Author's Note: A conversation with Gmariam and Cerih about Ianto tropes moved on to a discussion about when Janto got it together and who initiated. This is my take on that first *time*.
Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood or the characters – but in this frame of mind I'd certainly like to own them.
Gratitude: The process of discussion, writing and betaing began 24 hours ago. Thanks to Gmariam who sparked the idea with her original question. And to Mr William Shakespeare – no one ever wrote quite like he did.
Enormous Gratitude:To Cerih, who turned this around overnight – the most fabulous beta an author could have.
Time to Deliver
Ianto Jones was a man who liked to get things done. If there was something that needed doing he would do so, with little fuss and few words. Left to his own devices, he could efficiently complete tasks that had men, supposedly better than he, falling at the first hurdle. What he didn't like was distraction from his work. Nor did he appreciate endless discussion of possible courses of action. If there was a desired outcome then, in his view, you identified the steps necessary and took them.
Such thoughts were at the forefront of his mind late one afternoon as he tried in vain to stay focused on his work. Earlier in the afternoon Jack Harkness, the man supposed to model good practice for him, had wandered into the Tourist Office and settled himself against the end of the visitor's side of the counter. It had soon become obvious that Jack was both at a loose end and in a highly flirtatious mood. The sight of Ianto working without his suit jacket, his sleeves rolled up and his waistcoat figure hugging, had given extra spark to his mood.
As time had rolled on, his conversation had increasingly been filled with innuendo, suggestiveness, and double meaning. He seemed content to simply throw quips and attempt to rattle Ianto's calm demeanour. Success in the latter came when an outrageous piece of flattery finally brought a response.
Rolling his eyes, Ianto closed the file he'd been working on and, appearing to come to some form of decision, he muttered, "O, he is the courageous captain of compliments."
Jack continued his charm offensive. "Well, thank you, Ianto, you have such a way with words."
"I was being ironic, Sir, and the words aren't mine. They come from Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet in fact."
"Ah, the immortal Bard." Jack grinned, and then recalled Ianto's first comment. "And what is wrong with my compliments that cause you to be ironic, if in fact that's what you were being because I'm not sure that you were, and in any-"
Ianto held up a hand to stop the flow. "Simply put, the problem with your compliments is that they are all a bit Hamlet, Sir."
"I don't follow."
Ianto smiled. "All words, words, words."
Jack seemed genuinely puzzled. "But they're nice words -"
Cutting him off, Ianto smirked. "Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. Thou comest to use thy tongue."
"If I'm not using it for words, then care to tell me how you think I should use it?" Jack shot back.
Ianto moved from where he had been working and stood opposite Jack. Folding his arms across his chest he replied, "I'm just quoting Shakespeare. And I'm sure you need no guidance on what those other uses are." He pondered for a moment and then slyly taunted, "But perhaps, to paraphrase the Bard, at your age the heyday in the blood is tame, and so words are all you have."
"What! No, hang on a minute, you couldn't believe, I most certainly –"
Ianto smiled and firmly spoke across him, "And yet more words. So let me give you some. Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives."
Jack laughed with some bemusement. "You may have to explain that one."
Joining his laughter Ianto agreed, "Yeah, it's a bit inscrutable. It means," he lowered his voice and added a hint of tease, "that too many words can prevent the deed from happening."
Jack's eyes went wide and he spluttered a little as he sought to understand the implications of Ianto's statement. Marshalling himself, he asked with genuine surprise, "Are you suggesting that instead of flirting with you I should-" he stopped and searched Ianto's grinning face. "I'm not sure I can say what I'm thinking."
Ianto exhaled a loud groan, and dryly spoke as if to himself, "Thus conscience does make cowards of us all."
Jack stared at him, confusion written all over his face.
Ianto shook his head at Jack's appearance of determined obliviousness. Using the tones he'd heard his sister use with her young children, he said, "What I'm saying is, in the words of Macbeth: If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly."
Jack was still uncertain if Ianto wasn't simply enjoying playing him at his own game. He said, "If you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting then you're a devilish man, Jones, Ianto Jones."
