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.
Ianto pays attention this time. He'll need to know, for the next time he tries to attempt this. John wears that damn thing more often than not, after all, and he should probably be grateful for it too, since if he needed it, he'd probably be there to save him as well. But in this moment it's just in the way and he's just as grateful for the moment when John wraps his arms back around him and buries his face in his neck. Of course, there's still the matter of John's regular belt, but he thinks he's fairly equipped to handle that much, at least.
"Better," he hums, nipping at the edge of John's jaw before he sets about undoing his other belt in turn. Fumbling with the fastenings of his trousers until he manages to pop them open enough to slip his hand inside. Palming him through his underwear in turn. "How's this?" he murmurs in response, sliding a hand around John's back to brace him in place as he teases through the one layer of fabric remaining.
"Better," John echoes, and pushes into the touch -- fingers fastening into Ianto's clothing to keep him as close as he can. "Much better, Ianto."
He wants to pull him closer, wants to paw at him but John just barely resists -- busies himself sloppily kissing at Ianto's neck and trying to fumble a hand over his top and thermal layer again.
"C'mon," he murmurs, because better isn't the same as perfect and John thinks they can still definitely improve on this. Thinks Ianto is planning to go further and he's already anticipating what that might be.
Definitely planning to go further than this, Ianto just wanted to check in with the other man and yes, cheekily repeat his line right back at him, of sorts. He rubs his hand in place for another moment before pulling back and fighting his own damned pants off the rest of the way at last, uncaring for now that that leaves him naked from the waist down as he turns his attentions back to John. Hooking his fingers in the other man's waistband to ease the rest of his clothing off of him as well. Unsatisfied himself until John's trousers are abandoned on the floor beside his own.
It's only then that Ianto looks at him, laid bare before him. That he touches him, naked and wanting. He reaches a hand to wrap around him, skin to skin, and sits forward, using the press of his weight to push him back against the bed again and hold him steady. He had rather enjoyed the image of it before, but it is nothing to the sight of him now.
He lets his trousers be yanked down, pushing up Ianto's tops and squirms to kiss at patches of his chest as he uncovers skin.
"Much better," he murmurs, and massages at Ianto's back -- digs his fingers into his muscles and slides them down to his hips. "Much better, although I enjoyed the dishevelled look too."
Ianto looks nice no matter what he wears, though. Which isn't to say that removing his last layers wouldn't be an improvement, if he can persuade him. John pulls back enough to try and coax him, smile twitching at his lips as he tugs at his top meaningfully.
"Off," he whispers, just in case Ianto needs an extra hint.
"If you want to be tripping over your own underwear that's your call," Ianto grinds out, arching back to reach for the hem of his thermal and undershirt in turn. "I'd much prefer to be able to move, if it's all the same to you." All the better to be able to crawl around and have his way with him, in Ianto's mind at least.
Fisting his hands in the fabric, he tugs both shirts up and over his head in one go, tossing them aside with the rest of their clothes on the floor. He'll sort it out later, for now he wants this. Skin against skin, John in his arms and at his full attention. He reaches for the other man, once the offending fabric is gone. This is what he wanted, after all. This is what the both had wanted.
Ianto drops his shirts away and immediately John wraps his arms back around him, kisses up his chest and along his shoulder -- clutching him close and moving one hand to rest on the back of his neck.
"What I want," he answers, "is you."
His skin, his hands, his mouth, everything. He flops onto his back again, pulling Ianto with him and then rolling him sideways -- grabbing out for the blankets to pull with them so they're wrapped up in them together as they move.
He doesn't anticipate the movement of being pulled over and rolled up into the blankets with John, but he doesn't fight the movement as it happens either. He's happy to be cocooned up in the blankets with the other man, wrapped up tight in his warmth. He pushes to continue their roll until he's wound up on top of the other man again, letting out a laugh as he leans forward to kiss him again.
"You have quite the way with words, you know," he murmurs. Sliding a leg between the other man's and rocking forward against him, pulling back just enough to press his face into the crook of John's neck. Mouthing along the line of his collarbone as he shifts to slide a hand down the line of John's torso in turn.
