Story: Let Them Eat...
Author: The can't-believe-I-wrote-this![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ophymirage
Beta: the even-better-than-birthday-spankingsloveslashangst
Characters: Ianto Jones, Captain Jack Harkness, Captain John Hart.
Rated: This is like NC-34. (It's a birthday present for Ianto, what ELSE would it be rated? :D)
Warnings: IMPORTANT, KIDS: contains BDSM, knifeplay, bloodplay, and other adult concepts. All done in love, but we need to put it up there.
Disclaimer: I don't think even Skinnymax would show this ep (though if JM, JB and GDL agreed to film it, that would be the BEST PRESENT EVER), so I pretty much guarantee I'm not the BBC.
Summary: Jack/John Hart/Ianto. John has a surprise. Jack is a present. It's Ianto's birthday. Yep, that's about it for plot.
Author's Note:
This fic was intended for LSA's and Ianto's birthdays, on 8/18 and 8/19 respectively. Alas, Life has been its usual self, and we've only completed editing today, so it's a bit late. (Not to mention that I only STARTED it on the day of LSA's birthday.) LSA requested a sandwich, and I said, "well, instead of a sandwich there could be a three-layer birthday cake," and Behold, There Was Porn. Of the dark and bitter-chocolatey kind.
And I mean that: I've lightened the angst factor from goth to sunshiney, but the sex looks like a cup of Ianto's special espresso, so please do heed the warnings.
Ianto rolls his shoulders and neck tiredly as he pulls on his apron and marigolds, getting ready for the day’s last round of washing-up. Today has been difficult, a series of government conference calls (for Jack), three autopsies (for Martha, on loan from UNIT again), and two Rift alerts (for him and Gwen – the second for an inert piece of metal about the size of a pound coin, on a downtown sidewalk. Nearly impossible to be discreet.) Add the oppressive heat of an August with no storms, and everyone’s tempers have been incredibly short.
If he tries, he can just about ignore the headache crawling its way up his mid-back. He runs water in the small sink. Adds washing-up liquid. Swears as he realizes he’s forgotten the drain plug. Adds more washing-up liquid – and the world goes dark, as hands cover his eyes. He gasps, and inhales a noseful of cinnamon and musk and smoke.
“Watch your back, Eye-Candy,” the low voice chuckles in his ear. Suddenly a warm body is pressed up against his back, and a sharp chin into his shoulder. “Never know when someone might sneak up on you.”
Ianto presses back against John’s embrace. “That’d be an unusual place to carry a gun,” he says drily, subtly wiggling his hips against the prominence in question.
“Better than Jack’s hideout for his blaster,” John retorts, beginning a return slow frot against Ianto’s arse. “I must be happy to see you.”
Ianto grins. “I’d be happy to see you as well, but someone’s got their hands over my eyes.”
John nips his earlobe sharply, then tickles with a clever tongue. “I’d like to replace those hands with this...” Something silken slithers against Ianto’s cheek -- a scarf, or possibly one of his ties - which means John’s in the mood for games.
Ianto’s throat goes dry in anticipation. He nods, once, and closes his eyes obediently .
The (scarf, must be) goes softly around his eyes, then pulls tight at the back of his head. John’s hands are gentle, but firm, stroking underneath to make sure his hair is not caught, then down his neck and shoulders. Heat from John’s hands seems to penetrate his sore muscles for a moment, as John ‘tchs’ over him. “So tense, Ifan...”
He soothes his hands gently down Ianto’s arms. Back up. Unties his apron. Runs his hands back down, and pauses at the gloves. “Mmmm. Sexy,” he says low again in Ianto’s ear, “But I believe you're overdressed.” He pulls gently at the fingers, eases down over the wrists, all the while maintaining a slow grind of denim-clad hips against wool trousers.
Ianto swallows heavily, and leans his head back on John’s shoulder. Submitting. He’s rewarded with soft kisses and nips, from the shell of his ear to the top of his collar. Once his hands are free, John twines their fingers together, and turns him under one arm, like a formal dance, so that they are suddenly facing each other, bodies radiating heat.
John’s breath whispers warmly across his lips. “There's a surprise for you downstairs,” he murmurs. “If you're... interested?”
Is he interested? Does he even have to think twice? He swallows heavily again. “Always, Captain.”
John’s hands suddenly cup his face, and he’s being kissed hotly. John’s tongue licks hard into Ianto’s mouth, and he staggers off balance a step, then comes back with equal fervor, clashing teeth, battling for dominance. John gentles the kiss after a moment, bites his lower lip in admonishment, and reaches down to take both Ianto’s hands in his. John is panting. Another wave of pheromones assails Ianto.
“Mmmmm. Hold that thought, my lovely,” and Ianto can *hear* the grin. John backs out of the galley area and downstairs.
They’re going down to the ‘guest’ quarters, he realizes; leftovers from when Torchwood entertained visitors, or had more staff on site for crisis situations. Normally Ianto keeps these locked up and dust-sheeted, but they’ve made use of them before, if they are staying at the Hub rather than Ianto’s flat -- or can’t wait long enough to get to Ianto’s flat.
If John is taking him down here for his surprise, that means Jack is somehow involved, as the rooms lock with an old-fashioned keyset. (Though he wouldn’t be at ALL surprised if John had ‘borrowed’ a set at some point.)
He tries counting steps, but John’s thumbs are caressing the inside of his wrists, making it difficult to concentrate on his feet. He stumbles as the texture changes suddenly under his shoes – carpet.
The door clicks behind him. The air is WARM, and he realizes John must have set out that portable heater device he keeps in a pocket. Which means Jack, if he’s here, is already -
Naked. Ianto barely registers that John has removed his blindfold.
Jack is naked, and cuffed to the huge wrought-iron four-poster they dug out of lower storage. Laid out on his back, gorgeously erect, blue eyes wide and lust-glazed, and – oh god – gagged. Collared. And there’s some kind of contraption – a metal bar with larger cuffs, fastened around his knees, forcing them to spread wide, and a chain running from the bar to the collar, bending him nearly double.
It looks uncomfortable as hell, and is simultaneously one of the hottest things Ianto’s ever seen. He moans and nearly staggers, as what was left of his blood-supply rushes straight into his cock. He’s in serious danger of coming without a finger laid on him.
John steps into his field of vision, blocking his view of Jack. He’s already stripped shirtless and opened his jeans – the bulge of his cock visible under the flies, restrained by denim. Ianto’s eyes flick between him and Jack – they look like some kind of spread from the best porno mags, both so gorgeous he doesn’t know where to start. He realizes he’s breathing like he’s been running the mile. Vanilla and salt and cinnamon and sex are swarming into his nostrils, fogging his vision.
“Delicious, isn't he?” John grins, soothing hands over his shoulders and chest, loosening the suddenly-incredibly-constrictive tie and collar around his throat. “I take it you like your birthday present?”
Birthday? Well, fuck me. Ianto grins at that. He’d have bet money on everyone forgetting. And lost. Thank god. He looks at Jack again. Realizes there’s an enormous blue bow, the exact color of Jack’s eyes, tied around Jack’s cock.
Grin widening, he yanks the tie from around his neck and tosses it on the corner of the bed. Strips off shirt, shoes and socks. “Yes. I do.”
John grins just as wide. Kisses him gently. “And here's the best part.” He turns Ianto’s face gently towards the opposite wall, where he’s set up a table containing a small chocolate cake on a platter; a carton of vanilla ice cream; a package of birthday candles; a zippo lighter; a spoon; and what Ianto knows is the sharpest chef’s knife in his drawer.
John’s smile turns more than slightly predatory. “Now it's a party.”
Ianto frowns momentarily. "Where are the plates...?" His libido, a second behind the organizing-brain, kicks in. OH. John’s forgotten plates and utensils. "Ah."
Jack, who is clearly starting to feel somewhat ignored, wriggles, jangling his chains, and makes a protesting noise through the gag.
"Ah indeed," John murmurs. "He wants to be your present, my lovely. Give the word and I'll serve."
Ianto turns back, and studies him intently for a moment. “My birthday, so I get to give the orders?” he asks, looking at John. He nods, turning towards the table the cake is laid on.
Ianto quirks an eyebrow. “Then I’d like him ungagged, please. It’s much more fun when he’s allowed to protest.”
John snorts. “As you wish. But I warn you, I put that gag in earlier for a reason.” He climbs onto the bed, kneeling next to Jack. Deft fingers spear into dark hair, pulling Jack up off the pillows, working at the back of his neck. Jack moans loudly through the gag.
“Behave yourself, Present,” John says firmly. “Just because your new owner is more tolerant than I am doesn’t mean you get to be mouthy.” He takes the ball gag gently from between Jack’s teeth, tosses it on top of Ianto’s growing pile of clothes.
Jack – PRESENT, Ianto reminds himself – works his jaw for a moment. Grins devilishly. “Oh, but Ianto LOVES me when I’m mouthy. Especially when I’ve got my mouth all over his – mmmmmfffff.“
John rolls his eyes, and starts sliding the fingers he’s just stuck in Jack’s mouth gently in and out. Jack hums happily, and begins suckling and licking at John’s hand.
“Presents need to learn WHEN they are allowed to speak, and when they should be doing more useful things with their mouths.” He smiles at Ianto. “While I’ve got him occupied, do you want cake first, or something else?”
Ianto strolls around the other side of the bed, taking a moment to admire John’s handiwork. His Present really is lovely: his beautiful eyes are focused on Ianto, his mouth stretched around John’s fingers, moaning happily as he works them over with his tongue.
John has cuffed Present’s arms outstretched to the four-poster’s rails. Collared him in black leather with four positioning rings. A chain runs from the front ring of Present’s collar to the spreader bar between his knees, keeping him doubled up, but easy to move around. Now that Ianto is closer, he can see that John has not only tied a bow around Present’s beautifully swollen cock, but looped the ribbon around his balls so that he can’t come. Present’s arse has clearly been pre-slicked as well – Therinian lube, Ianto assumes. (He and Jack got through their own stash some time back, so he’s pleased that John’s brought a supply with him.)
Ianto leans over and trails a gentle finger up Present’s inner thigh, over his balls, and up the length of his erection. Present moans louder, and bucks his hips. Ianto watches a pearl of precome appear at the slit. Leans down, and licks softly at the drop, then takes the tip of Present’s cock into his mouth, sucking gently at the crown.
