It should really be no surprise that Jack hogs the bed.
Ianto understood it, a man his size in a bed this narrow, elbows and ribs are destined to meet in painful ways. But he couldn't predict how dedicated Jack was in the slow conquest of every inch of free space.
It starts with a peaceful stretch. Arms are flung upwards, collide with the headboard and fall back to lay naturally. Ianto's forced to scoot down, unless he wants to sleep with Jack's forearm across his face. He finds a new, more comfortable spot for his head on the curve of the immortal's shoulder, so he's willing to acquiesce the space.
Ianto lets his hand run up the length of Jack's torso to his chest where he can feel the drumbeat pulse behind horrifyingly thin layers of flesh, muscle and bone.
Owen fails to materialize at the entrance of the hub, bruised and battered from another night at the pub. The score of computers monitoring The Rift are silent, rows of data filed away behind screen-savers.
There is peace across the land. Ianto's breathing starts to even out.
Like the shifting of great tectonic plates, Jack's legs begin to move beneath the covers. Suddenly there's a knee in this thigh, a shin pinning him down, moving to become a heel in his ankle.
Ianto opens his eyes and stares at the side of Jack's head. He moves over. Counts to five. Jack moves over. He moves again. Soon, Ianto's pressed against the wall, bent into Tetris shapes. Without moving from his back, Jack has managed to take up eighty percent of the free space on the bed.
Making the valiant effort of moving him without waking him (for a man who doesn't need sleep, he seems pretty comfortable with the concept) Ianto briefly entertains the idea of rolling him off the bed. Watching Jack snap into wakefulness the moment his axis is thrown off, blue eyes staring at him in cheerful disbelief a quip ready to be released by his silvertongue.
Jack was moving again, rolling closer to Ianto, pausing on his side. He let loose a huff of breath, hot and moist on the side of Ianto's neck. Hands find him in the darkness on their own accord, winding fingers through his hair while a large hand finds its way to his hip.
Ianto grinned in the darkness, far too awake by the constant motion for sleep. He reaches out, feeling hard planes and smooth curves, and waits for Jack's breathing to change.