A/N: Not much to say about this story. I hope you enjoy it.

In Heat

The bead of sweat is almost hovering in mid-air, weightless, where it hangs below her chin for a second, wavering, quivering before it is fueled by another small dribble of sweat and gravity wins. The small drop hits his chest, his already soaked through blue shirt and undershirt. Her tongue darts out, moistening her lips, tasting the salt of her own sweat which is running along the corners of her mouth, an almost steady stream towards her chin where another drop is already forming.

"Sorry." She mumbles obviously embarrassed, beads of sweat clearly visible on her upper lip and forehead, her face contorted in concentration. The light of his torchlight as it is reflected by the polished metal surrounding them gives the exposed sweat slickened skin of her face and cleavage an ethereal and very much appealing sheen.

"Not your fault." Jack smiles at her, but the tone of his voice is a little bit off, hoarse with barely hidden arousal.

"Yeah... but still." She's oblivious to it, or at least she's pretending to be, biting her lower lip as he sees another wave of spasm work in the muscles of her arms.

They were trapped in that vent now for a little longer than thirty minutes and the muscles of Gwen's arms were starting to quiver under the strain to support most of her body weight in that awkward press-up position she was in. Ten minutes after the trap door had shut down, locking them in, she had first succumbed to kneel, her knees pressed against his thighs and the wall, and had stayed in this position, on her hands and knees, ever since. Despite her efforts he can still feel the heat radiating of her body, scorching him.

He knows he should offer her that they'd switch positions, so that she could lie down and he'd be on top, but he doesn't. Because he's a bastard who wants to see the defeat in her face when she finally gives in and lies down on him, her heated, sweaty body pressed against his by the force of gravitation; what a shame they were clothed. Now, if that wasn't an unbelievably hot image… If she was so determined to fight the very apparent attraction between them, then he'd play along; this was a game for two after all and he'd be damned if he didn't enjoy it. And who had ever said he had to play fair? Apart from that absolutely inappropriate but very much motivating reason he also knows that switching positions in that confined space wouldn't be a very good idea. Too much friction between them, too much possible ways of skin on skin slick with sweat, a too hot and humid environment and way too much fantasies playing in the back of his head; his self control is only so strong.

"You know... the idea of being chased by those five bloodthirsty Rottweiler's becomes more and more appealing with every second." Gwen finally says, voice pressed as another drop of sweat falls from her chin, her hair brushing over his chest as she shakes her head a little. The tactile sensation causing a shiver to run down his spine, colliding with a wave of scorching heat coming directly from his groin. A trail of sweat streams down her neck, starting at her temples, where her hair is already hanging in wet strands, and then vanishing in the v-neck of her t-shirt. The sweat soaked fabric clings to her skin; she must be literally melting with her leather jacket still on.

"Yeah. I didn't expect this door to fall shut." And he didn't expect the boiling heat and humid air, making this vent a sauna, especially with two bodies so close together; he's not complaining, though. "You should try to get out of this jacket, you must be dying in there." He finally says, tongue darting out in anticipation as another drop of sweat hits his chest, the spray of it reaching his lips.

She nods but doesn't move and Jack can see the thoughts of how she could accomplish that particular task without compromising herself running through her head. He almost laughs, because he knows there is no way. With a sigh Gwen finally gives in to the inevitable, bending her knees and lowering herself until her breasts almost brush against his chest, but not quite touching, while lifting her hands from the ground to wriggle the left arm out of its leathery encasing; the effort of keeping the necessary body tension needed for this move written all over her face. More sweat beads are dropping down onto him as she works nearly frantically, trying to wrench the leather jacket from her sweaty body.

Gwen is obviously neither trusting him nor herself in this situation; and she is absolutely right with that notion. In the end she has to give in, though, at least a little, and sit down to straddle him; he's suppressing the moan threatening to escape his lips when she involuntarily inflicts just the right amount of pressure and friction as her jeans clad behind settles down on him.

She is panting a little when she finally manages to free herself from the jacket and he is panting too but for completely different reasons. The discarded cloth lies next to his head, the scent of the warm, sweaty leather harbouring Gwen's essence invading his senses, intoxicating.