Present cries out, muffled around John’s fingers. Ianto catches Present’s pleading gaze, slides off. “Mmmmm,” he says quietly. “Though you're making a mess. Dripping everywhere.”
Present rolls his eyes and growls mutedly. Ianto snickers, and slides off the bed. Comes back a moment later with the platter of cake. Considers.
“If you're to serve this,” he says thoughtfully to John, “that chain has to go, don't you think?”
"Moving now." John grins, takes his hand out of Present’s mouth, and unhooks the chain. He eases Present’s legs down gently, causing him to groan in relief, and swiftly loops the chain around the footrails, anchoring it to itself, and limiting Present’s range of movement. “We’ll have to work both sides,” he says.
“Can do.” And Ianto slides the cake off the platter, directly onto Jack’s chest.
“HEY! Not a serving plate here!” Jack complains.
“You are a Present,” John replies firmly. “That means that you behave and serve EXACTLY as you are told. Your owner says you are a cake dish, so by God, you’ll hold still and serve cake.” He brandishes the knife from the table. Jack, who has been wiggling and complaining, goes still, his eyes focused on the blade. His breathing speeds up. Ianto can see his ribs heaving under the jiggling cake.
He flicks eyes to John momentarily – is this too much? He’d never consider this on his own, wouldn’t have dreamed – and John’s eyes meet his, and shift to Jack’s cock. When Ianto follows his gaze, he sees that Jack is even more swollen, stiff against his belly and leaking. The musky scent of precome is mixing with the bitter dark chocolate of the cake and Jack’s vanilla-and-salt. Ianto’s mouth floods with saliva. Jack likes this. Really wants this. He shakes himself, looks at John again.
John holds the knife out to him, flat across his palms. Ceremonial. “Your birthday, Ifan. You do the honors.”
Ianto shakes his head, conscious of Present’s eyes on him. He clears his throat. “I b-believe it’s customary for the chef to cut the cake.” He smiles into John’s eyes, looks down at Present, wanting to watch, to make sure. Present’s blue gaze is intent, burning into him, but Ianto sees no fear.
John leans down, bites Present’s lower lip, turns his face to look directly into John’s eyes. “Hold. Still,” he says, Present’s jaw cupped firmly in the hand not holding the knife. His thumb swipes across Present’s mouth, presses in and down for a moment. Present moans, but holds perfectly still.
John presses the knife down slowly. Ianto watches, hypnotized, as it sinks in, the cake springing away from that severing edge. Present twitches suddenly, and Ianto realizes that John is pulling horizontally, withdrawing the blade from the cake. Present’s eyes are locked on John’s, and he is whimpering around the tip of John’s thumb.
Traces of red stain the blade, clinging to the near-black of the chocolate. A slender rivulet of blood slips along Present’s ribs. Slows. Stops. Is reabsorbed almost before it reaches the sheets under Present. Present’s cock is jerking blood-dark and desperate under the blue ribbon’s knots.
Ianto moves closer, wanting to see. Grips John’s wrist where it holds Present’s jaw, asking permission with his eyes. John grins fiercely and turns Present’s face to Ianto’s.
Ianto caresses the side of his jaw. Leans in, gazing deeply into his eyes. Kisses him, gently, eyes open, lips moving and sliding against each other, tips of tongues curling and stroking. There is another flash of silver in the corner of Ianto’s eye. Present cries out into his mouth. Ianto soothes him with gentle caresses.
Present closes his eyes, and Ianto pulls back a scant few millimetres.
“No,” he murmurs against his lips, and Present’s eyes snap open. “Look at me. I want to see what he’s doing to you.” Present shudders, opens his eyes wider. Ianto leans in again, opening Present’s mouth with his tongue, thrusting gently into him.
There is a touch on his left hand. Something hard is pressed into it, fingers and thumb folded around it. A warm hand folded around the outside of his. Guiding. Pressing down. Pressing the knife into the cake. Ianto holds Present’s gaze. Doesn’t look at his hand. Cutting into the cake.
Present whines, high-pitched and shuddering, as Ianto feels his arm, the blade moving backward. Slicing in. And Ianto sees it, sees the rush in his eyes, the yielding from pain into burn, into submission.
He moans into Present’s mouth, kisses him harder, sloppy, groaning, feeling Present’s tongue caressing him, feeling him yield, feeling his mouth open and give, feeling himself bucking against Present’s hip, cock aching fiercely to push Present open further, to possess him, to --
“A-hem,” says John’s voice amusedly above him. There’s the scent of bitter chocolate and – espresso? Right under his nose. He turns his head, to find fingers covered in chocolate glaze and cake so dark it’s nearly black. “Tradition says you get the first bite.”
Ianto leans up on one elbow, off of Present, who is making disappointed noises. He grasps John’s wrist gently, brings his hand forward. Closes his eyes, and opens his mouth. John’s fingers are warm, and ooooh, the cake is AMAZING. Rich, dark chocolate and bitter espresso, melting all over his tongue and John’s fingers. Underneath is the faintest tang of copper, of Jack.
He swallows, swallows again. Grips John’s wrist harder and holds it in place when he tries to withdraw. Cleans John’s fingers thoroughly with his tongue. John moans and kneels up on the bed, on Present’s other side. Begins to stroke his fingers in and out of Ianto’s mouth.
Ianto gets his knees under him after a moment. Scoops up a large glob of cake, and offers his fingers to John. Presses deep into John’s mouth with them. John sucks hard. Winds his tongue around Ianto’s fingers until he feels each lick and caress go straight to his aching cock. Gasping, he pulls his fingers away, desperate to not come in his trousers.
John ‘mmmmmm’s’, scoops up more cake, smears it on Ianto’s mouth and kisses him. Both of them lick up glaze and espresso and sugar and coppery fingers in messy strokes. The chocolate and caffeine are starting to rush his brain. He moans loudly around John’s thumb and tongue. The two of them exchange chocolate-flavored kisses that get sloppier by the moment.
“You know, that cake smells awfully good,” says a hoarse voice below them. “Unfortunately, I can’t seem to reach it.”
John snorts; Ianto giggles. They break the kiss, and look down. Jack is looking up hopefully at them, wearing his most charming butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth-but-chocolate-would smile.
“Poor patient Present,” says John. “I think he deserves a reward, don’t you, Ifan?”
“Oh, most definitely,” Ianto grins in reply. “Feed him some cake, won’t you, while I take care of this?” He gestures at his now-chocolate-smeared white vest and suit pants. Grinning, John smears cake over Present’s lips and chases it with tongue and fingers. Ianto strips rapidly and climbs back on the bed, cock bobbing stiffly against his belly. He moves to kneel next to Present’s head.
Present looks at him, and swallows audibly, his own cock jumping in response.
“Lovely Ifan,” John growls, his voice suddenly dropping half an octave. “Would you like to see something else in Present’s mouth?”
Ianto kisses John, hot and open-mouthed. Turns his attention back to Present. About half the small cake is left, the glaze melting and running down Present’s chest and sides; smeared in wide finger-swathes across his nipples and down his belly. Streaks of frosting and crumbs decorate his ribs, marking the already-healed scores from the knife.
Ianto considers for a moment. Rearranges the pillows behind Present to raise his head to a better angle. Takes a handful of cake. Slathers it onto his own balls and his cock. Present swallows heavily again.
“This is how Presents get their cake,” Ianto says roughly, maneuvering himself carefully into the best position. Present opens his mouth obediently. Ianto guides him to his balls first. Present licks and licks, clever tongue exploring all the creases, hot gasps of breath against his skin. Present sucks one ball into his mouth, then the other, pulsing gently on his tongue.
Ianto moans, grips the iron rails for balance, presses down against Present’s hot, hot mouth. It’s good, so good, so very very oh god it’s… stopped? He looks down, and Present grins up at him, and swipes a long lick from the base of his cock to the tip. Stops again. Grins his best smug-bastard grin up at Ianto.
Jack is clearly deliberately holding for orders. Fine. Ianto can do that.
He pulls up out of Present’s mouth, reaches down, caresses his jaw. Presses it down, holds his mouth open with his thumb. Present waits, obedient. Ianto grabs his own cock, feeds it into Present’s open mouth. Present groans around him, breathing hard through his nose, sucking and swallowing and licking and CHRIST is he good at this, centuries of experience and oh GOD YES just like that! Ianto grabs the rails again, both hands for balance, and begins to fuck into Present’s hot, wet mouth.
Present takes it, takes everything he’s feeding him, swallows and licks and breathes in between Ianto’s thrusts, and it’s so good. Jack’s never been this obedient, never this submissive, and Ianto speeds his strokes, feels Present humming greedily around his cock, moaning, choking, vibrations, so good, such a good Present, he wants to, he wants, ooooh, god, he’s going to –
John’s hands caress down his back. Grip his hips, slowing them. “Easy, Ifan,” John’s voice murmurs in his ear. “Want something even better?”
“Y-Yeah?” He is panting. Gasping. So close. Wants to come. Wants to fuck Present’s beautiful mouth until he chokes on Ianto’s cock.
John’s slow strokes down his back continue, gentling him. Caressing him. Stoking the blaze inside him and banking it at the same time, turning it to a slower, hotter burn. John is kneeling behind him, also straddling Jack, cock bumping gently against Ianto’s arse. (He’s skinned out of his jeans at some point.) Hands caress down his back. Stroke his hips. Back up across his arse. Down his shoulders. Over his arms. Coaxing his hands gently from their white-knuckle grip on the iron. Crossing them over his chest, as John pulls Ianto back against his chest into a soft embrace.
John kisses his neck gently. “What if I fucked the birthday boy, while his Present watches?” he murmurs in Ianto’s ear. “Just like this. Like our first time.”
Ianto is beyond words. He looks at Jack, who looks back at him warmly, though with more than a little amused frustration in his blue eyes. He nods. Leans his head back on John’s shoulder. Turns his face for a gentle kiss.
Then John pushes him forward onto all fours.
“Give him a kiss,” John says. “Keep him warmed up.”
“Shouldn’t be a prob-mmmmf,” Jack objects, as Ianto slides his tongue into his mouth, tasting Jack's own flavor, and chocolate, and ineffable Jack under all of it. His Present.
Ianto is filled with a sudden rush of love, and kisses Jack as tenderly as he’d kissed John a moment before. And then the Therinian lube hits. He cries out sharply, only just able to keep from collapsing on Present as the waves of bliss roll over him.
