"Was the part where I'm undressing you not a clue?"
He feels it should have been a pretty solid clue. Fingers fumble open Ianto's belt and then John is beginning to paw open his jeans too, rubbing the heel of his hand against Ianto through them before trying to shift layers around to get his hand inside them. Ianto is warm and so close, so nice to just run his hands over. John can't help a momentary fantasy of the man writhing under him, of how he'd look spread out. Of how he'd feel.
John surges up into another kiss, this one a little more eager, and begins to coax him more to life with firm, efficient touches.
Whatever hesitation John might have had in the Central is certainly missing now. Ianto's hands tighten against John's shoulders and he reaches for him, fisting his hand back into the other man's hair as he moans softly into the kiss.
John doesn't need to work very hard to get a response from him. It's no secret that Ianto wants him too, after all. Of course, now that John really is touching him, he's a little bit stunned as to how to react. All reason shocked from his mind at the touch of John's lips to his mouth and the press of his hand -- somewhat lower.
He breaks free from the kiss again, after a few moments, and tucks his face against John's shoulder. Catching his breath and gathering his thoughts before he circles his hand around to tug at the zipper at the front of John's shirt, pressing his lips against the freshly exposed skin of his neck as he does.
He's vaguely aware of the fact that he's one, far too over-dressed for how warm he's starting to feel, and two, wearing quite possibly the most unflattering thermal underwear and John is about to become intimately aware of that fact as well. He gropes for something, anything to say in his defense, but his brain seems to be a bit otherwise preoccupied.
John lets out a huff of amusement as Ianto shoves his face into his neck, one that descends into quiet shakes of laughter as he paws through layers of clothing. There's just something about Ianto, about his gentle fussiness and grouchiness, that is charmingly endearing. John wants to hold onto him and make sure he never feels unwanted again.
"You taste like fish," John teases, and then tightens his arms around Ianto for a moment to make sure he knows he doesn't care before he pushes back off the bed -- drops to his knees and begins more roughly dragging down his jeans. He hits the thermal layer and smiles up at Ianto, hooks his fingers under it and begins working it down to try and find some skin to pay attention to.
There's something about your partner laughing in the middle of feeling you up that is decidedly unsexy, Ianto determines. That, followed up with the comment about how he tastes like his chowder and fish sandwich (the latter of which he half realizes is half-finished and forgotten on the bed somewhere beside him), rather makes him feel like crawling into a deep, dark hole for a while.
It's the motion of John dropping down off the edge of the bed in front of him that has him staying put right where he is, though. Leaning back on his hands to brace himself on the bed and shifting his hips so that John has better access to tug his jeans down, flushing brightly in response to the smile that John gives him as his thermal underwear is exposed.
"Listen, I..." he makes his best attempt to say. "It's cold out there, you know. Some of us mere mortals aren't -- acclimated to these extremes..."
He laughs again, a less restrained laugh -- a low, rough sort of sound as he tugs Ianto's jeans down further and peels down his thermal layer.
"Mere mortals," he repeats, and smiles up at him as he finally exposes some skin. "Pretty sure I'm mortal too, Jones."
For that matter, he's pretty sure they're both very aware of that. He settles himself in between Ianto's legs, begins kissing at patches of exposed thigh and running his hands over them. Nuzzling his face into his hip to see if he can coax him into responding.
"I'll keep you warm," he murmurs, even though Ianto feels like he's already warming up without much help.
He rather is aware of John's mortality, yes. But that experience is about the furthest thing from his mind that it can be right now, as the other man eases the thermals further down his legs and settles between his thighs in front of him. Ianto has to look away from him after a moment, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling and let out some slow, deep breaths. His own embarrassment with his body warring inside him with the overwhelming wave of desire for how much he wants this. I'll keep you warm, John says, and he's right. Ianto's pretty sure he could cook an egg on his face alone just now, if he tried.
"Christ..." He shifts after a moment, moving to struggle his way out of the fleece jacket that John had unzipped but never quite actually pushed off of his shoulders. He's too damn hot, the whole room is too hot -- if John only knew what he's doing to him already, he thinks to himself, helplessly.
