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invisible_lift Nov. 12th, 2008 11:08 pm)
invisible_lift Nov. 12th, 2008 11:08 pm)Title: "What Happens When The Rules Aren't Fair"
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: Overall: Ianto/Andy, Jack/Ianto, Jack/Ianto/Andy, with occasional guest cameos.
Rating: Series ranges from relatively safe to hard NC-17. This one? NC-17 for the porn. Oh yes, the porn.
Notes/Summary: Part #28 of the "It'll End In Tears" cluster, and #24 on the table. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sanginmychains and resourceress for giving this the sweet, hot beta-fu, and for being supportive during a hilarious fit of title-related flail.
Jack is going to kill her. Ianto is also going to kill her, and probably Andy, too. On the plus side, Rhys is probably going to appreciate helping her work out her frustration later. That is if she doesn’t die of embarrassment first, and if he doesn’t find the notebook. Christ almighty, that would be hard to explain.
There seem to be three distinct types of entry in Andy’s notebook. Generic notes about things to pick up at the shops, television shows he’s interested in, things to Google, and things to check when he gets into work is the first. The notebook is mainly composed of these initially, and she flips through those pretty quickly because they’re both boring and a little bit incomprehensible.
The second type is personal entries. Funny things that happened on the bus, weird dreams, funny pictures, and the like. These are rarer, and initially not very detailed. As the notebook goes on, though, they become the bulk of it. He’s filled page after page of long, twisting accounts of flame and faceless men, and tried to capture as much detail as he can. That’s his mind trying to cope with the Retcon, of course. She reads over some of these with curiosity, though after a while they get a little bit repetitive. They’d make an interesting case study, maybe, but they don’t hold her interest in the long term.
No, it’s the sex entries she reads with bated breath. She shifts a little bit in her chair as she reads Andy’s descriptions of Ianto pinning him down in his uniform and fucking him, or tying him up and spanking him, and all of the weird austerities and perversions that Andy formulates on his own. She doesn’t generally think of Andy in a sexual way – she’d actually laughed at him when he asked her out – but imagining him trussed up with Ianto pounding away into him? Jesus. It gets her so wet her jeans feel positively humid. She rubs her thighs together, then reaches down between her legs to squeeze.
Rhys, damn him, isn’t home yet. Probably won’t be home for at least another hour.
Gwen bites her lip and glances at the door. She shouldn’t do this. This is wrong on more levels than she can even count.
She undoes her jeans anyway and shoves her hand down past the zip to cup herself through her sodden knickers.
It’s weird, imagining Andy naked, but there he is on his knees in her mind’s eye. His head is down just a little and his arms are behind him, fingers curled, backs of his hands resting on his arse. She gives herself a little squeeze through the cloth. Andy’s a fighter. He takes the piss out of everyone. Imagining him in an attitude of submission turns her on a lot more than she’d like to admit. She squeezes harder, then presses with the heel of her hand.
She’s grinding awkwardly against her own hand now, sort of rubbing and humping a bit. Honestly, she should get out of her jeans, maybe get a vibrator or something, but she’s too engrossed.
Oh god, she thinks, and slips a finger in past the crotch of her knickers. She’s so slick and swollen, and her finger just glides in past the lips of her pussy so easily. That turns her on even more, and she squirms and shoves her jeans down her hips a little for better access. She moves her finger around in a circle before sliding it further inside. She’s got to lean back in her chair a bit, and winds up holding the notebook up in front of her while her fingers work.
Her hand moves faster. Gwen’s heard Ianto give commands before. She imagines him ordering Andy about in that low, authoritative, no-nonsense voice that could make even Jack pause. Her cheeks are burning at the idea of Andy’s humiliation (and worse, what he must look like on his knees, covered in red sugar, with a swollen cock poking out between his shaking legs). She slides another finger inside and bites her lip hard as she rocks in her chair.