Present chuckles. “Now you know-- how I’ve been feeling-- for the last hour,” he says against Ianto’s lips, between nips and slides.
John begins working Ianto with his fingers. Twist, slide, scissor, slide, slide. Good. So good. That John is preparing the way for himself only makes Ianto hotter. He leans back into John’s strokes. Forward into Jack’s kisses. Spreads his knees wider, for better leverage.
John chuckles behind him. “ Don’t worry, Ifan, I’ll take care of you.” And he feels John line himself up, one hand firmly on Ianto’s hip, blunt head nudging against Ianto’s entrance.
Ianto cries out again into Jack’s mouth as John pushes into him. One long slide, and John’s seated himself fully in Ianto’s arse.
“Sweet Christ, Ifan.” John leans over him, lays kisses on his back and shoulders. Pulls halfway out. Strokes in again slowly. "Beautiful." Again. "So beautiful." Caresses down his back. Kisses the nape of his neck. Strokes in again. "Hot and tight like the first time."
Ianto tucks his nose into the curve of Jack’s neck, and just lets himself feel. John is so good at this. He seems to know instinctively when to be tender, and when to fuck hard and fiercely. Another stroke. Another. Ianto groans into Jack’s shoulder, mouth open. He wants to bite, to sink his teeth into jack’s skin, to mark that flesh as his own. As his Present.
"Take a bite," John murmurs. "It's your birthday."
He bites down onto Jack’s clavicle. Jack cries out underneath him. Bucks hard enough to throw all three of them off balance for a second.
John steadies Ianto with a hand on his back, chuckling.
Ianto looks back over one shoulder at John. “Did I say for you to stop?”
“No, you didn't.” John begins to move again. Ianto pushes himself back up onto all fours, and starts backing into John’s thrusts. He wants to come. Wants to be fucked until he comes. Needs John to...
John levers him up, so they are both kneeling astride Jack. Ianto leans back into John’s embrace again.
John grunts as he thrusts up hard into Ianto. “Touch yourself, Darling."
Ianto reaches for his cock. John's hands stop him. "Patience." John's hands guide Ianto's up to his own nipples. "Pinch these for me.”
John’s voice is a growl in his ear. Hot breath on his neck. He rolls his nipples. The nerves spark straight to his balls. Burning. Sweet. He pinches harder, pulls on them slightly. Jack makes a strangled noise underneath him. When Ianto opens his eyes, Jack’s eyes are fixed on his hands.
“See that, Present?” John commands from over his shoulder. Thrusts up. Again. Again. “See how lovely he is?” One forearm braces Ianto’s chest. The other hand drifts over Ianto’s cock. Ianto cries out.
Jack is watching him, watching John fuck him, tied up, watching him get fucked. His right hand joins John’s on his cock. The other continues to pinch and pull at his nipple. So good. God. John’s hand cups his balls. Rolls them. Flicks his fingers. Present is watching his hands. Burning. Pain in his nipples. Pleasure in his cock. God. Don’t stop. John thrusts faster. Groans. Bites his shoulder.
John grabs Ianto’s hand. Pulls it away from his cock.
Ianto yelps in frustration.
“And now to finish this.” John grips Ianto’s wrists, crossing his arms over his chest. Wraps him in a tight embrace. Bracing him. Fucks him HARD. Fast. Sudden vibrations, deep inside him. Shaking him. Sliding over the sweet spot. Trembling. White flashes. Again. Again. Deep strokes. John fucks him. Harder. Harder. “Are you – watching - him - Present?” he grinds out between thrusts.
Ianto forces his eyes open. Meets Present’s eyes. Burning into him.
John groans. Jerks into him fast. Presses him tight, hand on his abdomen. Pressing. Vibrating. Deep. Strong. Ianto cries out. Shaking. So good. Present’s eyes. Watching him. John’s hand. Jacking his cock. Jack watching. God. Fuck. OhGODOHGODOHGODFUCK!!
Fire blazes through him. The pulses come from his toes. From the top of his head. From the base of his spine. John shuddering inside him. Every muscle in his body locks in sheer pleasure as his vision whites out for a moment.
He’s left trembling, leaning heavily against John, both of them panting. Present, dripping sweat, is smeared with chocolate streaks. Ianto's come spatters the cake, his chest, a pearl near Present’s open mouth, another on his perfect cheek. He is breathing heavily, red-faced, and pulling hard against his restraints.
“I think he's had about all he can take,” John murmurs. “Shall we reward him for being so good?”
Ianto takes two deep breaths. Nods. Leans forward as John pulls out of him. Eases himself down on one side of Present.
John, knees popping audibly, moves to the other side. Takes up a handful of come and chocolate from Present’s chest. Smears it across Present’s mouth. Kisses him deeply, sloppily, both of them moaning into it. More handfuls of cake. Present groans at the flavor. John licks the pearl off his cheek, licks Jack’s tongue, kissing open-mouthed. Chocolate and Ianto’s come everywhere, bitter-tang-sweet-musky in the air.
Ianto snuggles into Present’s side. Watches him and John kiss. Present whimpers, his hips bucking rhythmically in little circles, his cock leaking a puddle onto his abdomen. His balls are swollen under the ribbon’s binding loops. Ianto wonders idly if Present is in pain. He sits up and leans forward, wanting a closer look.
Present’s cock is radiating heat. Blood-flushed, swollen, leaking. Down here, vanilla and bitter chocolate are overridden by musk, salt, the stronger ocean smells. Primordial, Ianto thinks to himself. His mouth waters at the thought, and after all, it IS his birthday. He nuzzles into the soft hair in the crease of Present’s groin, enjoys the tickle of satin from the constricting bow. Runs his nose along the root, flutters his tongue up the long vein on the underside. Dips into the slit, wiggles, and swallows Present’s cock down to the bow. Rubs with his tongue as he goes, licking up salt and musk and JACK.
Present WAILS into John’s mouth. Bucks up, clearly wanting to shove himself down Ianto’s throat yet trying to behave.
Ianto exhales hard, swallows, and pushes down, working his throat against the head of Present’s cock.
Present lets out another sharp cry, and Ianto pulls off.
John glances down over the expanse of Present’s chest. Taps lightly on Present’s bow with one finger. “What d'you think, darling? Is it time to unwrap your Present?”
Ianto looks down at himself – only half-hard yet, though the taste of Jack’s cock never fails to arouse him. (And to be fair, though John made him just as hard as the first time, he’s not quite as quick to recover as he was when he was 18.)
“I want to suck him while you fuck him,” he says after a moment’s consideration.
“Works for me,” John says.
Present is silent, clearly struggling to regain some level of control after nearly coming. John releases one wrist cuff, repositions it next to the other, and refastens it. Turns Present on his side. Considers, looking at the spreader bar.
“Should be fine," Jack says after a moment’s wiggle. "Just don’t pull down on my leg,”
“You always were bossy.” John eases himself down behind Jack. “Ifan love, unless you really want to balance yourself and risk hitting your head on that damn bar, you’ll want to sixty-nine him. He needs a good cock in his mouth anyway, to keep him from topping from the bottom.”
Ianto chuckles. Jack looks comfortable, practically wriggling with anticipation now that he’s finally getting what he wants. He’s been an excellent Present, definitely worth rewarding. Ianto curls round as John suggested, pillowing his head on Jack’s thigh, placing gentle kisses and licks on Jack’s balls. Waiting for John.
Present begins to whimper and wriggle, searching for more contact.
“Hold still, you slut, I’m getting more lube,” John chuckles somewhere above him. There’s a sound of foil, some movement, and then Present wails again. Adding more Therinian tends to amplify the original effect – Ianto imagines that Jack’s convinced he’s going to die of frustration before anything happens.
“BEHAVE,” John says firmly.
That would be his cue. Ianto leans forward and swallows Present’s cock again as John pushes into him. A long string of syllables pours out of Present’s mouth, but it’s not a language Ianto recognizes.
“Don’t say – things like that—about my mother,” John grunts, setting a steady rhythm.
Present twists. Hot breath on the head of his cock. Ianto shifts his hips obligingly closer, using an ankle hooked into the railings to anchor himself. Present licks and sucks at the crown of his cock, but Ianto can feel Jack's body straining to reach, and he’s not all that comfortable himself.
After a few moments, Ianto unwinds and shifts away. Present makes an unhappy noise, but he strokes and pats him comfortingly. Suckles him with a series of slides-and-flutters that he knows from experience will keep Jack stoked nicely without sending him over the edge.
Present leans forward, kisses what skin he can reach. Apology received and understood, Ianto knows.
Present’s torso twists back a bit; Ianto hears John and Jack kissing above him. John picks up the pace. He can’t seem to get a long slide - not quite enough leverage - but Ianto can more than make up for it. He alternately fists Present’s cock, tonguing the head, and swallows as much as he can take. Jack’s musk is strong in his nose, along with John’s spice, his own come, and bitter chocolate. He hums, loving the feel of this, the sound of Present’s short stuttering cries as John fucks him. John’s grunts. The slap of his hips, pushing Jack’s beautiful big cock farther into Ianto's mouth. He sucks steadily, follows John’s increasing rhythm.
Jack is starting to swear again above him: Ianto hears French, Italian, and what sounds like gutter Cantonese all mixed together. John stills, no doubt shifting one of his mods. Ianto continues his steady pace. Slide. Slide. Tongue-flip at the top. That little swirly flutter at the vein that makes Jack swear (in Welsh, this time. Ianto rewards him with another long slide for getting the consonants right.) Rougher strokes – whatever John’s using, it’s harder to shove into Jack. John slows his thrusts, drawing them out, letting Jack feel them. The swearing changes to a high-pitched groan.
When the humming kicks in, it rattles the bones of Ianto's skull. Vibrates his fillings. Jack is crying out, long drawn-out wails. John is thrusting. Thrusting. Ianto picks up his speed, trying to time three of his own thrusts to every two of John’s. Jack’s thigh-muscles tremble. John’s thrusts start to stutter.
John taps Ianto's nose. His fingers hold the tag end of the bow. Ianto grabs on with the hand he’s been using to stroke Jack’s cock, and John regrips Jack’s hips.
