Title: Freckles
By: Modwolf
Paring: Jack/Ianto
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Janto!Oneshot. A sure sign of Torchwood being understaffed? Jack and Ianto having no time for sex.

***

Slam!

Ianto's hands on his neck, under his coat, down his pants, everywhere; the warm, hurried breaths racing with each other in their locked together mouths, kissing so deeply, hotly, their tongues as if melding together, soft and wet, while on the outside, the rest of their bodies were anything but those two adjectives. Jack's back to Ianto's hallway wall, his coat dropped most carelessly to the floor as the two men seemed to be in such hurry that they had barely even managed to get the door slammed shut before acting as though they could eat each other up with their kisses and grabs and the further slamming of Jack into the wall by the adrenalin-sprawled arms of a clearly impatient Ianto, the separate pains of one hard surface to another followed by some of the most violent kissing Jack had thus far shared with Ianto, mingling together and merely spawning further motivation to tear that suit off of Ianto's already heaving, panting body. Moaning, possibly groaning from simple and honest frustration as Ianto's thigh pressed between Jack's legs, rubbing tightly through the harsh fabrics of what had to be the momentarily most astoundingly useless pieces of clothing either of them had ever owned, Jack, while gasping for air somewhere in the region of Ianto's right cheekbone, Ianto doing the same, managed to lose no less than shoes, jacket and tie to the floor before craving those lips again, a soft, muffled moan into his mouth as they kissed, hands caressing faces, arses, ribs, necks, bloody elbows even – anything touchable, anything without clothes, thank you very much.

"Bed," Ianto half-panted, half-moaned, his arm around Jack's neck, Jack's hands all over Ianto;pressing their bodies so closely together that had they only stayed in that position for more than approximately five or so seconds, they would most likely have been glued to each other permanently. Which, admittedly, wouldn't have been the worst thing in the world.

They stumbled through the hallway and into the bedroom of Ianto Jones, clothes being unbuttoned, unzipped and pulled down as they went along (ask not how they managed this without falling over; it is a mystery for the ages), breaths crushed against bare flesh – "At fucking last" as Jack so delicately put it before sinking his teeth into Ianto's pale, white throat – and lips sucked, licked, touched by inhales, exhales as they finally struck the soft surface of Ianto's bed, rolling on top of each other, no time for arguing; Ianto's arms around Jack's neck, nails clawing just a little at the top of his bare, already sweat-induced back, groaning as their crotches rubbed together, practically pleading to him, "Jack, fuck me" as Jack's hand was already reaching for a condom on the nightstand, smothering his own pleas in Ianto's hot, wet mouth as they kissed and they clung and they positioned themselves face to face upon the mattress, Jack impatiently stroking Ianto's chest, stomach, ribs, flesh, skin with his right hand, supporting himself with the left as Ianto slipped the condom over Jack's achingly hard cock, then spreading his legs in the air, Jack's hand on Ianto's thigh, Ianto's chest heaving, voice whimpering as Jack was so painfully close but not yet inside of-

RING! RING!

"OH, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!" they yelled in unison, tormented looks upon their faces as they were so fucking close they could taste it in the air but still not get rid of what had recently become the by far most detested sound possible whenever they found themselves alone together – the fucking phone ringing.

RING! RING! RING! RING! RING!

"I swear to God, I will KILL whoever's on that line," Jack groaned through nearly gritted teeth, the pain and effort of maintaining his position without moving more than the small shakes through his heaving body as he breathed so very heavily and hard almost enough reason on its own to kill whoever was on that line.

As Ianto's answering machine played its thankfully quite brief message, the two men laid/sat quiteuncomfortably in silence apart from panting, waiting would-be breathlessly for the worst possible message, because; when you're in Torchwood, you have to expect the worst. Which, of course, this fucking well was. Or at least as good as.

"Ianto, it's Gwen. I need you and Jack at the Hub, I've found something. Come quickly."

Click!

"Oh GOD, I wish I fucking would," Jack groaned, hating Gwen in that very moment with every inch of his body and mind, about to move out of this brutally unrewarding position when Ianto suddenly gripped his arm, a look resembling nothing but actual desperationon his face.

"Jack," he whined helplessly as he pleadingly looked up at Jack, grasping his arm and descending onto a whole new level of lost dignity through sex. "Please don't leave yet! We have the time! Ignore her!"

"Ianto, we can't-" Jack argued, not wanting to argue but wanting to fuck them both senseless right then and there like they had fucking PLANNED to before this came along for the hundredth time that week. Which just happened to be exactly what was going on in Ianto's mind as well. "We've gotta go, she might be in danger-"

"She'll get out of it!" Ianto frantically yelped, knowing the cause was lost and thus merely making it worse. "Whatever it is it'll still BE there when we get there! Jack, I can't do this much longer… I need to feel you in me."

This was where Jack felt so pained by the situation that he instantly felt like banging his face into a gigantic frying pan.

"Oh, God,"he whined, reluctantly coming more and more to his stupid, sexless, serious senses. "Ianto, you have no idea how sorry I am, but we can'tfinish this. We have to go."

The two locked eyes for a moment, seconds entwined. Mismatched heartbeats, a slow sweat bead running down Jack's slightly heaving neck. Ianto's fingertip drawing along the glistening trail, sweeping it up and sucking it off of his finger, Jack's eyes fixed upon Ianto and the other way around, their lips parted and-

RING! RING! RING!

"ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT!" Ianto frustratedly groaned, falling back upon the mattress in defeat. "Fucking hell, I want to smash that phone in someone's face."

Jack, already eased out of what would've been the greatest fuck he'd had in months, who now stood putting on his clothes by the edge of the bed, looked up with a distinct air of guilt-ridden worry on his face.

"Not yours," Ianto muttered, reaching for his shirt, and adding darkly to Jack's relieved face. "One with more freckles."

***