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Soldier Boy	By : Ceefax Category: S through Z > Torchwood Views: 5825 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Torchwood, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Soldier Boy
- 1
***

Soldier Boy

by Ceefax

***

Ianto pushed Jack's chair around, sat down on his lap, face to face, and wrapped his arms around his neck.

"Hi," Jack said, sounding surprised and pleased, and leaned in for a kiss.

Ianto jerked back, avoiding his lips, then tightened his grip on the back of Jack's neck, pulling him in to press their foreheads together. Jack looked up into steely blue eyes.

"If you wanted me to dress up for you, Jack, don't you think you should have come to me first?"

Sliding a hand over each of the thighs that straddled him, Jack gave a look of mute incomprehension.

"Martha. She happened to mention you asked her for a uniform. For me."

"Oh... Oh! Right." He grinned and moved his hands to Ianto's hips. "Well, you gotta admit, those little caps are cute."

With a small, tight smile, Ianto wriggled a little closer, snuggling up to Jack's erection. Cheek to cheek, he murmured in his ear: "Is that what you want, Jack?" His voice was low and husky. "You want me to be your good little soldier?"

He leaned back again, and Jack's grin widened as their eyes met. "Could be fun, couldn't it?"

Ianto whispered into his other ear: "But it's never going to happen." Jack could feel the wicked smile against his cheek. "Here's what's going to happen instead..."

***

Jack stood at attention beside the edge of his desk. His back was to the chair, and he could look out over the twilit hub through the doorway. He watched the ripples of reflected water and listened to the soft sounds of rustling paper and moving pen coming from behind him. He couldn't help the smile that crept across his face. "I love your devious little schemes, you know that?"

A swagger stick smacked into his left buttock. "I said quiet."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

The scratch of a pen again, with the occasional tap of a dotted i or a full stop. Jack shifted slightly, his erection pressing insistently against the fly of his uniform trousers. This time the stick tapped warningly against his hip. "Stand still."

"Yes, sir." He pulled himself up even straighter, feeling the fabric scrape over the head of his cock. He held himself still, staring blankly out into the distance, and he swore he could feel Ianto smile at his back.

A pause of a few seconds, then the pen began moving again.

Ianto was good at this. Understanding of the power of anticipation was rare.

He tensed at the sound of the chair moving, but the expected touch didn't come. Instead, he heard the clicking of a keyboard, then the chair creaking as its occupant settled back to his previous position. The soft whisper of a sheet of paper being turned over.

"Permission to ask a question, sir?"

"Denied."

Oh, he knew that tone of voice. He could just picture the adorable little smirk that went with it. "Please?"

He was expecting it, but still gasped when the swagger stick hit him. Lower this time, and across both cheeks. And with just the right amount of force, enough for that thrilling sting, and enough that the sensation lingered, but not hard enough for the pain to be off-putting. This wasn't anything they'd done before. He would have to find out who Ianto had been practising with.

As he waited, he idly fantasised about a struggle for power during his recent absence, culminating in Ianto bending Owen over the counter in the tourist information office and spanking him with a ruler. And maybe Tosh could be watching, perched on top of a stack of leaflets, short skirt, spike heels, legs crossed at the knee, eyes bright and shining...

There was the click of a pen being capped, then the sound of a body leaving the chair. Jack fastened his teeth in the tip of his tongue to force back his smile.

He kept his eyes focused straight ahead and held himself rigid as Ianto paced into view. The young man tugged his service dress uniform jacket into place, and stepped right into Jack's eye-line. Hands behind his back, he raked his eyes over Jack's body, taking in the khaki operational uniform, his neatly parted hair, and his tented fly.

"At ease."

Jack moved to parade rest, rubbing the backs of his hands subtly against his still-tingling buttocks. Ianto brushed at his shoulder with three short swipes, then straightened his collar. In response to his touch, Jack's cock twitched, and he gritted his teeth.

Ianto fixed him with a coolly disapproving stare. "I suppose a tidy uniform is too much to ask."

"No, sir."

"And would you describe your current appearance as tidy, Flight Lieutenant Harkness?"

Jack glanced down at himself. "Yes, sir?"

Ianto raised an eyebrow. "I would not. I would describe it as positively rumpled." He pointed at the doorway with the swagger stick. "Move."

He did as he was ordered. Ianto directed him with the occasional poke in the back to the hub's little kitchen. The main lights were on, seeming stark and clinical after the dim lighting in the office. There was a bucket and a box of laundry soap sitting on the worktop. In the bucket was a washboard. An ironing board, with an electric iron sitting ready, stood against the wall.

Ianto stood in the doorway. "Strip," he ordered, chin raised, and an easy authority in his voice that made Jack fight down a delighted grin.