John lets his mind go beautifully, peacefully blank as the other man slides a leg between his own and rocks forward. The lights dim down to barely anything at his whim, and he focuses on the feel of skin against skin. On the pounding of his pulse, on the catch of Ianto's breath every now and then. It's a strange sensation, a kind of vertigo. Like he's falling, like he's been standing on the edge of a cliff waiting to be pushed and now the air is rushing past him and John isn't afraid of heights -- you can't be afraid of heights and be a pilot, after all. Yet still he feels his stomach clench a little, feels a heady mix of nerves muddled in with excitement. Ianto is pressing him down into the mattress and John feels himself give up under his touch, surrender to whatever this is between them. His head is swimming, and his skin is clammy and the warm lips sliding over his collarbone only make him want more.
"Ianto," he manages, and fingers move to brush up through his hair -- to cup the back of his neck as he rocks up against him.
It takes Ianto a moment to realize what's happened to the lights, and he smiles against the other man's skin in response to it. Mood lighting, he thinks to himself, as he rocks back against the other man. He's already reached his own release but that's no reason that he can't find pleasure in this as well. John is always so -- maybe not certain, but it's the way he holds himself, all of his training, it's like there's a wall between him and the world. An armor of his own making. It's something else to see him like this. Naked and wanting, slowly coming undone, and all because of. Him?
He presses a gentle line of kisses back up the line of John's neck, nipping at the underside of his jaw. Sliding gentle fingers over the panels of his chest, pinching his nipple again, where he knew he'd gotten a reaction last time, and rocking forward again.
"Yes, John," he murmurs softly against the other man's skin, as much an answer to his words as he is coaxing him on.
In public John's affections run toward cool, detached. A hand on a shoulder, a idle touch here and there that might seem like it means something but which he plays off like nothing. Like the kind of thing he'd do with anyone, some meaningless gesture.
Here, now, there's no mistaking the heat of his skin. Ianto's fingers are light over his chest, his teeth tease at his neck and John is dimly glad he's on his back already because he doesn't think he'd be able to hold himself up under the assault. He feels breathless and he doesn't know why, because Ianto is barely doing that much but somehow it's still enough to make him feel crazy. The slow, teasing burn of them moving together. He fumbles to skim a hand down, rubs it up and down Ianto's side in a weirdly gentle, sweet sort of gesture as he rocks up against him again. Something that contrasts with the heavy rise and fall of his chest, the intensity of his frown as he holds Ianto into his neck.
"Please," he whispers, and John doesn't know what he's pleading for -- anything, anything in truth. Anything Ianto would give him.
Ianto had originally intended to return the favor and take him in his mouth, but the way that John holds him, he isn't sure that's what he wants from this anymore. Not when he can have this, skin against skin, the other man pliant in his hands. Hot and needy and oddly gentle all in the same breath. His, and his alone.
What I want is you. The words light a fire all of their own in Ianto's chest, and he wishes on one hand that he hadn't finished quite so soon, that he had more of himself to offer in this moment. That what he can give isn't too much in the same breath. John does seem... Taken up in the moment as it is.
Shifting slightly, he kisses a trail down John's breastbone, mouthing against his chest as he rocks forward again. Using his weight and the press of his body against John's hips in his favor as he moves.
Ianto kisses down his chest and John arches as he rocks forward, eyes fluttering closed as his head presses back into into the pillow.
He feels ruffled, tense like a spring slowly being wound up. Like he's barely restraining himself, fingers carding through Ianto's hair as tries rein in his urge to rock up -- to press more skin against skin again and again.
John arches back against him, softly begging him for — what exactly Ianto isn’t sure at first, but it’s a puzzle for him to solve, and he has always enjoyed a challenge. He pulls his head back far enough to be able to catch a glimpse of the other man’s face, eyes pressed shut, head throw back against the pillow behind him, trying to read his desires on his face though he’s not so nearly an open book as he would seem. Or maybe it is simply that he simply wants, as he had said, and it really is up to Ianto to determine how to make that happen.
