m_findlow

Title: Hands all over
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Ianto, Jack
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 995 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for samuraiter's prompt "Any, any, Roman hands and Russian fingers" at fic_promptly
Summary: Jack has real problems keeping his hands to himself.

Roman hands and Russian fingers. That was the only way he could think to describe Jack.

Ianto had come to adore the way Jack's hands ran all over his skin. They were hot like fire and yet full of tenderness, sometimes rough and ruthless - pressing, kneading, fingernails clawing for more - but never was it not enjoyable. He couldn't tell when he'd first started needing Jack's hands on him, but once he'd had them, he couldn't get enough. Which was fine, so long as those fingers only did those things after hours. During the working day, he'd very much appreciate Jack's hands keeping to themselves.

He should have known that was an impossible ask. He'd worked here long enough to know that Jack was one of those people that liked to touch. It wasn't just restricted to lovers. Jack's hands wandered all the time, whether it was a hand on the shoulder, the small of someone's back, reaching out to grab a hand, or a gentle touch to the face. He was just one of those people who needed to touch and didn't even realise he was doing it most of the time. In their line of work, it came in handy, as there were a lot of times when a reassuring touch made all the difference, whether it was to console or protect, victims and teammates alike.

The problem Ianto had was that whilst all those things were nice, Jack didn't draw the line there. As much as Ianto enjoyed his touches, Jack enjoyed giving them. Only he didn't have the same restrictive operating hours as Ianto. It was awkward at times. Sure, the whole team knew that they were seeing each other off the clock. He wasn't sure what to call it, nor what the others thought it was. They'd seen the way Jack had kissed him when he'd come back from death, but he'd been coy in answering their questions about what it was and how long it had been going on. Knowing for themselves Jack's own proclivities, they drew their own conclusions about what the pair of them were.

It didn't bother Ianto so much that they knew - though for a long while he had kept it under wraps - but it was more that he didn't want them to think things were any different because of it. And that meant no special treatment during work hours. If only Jack agreed.

It was impossible to stop Jack's hands once they decided to throw normal workday etiquette out the window. Sometimes it was subtle, like a foot under the boardroom table rubbing up and down his leg, though of course he used to term subtle only to the extent that he was able to hold firm to the coffee mug in front of him on the table and pretend that nothing at all was going on. Other times it was more overt, like when Jack had his hand resting on Ianto's knee when they were in the SUV, where it should have been firmly on the steering wheel. The way Jack drove most of the time, he most definitely needed both on the wheel. A hand on the knee was perfectly fine if they were alone, but Jack didn't hold back just on account of a few other passengers in the back who could all see it. Maybe they thought it was cute, or even sweet, but Ianto didn't want anyone thinking he was cute, or sweet.

He'd often found himself in the midst of making coffee, wrapped up in the task until suddenly there was a very distinct presence behind him and then there was a firm set of fingers gripping his arse cheek. Thank God that the kitchenette was out of the direct view of the other's desks as hands tortured him from behind. The milk wasn't the only thing getting hot and steamy.

The man simply had no shame, and Ianto couldn't think of a finer example than that of a few weeks ago when he'd been busy in the armory, getting them kitted up to face this giant space whale thing that Gwen's boyfriend had uncovered. One second he'd been alone, working on his badass movie quotes, and the next Jack was right there. He shouldn't have made the comment about measuring tapes, he realised, feeling Jack's hands grip around his hips and pull him close. 'Who do you think would win?' Jack said, pulling him even closer so that Jack's groin was right up against his own. He didn't need a tailor's eye to measure Jack's stride across the threshold of his office. The particulars of Jack's inner leg measurements were right there for him to feel.

He'd thought that had been the worse he'd have to live with, Jack practically rutting up against him right there where anyone could have seen them. It wasn't until he was up in the hot house, watering the plants, that things escalated. Owen had neglected to do the watering the night previous, and was now having a sick day, though how a dead man could be having a sick day was anyone's guess. Tosh was out picking up some specialised computer equipment and Gwen was somewhere, sulking at Jack's lack of actions over all the missing people taken by the rift. He heard the door squeak behind him and then before he could so much as turn around, still armed with his watering can, those hands were all over him, already undoing the buttons on his shirt .

'Someone will see us,' he said, before Jack lunged in for a ravenous kiss.

'There's no one else here,' he replied, already shucking off his own shirt, and returning his hands to exploring Ianto's skin.

Not right now, but it was only a matter of time, he thought. Then those very talented fingers began undoing his trousers for him, reaching in.

Oh, well maybe if they were quick... Sometimes there was just no resisting those hands.