Gwen aches deep in her cunt, and she’s really not sure what it wants more: for her to face-fuck Andy until she comes all over him, or for Ianto to bend her over him and torture her with that sticky red ice lolly before he fucks her to tears, all the while calling her terrible names. Slut, whore, cunt, bitch, oh yeah, I want you to hate me…
She slaps the cover of the notebook shut and runs to her and Rhys’ bedroom. Gwen finds her vibrator – a glossy hard plastic affair in metallic violet – hidden under the bed in a shoebox and pulls it out before frantically squirming as far out of her jeans as she can. With a triumphant groan she fucks herself with it as hard and fast as she can manage, and then turns the dial and presses the tip against her swollen, desperate clit. She slips a couple of fingers inside and feels the tension building higher inside her. Her legs snap together as she comes, riding hard on her hands and the vibe until she can’t stand it anymore.
“Oh Christ,” she whispers, panting on the bed. She’s got her jeans around her ankles, her hands are sticky from her own pussy, and her vibrator rests, glistening, on the duvet. She closes her eyes. On the list of incredibly twisted things she’s done, this rates pretty high. Uncomfortably high. Affairs-with-your-coworkers high.
She sits up with a start when she hears Rhys’ keys in the door. She shoves the vibrator back in the shoebox – she’ll tend to it later – and tugs her jeans up on the way to the bathroom. She’s drying her hands as he calls out to her.
“Gwen, love? You home early?”
“Yeah, in here!” she answers, and curses herself for leaving the notebook out.
Fortunately, he comes poking around the corner not a moment later with blessedly empty hands. She kisses him gratefully and he raises his eyebrows. “Bit friendly tonight, are we?” he asks, mischief in his eyes.
“Maybe,” she says with a wink, and gives his arse a little squeeze. Inside, though, she’s cursing his timing. If only he’d been here a little sooner, she might feel a little bit less guilty. Then again, Rhys has a frustrating habit of being too gentle with her. Owen was a prat, but at least he’d been an aggressive prat.
“Cook me dinner first and you might get lucky,” Gwen teases, and leads him out into the lounge. Guilty or not, she can’t help wondering how fast she might come with Rhys inside her tonight if she thinks about what she’s been reading.
# # #
Andy picks up a newspaper from the café table and reads it over his mobile to Trav. “Aurora Borealis thrills Cardiff. Freak local phenomenon clogs 999 lines for two hours.”
“Yeah, rub it in. Some of us were working last night.”
“And some of us were sleeping,” Andy gloats. “Get a bunch of spooked old ladies then?”
Trav groans. In the background, Andy can hear that honking of car horns. “Conspiracy theorists. Some nutter actually told me it was coming from the top of the NCP parking garage.”
“You mean that one the bloke got pushed off of a few months back?”
“The very same,” Trav told him, the annoyance in his tone more than a little apparent. “See, this is what all that Care in the Community bollocks gets you.”
Andy rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Anyway, just letting you know you owe me ten quid for calling natural causes. You can pay me in booze.”
“Done,” Trav says emphatically. “You free tonight?”
“Not sure.” Andy’s eyes light on a man in a suit. He’s in line at the counter, and there’s something familiar about him. Traffic ticket maybe? He looks the type who might drive too fast if he was late to work. “Give me a ring around six. I’ll let you know.”
“Sounds good. Cheers, mate.”
“Yeah, cheers.” He snaps his phone shut and peeks at the bloke over his newspaper. He really does look familiar.
---
Prev (Pt #27) (Warnings: language, light smut.)
-
Next (Pt #29) (Warnings: language, allusion to sexual acts)
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: Overall: Ianto/Andy, Jack/Ianto, Jack/Ianto/Andy, with occasional guest cameos.
Rating: Series ranges from relatively safe to hard NC-17. This one? NC-17 for the porn. Oh yes, the porn.
Notes/Summary: Part #28 of the "It'll End In Tears" cluster, and #24 on the table. Thanks to
sanginmychains and resourceress for giving this the sweet, hot beta-fu, and for being supportive during a hilarious fit of title-related flail.Jack is going to kill her. Ianto is also going to kill her, and probably Andy, too. On the plus side, Rhys is probably going to appreciate helping her work out her frustration later. That is if she doesn’t die of embarrassment first, and if he doesn’t find the notebook. Christ almighty, that would be hard to explain.
