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amand_rTitle: Always the quiet ones.
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Tosh/Ianto
Rating: NC-to-the-17
Wordcount: 781
Author's Notes: I wroted this for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
touchyerwood. People are starting to de-anon, and I can't not do it too. I LAY CLAIM TO EVERYTHING I WROTE.
Summary: They skip out when it gets to be too much.
Ianto's hands leave just the kinds of marks she likes, just the way she likes. They start with little half-crescents and devolve into purple buttons or lush red twisting imprints of his long fingers. She wears them under her clothes, indeed in a way, under her skin.
Like right now, he's leaving a nice one on her breast while he yanks her skirt up, his face buried in her neck and biting. In between scrapes of teeth, he mumbles things about her fucking gorgeous cunt, shoving fingers in her, and they hurt too, because Ianto isn't careful. He doesn't bother with tenderness, because she doesn't think it's in him, not anymore, not after Jack left. That's fine too, because she doesn't have it in her to care; she just wants his cock, and she gets that when she rips his flies open and digs it out, like peeling an orange or jerking the gear stick.
Tosh's skirt splits at the seam and Ianto pushes himself into her, hitching her against the wall in mid-air, his hands hooked under her thighs and spreading. If he could crack her open and press the sides of her knees all the way to the wall, he would, and she would let him. But instead she gropes up for the pipe within reach, hands fastening onto the clamminess so that she can steady herself and lever her hips when he pulls out and slams back into her, hard, so hard she can feel the brick shaving off her vertebrae.
She grunts and pushes against him with every thrust, the sound of their flesh smacking together higher pitched than their groaning as they fuck; it's always like this when they come down here in the dark, after it as all got to be too much, when Owen and Gwen make them want to scream.
All her screams are saved for him, and she delivers them into his mouth when he kisses her, biting down and tasting blood in her mouth and the pain just makes him pound her so hard their faces smack together like dolls. It good and not good, the first few strokes that rub her raw, and then there's insensate numbness when he increases rhythm and she pulls on the bar and they piston each other like a machine, a Torchwood fucking machine.
Ianto waits for her to come, she knows he does, his one concession as he nips at her chin and rubs against her when he comes, his whole chest pressed against her so that he can pin her to the wall with his front and free his hands to wrap around her throat, tangle in her hair. The base of his cock grinds into her clit and she straightens her arms, pushing and grunting because she's there, she's almost there, and then Ianto tucks his thumb into her mouth and pulls on her jaw, yanks it down, thrusts his fingers in her mouth and lets her bite down on them. She growls and yowls into his skin and they both hump each other, too close to do anything more than attempt to push his dick through her body.
Ianto leans all his weight on her then, hands go back down to hold her thighs and help her to the floor, where he follows her down, and they lie there. Her throat is dry and her hands are shaking. The backs of her thighs feel as if they have been pounded with a meat tenderiser. She turns her head to see him lying there, tie still perversely and tightly knotted about his neck, waistcoat rucked a little but not unbuttoned, flies already redone and belt buckled. His fingers linger on the shiny metal at his waist.
"New record," she whispers. "We told them we'd be checking the mainframe for another," she consults her watch, "fifteen minutes."
Ianto rolls towards her then, smiles and yanks the leg closet him, and her bare ass stutters on the floor because her skirt is still hitched over her waist, skirt in reverse. He flips the leg over his head so that it is on the other side, and his hands grasp her inner thighs. Another rough pull on her skin as she is moved towards him, and he licks his tongue up her cunt once, shallowly, before raising his head, eyes earnest, as if he's about to suggest they defrag the computer or stock up on paperclips.
"Clean up," he tells her, then proceeds to search for every drop of come inside her, biting and nuzzling, all but eating her, all but chewing. It's rough, animal-like, and it scares her, but dammit, it's everything she needs.
END
and I uh, might have written the fic here. But it's only funny in context.
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Tosh/Ianto
Rating: NC-to-the-17
Wordcount: 781
Author's Notes: I wroted this for
touchyerwood. People are starting to de-anon, and I can't not do it too. I LAY CLAIM TO EVERYTHING I WROTE. Summary: They skip out when it gets to be too much.
Ianto's hands leave just the kinds of marks she likes, just the way she likes. They start with little half-crescents and devolve into purple buttons or lush red twisting imprints of his long fingers. She wears them under her clothes, indeed in a way, under her skin.
