The first time Ianto slept in Jack's bed, they fell asleep with their legs tangled together, their arms reaching for each other. Ianto's face curled against the curve of Jack's neck, breathing in that inexplicable scent that clung to his skin. It was the best he'd slept in weeks.
The second time, Ianto slept like a question mark, legs curled towards his chest and Jack's arm draped across his waist. Ianto was used to being the big spoon, curled around a smaller body, but Jack was warm and his skin was smooth, and Ianto leaned into the touch as much as he could.
The third time, Ianto slept with his head pillowed on Jack's chest, his hand tracing patterns along Jack's ribs. Jack just held him, his hand splayed across Ianto's bicep.
Something changed when Jack came back. First came the nightmares; Jack would bolt awake, terrified and out-of-control, almost wild. He would flinch away from Ianto's touch, turn away and curl up on himself, leaving Ianto cold and confused.
After the nightmares faded, after the arguments had been settled and the explanations had been given, something shifted for good. Jack held him tightly, fiercely, his chest pressed to Ianto's back and his arm slotted alongside Ianto's own. The fingers twined and their legs curved together. Jack held him like something precious, wrapping Ianto in strength and warmth. Jack held him like Ianto was something he was afraid to lose, like something that needed to be protected. Jack held him like a shield.
