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Jack pauses just inside the hotel room door, a bottle of expensive champagne in one hand and two glasses clutched in the other. Ianto answers the silent question with a small smile of welcome, but keeps several feet of space between them. He's not surprised by this turn of events, after all; appearing with a hopeful smile and an expensive, shareable gift is Jack at his most predictable. That doesn't mean it's going to go all Jack's way.

"You're not in the sauna with the rest of them?" Jack queries, not removing his coat before tentatively taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He always has been good at reading body language.

Ianto is slouched in the seat by the window, the armchair upholstered in the same hotel-chic material as the padded headboard. He's still wearing his suit, down to the neatly laced shoes and snugly knotted tie. He'd be going for a job interview, were his jacket not discarded on the nearby desk.

"Not really my scene, sir," Ianto says. "Though I do feel compelled to point out that you're not there either."

"These two things are not unrelated," Jack says with an eyebrow quirk, looking briefly up at Ianto through his lashes as he pours two foaming glasses of champagne. "Here."

There's a familiar brush of fingers as Ianto takes the glass, only it's usually him handing over the beverage. The role reversal kindles a comfortable warmth in his belly, more than the contact itself. They watch each other while they wait for the champagne to settle, the level of the golden liquid rising as the white froth subsides. Jack holds up his glass in silent salute and they sip in unison.

As if he's just received some silent signal, Jack shrugs off his coat, switching his glass from hand to hand as he does so, leaving the top half of the garment sprawled out on the bed behind him, still sitting on its skirt. "So," he says, smiling around the rim of the glass. "Where were we?"

Ianto can't help but laugh; at Jack, so sure of his welcome, and at the familiar phrasing that intimates Jack's just as eager as Ianto is to pick up where they left off: the same mindless, meaningless fun that is not in any way related to whatever horrors or frustrations the day has brought.

Well, Ianto amends, not mindless. That was half the pleasure of it; a mental foreplay to accompany the physical, enjoying the opportunity calculate and manipulate without guilt, and without the subservience of his professional role to weigh him down, hold his tongue. And if his unabashed enjoyment of it was anything to go by, Jack didn't exactly hold it against him. Something Ianto finds himself overwhelmingly grateful for, in this moment.

"I believe it was your turn, sir," Ianto says, propping his elbows on the arms of the chair and cradling the bell of his champagne flute with his fingertips.

Jack watches him calculatingly for a few moments. "Dare."

Ianto takes another sip and licks the tingle it leaves on his lips--an unconscious gesture that draws Jack's eyes to his mouth nonetheless. More deliberately, Ianto bites his lower lip and hums in a gesture of deep consideration. It's unsurprising that Jack's gone with dare--ordinarily truth only makes an appearance when Ianto's too far gone to ask questions, and Jack takes the opportunity to breathe some filthy anecdote into his ear, in such close detail that Ianto can't help but trust in its veracity, his body inevitably responding as if in agreement.

The first time they'd played this particular game, Ianto had wondered at what it said about their maturity. But the way he and Jack play it--play each other with it--well, Ianto's sure there's no universe in which it'd be considered juvenile.

And this round, perhaps, carries more weight than the others; though Jack doesn't know that, not yet. Ianto's mind is already leaping at the challenge ahead, stretching like a cat that's been curled long in the sun, instantly ready to stalk and pounce. The challenges themselves are important, of course, but so too is the pacing. He eyes Jack again, noting the way Jack's mouth is not quite closed, and Jack's gaze is fixed on Ianto's face. Jack is not alone in his reaction--Ianto's body is already stirring; he admits to himself that it's been too long since they last played this.

No point in dallying, then. Ianto lets a self-satisfied smirk shape his mouth. "I dare you," he says. "To not touch me."

Jack looks startled for a brief moment, morphing into mildly confused. "Not touch you... with my hands?"

Ianto shakes his head. "Hands, mouth, cock," he says, eyes flicking over the body parts as he names them. "Feet," he adds, remembering fondly.

Jack shuffles on the bed, tucking his curling fingers under his thighs as if he needs to physically restrain himself. "Not touch you until my next turn, right?" he asks hopefully.

Ianto shakes his head again, slowly. "Until I say so."

"Oh, now that's just not fair."

"My turn," Ianto asserts, dismissing any further argument. "Truth." It's a risky move, but less risky than what Jack might dare him to do now that he can't touch Ianto himself.

Jack's mouth loses its moue of put-upon disappointment, straightening out in consideration.

Truth is always dangerous, but there's no way Jack can know what to ask for; and if he sticks to custom then it's not going to be anything related to usual Torchwood business anyway. But Ianto calling upon it now is reason for suspicion; as with Jack's truth, it's usually incited at more... heated moments. Moments where Ianto can subvert it into a dare; Jack invariably demanding what do you want? or how do you want me? when Ianto's still teetering on the precipice of considering it too presumptuous to ask.