“Counting you down," John says. A finger waggles in front of Ianto’s nose again. “Five. – Four.—Three.—Two. – ONE.” And John SHOVES. Ianto SWALLOWS hard. Pulls the ribbon at the same moment. Jack HOWLS. Thick salt floods Ianto’s mouth, choking the back of his throat, spilling out the corners. Ianto swallows and swallows, knowing it’ll stimulate Jack further. Strokes him with his hand, pressing on that spot behind his balls, prolonging the orgasm for him as long as he can.
Jack’s cries trail off into gasps, and suddenly into sobs. John immediately uncuffs his legs, gesturing Ianto toward the quick release on the wrist cuffs. Together, they strip Jack out as quickly as they can. They both pull Jack up into their arms. Kiss him. Kiss his face. Stroke and pet him. Rub his wrists and knees.
"So beautiful," Ianto murmurs in Jack's ear. "So patient. We love you so much."
Jack's tears and snuffles slow after a minute or so, and he begins kissing back. Slower, gentler, murmuring love-words in return. Ianto eases him back down onto the bed, long slow strokes of hands over his body. John leans over and into the kiss Jack and Ianto are sharing, swiping his tongue into the middle of it, licking Ianto’s nose till he giggles and bats John away.
"He never can take anything seriously," says Jack, smiling.
"And aren't you glad?" John grins, unrepentant as ever. "If it weren't for me, sex would be deadly dull."
"Yeah," Jack says. "But a lot less messy."
And while it's true the bed and they are a mess, Ianto doesn't care. He sobers. “Thank you both,” he says sincerely. He stretches up to kiss John, threading fingers through his hair. Turns to Jack. Looks into the sky-blue pools of his eyes. “That was an amazing gift,” he says, caressing Jack’s face. He leans in. Kisses Jack, eyes open, gazing into those of his lover. Makes sure Jack can see all the emotions in his eyes, the ones that make him stutter when he tries to bring them out in words.
Jack caresses his face in return. Strokes down his chest and side. Over his hip. Wraps his big hand gently 'round Ianto’s cock. Ianto gasps, surprised, into Jack’s mouth. Jack smiles into the kiss. Caresses Ianto’s apparently-revived erection.
“Still your birthday, honey,” he says between kisses. “Do you want me to finish what we started earlier?”
Ianto rubs his nose against Jack’s. Kisses him long and slow before responding. “No,” he says quietly. “I want to see your face. I – I think I’d like very much to fuck you. If you’re not too sore, that is.”
Jack smiles one of his beautiful heart-on-his-sleeve smiles. Rolls onto his back. Stretches his arms out to Ianto. “I’m all yours,” he says, his gaze soft and heavy-lidded. “Do what you will with me.”
Ianto eases one leg in between Jack’s. Rolls on top of him, bracing some of his weight on his right hand, but wanting as much skin-contact as he can get. Snickers again as the last remains of the frosting and cake, sticky-warm between them, start to glue his chest to Jack’s. “Baths definitely in order after this,” he grins.
“And clean sheets,” Jack mock-grumps back. “Can’t have chocolate-covered linens, can we?”
Ianto rolls his eyes at Jack. “As long as you don’t try starching them again.”
Jack snorts. Sobers. Caresses the side of Ianto’s face. Pulls Ianto’s mouth down to indulge in another slow, drugging kiss.
Jack’s kisses are a minor miracle as far as Ianto’s concerned. He’s not sure if it’s the taste, the way Jack uses his tongue, or some ineffable combination, but he could do this for hours. Jack’s hands caress him gently, nape to hips, passing over his cock, trailing fingers through his furred (and chocolated) chest. Circling one nipple lightly, nipping with finger and thumb. Ianto moans into Jack’s mouth. Kisses a trail down his chest, across his belly. Licks his way up the crease where thigh meets groin. Jack yelps and bucks under him. Hisses when Ianto suckles at his still-soft cock.
“Out of commission for a little while yet.” He touches Ianto’s jaw, encouraging him to crawl back up for more kisses. Ianto nuzzles into his palm and complies.
“What happened to immortal recovery time?” he teases.
“Hey, you guys kept me tied up and teased for over an hour." Jack laughs. "Give a guy a minute to catch his breath.”
Ianto nods slowly. Kisses Jack deeply. Kneels up between Jack’s legs, as Jack shifts to spread and draw up his knees for him. As he reaches for the blister-pack next to the bed, Jack touches his hand. “No more Therinian,” he says, caressing up his arm. “I just want to feel you. No mods, no extras, just – be here, in me. Be with me.” Jack's eyes shine with emotion.
Ianto swallows against the sudden tightness in his throat. Rather than try to speak, he takes his cock in hand. Lines up. Presses in, slowly, slowly. Breathes deep, in time with Jack.
Jack is nearly as slick as a woman inside (chocolate brown eyes gazing up at him, same expression of love), but so much tighter than any woman Ianto’s ever had. Perfect muscles ripple along his length. Slowly, slowly. Jack’s blue gaze is open, holding nothing back, as Ianto slides into him. Breathes in time with each stroke. Matches his breathing to Jack’s.
Ianto curls his arms under Jack’s knees and lifts, presses up and back, searching for that spot. He wants to see Jack come undone under his long strokes, wants to see that beautiful face shift, know he’s made it change. When Jack groans, eyes rolling back in his head, he knows he’s found it. Slides over it again. Again. Again.
“Beautiful. Love you. Beautiful. Love you. God. So much.” Ianto realizes the voice is his own.
Jack’s entirely focused on him, blue eyes shining with tears. He reaches up, runs a thumb over Ianto's lower lip. “Love you, Ianto. So much, honey. So much. Forever. I love you.”
Ianto drops Jack’s legs, falls forward. In this moment, he wants to be as close as possible, touching as much as possible. Chest to chest. Jack’s cock still soft against his belly. Jack’s tongue in his mouth. Breathing Jack’s breath, both of them panting together. Ianto rocks into Jack, Jack’s ankles crossed over his back, holding on. Rocks in, burying himself in short slides. Bracing himself on one arm. Jack’s holding his other hand, over Jack’s heart. More panting kisses.
Jack is gasping into his mouth. Ianto pulls back a little, picks up his pace. Times it to Jack’s breaths. Faster. A little harder. Shifts his angle just slightly until he feels the bump of Jack's swollen prostate. Thrusts into it again. Again. Again.
Jack’s chanting in his ear. ”LoveyouloveyouloveyouloveyouIantoohgodohgodohgodloveloveloveyou loveyouloveyou.”
Jack’s burning up inside, slick and tight and contracting. Ianto buries himself in that heat, stroking to Jack’s rhythm. The two of them are panting and kissing and Jack tastes of salt and chocolate and come and himself and time. He cries out sharply, clamping down on Ianto’s cock, and Ianto is flying, flying, flying.
The orgasm starts in Ianto's toes, sparking and burning along his neural pathways, gathering in a ball of pure white energy at the base of his spine. Each stroke spins it faster, shooting down along his arms, up to the crown of his head, pouring out his mouth into Jack’s mouth, fastened onto his and moaning. Suddenly it coalesces. Explodes outwards. Pours out through his cock. Burns his eyes open into Jack’s, burns his mouth open where it kisses Jack’s. Like a bright white wave it rushes through him, changing him, mass transforming into energy, and he understands everything in that split second before it passes out of him, leaves him collapsed on Jack’s chest, staring into Jack’s eyes.
Jack says nothing, sensing that something profound has happened. He caresses Ianto quietly. Tightens his arms when Ianto moves to shift off him, keeping him in place. Runs fingers through his hair. Rubs the nape of his neck like a child being soothed by its mother. And all the time, the two of them gaze into each other’s eyes. Communion without words.
Ianto is the first to break that gaze. He lays his head on Jack’s chest. A deep relaxation steals through his bones. He feels the same peace in Jack.
“You two make quite the picture,” John says, closing the door behind him. “Debauched saints. Or something Roman, possibly. One of those friezes.”
Ianto snorts without opening his eyes.
“Buzzkill,” Jack says lazily.
"But gorgeous. You two are a mess." The sound of something metal being set on the side table. A hint of sandalwood and citrus in the air, though it’s hard to tell over the scents of sex and chocolate. Ianto opens one eye.
John is wrapped in a towel around his hips, hair damp, and feet bare. He proffers a couple of the guest-flannels. Behind him, steam rises gently out of a large bowl. A pile of cloth just beyond is probably clean sheets.
Groaning, Ianto rolls to one side of Jack.
John chuckles. “Knew you couldn't resist the lure of a scented bath.” Then, uncharacteristically serious, John takes the bowl and kneels at the side of the bed. Dips one of the flannels into it, and begins to stroke it methodically over Ianto. It’s pleasant, and the citrus-and-sandalwood is relaxing without being drowsy-making. Clarifying,Ianto thinks, and giggles slightly.
“Ahhhhh, the sound of a job well done.” John grins at him. Hands one clean flannel to Ianto, then gets up, passes around the other side of the bed, and begins to wash Jack, paying careful attention to all the spots that have been subject to strain or abrasion. Ianto follows his movements on the other side. Jack stretches like a lazy cat between them, allowing them to roll him over and manipulate his limbs, proffering various areas for further attention, and basking in the attention they lavish on him.
At last, John slaps him on the arse. “Budge over, you great lazy thing,” he says affectionately. "We haven't got all day to coddle your pampered arse.”
Jack wiggles the object in question, but budges as requested. John strips the sheets from underneath them, efficiently as a nurse, and replaces them with linens still pleasantly warm and dryer-scented. Jack grunts happily and snuggles down into them.
Ianto and John settle in on either side of him, heads tucked into his shoulders, his arms holding them close.
“Not that I’m complaining, but it ought to be Ianto in the middle,” Jack says.
“N’thanks. Wet spot,” Ianto mumbles in return. Snuffles into Jack’s shoulder. Jack’s warmth and his own complete satiation wash over him in lazy tides.
John reaches for the duvet tucked under his side of the bed. Pulls it over the three of them. Snuggles in on Jack’s other side. “Shower later. Nap now,” he says, yawning. Waves a lazy hand at the light, which shuts out. Wiggles himself into his usual compact ball. Within a few breaths, he has dropped off.
Jack lies in the dimness, listening to his two lovers breathing steadily on either side of him. Storing them in his memory, cataloging their features. Holding these moments against the years he can feel pressing on him. Takes two deep breaths, lets himself feel them, all the coming ages. Then locks them firmly behind a door. Eases down the pillows, and falls into sleep.
One of the advantages of having all the time in the world: you learn to enjoy what you have, when you have it. The single most important moment is the present.
