Disclaimer: Lalalala not remotely English or Russell T. Davies.
Notes: Written 'cause I was totally pissed off at the amount of people who wrote Jack/Ianto as though they were too fragile for passion. They would have amazing sex where both would come simultaneously, and they would shower each other with kisses "as light as feathers" and cuddle afterwards and everything would be schmoopy and… ugh. I think their relationship is nothing like a stereotypical old married couple, I think it's based more on lust, and the need to fuck as opposed to the need for sweet, sweet lovemaking.
But then again I'm a crazy person.
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Contrary to very, very popular opinion, Ianto didn't find sex with Captain Jack Harkness to be romantic. But then again, Jack and Ianto were very busy people, with things to do and worlds to save, so maybe they just didn't have time.
When Jack used to shag other people, he would act like a big fluffy puppy. The sex would be slow, and graceful, and he would take care of what they wanted before bothering with himself. The two (or three, or four, depending on how many hyper-vodkas he had ingested before the act) would cuddle afterwards, sated and tired and falling asleep in each other's arms like true lovers.
But when Jack was with Ianto, there was none of that.
Even before the sex began, there was no semblance of grace. Jack would invite Ianto into his office with a smouldering glance, the other members of Torchwood having returned to their fiancés, or barroom floozies, or the comfort of their lonely apartments. After minutes of conversation, a tedious cover for something they knew was destined to occur, clothes would begin to fly.
Within mere moments, either one or the other would be pressed up against a wall or against the edge of the desk, both of them panting and grinning. The fight was good, and rough, and was only a ghost of future events. Kisses were more like punches than admissions of love, lips harshly bruising tender skin instead of the intimate caresses they could have been.
All too often their impatience would win over their desire for comfort, and they would fuck right there in Jack's office. There was always lube stashed somewhere within reach, because however rushed they were, neither of them wanted to deal with friction like that. Pain was far too common in their daily lives, death and destruction ruling their every move, and any isolation from that was preferable.
Even the process of lubricating wasn't a careful thing. They were eager to avoid pain, but they were also hasty, stiffened fingers scissoring too fast and short gasps of surprise swallowed by the other's mouth. Then, once they were done, one would thrust, and they would be joined. But, it wasn't a connection of love; it was one of lustful passion.
It wasn't long before they were thrusting quickly against each other, one inside the other, 'fuck' and 'god' and unintelligible moans dropping from their mouths like prayers. There were still bruising kisses and roaming hands, squeezing arms and hips and thighs, both frantically grasping for the other.
Although they had only just started, they were always so close to the end. All that had happened before was simply teasing, trousers and thighs and hips pressed close together, but the teasing had been too much too soon. They would never come simultaneously, that was far too picture-perfect, but one would come soon after the other, a final thrust or a jerking wrist the last quick movement.
And then it was done. They would lean against each other, or the wall, or lie across the desk only for moments, then they were up and dressing. Neither Ianto or Jack were interested in cuddling, or tender kisses, it was about the passion and the lust and the quick, effortless coming together of two bodies that needed release.
Ianto would readjust the furniture to its original positions, then he would be gone, a sharp kiss his last contact with Jack before the Captain was left on his own to straighten the papers on his desk. Ianto soon realised that that was all they needed. Neither of them needed to be hugged or coddled afterwards; they needed the release they could only get from passionate lust for another person, who would simply be there and be gone like a teasing touch.