Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood or any of the characters, all I own is the idea of the story and my mind that is constantly in the gutter.
A/N: A special thank you to my betas kinnetic-kinnetic and Brownbug for all their help with this.
The first rays of sun had long since entered the room and were followed by more and brighter ones when one of the occupants of the big bed stirred for the first time. He cautiously cracked an eye open and then tried to open the other. However, the light made him squirm against it and his head was pounding as if four drummers were competing at the same time. For a moment there he wasn't sure what his name was but, after a long moment of panic about how much he had drunk to feel like this, he remembered at least that he was Captain Jack Harkness, and that possibly one of the pounding drummers behind his skull could be himself, since he was to blame for that situation. Well, he and Gwen, together with who knows how many drinks they had drained last night. He strained to remember what exactly had happened but, apart from a blank page and the obvious fact of a disastrous hangover, nothing was really clear from last night. He could not remember even how he came here. Wherever here was, Jack wasn't really sure. He opened his eyes just a crack again and tried to look around. Big soft bed, red bedcover…so, definitely not home, he thought. It was probably a hotel room. The question was, what was he doing in one?
Jack heard someone stir next to him and tried to lift up and look in the direction of the noise, but the room span in a way that meant…'consummation of a lot of booze and the organism not having processed it yet'. He lay still for a moment, breathing deeply, and then turned around. What he saw was enough to make him forget about his hangover. Next to him lay the naked body of Ianto Jones. He couldn't remember what had happened and he really wasn't sure he even wanted to. Whatever it was, he hoped that it wasn't more than having a drinking marathon and then crashing into the hotel room, totally out of it. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Ianto, but he vaguely remembered something about a bet with Gwen at the beginning of the night. He sincerely hoped that this was not the result of the bet. He took another look at the man lying next to him, just in case he had been mistaken and Ianto wasn't really naked but, to his horror, he was. Completely naked, with not a stitch on. Slowly, really painfully, he stood up and went to the bar to make himself a coffee. Maybe a strong coffee would help him with the memories.
Jack wasn't sure if it was the coffee or the fog lifting from his head, but now he thought he was starting to remember flashes of events from the night before. He remembered being with Gwen in the bar earlier in the evening and having some friendly banter about his interest in Ianto and how he never acted on it. Of course he had never acted on it. He had always viewed Ianto as too innocent for someone like him, however strange that may seem. So from one glass to another they had started to argue, with Gwen claiming that Jack just didn't have the guts. Jack of course countered that if he wanted to seduce Ianto he would do it right at that moment. And that's how the bet had come about, with Gwen calling Ianto to invite him for a drink. Jack hoped that he wouldn't remember any further to add to his horror, which so far was already more than enough. What if Ianto remembered what had happened? But, actually, did Ianto even need to remember what had happened? It was going to be enough for him just to wake up. Then Jack would be in trouble, what he was going to tell him? I had a bet with Gwen and I don't even remember if I won it? His friendship with Ianto was going to be lost today in this room, the moment Ianto woke up.
Jack sighed and sipped from his coffee, the strong brew clearing a bit more of the fog from his mind and he could remember when Ianto arrived and the hot shivers that it had sent through his body. He had accepted the bet and now he was going to win it. Jack felt like kicking himself now, after the night was over. He remembered buying Ianto some drinks and flirting. However, he did not remember what words they had exchanged. He doubted the alcohol fog would clear that much, but the words weren't important - what had come after them was.
Ianto was getting gradually more than tipsy, he was getting really drunk and Jack was leading him towards the hotel that he had found a couple of hours ago. Even before they had entered the room Jack had pressed the archivist against the wall and was kissing him savagely, while fumbling around for the door lock to open the room. Moments later, with part of their clothes already removed, they fell through the hotel room door and directly on the carpeted floor. To Jack's relief, Ianto wasn't protesting and he was sure that he was going to win the bet. A pang of guilt threatened to spoil the enjoyment for him, but the fog of alcohol and pheromones pushed it away, even though he was sure that it would haunt him later with a vengeance. Lost like this in his thoughts, Jack almost missed the light bite on his collarbone and the opening of his zip. He moaned and then snarled a bit at Ianto, who was trying to take the lead. This wouldn't do, Jack thought, and pinned the Welshman to the floor, his hands above his head in Jack's hands, firmly, almost painfully, holding his wrists in place. Jack grinned down at him and bit his lover back, but on the neck. If Ianto wanted a rough game, Jack was going to give him one.
