Rating: K+ (PG)
Disclaimer: all rights reside with the BBC, alas
Spoilers: none
A/N: just a bit of fluff. I couldn't resist. Enjoy!
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Ianto hissed as Jack pressed the antiseptic against his skin. "Sorry," Jack said in a low voice, his eyes still focused on the cuts on Ianto's chest.
Weevil hunting had gone a bit awry, not enough to call Owen in, but enough to warrant treatment, which was why it was late at night, they were in the autopsy bay and Ianto had his shredded shirt half off his shoulder, Jack cleaning his injuries with cotton wool dipped in antiseptic.
"'S okay," Ianto replied automatically, gritting his teeth against the sting and reminding himself not to be a baby about it. But, damn if it hadn't hurt.
Jack moved on to the next scrape, drawing another hiss and Welsh curse from Ianto. Jack's hand ghosted momentarily over his, but the contact was so brief Ianto was sure he'd imagined it or it had been accidental. Jack pulled a clean cotton fluff from the package and pressed it against the bottle of antiseptic, turning the bottle over so that the fluid leaked out into the wool, put the bottle away and applied the antiseptic to the third cut that ran diagonally from Ianto's right collarbone across his chest, ending just above his heart. The weevil had aimed well, and Jack had only yanked him away just in time.
The third cut was the deepest, and the antiseptic burnt and stung so brightly that Ianto felt his eyes water and he bit his cheek so hard he tasted blood. Jack noticed him tense and gripped Ianto's uninjured shoulder with his free hand, saying again, "Sorry."
Ianto met his gaze despite knowing the tears were visible in his eyes, and replied with gritted teeth, "It's fine."
It was fine, it just hurt. It was the sort of moment when he wished Torchwood wasn't quite so dangerous, didn't quite require so many injuries; one of the moments where he wanted to be perfectly selfish and kick something, yell at someone who didn't deserve it, or just plain wanted a drink. Jack's eyes were searching his face, something soft in them that Ianto didn't want to see right now, then Jack turned his attention back to the scrapes. "Nearly done now."
The fourth cut stung as much as the rest, but was less deep and the pain ebbed away faster. When he was done, Jack carefully applied gauze and taped it to Ianto's chest, before saying, "Have Owen take a look in the morning."
Ianto nodded after a moment, collected himself after the strange sensation of the burning cuts in his chest and the different burn that the touch of Jack's fingers to his bare skin had evoked, then pulled his tattered shirt back over the injury to pointlessly button it up, because the top right quarter had been shredded from the shoulder seam to the buttonholes. When he looked up after he'd finished, Jack was watching him again.
Ianto merely raised an eyebrow, but Jack didn't respond. Ianto cleared his throat. "I'm going home."
Jack shook his head. "You shouldn't drive like that."
Ianto shrugged, a gesture made less impressive by having to pause halfway as the injuries throbbed. "I don't care. The roads are deserted anyway."
"I'm not letting you kill yourself just to be stubborn," Jack said, only mild irritation in his voice. "You can perfectly well stay here."
The words left Ianto's mouth before he realised what he'd said, the irritation from the pain and being injured overwhelming him for a second. "Yeah, because that's what I want to be doing right now, crawling into your bed after I've just been slashed open."
A flash of hurt crossed Jack's face. Then he squared his shoulders and seemed to straightened himself up. "You're right, I'll drive you home."
Ianto made a futile gesture, suddenly not feeling up to the drive and the delay. "No, I'll take the sofa in the hub."
He turned automatically, climbed up the steps into the hub proper, pulling spare blankets and pillows out of the cupboard. After a moment, he became aware of Jack regarding him with an incredulous look.
"Well, you can give me a hand."
Jack shook his head as if trying to clear it of something, then came over and took the pillows out of Ianto's arms. He walked across the hub floor and dumped them on the sofa, watching silently as Ianto spread out the blankets. "Goodnight," Jack said finally, sounding dismissive.
Ianto waved in his general direction and nodded, before kicking off his shoes and burrowing under the blankets.
--
He woke to a throbbing shoulder and the distinct feeling that something was wrong. After he checked his watch to find it was 2.30 in the morning, memory seeped back and he remembered what had happened the evening before. Abruptly, he rolled onto his back and stared at the hub ceiling. Crumbling Victorian masonry stared back at him indifferently as he tried to find the answer to how exactly he'd ended up sleeping on the hub sofa.
He knew the answer to that. He'd been a complete selfish twat.
His own self-centred upset at having been injured, annoyance and irritation at the pain had led him to do something really stupid, say something to Jack he shouldn't have, do something to Jack he shouldn't have. He sighed, the sound echoing slightly of the hub walls. He knew he only had two options. He could lie here for the rest of the night and try to ignore it in the morning and hope that it would go away, or he could be a man and go and face Jack, go to his lover to apologise and seek forgiveness.
The latter won, spurred on a little by the idea of sliding his tired and sore body into Jack's embrace. He got up slowly, pushing the blankets aside with his good arm and trying to ignore the throbbing in his injured one. He shuffled across the hub on his sock clad feet, carefully made his way to Jack's office and then to the bunker, where he landed with a soft thud on the concrete floor below. Jack, for once, was fast asleep and didn't seem to wake. Ianto stripped off what remained of his clothes down to his boxers, and carefully lifted a corner of the blankets to slide in between them.
Jack woke as he was very nearly settled in, opening one sleepy eye and blinking in confusion, then looping one strong arm around Ianto's waist and pulling him close. He nuzzled Ianto's neck and licked his skin with a raspy tongue.
"I'm sorry," Ianto whispered into the darkness.
"'S okay," Jack murmured against his skin, tightening his grip on Ianto's waist and pulling him even closer so Ianto's back touched every inch of his chest. "You were hurt."
Ianto recognized the sleepy tone to Jack's voice, how the softly caressing fingers and lips were just instinctive second nature, and smiled in the darkness. "I was a twpsyn."
"Yeah," Jack murmured, his tongue having stopped moving, his lips still resting against Ianto's skin because he seemed to lack the energy to move away, "you were."
Ianto laid his hand over Jack's and entwined their fingers. He could feel Jack's breath ghosting evenly across the skin on the back of his neck, signalling the other man had fallen asleep again. He closed his eyes and matched his breathing to the rhythm of Jack's, sliding back into a comfortable, healing darkness.
--
finis