He shifts to the side just enough to be able to slide a hand between them, wrapping around the other man’s arousal, fondling him for a moment and admiring the weight of him in his hand before stroking him. Setting up a rhythm as he reaches to cup his jaw in one hand and turn his face to kiss him again. Slow and languid, deep and unhurried, even as he works him at a pace with his hand below.
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.
Ianto slowly eases off, keeping his fingers wrapped around John's arousal even as his hand stills in place, pressing his face against the side of his face. Smiling against his skin as he feels John struggling against him. As the other man's fingernails bite into his flesh and his body quakes underneath his own.
"That's my name," he teases, cheekily. Turning his head to press another kiss in the crook of the other man's neck, giving him a moment to collect his breath enough to respond -- or not, he supposes -- before he moves to play his fingers along the line of his inner thigh.
It's just enough of a break for John to gather himself back under control, to flex fingers holding onto his hair and rub his other hand slowly up and down Ianto's back.
"Yeah," he responds absently, "it is."
His name. Ianto. Taking a shaky breath he lets it out slowly, bucks up against Ianto again to encourage him back into action. The light touch of fingers along his thigh is making him shiver, and he craves more contact -- more of the firm encouragement his hand was giving before.
This may be the first time that Ianto's done this with John, but he can read the other man's body language easily enough. Bucking up against him is a pretty clear sign that John wants more out of this situation, even if he isn't outright asking for it -- not yet anyway.
Ducking his head to trail another line of kisses along the line of John's collarbone, Ianto trails his hand to cup him in hand, caressing, the touch of his hand teasingly light before he wraps his fingers back around his arousal to offer him another firm encouraging stroke again.
"Say it again," he murmurs roughly, moving his other hand up to tangle in the other man's hair.
"Ianto," John repeats, and this is nice -- this gentle caress is nice but it isn't enough. He needs that pace again, the build up of pressure. He needs to feel Ianto's lips and hands working him.
"Don't make me beg," he adds, because he would if he had to but he doesn't want to. Not right now. He just wants the attention, wants the relief that comes after reaching it. John turns his head more into the hand holding onto his hair, arches up again and quietly hopes Ianto has some sense of mercy.
Ianto huffs the breath of a laugh against John's skin. No, as delicious as that might be, he's not really in the mood to drag this out that long. He raises head again, smoothing his hand through the other man's hair before fisting it to turn his head into another searing kiss. Lingering in the press of John's lips against his own, nipping at his bottom lip before slowly resuming the pace of his hand below.
"Your wish is my command," he murmurs huskily, which is honestly a pretty terrible line but he doesn't really care about any of that in the moment, all things considered.
John doesn't really care about the line -- he's more focused on the feel of Ianto's hand, the way his fingers grip his hair. His muscles twitch again, and the mix of teeth on his lips and skin pressed against his own has his breaths come rough and shaky once more.
"Ianto," he repeats, because he seemed to enjoy the sound of his name and if saying it over and over will encourage more of this so be it. John doesn't care if it's borderline close to begging, it's just safe enough that he can tolerate it. He squirms and the sheets stick to his skin, toes curling as he bucks up into Ianto's touch and tries to draw him closer.
There it is. The response that Ianto was hoping for, John squirming and bucking under his touch, the sound of his breathing rough and heady, and if it weren't for the fact that Ianto had already finished himself he'd have a hard time concentrating on the task at hand. It's already a challenge enough as it is.
"Yes," he breathes, mouthing his way along the line of John's jaw. Moving as John directs him, pressed as tight as he can against the other man while still giving himself the space enough to continue. "Is this what you like?"
John lets out a shaky, breathy laugh at that. He feels almost light-headed, for something so simple the whole thing feels overwhelming. Is that what you like? As if he normally does this, when in reality his touch is normally so much quicker and rougher. His hand drops from Ianto's back and grips at the sheets, fingers curling hard into them until it bunches, and John's whole body begins to telegraph building tension.
"Yeah," he manages, and then more emphatically -- "fuck."