Ianto leant forward and placed his folded arms on the counter, the action bringing their faces to within a few inches of each other. With a very subtle widening of his eyes he added some gravel to his voice:
"And what's he then that says I play the villain? When this advice is free I give and honest." He paused to let the words sink in. After licking his lips, he added, "That's from Othello, Sir, from a piece of advice on the art of seduction."
Thinking he had caught Ianto out on an error and that it could buy him some time to understand what was happening, Jack quirked an eyebrow and questioned him, "Are you sure it's about seduction? I thought it was about betrayal?"
"Actually, Sir," Ianto drawled the latter word, "that specific speech is about scheming the use of seduction to have your boss go down."
"If I go down you'll go down with me." Jack raised a hand and pointed a finger in challenge.
"That is my intention, Sir." The grin was devilish.
The comment, given in such an unashamedly open manner, caused Jack to pause. His brow furrowed as he tried to once and for all determine if he was caught in a game of teasing words, or facing an offer of serious intent. Leaning back a little, he asked, "And what encouragement does that intention need?"
Slowly raising a single eyebrow, Ianto ran his tongue over his top lip before replying, "If I may alter a line of the Bard, I need no spur to prick the sides of my intent."
Jack swallowed hard, and spoke in hushed tones, "I think you mean that."
Eyes ablaze with pleasure, Ianto narrowed still further the space between them. "Indeed I do, I rather like the line from Hamlet: tis a consummation, devoutly to be wish'd." The little air between them crackled as if struck by lightning.
Expressions of pure pleasure dawned in their smiles and spread across both their faces.
Recognising that Jack's widening eyes indicated he finally understood this was not a teasing game, Ianto chuckled. Lifting one arm from the counter, he took Jack's jaw firmly in the palm of his hand. With a hint of mischievousness in his voice he whispered, "'But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?'"
To forestall a response Ianto raised his other arm. He placed the tip of a finger on Jack's lips, and shook his head. Eye's closing in compliance, the tip of Jack's tongue escaped his lips and he traced it over the restraining finger.
With Jack's jaw still captured in the palm of his hand Ianto stood tall, and stepped away. As he did, his fingers traced a gesture of pleasure under Jack's chin and along his jaw. With the grace of a panther having spied its next meal, he moved across to the door to the outside world. Opening it slightly he slipped the sign from Open to Closed. His back still to Jack, he reached up and slipped the top bolt into place. He bent from the waist to secure the bottom bolt. Coming upright again he switched on the electronic locks with a casual flick of his fingers. Only then did he fully turn and face Jack.
Jack was no longer bent over the counter, his arms no longer resting on its surface. He had turned as Ianto had moved to the door, and was now standing tall, arms folded on his chest. An air of waiting tension hung about him. He was surprised when, instead of coming to him, Ianto casually lent against the door, and drew one foot up to prop against its surface. He was even more surprised as Ianto raised a hand and unknotted his tie, slipping it from around his neck and tossing it across the space to land on the counter.
Pretending a control of himself he wasn't feeling, Jack raised his eyebrows and remarked, "Well, well, Ianto, there's nothing stopping you."
"Perhaps, but I do like these words," drawling his reply, Ianto continued, "Proclaim no shame when the compulsive ardour gives the charge."
The dryness in his throat prevented Jack from saying anything more than, "Shakespeare again."
"Indeed, he is a recognised master in the language of …lust," Ianto's voice rumbled over the last word, the sound one of thunder in the distance, heralding an oncoming storm. He looked down, and with considered attention slowly unbuttoned his waistcoat. Pushing himself off the door he let it slip from his shoulders and, grabbing it in one hand as it fell, he caught Jack's eye and threw it to him.
Fumbling the catch, Jack was forced to bend to retrieve the falling waistcoat before it hit the floor. Coming upright again, he saw Ianto take a slow sauntering step toward him; a hunter in pursuit of his prey.
Seeing Jack had noticed the movement Ianto paused, and growled, "Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear-" he slowly and deliberately unbuttoned his shirt, "something wicked this way comes."
The hair on Jack's neck prickled, and his mouth became dry as he whispered, "Macbeth and one of the witches." Watching Ianto's shirt fall to the floor as he shrugged it off, Jack let his hands drop to find the counter; when they did he gripped its edge with force – a sailor strapping himself to the mast in the midst of an unexpected tempest.
