11

Jack woke to the feeling of warmth.

At first it was just lips that brushed his, warm and certain, a fleeting pressure, swiftly removed. Then a gentle hand on his hip, drawing him to his lover.

"Ianto" he sighed as his mouth brushed Ianto's once more; his lips parted, nipped at his, and then again. His whole body warmed.

"Ianto" he repeated parting his lips only to have Ianto seize the bottom one, nibbling at him.

He could have lost himself in that back-and-forth, the warmth of his breath, the taste of his mouth on his. Shockingly, overwhelmingly sweet.

Ianto had thought of this kiss as the passive pressing together of lips—not this exchange of caresses. Jack was coming to life beside him—parts he'd not paid much mind to hummed in desire.

"Jesus Ianto" Jack whined and the back of his neck tingled as he drew him close. The bottoms of his feet prickled with anticipation, as he kissed him again. Jack opened himself up to him, and then, tentatively, reached out his own tongue. Gods, who would have thought, the Great Jack Harkness reduced to a quivering mess, but this was Ianto after all.

Get a grip Jaxton.

His hands slid up Ianto's body, up the curve of his buttocks to clasp his spine. One of them caressed his arm, his elbow. And then his fingers cupped his arse. Lightly, slowly, and then, when he didn't move away he pressed against him with greater firmness.

"Ah, Ianto," he murmured. "This is not a good idea. You need to eat."

But he didn't stop either. His hand slid slowly down Ianto's torso to the curve of his belly. And there his fingers came to a halt.

Ianto froze. He swiftly covered Jack's hand with his own, and just as abruptly pulled away.

His heart raced.

"What is it?" Jack said. His voice was husky, but his eyes narrowed. And then he frowned and reached out once more—tentatively this time, and feathered his hand across his stomach.

It was only a moment that he looked into Ianto's eyes half a second, scarcely even long enough to blink—but already his pulse jumped in response. His smile broadened.

Ianto's skin tingled.

Ianto was aware of every inch of his skin. He wasn't sure if it was fear or arousal that had him so suddenly on edge.

"My first order." Jack kissed the palm of Ianto's hand. "Wait right there until I come back."

He blinked, but Jack ducked out of the room before he could gather breath to protest.

What in God's name was he doing?

Eventually, there was a hiss like steam and his muffled oath. He finally returned bearing a towel. A steaming towel.

"This is a trick," he said. "I learned it fighting. Lie back down on the bed."

At that bare command, Ianto froze.

Jack paused and cocked his head, and then "Please?"

Ianto swallowed and complied.

Neither man knew why they were so nervous, or why Ianto's skin was trembling.

Jack sat next to him; the mattress gave way beneath his weight. "Put this over your face."

He handed over the cloth, hot and moist—almost too hot to touch. He unfolded it gingerly and then laid it over his eyes, covering his nose.

"Breathe in," Jack said. "Slowly, now."

The air was humid; he could feel the heat penetrating his skin, relaxing muscles he had not realized he'd tensed.

"Now exhale."

Ianto did; the air beneath the towel cooled temporarily.

"Inhale."

He was drifting away on warmth with every breath. "This is lovely."

"Yes," he said. "The more limber you are before a fight, the less likely you are to be hurt. Don't know why that would be, but I suspect the same might hold true here as well."

Ianto let out a little sigh of contentment. "What now?"

"I couldn't say," he replied. "I'm out of ideas."

Ianto pulled the towel from his face. "How can that be?"

He was watching intently. His eyes dark, his mouth set in a determined line. "I told you to breathe."

Ianto had thought that Jack's lust was always selfish, no matter who entertained it. But there was a decided lift to his chin, a look in his eyes. He'd done all that for Ianto—to steal the tension from his muscles, the fear from his heart.

He was safe.

This was the man he'd come to know. Determined, yes, and ambitious, too. But also playful and kind.

Jack hadn't hurt him. He'd seen his unexplainable distress and he'd soothed it away. Slowly, Jack pulled the blankets back and leaned over to kiss a point above his left nipple.

The air was cool against Ianto's skin, but he could scarcely feel it.

Jack's breathing had grown ragged. His gaze rested on the swell of Ianto's nipples. His eyes moved in time with the cycle of his breath—up and down, as if he were already joined with him on some level.

"I love your nipples" he muttered softly, "Always so perky."

His voice was rough; his words sent a current of heat through Ianto who brought his hand up, never taking his eyes from Jack's. He cupped Jack's face in the palm of his hand and watched as his pupils dilated. He ran his thumb along the upper lip and he licked his lips. Desire shot through Jack, taking up an insistent, liquid beat between his legs.