Jack's eyes narrow as he watches Ianto's face. "What is it that you don't want me to know?"

Ianto's heart jumps in speed, like stamping on the accelerator pedal and having the car lurch forward alarmingly. He keeps tight control over his outward appearance; restraining his body from leaning forward, his throat from swallowing, feet from drawing in tighter to the chair.

Jack's smart, yes, but the question is still blessedly broad; Jack suspects that something is up but he's not sensing enough to narrow the question further. Or perhaps it doesn't occur to him that Ianto may have more than one answer to that question. Surely not.

Ianto presses his lips together, slides his gaze away from Jack's and shrugs. "While you were away..."

Jack leans forward. "Yes?"

"I paid for Gwen's engagement party." He pauses for effect. "On your credit card."

Jack's eyes widen, and he leans back again abruptly. "Gwen's engaged?"

Oops. Still, even if Jack's unconcerned by the several-hundred-pound dent Ianto's put into his personal finances, Jack's shock at the news is bittersweet. Ianto had been aware of the irony, at the time, and he can't help but feel a surge of satisfaction at seeing how it's played out this far down the line.

After a moment Jack's eyes narrow, and Ianto's quite certain that he's seen right through the deflection, and is undoubtedly back on course despite the diversion.

"Mine," Jack says shortly. "Dare."

"I dare you to..." Ianto pauses. The game has already changed just through the lacuna of Jack's absence; ordinarily by now at least Jack would be partially if not completely naked. And there's only so far Ianto can take this tactical route, after all; Jack knows something's up, he knows, and if Ianto's entirely honest with himself, he wants Jack to know. In the biblical sense. Fuck, yes; yes please, but he's had months of hiding and cloaking himself away, it's too much, too hard to just strip bare without warning or precaution.

Ianto swallows. "Keep a secret."

He sees the confirmation of Jack's suspicions in the tightening of his jaw.

"A secret," Jack says. He shuffles to the edge of the bed and hunches over, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands between them. The new pose brings him that much closer to Ianto, almost but not quite touching distance. His voice has an edge of seriousness to it that ordinarily has no place in their games. "What kind of secret?"

"A personal one," Ianto looks down. "To stay between you and I."

"Ianto, you know I wouldn't--"

"Jack." It's ridiculous and sort of sickening, because he doesn't know, not really. Jack may be the soul of discretion about their... encounters, at least when Ianto's around; but Ianto's heard too many anecdotes told in broad, lascivious tones to trust that he won't become just another tale. That he might already be one. That he will be, after this. "I dare you. Tell no one."

Jack's curiosity burns in his gaze, searching Ianto's eyes almost fiercely. "All right," he says at length. "Accepted. But really, if I'm going to agree then I need to know--"

Ianto holds up a hand, cutting him off. "You know that's not how the game works." It's Ianto's turn again now, and another chance for Jack to tease out his answer, to pull Ianto apart and see what makes him tick. An involuntary shiver goes through Ianto's body. "Dare."

Jack's intense scrutiny has not missed Ianto's body's brief betrayal of his control; Ianto feels held over the edge of a precipice, the risk of falling only immediate now Jack actually seems to be on the same page.

"I dare you to touch me," Jack says, and then, with a self-satisfied smirk, "That's not against the rules, is it? I won't be touching you, after all." He lounges back, planting his hands on the bed behind him in an elongated slouch, legs sprawled open, presenting his lap suggestively.

Ianto doesn't answer verbally, just moves forward, sliding out of the chair and into a crouch then shuffling forward to kneel between Jack's spread knees. He rests his hands lightly on the tops of Jack's thighs. "Like this?"

Jack's mouth falls open a little, chest dropping as he lets out a long breath. His eyes glitter beneath his lashes, and he nods briefly.

Ianto considers stopping there, twisting the turn again to his own ends again; Jack had dared him to touch but hadn't said where or how much. But he finds he doesn't particularly want that edge, doesn't want to win the turn so much as he wants to touch Jack. He really, really wants to touch Jack; the heat of Jack's body this close lifting the scent of him into the air; Ianto lists forward a little more, mouth watering.

"You didn't say," Ianto murmurs, sliding his hands up along the broad planes of Jack's thighs. "What I could touch you with." He licks his lips again, deliberately suggestive this time, and lays his hand over Jack's groin. Jack's cock twitches against his palm, already hot through the fabric, and Jack sucks in another deep breath.

"Is it too late to specify?"

Ianto presses down a little, rubbing the heel of his palm against the growing hardness. He pouts in consideration. "I think so. You really left it up to me with that dare, didn't you?" He slides his other hand around Jack's waist to his back, tugging the shirt out of the way and slipping his hand under it, splaying it against the hot, smooth skin. Then Ianto presses his face against the length of Jack's erection through the layers of clothing, open mouth and humid breath dampening the fabric immediately.

Jack's hips surge up; Ianto feels the flex of the powerful muscles in Jack's thighs beneath his arms. "Ianto..."