Author: The can't-believe-I-wrote-this
ophymirageBeta: the even-better-than-birthday-spankings
loveslashangstCharacters: Ianto Jones, Captain Jack Harkness, Captain John Hart.
Rated: This is like NC-34. (It's a birthday present for Ianto, what ELSE would it be rated? :D)
Warnings: IMPORTANT, KIDS: contains BDSM, knifeplay, bloodplay, and other adult concepts. All done in love, but we need to put it up there.
Disclaimer: I don't think even Skinnymax would show this ep (though if JM, JB and GDL agreed to film it, that would be the BEST PRESENT EVER), so I pretty much guarantee I'm not the BBC.
Summary: Jack/John Hart/Ianto. John has a surprise. Jack is a present. It's Ianto's birthday. Yep, that's about it for plot.
Author's Note:
This fic was intended for LSA's and Ianto's birthdays, on 8/18 and 8/19 respectively. Alas, Life has been its usual self, and we've only completed editing today, so it's a bit late. (Not to mention that I only STARTED it on the day of LSA's birthday.) LSA requested a sandwich, and I said, "well, instead of a sandwich there could be a three-layer birthday cake," and Behold, There Was Porn. Of the dark and bitter-chocolatey kind.
And I mean that: I've lightened the angst factor from goth to sunshiney, but the sex looks like a cup of Ianto's special espresso, so please do heed the warnings.
Ianto rolls his shoulders and neck tiredly as he pulls on his apron and marigolds, getting ready for the day’s last round of washing-up. Today has been difficult, a series of government conference calls (for Jack), three autopsies (for Martha, on loan from UNIT again), and two Rift alerts (for him and Gwen – the second for an inert piece of metal about the size of a pound coin, on a downtown sidewalk. Nearly impossible to be discreet.) Add the oppressive heat of an August with no storms, and everyone’s tempers have been incredibly short.
If he tries, he can just about ignore the headache crawling its way up his mid-back. He runs water in the small sink. Adds washing-up liquid. Swears as he realizes he’s forgotten the drain plug. Adds more washing-up liquid – and the world goes dark, as hands cover his eyes. He gasps, and inhales a noseful of cinnamon and musk and smoke.
“Watch your back, Eye-Candy,” the low voice chuckles in his ear. Suddenly a warm body is pressed up against his back, and a sharp chin into his shoulder. “Never know when someone might sneak up on you.”
Ianto presses back against John’s embrace. “That’d be an unusual place to carry a gun,” he says drily, subtly wiggling his hips against the prominence in question.
“Better than Jack’s hideout for his blaster,” John retorts, beginning a return slow frot against Ianto’s arse. “I must be happy to see you.”
Ianto grins. “I’d be happy to see you as well, but someone’s got their hands over my eyes.”
John nips his earlobe sharply, then tickles with a clever tongue. “I’d like to replace those hands with this...” Something silken slithers against Ianto’s cheek -- a scarf, or possibly one of his ties - which means John’s in the mood for games.
Ianto’s throat goes dry in anticipation. He nods, once, and closes his eyes obediently .
The (scarf, must be) goes softly around his eyes, then pulls tight at the back of his head. John’s hands are gentle, but firm, stroking underneath to make sure his hair is not caught, then down his neck and shoulders. Heat from John’s hands seems to penetrate his sore muscles for a moment, as John ‘tchs’ over him. “So tense, Ifan...”
He soothes his hands gently down Ianto’s arms. Back up. Unties his apron. Runs his hands back down, and pauses at the gloves. “Mmmm. Sexy,” he says low again in Ianto’s ear, “But I believe you're overdressed.” He pulls gently at the fingers, eases down over the wrists, all the while maintaining a slow grind of denim-clad hips against wool trousers.
Ianto swallows heavily, and leans his head back on John’s shoulder. Submitting. He’s rewarded with soft kisses and nips, from the shell of his ear to the top of his collar. Once his hands are free, John twines their fingers together, and turns him under one arm, like a formal dance, so that they are suddenly facing each other, bodies radiating heat.
John’s breath whispers warmly across his lips. “There's a surprise for you downstairs,” he murmurs. “If you're... interested?”
Is he interested? Does he even have to think twice? He swallows heavily again. “Always, Captain.”
John’s hands suddenly cup his face, and he’s being kissed hotly. John’s tongue licks hard into Ianto’s mouth, and he staggers off balance a step, then comes back with equal fervor, clashing teeth, battling for dominance. John gentles the kiss after a moment, bites his lower lip in admonishment, and reaches down to take both Ianto’s hands in his. John is panting. Another wave of pheromones assails Ianto.
“Mmmmm. Hold that thought, my lovely,” and Ianto can *hear* the grin. John backs out of the galley area and downstairs.
They’re going down to the ‘guest’ quarters, he realizes; leftovers from when Torchwood entertained visitors, or had more staff on site for crisis situations. Normally Ianto keeps these locked up and dust-sheeted, but they’ve made use of them before, if they are staying at the Hub rather than Ianto’s flat -- or can’t wait long enough to get to Ianto’s flat.
If John is taking him down here for his surprise, that means Jack is somehow involved, as the rooms lock with an old-fashioned keyset. (Though he wouldn’t be at ALL surprised if John had ‘borrowed’ a set at some point.)
He tries counting steps, but John’s thumbs are caressing the inside of his wrists, making it difficult to concentrate on his feet. He stumbles as the texture changes suddenly under his shoes – carpet.
The door clicks behind him. The air is WARM, and he realizes John must have set out that portable heater device he keeps in a pocket. Which means Jack, if he’s here, is already -
Naked. Ianto barely registers that John has removed his blindfold.
Jack is naked, and cuffed to the huge wrought-iron four-poster they dug out of lower storage. Laid out on his back, gorgeously erect, blue eyes wide and lust-glazed, and – oh god – gagged. Collared. And there’s some kind of contraption – a metal bar with larger cuffs, fastened around his knees, forcing them to spread wide, and a chain running from the bar to the collar, bending him nearly double.
It looks uncomfortable as hell, and is simultaneously one of the hottest things Ianto’s ever seen. He moans and nearly staggers, as what was left of his blood-supply rushes straight into his cock. He’s in serious danger of coming without a finger laid on him.
John steps into his field of vision, blocking his view of Jack. He’s already stripped shirtless and opened his jeans – the bulge of his cock visible under the flies, restrained by denim. Ianto’s eyes flick between him and Jack – they look like some kind of spread from the best porno mags, both so gorgeous he doesn’t know where to start. He realizes he’s breathing like he’s been running the mile. Vanilla and salt and cinnamon and sex are swarming into his nostrils, fogging his vision.
“Delicious, isn't he?” John grins, soothing hands over his shoulders and chest, loosening the suddenly-incredibly-constrictive tie and collar around his throat. “I take it you like your birthday present?”
Birthday? Well, fuck me. Ianto grins at that. He’d have bet money on everyone forgetting. And lost. Thank god. He looks at Jack again. Realizes there’s an enormous blue bow, the exact color of Jack’s eyes, tied around Jack’s cock.
Grin widening, he yanks the tie from around his neck and tosses it on the corner of the bed. Strips off shirt, shoes and socks. “Yes. I do.”
John grins just as wide. Kisses him gently. “And here's the best part.” He turns Ianto’s face gently towards the opposite wall, where he’s set up a table containing a small chocolate cake on a platter; a carton of vanilla ice cream; a package of birthday candles; a zippo lighter; a spoon; and what Ianto knows is the sharpest chef’s knife in his drawer.
John’s smile turns more than slightly predatory. “Now it's a party.”
Ianto frowns momentarily. "Where are the plates...?" His libido, a second behind the organizing-brain, kicks in. OH. John’s forgotten plates and utensils. "Ah."
Jack, who is clearly starting to feel somewhat ignored, wriggles, jangling his chains, and makes a protesting noise through the gag.
"Ah indeed," John murmurs. "He wants to be your present, my lovely. Give the word and I'll serve."
Ianto turns back, and studies him intently for a moment. “My birthday, so I get to give the orders?” he asks, looking at John. He nods, turning towards the table the cake is laid on.
Ianto quirks an eyebrow. “Then I’d like him ungagged, please. It’s much more fun when he’s allowed to protest.”
John snorts. “As you wish. But I warn you, I put that gag in earlier for a reason.” He climbs onto the bed, kneeling next to Jack. Deft fingers spear into dark hair, pulling Jack up off the pillows, working at the back of his neck. Jack moans loudly through the gag.
“Behave yourself, Present,” John says firmly. “Just because your new owner is more tolerant than I am doesn’t mean you get to be mouthy.” He takes the ball gag gently from between Jack’s teeth, tosses it on top of Ianto’s growing pile of clothes.
Jack – PRESENT, Ianto reminds himself – works his jaw for a moment. Grins devilishly. “Oh, but Ianto LOVES me when I’m mouthy. Especially when I’ve got my mouth all over his – mmmmmfffff.“
John rolls his eyes, and starts sliding the fingers he’s just stuck in Jack’s mouth gently in and out. Jack hums happily, and begins suckling and licking at John’s hand.
“Presents need to learn WHEN they are allowed to speak, and when they should be doing more useful things with their mouths.” He smiles at Ianto. “While I’ve got him occupied, do you want cake first, or something else?”
Ianto strolls around the other side of the bed, taking a moment to admire John’s handiwork. His Present really is lovely: his beautiful eyes are focused on Ianto, his mouth stretched around John’s fingers, moaning happily as he works them over with his tongue.
John has cuffed Present’s arms outstretched to the four-poster’s rails. Collared him in black leather with four positioning rings. A chain runs from the front ring of Present’s collar to the spreader bar between his knees, keeping him doubled up, but easy to move around. Now that Ianto is closer, he can see that John has not only tied a bow around Present’s beautifully swollen cock, but looped the ribbon around his balls so that he can’t come. Present’s arse has clearly been pre-slicked as well – Therinian lube, Ianto assumes. (He and Jack got through their own stash some time back, so he’s pleased that John’s brought a supply with him.)
Ianto leans over and trails a gentle finger up Present’s inner thigh, over his balls, and up the length of his erection. Present moans louder, and bucks his hips. Ianto watches a pearl of precome appear at the slit. Leans down, and licks softly at the drop, then takes the tip of Present’s cock into his mouth, sucking gently at the crown.
