Moments in Time

Staring into the mirror, Ianto examines the new red tie; its silken length pointing downwards, neatly bisecting his body and ending up tucked into his trousers. He'd not had to deliberate over it. The red silk called out to him from the rail, sumptuous, tactile, screaming of sex. Will Jack notice? Will he understand Ianto's signals, or will he have to make a less subtle move?

He gives himself a critical once over. The tired bags under his eyes have gone now he's managed to get a week of decent sleep, as if the very idea of being with Jack is enough to drive away the worst of his night terrors. This morning he'd surfaced from the comfort of slumber with an aching erection, and a desperate desire for Jack that barely abated after having a wank in the shower. It's got to be today. He'll just have to take the risk. Any more of this wanting and he'll start acting crazy.

On his way out Ianto glances at the deep pile red rug that now brightens his living room floor. He bought it on the same shopping trip as the tie, an impulse purchase made after running his fingers through the soft woollen tufts and imagining how they'd feel under his hands and knees. He closes his eyes briefly, a picture of Jack thrusting into him as he collapses onto his forearms, his cheek rubbing against that velvety softness.

It had better not be one of those days when the Rift misbehaves. He wants to be the one misbehaving.


You get to work. You curse serial killing madmen and Retcon happy bosses. You make yourself useful, helping out as part of the team. You want him to notice you. You want to make him smile.

What about the Risen Mitten, you say.

I think it's catchy, you say.

You want to kiss the frown off those lips.

You catch Jack's stopwatch. You feel his body heat, stored in the metal and tingling against your palm.

Give Ianto a stopwatch and he's happy, Owen says.

It's the button on the top, you say, trying to catch Jack's eye. You must be horny, to be flirting over a dead body. You try to get a grip.


Ianto sighs, watching the lights of the SUV disappear in the distance. Jack told him to get some rest while they were gone, as they could be all night. Bloody Suzie, hoarding so much useless junk. Rest is the last thing on his mind. He's wound up tightly, desperate for a frenzied release.

And Jack isn't here.

There's nothing for it. He'll have to give himself some relief. All day he's been fighting back his lust, finding excuses to hide away behind filing cabinets and counters when the sight or even the fucking thought of Jack gets him hard. And Jack's been too busy with this serial killer business to even notice him, other than as an information source and stopwatch minder.

Heading back to the main Hub, his fingers run over the reassuring weight of it in his pocket. His overheated imagination starts to turn over ideas of using it with Jack. Of timing... activities. Wondering how long it would take Jack to bring him to orgasm without the use of his hands. Right now, probably less than a minute. He wouldn't even have to undress. Just a bit of dirty talk and the pressure of his mouth against his trousers would do the trick. But if the tables were turned, how quickly could he have Jack panting and giving those adorably sexy groans as he comes? No matter how many tricks Jack's taught him, it would probably take a while, and leave his jaw aching for days. Yes, Jack would definitely have the advantage in any contest of that nature.

Looking down at the hole in the floor he realises where his feet have brought him, as if on auto-pilot. Drawing him to the one place he most wants to be. Not alone, of course, but if that's the best he can do...

He never even makes it to the bed, leaning back against the base of the ladder and remembering a time Jack ambushed him there, ripping open his flies and falling on his knees before sucking him off as if he'd been desperate to do so all day. Whipping a handkerchief from his pocket, he fumbles with his trouser fastenings, breathing in the scent of Jack that seems to permeate this tiny cell. Before he knows it, he's doubling up, gasping; knees weakening as the cum spills over his fingers and drips onto the floor below.

It's not a satisfying orgasm, his body left trembling but still hungry for more. For touch. For attention. For affection. He sighs deeply, cleans himself up and tidies his clothes before climbing back up the ladder. May as well try to get forty winks on the sofa before they all return.


You toss and turn. You get up and pace around. You wonder if Jack will be able to tell that you've been in his room. You wonder how long the smell of your climax will linger.

You want him to know. You contemplate going back down there and wanking over his sheets. Your feet start to take you towards his office.You're stopped by the cogwheel door alarm.