John smiles and draws back a little as Ianto struggles out of his fleece, skims his own off over his head and lets his black t-shirt follow it -- dumps them on the ground and grabs up the bottle he discarded earlier. He unscrews the cap and takes a swig -- holds it out to Ianto and squeezes his thigh gently with his other hand.
"You okay?"
Since he just started moving, really, didn't stop to ask. He doesn't think Ianto is in any way not into this but he might need a minute or two. Might prefer something else, for that matter, to John between his legs this way. Which is fine, he can adapt.
Ianto lets out the bark of a laugh at John's question and following offer of more alcohol. Alright, so he is a bit worked up, he can see that. He doesn't mean to -- everything seems to work in stops and starts with John so far at least, and it's not that Ianto's complaining exactly. It's just taking him a moment to wrap his head around the fact that actually yes, John's interested. Interested enough to be kneeling in front of him with clear intentions of going down on him, in fact.
"I'm -- I'm fine," he manages, knowing that he doesn't sound very convincing as he does. To hell with it. He reaches for the bottle John's holding out to him, tipping back a healthy swallow or two. "I'm fine." There, much better. "Just. Just give me a minute." So he doesn't punctuate this moment with a spectacular premature finale and pretty much put the icing on the cake of his embarrassment for the day.
He knocks back another mouthful of the alcohol, giving himself a moment to take a couple of deep breaths before he hands it back and reaches for him. Tugging John in close with a hand cupped around the back of his neck to pull him into a hungry kiss. Shifting to sit forward to the edge of the bed, grappling his hands across the bare skin of John's back to drag him closer, to press against him. He needs to give himself a moment to touch and feel and taste in turn before John pulls back again out of reach or else he might go mad with the sensation of it all, so he figures he can at least allow himself this. Fish breath be damned.
He lets himself be pulled up, reaches out to carefully take the bottle from Ianto before it spills and sets it to one side. Then John's hands move up to skim under Ianto's tops, to paw at his stomach and around to his back. The feel of his muscles twitching only heightens how much John wants him, wants to make him squirm and he pulls back again after a moment -- presses kisses down Ianto's neck and mouths at his pulse.
"I want you," he murmurs, and he's pretty sure there's no ambiguity in there. "Let me do this."
Or, at least, let him try. He reaches down and teases his fingers along the inside of Ianto's thighs, waiting for permission to go back to what he was doing a moment ago.
Ianto palms at his back for another moment, kneading against the solid warmth of muscle he finds there -- god, his skin feels so good underneath his hands, he has to wonder how it would feel pressed against his, but that can come at another time. He lets himself believe that there will be another time, running his hand up John's back and through his hair before he nods against the side of his head.
"Yes," he replies in turn, somewhat breathlessly -- he's being very distracting. "God, yes. You'll not hear a complaint from me." Like he would ever say no to the tease of John's fingers on his bare skin or the promise of his mouth pressing down there as well. The idea that he wants this -- he wants it? -- sending quiet shocks of pleasure straight through him all on its own.
Good. Good, because John wouldn't want to turn back now. He slinks back down to his knees again and begins kissing along his thigh, takes him in hand and steels himself against any waves of panic. This is something he's not exactly experienced in, but he wants to try. He wants to taste Ianto and see him squirm, to see him come undone.
His head lowers and John begins mouthing at soft, sensitive skin -- teasing the base of his shaft and trying to let his mind quiet of anything else. To just focus on the taste of it, the feel of Ianto in his hand and the heat of him.
Ianto forces himself to sit back and let John take over most of the action again. It's not really a scenario that lends itself to much participation on his end, but John doesn't seem to mind that much. Ianto's breath catching slightly as he mouths his way towards his arousal. He hardly needs to do much to get him going, the sight of John alone -- kneeling shirtless between his legs, mouth and hands intent on pleasuring him -- is enough to have him aching.
He reaches out to run a hand through John's hair, already mussed from his attention earlier, splaying his fingers across the back of his neck to hold that contact with him as he does.
"Tease," Ianto grinds out, a little playfully though there's something of a warning in his tone. He won't be able to take too much of that. Not when he wants this as bad as he does.
