Disclaimer: Torchwood isn't mine.
*x*x*
He liked Ianto's suits. He really liked them. The clean silhouette they created. The way his waistcoat clung to his slim frame like a hug. The way they covered him up, hid his pale, perfect body.
He loved Ianto's suits because he could take them off. It made Jack feel like he was unwrapping a present.
The first thing he did was slide the jacket from the younger man's tense shoulders. It always amazed him how rigidly Ianto held himself throughout the day, the perfect butler. Amazed and aroused, because he knew under the sirs and the stoic mask, Ianto would come alive.
After the jacket went cufflinks. Then he'd slide the soft leather belt out of its hoops with a snick. By now, Ianto's breathing was ragged and panting and his eyes were shining with want.
Next went the waistcoat, button by button. Jack loved the waistcoats. The first time Ianto had come to work in one, Jack had broken every "no sex while the others are in the Hub" rule they'd ever set. Twice. Then he'd been thrilled to discover that his young lover had gotten one with every new suit he had made.
Jack let his hands roam over the silk backing before sliding it from his lover's shoulders to join the jacket. He reveled in Ianto's warmth as he ran his palm along the planes of Ianto's back. He dropped to his knees and kneaded the younger man's arse, ghosted his fingers downwards and around to untie the Welshman's shoelaces. Ianto was so vain about his shoes, always shining them until the gleamed and glittered in the light. The scent of shoe polish had somehow shifted in Jack's mind from a sharp, military smell to a beckoning aphrodisiac. He tugged them off, one by one.
Ianto stood stock still, just how Jack liked, only shifting slightly when his Captain needed him to. He had self-control Jack could only dream of. It both impressed him and made him want to break it, to shatter it until Ianto was a moaning, writing creature of pleasure beneath him. Nothing, nothing made him more satisfied than to crush that stoic mask.
Thin socks came next, exposing the first bit of pale skin. He wanted to tickle them, just slightly, but he knew Ianto had no patience for it and it was best left for a time when there was no danger of retaliation.
He rose up until Ianto's waist was eyelevel and gave Ianto a mischievous look before lowering his mouth to lap at the pinstripe-covered erection before him.
"Jack," breathed Ianto, a benediction and a warning all in one.
Smirking, the Captain undoes his lover's trousers with deft fingers, lingering when Ianto's breath hitches slightly. He snags the waistband of Ianto's boxers along with the softer fabric of his slacks and tugged. Ianto stepped out of the material when his lover rose to his feet, kicking it casually aside.
Jack took a deep, steadying breath and soaked in the sight before him—Ianto Jones, the very personification of professionalism, standing in front of him. He was aroused and disheveled, in just his shirtsleeves and silk tie. Scattered clothes looked even more wanton against the otherwise meticulous cleanliness of the room.
Jack loved Ianto's clothes.
But he loved them even more when they were on the floor.
*x*x*
A/N 2.0: This story's prompt was "clothing." That's the last of the three I'm posting tonight. I hope they actually, you know, post. Grrr.