You're disappointed to see all of them. You make coffee.

You try to linger while you pass him his cup, but he's too preoccupied with the idea of raising Suzie's corpse.

You do your best to help the team. You name the stupid knife. You stand around holding a stopwatch, like a bloody PE teacher. You watch him stroke Gwen's hair back and something inside you twists painfully.

You want that to be your hair. You want those hands all over you. You want him to be looking at you like he fucking well cares.


The rest of them are busy interrogating Suzie or watching the live feed. Everyone's watered and fed and there's nothing left for him to time or name. So he goes to find the one other person he can look after, taking a tray with coffee and biscuits and wearing the bland mask of hospitality.

The man's sitting on the floor, gently rocking and talking quietly to himself. He looks like a giant child, albeit one with a beard and a beer gut. Ianto feels a stab of compassion for him, locked up as a murderer when it seems clear he has no awareness of what he's done. Can he really be judged culpable, if he was poisoned in some way by the Retcon? Shouldn't that really be Torchwood in there? Shouldn't it be Jack?

He slams the tray down, desperate to keep pictures of Jack locked in a cell out of his mind. There's no way he should be finding that a turn on, is there? But the idea of the arrogant twat being the one constrained - the one forced into a narrow groove rather than ranging all over the place and being so fucking heroic...

It's no good. He tries to sustain the anger but it won't last, because he can't help but admire Jack. Admire him for his air of authority, his energy, his enthusiasm and dogged pursuit of the wrongdoer. And it's all inextricably wrapped up with that charismatic face and powerful body that drive him wild; mixed in with those memories of their debauched couplings seared in to his neurons, and the tentative friendship they've built up in place of physical intimacy these past weeks.

The aroma of the coffee draws him back to the here and now, and he crouches in front of the cell door.

"Hi there. It's Max, isn't it? Right, well I can see you're not the talkative type. I'm Ianto Jones, general dogsbody here at Torchwood, and I've–" He falls back onto his arse as the man-mountain throws himself at the cell door in a rage of beating fists and incoherent roaring. Bewildered, he just stares up until the man finally loses interest and goes back to his silent rocking.

"So, does that mean you don't want the coffee? It's pretty good, but if you're more of a Nescafé man I could probably find some of that somewhere." But it's no use. Max takes no further notice of him. He may as well be invisible. It's just one of those days.

He pushes the tray through the hatch, and leaves Max to his muttered mantras.


You stare at the Philemon filtered footage as Owen plays it yet another time. You think that this is going to be a very long night, but not the kind you had anticipated this morning. You find yourself drifting with fatigue. You think that this is hopeless. You watch him storm off with the gun, and it crosses your mind that he's a murderer. You don't have the energy to care any more.

Ianto, Ianto, he calls.

You move as fast as you can. You thrill at the tone of his voice.

Captain, you say. You flirt with your torch. Your spirits sink when you find out what he wants. You explain about the lockdown. You wonder why he doesn't realise this. You wonder if you can be of use.

You watch the water cascading down the tower. You have an idea. You sit and work it through, applying yourself while their voices babble ineffectually.

I've got reception, sir, you say.

You try not to look too smug as you hand him the phone. Your fingers burn where his brush against them. You feel his smile warm you right through. You feel hope bubble up inside you again.

You want to get him on his own.


"Thanks, Ianto," Toshiko says, taking the cup of coffee. "And thanks for helping earlier."

He smiles back at her, remembering the adrenaline rush as he raced to get the gun out and threw it to her, praying she would manage to catch it. Or was she referring to his trick with the mobile reception? Thinking about it, it's been a great day for him. Or was it night? He's been awake for over twenty four hours, but his body is buzzing still, keeping going on a mixture of adrenaline, caffeine and testosterone.

"You look tired, Ianto. You should go home now, get some rest."

But they're not getting rid of him that easily. He'd told himself he'd make a move on Jack before returning home, and he just hasn't had the chance yet.

