Author's Note 1: A long time ago two other authors on this site, Cerih and Gmariam, suggested I write a smutty story. I couldn't do it then, but now I have. A lesson in never say never. And the why is better left unexplained. It takes place sometime after the episode 'They Keep Killing Suzie'. It is told from Ianto's point of view.

Author's Note 2: WARNING: This contains an explicit detailed graphic description of CONSENSUAL MALE ON MALE SEXUAL ACTIVITY. It presents a variety of types of said activity, all of them practiced in the real world by men who have sex with other men. There is an absence of fluff. There is a presence of strong language. You now can make an informed choice about whether you read – or not.

Disclaimer: BBC/Starz still own. They promised an adult oriented show, but never gave us some of what we wanted. This is an attempt to redress that, but it does not redress the paucity of my bank balance.

Gratitude: To the reader of another of my stories who told me she'd read anything I wrote. I wonder if she meant this type of thing.

Enormous Gratitude: My beta Cerih who, when presented with this, calmly dealt with my embarrassment at writing smut and instructed me to publish.

Warning: Read the above warning before you proceed beyond this point.

"What's Love Got To Do With It"

I'm home, I'm tired and I'm toey. We've had a long day. I catch a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror and say to my reflection, "Ianto, go to bed." But I'm too restless. The adrenalin created by returning a pair of Weevils to the sewers is still pumping. I can't settle.

My phone buzzes, there's a message from Jack.

I'll be there in ten.

I know why he's coming. I strip and shower and prepare myself.

I've just finished towelling off when the bell rings. The towel is thrown over the rail and I pad to the door. A glance through the peephole confirms it's him so I release the chain and open the door.

He smells clean, which means he's also showered and made ready. He's wearing old clothes, a roll neck sweater and a pair of faded, slightly scruffy off white chinos which hang low on his hips. It's obvious he's gone commando, the outline of cock against the worn fabric is clear and detailed.

We say hello and a look passes between us. This is not going to be a night of politeness. I stand back and he walks in. As soon as the door is firmly shut, I push him against the wall and grab at his fly. Wisely, he's worn no belt. My hand finds the button on top and I pull it open, the rest of the buttons follow quickly and his long curved cock jumps out. It hardens in my hand. He's staring at me with a grin that is provocative and a challenge. He would be seeing the same in me.

I rub a thumb over the head. Before he has time to even grunt I've gone down on my knees and taken his meat in my mouth, I feel his knob on the back of my throat. For an instant I'm inclined to gag, but it's only an instant. I'm becoming accustomed to this. He begins bucking his hips and his hands come to my head. I let him take control of the face fucking. He's good, knows a rhythm that lets me work lips and tongue while still being hard and driving. The bristle of his pubes rasps my lips at the end of each down stroke.

We settle in and with my left hand I make a circle of thumb and index finger and wrap it around the base of his cock and balls. I fully close the circle and it becomes a tight cockring, preventing the blood from escaping. His cock lengthens and stiffens in response. My right hand comes up to my chin and collects the drool of my saliva on the three middle fingers.

He is obviously watching what I'm doing for his knees bend slightly even before I take the fingers to the crack of his arse. It's already beginning to slime with sweat. I find the creased skin around his hole and drive the fingers in. Like I said, this isn't a night for politeness. His arsehole greedily swallows all three as I begin to masturbate his butt.

He says, "Ouch, fuck," but the tone is heated. His cock stiffens further in my mouth, the knob gets bigger, and his hands pull at my hair. He squats deeper as his hole tries to find more finger-length. Up, down, he rides them, all the while maintaining the fucking of my mouth. He backs away and pulls his cock out, still gripping my head. There's a thwack sound as he slaps his meat against my face several times before he pushes it hard against me forcing my mouth under the shaft and onto his balls. My tongue snakes out and I begin to lick, slathering the sac with saliva. There's a feel of sandpaper on my tongue and I know it's been a few days since he shaved. It's good, I love the rough texture. My own cock is pulsing with blood, but I ignore it. I can smell the scent of his arse, and feel the stickiness of the precum that leaks from the slit of his knob onto my forehead. My fingers work the arsehole and it loosens and moistens, as he works it open. It's part of the foreplay for what is to come.

Not a further word is said. Groans and grunts and the heaviness of heated breathing constitute the language we use to communicate.

When he reaches the point of using his arse to fuck the fingers off my hand I pull them out, and grab his hips. With a rapid and strong movement I flip him around. He reads the message well, and pushes his arse out. His hands pull the cheeks apart. I lick along the smooth length of the crack, grazing over the loosened hole. It twitches as I pass over it. As his hands fall away I push my face between the cheeks, smothering it with arse flesh. I can't see anything but I can taste and smell him. My tongue targets the pleated sphincter and skewers as I drive it in. The ring clutches at the intruding flesh.

My right hand rubs up the length of his torso, finding the hub of a nipple. It gets twisted between the knuckles of two fingers. He hisses. When I grab his cock with my left hand I find his own there, stroking it. I knock the hand away. It's mine to play with. Making a fist I wrap it around the slick knob, my palm swirling the leaking juice into the sensitive skin. I leave the shaft alone, teasing the knob head instead. It's an act of bastardry.

He pushes his arse harder onto my face and I recognise that it is time. He wants it and I, for reasons better left unexplored, need it.

I stand, not releasing my grip on his meat. He spreads his arse further as an invitation.