"Truth or dare?" Ianto keeps his lips pressed to the front of Jack's trousers as he speaks. Jack groans again and Ianto can't help but grin, glancing up--cheek still pressed against Jack's cock--to exchange a look of amusement with him. A deep, trembling pleasure begins to unfurl in his chest, stretching downward.

"Can I touch you?" Jack murmurs.

Ianto shakes his head. "Not yet. Truth or dare?"

Jack gazes down at him, eyes half-lidded. "Truth."

Ianto pauses, the brief moment of stillness betraying his surprise before he curls his fingers and strokes his knuckles against the swell of Jack's balls through the now-taut fabric of his trousers. Jack's breath changes above him again but he knows Jack hasn't missed his reaction. Because, god, what an opportunity. Questions bubble to the surface of Ianto's mind; the old familiar who are you? and what do you want with me? taking the back seat to the more immediate where did you go? and of course, why did you leave us?

Jack's secrets, as sprawled out and willing in front of him as Jack's body, but Ianto swallows the questions down, overwhelmed with empathy for Jack's plight. How could he take advantage of Jack's willingness here, now, when Ianto can't even strip without extracting vows of secrecy first?

He presses a firm kiss against the shaft of Jack's cock, far beyond willing to peel the fabric away and taste Jack's skin again, but it's not his turn yet. "Tell me what you want?" he asks, posing the familiar words back at Jack, again.

"Kiss me," Jack says, voice rough and with barely a pause. Ianto doesn't think twice, bracing hands against Jack's thighs and surging upward. Jack doesn't move but the shape of his mouth begs to be kissed, so Ianto grips Jack's jaw with one hand and Jack's mouth falls open, the inside hot and wet when Ianto dips his tongue into it. Heat pools in Ianto's groin when Jack licks back, the texture of his tongue and its broad, familiar strokes almost unbearably good.

Ianto pulls away, gasping, chest heaving against Jack's, the tender abrasion of it even through layers and layers making his shoulders curl. "Touch me," he demands, rules flung by the wayside for at least the moment. Jack needs no more encouragement, arms wrapping around Ianto's torso and pulling him closer.

Ianto anchors himself with an arm around the back of Jack's neck, and they push forward at the same time, the kiss surging between them, hot, so hot, Jack's solid body between Ianto's knees as Jack encourages Ianto to sit astride his lap, Jack's breath huffing against Ianto's cheek, Jack's taste and teeth and tongue.

They break apart at last, breathing hard, Jack's hands running over Ianto's flanks, curving around his arse.

Ianto grips Jack's wrists, stilling him; Jack groans in protest. Ianto can't help but laugh. "It's my turn," he says mildly; and it's not strictly in the rules to issue a dare before Jack's chosen it, but he's fairly certain Jack's beyond quibbling. He sets Jack's hands at his throat, folding fingers around the knot of his tie. "I want you to undress me."

Anxiety spikes through him, body rocking a little physically with the force of it; but the words are out now and there's certainly no taking it back at this point, with Jack's lips lush and shiny and inches away, and Jack's eyes dark and rapt. Ianto rests his hands lightly on Jack's forearms as Jack begins to obey; loosening Ianto's tie to start with before moving to the buttons of his shirt. Ianto's chest heaves beneath his hands.

Jack smiles, tilting up to kiss him again while his hands busily unbutton. "You should wear pink more often," he rumbles. "Makes you look--"

He cuts himself off, gaze jerking from Ianto's face to his chest, where Jack's hands splay open the the shirt, revealing the tight stretch of off-white elastic binding Ianto's chest. "Ianto?"

Ianto's barely shaking, but he's wound so tight that relaxing control even a little would have him breaking into pieces. "Jack," he says, moving Jack's hands to the elastic's fastening. His voice sounds much surer than he feels. "It's all right. Undress me."

He lets Jack slide the shirt over his shoulders and down his arms, glad now that he'd already removed his suit jacket, not just because he'd prefer to not have it crumpled on the floor, but because he can't stand the thought of this being dragged out any longer. Jack's movements are slow but steady; he unhooks the fastenings of the fabric binding Ianto's chest, and within moments the loops are falling around Ianto's waist.

Ianto breathes deep, free of restriction for the first time in too many hours. The cool air on his breasts feels amazing.

"You..." Jack begins, and Ianto waits for Jack to turn his face back up to him. "I'm pretty sure you didn't always have those."

A burst of laughter escapes from Ianto, hiding a full-body shudder; poised on the edge of relief from the tension binding him up.

"Or this," he says, and guides Jack's hand down to cup between his splayed legs.

Jack's hand moulds to the changed shape of Ianto's body immediately, fingers pressing up automatically, and Ianto shifts forward, abdominal muscles tightening. He closes his eyes briefly, huffing out a breath as the sensation shoots up through him.

