Work Text:
Goodnight
By Sioux
Torchwood: Ianto/Jack
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
“What made you pick that movie?” Ianto asked, leading the way out of the cinema.
“It was advertised as a romantic comedy,” Jack replied.
“Think you should have read the synopsis first,” Ianto said, moving out of the way of the sea of tearful, teenaged girls.
He waited at the side of the SUV until Jack unlocked it. “Hey,” he said, “What happens if there’s an emergency while we’re out?”
“Owen’s got his car with him,” Jack replied deadpan.
Ianto laughed at the thought of three of them squashed into Owen’s two seater.
“Cosy!”
“Very,” Jack said, innuendo in every syllable.
“Where are we going to eat?”
“I’ve booked a little Italian place,” Jack replied, manoeuvring around the traffic.
“O Sole Mio?”
He shook his head.
“Pizza Express?” Ianto asked, straight faced.
Jack laughed. “Wait and see,” was all he would say.
Jack pulled to a stop and switched off the engine. Ianto hadn’t known there was a restaurant in this area of town. But, at the end of a row of shops, there it was. A tiny place, seating for not more than thirty but it was very nearly full. “Perelli’s” written in an arc across the glass window gave him the clue to the name of the place. Glancing in through the glass, Ianto could see the dining area lit by candles and lowered overhead lights, bright enough to eat by but not to dazzle. Sanded and varnished wooden floors, wooden tables and chairs gave it a quaint, old fashioned look. The open plan kitchen, in clear sight of the dining room, dispelled that notion; it was a stainless steel, state of the art food preparation Mecca, well lit and very busy.
A buzz of conversation and pleasant warmth, loaded with the scent of herbs and fresh bread, were the first things which hit Ianto as he followed Jack through the door. An elderly, round little man waddled forward to greet them, his face wreathed in smiles. He greeted Jack like a long lost brother.
“Ah, Signor Jack, so good to see you again. You are looking well. You are well?”
“I’m very well, Toni, very well.” He turned and smiled at Ianto. “Toni, I’d like you to meet Ianto Jones. Ianto, Toni Perelli, owner and maitre d’.”
Ianto’s outstretched hand was engulfed by a warm, two handed grasp.
“Pleased to meet you Signor Perelli,” Ianto replied with a shy smile.
“Please, call me Toni. Very pleased to meet you. Any friend of Jack is more than welcome here. Please, come this way,” he said, finally releasing Ianto’s hand.
A lady, about the same age as Toni and with a similar figure, waved and lifted up her voice in a Welsh accented Italian greeting. Jack replied in good Italian, his American accent nowhere in evidence.
Ianto was feeling rather bemused. That Jack knew the owner and was on good terms with he and his wife, was obvious and he spoke reasonable Italian. Another gem to add to the small collection of facts on Jack Harkness.
A rapid fire conversation took place between Jack and Toni as he was seating them both.
“Would you like a drink?” Jack asked, “House red and white are very good here.”
Ianto shrugged. “Red please.”
Jack nodded. “Toni suggested we go with Mama’s choices this evening. Are you willing to try that?”
“Are you?”
“Oh yes! Mama doesn’t let anything out of the kitchen that she wouldn’t be willing to eat herself, and she has very high standards.”
“OK,” Ianto agreed. It was a novel experience allowing the restaurateur to choose his meal for him.
Another session of rapid Italian before Toni nodded, his face stretched in an even wider smile.
“Buon! Excellent!” he complimented both men.
Clicking his fingers towards the tiny bar, the waiter there was already taking down a glass and a small carafe. In no time at all the small table held fresh bread, olive oil, a glass of delicious red wine with a small carafe of the same, a jug of iced water and two water glasses. Jack lost no time in taking a piece of bread and dribbling oil over it.
“Try the bread, it’s wonderful!” he said, reverently popping a piece into his mouth and closing his eyes on the flavour.
Ianto smiled. He’d never seen Jack in such raptures about a piece of bread before. He broke off a piece and dipped it in the oil, just to show willing. Immediately a warm yeasty fragrant taste filled his mouth, slowly giving way to the peppery taste of the olive oil, a subtle hint of herbs coming in as the final notes on what seemed to be a symphony of flavours dancing around his mouth. He uttered a soft, involuntary moan as he swallowed. He opened his eyes, wondering when he’d closed them.
Jack was grinning at him.
“And that’s just the beginning,” he whispered.