The hands in his hair and on his neck help, they soothe him and help him narrow his focus to what he's doing. He hears the edge to Ianto's tone, though, and there's something gratifying about how he's barely had to put effort in to get him so aroused. John lifts his eyes to study his expression a moment, drinking in the flush on Ianto's cheeks and the dilation of his eyes as he slowly works his shaft with one hand. He's gorgeous like this, and it's difficult to believe Ianto really thinks nobody would want him when everything about him is perfect to John. Thermal layering included.
Then he's squaring himself up, taking Ianto into his mouth and working the base of his shaft with firm, insistent motions.
He meets John's eyes as the other man pulls back, and he can only imagine what he must look like to him in return. He quite enjoys how John looks himself though. His hair mussed from his continued attention, his own eyes dark with arousal and focus, and his mouth reddened already from their continued kissing and the use of his mouth against Ianto's own skin.
And then John lowers his mouth over him and it's too much to sit still and watch. His fingers tighten against the back of John's neck and it's all he can do not to push up into his mouth or press John's head down further against him. Instead he leans himself back into the bed against his other hand, tilting his head back and letting out a slow breath, cursing softly as he does.
His fingers flex into Ianto's thigh and John makes a muffled, low sound of pleasure as Ianto's fingers grip him tighter. John is not exactly a porn star, he's sloppy but clearly putting in effort -- keeping his hand working Ianto as he pulls back every so often to catch his breath and wet his lips again. He's not about to try and fancily deep-throat Ianto or something he's pretty sure he can't do, but he can give him enough attention to coax him over the edge. That's all he needs, Ianto to give in and let go. He lets his fingers flex into the tense muscle of Ianto's thigh again, then moves his hand to drag his nails along it slowly.
Ianto doesn't really need John to be a porn star, or to pull off all the fancy tricks that honestly Jack might have, in order to send him careening towards the edge. All of that is well and good but all he needs is the attention. Attention from John, this proof that the other man really does desire him -- a man could fake such a thing in a kiss, but there's no way to fake it going down on him like this. Not a man like John who seems to wear everything on his face, at any rate. And then there's the simple fact that no one has touched him for the better part of what must be a year now, and he's twenty-four years old and in the prime of his life and it honestly really isn't going to take much.
John flexes his fingers against his thigh, dragging his nails along the line of his skin there and Ianto nearly jumps out of his skin. It's all he can do to stop himself from thrusting his hips forward to seek out that final pleasure that the other man's mouth and hand are promising. Tightening his hand against John's neck and arching under the building pleasure instead, he lets out a long, low moan that ends in the other man's name. Another warning. This really won't take much. Distantly, he hopes that John's alright with that. Distantly, he's glad he's made it this far.
John can feel the tension mounting in Ianto, and that's what he wants after all. He wants Ianto to moan his name this way, to paw for him, to tense up and then finally let go. Just a little more, maybe, a little more and he might spill over.
He pulls off again to wet his lips, keeps pumping his hand for a second then takes Ianto into his mouth again and tries to work his tongue against him. His hand drifts from where he'd been flexing it into the man's thigh to cup and tease at soft skin, then to reach up and drag nails over his stomach to see if he's as sensitive there.
He is a bit sensitive there, though as worked up as he is he's pretty sensitive just about anywhere John might think of touching him. The muscles in Ianto's stomach jump at the brush of John's fingernails across his skin and he forces himself to roll his head down to look at the other man, catch a glimpse of him as he works him with mouth and hand. An action that almost proves to be his undoing right there and then.
He tightens his hand in John's hair, groaning and arching back into the press of his tongue. He can feel his breath catching in his chest, his body nearing that edge and he can't help a slight, involuntary jerk of his hips as he moves to try and pull the other man away.
"John," he all but begs, "if you don't--" If he doesn't want to finish this off with his mouth then he had better change his tactics sooner rather than later.
John isn't sure what he wouldn't want to do. What he wants is Ianto to fall apart, to keep jerking up into his mouth. He pulls off again as Ianto tries to tug him away, lofts an eyebrow at him with his hand still moving. Then he flicks him a smile, drops to take him back into his mouth and swallows him down -- massaging his thigh encouragingly to coax him into relaxing and giving in as he tries to bob down to take more of him in.