Jack's eyes are wide, his touch changing as his hands map out Ianto's body as if for the first time--which Ianto supposes it is, in a way. For this body. Though he's still not entirely convinced it's an entirely new body, just... different. Jack's touch is not entirely unfamiliar, but it lingers in places previously overlooked. His hands bracket the slight extra padding around Ianto's hips; cup the backs of his shoulders, curved differently to allow the new centre of balance; and at last stroke over Ianto's face, fingers light against the smooth skin.

Jack's palm drags lightly down Ianto's throat, coming to rest at the base. "You should see the look on your face," Ianto says, letting Jack feel the vibration of his voice, measuring the timbre of it as well; just slightly off. Not enough to notice, unless it's being looked for. Ianto is, after all, a consummate master of disguise.

Jack laughs. "You are something else," he says, and Ianto smirks in agreement. "You're not... Why didn't anyone say anything?"

Ianto's smile falls away. "The others don't know," he says, and cuts off Jack's interjection with: "And don't tell them!" He's unsure if it was going to be a reprimand or indignation, just knows he doesn't want to hear it. Jack's living, breathing proof of just how close someone can be and remain clueless when they're willing to overlook what they're not expecting; aided, of course, by the gap of however long since Jack's seen him, and in the case of his teammates, by just how preoccupied they've been. "It's... all right. It's not forever."

Despite the serious turn of their conversation, Jack's gaze has drifted back down to fix on Ianto's breasts. Ianto feels a surge of fondness that does much to relax the tension that's coiled around this un-looked forward to conversation, and pushes his chest out a bit. Jack's arms circle Ianto's waist, drawing him closer before he looks up again; Ianto feels an obscure, warm sense of pride in looking down to see Jack's upturned face between his breasts. They're not large, which he's endlessly grateful for, but they'll certainly do.

"You know what did this? If we had anything that could do it in the Archives then I would know. All devices that can potentially alter physiology should already be isolated anyway--"

Ianto shakes his head briefly. "It just... happens. Don't worry about it, all right? I'll be back to normal soon enough."

"This has happened before?"

"Yes. Truth or dare?"


"Jack. Will you just be as glad as I am that you decided to come back before I switched back and bloody well get on with it?" Ianto rocks down against Jack's thighs to punctuate his point.

In matters such as these, at least, Jack is easily convinced, though Ianto's sure the conversation isn't over, merely postponed. That's perfectly fine with him, because Jack is finally getting on with it, casting Ianto one final I'm not finished with you yet look before cupping Ianto's breasts in both hands, pressing them together and rubbing his face against the resulting plump of cleavage.

Ianto laughs; in amusement and relief, the anxiety that had underpinned the lead up to that conversation dissolving in anticipation of an entirely different sort. Jack's thumbs only need to swipe over Ianto's nipples the once for them to harden into tight peaks, making it that much easier for Jack to broadly lave one with his tongue, leaving it and the skin around it wet to the chill of the air when Jack bares it again; the other he closes his lips around.

"I can't believe you held out on me this long," Jack murmurs, glancing up to give Ianto a look of mild reprimand as he massages Ianto's breasts again, fingers gentle and warm until he tweaks the nipples. "We could have been doing this hours ago."

Ianto watches the proceedings with interest. He wonders idly if this is what lesbians feel like; turned on by the sight of their own body. "Which is precisely why I didn't tell you."

Well, maybe not precisely the reason, but Jack's feeling the same urgency as Ianto now; enough not to question Ianto's assertions. He leans back without warning, taking Ianto down with him; Ianto can't help but grab at his shoulders in a futile attempt at maintaining balance, and they end up with Jack flat on his back, Ianto crouched above him.

Not worth scowling over, Ianto decides as Jack tucks one hand down the back of Ianto's trousers and brushes the other along his belly, knuckles brushing against the peach-fuzz hair below Ianto's navel. The changes are all more obvious the closer Ianto gets to naked, shedding the trappings of masculinity with the suit. He doesn't have to look down to confirm it, having spent enough time unclothed in front of the mirror, examining himself until his features became more abstract than human, struggling to identify just which parts made him himself.

Jack slides his palm-flat hand into Ianto's underwear. The gesture is all eagerness with very little forethought; Jack barely has room to manoeuvre until Ianto fumbles to loosen his own belt, tearing his zipper down and leaving both flies and belt ends hanging open. Jack's fingers have just been brushing teasingly at the root of Ianto's clit; now his hand pushes further down, the length of his fingers slipping into the deep fold between clit and cunt, fingertips pressing in eagerly. Ianto hadn't realised how wet he was until Jack started touching him, fingers gliding like satin against the flesh that swells to meet him.

It's pure instinct as Ianto presses forward, pushing against the cup of Jack's palm, a shock of sensation spiking up from his clit to his belly as Jack pushes back, giving him resistance. Jack's fingertips play around the mouth of Ianto's cunt teasingly, refusing to penetrate.