"How long do you think until Ianto finds us?" She asks, still straddling him and he can hear by the high pitch in her tone that she very much noticed his erection pressing against her.

"Dunno." Depending on Gwen's willpower to stay away from him it's either too long or not long enough.

His own resistance has long been burnt away by the lust and tension building up, coiling in the back of his spine. It's already hard enough not to give in to the temptation to thrust his hips upward, grind against her or pull her down to claim her lips or… do both, so whatever happened next was solely up to her and how long she could stay focused and uphold her determination to not give in to the longing, the desire that had been constantly growing between them from the first time their eyes locked. Ever since that day when he caught sight of her staring down in that car park he had told himself numerous times that he didn't want her, that he respected her too much, that he loved her too much as a comrade to simply go and seduce her, drag her into his bed and fuck her until her brain melted and they both forgot who and where they were; despite his qualities as a conman he had always been bad at lying to himself.

Gwen rolls her eyes at him in annoyance, her nostrils flaring, chewing lightly on her bottom lip. "What is it with you men, enclosed spaces and hard-ons?" The discomfort suddenly displayed on her face makes him think that maybe she didn't really intend to say that out loud; another bead of sweat drops from her chin.

"Well, maybe it's not us, it's you?" He tries to sound cheerful, light, but fails and his words come out a lot more lustful than planned. The implications his voice held were almost making himself blush as vivid images illustrating his fantasies run through his head, unbidden, stressing his self-control.

"Pfff…" She exhales sharply, her lips twitching. "Men…" Gwen mutters under her breath, shaking her head in an effort to push a wet strand of hair away which is plastered to her cheek; the wet strand doesn't move an inch, glued to her skin.

"Sorry." He reaches up, plucking the offending hair away, using this chance to let his fingertips caress the damp silken skin of her cheek.

There is no anger or annoyance in her voice, just slight resignation; she knows him too well. "No, you're not."

Jack can't help but to laugh at that. "You're right." He reaches up to cup her cheeks, gently forcing her to look him in the eyes. "I'm not sorry for wanting you." The impulsive boldness of his words even sounds a bit wrong to him and Gwen winces a little at the impact of it, big, shiny, innocent green eyes becoming even bigger. The literally hot atmosphere was obviously getting to him, making him say things he normally kept to himself.

He bites his lip scolding himself, his hands letting go of her to rest again next to his body while Gwen shifts her weight uncomfortably, swallowing hard, sweat streaming down her face and neck. He can see that she is trying to hide her feeling of growing uneasiness by attempting to rub her wet palms dry on her sweat soaked jeans as she doesn't seem to find suitable grip on the metal surface. For apparent reasons that is a war she can't win.

Although their hiding place is supposed to be part of an air vent it's obviously not very effective at its predesigned task because it feels as if the hot humid air, which already strongly smells of sex and arousal isn't moving at all. Jack feels almost a bit dizzy, a lot giddy and more than a lot horny from the heady, mixed scent of their heavily sweating bodies, musky and salty, a sweet, intoxicating flavour on his tongue with every breath he takes, especially with the level of his 51th century pheromones probably already being miles off the chart. He wasn't sure how Gwen had managed to overcome the powerful tug of temptation that that must exert on her for such a long time, but if her facial expression is any hint she was almost feeling physical pain by now.

Finally Jacks last bit of newly found resolve to not touch her breaks because he just can't stand this kind of sweet torture any longer, his cock so hard inside his pants, straining against the fabric that it hurts. His left hand glides up her arm, hot skin sliding over hot skin slippery with sweat; the sensation seems to burn from his hand all the way through his arm down to his throbbing erection. "Gwen..." He whispers huskily, half-pleading, lust evident in his voice, eyes heavy lidded with desire while she just stares, frozen like a statue, at his hand as it slides ever so slowly up her bare arm. Jack can literally see how Gwen's determination to resist him goes to hell, her nipples becoming visible hard erect buds under her shirt and bra. She swallows before exhaling slowly, cheeks flushing a little, pupils dilating so much that her widened eyes seem to be pitch-black when she looks at him.