He had tried to warn John, to be fair. Tried to warn him how close he is, and that it wouldn't take much to bring him that much further over the edge. John smiles at him and for a moment he thinks that means he's about to switch this up then -- and in a way he's right, although it's to intensify his attentions instead. Ianto cries out, bucking his hips forward into John's mouth with the surprise of the movement.
He fists his hand in the other man's hair again and means to tug him back but in the end he just mostly ends up hanging on, grinding out the other man's name as he feels his body tightening. It's the only warning he can give before he spills over with a sudden gasp, arching back against the bed and fisting his hand in the blankets there. Doing his best not to thrust too hard into the other man's mouth though unable to help his desperate rocking completely as he finishes.
Ianto thrusts up and John nearly chokes in surprise at the motion, holds down one of his legs to try and limit his movement as he nurses him through. It's gratifying to feel him squirm and arch, to feel his body twitching through the pleasure, and John doesn't mind so much that it means he's being tugged around a little in the process. He pulls back finally as Ianto settles and runs the back of a hand over his mouth -- coughs a moment as he tries to recover and takes another swig from the bottle to settle himself.
Then John gets to his feet, wobbles a little at the change of height now that the alcohol has had time to really settle and moves to slip back onto the bed -- setting the alcohol back on the side table carefully so he has both hands free to reach for Ianto.
"Alright," he begins -- voice still rough sounding. "Did I prove my point?"
Ianto waits until John is settled again before he reaches for the other man in return. The spark of pleasure still singing along his veins and the hum of the alcohol mingling with it enough to keep him from minding that he's still half-undressed as he tugs John into a fierce kiss with a firm hand around the back of his head. He can taste himself on the other man's lips and he has to pull back to catch his breath far sooner than he might have if not for the fact that he's still breathless from before.
"You did," he agrees, tucking his head into the crook of the other man's neck. "You did, you ridiculous..." He trails off, reaching up to run another hand through the other man's hair then down across his chest. Pinching his fingers across a nipple, stroking them along the span of his abs. Mouthing the edge of John's jaw as he works his way down the length of John's body to stroke him through his trousers. "Let me--..."
Edited (needed more chest pawing) 2018-08-17 00:10 (UTC)
John will happily let Ianto do just about anything. He's drunk enough to be malleable, easily pushed around like a loose-limbed doll. The touches make him sigh contently as the other man tucks his face into his neck, twitching and letting out a gentle hiss as his nipples are pinched before Ianto's hands venture lower. Let me, he prompts, and John flops backwards across the bed in a vague attempt to help.
"Not stopping you," he replies, and his voice may still be scratchy but John sounds like he's already pretty satisfied even with just this much attention.
He lets out the huff of a laugh as John flops back onto his back and leaves him to it. Not that he doesn't appreciate how cooperative the other man is being -- far from it, of course. But it just amuses him how pliant he is in return (and surprises him a little as well, if he's being honest, though he is certainly not complaining).
Ianto strokes his hand in place for a moment longer before pushing himself up to kneel over him. Lowering himself down to mouth his way down his chest as he pauses to fumble with John's gun belt. Pausing to raise his head as he realizes that John isn't wearing one belt, but two, and that he's going to need to look at what he's doing to understand how they all fit together.
He frowns, tugging at it for emphasis before he comments, "You may not be personally..." But this is certainly a road block. He undoes the first snap of the gun belt, which he thinks is the right way to go about it all but he's honestly not sure. He's never really paid attention to how John put it all on before.
John laughs again, a harsh, low, rough sounding sort of laugh before he slowly sits himself back up -- swaying a little before he steadies himself against Ianto and begins undoing the buckles around his legs. He leans forward to catch Ianto's lips in a gentle kiss, then undoes the last buckle and carefully moves his belt and gun to the floor.
"How's that?" he prompts, and loops his arms around Ianto to haul him up -- burrows his face into his neck and sighs contently at the closeness.
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He feels it should have been a pretty solid clue. Fingers fumble open Ianto's belt and then John is beginning to paw open his jeans too, rubbing the heel of his hand against Ianto through them before trying to shift layers around to get his hand inside them. Ianto is warm and so close, so nice to just run his hands over. John can't help a momentary fantasy of the man writhing under him, of how he'd look spread out. Of how he'd feel.