He growls down at Jack, the sound lacking the chest-deep reverberation it usually has, and Jack grins in satisfaction, face flushed. Ianto shuffles his entire body forward, and Jack helps him this time, a hand at the cleft of Ianto's arse sliding around to cup a buttock, pushing Ianto's trousers out of the way and pulling him closer.

"Go on," Ianto says, gripping Jack's wrist and grinding down pointedly against his hand. "Dare, is it?"

Jack laughs and tips Ianto over onto his back, withdrawing the heat of his hands to drag Ianto's trousers down and off his feet, leaving Ianto bared to the open air when Jack follows the path back up Ianto's legs, making room for the width of his shoulders between Ianto's thighs. Jack's thumb brushes a crisp curl of pubic hair out of the way, then Jack touches the tip of his tongue to Ianto's clit very briefly. Ianto surges after it; Jack withdraws.

"Truth?" Another lick, cruelly brief. "Or dare?"

Ianto groans, throwing his arm over his eyes. "You're a sadistic bastard, you know that?"

Jack laughs again, and the puff of air is like a physical touch; Ianto feels himself contract in reaction to it. "Is that dare, then?" Jack's tongue curls around the tight scoop of skin below Ianto's cunt before slipping up the furrow and pressing his lips in an open-mouthed kiss against it.

"Yes," Ianto hisses, a shiver rolling down his spine and arching his pelvis up into Jack's face, then: "No," as he regains a modicum of control, clamping his legs around Jack's head in retribution; Jack's ears are startlingly cool against his inner thighs. "Truth," he says.


Ianto loosens the grip of his legs, letting them fall on Jack's shoulders. He looks a challenge down at Jack. "Truth."

Jack's expression shifts minutely; his features, softened by lust, more mobile than usual. He drags his lips aimlessly against Ianto's inner thigh, pushing his legs a little wider apart to nibble on the corded tendon. Ianto groans his name and Jack relents, sliding his grip to cradle the backs of Ianto's thighs, thumbs parting the lips of his sex, holding them open. He kisses it again, like it's a mouth, strong lips and seeking tongue. Ianto's panting when he draws away again, his hand clenching weakly in Jack's hair.

When he speaks, Jack sounds almost as overcome. "Did you miss me?"

It's somehow as deadly serious as Ianto's crafting of the game had been, leading to this point. The question is oddly confounding; of course Ianto missed him. Does Jack mean the sex? Jack's touching him, well on the way to making him come, but still, Jack's never touched him quite like this before. Ianto's simultaneously missed this and never felt anything like it.

"Taking an ego turn, are we?" Ianto asks as lightly as he can, buying time. The look that flits across Jack's face makes his hand tighten in Jack's hair, and he's trying to haul Jack up before his brain's processed the logistics of it. "Jack," Ianto says when Jack only makes it far enough to press his face against Ianto's midriff; words will have to do in lieu of kissing. "Yes."

Jack's mouth opens against Ianto's skin; the muscles of Ianto's abdomen tighten as Jack tries to take the rounded curve of his belly between his teeth.

Ianto attempts to push Jack's head back down to where he wants it. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"

Jack smiles up at him winsomely, then dips his head between Ianto's legs again, tongue tip tracing out every dip and fold of Ianto's new body. He shifts his hold a little, circling the yield of Ianto's cunt with the pad of his thumb before pushing it inside, and it's not enough but it's Jack; the wrinkle of knuckle, faint scrape of nail and familiar curve of the digit.

Jack's tongue laps at Ianto's clit as he pushes his thumb in further, the wider heel of it beginning a pleasant stretch before he slides it part-way out again; Ianto sucks in breath to complain but lets it out on a faint moan as Jack licks around his thumb and Ianto's clutching cunt.

Ianto can feel his heart pound all the way down through his torso, like it's tumbling around, perpetually falling as his body rocks in complement to Jack's movements; he feels breathless and ten times hotter when Jack lifts his head up again.

"You taste like coffee," Jack says, grinning up at him, pleased.

Ianto groans, torn between embarrassment at the observation and somewhat sheepish pleasure at Jack's guileless tone of delight. "I've been awake for forty hours," Ianto explains weakly, not sure if the situation even calls for an excuse or not.

Jack holds Ianto's gaze as he dips his chin down to lick again--Ianto's clit, this time, a pointed tease with the tip of his tongue, threading a hot wire of pleasure from it up through Ianto's belly. Then Jack pushes his other thumb into Ianto's cunt as well, igniting a delicate burn as he pulls it open, seemingly unable to resist pushing his tongue inside as well.

"Jack," Ianto cries and touches himself, eyes closed, fingers slipping blindly around where Jack pushes rhythmically into him, then moving back up to rub against his clit in counterpoint to it, giving a shuddering sigh of relief.