He went slow, making a show of it. Boots out the way first, neatly lined up against the wall, then his jacket. When it was unfastened and hanging open (and he was as bare beneath it as he was beneath the trousers), he snuck a look at Ianto. The young man was standing between Jack and the doorway, back straight, swagger stick tucked under his arm. To one who didn't know him, he would have appeared unmoved, but Jack recognised the faint wash of colour in the usually-pale cheeks.

"What are you waiting for? I want you out of that uniform, airman."

"Yessir, right away, sir."

He shrugged out of the jacket, left it beside the bucket, and reached for his fly. Ianto's stick rapped him sharply across the knuckles, and he jerked his hand away. Fixing him with an icy-steel glare, Ianto reached across him, picked up the jacket, and dropped it back into his hands. The scratchy wing commander's braid on his sleeve brushed against Jack's bare chest, and he shivered. Ianto stepped back to the doorway, stern condemnation on his face, swagger stick beating an impatient rhythm against his thigh.

Jack shook out the jacket, folded it neatly, and put it back down by the bucket. He didn't get hit again, although Ianto gave no sign of approval.

He turned around to push down his trousers, bending from the waist, and spending a little longer bent double than was strictly necessary. He folded them carefully and placed them on top of the jacket.

"Attention."

He didn't use the military form, but said the word in its entirety, and his voice was soft and light, almost conversational, and somehow that made it even better. Jack snapped to attention, his cock jutting happily out before him.

Ianto stalked around him, as though he were examining a piece of furniture he might buy. A hand squeezed his right buttock in an assessing manner, and Jack shut his eyes for a second. It was the first time he'd felt Ianto's skin against his since they'd begun this game.

Completing his circuit, he ran his fingers over Jack's belly, then prodded hard, judging the muscle tone. He squeezed a thigh and ran the backs of his fingers over Jack's cheek.

"Do I pass inspection, sir?"

Ianto's eyes snapped up to Jack's, and his cheeky grin flagged a little in the cold stare. The cold metal tip of Ianto's swagger stick trailed up his thigh, and came to rest against his balls. "You speak when spoken to. Clear?"

"Crystal, sir."

"Good boy." With a wicked smile, he lightly traced the stick over Jack's scrotum and up his shaft, poking gently at the head to make his cock twitch and bob.

Jack drew a breath to ask him to please touch him there, just a little, but stopped himself. That earned him an approving smile, and the cool metal (engraved with the Torchwood logo, Jack noticed, bemusedly) toyed with his cock a little more, tapping it to the side to see it spring upright again. Then poked him sharply in the chest, shoving him back.

"Let's see if we can't get you looking a little sharper." He pointed to the bucket. "Wash it out. Properly."

Jack turned around. He could feel Ianto's gaze on his naked back as he filled the bucket with warm water and added the detergent. He picked up the jacket, its neat folds falling away, and poked it under the surface. He gave it a indifferent scrub over the washboard (and where on earth had he found a washboard in this day and age?), wrung it out, set it down, and reached for the trousers.

Fingers snapped imperiously by his ear, and a hand reached out. He looked back over his shoulder and handed Ianto the soggy jacket.

He held it up, turned it around, examined the reverse, dumped it back in the bucket, and cuffed Jack round the head. "Do it again. Do it properly."

Jack turned back to the bucket.

Ianto made him scrub out the jacket five more times before he was satisfied. It was awkward work, and utilised seldom-used muscles. By the time he was allowed to start on the trousers, Jack was sweating and feeling the beginnings of aches in his arms. The trousers went faster - Ianto only made him start again twice. His mind wandered as his hands moved in monotonous patterns. He felt unusually aware of his body, and of Ianto's gaze upon it. He found himself imagining what the younger man must be seeing.

*We have to do this again some place with a mirror.*

Yes, that would be much better, because then he could watch Ianto, all stiff and formal in his crisp, neat uniform, with the heat of arousal in his cheeks...

He held up the sodden mass of khaki for inspection, doing his best puppy-dog eyes at Ianto.

He looked it over. "It'll do," he said, and dropped it onto the worktop. He ran his fingers over Jack's chest, gathering up the sweat that glistened there, and sniffed at his fingertips. He lifted his eyes to Jack's, a disappointed look on his face. "You can't keep anything clean, can you? You're a disgrace, Harkness."

Ianto brushed his fingers over Jack's cheek, and somehow his own scent filling his nostrils was exactly perfect. His erection, which had fallen to half-mast during the intensive laundry, lifted to tap against his belly.

"I'm sorry, sir."

"I'm sure you will be. Turn around and touch your toes."

That sentence went straight to his cock. He did as he was told, peering back between his knees, although he couldn't see much more than the precise creases of Ianto's uniform trousers.