There seem to be three distinct types of entry in Andy’s notebook. Generic notes about things to pick up at the shops, television shows he’s interested in, things to Google, and things to check when he gets into work is the first. The notebook is mainly composed of these initially, and she flips through those pretty quickly because they’re both boring and a little bit incomprehensible.
The second type is personal entries. Funny things that happened on the bus, weird dreams, funny pictures, and the like. These are rarer, and initially not very detailed. As the notebook goes on, though, they become the bulk of it. He’s filled page after page of long, twisting accounts of flame and faceless men, and tried to capture as much detail as he can. That’s his mind trying to cope with the Retcon, of course. She reads over some of these with curiosity, though after a while they get a little bit repetitive. They’d make an interesting case study, maybe, but they don’t hold her interest in the long term.
No, it’s the sex entries she reads with bated breath. She shifts a little bit in her chair as she reads Andy’s descriptions of Ianto pinning him down in his uniform and fucking him, or tying him up and spanking him, and all of the weird austerities and perversions that Andy formulates on his own. She doesn’t generally think of Andy in a sexual way – she’d actually laughed at him when he asked her out – but imagining him trussed up with Ianto pounding away into him? Jesus. It gets her so wet her jeans feel positively humid. She rubs her thighs together, then reaches down between her legs to squeeze.
Rhys, damn him, isn’t home yet. Probably won’t be home for at least another hour.
Gwen bites her lip and glances at the door. She shouldn’t do this. This is wrong on more levels than she can even count.
She undoes her jeans anyway and shoves her hand down past the zip to cup herself through her sodden knickers.
He rings me out of the blue and tells me to strip. ‘Drop your kit and unlock your door. Kneel facing the hallway. I want you wearing your service cuffs, too. Hands behind your back. Understand me?’ So I took it all off in the bathroom, put my cuffs on in front so that I could lock them properly, then stepped through my legs. I swear, I was on my knees in five minutes and had to wait for at least twenty.
It’s weird, imagining Andy naked, but there he is on his knees in her mind’s eye. His head is down just a little and his arms are behind him, fingers curled, backs of his hands resting on his arse. She gives herself a little squeeze through the cloth. Andy’s a fighter. He takes the piss out of everyone. Imagining him in an attitude of submission turns her on a lot more than she’d like to admit. She squeezes harder, then presses with the heel of her hand.
So anyway, he shows up and walks right in, locks the door behind him. He’s got a bag with him, so I don’t know what he’s got planned, but I figure there are props involved. I don’t care, though, because I want him so bloody badly. And out of nowhere, he starts fucking my mouth with his fingers. It’s the most incredible thing ever, you know, because it doesn’t sound hot until some bastard is standing over you doing it. It was so good I sort of forgot what I was doing and he had to discipline me a little bit.
She’s grinding awkwardly against her own hand now, sort of rubbing and humping a bit. Honestly, she should get out of her jeans, maybe get a vibrator or something, but she’s too engrossed.
And that’s when he brought out the ice lolly.
Oh god, she thinks, and slips a finger in past the crotch of her knickers. She’s so slick and swollen, and her finger just glides in past the lips of her pussy so easily. That turns her on even more, and she squirms and shoves her jeans down her hips a little for better access. She moves her finger around in a circle before sliding it further inside. She’s got to lean back in her chair a bit, and winds up holding the notebook up in front of her while her fingers work.
It’s melted a little, because he’s brought it from home in one of those insulated lunch totes, but that’s good because it wasn’t so freezing cold. I wasn’t allowed to suck or swallow, and my mouth just filled up with juice and spit. He got it all over me until I was a sticky mess. Again, not something that should be incredibly fucking hot, but Ianto’s got this thing about him, you know. He could make a man do anything.
Her hand moves faster. Gwen’s heard Ianto give commands before. She imagines him ordering Andy about in that low, authoritative, no-nonsense voice that could make even Jack pause. Her cheeks are burning at the idea of Andy’s humiliation (and worse, what he must look like on his knees, covered in red sugar, with a swollen cock poking out between his shaking legs). She slides another finger inside and bites her lip hard as she rocks in her chair.