Then two slick fingers are pushing into Ianto's arse as well, Jack barely pausing before rubbing the barrier of flesh between his thumb and fingers. It's different, of course, but at first Ianto can't classify it as better or worse than usual; his body has a new jumble of nerve endings that Jack still seems able to locate with little to no difficulty, and the sensation of Jack fucking into him in more ways that one is something else entirely. Ianto's mouth gapes open as his hips rise up off the bed.

"Oh," Jack rumbles appreciatively. "I like that sound." His tongue soothes around where Ianto's fingertips are grinding against his clit, and Ianto pulls back, giving over to Jack's mouth entirely.

Jack doesn't speed up but Ianto can feel the orgasm rising nonetheless; he's finding it harder and harder to catch his breath, muscles throughout his body seizing one by one like a queue of toppling dominoes. He digs his heels into the backs of Jack's shoulders and Jack takes the hint; pushing in and out with thumbs and fingers and flicking his tongue over Ianto's clit ceaselessly. Ianto's back bows off the bed, grinding against Jack's face as his cunt and arse clamp down around the penetration, fierce waves finally, finally cresting, making him cry out in sharp bites of sound, and only then easing, at last, into a slow throb.

Jack's hands have withdrawn far enough to rest on Ianto's open thighs, tongue gently lapping at Ianto's sex.

Ianto hisses, heel scoring along the line of Jack's shoulderblade. Jack looks a question up at him.

"Foot cramp." Ianto tries to straighten out his toes, willing the taut ache to not rise any further, trying to relax the muscles up his calf and thigh.

Jack sits up and easily takes hold of Ianto's foot--all right, yes, this body is much more flexible--peeling off Ianto's sock before kissing the sole of his foot, curling his palm around the toes and gently pushing them back. He looks up. "You still have ridiculously big feet, you know."


Jack smirks, bites lightly into Ianto's arch. "Hardly."

With his foot, Ianto shoves Jack's face gently away and Jack laughs but follows the movement, sliding his grip to Ianto's ankle, ruffling the hair on the back of Ianto's calf--much finer than usual--and alerting Ianto briefly to a yet-undiscovered erogenous zone on the back of his knee before proceeding on to the back of his thigh. Ianto lets Jack do as he likes, heart still racing and body feeling in turns hypersensitive and senseless, clay-like and malleable everywhere except a deep, pulsing pleasure inside.

Ianto tips onto his side as Jack directs him, then twists around to watch Jack undress; Ianto feels a shiver of pride in the fact that he's already come and Jack's not even naked yet, a testament to how much he can hold Jack's attention, at the very least.

Jack's body's is better in reality than recollection; Ianto's eyes drift with open admiration over the dips and rises of Jack's shoulders and collarbone, Jack's chest smooth and broad, nipples dark accents on the understated definition of his pecs. Ianto follows the taper of his torso down to where Jack's already shed his trousers, Jack's hard cock standing out from his body. Ianto's eyes flick down to take in the powerful, spread thighs, the darker fuzz of hair over them and Jack's balls.

Jack poses for Ianto a little longer, his smile softening in lust.

I dare you, Ianto says with a languid lift of his eyebrow when Jack meets his eyes again.

Jack's cock is hot against the back of Ianto's thigh when he surges forward, and his mouth tastes of Ianto's cunt, foreign and familiar all at once and they both moan into the kiss, the stroke of their tongues slick and messy with the awkward angle. Jack's hand can't seem to settle; cupping and squeezing Ianto's breast, tugging gently at the hair between Ianto's legs, slipping his fingers over smooth skin. He rocks his hips forward and the feel of his hard cock is electric; Ianto wants it with sudden desperation, wants to touch Jack's cock with his hands, his mouth, wants to taste it. "Jack--"

Jack shushes him, and Ianto would be offended except Jack is pushing his cock between the press of Ianto's thighs. It slips easily into the slick space, shaft sliding hotly against the wet lips of Ianto's sex, even hotter when Jack restrains him, holds Ianto's leg in place when he aches to draw it up, give Jack more room.

It's filthy in the mixed signals of its innocence; no penetration but enough contact with the length of Jack's cock that Ianto squirms involuntarily down against it, squeezing his thighs together. Jack groans and thrusts forward abruptly. Ianto sucks in a breath, the banked coals of arousal flaring again.

Jack's cock nudges just barely against his clit and the urge to spread open for it is overwhelming. The pressure of Jack's other hand on Ianto's thigh restricts him, so instead Ianto reaches down himself, rubbing the tip of Jack's cock with his fingers, scooping it up to nestle in the top fold of his sex. It directs the impact of Jack's thrusts right where Ianto wants it, and he holds Jack's cock in place with the light pressure of his fingers on the slick underside of the head.

Jack huffs against Ianto's jaw and slides two fingers into Ianto's mouth; the taste of salt and sex caught in the grooves of Jack's fingerprints make Ianto's mouth fill with saliva. He gnaws down around them and rocks his hips back against Jack's, bucking against Jack's cock and the resulting rush of pleasure.