There was a pause. The position wasn't comfortable, and the insistent pull of tendons at the backs of his legs reminded Jack he wasn't as flexible as he used to be. But, like the smack of the swagger stick or the aching muscles from the repetitive scrubbing, the pain served as a reminder than he wasn't here for his own pleasure. And there was pleasure enough in that thought. In his head, he could see the picture he made - balls, soft and vulnerable framed by taut thighs, buttocks spread just enough to hint, and, behind it all, Ianto, fully-dressed and authoritative.

Finally, Ianto touched him. A hand slid over his hip, rubbed comfortingly at the small of his back, cupped his buttock. It pushed him gently forward, and, understanding, he pressed his fingertips to the floor in front of his feet.

He was expecting another pause, but the first slap hit him immediately. Unprepared, he rocked forward and caught himself on his fingertips. He thought he heard a soft huff of amusement from behind him. The blow was relatively light, but had delivered just the right warming sting, and he had always preferred hands over implements.

Ianto's palm connected with his other buttock, and he gasped. "Do you... do you punish all your men like this, sir?"

"Only the ones that deserve it." A particularly hard smack landed on the junction of buttock and thigh. "When spoken to, Flight Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

Ianto's hand fell again. And again. And now Jack really wished they had a mirror, he wanted to watch pale skin slowly redden, wanted to watch elegant, long-fingered hands rising and falling, wanted to watch Ianto's face as he did this...

At that thought, he gave a loud half-sob, half-moan, and Ianto paused, squeezing at stinging flesh. "Something you wanted to say to me, Harkness?"

Giving him a chance to back out. To slow things down. "No, nothing, sir."

"Good." One last squeeze, then back to the spanking. Alternating between buttocks, the blows grew gradually harder, until Jack was squirming despite himself.

Ianto paused, and Jack could hear him breathing, fast and hard. He caressed the flesh he'd beaten, and Jack moaned. "You're doing very well," he told him, his voice low and husky, the way it was after they made love. "Just five more."

The swagger stick slid up Jack's thigh and touched his backside lightly, warning him what was coming.

The last five blows onto already sensitised skin were hard and fierce, but quick. It was all over in a matter of seconds. He straightened up slowly, and met Ianto's eyes. His pupils were wide, his face was flushed and he was breathing hard. They smiled at each other - the smiles of people who shared a wonderful secret.

Jack couldn't resist craning over his shoulder to inspect the damage. His buttocks looked decidedly pink. He ran exploratory fingers over the hot flesh. Quite an expert job. It had felt very... impressive, but the marks would fade quickly.

Ianto took a step closer. "Well? Think you've been punished enough?"

With a grin, Jack rubbed his palm over Ianto's crotch. "I don't think I have, sir. I'm not feeling very repentant."

"Hmmm. Let's see what we can do about that." He pushed at Jack's shoulder, who willingly bent over the kitchen counter. "Ready for me?" he asked, voice a little unsteady, already easing Jack's buttocks apart.

"Always, sir." He'd been ready and waiting all evening, ever since Ianto had proposed this game. He tilted his hips up and spread his legs, presenting himself for Ianto's eyes, framed in the flesh he'd marked. There was a moment's hesitation as Ianto fumbled with his fly, and then he was sinking slowly home.

Jack arched his head back, closed his eyes, and gave a sigh of pure satisfaction. He reached for his cock, but Ianto seized his wrist and slapped his hand down on the worktop. "You are being punished, Flight Lieutenant. Try to remember."

"Sorry, sir. Don't know what I was thinking, sir. Harder, please, sir."

Ianto gripped his hips and began thrusting faster. "You like this, don't you?"

"Yes, sir..."

"You deserve this, don't you?"

"Oh, definitely. Deserve lots of it, sir..."

An amused huff of breath ghosted over his back. After the lengthy build-up, being so deliciously filled, coupled with the feel of Ianto's fully clothed body pressed against his naked back, was almost too much.

He turned wide, begging eyes back over his shoulder. "Please, sir?" He reached for his cock again, but Ianto grabbed him, put both his hands firmly down onto the counter and covered them with his own. Jack pushed back against him, meeting each thrust, feeling cold, hard buttons and buckles scraping at his back, and cool, indifferent air surrounding his cock.

Ianto's pace began to quicken, and his grip on Jack's hands tightened. Jack lifted his fingers, spreading them, so Ianto's could interlace.

"Please, sir?" he tried again. "Please let me, I need to..."

Ianto gave no indication he'd heard him, and his grip didn't loosen. His breath was coming in short, harsh pants, and Jack knew he was close to the edge. He began squeezing him on every forward thrust, and the pants turned to moans.

"Come for me," Jack whispered, arching his neck back. "Please, sir, come for me..."