Ianto’s face coloured at the sensuous mages conjured up by the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes.
Was Jack remembering the same things as he was?
The first time Jack had kissed him?
The first time Jack had blown him?
The time Owen had walked in on them adjusting their clothes after a prolonged bout of frottage against Jack’s office wall.
Owen hadn’t said anything at the time; neither had he said anything when he saw Ianto spraying the office with air freshener. He hadn’t missed what had gone on though, when he called Ianto ‘Jack’s part time shag’. And that had hurt because he knew it was true. Ianto Jones didn’t fill the mind of Jack Harkness like Jack filled Ianto’s mind. Ianto could guess that he wasn’t the fantasy figure Jack jerked off to either. Jack was a gentle lover with him, never doing anything which Ianto didn’t want to do but he had never given him the impression that their odd relationship was anything more than convenient sex.
For a long time Ianto had been too much in awe of Jack to even suppose he was more to him than simple need; a warm body to ease the chill of his loneliness. In truth he was awed about the things he was willing to do with Jack.
Before Jack Harkness he’d never kissed a man, never even thought about it. Now, he was on a date with a man and his date was hand-feeding him another morsel of oil soaked bread. He accepted the bread and licked the finger, as it seemed disposed to hover for a while.
He saw Jack swallow hard before he asked, “Good, isn’t it?”
Ianto nodded, chewed and swallowed, then slowly and sensuously licked imaginary oil from his own finger tips, keeping his eyes on Jack’s face the whole time.
Jack licked his lips and swallowed again, following the path of each finger, mesmerised by their journey.
Jack was startled when the waiter arrived with their first course, a thick flavoursome soup made with lots of vegetables and beans. Recovering quickly he smiled and discreetly adjusted his trousers.
Ianto hid his smile as he looked down at his food. He wanted to be far more than a part-time sex-toy for Jack Harkness. So far, his plan for this section of the evening was going well.
The rest of the meal was amazing; flavours and textures so right and well cooked that by the end of the evening Ianto was in raptures although he did recognise this as a softening up exercise on the part of his hedonistic date.
Jack drove them back to Ianto’s home. He also, very correctly, got out of the SUV and walked Ianto to his door. Ianto unlocked the door but didn’t go in immediately. Turning to Jack he said very sincerely, “Thank you for a wonderful evening, Jack. I’ve enjoyed it.”
Jack smiled, a knowing smile, one side of his mouth quirking up.
“The excellent company made the evening.”
Ianto leaned forward their lips meeting in a gentle, subtle kiss.
“Goodnight Jack.”
“Goodnight Ianto, sleep well,” Jack said as he turned back to the SUV.
“You too, Sir,” floated to him.
Jack turned around, knowing, without really needing to see, that Ianto was blushing. Instead of uttering the smart ass remark which had risen to his lips Jack contented himself with grinning. The colour mounted even more in Ianto’s face.
Three days later Jack waved a pair of theatre tickets under Ianto’s nose.
“I read the synopsis this time,” he said. “I don’t think there’ll be legions of hormonal teenagers, crying buckets.”
“A Few Good Men. Very appropriate, Sir,” Ianto replied dryly, reading the name of the show from the tickets.
“Show doesn’t start until eight, so we could get a pre-theatre meal, if you’re interested?”
Ianto loaded the last of the coffee cups onto his tray, considering the question.
“Thank you, I’d like that.”
Jack’s smile lit up the hub.
Ianto walked away with his usual measured tread, keeping his face blank. So far his plan seemed to be working. Not putting out for Jack had resulted in getting asked out again. Ianto wanted Jack to be as needy for him as he already was. He wanted to be more than just the office boy; more than his part-time shag. If cold showers twice a day and going without got him his wish, then Ianto was prepared to go the distance.
The pre-theatre supper was good; nowhere near the standard of Perelli’s but that was not its purpose. The play was very good too. Ianto enjoyed the interaction and enjoyed seeing Jack wince at some of the so called American accents.
“Maybe they’ll take you on as a voice coach,” Ianto teased as they left the theatre.
“The one they have needs some work,” Jack replied sourly.
They stopped off for a nightcap then Jack drove Ianto home. A sense of awkwardness and anticipation overcame Ianto as they neared his home. Any other time Jack would have been all over him like a cheap suit, then again, most other times Ianto would have been ripping Jack’s trousers open before they had left the hub. Dating had brought with it a whole new level of constraints and problems.