He pulls Jack's hand away from his mouth, swallowing down the last traces of flavour. Reluctantly, he stills the movement of his body, relinquishing his guiding touch on Jack's cock and then pushing Jack off as well. Jack looks drunk, and Ianto can't help but kiss him again as he twists his upper body around again, tongue thrusting into Jack's slack mouth before Jack closes his lips around it in challenge.

"Before you go any further," Ianto says, squeezing his thighs together briefly around Jack's cock, making Jack's eyelids flutter. His inner thighs are slippery with his own moisture; he's beyond ready to fuck. "There's a condom in my jacket pocket."

Jack groans in a way that Ianto knows indicates a profound reluctance to divert the course of Jack's sexual gratification. Unmoved, Ianto elbows Jack away and crawls across the bed, the hotel room small enough that hopefully, he won't even have to leave it in order to reach his jacket.

He's barely halfway there when Jack's hands on his hips stop him, and-- "Jack." Ianto tries to sound commanding, but it comes out as a whine, unexpectedly highly pitched.

Jack draws him back, knees pushing Ianto's legs apart and hands spreading him open. The cool air on Ianto's sex makes him very unhelpfully boneless. "No," Jack says before Ianto can speak again. "Just--this--" His wet thumb rubs over Ianto's arsehole and then the broad, slick head of Jack's cock is pushing against it instead. "Meet your approval?" Jack asks, and his tone would no doubt be self-satisfied if he had the breath for it because he knows just how far he can push Ianto, and in what direction; it's all part of the game.

Ianto makes a garbled sound that Jack correctly interprets as a yes, please then pulls Ianto back onto his cock; Ianto's flesh yields around the intrusion even as the muscles of his cunt grasp at nothing, involuntary and desperate. His thighs tremble, bracketing Jack's, and he can't make the muscles of his arms hold him up any longer, all intent and energy spent on angling his hips helpfully into Jack's grip.

Jack folds forward over him, panting against the back of Ianto's neck; Ianto reveling in the cling and pull of Jack's damp chest against his curved back.

"Always have to be different, don't you?" Ianto's aiming for dry, but his voice comes out husky with strain.

Jack laughs soundlessly, just a smear of teeth against the back of Ianto's neck. "Hardly. I've been waiting to do this for..." He nudges his hips forward, pushing incrementally further into Ianto's arse and Ianto squeezes his eyes closed at the surge of heat that pulses through him at the movement. "Well, I've been waiting for you to fuck me, but I guess that's going to have to wait a little bit longer."

Ianto's sex throbs with the force of his want, pleasure spiking through from the root of his clit, untouched as it is. Jack straightens again and hauls Ianto with him until he's kneeling back on his heels, Ianto astride his lap and Jack's cock fully seated inside him. It's bigger than he remembers, hard and straight, an iron rod forcing magnetic resistance with the base of Ianto's spine, as if he has to find just the right angle to make it all click. His back arches, mouth dropping open and head falling back against Jack's shoulder. Jack pushes up in a rhythm that's almost gentle, Ianto's body loosening with every stroke until he's rocking into it as well, thighs trembling with the effort of movement.

Jack's hands are a hot weight on his hips; Ianto grasps them and pulls them up to his breasts where the comparative roughness of Jack's skin is more welcome. Jack obediently cups his hands around them, kneading lightly under Ianto's hold before Ianto arranges Jack's fingers around a nipple, closing the grip and showing Jack just how hard to pull.

Jack kisses along the side of Ianto's neck, stirring the sweaty hair at Ianto's nape with the force of his breath, gliding the sharp edge of his teeth against at the taut muscle. "I dare you to touch yourself," he says into Ianto's ear, nipping at the lobe.

Ianto's hand drops between his legs before he's even consciously processed the challenge, beyond self-consciousness as the first brush of his fingers draws a helpless whimper from his throat. He flattens his fingers, hips bucking briefly as the top of his palm brushes against the protruding nub of his clit, fingers slipping between the swollen lips to dip into the wet yield of his cunt. Then he reaches down further to touch the sensitive stretch of his arse around Jack's cock, and the cock itself; stroking his slick fingers around the base of it as far as he can reach, revelling in its heat and hardness even as he grinds back down onto it, grasping it deep inside his body.

Jack makes a noise close to a yell and jerks up, fucking the breath out of Ianto, and for a moment the only thing holding him upright is Jack's firm grip on his breasts.

"Touch yourself," Jack rasps, and Ianto obeys, the dripping wet of his cunt making it easy to push three fingers in, complicating the rhythm of Jack's fucking when he squirms his hips around to accommodate the new rush of sensation. The inside of his body is silken, clinging; his fingers are immediately glued together, and shifting his hand around makes a wet sound that has Jack biting down on Ianto's shoulder. Ianto curls his fingers up and starts to push them in and out; matching the pumping of his hand to the beat of Jack's cock is new and brilliant. He slides his thumb up to touch his clit. Pressing against the hard nub is almost painful but he perseveres, rubbing it relentlessly, complementing the perfect tug and twist of Jack's fingers on his nipples.