Sipping on his coffee, sitting at the table, Jack shook his head. As enjoyable as these images were, he now felt the guilt that he had ignored back then. What was he going to tell Ianto when he woke up? He could hardly tell him that it was just a bet, but he didn't want to lie that he wanted a relationship. His nerves got the better of him and, while trying to add some more sugar to his coffee, he knocked it over and watched as the glass container smashed on the floor. The sight struck him as familiar and he looked over across the hotel room…
Ianto wasn't happy to give control that easily and between pouting, struggling and trying to win by taking Jack's concentration away by kissing, biting and flexing his legs and body against Jack's already heated one, he managed to wriggle free and tried to flip Jack over. Their bodies collided with one of the small café tables and everything that was on it smashed to the ground. Neither of them cared about the broken glass and crystal, as long as they didn't end up lying on it. There was a small cut on Ianto's forehead and Jack licked the blood off, smirking, giving a new meaning to 'I'll kiss it better'. Ianto hissed and then bit into Jack's lip to taste Jack's blood too. Then Jack's memory dissolved into a bit of a confusing fuzz, it was a mess of a sweating entwined bodies and moans of pleasure. He could remember the soft lips of the tea-boy on his cock, skilfully playing with the head's tip and licking and biting it. He knew that it would hurt to allows Ianto to bite something as delicate as the head of his penis, but right then he was enjoying himself too much to care. And so what if Ianto wasn't so gentle, does it really matter? All the lips and tongue play from Ianto's side had the desired effect and Jack's semen ended up filling his mouth. Rather than being disgusted, as Jack would have expected, Ianto swallowed it all and lifted his head with a predatory smile on his lips, licking away the last stray drops. This seemed to have turned Jack on again and despite being just spent he took the other man's body and flipped him back down, beneath himself. The new struggle sent another table flying and more things smashed on the floor.
"Shit!" Jack cursed, not sure if it was because of the mess they had made in the hotel room, or because of the smashed sugar pot on the floor. He contemplated the idea of just leaving the room before Ianto had woken up, but dismissed it. He couldn't very well run every time he saw Ianto from now on. He wasn't exactly sure how events had played out later, but he was sure of one thing, the night had been very eventful. He stirred his coffee, and the sugar he could save and put into it, trying to remember what had happened after that.
Jack pushed Ianto's hands hard into the floor, pinning his wrists above his head and preparing the man for the real game that was to come. Jack took one of his hands off Ianto's wrists and traced a line down from his shoulder blades to the small of his back. Jack's finger lingered there for a bit, his palm stroking the firm butt cheeks, savouring the feel of the clammy flesh. Ianto's usually white skin was now flushed in the heat of desire. Jack's finger moved to the entrance of Ianto's ass and sent a violent shiver through the archivist's body. The young man hissed in pleasure and a bit of a pain but didn't protest so Jack kept playing around with the tight ring of muscles, causing them to loosen up a bit so he could insert a finger. After a while one finger was followed by a second one. Jack started to draw intricate patterns inside Ianto's body, sending shivers through him. Ianto arched his back to meet the other man's body more fully. He rocked his tights to show Jack that he couldn't hold much longer and wanted to be filled now. Smirking, Jack pulled his fingers out and after reassuring himself he lubed his cock enough, he trusted into his young employee, making him cry out Jack's name like some kind of prayer. After leaving a bit of a time for the two of them to adjust to the tightness, Jack started to move more boldly, rocking their bodies and slamming harder and harder with grunts of effort and pleasure. Their bodies were hot, wet and sleek with sweat and they could smell each other's desire on their own skins. Ianto arched his back further to meet Jack's body thrust for thrust.
Jack gripped the Welshman's tights with his hands and pulled him closer to himself, held him there firmly while he started to slam into his prostate, made the man underneath him howl in pleasure and ecstasy. Jack knew that his firm grip would bruise and leave marks on Ianto's tights but now he couldn't bring himself to care. Finally they both cried out in pleasure, come spread over their bodies.
Jack brought himself back to the present, looking down on the, now cold, coffee cup in his hands. He shouldn't go back to these past events. He should keep in the here and now and think of what to do and say to Ianto when he would wake up. The problem was he couldn't, he had nothing to say that Ianto wouldn't already know. So Jack took the cowardly way out of it and left the room before the archivist rose from his sleep and demanded explanation.