Jack sat quietly staring out through the windscreen.
“Thank you, I enjoyed this evening,” Ianto said into the silence.
“So did I,” Jack replied.
Suddenly Ianto wondered if he was doing this right. This felt like they were turning into comfortable old friends rather than mad keen lovers. He turned in his seat and leaned in.
The kiss which met him was certainly not the quick peck of an old friend. He drew back, confused and unsure, looking at Jack for a clue where to go. Jack was being very obtuse waiting for Ianto to make the decision.
“Goodnight Jack, see you at work tomorrow.”
A slightly acid smile played over Jack’s face, or maybe it was the reflection from the sodium lamps.
“Goodnight Ianto,” he replied quietly.
Jack waited in the SUV until he saw Ianto enter the front door, then returned Ianto’s wave and pulled away from the kerb.
Ianto felt rather bad standing in his hallway looking down at the keys in his hand. It would have been good to finish the night in bed with Jack. He snorted to himself; that was one thing they had never done, they’d had sex plenty of times but never gone to bed together. Shrugging he got ready for bed and eventually relaxed enough to start to drift off. On the borders of sleep he remembered the date. Wednesday the eighteenth. This Friday would be Tommy Brockhurst’s annual defrosting. Tosh would be pleased. She and the frozen soldier seemed to hit it off.
Thursday passed peacefully enough but Friday was a long, long day. When Tosh had taken Tommy home, then Owen and Gwen had departed, Ianto was undecided what to do. Slowly he surveyed the hub. It was clean and tidy so he made his way up towards Jack’s office.
“This time tomorrow he’ll be back in 1918,” Jack said, as he heard Ianto’s footsteps on the stairs.
“His own time. Would you go back to yours? If you could?” Ianto asked curiously.
“Why? Would you miss me?”
“Yeah.”
“I left home a long time ago. Don’t know where I really belong. Maybe that doesn’t matter any more.”
“I know you get lonely.” Ianto knew he was getting close to Jack’s private side.
“Going home wouldn’t fix that. Being here I’ve seen things I never dreamt I’d see. Loved people I never would have known if I just stayed where I was. I wouldn’t change that for the world.”
Leaning forward to kiss him with all the pent up need and yearning of the last couple of weeks seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Ianto’s mind soared. Love! He’d said it and whilst looking him in the eye.
Before long Jack pushed Ianto back. Breathing heavily he said,
“If you’re going to say goodnight to me and leave, you’d better do it now.”
Ianto stared into the achingly honest blue eyes.
“Get your coat, you’ve pulled,” he said, his voice husky.
Jack’s face broke into a smile.
“And where are you going to take me?” he asked laughing.
Ianto gave him a smouldering look before saying slowly,
“Home. Where you’re going to take me. In a bed for a change.”
Jack’s face sobered immediately, his eyes anxiously scanning Ianto’s face for any sign of amusement. There was none. Ianto straightened up and stood, taking Jack’s hand and towing him behind. As they passed the coat stand Jack grabbed his greatcoat and kept right on following Ianto out to his car.
The journey back to Ianto’s home was carried out in tense silence. Ianto concentrating on driving, Jack closing his hands into fists to stop himself ripping Ianto’s clothes off.
Ianto pulled into the side of the road, nominally parking his car. Jack, so close behind him as he unlocked his door, Ianto could feel his body heat. The second the door was open wide enough to admit the two men they were through. The keys dropped to the floor unnoticed as they fell on each other. Exchanging hungry, open mouthed kisses, hands moving ceaselessly in the quest for skin to assuage aching, burning need. Both men were pushing and moving against each other amidst a sea of discarded clothing.
Jack’s hitched breath, his arms tightening around Ianto and the spurt of hot fluid against his belly encouraged Ianto to reach for and find his own climax.
The sound of panting breaths in the darkness of the hallway gave way to slower breathing and lazy kisses.
“Do you think we could try for the bed now?” Ianto asked.
Jack nodded and kissed him again. Ianto pulled up his briefs and trousers, so he was no longer hobbled, wrinkling his nose at the feel of drying come on his belly. Jack opted for the more expedient method of leaving his boots where they were and removing his trousers, following Ianto up the stairs au natural.
Ianto switched on his bedside lamp then made a detour to his bathroom for a quick wipe down whilst Jack pulled back the bedclothes and lay on the bed waiting. The light on the tiny landing went out as Jack watched the door Ianto entered, soft lamplight gilding his skin and hair. He climbed on the bed as Jack moved towards him.
