He'd fallen in love before. It was hard not to, being immortal.
Most of the times were just circumstantial, being in the same place as someone at the same time, a bit of a spark, and a lot of hormones.
And there was Ianto.
Ianto Jones was, to Jack, the most perfect, most human human in existence. And he'd met a lot of them.
And he was persistent. Would not let Torchwood pass him up.
When they caught the pterodactyl together, he could see something in Ianto, something not even Ianto himself could. Even though Ianto was hiding Lisa then, he knew the signs of somebody falling for him. The dilated pupils, the way they blinked and looked away when Jack caught them staring.
But it was the first time that he was staring back.
Ianto was, to put it plainly, breathtaking. The way he carried himself, the way he walked, the way he looked upwards when thinking something.
He fit in well at the Hub, making coffee that tasted like sorrow, accidentally flirting with Jack and driving him up the wall with those tailored suits.
Ianto reminded Jack of a time that he had been running away through a forest in winter, using pine boughs to spread snow over his footprints. Afraid of leaving something behind that could be used against him.
Then, the Cyberman- no, woman- in the basement, watching Ianto's world collapse and the water rushing over the dam. Jack knew that he would never, ever shoot Ianto, would rather die ten thousand times over than to kill him. Kissing Ianto in the filthy water to bring him back.
Restraining him. Jack had done this too many times, holding back some poor, distraught bastard before they fucked things up too much. But Ianto, he knew Ianto, and he knew the look; the look that wanted death rather than to face life without something.
And as Ianto recovered, hiding his pain in those impeccable outfits; coffee and clean-up and chatting. Jack avoided him, not sure what to say.
Camping in the countryside, not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed when Ianto lied about his last kiss, saying Lisa instead of Jack. He wondered if Ianto had taken it to mean last meaningful kiss, and if so, did Jack not qualify?
But the flirting resumed, and then, finally, they kissed, really kissed, the kind of kiss that only two people with burdened hearts can share; slow, passionate, communicating everything through lips and tounges and small noises.
Sleeping together for the first time, seeing the fear in Ianto's eyes melt into trust and pleasure, letting him take charge because it really was different with a man. Jack watched Ianto's face the entire time, the wonder and love as they explored and touched and collided. And that was just the basics. Ianto tried everything that Jack came up with, throwing in his own ideas until the final reaction was a work of art. Ianto looked at him the way young children gaze at the clouds in the day and the stars at night.
The room felt empty when Ianto wasn't in it, and Jack often caught himself daydreaming about the way he moved, the shoulders and the vests and his scent.
He felt at home in Ianto's arms, at the end of work, bodies pressed together after some passionate sex, watching him dream, sometimes talking and smiling.
Jack Harkness had fallen in love before, but never as hard and as deep as he did with Ianto Jones.
Flawless, gorgeous, human Ianto.