John surges up into another kiss, this one a little more eager, and begins to coax him more to life with firm, efficient touches.
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John doesn't need to work very hard to get a response from him. It's no secret that Ianto wants him too, after all. Of course, now that John really is touching him, he's a little bit stunned as to how to react. All reason shocked from his mind at the touch of John's lips to his mouth and the press of his hand -- somewhat lower.
He breaks free from the kiss again, after a few moments, and tucks his face against John's shoulder. Catching his breath and gathering his thoughts before he circles his hand around to tug at the zipper at the front of John's shirt, pressing his lips against the freshly exposed skin of his neck as he does.
He's vaguely aware of the fact that he's one, far too over-dressed for how warm he's starting to feel, and two, wearing quite possibly the most unflattering thermal underwear and John is about to become intimately aware of that fact as well. He gropes for something, anything to say in his defense, but his brain seems to be a bit otherwise preoccupied.
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"You taste like fish," John teases, and then tightens his arms around Ianto for a moment to make sure he knows he doesn't care before he pushes back off the bed -- drops to his knees and begins more roughly dragging down his jeans. He hits the thermal layer and smiles up at Ianto, hooks his fingers under it and begins working it down to try and find some skin to pay attention to.
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It's the motion of John dropping down off the edge of the bed in front of him that has him staying put right where he is, though. Leaning back on his hands to brace himself on the bed and shifting his hips so that John has better access to tug his jeans down, flushing brightly in response to the smile that John gives him as his thermal underwear is exposed.
"Listen, I..." he makes his best attempt to say. "It's cold out there, you know. Some of us mere mortals aren't -- acclimated to these extremes..."
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"Mere mortals," he repeats, and smiles up at him as he finally exposes some skin. "Pretty sure I'm mortal too, Jones."
For that matter, he's pretty sure they're both very aware of that. He settles himself in between Ianto's legs, begins kissing at patches of exposed thigh and running his hands over them. Nuzzling his face into his hip to see if he can coax him into responding.
"I'll keep you warm," he murmurs, even though Ianto feels like he's already warming up without much help.
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"Christ..." He shifts after a moment, moving to struggle his way out of the fleece jacket that John had unzipped but never quite actually pushed off of his shoulders. He's too damn hot, the whole room is too hot -- if John only knew what he's doing to him already, he thinks to himself, helplessly.
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"You okay?"
Since he just started moving, really, didn't stop to ask. He doesn't think Ianto is in any way not into this but he might need a minute or two. Might prefer something else, for that matter, to John between his legs this way. Which is fine, he can adapt.
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"I'm -- I'm fine," he manages, knowing that he doesn't sound very convincing as he does. To hell with it. He reaches for the bottle John's holding out to him, tipping back a healthy swallow or two. "I'm fine." There, much better. "Just. Just give me a minute." So he doesn't punctuate this moment with a spectacular premature finale and pretty much put the icing on the cake of his embarrassment for the day.
He knocks back another mouthful of the alcohol, giving himself a moment to take a couple of deep breaths before he hands it back and reaches for him. Tugging John in close with a hand cupped around the back of his neck to pull him into a hungry kiss. Shifting to sit forward to the edge of the bed, grappling his hands across the bare skin of John's back to drag him closer, to press against him. He needs to give himself a moment to touch and feel and taste in turn before John pulls back again out of reach or else he might go mad with the sensation of it all, so he figures he can at least allow himself this. Fish breath be damned.
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"I want you," he murmurs, and he's pretty sure there's no ambiguity in there. "Let me do this."
Or, at least, let him try. He reaches down and teases his fingers along the inside of Ianto's thighs, waiting for permission to go back to what he was doing a moment ago.
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"Yes," he replies in turn, somewhat breathlessly -- he's being very distracting. "God, yes. You'll not hear a complaint from me." Like he would ever say no to the tease of John's fingers on his bare skin or the promise of his mouth pressing down there as well. The idea that he wants this -- he wants it? -- sending quiet shocks of pleasure straight through him all on its own.