Ianto looked his fill. Jack was handsome, well built and an experienced lover but this was the first time Ianto had seen him completely naked. Something he meant to take full advantage of.
“Ianto Jones in a bed,” Jack said softly, feasting his eyes on the delicious sight.
Despite his arousal something clicked in Ianto’s mind and he suddenly stopped his study of Jack’s body to stare at Jack’s face.
“What?” Jack asked.
“That’s it, isn’t it? Why we always have sex at work?”
“What is?” Jack asked, not sounding as confident now.
“Your fetish, your office fetish!”
Jack grinned.
“Got me!” he replied, then got on with the serious business of trying to drive Ianto out of his mind with lust.
Jack trailed his fingertips along the length of Ianto’s arm, his touch raising the hairs there. His hand drifted across onto his belly, into the hollow of his hip. Ianto’s stomach muscles fluttered at the sensation. Jack licked at the same spot evoking a stronger reaction. Slowly his lips travelled across to the other hip, ignoring, for the moment, his burgeoning erection. Licking a path along the silky skin on the other hip down to the nest of curls where he briefly buried his nose and inhaled. Smell of soap, a faint, bleachy scent of semen and rising musk. An aperitif to get the juices flowing. He kissed the spongy head, bestowed a brief lick on his balls then began to work his way back North, following the mid-line of hair to between his nipples. Jack palmed one, feeling the nipple pebble and rise under his hand whilst his tongue laved its mate, alternating soft suckling with the scrape of teeth. Quickening breathing and the closed eyed look of bliss on Ianto’s face told Jack his ministrations were being enjoyed. He stopped to study the face under his before giving in and kissing swollen lips.
Jack pressed his palm to the ripening cock, pre-cum laving a trail along his hand and wrist; slowly he curled his fingers around the shaft, intending to tease him for a long time.
“Jack!” Ianto said softly.
“Mmm,” Jack said, his lips placing tiny kisses along Ianto’s neck.
Suddenly Ianto wriggled as if he wanted to get away. Jack obligingly lifted his weight off the slighter man.
Ianto pulled out a drawer in his bedside table, took out a tube and a foil package and put them into Jack’s hand.
Jack stared at them, absently noting the glistening trail underneath them. He lifted his eyes to Ianto’s face.
“D… don’t you want to?” Ianto asked anxiously. This total stillness on Jack’s part was making him panic.
“Are you sure?” Jack asked.
Ianto nodded.
“We don’t have to…”
Ianto cut off his sentence.
“I want to. With you.”
Jack seemed to search his very soul with his eyes.
“I’m honoured,” he finally replied.
Covered in sweat, his limbs almost shaking from pain, which had been turned to the most intense pleasure he’d ever experienced when he gave his body into Jack’s experienced hands, Ianto couldn’t have moved far not even if the Cybermen were paying house calls.
He felt himself being wiped with a damp cloth, then dried. He forced his eyes open to see Jack, red faced, his hair wet and stuck to his face performing a similar office on himself. He smiled when he saw Ianto looking. Gathering him in his arms, Jack kissed his forehead and settled him, pulling the bed covers over them both. Sleep submerged him quickly.
Ianto’s eyes flickered open. He was lying half on Jack and half on the bed. Jack still had his arms around him. The room was grey and black with shuttered light from the streetlight outside his home. He could see Jack blink and knew he’d probably spent, however long it had been, staring at the ceiling.
“Have you slept at all?”
“A little,” Jack said, beginning to stroke his arm.
“What time is it?”
“A little after five.”
A comfortable silence dropped between them.
“How are you feeling?” Jack asked.
Ianto took stock.
“Relaxed and…a bit sore,” he admitted ruefully, not caring to share that his balls felt like shrivelled prunes as well. “You take the first shower, I’ll put some coffee on.”
Before he could move Jack held him and kissed him.
“Thank you, my Ianto,” he said softly, holding his head.
Ianto smiled.
As they were first back in the hub, no-one else could tell if they’d arrived separately or together.
Tommy did more than his duty and stopped the eruptions of time. It had been an even longer and more bloody day though. Ianto felt so sorry for Tosh but he couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t think about when he was grieving when Jack had left them all. He could more than imagine how she was feeling.