Of course, that’s around the time he grabbed my by the hair and held me still while he hosed my mouth out with a water bottle. No kindness at all in him. He just squirted my mouth full of water until it was clean enough to suck his cock with. And god, I did. I sucked him until he came in my mouth because I want him to use me. Afterward, he used the mess to jerk me off, and then rubbed my face in it.
Gwen aches deep in her cunt, and she’s really not sure what it wants more: for her to face-fuck Andy until she comes all over him, or for Ianto to bend her over him and torture her with that sticky red ice lolly before he fucks her to tears, all the while calling her terrible names. Slut, whore, cunt, bitch, oh yeah, I want you to hate me…
She slaps the cover of the notebook shut and runs to her and Rhys’ bedroom. Gwen finds her vibrator – a glossy hard plastic affair in metallic violet – hidden under the bed in a shoebox and pulls it out before frantically squirming as far out of her jeans as she can. With a triumphant groan she fucks herself with it as hard and fast as she can manage, and then turns the dial and presses the tip against her swollen, desperate clit. She slips a couple of fingers inside and feels the tension building higher inside her. Her legs snap together as she comes, riding hard on her hands and the vibe until she can’t stand it anymore.
“Oh Christ,” she whispers, panting on the bed. She’s got her jeans around her ankles, her hands are sticky from her own pussy, and her vibrator rests, glistening, on the duvet. She closes her eyes. On the list of incredibly twisted things she’s done, this rates pretty high. Uncomfortably high. Affairs-with-your-coworkers high.
She sits up with a start when she hears Rhys’ keys in the door. She shoves the vibrator back in the shoebox – she’ll tend to it later – and tugs her jeans up on the way to the bathroom. She’s drying her hands as he calls out to her.
“Gwen, love? You home early?”
“Yeah, in here!” she answers, and curses herself for leaving the notebook out.
Fortunately, he comes poking around the corner not a moment later with blessedly empty hands. She kisses him gratefully and he raises his eyebrows. “Bit friendly tonight, are we?” he asks, mischief in his eyes.
“Maybe,” she says with a wink, and gives his arse a little squeeze. Inside, though, she’s cursing his timing. If only he’d been here a little sooner, she might feel a little bit less guilty. Then again, Rhys has a frustrating habit of being too gentle with her. Owen was a prat, but at least he’d been an aggressive prat.
“Cook me dinner first and you might get lucky,” Gwen teases, and leads him out into the lounge. Guilty or not, she can’t help wondering how fast she might come with Rhys inside her tonight if she thinks about what she’s been reading.
# # #
Andy picks up a newspaper from the café table and reads it over his mobile to Trav. “Aurora Borealis thrills Cardiff. Freak local phenomenon clogs 999 lines for two hours.”
“Yeah, rub it in. Some of us were working last night.”
“And some of us were sleeping,” Andy gloats. “Get a bunch of spooked old ladies then?”
Trav groans. In the background, Andy can hear that honking of car horns. “Conspiracy theorists. Some nutter actually told me it was coming from the top of the NCP parking garage.”
“You mean that one the bloke got pushed off of a few months back?”
“The very same,” Trav told him, the annoyance in his tone more than a little apparent. “See, this is what all that Care in the Community bollocks gets you.”
Andy rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Anyway, just letting you know you owe me ten quid for calling natural causes. You can pay me in booze.”
“Done,” Trav says emphatically. “You free tonight?”
“Not sure.” Andy’s eyes light on a man in a suit. He’s in line at the counter, and there’s something familiar about him. Traffic ticket maybe? He looks the type who might drive too fast if he was late to work. “Give me a ring around six. I’ll let you know.”
“Sounds good. Cheers, mate.”
“Yeah, cheers.” He snaps his phone shut and peeks at the bloke over his newspaper. He really does look familiar.
---
Prev (Pt #27) (Warnings: language, light smut.)
-
Next (Pt #29) (Warnings: language, allusion to sexual acts)