Ianto can feel the orgasm rising, twisting up through him. The movement of his body from the anchor point of Jack's cock is almost sinuous, screwing himself down onto it and rocking forward onto his own fingers. Jack relinquishes hold on one of his breasts and Ianto watches his hand insinuate itself between Ianto's legs and stretch the mouth of Ianto's cunt wider, pushing another finger amidst the folded jumble of Ianto's.

Ianto's body bucks, movement speeding into gracelessness. His head grinds briefly back on Jack's shoulder before his spine curves in the opposite direction, hunching forward. It's as if there are threads sewn through his body, connecting his clit, nipples, cunt, arse... even his neck (and his mouth too, as he gasps and wishes for Jack's fingers again), and he jerks in response to every touch. The sensation knots tight and Jack gasps his name and thrusts up harshly, fingers digging hard into Ianto's breast and Ianto's entire body is tightening, pulling in on itself.

The orgasm burns away the last vestiges of Ianto's control, pleasure pounding through his body as it seizes. The plateau of tension holds his body taut for long moments even as the grip on Jack's cock is convulsive, Jack thrusts up jerkily into him, crushing Ianto back against his chest as he comes. Then they're both tumbling shakily down the other side; Ianto can feel Jack's heartbeat pounding against his back like he's just run a marathon, matching the fluttering beat he feels clamped around his own fingers.

Finally, the grip of his body slows and he withdraws his fingers from the ache of his cunt. Jack eases him up and off, freeing his cock, and Ianto groans as another shiver of unexpected pleasure takes him. Ianto's thighs tremble as he collapses back onto the bed; sensation still pulsing out through his body from between his legs, slick with Jack's come and his own wet. He should do something about it, but the thought of touching himself--even closing his legs--is too much.

"Truth," Jack says. The word is unexpected amidst their panting.

Ianto turns his head enough to look at Jack's face, surprised, but Jack's eyes are closed, a faintly beatific smile curving his mouth. Ianto wonders if Jack's been away so long that he's forgotten the rules. Surely not.

When Ianto doesn't answer Jack rolls towards him, slipping an arm across Ianto's waist and throwing a leg over his thighs; welcome warmth and weight. Muscles are still contracting sporadically across Ianto's body--the term aftershocks has never seemed so appropriate before--and he stretches, trying to shrug it off and get comfortable beneath Jack's limbs. He feels simultaneously energised, like he could come again, and utterly wrung out.

Jack affectionately captures one of Ianto's nipples in his mouth again; they're soft now but a little sore, and when Ianto jerks at the stimulation Jack's mouth gentles further, tonguing and sucking carefully. It's only half in retribution that Ianto reaches down to stroke Jack's cock where it lies soft against Ianto's thigh. Jack shudders in response, lips pressing briefly harder against Ianto's breast. Ianto rubs his fingertips soothingly against the back of Jack's neck. The hair on Jack's nape is fine, curling with the damp of sweat, and a surge of tenderness lodges itself beneath Ianto's breastbone. He pets the velvet skin of Jack's cock, cupping it against his thigh, wanting in the idle wander of afterglow thoughts, to hold it in his mouth.

Or cunt, of course. He still wants it, despite the remaining twinge of soreness between his legs--or perhaps because of it. He feels raw and wet with Jack's come and his own, but he still wants Jack to fuck him. Maybe even right now, his body hinting at an endless queue of orgasms just waiting to be called up. After living in anxiety of being discovered, uncovered, for weeks, suddenly he doesn't want to put clothes on ever again.

Jack's hand closes around his wrist, pulling Ianto's hand away from his cock. He takes his mouth off Ianto's breast to kiss Ianto's fingers, drawing the tips briefly into his mouth, and for a moment Ianto's body forgets it doesn't have a cock, if the surge of physical desire in his loins is anything to go by. Jack looks up at him, eyebrow cocked as if he knows exactly why Ianto's breath just hitched.

"Come on. Truth," Jack murmurs again.

Ianto finds himself abruptly irritated in a petulant sort of way; not just because Jack's breaking the rules by continuing the game into the afterglow but because--well. Of course he wants to know, but he doesn't want to have to ask. Doesn't want the only reason Jack's letting anything slip to be because his hand is forced by the game. And Ianto doesn't want the truth anyway, so much as to know what Jack wants to tell him. Ianto's not even sure he knows the right questions to ask.

Still. The way that Jack's looking at him now--patient and a little wry but not pinned down, not reluctant... Maybe Ianto will have time to find out just what to ask, if this is the only way Jack will give him answers (and willingly, the anticipation taking root in Ianto's chest isn't about to underestimate that).

In the meantime, Ianto stretches out on the bed, making a show if it, reminding Jack of just what he left behind, and then he asks, slyly, "Did you miss me?"