Tired though he was, he didn’t fall asleep immediately that evening. Jack had elected to stay at the hub, which was just as well. Ianto wanted some time on his own to think. He knew Jack couldn’t die, but that didn’t mean he would stay with Torchwood forever. Although he had said he’d come back for them, after finding his Doctor. Ianto snorted softly to himself. How ridiculous was he? Jealous of the Doctor for the hold he had over Jack. A man he had never met and wasn’t ever likely to meet either. He turned over and punched his pillow, letting the faint trace of Jack’s scent on the sheets lull him to sleep.
Two or three times a week, after that first time, saw Jack in Ianto’s bed. The sex was amazing but sometimes Ianto could see shadows in Jack’s eyes, as if he wasn’t really there, then he’d smile that devil may care grin and Ianto would forget his own name for a while.
They’d even progressed to cooking meals for each other. Jack wasn’t a bad cook either but the veneer of cosy domesticity didn’t really suit him although Ianto appreciated the view when Jack donned an apron over his nakedness after they had made love, to cook his lover a bacon sandwich.
Then Rhys joined their select little group and domesticity flew out of the window. Gwen confronted Jack and Jack took to his office, to sit in brooding silence, watching on the monitors as Rhys and Gwen kissed and generally revelled in their relationship.
Ianto’s heart contracted in cold pain. He had been right when he’d seen the shadows in Jack’s eyes; when he’d thought sometimes, as they made love, that Jack was thinking of someone else. His behaviour was telling Ianto, loud and clear, who he had been thinking of.
That night Ianto left the hub early, the same on the next night. On the first night he changed the sheets, duvet cover and pillow cases on his bed, but he could still smell, could still feel Jack there. The next night he bought new pillows and a duvet, a new mattress was out of the question, but he had considered it.
He was so raw and heartsick he couldn’t even shed any tears. As he was putting on his coat the third night, a familiar pair of arms settled around his waist as Jack propped his chin on his shoulder. Ianto stood perfectly still.
“Do you want to go out and get some food?” Jack asked quietly.
“Not really, I’m a bit tired,” Ianto replied.
Jack turned him intending to kiss him but the expression on his face stopped him.
Ianto shrugged.
“You can if you want, Jack,” he said.
“What’s the matter, Ianto?”
“What do you want Jack? Do you want my arse or will a hand or my mouth do?” he asked crudely, still in the same quiet even tone.
“Ianto!”
Ianto sighed heavily, his shoulders and head dropping.
“I’ve never treated you that badly. I thought you wanted that as much as I did?” Jack said, his expression one of dismay.
Ianto rubbed a hand over his mouth.
“Sorry Jack! I’ve been the idiot.”
Jack’s expression changed from one of confusion to comprehension and then the worst one of all; pity.
Ianto closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see that one. When he opened them again Jack had schooled his expression to clinical detachment.
“I thought you were making promises; I hoped you were making promises…”
Jack shook his head.
Ianto put his fingers to Jack’s lips.
“I know,” he whispered.
“It’s complicated…” Jack began.
“Yeah,” Ianto softly agreed. “Especially as I’m not Gwen and Gwen won’t leave Rhys.”
He kissed Jack on the cheek and turned to leave.
“Ianto no, don’t go!”
Taking a deep breath and forcing one foot in front of the other Ianto kept on walking his voice floating back.
“Goodnight Jack.”
Behind him he didn’t see Jack’s head drop back, tears shining in his eyes, one, snaking down his cheek in a silvery trail.
“Oh Ianto!” he whispered.
Wearily Jack lowered himself into a chair. What had he expected from a mix of twenty first century morality and someone as emotionally vulnerable as Ianto? Ianto gave his full loyalty to those he loved; he expected nothing less in return. He thought Jack was just taking what he had to offer whilst betraying him emotionally with Gwen. Jack didn’t deny he loved Gwen. Hell, he loved Tosh and prickly, cynical Owen as well but he wasn’t about to start having sex with the other three, for a myriad of different reasons. Each reason as different as the way he loved them.
Why couldn’t Ianto see that? It wasn’t difficult!
Annoyance began to overtake grief; heating tears, evaporating them in slowly simmering anger until a voice inside his head asked, ‘Have you told him any of this?
Disturbingly the voice sounded like John Hart. He ignored that quirk of his subconscious mind for the moment.
Had he ever told Ianto how he felt? Drawing a blank on his memories, the voice said,
‘Eye candy isn’t a telepath.’