Present cries out, muffled around John’s fingers. Ianto catches Present’s pleading gaze, slides off. “Mmmmm,” he says quietly. “Though you're making a mess. Dripping everywhere.”
Present rolls his eyes and growls mutedly. Ianto snickers, and slides off the bed. Comes back a moment later with the platter of cake. Considers.
“If you're to serve this,” he says thoughtfully to John, “that chain has to go, don't you think?”
"Moving now." John grins, takes his hand out of Present’s mouth, and unhooks the chain. He eases Present’s legs down gently, causing him to groan in relief, and swiftly loops the chain around the footrails, anchoring it to itself, and limiting Present’s range of movement. “We’ll have to work both sides,” he says.
“Can do.” And Ianto slides the cake off the platter, directly onto Jack’s chest.
“HEY! Not a serving plate here!” Jack complains.
“You are a Present,” John replies firmly. “That means that you behave and serve EXACTLY as you are told. Your owner says you are a cake dish, so by God, you’ll hold still and serve cake.” He brandishes the knife from the table. Jack, who has been wiggling and complaining, goes still, his eyes focused on the blade. His breathing speeds up. Ianto can see his ribs heaving under the jiggling cake.
He flicks eyes to John momentarily – is this too much? He’d never consider this on his own, wouldn’t have dreamed – and John’s eyes meet his, and shift to Jack’s cock. When Ianto follows his gaze, he sees that Jack is even more swollen, stiff against his belly and leaking. The musky scent of precome is mixing with the bitter dark chocolate of the cake and Jack’s vanilla-and-salt. Ianto’s mouth floods with saliva. Jack likes this. Really wants this. He shakes himself, looks at John again.
John holds the knife out to him, flat across his palms. Ceremonial. “Your birthday, Ifan. You do the honors.”
Ianto shakes his head, conscious of Present’s eyes on him. He clears his throat. “I b-believe it’s customary for the chef to cut the cake.” He smiles into John’s eyes, looks down at Present, wanting to watch, to make sure. Present’s blue gaze is intent, burning into him, but Ianto sees no fear.
John leans down, bites Present’s lower lip, turns his face to look directly into John’s eyes. “Hold. Still,” he says, Present’s jaw cupped firmly in the hand not holding the knife. His thumb swipes across Present’s mouth, presses in and down for a moment. Present moans, but holds perfectly still.
John presses the knife down slowly. Ianto watches, hypnotized, as it sinks in, the cake springing away from that severing edge. Present twitches suddenly, and Ianto realizes that John is pulling horizontally, withdrawing the blade from the cake. Present’s eyes are locked on John’s, and he is whimpering around the tip of John’s thumb.
Traces of red stain the blade, clinging to the near-black of the chocolate. A slender rivulet of blood slips along Present’s ribs. Slows. Stops. Is reabsorbed almost before it reaches the sheets under Present. Present’s cock is jerking blood-dark and desperate under the blue ribbon’s knots.
Ianto moves closer, wanting to see. Grips John’s wrist where it holds Present’s jaw, asking permission with his eyes. John grins fiercely and turns Present’s face to Ianto’s.
Ianto caresses the side of his jaw. Leans in, gazing deeply into his eyes. Kisses him, gently, eyes open, lips moving and sliding against each other, tips of tongues curling and stroking. There is another flash of silver in the corner of Ianto’s eye. Present cries out into his mouth. Ianto soothes him with gentle caresses.
Present closes his eyes, and Ianto pulls back a scant few millimetres.
“No,” he murmurs against his lips, and Present’s eyes snap open. “Look at me. I want to see what he’s doing to you.” Present shudders, opens his eyes wider. Ianto leans in again, opening Present’s mouth with his tongue, thrusting gently into him.
There is a touch on his left hand. Something hard is pressed into it, fingers and thumb folded around it. A warm hand folded around the outside of his. Guiding. Pressing down. Pressing the knife into the cake. Ianto holds Present’s gaze. Doesn’t look at his hand. Cutting into the cake.
Present whines, high-pitched and shuddering, as Ianto feels his arm, the blade moving backward. Slicing in. And Ianto sees it, sees the rush in his eyes, the yielding from pain into burn, into submission.
He moans into Present’s mouth, kisses him harder, sloppy, groaning, feeling Present’s tongue caressing him, feeling him yield, feeling his mouth open and give, feeling himself bucking against Present’s hip, cock aching fiercely to push Present open further, to possess him, to --
“A-hem,” says John’s voice amusedly above him. There’s the scent of bitter chocolate and – espresso? Right under his nose. He turns his head, to find fingers covered in chocolate glaze and cake so dark it’s nearly black. “Tradition says you get the first bite.”
Ianto leans up on one elbow, off of Present, who is making disappointed noises. He grasps John’s wrist gently, brings his hand forward. Closes his eyes, and opens his mouth. John’s fingers are warm, and ooooh, the cake is AMAZING. Rich, dark chocolate and bitter espresso, melting all over his tongue and John’s fingers. Underneath is the faintest tang of copper, of Jack.
He swallows, swallows again. Grips John’s wrist harder and holds it in place when he tries to withdraw. Cleans John’s fingers thoroughly with his tongue. John moans and kneels up on the bed, on Present’s other side. Begins to stroke his fingers in and out of Ianto’s mouth.
Ianto gets his knees under him after a moment. Scoops up a large glob of cake, and offers his fingers to John. Presses deep into John’s mouth with them. John sucks hard. Winds his tongue around Ianto’s fingers until he feels each lick and caress go straight to his aching cock. Gasping, he pulls his fingers away, desperate to not come in his trousers.
John ‘mmmmmm’s’, scoops up more cake, smears it on Ianto’s mouth and kisses him. Both of them lick up glaze and espresso and sugar and coppery fingers in messy strokes. The chocolate and caffeine are starting to rush his brain. He moans loudly around John’s thumb and tongue. The two of them exchange chocolate-flavored kisses that get sloppier by the moment.
“You know, that cake smells awfully good,” says a hoarse voice below them. “Unfortunately, I can’t seem to reach it.”
John snorts; Ianto giggles. They break the kiss, and look down. Jack is looking up hopefully at them, wearing his most charming butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth-but-chocolate-would smile.
“Poor patient Present,” says John. “I think he deserves a reward, don’t you, Ifan?”
“Oh, most definitely,” Ianto grins in reply. “Feed him some cake, won’t you, while I take care of this?” He gestures at his now-chocolate-smeared white vest and suit pants. Grinning, John smears cake over Present’s lips and chases it with tongue and fingers. Ianto strips rapidly and climbs back on the bed, cock bobbing stiffly against his belly. He moves to kneel next to Present’s head.
Present looks at him, and swallows audibly, his own cock jumping in response.
“Lovely Ifan,” John growls, his voice suddenly dropping half an octave. “Would you like to see something else in Present’s mouth?”
Ianto kisses John, hot and open-mouthed. Turns his attention back to Present. About half the small cake is left, the glaze melting and running down Present’s chest and sides; smeared in wide finger-swathes across his nipples and down his belly. Streaks of frosting and crumbs decorate his ribs, marking the already-healed scores from the knife.
Ianto considers for a moment. Rearranges the pillows behind Present to raise his head to a better angle. Takes a handful of cake. Slathers it onto his own balls and his cock. Present swallows heavily again.
“This is how Presents get their cake,” Ianto says roughly, maneuvering himself carefully into the best position. Present opens his mouth obediently. Ianto guides him to his balls first. Present licks and licks, clever tongue exploring all the creases, hot gasps of breath against his skin. Present sucks one ball into his mouth, then the other, pulsing gently on his tongue.
Ianto moans, grips the iron rails for balance, presses down against Present’s hot, hot mouth. It’s good, so good, so very very oh god it’s… stopped? He looks down, and Present grins up at him, and swipes a long lick from the base of his cock to the tip. Stops again. Grins his best smug-bastard grin up at Ianto.
Jack is clearly deliberately holding for orders. Fine. Ianto can do that.
He pulls up out of Present’s mouth, reaches down, caresses his jaw. Presses it down, holds his mouth open with his thumb. Present waits, obedient. Ianto grabs his own cock, feeds it into Present’s open mouth. Present groans around him, breathing hard through his nose, sucking and swallowing and licking and CHRIST is he good at this, centuries of experience and oh GOD YES just like that! Ianto grabs the rails again, both hands for balance, and begins to fuck into Present’s hot, wet mouth.
Present takes it, takes everything he’s feeding him, swallows and licks and breathes in between Ianto’s thrusts, and it’s so good. Jack’s never been this obedient, never this submissive, and Ianto speeds his strokes, feels Present humming greedily around his cock, moaning, choking, vibrations, so good, such a good Present, he wants to, he wants, ooooh, god, he’s going to –
John’s hands caress down his back. Grip his hips, slowing them. “Easy, Ifan,” John’s voice murmurs in his ear. “Want something even better?”
“Y-Yeah?” He is panting. Gasping. So close. Wants to come. Wants to fuck Present’s beautiful mouth until he chokes on Ianto’s cock.
John’s slow strokes down his back continue, gentling him. Caressing him. Stoking the blaze inside him and banking it at the same time, turning it to a slower, hotter burn. John is kneeling behind him, also straddling Jack, cock bumping gently against Ianto’s arse. (He’s skinned out of his jeans at some point.) Hands caress down his back. Stroke his hips. Back up across his arse. Down his shoulders. Over his arms. Coaxing his hands gently from their white-knuckle grip on the iron. Crossing them over his chest, as John pulls Ianto back against his chest into a soft embrace.
John kisses his neck gently. “What if I fucked the birthday boy, while his Present watches?” he murmurs in Ianto’s ear. “Just like this. Like our first time.”
Ianto is beyond words. He looks at Jack, who looks back at him warmly, though with more than a little amused frustration in his blue eyes. He nods. Leans his head back on John’s shoulder. Turns his face for a gentle kiss.
Then John pushes him forward onto all fours.
“Give him a kiss,” John says. “Keep him warmed up.”
“Shouldn’t be a prob-mmmmf,” Jack objects, as Ianto slides his tongue into his mouth, tasting Jack's own flavor, and chocolate, and ineffable Jack under all of it. His Present.
Ianto is filled with a sudden rush of love, and kisses Jack as tenderly as he’d kissed John a moment before. And then the Therinian lube hits. He cries out sharply, only just able to keep from collapsing on Present as the waves of bliss roll over him.