"Maybe I'll just take forty winks on the sofa. They'll be back soon, and there'll be things to do, coffee to make."

"You're too good to us, you know. I hope Jack's paying you well."

"Oh, don't you worry, he will be." Smirking to himself as he turns away from Toshiko's puzzled face, he ponders just how he can make Jack reward him. Reaching the sofa, he's still no nearer an elegant opening line. He lies down, feels the stopwatch digging into his side, and removes his jacket so it won't crease. Remembering his earlier idea, he smiles, and as he drifts off to sleep a thousand scenarios play through his head. Would Jack be interested in playing games? In competing? Is that even what Ianto wants?

He doesn't wake until Gwen returns after her check up at the hospital, rising refreshed from a deep and dreamless sleep. And by the time Jack returns, the marks of the cushion have faded from his cheek.


You glance up as he walks into the morgue. You try not to let your leaping stomach affect the way your voice sounds. You try to have a normal conversation. You watch him lean back, and you think he's never looked better.

You make your move. You use the only line you've come up with.

If you're interested, I've still got that stopwatch, you say. You smile at his baffled face. You rarely get to see him outmanoeuvred.

Well think about it. Lots of things you can do with a stopwatch, you say. You savour the moment when he catches on.

Oh yeah, I can think of a few, he says. You see the lust in his eyes answering yours.

There's quite a list, you say. You want to work through it with him. You know that you will.

I'll send the others home early. See you in my office in ten, he says.

That's ten minutes, and counting, you say, clicking the stopwatch as you speak. You wonder how you'll get through them without the others seeing your desire in your face; in your body. You don't really care. You have Jack to look forward to.


Ianto waits until they're all out of the cogwheel door before moving out from behind the kitchen counter; the cups of coffee on it his excuse for staying behind, despite Toshiko's protest that he needs his sleep just as much as the rest of them. He's never felt less like sleeping, his every nerve thrumming in anticipation, his stomach jittery and his cock already half-hard.

Yet even after they've gone he pauses a moment. He has two minutes left. And this feels different, because he's different. This isn't going to be a distraction from his anguish any more. This is a mutual arrangement with a friend. He's never had one of those before, and the idea is peculiar. Is it going to be enough for him? Is he going to want more than Jack's willing to give? Not physically - that would probably be impossible as the man seems willing to try anything - but emotionally.

But there's only one way to find out. Stopwatch in hand, he leaves the cups behind. They'll only get in the way.

Jack's waiting for him, leaning back against his desk with his hands in his pockets and his ankles crossed. Ianto could swear he's undone another couple of shirt buttons, but then again, he's been agonising over whether to go in with or without his jacket on. In the end he chose with, but unbuttoned. He drew the line at loosening his tie, though. There was no need to stroll in looking like some kind of debauched jazz singer. The thought brings a wry smile to his face, which feels better than the nervous frown. He leans back against the closed door, unsure of his next move and wanting Jack to make it for him.

But Jack just stares, no, devours him with his eyes. It really feels like that, like he's a tasty meal about to be eaten alive. He watches Jack's eyes pan down his body, his eyebrows rising with a smirk as he takes in Ianto's state of arousal. Those ten feet of space between them feel like a thousand miles, but at the same time nothing at all, as if they're already silently communing with their bodies. Ianto feels it when Jack shifts his legs, uncrossing them and sitting back onto the desk, leaving an inviting gap between them. A Ianto-sized gap. His arms spread out to either side, hands casually resting on the edge of the desktop. He's open and ready and seems to be reeling Ianto in with some kind of invisible line.

Eventually he has to do something to break the silence. He clears his throat and holds up the stopwatch. "About that list, Jack..." but the words die in his mouth as he realises he has no desire to play kinky games. Not right now. Right now all he wants to do is run over there and crush his body against Jack's. To kiss and suck on those maddeningly sensual lips. To run his hands up and down and under and over...

"Yes, Ianto? What of it? You've got me intrigued, I have to say. I've spent these last ten minutes trying to work out exactly what you're about to propose." His voice is light, teasing, but there's a husky quality that betrays how excited he really is. It matches the dark intensity of his eyes.