With an almost pained cry, Ianto thrust harshly forward and shuddered, buried, balls-deep. He held still for a few seconds, then sighed deeply and pulled out.

Jack's arsehole felt stretched and slippery and sadly empty. And his cock felt badly in need of attention. He turned around. Ianto was fastening his trousers with hands that were shaking slightly. "Sir?" Jack asked, hopefully. "I think I'm feeling suitably repentant now."

Ianto visibly pulled himself back into character. "How can you?" he asked, with a raised eyebrow. "You haven't finished."

Jack gave him a questioning look. He retrieved the swagger stick from where it had rolled down the worktop and pointed it at the ironing board.

"You have got to be kidding."

That earned him an outraged glare and a hard smack to his tender backside.

"You've got to be kidding, sir." he amended.

"You'd leave a job half-finished, would you? That's acceptable behaviour, is it?"

"No, sir. Of course not, sir."

"Go on, then."

He suppressed the urge to touch himself - he was good at waiting, he'd had plenty of practise - grabbed the cold, wet khaki trousers, and spread them out on the ironing board. He could feel his heartbeat thumping in his throat and his groin, and Ianto's come was trickling down his thighs. He carefully flattened a trouser leg, and held his fingers close to the iron's surface to test the heat.

But before he could begin, Ianto slid up to his side, pressing against him from shoulder to hip, batted his hands away and straightened the seams. He didn't move away when he was done, but stalked around to Jack's other side, trailing his fingers across the back of his shoulders, to watch as he worked the iron up the trouser leg. He was so close, Jack could feel his breath on his neck.

When he finished the first leg and turned the trousers over for the other one, he experimentally brushed his cock against Ianto's hip. There was no objection. When Ianto leaned across to straighten the seams again (it had looked perfectly straight before as far as Jack was concerned), he pushed his thigh between Jack's.

By the time they reached the jacket, Jack was unashamedly humping Ianto's leg at every opportunity. When the jacket was pressed and folded and laid neatly aside, Ianto leaned across and switched off the iron, coincidentally grinding his buttocks against Jack's insistent erection.

Jack gave a moan of surrender, pulled him into his arms and kissed him. It was desperate and sloppy, and at one point their teeth clashed uncomfortably together, and it was wonderful and satisfying and perfect. Ianto groped blindly between them and closed his hand on Jack's cock. Jack made an incoherent moaning-laughing sound, and buried his face in Ianto's shoulder.

"Yes, yes, please, yes..."

He let go, hastily licked at his palm and fingers, and began pumping in earnest.

Jack gave a rather undignified yelp, and clutched desperately at Ianto's shoulders. "I'm so close... Ianto... I want... wanna come on the uniform..."

Ianto backed him up against a cupboard, kissed him, and pushed one clothed leg between Jack's naked ones. "Do it," he said, his voice rough, his hand sliding up and down Jack's cock, twisting at the head just the way he liked.

Jack came. Loudly. And messily.

"Wow," Ianto said with a bemused smile, looking down at the copious streaks of semen covering the front of his service dress jacket.

With a happy, lazy grin, Jack stroked his cheek. "If you will be such a tease..."

Ianto smiled back. "But you love it. Could you pass me a cloth, please?"

***

Jack lay on his back, still feeling a little floaty and post-orgasmic. He watched Ianto towel off his hair, then held up the blankets for him to get in. They snuggled together. Jack tucked Ianto's head under his chin, breathed in the fresh soap-and-shampoo scents, and ran his fingers through short, damp hair, smoothing it down. "So. That was a damn good idea of yours."

Ianto looked up at him with a rueful smile. "I nearly chickened out. Thought you might laugh at me or something."

He gave him a reassuring kiss on the forehead. "I think we might've tapped into some deep-seated rage with the whole washing thing - do we maybe need to draw up some rotas?"

Ianto made a non-committal "mmm," noise, and shifted into a slightly more comfortable position.

"Where the hell did you get the uniforms from, anyway?"

"Ask me no questions..." he trailed off into a yawn.

"I'm not going to have an angry air marshal on the phone in the morning, am I?"

"Certainly not."

Pause.

"Could you get... other stuff?"

"Maybe. Got some ideas?"

"Maybe." He scratched his fingernails over the centre of Ianto's back, making him squirm pleasantly against him. "You wanna try some other stuff?"

Ianto smiled his wicked smile. "Sounds like fun."

They lay quietly for a while. Jack ran his fingers up and down Ianto's spine.

"Thought you were gonna call it all off when I told you to do the ironing," Ianto said softly, his eyes closed.

Jack chuckled. "Yes, well... You, Wing Commander Jones, are a cruel, cruel man."

Ianto smiled, smugly. "You deserve it."

"Mmm. Maybe I just deserve you."

***

fin

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- 1
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Soldier Boy