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custodianTitle: "Sex Among Men and the Early Days of Photography"
Disclaimer: I'm not 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: Jack/OMC/OFC
Rating: Rated P for Porn
Notes/Summary: In which historical perspective and skills from the future are an awkward thing to carry along in the early days of the Twentieth Century, Jack benefits socially and fiscally from meeting The French, and vintage pornography is made. Contains drug use and rough sex and references to prostitution. Written ages ago for one of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
51stcenturyfox's porn battles, posted here because it still makes me happy.
Many years from now, someone will say something to a journalist about how the nineteen sixties ruined sex among men, and that prior to the sexual revolution and the invention of homosexuality as a personal identity that any man would have been available to any other just as a matter of course. It isn’t a sentiment that Jack will subscribe to exactly, but there is a certain logic to it.
The problem in 1910 is mainly one of obscurity. Homosocial behavior is one thing, and he’s got a talent for finding the latest pocket of fashionable sodomites (take that, future commentator) but he can’t help but feel uncomfortably like the too-clever boy in his class. He’s always having to teach his lovers the most basic f things, over and over. It's tiresome.
It’s better in France, of course, and he takes weeks away when he can. He keeps a man in Paris, and a woman too. Henri, he’s sure, has other lovers. Geneviève is a whore. In the end, it’s the two of them who put him in touch with an Austrian pornographer named Felix, and that’s when things start to get really interesting.
For one, Felix has a cock that puts some livestock to shame, and Jack always leaves Paris feeling pleasantly abused. For another, photography is still a young art. Taking pictures means getting hard, getting into it – Felix is a lover of verisimilitude - and then stopping while the camera works.
“The other men, they cannot go at it like you do this,” he says while Jack waits, motionless. “They go limp. They go too fast, finish early. Not you, Jack. You are America’s national treasure.”
The woman he’s fucking – Adele – mutters something in French about hurrying up, and Jack tries not to laugh. “You said it, gorgeous.” After a moment Felix waves his hand and Jack pushes all the way back in. Adele groans. They fuck slow – always slow – while Felix works. She grinds down onto his lap, impatient and Jack can’t help but bite her shoulder.
“Like this!” Felix shouts excitedly, and Jack stops again and wonders exactly which of his supposed sins he’s suffering for.
“I hope you know that when you’re finished, Felix –”
Felix rolled his eyes. “When I am finished, you may have her completely while I watch, and then I intend spend myself quite thoroughly in your throat.”
This time it’s Jack’s turn to moan.
They do three more shots, with the final one being Adele bent over and touching her toes while Jack has her from behind. She’s bow-taut, and when they finally release it’s all Jack can do to ease her back down onto the chaise before he pounds her from behind with one thumb in her arse, and the fingers of his other hand toying with her clit. He comes before she does, but he carries on with gritted teeth while he gradually goes soft until she does. He makes a soft, high-pitched noise when she tightens around his cock and his thumb and then slides out of her to kneel on the floor.
Good as his word, Felix doesn’t waste a beat. His hand is in Jack’s hair almost sooner than Jack can catch his breath, while his other is holding that gorgeous and daunting prick. Jack laps at it with his tongue, tries to slick it up as thoroughly as he can before Felix pushes it into his mouth. “Jack, oh Jack,” he says, sing-song before his breaths go rough and thick to match the action of his hips. He’s relentless, and makes his refusal to stop plain even when Jack nearly chokes. (That just earns Jack a slap on the ear and a tighter fist in his hair while Felix pumps his mouth over and over.)
Felix forces in deep when he comes. There are tears in Jack’s eyes by then and the whole bottom half of his face feels wet with spit when Felix pushes his head away and leaves him on the floor gasping. Next to them, Adele has started a cone of opium. She has a hand between her legs and she looks at Jack speculatively, like she wouldn’t mind it if he pressed his slick, swollen mouth between her legs as well. She passes the pipe to him.
Jack sucks down a lungful of cloying smoke, passes the pipe to Felix, and parts Adele’s knees.
