Empty
Jack lay, sprawled on the bed, eyes shut, feigning sleep. Ianto was curled up against him, not feigning.
He'd just spent two hours screwing and being screwed. Life was good. Jack should have been happy.
He wasn't.
A passionate kiss, affectionless hug. A lustful caress, a loveless fuck. Like a living marble statue, love him to death yet his embrace is never anything but cold.
When had he begun to need more than this?
The past had become nothing more than a half-forgotten history of one-night stands.
The future stretched out before him, endless and bleak, without end.