Title: What Lies Beneath?
Characters: Jack, mentions Ianto
Spoilers: Tiny for Fragments.
Summary: Jack’s imagination is running riot.
Word Count: 564
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters. They belong to the BBC.
Jack can’t help staring; Ianto Jones in a well-cut suit is a sight well worth staring at, after all. He’s sure Jones is aware that he’s being watched, but he wonders if the man has any idea what’s going through his new boss’s mind right at this moment.
It’s part daydream, part barely formulated plan; he wants to know what those suits are hiding, so he lets his imagination run free, picturing what he’ll do when he gets the green light.
The jacket will go first. He’ll slide it off and toss it onto the sofa before undoing the waistcoat buttons and sliding that off too. Maybe he’ll just let it fall to the floor, see the bright flush of anger heat Ianto’s face. Or maybe Ianto will already be too far gone in arousal to notice.
Next, the tie; unfasten and remove, or leave in place? Tough decision, maybe he’ll leave it for now. On to the shirt, opening the buttons and revealing… what? Does Ianto wear an undershirt or will he encounter bare skin? He knows Ianto has chest hair, saw it peeping from the open neck of his shirt out on Mermaid Quay that early morning when he first sampled the most sublime coffee he’s ever tasted. Dark tufts to match the hair on his head, so exotic to Jack, whose own chest is naturally hairless. He loves the feel of a hairy chest, delights in running his fingers through those wiry curls, tugging gently.
Ianto’s skin will be pale, untanned and smooth. Jack pictures himself nibbling at the pale column of Ianto’s throat, licking along his collar bone, tweaking a nipple in passing as he licks his way over the broad chest, down towards his belly. He can almost feel Ianto’s fingers tangling in his hair, pushing his head downwards, impatient.
Just for that, he’ll skip right on down to the shoes. There’s nothing worse than getting trousers stuck at a crucial moment. He fancies that beneath those shiny leather dress shoes and dark socks, Ianto’s toes are long and elegant, like the graceful fingers he so enjoys watching. He wonders if the other man is ticklish.
Trousers next; belt, button, zip sliding down of its own accord, under too much pressure from Ianto’s state of arousal to stay closed. By now there will be a damp patch on the Welshman’s underwear. Does he wear boxers or briefs? Jack tilts his head and studies the convenient rear view of the man in question as he bends over to retrieve an empty pizza box from the floor. Boxers, most likely, if he’s any judge, and Jack’s studied enough arses to be able to make an educated guess.
Slide the suit trousers down those long, leanly muscled legs and off. Everything about Ianto Jones is long and lean, and Jack imagines his cock will be too. His mouth fairly waters at the thought. Finally, he’ll reach for the waistband of Ianto’s shorts and…
“Jack, stop leering at the new boy, I need to go over my findings on the glove with you.”
Damnit, Suzie has the worst timing possible. With an audible sigh, Jack turns from his office window to give his second in command his full attention.
Oh, but someday soon he is going to peel back the layers of one of those suits and see for himself what lies beneath.