I position my cockhead against the now glossy hole and push forward in one hard stroke. He greedily vacuums the entire length of me. It's not subtle and it's not gentle. I begin to pound at him. It strikes me that his chinos are still around his ankles and he's still wearing his sweater – which is absorbing the smell of sex. I have the crazy thought – he should wear it unwashed tomorrow, at the team meeting.

He's good. I know this already but I recognise it more now. Real good, the muscles around his hole know when to grip and when to relax. That's expertise in being screwed. It's also practise. He's not a passive fuck. I can't tell if I'm fucking his arse, or if he's fucking my cock.

Letting go of his cock I grab his hips, using them as lever points to push harder and deeper. Looking down I watch my cockmeat disappear then reappear in his arse. It's good, that view. I pull out completely, and then drive straight back in. Jack gasps each time I repeat this. I do it several times over until I can stand it no more. I settle back in, and find a rapid hard rhythm. The suction of his hole is pulling the semen from my balls. He's using his arse to get me off. That's his act of bastardry.

I let go of his hips, and grabbing his hands wrap our arms into a bear hug around his chest. He doesn't resist, his arms push back, returning the force with which I grip him. I rub my thumbs along the upper edges of his thumbs. My face comes to rest on his shoulder as the bucking of his arse increases. I make sure I exhale into the drum of his ear. We're both being greedy in this fuck. I feel all of his weight when he pushes back, but my balance holds and I'm more than a match for his force. It won't be long now.

I know it. He knows it.

And so I let go. The last few shoves are short and sharp and take me over the edge. I feel the instant of sharp blindness as the first shot of cum is released and the shuddering all over as the following strokes empty me out. I exhale a "geezus" into his hair.

When I'm done, I fall against his back, sweaty chest hair meeting slick back. I refuse to let go of his hands even though I know he hasn't yet blown. My breathing is still rapid and quick-fire and I'm still lost in the little death when he shifts from under me. It's easy for him in that moment to take control of my limpid form. His hard cock leads the way as he grabs me in a rough headlock and shuffles me past the lounge into the bedroom. I'm tossed face down on the bed, then we lose contact. I wait. I hear first his boots then his clothes hit the floor.

I know what is coming, so I raise myself on all fours and push backwards. I could feel exposed and vulnerable but I don't. It indicates willing, tells him to take what's offered. He will, of course he will. My head drops to rest on my hands as I feel spit covered fingers enter me. There's a stickiness to them and I realise he's fingered my cum from his arse and mixed it with spit to use as a lube. I like the invasion.

I relax even more; a post cum fucking is exactly what I want at this point. It's a different thing, taking cock after you've cum. I've learned to enjoy it. There's an adrift feeling to it to start with.

Big hands grab both of my shoulders, not my hips. So that's how it's going to be. I breathe out and he's in, my arse opening for the knob then shrinking back around the shaft. The drifting feeling disappears as the reality of a cock up my arse takes over. It's a straight pile drive. Every stroke is the full length of his cock.

In and out. In and out. In and out.

I feel the muscles around his hips dig the edge of my arse cheeks when he's deep in, the loss of contact when he pulls out. He's using the full power of his hips and he's not being kind. I'm being fucked by a man who knows how. Who has decided this is for his pleasure. That's fine by me. I like that, and I've had my own turn already. But I'm no rag doll, lying there limp. With his cock up my arse I have to give back. I do, and the grip of his fingers on my shoulders digs into the flesh; it's a pain that is good.

The slap of his balls against the skin beneath my arse ceases, and I realise they're contracting into the sac as he gets close to the end. And then it's there. He barks "Fuck" three times in quick succession. That's when I feel it, liquid sticky heat and the pulsing of his cock inside me. The ring of my arse is stinging. I feel full, of cock and cum. He keeps at it and it's a while before he slows. When he does, he lets go of my shoulders and I miss the burn of the grip. He pulls out and I can see in my mind's eye the shrivelling pucker of my hole. Warm juice leaks out and runs down along the crease to my balls.

He falls off me and on to the bed alongside. He lies on his back. I flop forward and rest on my front, an arm trapped underneath me. I look over my shoulder and do a quick scan of his body. His cock is still coming down. It's covered with semen and sweat and juice – the detritus of fucking a man in the arse. I'm tempted to go down and swallow it, lick it clean. But I'm too lazy in this moment.

Instead I lift my head and look at him. The lower part of his left arm is resting on his forehead, sweat glistens in the hair of the armpit and I can smell it from where I rest on the opposite side of him. There are times that pungency works as an aphrodisiac, but this is not one of them. His eyes are shut and he's grinning.

My free hand finds his nipple and I twist it hard.

"Bastard," he says.

"Good fuck," I reply.

"Needed that," he responds.

"Me too," I say.

We lie there a few minutes with nothing else to say, so we're quiet. What can you say after something like that? Eventually he does speak.

He says, "You showering?"

"No," I answer, "just going to laze here."

He gets up and heads to the bathroom. When he comes back I'm a little more aware, and bloody dog tired. The shower has been quick, efficient and to the point. We exchange a look that is heavy with the tiredness it's obvious we both feel.

He dresses quickly, and I feel his weight on the bed as he sits to put his boots back on.

He places a hand on the small of my back. It's nice, and it's a signal. "Sleep well," he says.

"You too, Jack."

Then he's gone and I can get some well-needed sleep. That's the advantage of a part-time shag. I get my bed to myself. It suits me.

Additional Note: This is a one off for me, if not for Jack and Ianto. Love to know your thoughts.