It gives him courage, and he takes a step towards Jack. "I was going to propose a contest. A set of timed challenges, with the loser having to perform a forfeit of the winner's choosing."

"I see. That sounds kinda dangerous, for the loser." Jack raises his eyebrows, a smile playing over his lips.

"Oh, they'd have to be fun forfeits. So that everyone wins, in the long run." He takes a step closer.

"So you're thinking of timing what exactly? How long it takes me to fill out a UNIT Alien Hazard report form? And the forfeit is who gets to make coffee tomorrow?" Jack's eyes twinkle as he shifts his legs wider apart.

Ianto takes another step. "Well, that's not a terribly fun challenge or forfeit. I'm sure we could come up with better than that." He licks his lips, his gaze seeming to be stuck on the prominent swelling in Jack's trousers. "No, I was going to start with stripping." The word has a visible effect on Jack's cock, which twitches and grows in length.

"I see. So you want to see who can strip the fastest. Well, I don't think you'll be able to beat me there, Mr. Jones, in your suit and tie. Very sexy tie, by the way."

"No, I didn't mean stripping ourselves. I meant undressing each other. You'd have to keep still and let me take all your clothes off. And if you hindered me in any way that would mean an instant forfeit." He takes another step, so that Jack is almost in touching distance. He can hear his shallow breaths and smell the arousal rolling off him in waves of pheromone scented air.

"Right. And then I'd have to see if I could undress you faster. That could be tricky. I might get distracted. In fact," Jack cleared his throat and licked his lips, "I'm sure that I would be. What would my forfeit be, assuming I lost?"

Ianto runs through all the things he desperately wants Jack to do to him, but in the end there's only one thing that obsesses him and that he needs right now. "A kiss."

"Just a kiss?" Jack chuckles. "I thought you'd have come up with something a bit kinkier than that. I've still got those toys you bought, downstairs." He nods his head towards the hole in the floor.

"No, no, that's not the forfeit. That's what I want. Instead of messing around with this thing," he brandishes the stopwatch, and takes that final step into the space between Jack's legs, placing the timepiece down on the desktop. Jack's hands still grip the edge of the desk, but now he's close Ianto can see how white his knuckles are. He runs his fingertips across them, and feels a tremor ripple through Jack's body.

And then it dawns on him. That Jack is holding back and letting him make all the moves. That he's not forcing him in any way. That there's respect for Ianto's own free will. The affection that wells up inside him is a surprise. He'd expected to be consumed with lust this close to Jack. To be tearing at his clothes and thrusting his body against him. Yet here he stands, gently unbending Jack's fingers from the edge of the desk and lacing his own through them. He's acutely conscious of every place their bodies connect, and the webs between his fingers have never felt so alive, so sensitive to every minute shifting of their grip. He can feel Jack's hot breath against his face, searing his skin. Looking up, he's drawn by the question in those eyes.


"Yes, what?" Jack's voice breaks and he gives a small smile.

"Yes. I'm ready now."

And with that simple truth they are freed, lips connecting gently at first, the kiss soon deepening as their fingers unlace so that hands can grope and grab and squeeze, pulling their bodies so close together that they become one undulating creature, the friction of their motion enough to bring Ianto to the brink of orgasm. And as his head falls back, to let Jack's lips tease his throat, his last thought before letting go is that this is exactly what he's been wanting.

And there's no need to time anything.


You come with a shout of joy. You see stars. Your knees quiver. You feel Jack holding you up and you feel safe. You realise you're still fully clothed. You giggle.

You kiss him again, taking your time to explore his mouth. You suck on his tongue, wondering how he can taste so good. You hear him moan, and the sound goes right through you. You want to taste him. You want to make him shout out. You push down those braces. You unbuckle, unbutton, unzip...

You fall to your knees.

