He lets himself be turned into the kiss, bucking into Ianto's hand as his grip coaxes him onward. His touch is hot, fuels John's desire coiling desire. It's simple, far from revelatory or world-changing sex but it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because John is sticking to the sheets with sweat anyway, is digging his heels into them to try and brace himself and he wants this. He wants anything Ianto will give him, like a man in the desert in search of water John is hanging on to any drop of sustenance he can get.

His muscles begin to go tense, and John breaks the kiss with a gasp -- curls fingers into Ianto's skin and bucks into his hand again.

"Ianto," he says again, but this time there's a note of warning to it. John's not sure how long he can take such quick, decisive stimulation. If that's what Ianto intends then fine, but if it isn't he should back up a little.