such comfort, but Ianto doesn't resist. Jack's body is warm and it will be easy to fall asleep here, listening to Jack's heartbeat, wrapped in Jack's arms.

Then Jack speaks, low and almost muffled in Ianto's hair, but loud enough to drive away all thoughts of sleep. "Did you get what you wanted?"

Ianto grows still and stops breathing, but as Jack's hands continue to touch him, sliding down his back and keeping him in place, he relaxes again.

"For the moment."

He feels warm breath against his temple, a soft press of lips. "Good. I'll look forward to seeing what you want next."

And for the moment, that's enough.

Epilogue:

It shouldn't be surprising how lascivious Jack manages to look first thing in the morning. That could have something to do with the fact that he's sitting on top of Ianto and holding his cock hostage.

"You should take the morning off. Stay in bed."

Ianto struggles to remain calm while his cock jerks in Jack's hand.

"I'm not sure I could. My boss, you see. He might not like it."

"I'm sure your boss is a reasonable man."

"Reasonable is not the word I would use."

"Well, perhaps you could convince him that it's in his best interests to let you stay in bed."

Jack is flexing his thighs around Ianto's and moving his hand up and down. Ianto bites his lip and tries to sound steady. "I think you'll find it's the other way round, sir."

"Oh yeah? You're looking to be convinced?"

"Gnergkh."

"I'll take that as a yes."

Ianto finds himself taking the afternoon off as well.

14 Valentines: Sexual Assault and Rape