Ianto huffs the breath of a laugh against the other man's skin. This is good. So good, to know that it isn't just John who has this effect on him, but that he can turn it around on the other man too. To turn his whole world upside down the the press of his lips and the smooth of his hand, in just the right way.
He can feel the tension building in John, and this time he doesn't pull back but allows it to keep climbing. Continuing the pace of his hand as he holds his head in place with the other. Tilting it back a little so that he's able to mouth his way along the more sensitive parts of his neck and jaw.
"That's it," he breathes, as John rocks and arches against him. "That's it."
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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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"Better," he hums, nipping at the edge of John's jaw before he sets about undoing his other belt in turn. Fumbling with the fastenings of his trousers until he manages to pop them open enough to slip his hand inside. Palming him through his underwear in turn. "How's this?" he murmurs in response, sliding a hand around John's back to brace him in place as he teases through the one layer of fabric remaining.
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He wants to pull him closer, wants to paw at him but John just barely resists -- busies himself sloppily kissing at Ianto's neck and trying to fumble a hand over his top and thermal layer again.
"C'mon," he murmurs, because better isn't the same as perfect and John thinks they can still definitely improve on this. Thinks Ianto is planning to go further and he's already anticipating what that might be.
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It's only then that Ianto looks at him, laid bare before him. That he touches him, naked and wanting. He reaches a hand to wrap around him, skin to skin, and sits forward, using the press of his weight to push him back against the bed again and hold him steady. He had rather enjoyed the image of it before, but it is nothing to the sight of him now.
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"Much better," he murmurs, and massages at Ianto's back -- digs his fingers into his muscles and slides them down to his hips. "Much better, although I enjoyed the dishevelled look too."
Ianto looks nice no matter what he wears, though. Which isn't to say that removing his last layers wouldn't be an improvement, if he can persuade him. John pulls back enough to try and coax him, smile twitching at his lips as he tugs at his top meaningfully.
"Off," he whispers, just in case Ianto needs an extra hint.
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Fisting his hands in the fabric, he tugs both shirts up and over his head in one go, tossing them aside with the rest of their clothes on the floor. He'll sort it out later, for now he wants this. Skin against skin, John in his arms and at his full attention. He reaches for the other man, once the offending fabric is gone. This is what he wanted, after all. This is what the both had wanted.
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"What I want," he answers, "is you."
His skin, his hands, his mouth, everything. He flops onto his back again, pulling Ianto with him and then rolling him sideways -- grabbing out for the blankets to pull with them so they're wrapped up in them together as they move.
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"You have quite the way with words, you know," he murmurs. Sliding a leg between the other man's and rocking forward against him, pulling back just enough to press his face into the crook of John's neck. Mouthing along the line of his collarbone as he shifts to slide a hand down the line of John's torso in turn.
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John lets his mind go beautifully, peacefully blank as the other man slides a leg between his own and rocks forward. The lights dim down to barely anything at his whim, and he focuses on the feel of skin against skin. On the pounding of his pulse, on the catch of Ianto's breath every now and then. It's a strange sensation, a kind of vertigo. Like he's falling, like he's been standing on the edge of a cliff waiting to be pushed and now the air is rushing past him and John isn't afraid of heights -- you can't be afraid of heights and be a pilot, after all. Yet still he feels his stomach clench a little, feels a heady mix of nerves muddled in with excitement. Ianto is pressing him down into the mattress and John feels himself give up under his touch, surrender to whatever this is between them. His head is swimming, and his skin is clammy and the warm lips sliding over his collarbone only make him want more.
"Ianto," he manages, and fingers move to brush up through his hair -- to cup the back of his neck as he rocks up against him.
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He presses a gentle line of kisses back up the line of John's neck, nipping at the underside of his jaw. Sliding gentle fingers over the panels of his chest, pinching his nipple again, where he knew he'd gotten a reaction last time, and rocking forward again.
"Yes, John," he murmurs softly against the other man's skin, as much an answer to his words as he is coaxing him on.