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His head lowers and John begins mouthing at soft, sensitive skin -- teasing the base of his shaft and trying to let his mind quiet of anything else. To just focus on the taste of it, the feel of Ianto in his hand and the heat of him.
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He reaches out to run a hand through John's hair, already mussed from his attention earlier, splaying his fingers across the back of his neck to hold that contact with him as he does.
"Tease," Ianto grinds out, a little playfully though there's something of a warning in his tone. He won't be able to take too much of that. Not when he wants this as bad as he does.
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Then he's squaring himself up, taking Ianto into his mouth and working the base of his shaft with firm, insistent motions.
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And then John lowers his mouth over him and it's too much to sit still and watch. His fingers tighten against the back of John's neck and it's all he can do not to push up into his mouth or press John's head down further against him. Instead he leans himself back into the bed against his other hand, tilting his head back and letting out a slow breath, cursing softly as he does.
"Christ..."
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John flexes his fingers against his thigh, dragging his nails along the line of his skin there and Ianto nearly jumps out of his skin. It's all he can do to stop himself from thrusting his hips forward to seek out that final pleasure that the other man's mouth and hand are promising. Tightening his hand against John's neck and arching under the building pleasure instead, he lets out a long, low moan that ends in the other man's name. Another warning. This really won't take much. Distantly, he hopes that John's alright with that. Distantly, he's glad he's made it this far.
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He pulls off again to wet his lips, keeps pumping his hand for a second then takes Ianto into his mouth again and tries to work his tongue against him. His hand drifts from where he'd been flexing it into the man's thigh to cup and tease at soft skin, then to reach up and drag nails over his stomach to see if he's as sensitive there.
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He tightens his hand in John's hair, groaning and arching back into the press of his tongue. He can feel his breath catching in his chest, his body nearing that edge and he can't help a slight, involuntary jerk of his hips as he moves to try and pull the other man away.
"John," he all but begs, "if you don't--" If he doesn't want to finish this off with his mouth then he had better change his tactics sooner rather than later.
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John isn't sure what he wouldn't want to do. What he wants is Ianto to fall apart, to keep jerking up into his mouth. He pulls off again as Ianto tries to tug him away, lofts an eyebrow at him with his hand still moving. Then he flicks him a smile, drops to take him back into his mouth and swallows him down -- massaging his thigh encouragingly to coax him into relaxing and giving in as he tries to bob down to take more of him in.
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He fists his hand in the other man's hair again and means to tug him back but in the end he just mostly ends up hanging on, grinding out the other man's name as he feels his body tightening. It's the only warning he can give before he spills over with a sudden gasp, arching back against the bed and fisting his hand in the blankets there. Doing his best not to thrust too hard into the other man's mouth though unable to help his desperate rocking completely as he finishes.
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Then John gets to his feet, wobbles a little at the change of height now that the alcohol has had time to really settle and moves to slip back onto the bed -- setting the alcohol back on the side table carefully so he has both hands free to reach for Ianto.
"Alright," he begins -- voice still rough sounding. "Did I prove my point?"
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"You did," he agrees, tucking his head into the crook of the other man's neck. "You did, you ridiculous..." He trails off, reaching up to run another hand through the other man's hair then down across his chest. Pinching his fingers across a nipple, stroking them along the span of his abs. Mouthing the edge of John's jaw as he works his way down the length of John's body to stroke him through his trousers. "Let me--..."
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"Not stopping you," he replies, and his voice may still be scratchy but John sounds like he's already pretty satisfied even with just this much attention.
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Ianto strokes his hand in place for a moment longer before pushing himself up to kneel over him. Lowering himself down to mouth his way down his chest as he pauses to fumble with John's gun belt. Pausing to raise his head as he realizes that John isn't wearing one belt, but two, and that he's going to need to look at what he's doing to understand how they all fit together.
He frowns, tugging at it for emphasis before he comments, "You may not be personally..." But this is certainly a road block. He undoes the first snap of the gun belt, which he thinks is the right way to go about it all but he's honestly not sure. He's never really paid attention to how John put it all on before.
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"How's that?" he prompts, and loops his arms around Ianto to haul him up -- burrows his face into his neck and sighs contently at the closeness.
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