Disclaimer: I'm not 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: Jack/OMC/OFC
Rating: Rated P for Porn
Notes/Summary: In which historical perspective and skills from the future are an awkward thing to carry along in the early days of the Twentieth Century, Jack benefits socially and fiscally from meeting The French, and vintage pornography is made. Contains drug use and rough sex and references to prostitution. Written ages ago for one of
51stcenturyfox's porn battles, posted here because it still makes me happy.Many years from now, someone will say something to a journalist about how the nineteen sixties ruined sex among men, and that prior to the sexual revolution and the invention of homosexuality as a personal identity that any man would have been available to any other just as a matter of course. It isn’t a sentiment that Jack will subscribe to exactly, but there is a certain logic to it.
The problem in 1910 is mainly one of obscurity. Homosocial behavior is one thing, and he’s got a talent for finding the latest pocket of fashionable sodomites (take that, future commentator) but he can’t help but feel uncomfortably like the too-clever boy in his class. He’s always having to teach his lovers the most basic f things, over and over. It's tiresome.
It’s better in France, of course, and he takes weeks away when he can. He keeps a man in Paris, and a woman too. Henri, he’s sure, has other lovers. Geneviève is a whore. In the end, it’s the two of them who put him in touch with an Austrian pornographer named Felix, and that’s when things start to get really interesting.
For one, Felix has a cock that puts some livestock to shame, and Jack always leaves Paris feeling pleasantly abused. For another, photography is still a young art. Taking pictures means getting hard, getting into it – Felix is a lover of verisimilitude - and then stopping while the camera works.
“The other men, they cannot go at it like you do this,” he says while Jack waits, motionless. “They go limp. They go too fast, finish early. Not you, Jack. You are America’s national treasure.”
The woman he’s fucking – Adele – mutters something in French about hurrying up, and Jack tries not to laugh. “You said it, gorgeous.” After a moment Felix waves his hand and Jack pushes all the way back in. Adele groans. They fuck slow – always slow – while Felix works. She grinds down onto his lap, impatient and Jack can’t help but bite her shoulder.
“Like this!” Felix shouts excitedly, and Jack stops again and wonders exactly which of his supposed sins he’s suffering for.
“I hope you know that when you’re finished, Felix –”
Felix rolled his eyes. “When I am finished, you may have her completely while I watch, and then I intend spend myself quite thoroughly in your throat.”
This time it’s Jack’s turn to moan.
They do three more shots, with the final one being Adele bent over and touching her toes while Jack has her from behind. She’s bow-taut, and when they finally release it’s all Jack can do to ease her back down onto the chaise before he pounds her from behind with one thumb in her arse, and the fingers of his other hand toying with her clit. He comes before she does, but he carries on with gritted teeth while he gradually goes soft until she does. He makes a soft, high-pitched noise when she tightens around his cock and his thumb and then slides out of her to kneel on the floor.
Good as his word, Felix doesn’t waste a beat. His hand is in Jack’s hair almost sooner than Jack can catch his breath, while his other is holding that gorgeous and daunting prick. Jack laps at it with his tongue, tries to slick it up as thoroughly as he can before Felix pushes it into his mouth. “Jack, oh Jack,” he says, sing-song before his breaths go rough and thick to match the action of his hips. He’s relentless, and makes his refusal to stop plain even when Jack nearly chokes. (That just earns Jack a slap on the ear and a tighter fist in his hair while Felix pumps his mouth over and over.)
Felix forces in deep when he comes. There are tears in Jack’s eyes by then and the whole bottom half of his face feels wet with spit when Felix pushes his head away and leaves him on the floor gasping. Next to them, Adele has started a cone of opium. She has a hand between her legs and she looks at Jack speculatively, like she wouldn’t mind it if he pressed his slick, swollen mouth between her legs as well. She passes the pipe to him.
Jack sucks down a lungful of cloying smoke, passes the pipe to Felix, and parts Adele’s knees.