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Here, now, there's no mistaking the heat of his skin. Ianto's fingers are light over his chest, his teeth tease at his neck and John is dimly glad he's on his back already because he doesn't think he'd be able to hold himself up under the assault. He feels breathless and he doesn't know why, because Ianto is barely doing that much but somehow it's still enough to make him feel crazy. The slow, teasing burn of them moving together. He fumbles to skim a hand down, rubs it up and down Ianto's side in a weirdly gentle, sweet sort of gesture as he rocks up against him again. Something that contrasts with the heavy rise and fall of his chest, the intensity of his frown as he holds Ianto into his neck.
"Please," he whispers, and John doesn't know what he's pleading for -- anything, anything in truth. Anything Ianto would give him.
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What I want is you. The words light a fire all of their own in Ianto's chest, and he wishes on one hand that he hadn't finished quite so soon, that he had more of himself to offer in this moment. That what he can give isn't too much in the same breath. John does seem... Taken up in the moment as it is.
Shifting slightly, he kisses a trail down John's breastbone, mouthing against his chest as he rocks forward again. Using his weight and the press of his body against John's hips in his favor as he moves.
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He feels ruffled, tense like a spring slowly being wound up. Like he's barely restraining himself, fingers carding through Ianto's hair as tries rein in his urge to rock up -- to press more skin against skin again and again.
"Please," he repeats, "Ianto..."
Touch him more, give him more.
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He shifts to the side just enough to be able to slide a hand between them, wrapping around the other man’s arousal, fondling him for a moment and admiring the weight of him in his hand before stroking him. Setting up a rhythm as he reaches to cup his jaw in one hand and turn his face to kiss him again. Slow and languid, deep and unhurried, even as he works him at a pace with his hand below.
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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.
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"That's my name," he teases, cheekily. Turning his head to press another kiss in the crook of the other man's neck, giving him a moment to collect his breath enough to respond -- or not, he supposes -- before he moves to play his fingers along the line of his inner thigh.
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"Yeah," he responds absently, "it is."
His name. Ianto. Taking a shaky breath he lets it out slowly, bucks up against Ianto again to encourage him back into action. The light touch of fingers along his thigh is making him shiver, and he craves more contact -- more of the firm encouragement his hand was giving before.
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Ducking his head to trail another line of kisses along the line of John's collarbone, Ianto trails his hand to cup him in hand, caressing, the touch of his hand teasingly light before he wraps his fingers back around his arousal to offer him another firm encouraging stroke again.
"Say it again," he murmurs roughly, moving his other hand up to tangle in the other man's hair.
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"Don't make me beg," he adds, because he would if he had to but he doesn't want to. Not right now. He just wants the attention, wants the relief that comes after reaching it. John turns his head more into the hand holding onto his hair, arches up again and quietly hopes Ianto has some sense of mercy.
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"Your wish is my command," he murmurs huskily, which is honestly a pretty terrible line but he doesn't really care about any of that in the moment, all things considered.
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"Ianto," he repeats, because he seemed to enjoy the sound of his name and if saying it over and over will encourage more of this so be it. John doesn't care if it's borderline close to begging, it's just safe enough that he can tolerate it. He squirms and the sheets stick to his skin, toes curling as he bucks up into Ianto's touch and tries to draw him closer.
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"Yes," he breathes, mouthing his way along the line of John's jaw. Moving as John directs him, pressed as tight as he can against the other man while still giving himself the space enough to continue. "Is this what you like?"
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John lets out a shaky, breathy laugh at that. He feels almost light-headed, for something so simple the whole thing feels overwhelming. Is that what you like? As if he normally does this, when in reality his touch is normally so much quicker and rougher. His hand drops from Ianto's back and grips at the sheets, fingers curling hard into them until it bunches, and John's whole body begins to telegraph building tension.
"Yeah," he manages, and then more emphatically -- "fuck."
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He can feel the tension building in John, and this time he doesn't pull back but allows it to keep climbing. Continuing the pace of his hand as he holds his head in place with the other. Tilting it back a little so that he's able to mouth his way along the more sensitive parts of his neck and jaw.
"That's it," he breathes, as John rocks and arches against him. "That's it."
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