Fandom: Torchwood - Jack/Ianto
Testreader: Cameowitch
Authors Note: Eagle eye credit goes to Adafrog, thanks! xposted at torchwood coffee and jackxianto LJ communities
Disclaimer: Torchwood is the property of the BBC.



Ianto Jones sighed deeply and ran his mind over the day. Some days at Torchwood were longer than others and some…well, weren’t long enough. At the end of each day, his suit neatly put away and a new one lay out for the next day, he liked to think like this. Categorizing, organizing and such were simply what he was suited too. He knew it. His mum had known it. And everyone around him seemed to know it.

He liked it when things fit into boxes in his life. It made him feel in control. Lisa had a box all to herself, until that fateful day when everything changed. Now it was gone. Too messy to deal with so it had been put into the furthest recesses of his mind. It wasn’t alone. Deaths of friends. Things he’d seen that were simply too much. Yet it was human nature that gave him the most trouble. It was too volatile, delicate and indefinable.

Of course, this always brought him around to the one thing that eased him to sleep at night and woke him each day aching with need.

Jack.

It was the little things that helped him to sleep. Memories, snatches of reality so precious they could only be looked at in the cover of night, in the sanctity of one’s own bedroom.

Captain Jack Harkness.

He was an enigma. Yet the answer to everything. All that he’d ever somehow lacked, without even knowing was answered by Jack. Where he had structure, Jack was flow personified. His life was centered on organization; Jack refused to let anything be quite so orderly as if he enjoyed the randomness of chaos. He was shadows and Jack was light. Jack had charisma and he was dependable. If it was true, the old cliché that opposite’s attracted perhaps that could at last explain what lay between them.

Closing his eyes against the long ago memorized ceiling, Ianto let his mind drift over gentle flirting that had passed between them like waves caressing the shoreline. Comments about how good he looked in a suit, how much fun could be had with a stopwatch and so much more eased away the troubles of the day and he fell into a light sleep.

He knew in the morning the rest would hit him; the smiles, touches and fiery kisses that would race along his blood. The desperate need driving sleep from his body and giving way to self-loving.

But if he was lucky, he’d wake up and find a warm body by him. Or a mouth covering his need, even possibly wet licks down his throat.

Maybe the box didn’t matter. What mattered was what was in it.

Jack.