Like right now, he's leaving a nice one on her breast while he yanks her skirt up, his face buried in her neck and biting. In between scrapes of teeth, he mumbles things about her fucking gorgeous cunt, shoving fingers in her, and they hurt too, because Ianto isn't careful. He doesn't bother with tenderness, because she doesn't think it's in him, not anymore, not after Jack left. That's fine too, because she doesn't have it in her to care; she just wants his cock, and she gets that when she rips his flies open and digs it out, like peeling an orange or jerking the gear stick.
Tosh's skirt splits at the seam and Ianto pushes himself into her, hitching her against the wall in mid-air, his hands hooked under her thighs and spreading. If he could crack her open and press the sides of her knees all the way to the wall, he would, and she would let him. But instead she gropes up for the pipe within reach, hands fastening onto the clamminess so that she can steady herself and lever her hips when he pulls out and slams back into her, hard, so hard she can feel the brick shaving off her vertebrae.
She grunts and pushes against him with every thrust, the sound of their flesh smacking together higher pitched than their groaning as they fuck; it's always like this when they come down here in the dark, after it as all got to be too much, when Owen and Gwen make them want to scream.
All her screams are saved for him, and she delivers them into his mouth when he kisses her, biting down and tasting blood in her mouth and the pain just makes him pound her so hard their faces smack together like dolls. It good and not good, the first few strokes that rub her raw, and then there's insensate numbness when he increases rhythm and she pulls on the bar and they piston each other like a machine, a Torchwood fucking machine.
Ianto waits for her to come, she knows he does, his one concession as he nips at her chin and rubs against her when he comes, his whole chest pressed against her so that he can pin her to the wall with his front and free his hands to wrap around her throat, tangle in her hair. The base of his cock grinds into her clit and she straightens her arms, pushing and grunting because she's there, she's almost there, and then Ianto tucks his thumb into her mouth and pulls on her jaw, yanks it down, thrusts his fingers in her mouth and lets her bite down on them. She growls and yowls into his skin and they both hump each other, too close to do anything more than attempt to push his dick through her body.
Ianto leans all his weight on her then, hands go back down to hold her thighs and help her to the floor, where he follows her down, and they lie there. Her throat is dry and her hands are shaking. The backs of her thighs feel as if they have been pounded with a meat tenderiser. She turns her head to see him lying there, tie still perversely and tightly knotted about his neck, waistcoat rucked a little but not unbuttoned, flies already redone and belt buckled. His fingers linger on the shiny metal at his waist.
"New record," she whispers. "We told them we'd be checking the mainframe for another," she consults her watch, "fifteen minutes."
Ianto rolls towards her then, smiles and yanks the leg closet him, and her bare ass stutters on the floor because her skirt is still hitched over her waist, skirt in reverse. He flips the leg over his head so that it is on the other side, and his hands grasp her inner thighs. Another rough pull on her skin as she is moved towards him, and he licks his tongue up her cunt once, shallowly, before raising his head, eyes earnest, as if he's about to suggest they defrag the computer or stock up on paperclips.
"Clean up," he tells her, then proceeds to search for every drop of come inside her, biting and nuzzling, all but eating her, all but chewing. It's rough, animal-like, and it scares her, but dammit, it's everything she needs.
END
and I uh, might have written the fic here. But it's only funny in context.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-10-14 02:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-14 02:41 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2009-10-14 05:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-14 05:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-14 05:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-14 05:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-14 05:28 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2009-10-14 07:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-14 04:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-14 09:22 am (UTC)Renee
no subject
Date: 2009-10-14 04:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-14 01:52 pm (UTC)Ianto/Tosh can totally work, and here it definitely does. It's a tricky one though, two people who usually have too much sense to do thsi sort of thing. Totally abandoning sense. Or making it make sense, maybe. That's a read on them that I like a lot.
Thanks. Mmm, morning porn. :-)
no subject
Date: 2009-10-14 04:17 pm (UTC)TBH, I think Ianto/Tosh is one of the more plausible ships in TW.
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Date: 2009-10-14 04:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-19 08:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-19 09:11 pm (UTC)WHAT, ARE YOU WORKING THROUGH ALL MAH FICS?
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Date: 2009-10-19 09:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-19 09:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-07 11:48 am (UTC)Not sure about de anonning myself (is de anonning a word?)
I'm pleased you did. There is some wonderful stuff on there and I've still got ideas (and so little time).
no subject
Date: 2009-12-07 04:39 pm (UTC)