Ianto didn't move to touch, to take. He just watched, his breath growing ragged.

Ianto's pleasure was his.

Jack leaned down and touched his lips to the other nipple. His breath was hot and humid; his tongue outlined the dark, puckered skin. Ianto gave himself over to the sensation of being touched by him—small caresses still urgent with want; tongue and then teeth, teasing him, bringing him to the edge of his want.

"Stop," he panted.

Jack pulled away. The muscles of his arm strained, holding himself in place.

Now Ianto could follow that dark line etched on his belly all the way down to a curly nest of hair, from which jutted his erection. He was hard and long, and so thick his fingers would scarcely meet if he were to place his hand around his member.

Ianto reached out experimentally—yes—his thumb just overlapped his forefinger. They were still the same size, still a match.

As if it had changed?

Ianto snorted at his own silly thoughts as he squeezed softly. Jack hissed as he touched him, but did not otherwise move.

Ianto stroked down his length, wondering at the muscle memory as his hand moved automatically in the way Jack loved—warm and soft at first touch, yet hard as steel when he squeezed him.

He made a noise in the back of his throat, something akin to a growl, and his hands gripped the bed sheets, but he didn't move.

Jack simply shut his eyes and let him explore. Ianto was always an explorer, Jack loved that in him. He let go of Jack's erection and ran his hands up his body: up the rippling muscles of his abdomen, up the expanse of his chest. He rested his hands on his shoulders and then pushed onto his knees and kissed him.

As he did, he stretched out against him full-length. All that warm skin, all that hard muscle pressed flush against Ianto's body. Jack's mouth took his with bruising force. His tongue darted out to his, and he met his, stroke for stroke, kiss for kiss.

Ianto felt himself turning to liquid, each heated kiss stoking a building fire. Ianto closed his hand around Jack's member once more and he jerked almost spasmodically.

"Ah, sweet—" Jack said, low and hoarse. he burned all over, from head to foot. But pressing himself against Ianto's hardness wasn't enough. he needed more, his body demanding more. No teasing caress, now; Jack leaned to kiss one, then the other nipple first just lips touching, and then the entirety of his mouth, hot, his tongue stroking his nipple.

So good—he felt so good.

Ianto's thighs began to tremble; Jack moved in the bed, and pulling him to straddle him. That put his nipples right in front of him, and he took them again, tasting them. His hard erection fitted against the juncture of Ianto's inner thighs. His want had gone beyond the tingle of his skin.

It swelled to fill him all over.

His hard-on was straining against Jack's stomach. He shifted against him, sliding against his hardness, and their desire intensified.

Again.

Again.

He rose up on him to press once more, and the head of Jack's member pushed into place. Ianto opened his eyes to regard him. Jack's hand found his; their fingers tangled. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to.

Ianto's limbs seemed to melt. He could not hold himself in place, poised as he was. And so he let go relaxing the muscles that held him over that penetrating heat. He simply let himself sink onto his length. Jack was so big inside him. But the sensation wasn't unpleasant. It was…lovely.

Ianto closed his eyes. He was safe. Safe to simply experience the hardness of him, the stretch of his body, the growing pulse of his desire. It was safe to want—to rise up on his knees and then engulf him once more. Their eyes met as he did; Jack let out a breath, long and deep, and his hands clenched around Ianto's. Ianto's body knew what to do without any need for instruction. Deep instinct and muscle memory led him to grind against his pelvis, to search out the right rhythm, the right friction. He lost himself in the feel of them—in the subtle satisfaction that swept over him at the look on Jack's face as he moved faster.

"My lovely Welshman," he growled.

Passion built until it became an immense pressure, demanding release.

He tried and tried, but no matter how Ianto reached for it, it eluded him. Just when his want hit the edge of splintering frustration, Jack slid his hand between them and stroked him right where he needed it. His touch was sure and unerring. The heat that had built released all at once, an inferno engulfing them from head to toe.

Ianto lost sight of everything but the pleasure that raged through him.

And then, when the whirlwind had passed, Jack's hands fell on his hips and he drove into him from beneath, hammering home the echoes of his pleasure with his own. He let out a hoarse cry while Ianto was still shuddering in the aftermath of his orgasm.

They sank to the mattress. Jack's arms came around him, warm and comforting. This was right—precisely what he'd needed.

Jack cupped Ianto's cheek.

It was a moment of precious, perfect togetherness. No wonder they referred to the act as intimacy. He had never felt so closely entangled with anyone before. His breaths were his. His body… he opened his eyes and looked into his dark gaze.

Ianto's stormy eyes softened as they matched Jack's calm blue pools.

They centred.

They were whole.