Present chuckles. “Now you know-- how I’ve been feeling-- for the last hour,” he says against Ianto’s lips, between nips and slides.
John begins working Ianto with his fingers. Twist, slide, scissor, slide, slide. Good. So good. That John is preparing the way for himself only makes Ianto hotter. He leans back into John’s strokes. Forward into Jack’s kisses. Spreads his knees wider, for better leverage.
John chuckles behind him. “ Don’t worry, Ifan, I’ll take care of you.” And he feels John line himself up, one hand firmly on Ianto’s hip, blunt head nudging against Ianto’s entrance.
Ianto cries out again into Jack’s mouth as John pushes into him. One long slide, and John’s seated himself fully in Ianto’s arse.
“Sweet Christ, Ifan.” John leans over him, lays kisses on his back and shoulders. Pulls halfway out. Strokes in again slowly. "Beautiful." Again. "So beautiful." Caresses down his back. Kisses the nape of his neck. Strokes in again. "Hot and tight like the first time."
Ianto tucks his nose into the curve of Jack’s neck, and just lets himself feel. John is so good at this. He seems to know instinctively when to be tender, and when to fuck hard and fiercely. Another stroke. Another. Ianto groans into Jack’s shoulder, mouth open. He wants to bite, to sink his teeth into jack’s skin, to mark that flesh as his own. As his Present.
"Take a bite," John murmurs. "It's your birthday."
He bites down onto Jack’s clavicle. Jack cries out underneath him. Bucks hard enough to throw all three of them off balance for a second.
John steadies Ianto with a hand on his back, chuckling.
Ianto looks back over one shoulder at John. “Did I say for you to stop?”
“No, you didn't.” John begins to move again. Ianto pushes himself back up onto all fours, and starts backing into John’s thrusts. He wants to come. Wants to be fucked until he comes. Needs John to...
John levers him up, so they are both kneeling astride Jack. Ianto leans back into John’s embrace again.
John grunts as he thrusts up hard into Ianto. “Touch yourself, Darling."
Ianto reaches for his cock. John's hands stop him. "Patience." John's hands guide Ianto's up to his own nipples. "Pinch these for me.”
John’s voice is a growl in his ear. Hot breath on his neck. He rolls his nipples. The nerves spark straight to his balls. Burning. Sweet. He pinches harder, pulls on them slightly. Jack makes a strangled noise underneath him. When Ianto opens his eyes, Jack’s eyes are fixed on his hands.
“See that, Present?” John commands from over his shoulder. Thrusts up. Again. Again. “See how lovely he is?” One forearm braces Ianto’s chest. The other hand drifts over Ianto’s cock. Ianto cries out.
Jack is watching him, watching John fuck him, tied up, watching him get fucked. His right hand joins John’s on his cock. The other continues to pinch and pull at his nipple. So good. God. John’s hand cups his balls. Rolls them. Flicks his fingers. Present is watching his hands. Burning. Pain in his nipples. Pleasure in his cock. God. Don’t stop. John thrusts faster. Groans. Bites his shoulder.
John grabs Ianto’s hand. Pulls it away from his cock.
Ianto yelps in frustration.
“And now to finish this.” John grips Ianto’s wrists, crossing his arms over his chest. Wraps him in a tight embrace. Bracing him. Fucks him HARD. Fast. Sudden vibrations, deep inside him. Shaking him. Sliding over the sweet spot. Trembling. White flashes. Again. Again. Deep strokes. John fucks him. Harder. Harder. “Are you – watching - him - Present?” he grinds out between thrusts.
Ianto forces his eyes open. Meets Present’s eyes. Burning into him.
John groans. Jerks into him fast. Presses him tight, hand on his abdomen. Pressing. Vibrating. Deep. Strong. Ianto cries out. Shaking. So good. Present’s eyes. Watching him. John’s hand. Jacking his cock. Jack watching. God. Fuck. OhGODOHGODOHGODFUCK!!
Fire blazes through him. The pulses come from his toes. From the top of his head. From the base of his spine. John shuddering inside him. Every muscle in his body locks in sheer pleasure as his vision whites out for a moment.
He’s left trembling, leaning heavily against John, both of them panting. Present, dripping sweat, is smeared with chocolate streaks. Ianto's come spatters the cake, his chest, a pearl near Present’s open mouth, another on his perfect cheek. He is breathing heavily, red-faced, and pulling hard against his restraints.
“I think he's had about all he can take,” John murmurs. “Shall we reward him for being so good?”
Ianto takes two deep breaths. Nods. Leans forward as John pulls out of him. Eases himself down on one side of Present.
John, knees popping audibly, moves to the other side. Takes up a handful of come and chocolate from Present’s chest. Smears it across Present’s mouth. Kisses him deeply, sloppily, both of them moaning into it. More handfuls of cake. Present groans at the flavor. John licks the pearl off his cheek, licks Jack’s tongue, kissing open-mouthed. Chocolate and Ianto’s come everywhere, bitter-tang-sweet-musky in the air.
Ianto snuggles into Present’s side. Watches him and John kiss. Present whimpers, his hips bucking rhythmically in little circles, his cock leaking a puddle onto his abdomen. His balls are swollen under the ribbon’s binding loops. Ianto wonders idly if Present is in pain. He sits up and leans forward, wanting a closer look.
Present’s cock is radiating heat. Blood-flushed, swollen, leaking. Down here, vanilla and bitter chocolate are overridden by musk, salt, the stronger ocean smells. Primordial, Ianto thinks to himself. His mouth waters at the thought, and after all, it IS his birthday. He nuzzles into the soft hair in the crease of Present’s groin, enjoys the tickle of satin from the constricting bow. Runs his nose along the root, flutters his tongue up the long vein on the underside. Dips into the slit, wiggles, and swallows Present’s cock down to the bow. Rubs with his tongue as he goes, licking up salt and musk and JACK.
Present WAILS into John’s mouth. Bucks up, clearly wanting to shove himself down Ianto’s throat yet trying to behave.
Ianto exhales hard, swallows, and pushes down, working his throat against the head of Present’s cock.
Present lets out another sharp cry, and Ianto pulls off.
John glances down over the expanse of Present’s chest. Taps lightly on Present’s bow with one finger. “What d'you think, darling? Is it time to unwrap your Present?”
Ianto looks down at himself – only half-hard yet, though the taste of Jack’s cock never fails to arouse him. (And to be fair, though John made him just as hard as the first time, he’s not quite as quick to recover as he was when he was 18.)
“I want to suck him while you fuck him,” he says after a moment’s consideration.
“Works for me,” John says.
Present is silent, clearly struggling to regain some level of control after nearly coming. John releases one wrist cuff, repositions it next to the other, and refastens it. Turns Present on his side. Considers, looking at the spreader bar.
“Should be fine," Jack says after a moment’s wiggle. "Just don’t pull down on my leg,”
“You always were bossy.” John eases himself down behind Jack. “Ifan love, unless you really want to balance yourself and risk hitting your head on that damn bar, you’ll want to sixty-nine him. He needs a good cock in his mouth anyway, to keep him from topping from the bottom.”
Ianto chuckles. Jack looks comfortable, practically wriggling with anticipation now that he’s finally getting what he wants. He’s been an excellent Present, definitely worth rewarding. Ianto curls round as John suggested, pillowing his head on Jack’s thigh, placing gentle kisses and licks on Jack’s balls. Waiting for John.
Present begins to whimper and wriggle, searching for more contact.
“Hold still, you slut, I’m getting more lube,” John chuckles somewhere above him. There’s a sound of foil, some movement, and then Present wails again. Adding more Therinian tends to amplify the original effect – Ianto imagines that Jack’s convinced he’s going to die of frustration before anything happens.
“BEHAVE,” John says firmly.
That would be his cue. Ianto leans forward and swallows Present’s cock again as John pushes into him. A long string of syllables pours out of Present’s mouth, but it’s not a language Ianto recognizes.
“Don’t say – things like that—about my mother,” John grunts, setting a steady rhythm.
Present twists. Hot breath on the head of his cock. Ianto shifts his hips obligingly closer, using an ankle hooked into the railings to anchor himself. Present licks and sucks at the crown of his cock, but Ianto can feel Jack's body straining to reach, and he’s not all that comfortable himself.
After a few moments, Ianto unwinds and shifts away. Present makes an unhappy noise, but he strokes and pats him comfortingly. Suckles him with a series of slides-and-flutters that he knows from experience will keep Jack stoked nicely without sending him over the edge.
Present leans forward, kisses what skin he can reach. Apology received and understood, Ianto knows.
Present’s torso twists back a bit; Ianto hears John and Jack kissing above him. John picks up the pace. He can’t seem to get a long slide - not quite enough leverage - but Ianto can more than make up for it. He alternately fists Present’s cock, tonguing the head, and swallows as much as he can take. Jack’s musk is strong in his nose, along with John’s spice, his own come, and bitter chocolate. He hums, loving the feel of this, the sound of Present’s short stuttering cries as John fucks him. John’s grunts. The slap of his hips, pushing Jack’s beautiful big cock farther into Ianto's mouth. He sucks steadily, follows John’s increasing rhythm.
Jack is starting to swear again above him: Ianto hears French, Italian, and what sounds like gutter Cantonese all mixed together. John stills, no doubt shifting one of his mods. Ianto continues his steady pace. Slide. Slide. Tongue-flip at the top. That little swirly flutter at the vein that makes Jack swear (in Welsh, this time. Ianto rewards him with another long slide for getting the consonants right.) Rougher strokes – whatever John’s using, it’s harder to shove into Jack. John slows his thrusts, drawing them out, letting Jack feel them. The swearing changes to a high-pitched groan.
When the humming kicks in, it rattles the bones of Ianto's skull. Vibrates his fillings. Jack is crying out, long drawn-out wails. John is thrusting. Thrusting. Ianto picks up his speed, trying to time three of his own thrusts to every two of John’s. Jack’s thigh-muscles tremble. John’s thrusts start to stutter.
John taps Ianto's nose. His fingers hold the tag end of the bow. Ianto grabs on with the hand he’s been using to stroke Jack’s cock, and John regrips Jack’s hips.
“Counting you down," John says. A finger waggles in front of Ianto’s nose again. “Five. – Four.—Three.—Two. – ONE.” And John SHOVES. Ianto SWALLOWS hard. Pulls the ribbon at the same moment. Jack HOWLS. Thick salt floods Ianto’s mouth, choking the back of his throat, spilling out the corners. Ianto swallows and swallows, knowing it’ll stimulate Jack further. Strokes him with his hand, pressing on that spot behind his balls, prolonging the orgasm for him as long as he can.