Ianto took the second and last steps required to cover the distance between them, his warmth and scent blistering the air that filled Jack's nostrils. As he came to a stop, he spread his feet wide enough to trap Jack's legs between his own. He leant in, and bringing his hands up to the counter edge, he let his fingertips provocatively wander across the knuckles of Jack's hands. A slight sheen of sweat coated his torso and the nubs of his small nipples stood firm amidst silky black hair.
Ensuring there was still the smallest of gaps between their bodies, and impaling Jack with a look of unmasked heat, his voice crackled a highly charged suggestion, "I make bold, to press with so little preparation upon you."
"You do indeed, it's somewhat surprising," Jack's breathless tone matched his words.
"Is it?" was the sultry response. "It shouldn't be, I'm being guided by something from Hamlet." Shifting slightly Ianto ran his tongue along the lobe of an ear, before whispering, "Delay it not – I'll have him hence tonight."
With that remark eliciting a growl from Jack, Ianto dropped his hips the last inch and allowed their lower bodies to rest against each other. Pulling his fingers from their task of tormenting Jack's hands, he quickly undid the buttons of Jack's shirt. A slight flaring of his nostrils and a shortening of his breath were indications of Ianto's pleasure as he explored the revealed expanse of smooth muscle.
After a few moments of discovery he kept his right hand continuing its work and ran his left down the ripples of the stomach to slide beneath Jack's trousers. There was lewdness in his laughter as he said, "I best be careful, lest this …what were the words…ahh, yes, this blow might be the be-all and the end-all here."
As Jack gasped wide eyed at the warmth of the hand, Ianto chuckled slyly against his mouth, "That's the Bard again. A line for every situation."
With a quirk of an eyebrow and a puckish grin, Ianto unbuckled Jack's belt, and unfastened his trousers. As Jack's mouth opened slightly and his pupils dilated, Ianto slyly taunted him, "But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft." In a single audacious move he swept both trousers and boxer shorts to the floor.
Standing up again, he ran his tongue over Jack's lips, before leaning back slightly and dropping his eyes. He raised them again, and grazing the stubble of his jaw across Jack's cheek, he murmured, "Is this a dagger which I see before me, the handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee." His actions followed his words.
Jack's head fell back, his mouth open and his eyes closed. Bringing his reactions somewhat under control, he muttered, "Am I to be allowed the same pleasure?"
It was a devilish grin that again accompanied Ianto's response, "Well then, to paraphrase from Hamlet, Come hither, gentleman, and lay your hands upon my sword."
With fumbling movements, Jack undid the belt and trousers and forced them down. Hearing an incoherent moan of pleasure escape Jack's throat, Ianto murmured, "Just like Antonio in the Merchant of Venice, I am arm'd and well prepared."
Nodding with some distraction, Jack babbled, "That you are, so well-armed."
When he responded, Ianto's voice had dropped to a lower register; between his sharp intakes of breath he managed to say, "Setting the attraction of my good parts aside, have I not other charms?"
The smile he received in return was both delighted and wicked. Determined to prove he was a man of action as well as a captain of compliments, Jack set about exploring every one of those other charms. He was matched, move for move, touch for touch, exploration for exploration, by Ianto.
Sometime later, an exhausted and disheveled Jack sat on the floor, shirt open, with his trousers still around his ankles. He was slumped against the counter. Shaking his head, he looked up to find Ianto calmly re-buttoning his waistcoat and straightening his tie. Noticing he was being watched, Ianto smiled with satisfaction as he gently adjusted the cuffs of his shirt sleeves to ensure their proper alignment. Once that essential requirement of good dressing was completed, he reached out and took hold of Jack's hands and pulled him up from the floor. Working quietly, he assisted Jack in restoring his clothing to order. When this task was complete, they stood grinning at each other. Ianto placed a hand on Jack's shoulder and then stepped in, as if for an embrace. He spoke against Jack's ear:
"If I may, Sir, offer one small piece of advice. Before you try flattering with words again, best brush up on your Shakespeare."