Disclaimer: Characters belong to the BBC, not to me.
Warning: Contains sex. And spoilers for the Torchwood novel The Undertaker's Gift.
by Rex Luscus
"Here," said Jack, handing over a box. "A little getting-out-of-hospital gift."
Ianto unfolded the Burberry overcoat and held it up with wonder. "What's this for?"
"Well, your wardrobe took a beating on this latest mission and I thought you deserved some compensation—but I'd never be dumb enough to buy you a new suit on my own."
Ianto petted the dark grey twill. "Thank you."
"Plus I've been fantasizing about you in it ever since I saw it in the window."
Ianto smiled. "You may have to wait a bit for, uh, that, unless you also have a kink for gauze and surgical tape."
"I'm working on that one, actually. I think I've developed three new medical fetishes in the last week."
"Well, I hope one of them is for wound care. Because you're going to be helping me with that, and I can't imagine anything less sexy."
Jack lowered his voice and leaned close. "Let me put it this way: the last time I jerked off, I was thinking of you, covered in bandages and hospital antiseptic, lying naked in this bed while I knelt between your legs and sucked your cock."
Ianto cringed away from Jack's optimistic leer. "Please tell me I'd bathed recently."
"Oh no. Full realistic detail. Curtains wide open and everything, so that Mr. Congestive Heart Failure next to you could see the whole thing."
Ianto winced. "The poor man! There aren't enough beta blockers in the world. Do you ever consider the wellbeing of others before dragging them into your fantasies?"
"Oh. Well, that was the one non-realistic detail. He actually got better after watching us fuck."
"Yet you couldn't be bothered to make my crotch smell nice."
"Actually, I kind of like—"
"Don't finish that sentence." Ianto got out of bed and handed the coat to Jack. "Here—let me get dressed, and maybe if you're lucky, I'll wear that home."
Jack unlocked Ianto's flat and held the door open for him. Ianto walked through with eyebrow raised. "I can open doors, you know," he said.
"Of course you can," said Jack, shutting the door. He crowded Ianto up against it and kissed him hard on the mouth.
"Jack," said Ianto, breaking the kiss, "I'm tired."
"You don't have to do anything." Jack savaged his neck. "I'll do all the work." He yanked Ianto's shirt open and kissed down his chest, pausing to suck a nipple hidden between bandages, licking into a hair-swirled navel, until he was on his knees, tearing open Ianto's belt. Ianto groaned. He'd downshifted from opiates to Paracetamol the day before and his libido had come raging back, swollen with the injustice of a week's missed orgasms. All Jack had to do was breathe on his dick through his pants—he was surprised it hadn't poked Jack in the eye.
"Oh fuck," he said, "do something now."
"Working on it." Jack gave Ianto's cock a slow jerk through his underwear, the material chafing him with the pressure of a hot hand. Then Jack plucked the waistband away from his belly and cool air hit his dick and balls. He moaned and thrust helplessly at the air.
"Suck it, Jack, or get out of my flat!"
Jack sucked it.
"Grahh-ohh fuck..." moaned Ianto as the head of his dick slipped into the hot liquid squeeze of Jack's mouth.
Jack took him deep once, in, and out, then suckled playfully on the head, his tongue dancing around on it like a point of flame. Ianto's eyes rolled back and his whole body arched, trying to push his dick deeper, toward the center of relief.
Then Jack tugged on his hips and he crumpled to the floor. He tipped back, naked from nipples to ankles, bare arse sticking to linoleum as Jack crawled between his splayed knees and shoved his trousers off with one foot. His shoes came off with them. Then, having decided that Ianto was naked enough, Jack got back to work.
At some point his dick stopped getting sucked and fingers went up his arse instead. Then Jack loomed over him like a cresting wave as his legs dangled overhead, and he was getting fucked.
"Oh God," he cried as pleasure ignited and raced through his starved nerves, "oh...yes..."
Jack bared his teeth, gripped his legs harder, and bent him in half.
Ten minutes later, they lay together on the cold floor, panting and sticky and, in Ianto's case, sore.
Ianto sat up laboriously. He looked down between his knees and said, "Oh bother. The coat."
Jack grinned. "Didn't even have it for a day and it already needs the cleaner, eh?"
"I assume that was your plan all along." Ianto glanced down at Jack sprawled half-naked beside him.
"You know me so well."
Ianto slipped out of the coat and folded it so that nothing else would leak onto it. "Jack," he said. "Did you buy me this coat because you feel guilty?"
"I bought it because I knew you'd look hot in it."
Ianto sighed and gazed at him kindly. "You've nothing to feel guilty for."
"I know I don't!" Jack sat up, avoiding Ianto's gaze. "Since when are these things ever rational? If I had something to feel guilty for, I'd be apologizing for it, not buying you clothes! So can you just—accept the coat and not turn it into a therapy session? There's nothing we can do about it except—except—"
"Except have sex in my front hall and carry on as normal?"
They stared at each other. Ianto's head filled with thoughts he longed and feared to say out loud. But Jack looked on the verge of saying twice as much, and Ianto needed more opiates for that.
"Fine," he said, unfolding the coat again. "If I'm taking it to the cleaner anyway, there's nothing to lose."
Jack smiled and kissed him, pushing him back to the floor. "Thank you."