Jack’s cries trail off into gasps, and suddenly into sobs. John immediately uncuffs his legs, gesturing Ianto toward the quick release on the wrist cuffs. Together, they strip Jack out as quickly as they can. They both pull Jack up into their arms. Kiss him. Kiss his face. Stroke and pet him. Rub his wrists and knees.
"So beautiful," Ianto murmurs in Jack's ear. "So patient. We love you so much."
Jack's tears and snuffles slow after a minute or so, and he begins kissing back. Slower, gentler, murmuring love-words in return. Ianto eases him back down onto the bed, long slow strokes of hands over his body. John leans over and into the kiss Jack and Ianto are sharing, swiping his tongue into the middle of it, licking Ianto’s nose till he giggles and bats John away.
"He never can take anything seriously," says Jack, smiling.
"And aren't you glad?" John grins, unrepentant as ever. "If it weren't for me, sex would be deadly dull."
"Yeah," Jack says. "But a lot less messy."
And while it's true the bed and they are a mess, Ianto doesn't care. He sobers. “Thank you both,” he says sincerely. He stretches up to kiss John, threading fingers through his hair. Turns to Jack. Looks into the sky-blue pools of his eyes. “That was an amazing gift,” he says, caressing Jack’s face. He leans in. Kisses Jack, eyes open, gazing into those of his lover. Makes sure Jack can see all the emotions in his eyes, the ones that make him stutter when he tries to bring them out in words.
Jack caresses his face in return. Strokes down his chest and side. Over his hip. Wraps his big hand gently 'round Ianto’s cock. Ianto gasps, surprised, into Jack’s mouth. Jack smiles into the kiss. Caresses Ianto’s apparently-revived erection.
“Still your birthday, honey,” he says between kisses. “Do you want me to finish what we started earlier?”
Ianto rubs his nose against Jack’s. Kisses him long and slow before responding. “No,” he says quietly. “I want to see your face. I – I think I’d like very much to fuck you. If you’re not too sore, that is.”
Jack smiles one of his beautiful heart-on-his-sleeve smiles. Rolls onto his back. Stretches his arms out to Ianto. “I’m all yours,” he says, his gaze soft and heavy-lidded. “Do what you will with me.”
Ianto eases one leg in between Jack’s. Rolls on top of him, bracing some of his weight on his right hand, but wanting as much skin-contact as he can get. Snickers again as the last remains of the frosting and cake, sticky-warm between them, start to glue his chest to Jack’s. “Baths definitely in order after this,” he grins.
“And clean sheets,” Jack mock-grumps back. “Can’t have chocolate-covered linens, can we?”
Ianto rolls his eyes at Jack. “As long as you don’t try starching them again.”
Jack snorts. Sobers. Caresses the side of Ianto’s face. Pulls Ianto’s mouth down to indulge in another slow, drugging kiss.
Jack’s kisses are a minor miracle as far as Ianto’s concerned. He’s not sure if it’s the taste, the way Jack uses his tongue, or some ineffable combination, but he could do this for hours. Jack’s hands caress him gently, nape to hips, passing over his cock, trailing fingers through his furred (and chocolated) chest. Circling one nipple lightly, nipping with finger and thumb. Ianto moans into Jack’s mouth. Kisses a trail down his chest, across his belly. Licks his way up the crease where thigh meets groin. Jack yelps and bucks under him. Hisses when Ianto suckles at his still-soft cock.
“Out of commission for a little while yet.” He touches Ianto’s jaw, encouraging him to crawl back up for more kisses. Ianto nuzzles into his palm and complies.
“What happened to immortal recovery time?” he teases.
“Hey, you guys kept me tied up and teased for over an hour." Jack laughs. "Give a guy a minute to catch his breath.”
Ianto nods slowly. Kisses Jack deeply. Kneels up between Jack’s legs, as Jack shifts to spread and draw up his knees for him. As he reaches for the blister-pack next to the bed, Jack touches his hand. “No more Therinian,” he says, caressing up his arm. “I just want to feel you. No mods, no extras, just – be here, in me. Be with me.” Jack's eyes shine with emotion.
Ianto swallows against the sudden tightness in his throat. Rather than try to speak, he takes his cock in hand. Lines up. Presses in, slowly, slowly. Breathes deep, in time with Jack.
Jack is nearly as slick as a woman inside (chocolate brown eyes gazing up at him, same expression of love), but so much tighter than any woman Ianto’s ever had. Perfect muscles ripple along his length. Slowly, slowly. Jack’s blue gaze is open, holding nothing back, as Ianto slides into him. Breathes in time with each stroke. Matches his breathing to Jack’s.
Ianto curls his arms under Jack’s knees and lifts, presses up and back, searching for that spot. He wants to see Jack come undone under his long strokes, wants to see that beautiful face shift, know he’s made it change. When Jack groans, eyes rolling back in his head, he knows he’s found it. Slides over it again. Again. Again.
“Beautiful. Love you. Beautiful. Love you. God. So much.” Ianto realizes the voice is his own.
Jack’s entirely focused on him, blue eyes shining with tears. He reaches up, runs a thumb over Ianto's lower lip. “Love you, Ianto. So much, honey. So much. Forever. I love you.”
Ianto drops Jack’s legs, falls forward. In this moment, he wants to be as close as possible, touching as much as possible. Chest to chest. Jack’s cock still soft against his belly. Jack’s tongue in his mouth. Breathing Jack’s breath, both of them panting together. Ianto rocks into Jack, Jack’s ankles crossed over his back, holding on. Rocks in, burying himself in short slides. Bracing himself on one arm. Jack’s holding his other hand, over Jack’s heart. More panting kisses.
Jack is gasping into his mouth. Ianto pulls back a little, picks up his pace. Times it to Jack’s breaths. Faster. A little harder. Shifts his angle just slightly until he feels the bump of Jack's swollen prostate. Thrusts into it again. Again. Again.
Jack’s chanting in his ear. ”LoveyouloveyouloveyouloveyouIantoohgodohgodohgodloveloveloveyou loveyouloveyou.”
Jack’s burning up inside, slick and tight and contracting. Ianto buries himself in that heat, stroking to Jack’s rhythm. The two of them are panting and kissing and Jack tastes of salt and chocolate and come and himself and time. He cries out sharply, clamping down on Ianto’s cock, and Ianto is flying, flying, flying.
The orgasm starts in Ianto's toes, sparking and burning along his neural pathways, gathering in a ball of pure white energy at the base of his spine. Each stroke spins it faster, shooting down along his arms, up to the crown of his head, pouring out his mouth into Jack’s mouth, fastened onto his and moaning. Suddenly it coalesces. Explodes outwards. Pours out through his cock. Burns his eyes open into Jack’s, burns his mouth open where it kisses Jack’s. Like a bright white wave it rushes through him, changing him, mass transforming into energy, and he understands everything in that split second before it passes out of him, leaves him collapsed on Jack’s chest, staring into Jack’s eyes.
Jack says nothing, sensing that something profound has happened. He caresses Ianto quietly. Tightens his arms when Ianto moves to shift off him, keeping him in place. Runs fingers through his hair. Rubs the nape of his neck like a child being soothed by its mother. And all the time, the two of them gaze into each other’s eyes. Communion without words.
Ianto is the first to break that gaze. He lays his head on Jack’s chest. A deep relaxation steals through his bones. He feels the same peace in Jack.
“You two make quite the picture,” John says, closing the door behind him. “Debauched saints. Or something Roman, possibly. One of those friezes.”
Ianto snorts without opening his eyes.
“Buzzkill,” Jack says lazily.
"But gorgeous. You two are a mess." The sound of something metal being set on the side table. A hint of sandalwood and citrus in the air, though it’s hard to tell over the scents of sex and chocolate. Ianto opens one eye.
John is wrapped in a towel around his hips, hair damp, and feet bare. He proffers a couple of the guest-flannels. Behind him, steam rises gently out of a large bowl. A pile of cloth just beyond is probably clean sheets.
Groaning, Ianto rolls to one side of Jack.
John chuckles. “Knew you couldn't resist the lure of a scented bath.” Then, uncharacteristically serious, John takes the bowl and kneels at the side of the bed. Dips one of the flannels into it, and begins to stroke it methodically over Ianto. It’s pleasant, and the citrus-and-sandalwood is relaxing without being drowsy-making. Clarifying,Ianto thinks, and giggles slightly.
“Ahhhhh, the sound of a job well done.” John grins at him. Hands one clean flannel to Ianto, then gets up, passes around the other side of the bed, and begins to wash Jack, paying careful attention to all the spots that have been subject to strain or abrasion. Ianto follows his movements on the other side. Jack stretches like a lazy cat between them, allowing them to roll him over and manipulate his limbs, proffering various areas for further attention, and basking in the attention they lavish on him.
At last, John slaps him on the arse. “Budge over, you great lazy thing,” he says affectionately. "We haven't got all day to coddle your pampered arse.”
Jack wiggles the object in question, but budges as requested. John strips the sheets from underneath them, efficiently as a nurse, and replaces them with linens still pleasantly warm and dryer-scented. Jack grunts happily and snuggles down into them.
Ianto and John settle in on either side of him, heads tucked into his shoulders, his arms holding them close.
“Not that I’m complaining, but it ought to be Ianto in the middle,” Jack says.
“N’thanks. Wet spot,” Ianto mumbles in return. Snuffles into Jack’s shoulder. Jack’s warmth and his own complete satiation wash over him in lazy tides.
John reaches for the duvet tucked under his side of the bed. Pulls it over the three of them. Snuggles in on Jack’s other side. “Shower later. Nap now,” he says, yawning. Waves a lazy hand at the light, which shuts out. Wiggles himself into his usual compact ball. Within a few breaths, he has dropped off.
Jack lies in the dimness, listening to his two lovers breathing steadily on either side of him. Storing them in his memory, cataloging their features. Holding these moments against the years he can feel pressing on him. Takes two deep breaths, lets himself feel them, all the coming ages. Then locks them firmly behind a door. Eases down the pillows, and falls into sleep.
One of the advantages of having all the time in the world: you learn to enjoy what you have, when you have it. The single most important moment is the present.