Cocky

A/N: Sorry for the long break between chapters. Sort of lost the momentum in this story. I really have to be in the right mood, so to speak, to write this one. I'm not exactly sure where to go after this chapter so please let me know if you have any suggestions. I have a little idea for a scene on the invisible lift but it might be too early in the relationship and I'm trying for this not to be purely about the sex but more about what is going on inside their heads.

Chapter 11 – Jack POV

I find my new toy in the archives. "So Ianto, you've been trying to attract my attention." I'd like to say I've unsettled him because he can't answer but he seems more excited than anything. Little smile quivering across his lips. Can't let him be too comfortable, got to keep him on his toes. "There's no point denying it, you're about as subtle as a sledgehammer."

"I was just cleaning."

Right loverboy, cleaning. So sweet, so innocent. I think he'll always be innocent, he has that about him. Wide blue eyes look at me, trusting when they shouldn't. Young soul, if you believe that reincarnation stuff. Simple soul, simple pleasures please. But there is something darker under that. Canary Warf. Innocence without innocence. Ianto, will I ever figure you out?

I have a question to ask, even though I think I know the answer now. Can't be responsible for stealing that sweetness. "Ianto, are you doing this because you think you have to?"

He takes his time answering, shocked by the question or thinking up a lie. "This is my choice Jack," he says and it feels true, he's mine for free.

So I take my kiss, and release the beast. Clawing, pushing, biting, wild thing without restraint. Perhaps not so innocent. "Not so fast tiger," I say, telling him we have time. He stops, panting and twitching. And he is innocent, because he's an tiger kitten, responding to the alpha male. All id and no ego. Driven by instinct and the pleasure principle. Only subdued by my will because I'm the ego to his id.

"What do you want me to do, sir?" he asks. Calling me sir, it must be wrong. Listening to me, obeying me, it can't be right, even though it feels so good. Freud be dammed because I've got an idea and it won't be emotionally healthy.

But it's going to be fun.

"Are you willing to do what I tell you? You can stop anytime."

"I don't want to stop, sir. I'll do whatever you want." Little tiger cub almost growls at me. Bad kitty. He leans in, but I push him back.

"No. I'm not going to touch you yet. Take off your clothes. Take them off, slowly." Want to watch what the boy can do. I've been watching him all day. Now I want to see him do it right. This won't finish alone in a cubicle.

Buttons, one, two, three. Jacket on the back of the chair, nice and neat Ianto. Curved arse and slender hips, delicious. He pops a button on his shirt and then, stops. "Don't stop," thought in my head drawn out. Don't stop Ianto. One by one, each button opens because I've told him to open it. Each inch of skin is mine because he will give it to me.

The shirt comes off quickly and his body is glistening underneath. I remember hair from last night, but now I realise that it is really just the triangle from chest to trail pointing the way. He's shoulders and back are smooth. Pale and pure. I imagine my teeth marking that skin. Making it mine.

The possessiveness shocks me out of my reverie and I notice him folding his shirt. Folding his shirt? He folds his shirt during a strip tease. How cute. But still kinda sexy. "Keep going," I say and he moves his hand to his trousers.

Buttons, nice, no underwear, naughty. Perhaps not so sweet, oh he's trapped his shoes in his trousers. That's sweet. And leaning down, to fetch his pants. Naked Ianto bending down, saucy. And now he's folding them, sweet. But wait, he's still wearing his socks.

Those socks, titillating before, pornographic now. Red socks, white skin. A blush spreads complimenting his footwear, he wants to take them off, but that's not going to happen, "Stop", I say. He has no idea, the socks have to stay. That darling boy, each morning, putting on his plain black suit, makes a choice, a choice not to keep it all in, makes a break for individuality, a break for sensuality, hidden under shoes and trousers, screaming sex.

But the show won't go on unless I direct the performance. I want to see what a man who chooses red socks can do, see what happened in that cubicle when I wasn't there. "Kneel down," watching him bend to my will, perfectly curved, cock quivering. Throw him the lube, command him to start. See him expand under his touch, see what I'm doing to him without lifting a finger, see my power, squeezing him tight. But I need to see more, need to see he's learnt his lessons. See the pupil perform.

"You're not being creative," I chide, "There are other things to do with the gel." And he shows me, preparing himself for me. Face showing everything, each touch, each thrust, each twist. "Add another", I say and I feel it inside, his fingers might be pushing in him, but they thrust in me, scissoring, stretching, scorching.

And he moans my name again and again, calling me to him and watching is not enough, need to feel him, need to become part of the picture.

Touch his skin, hot and wet. Watch his skin, rippling over the bones of his arching spine. Feel his skin, pushing against me. Smell his skin, burning for me. Hear him beg because skin isn't enough. Something deeper, surer, truer. So I become his skin, open him, enter him, capture him. Tame the beast in him, release the beast in me. Flying and free.

Something happens in that moment, that moment drifting between worlds. When I am him and he is me and it's not just pleasure, I'm in exactly the right place, I'm home.

And then we wake shattered and cold, as heat retreats and reality returns, and he is just a boy lying naked on a concrete floor wearing red socks.

A/N: Something has gone wrong with my traffic counter so if you read this and like it please review so I know... I'm not too proud to beg – a bit like Ianto... ;-)