The Long Game

"No," said Ianto emphatically. With the simple flick of his wrist the leather uncoiled into the space between them cracking the air like a gunshot. As if by coincidence a line of crimson beads welled up on Jack's left shoulder.

It had taken Jack weeks to persuade Ianto to try his hand at the bullwhip. The first time he'd drawn blood he'd felt physically sick that his Captain could derive pleasure out of such a masochistic act had been inconceivable to him. Sex was — well, whatever it was surely it out to be pleasurable?

But it had only taken a moment for the wound to heal and for Jack to turn his neck, flash his irresistible smile back at Ianto with a "See? No harm done." With each subsequent lash he'd got harder and harder until the tip of his cock matched the burnished red handle in Ianto's hand.

The first time they'd tried it on the camp bed Jack had set up at the back of his office it had been a disappointment for both of them. In the cramped space between the walls Ianto had found it impossible to crack the whip with any kind of force and Jack had been left to rub himself off on the bed whilst the leather tip did little more than tickle his spine. As much as Ianto loved watching the curve of Jack's arse gyrating on the sheets he'd felt let down when the money shot went by out of sight and all he was left with was a sticky pool on the cotton as a memento of the evening.

It was the Captain who'd suggested a proper rack with handcuffs so Ianto could minister to both sides. Ianto, feeling a more twenty-first century solution was in order, had erected a steel scaffold deep in the Hub's interior using some spare chains he'd salvaged from a previous operation.

He'd got quite proficient after a few late night sessions when the other members of the team had fucked off home or to a club. Just the right cadence in the strokes, the right spacing between the lashings and he could almost make Jack cum to order. On a good night he could keep up the game for a couple of hours, keeping the other man poised on the edge of orgasm for minutes at a time.

"Ianto. Come on. Just untie me now."

On an impulse Ianto walked forward and licked a bead of sweat running down the naked back before it could disappear into the cleft of the Captain's buttocks. The leather handle in his grasp was almost as thick as Jack's cock. Smooth too. He rubbed the end of the whip between the tops of his thighs watching the little hairs curl and twist. A pair of muscular legs clamped down on the leather trying to trap it in place.

"Naughty, naughty." He have the weapon an experimental wiggle then slapped the protean flesh hard with the palm of his free hand.

Jack gave a yelp at the suddenness of the attack. "I'm ordering you, Ianto. Untie me this instant." The chains rattled again as Jack tried futilely to pull them free of the scaffold. Pure Dalekanium, Ianto thought smugly. Even a Sontaran couldn't break them with muscle alone.

Penetration of any kind normally made Jack hard and the whip's handle was no exception. As Ianto rotated the end against the willing hole its owner's cock was casting a long bouncing shadow over the floor.

"Ianto! I gave you an order. Get me off this thing."

"Certainly," Ianto pushed a little. "You know the score." By his count the other man had shot off at least twelve times in the last three hours, each moment of release an order of magnitude more intense than the last. In the right hands pleasure and pain could be separated by a mere hairsbreadth. The handle had slid in half way and appeared to be jammed against Jack's prostate. He ignored the stream of invective and began to gyrate the shaft up and down. It wasn't long until the Captain ran out of swear words and started to gulp air. "You just have to say the safe word."

"Llan… fair… pwll… gyll… gwn… silio…"

"Wrong again. That's one more stroke."

"Llanfair… pwyllgwngyll… llantsilio… gogogoch."

"Nope," said Ianto. "Two strokes now." Once he'd finished buggering Jack with the whip he intended to practise his backhand. With the right timing he could write 'Z' for Zorro onto the small of the Captain's back before it healed.

He wondered if Jack would ever recognise the chains as those they'd used to restrain Lisa.

 

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