A/N – this chapter contains scenes of a sexual nature – if you would rather not read it, or if you are too young to be reading it, moving straight on to Chapter 12 will not affect the flow of the story.

Chapter 11

Jack had Ianto pushed up against the inside wall of a bird watchers' shack, kissing him with an urgency prompted by fear, his hands burrowing under the layers of clothing to reach Ianto's bare flesh, desperate to feel him against his body, needing to have him now, whilst he was still so alive, before the damn universe could do anything to take him away.

It wasn't slow and gentle, after all the bird watchers' hide was draughty and cold, far too cold to get undressed properly, but their mutual lust didn't care for comfort. They grabbed at one another hungrily, their hands fumbling in the thick layers of garments, their breathing becoming faster, sounds muffled by the din of the relentless hail hammering at the walls of their shelter. The waterproof cagoule had been ripped off and thrown without a second thought onto the wet floor, the woollen sweater far better for clinging onto, soft and warm. Scents of lavender and musk filled their nostrils, along with the damp, earthy smell from the sunken hut and the distinctive tang of the sea. The narrow window allowed hardly any light into the interior of the hide and the dark skies only added to the gloom, but neither man needed light to find their way, their senses of taste, smell, and touch already fully aroused.

Cold trickles of icy water, from melting hailstones, dripped from curls of hair downwards across cheeks and onto lips that melded together, tongues seeking the heat of each others' mouths. Much more than a kiss, the sealing of lips, drinking each other in, desperate to sink into one another completely.

Hands reached further into clothing, ripping past barriers that prevented contact, under layers of wool and cotton to feel the warmth of a chest, fingers running through the light hair, hands spanning across broad muscular shoulders, grasping frantically. A hand dipped beneath the waist band of a loose fitting pair of cords reaching down to stroke the silken, soft skin of a hardening cock, a smile briefly breaking the kiss at the revelation of no underwear to impede access. Other hands pushed down to cup tight buttocks, a firm arse to clutch and pull forward, drawing bodies even closer together. Braces unclipped and trousers unzipped, tugged down over hips to allow flesh to touch, exposing bare skin to the cold draughts from the gaps in the wooden walls, bringing goosebumps to bare thighs, but the heat generated between the two aroused bodies made them oblivious to the chill air that swirled about them.

Jack manoeuvred Ianto towards the narrow window looking out into the storm, the hail striking the thin glass in waves, driven in by the strong winds blowing off the sea.

"Lean on the ledge", a breathless instruction, followed without question. His body turned around to face out looking towards the sea, he lost all awareness of the weather as a hand grasped and then slid up and down his cock, a thumb rubbing slow circles in the moisture weeping from its tip. The other man's arousal pressing against his arse, its intentions clear, its impatience tangible.

"Lick" … fingers held up to his mouth were sucked in greedily and liberally coated with saliva.

A knee insistently nudged thighs apart and a gentle pressure bent his body forward a little, arms braced on the creaking wooden ledge beneath the window, as hands traced their way down across hips and around to tease at his entrance. Fingers pressing in slowly, one at a time, an exquisite focus of pain – sharp, yet also comforting, a feeling of need transmitted through the hands that held, that grasped, that prepared him.

"Coat pocket-"

"Left hand side?"

"Yeah…"

Lid pulled off with teeth and contents squeezed onto a hand that slicks his own cock first, before sliding two, then three fingers into the tight opening, stretching with care, but with urgency unhidden.

"Ready? Don't want to hurt –"

"Now…" need overwhelming all else.

The sensation as the blunt tip of his lover's cock breached the tight opening, then pushing forward, an inch at a time, stretching him, filling him. An arm about his waist holding him up, a hand on one of his hips pulling him back. Then stillness, breathing hard, catching breath, feeling heat surround aching cock, aching with want. Panting breaths barely audible above the sound of the storm outside, battering at the door as if demanding entry.

"Please…" a whispered plea obeyed instantly.

Moving in and out, slowly at first, then faster, building a rhythm. A powerful hold about him keeping him on his feet, leaning forward, but pushing back as he began to move his hips to meet the thrusts from behind, the pressure building from deep within to emanate outwards, the blood flowing faster, heartbeats hastening to compete with the pounding of pellets of ice hitting the roof bare inches from their heads. A hand moves down to grasp his neglected cock, stroking up and down its length, drawing forth a gasp of pleasure at first and then the steady pumping eliciting groans of delight, the skin so sensitive, the moment so close.

Dual sensations of the tightening of his lover's flesh about his cock and his own imminent orgasm, flooding his senses, overcoming any concerns for gentleness as he lost the rhythm in his desperation for release, movements becoming erratic and more forceful, thrusting harder, sinking deeper.

Their bodies become one, not knowing where one started and the other began, each feeling what the other could feel, inseparable at the moment of coming, feeling each other's orgasm, both screaming out obscenities, blasphemies and declarations of love to compete with the cacophony of sound made by hail, rain and wind that battered their refuge.

Both panting now and unable to form words, clutching to one another for support, the shelf barely holding the weight of both men. Forehead against shuddering back, holding tight and waiting for an uncertain period of time, he eventually slides out, both immediately missing the lost physical connection. Trickles of sweat mingle with the remaining drips of melted hail about their faces, tasted as lips meet for soft, gentle kisses that designate this coupling as lovemaking, despite the rush and the stickiness on hands that brush against softening cocks.

Time had stood still, rushed forward and shot back all at once whilst they had made love and neither needed to tell the other what they already knew. Their feelings for one another were spoken by the responses of their bodies in a language that did not tell lies or hide the truth.