Mentally telling the voice to go and screw itself he got up and collected his coat.
Ianto got home, changed his suit and tie for a pair of almost white, butter soft jeans, a white t-shirt, and a white shirt - which he left unbuttoned down to mid-chest.
Going into the lounge he retrieved a bottle of whisky from the top of the cabinet, a glass from inside then sat in an armchair, pouring out a decent slug and switching on the TV to some mindless show. The sounds and pictures a background to his tortured thoughts.
Walking out tonight had been tough but he had needed to do that in order to win back some measure of self-respect. As well as being tough it had hurt like hell! He loved Jack and he knew it wouldn’t be easy keeping his distance in future. He wondered when Jack and Gwen had slept together. Before or after Jack had started his relationship with him? Before, or after, he disappeared? Logically he didn’t think it had been after his return, he hadn’t had that much time and Gwen had agreed to marry Rhys by that point. He sniffed, wondering when he had begun to cry. Annoyed with himself he wiped his sleeve across his face. Shakily he took a healthy gulp of the spirit in his glass, feeling the liquid warmth coursing down his throat and pooling in his belly, completely by-passing the ice cold spot in his chest.
He leaned his head back against the chair, staring up at the ceiling. He’d been in love before and managed to move on afterwards, he could do the same again. Getting over a man like Jack wouldn’t be easy. Someone who was friend, boss, colleague and who had literally saved his life on a number of occasions. Maybe that was the reason it was so hard to move away from Jack. The spirit which was currently animating him wanted to be near to its original owner. Briefly he considered letting it return to Jack; he looked down at his wrists. A quick set of parallel cuts up his arm would do the trick. Then he dismissed the thought. There was absolutely no guarantee Jack wouldn’t bring him back again. Besides, he wanted to live his life, borrowed though it might be. Perhaps a move to another department? But he loved his work at Torchwood. Even now, when he was feeling as hollowed out and empty as a blown egg, he still loved his job.
He swallowed the rest of the liquid in his glass and poured himself another, welcoming the slightly detached feeling as the alcohol hit his blood stream.
Thinking back he tried to remember when Jack had given any indication that he wanted them to be totally exclusive. He couldn’t, try as he might. Neither could he find any memory which might indicate Jack wanted them to be a couple. OK, he’d been asked out on a few dates and they’d ended up in bed more times that he could remember but the only talk which even vaguely mentioned couples had been about sexual positions.
So, he’d acted like a lovesick girl and made incorrect assumptions about the man he was sleeping with. Well, he thought to himself, as soul searching and getting angry at a louse went, that was embarrassing. Way too embarrassing. He topped up his glass rather generously and drank it fast.
Half way down his fourth large whisky there was a knock on his door. He didn’t move. Whoever it was was persistent though, as the knocking continued.
Walking, not quite steadily, he made his way into the hall and opened the door, somehow not too surprised to see Jack standing on the pavement.
They stared at each other for a minute. Jack, taking in Ianto’s tear-stained face and smelling the alcohol on his breath, feeling guilt twist in his heart and lust lick at his belly. Even with tears on his cheek and whisky on his breath, Ianto was totally desirable.
“Can I come in?” Jack asked.
Ianto nodded and stood aside.
Awkwardly they stood in the hall, Ianto not meeting Jack’s gaze and Jack, uncharacteristically, lost for words.
“Would you like a drink?” Ianto asked, shyly raising his eyes then looking away quickly.
“Thank you.”
“Whisky, brandy, water, coffee?”
“Coffee?”
Ianto nodded and sidled past the larger man to get into the kitchen.
Jack dropped his gaze to his boots. How the hell was he supposed to fix this?
‘Just bloody tell him how you feel!’ replied the voice of his subconscious, using John Hart’s voice.
“That simple?” he muttered back to it.
“Pardon?” Ianto asked.
“Nothing.”
“Can I take your coat?” Ianto asked, his natural hospitality coming to the fore.
Jack nodded but made no move to take his greatcoat off.
Diffidently Ianto took the coat from his shoulders, allowing it to slide down his arms, then carefully put it on a hanger, replacing the hanger on the coat stand in the corner of the hall. Still without meeting Jack’s eyes he walked back into the kitchen, saying,
“Go and sit down in the lounge, if you want.”
He turned, a brave attempt at a smile gracing his face before firmly facing forward again.
Jack’s heart broke. Beautiful, brave Ianto trying to distance himself without making Jack feel uncomfortable.