Gwen isn't moving, isn't even saying a word while his hand has already found it's destination in the nape of her neck, his thumb massaging hynotising circles on her damp skin, his fingers tangling in the wet hair. Jack arches up a little, his mouth finding one of the taught nipples, sucking it through her clothes until he is satisfied by the desperate panting coming out of her mouth and the erratic trembling of her body. He leaves the nipple, pulling her down to him to finally press his lips to hers in their first real kiss; his hand cupping the breast he had neglected with his mouth.

The sweat makes both their lips taste salty, but Jack knows if Gwen would just allow his tongue to push past her teeth he would be able to savour the sweetness of that wet, hot mouth of her. He groans in frustration at her still apparent resistance, the deep rumbling of his chest vibrating throughout her body. His teeth gently biting her lower lip, tugging at it, he twirls a nipple between thumb and forefinger and uses the silent moan that his action elicits to delve his tongue inside her mouth.

Although he didn't deem it possible he gets even more aroused as he finally feels Gwen surrender, her tongue meeting his after her initial reluctance. The kiss deepens, urgent, passionate, hot skin sliding over hot skin slickened with sweat or dampened clothes as Gwen leans further down to him. When they break apart they are both gasping for air.

They kiss again. It's needy and hungry, wet and hot, lips and teeth and tongue and bordering from gentle to aggressive and demanding.

The outside world loses all significance to Jack. All that matters is the slightly writhing body of the woman on top of him and the urge to bury, to lose himself deep inside her wet heat. When he is sure Gwen won't pull away from him anymore his hand leaves her neck to grab her arse, pulling her down onto his erection, making her gasp as he grinds his hips against her, his clothed erection sliding against the crotch of her jeans. They fall into a steady rocking motion, perfectly in sync.

***

"Jack? Gwen?" They both freeze in their doings as they hear the familiar voice calling for them.

"Ianto!" Gwen responds immediately to their colleague, shaking passion and lust off her, her fists connecting with the metal of their prison.

Not long enough, definitively not long enough. Jack runs his hand roughly through his damp hair, frustration surging through him; it takes a lot of willpower to not let his frustration turn into anger and aggression. No cold shower in the world would be able to still, to cool this desire.

"Oh god! Ianto, it's so good to see you!" Gwen exclaims as the door of the vent is finally open again. The cool fresh air feels like a shock on the heated sweat-slick skin.

He sees Ianto flare his nostrils at the heavy scent suddenly engulfing him and his face distorts in distaste; he glares at Jack, well knowing what had been going on before he interrupted them and he wouldn't need to have a lot of fantasy either to imagine where it would have gone from there.

Jack grabs one of Gwen's arms as she tries to climb away from him, the sudden loss of contact only fueling his frustration, pulling her roughly back down onto him. His lips hungrily graze her cheek, moving to her ear, leaving a wet trail on her salty skin, the whispered words insistent, demanding, his voice conveying his only barely contained desire and need. "We'll need to finish this… later." It's almost a threat.

Her violent shudder is the only acknowledgement of his actions, before she gratefully accepts Ianto's outstretched hand and lets him help her out of the vent.

Jack takes some deep calming breaths, fighting back against the desire still clouding his senses, because that never was a good thing when dealing with other people if he didn't intend to fuck them (he couldn't care less about what anyone might think with regard to his still very obvious hard-on), before he follows her. He doesn't even try to hide the smug smirk finally seeing Gwen's debauched attire in all its beauty as she stands in front of a glaring Ianto, hands stemmed to her hips. Her clothes are clinging to her skin, soaked through with sweat, accentuating those very sexy curves and explicitly the still hardened nipples, her eyeliner and what little make-up she wears a ruin on her face, her hair ruffled and damp with sweat; the sweat on her skin has not yet dried. Not to mention those gorgeous lips, reddened and swollen from their kissing.

The three policemen accompanying Ianto were literally gawping at her and despite the annoyance he felt at anyone looking at his Gwen like that, he couldn't really fault them.

He didn't think he looked a lot more respectable either, drenched with sweat himself, though. Frankly, he didn't give a rats.

"Must have been pretty hot in there." Ianto remarks dryly and with only barely hidden anger as they walk back towards the SUV, glancing from Jack to Gwen and back to Jack, his disapproval of the state they are in all written over his face.

Jacks only response is to put his arm around Gwen's waist, causing her to slightly shiver at his touch, and smirk at Ianto. "You have no idea."