Warning: Implied BDSM
Disclaimer: Jack and Ianto don't belong to me, which is a real shame because I would have looked after them much more carefully than their real owners did.
The satin lining of his jacket slides against the tender skin on Ianto's back, sending delicious shivers through him and almost distracting him from the job in hand. The vitally important task Jack has entrusted him with. Something only Ianto can perform to his satisfaction.
Making a decent cup of coffee.
He looks down at the filter holder whilst tamping the coffee, and is momentarily disturbed to see his red silk tie swaying over his naked chest. The knot is loosened, brushing against his collar bone and tingling against the bruises from Jack's lips. Had it been his decision to leave his tie on? He can't remember now, the sequence of events blurring into a welter of random images and bodily sensations after he had plucked up the courage to reveal his fantasy to Jack. But he does recall the look in Jack's eyes when he told him what he wanted. The way they darkened with lust as he'd asked if Ianto was sure, if he knew what he was letting himself in for. Oh, he was sure all right, even if he didn't really know quite what to expect. He'd been thinking of little else for days now, and had surprised himself with the intensity of his pleasure when his fantasy was finally realised. That he'd found such ecstasy in being treated that way. And then in meting out the same treatment to Jack.
As he raises his arms to slot the filter holder into the machine, the jacket lining catches on his swollen nipples; agonising yet thrilling. Ianto's eyes flutter closed as he fights for control of his breathing, trying in vain to dampen his growing desire. This just isn't appropriate right now. The sooner he can make the coffee, the sooner he can get back to the man in the bed. The man who's waiting for him, covered in his own network of bruises, bites and scratches. Although Jack's are already fading away, whereas Ianto will be marked for days. A constant reminder of this night.
A sudden thought occurs, nearly causing him to drop the coffee grounds. Jack didn't leave anything that would show, did he? This isn't something he wants the others to find out about. It was bad enough after that first time with the stopwatch. It probably hadn't been a sensible challenge, to see how long they could kiss before one would give into temptation and touch the other below the neck. But it had been a lot of fun. Especially as Jack lost and had to perform a particularly exciting forfeit of Ianto's choice. When asked about the resultant stubble rash, Ianto explained it away as some kind of allergic reaction to a new aftershave; but Gwen had looked particularly sceptical. He examines the reflection of his face and neck in the chrome of the coffee machine, running his fingers over the skin to check for any incipient bruising. His lips feel swollen and tender from Jack's fervent kisses, but that's no different from the other times he's stayed late at the Hub.
Hands next. No, they're fine, but his wrists are red with friction burns. He runs a forefinger over the raw skin at his pulse point and involuntarily hisses. Okay then, no rolling his sleeves up until that heals. He'll just have to hope that Jack doesn't ask for any help moving furniture or boxes in the meantime. At least, not when the rest of the team are around. Ianto knows that Jack deliberately fabricates reasons to move things just so he can get him to remove his jacket and roll up his sleeves. He just wants a sneaky look at his forearms and arse during work hours; the smutty comments and smirks give him away every time.
"Ianto?" Jack's voice booms from the room under his office. "Is that coffee nearly ready? Don't make me come out there and make it myself!"
"You're hardly in a position to do that, Jack," he shouts back, grinning as he remembers the pose he's left Jack in. Should give him a very pleasant view when he gets back to the bunker. "Just be patient, I'm coming."
"Ianto Jones, I'm amazed you have the energy. Haven't you had enough for one night?" Jack challenges.
Rolling his eyes, Ianto finally gets the filter holder in place and starts the pump. The thick, dark liquid trickles into the mug, releasing a wonderful aroma. He leans back against the counter and immediately regrets it, wincing and drawing in a sharp breath. The soft wool of his trousers feels rough and scratchy in contact with the smarting skin of his arse. Oh God, he's not going to be able to sit down tomorrow; not after the pounding he's just received. But then he recalls the way he returned the favour, thrusting himself into Jack with wild abandon, and starts to harden, sending a wave of exquisite pain through his groin.
With a monumental effort of will he focuses his attention on the coffee, turning the pump off and then topping up the mug with hot water. The steam hits his wrist with an explosion of pain. Instinctively, Ianto brings his wrist to his mouth, sucking and licking at the scalded skin. The gentle action of his tongue and lips is both soothing and stimulating, giving him an idea.
He pads back to the relative warmth of Jack's office, his bare feet registering the changing texture of the floor beneath him. Placing the coffee on the desk, he shrugs off his jacket, hanging it neatly over the back of Jack's chair. This is swiftly followed by his trousers, but Ianto decides to keep the tie on. He rather likes the way the red of the silk matches the red of the marks on his body, and the gentle friction against his skin is incredibly arousing.
Looking down through the hole in the floor, he can see Jack splayed out on the bed, his skin a map of dark bruises and livid bites and scratches. I did that, Ianto thinks with pride. My hands, my mouth. Jack had trusted him enough to let him. But now it's time to heal, and Ianto can think of the perfect way.
He's going to make Jack promise to lick every wound on his body. Only then will he untie him and let him drink his coffee.
Fin.