Title: Work Hours
Fandom/Pairing: TW, Jack/Ianto
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Jack attempts to understand Ianto logic. Smut ensues.
Disclaimer: Not mine

„Kiss me," Jack said, before Ianto went down to the archives.

"Work hours," Ianto admonished, and left.

Jack frowned. He didn't like that. Ianto always said that. Work hours. It was vaguely ridiculous, really. So ridiculous that it warranted a good half hour of staring into space contemplating the issue rather than doing paperwork, it turned out.

He followed Ianto into the archives when he had thought for long enough. Ianto was cataloguing recent gifts the Rift had bestowed them with- Aisle three, cauldron to caution, mucking about in the cauliflower section.

Aliens were weird.

Ianto looked up when he heard Jack approach, smiled at him, that little mischievous smirk that fired Jack up like little else. He grabbed Ianto by the upper arms, pushed him back against the wall and kissed him breathless.

Ianto moaned, melting into Jack, arms wrapping around him as their bodies pressed together tightly. "Jack," he breathed out against Jack's lips. Jack thrust his hips up against Ianto's and Ianto moaned again, already hard against him.

"You want?" Jack breathed into his ear, nipping at the lobe.

"You know I do," Ianto answered, fingers slipping under Jack's shirt to trace the lines of his muscles.

Within seconds, they were on the floor and mostly naked, rolling over each other, kissing, biting, groaning.

"Jack," Ianto growled out as Jack sucked a hickey under his collarbone.

"Hm?" Jack asked.

"Quit with the foreplay, fuck me." With a movement that not only brushed their cocks together in a way that made Jack see little shiny things floating behind his eyelids but also got his legs wrapped around Jack, Ianto turned them over so he was on top, face just millimetres from Jack.

Jack growled, kissed him harshly, grabbed the lube from his pants pocket in the pile of clothes beside them, and just went for it.

Ianto ended up on his back again at some point, head thrown back as Jack entered him, sweat beading, mouth open, gasping in air.

"Yes," Jack vaguely knew he was saying. "Yes."

"More," Ianto said.

"Greedy…fucker…" Jack growled out as they settled into something that was barely a rhythm, hard and fast and so fucking good it was destined to end quickly.

And it did, with Ianto reaching between them, jerking himself off, moaning, clenching, coming, euphoric expression on his face, and how could Jack resist that? Within seconds, he was releasing inside Ianto, arms buckling, unable to hold up his weight anymore, dropping to the floor half on half off Ianto, cock slipping out of him.

After a few minutes of afterglow he reached blindly for Ianto's coat, because he had tissues, he always did, and sat up. Wiped the come from Ianto's torso gently. Ianto's thighs were still quivering with tension, and he hadn't bothered moving, his hole was still exposed, trickling out Jack's come, and if Jack hadn't been way too exhausted that would have stopped them from leaving the archives ever again they'd get so caught up in a cycle of fuck and admire, fuck and admire.

"I don't get it," he said dully instead.

"What?" Ianto asked, accent roughened as always by exertion and drowsiness.

"It. You wouldn't kiss me, but you don't mind doing this during work hours."

Ianto blushed delicately, and Jack thought idly that he rather wanted a cuddle.

"Why not?" Jack asked.

Ianto struggled up to a sitting position, scrambled about for his clothes. Gave himself reasons not to look at Jack. "The others expect we're doing this during work hours," he said.

"…and?" Jack asked. Was he stupid or was it just weird 21st century logic?

"They don't expect the other stuff. The…the kissing and the affection." Ianto said, still not looking at Jack.

"So you're saying you want to fulfil their expectations?"

"No. I'm saying I want that for myself, something that's not part of Torchwood," Ianto said quietly, bit his lip, stared at the ground while Jack tried to decipher that, then kissed Jack briefly, chastely, and left.

Oddly enough, Jack found himself sitting on the archive floor with a really dumb expression listening to small animals flutter and frolic in his stomach.

How strange.