Taking a deep breath Jack followed him into the kitchen.
“Ianto, I want to explain…”
“You don’t need to, Jack. You don’t owe me anything.”
“Yes, I do.”
Ianto opened his mouth to refute the suggestion but Jack placed two fingers across his lips.
“Let me speak?”
Finally meeting his eyes, Ianto nodded.
“You were right, I do love Gwen,” Jack said softly and gently.
Ianto dropped his gaze and swallowed hard. Even through the screen of booze, that hurt.
Jack put his hand under his chin and forced his head up, looking straight into his watering eyes.
“I also love Tosh and Owen and you.”
Bringing his other hand up to frame Ianto’s face, Jack continued,
“I love you all but you’re the only one I make love with.”
Ianto eyes widened.
“Why?”
“Why what?” Jack smiled. “Why do I love you all or why do I only make love with you?”
“Both.”
“You’re my team. You’ve all done things I’m so proud of. You all bring your unique talents to the mix. We wouldn’t function as well if any of you were missing.”
Unconsciously Jack’s fingers were stroking the side of Ianto’s face, feather light touches, his fingertips feeling the texture of skin and evening beard.
“But you,” Jack smiled, “You’re light and dark; urbane, smooth and polished on the outside, raging passions on the inside. You’re a dark current which pulls me under, the nearest to death I can ever get, but you fill me with light and life as well. My puzzle. My enigma. My Ianto.”
Jack kissed each tear track away, the salt and taste of Ianto lingering in his mouth. Gently he kissed his beloved’s lips, a benediction and a blessing before a speechless Ianto flowed into his arms.
They stayed locked together for quite a while enjoying the closeness, ignoring the coffee machine noisily percolating the grains until it faded into silence.
“Jack, if your Doctor comes back, are you going to leave with him again?”
Ianto felt Jack shake his head.
“No. I need to be here. And I would like you to be here with me.”
Ianto moved back out of Jack’s arms and shook his head.
“You don’t want to be with me any more?” Jack asked, his heart sinking.
“Yes, I do want to be with you, but as we were. No changes. I don’t think you’re really the commitment type. And you were happy with the way things were before.”
“But you weren’t, not completely,” Jack replied.
“It doesn’t matter. You never said you wanted this to be forever. You haven’t made any promises to me, I was imagining things.”
“Yes, it does matter. It matters to me. I want to try this.”
“Have you ever tried commitment before?” Ianto asked, curiosity overwhelming him for a second.
Jack opened his eyes wide and blew out his cheeks.
“Sort of,” he replied hesitantly. “Not usually around long enough to put it to the test,” he admitted cheerfully.
“Sort of?” Ianto questioned, getting to the meat of the reply.
“He didn’t want any form of commitment from me. Didn’t even want me around really.”
Ianto found that hard to believe.
“So, just the once then?”
Jack hesitated.
“It’s…”
“…Complicated. I know, you said.,” Ianto finished for him.
He regarded Jack silently before asking, “Do you really want to try that with me?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. I can’t promise I’ll get it right all the time….”
Ianto laughed.
“Welcome to the twenty-first century, Jack. None of us get it right all the time.”
“As long as you remember that when I screw up!” Jack said quickly.
Ianto opened his mouth but Jack laid two fingers against his lips again.
“I am making promises, and I’ll do my best to try and keep them. And I want you to make promises to me.”
Ianto smiled.
“My heart and soul, as long as I live?”
“If you’re giving them willingly?” Jack asked, taking the flippant question as if it was meant.
He held Ianto in place with his gaze, waiting for his answer.
Slowly Ianto replied,
“I think you’ve always had those. Treat them gently.”
“As if they were my own,” Jack replied, taking his lover back into his arms and hiding his own tears against Ianto’s neck. Jack knew how much it was going to hurt when age and death destroyed their relationship. Assuming, of course, Ianto would stay with him.
The voice in his head laughed mirthlessly.
‘With you as his significant other, poor bugger will be lucky to see his next birthday.’ Hart’s voice snorted and continued, ‘Between you and Torchwood he won’t get the chance to get old.’
Jack closed his eyes, ignoring the voice, breathing in the scent of Ianto and tightening his arms around him.
John ‘Bastard’ Hart! Always could be relied upon to make you face unpleasant facts at the most inopportune moments.
Trouble was, the smug sod was usually right, even if, currently, he was only a construct of his own mind!