You nuzzle into that soft hair, smelling him, reacquainting yourself with his textures. You run your mouth up his shaft. You salivate. You lick the pre-come away with a moan of pleasure as your mouth fills with the taste of him. You want to feel his cock in your mouth, pulsing with his climax. You want to drink him down.

You swallow his cock, digging your fingers into his arse to bring him further in. You stop only when you're almost gagging as the head touches the back of your throat.

Ianto, he says.

You look up at him, staring down at you with wonder in his eyes. You try to smile. You feel him groan, the vibrations running right through you. You pull back, sucking hungrily. You push in again. You watch him, watching you. You watch the way his face and chest flush. You watch the way his eyes darken. You watch the way his chest moves with his gasping breaths. You watch the look of ecstasy transform him as he succumbs. You feel his hands in your hair. You feel him trying not to thrust. You encourage him with your hands.

You moan as you swallow down his semen.

You want this to never end.


"I'm all yours. Do what you want with me."

Ianto stares down at that yearned-for body, spread in front of him, already tasted and explored all over, just as his own has been. His mouth is full of the flavour of Jack. His nostrils clogged up with that rich, heady scent of the man. But he wants more.

He reaches out, grasping Jack's erection, feeling the reassuring heft of it against his palm. Climbing onto the narrow bed, he straddles him, their cocks rubbing together and making both men laugh breathlessly. Jack watches him as he reaches for the lube, smiling as Ianto warms it in his hands before applying it liberally to both of them.

"Thought you'd be wanting to fuck me first," Jack says, the smile still lingering.

"Well, you thought wrong." Ianto lifts himself up, savouring that moment when the blunt head presses against him. That moment when between two states, where all is potential; all is ready, and waiting. He laughs, running his hands over Jack's chest. Over the rosy nipples, swollen from his eager attentions. Up to Jack's face. Cupping his cheeks in his hands.

"Sit up," he says, his voice rough with desire.

Jack scrambles to comply, the movement of his body rubbing the head of his cock against Ianto's entrance and making him moan with the sheer goodness of it all. The way their bodies seem to fit together perfectly as he slowly lowers himself, past the delicious burn to that firm pressure. The way his own cock is trapped between their hot, sweat-slicked bodies. The way their lips and tongues meet as he fills himself with that exquisite heat. Pulling Jack in, pushing down on him. Rising again, rocking back until he hits that place inside which sends shivers of joy lancing through his flesh.

They moan, moving together in perfect synchrony, as if one body, one being. Hands grasping greedily, desperately. Kisses turning into sloppy, open-mouthed licking as the pleasure surges through their bodies, leaving no awareness of finesse, but simply a single-minded pursuit of sensation. And then it's on them, the rippling waves of Ianto's orgasm calling a response in Jack, and they heave, shuddering, gasping, laughing.

They collapse into a panting, sticky tangle of limbs.

Running a finger over Jack's lips, tracing the languid smile, Ianto raises Jack's hand and presses a small kiss to his inner wrist.

"Thank you," he says, but doesn't add, for treating me like I matter. Gazing into those deep, enigmatic eyes, he wonders if Jack can tell that's what he meant.

"Ianto Jones, I've been missing you." The tone is light, but the eyes remain serious. Something inside Ianto goes into freefall. Could this be–

"Next time you're definitely going to have to do me. There's nothing like a good arse pounding to help me get to sleep." Jack smirks, his eyes twinkling again.

Ianto pulls himself together again. They're friends. They're blokes. There's no reason to expect or want anything else.

"I'd like that," he says, wondering if he could sleep next to Jack on this narrow bed. His mind runs over the logistics of getting a decent sized bed installed in one of the cosier storerooms. Of making sure he has extra sets of fresh clothing here at the Hub.

"But first, I'm going to need a rest."

Jack's already snuggling into his neck. "Hmm... me too."


You wake, unsure of the time. You feel the weight of his arm pinning you down, his breath tickling your ear. You feel his body pressed hot and clammy against yours. You feel sore and sticky and one hundred percent alive.

You smile up at the darkened ceiling.

You don't want for anything more than this.

You drift back to sleep again.