It was something like the 20th night in a row. That meant something, right? Ianto wasn't sure exactly what, but Jack having dinner with him in his flat for the (nearly?) 20th night in a row meant something.

Of course, he was only counting the nights the team actually got to go home. Ianto wasn't even counting all the nights in between, when they'd eaten pizza/Chinese/curry with with the team at the hub. That'd bring it up to more like 30. Maybe even 35.

So a month, really. A month of shared meals. Sometimes a beer, a glass of wine. One late night at the hub with a scotch after a particularly harrowing experience with some less-than-friendly aliens that pointed big guns at the puny humans that dared ask them to lay off sucking energy from the earth's core.

A month of great conversation, sharing stories, opinions, even anxieties and wishes, with Jack. And Jack sharing some back, surprisingly. After Lisa, Ianto never could have imagined talking to Jack like this again. Like a human being. Like a friend. But a few months of integrating with the team, of seeing Jack's appreciation for the job he did, for his contributions, had allowed Ianto some hope towards Jack and him becoming friends. Hell, they might already be friends, after a month of dinners, netflix, and dirty jokes. And in the last few weeks, if he was perfectly honest with himself, Ianto had to admit a growing desire for him and Jack to become more than friends.

They'd always shared a mutual flirtation, except for the bit right after Lisa, when they could barely look at each other without guilt, remorse and betrayal. On Ianto's part for sure, but he'd gotten the feeling over the last few weeks that Jack had felt the same things. That he was sorry too. That they had moved past all that, finally.

There was only one catch. Jack didn't seem to share the "more than friends" part. Or at least, his reliable midnight departure from Ianto's flat indicated he didn't.

The first few times, Ianto took Jack's word that it was late, that they both needed rest, that they had a early start. It was true, and the man was being thoughtful, so who was Ianto to contradict the boss? When Jack had practically shoo'd Ianto out of the hub at midnight, he started getting a little suspicious. But after (at least) 30 hasty 12 am goodbyes, Ianto suspected Jack had other engagements at night. Ianto suspected they were rather more exciting engagements than the friendly dinners they had together.

Each time Jack excused himself at midnight with an "it's getting late, you should get some rest," Ianto was more sure their dinners were about Jack having nothing else to do than about them getting closer. The fact Ianto and Jack both seemed to enjoy their conversations and that Jack had actually made dinner a few times (impressing Ianto immensely with his unexpected cooking skill) we're becoming increasingly inconsequential. Ianto feared he was waiting in vain for Jack to make a move toward the bedroom. Perhaps Jack's presence in his flat represented little more to Jack than a fleeting amusement before his real date commenced.

Ianto's jokes about Jack turning into a pumpkin at midnight were met with amused grins. He didn't feel entitled to just come out and ask where Jack was going - the man was his boss and anyway, Jack enjoyed being mysterious too much to answer such things. But it was really starting to get to Ianto. Where did he go? More importantly, who was he with? Ianto wanted to know what the hell Jack did after midnight!

But tonight, at 11:56 pm on the (maybe) 20th dinner in a row at Ianto's flat, Ianto wasn't going around and around in his head about Jack's evening departure a few minutes from now. Instead, he was caught up in Jack's reminiscing. Listening intently to a wistful story about flying a Chula spaceship for the first time. According to Jack the experience was something like a religious conversion crossed with losing your virginity.

Not realizing what time it was, Ianto grabbed the two empty lager bottles on the table and headed to the kitchen for refills. He popped the caps off another two and headed back into the sitting room, a bottle in each hand. Ianto looked up just in time to catch himself from running into Jack, who was shrugging his coat on in the hallway.

Ianto immediately blushed and started backing up, looking quickly at Jack's face, then down at the beers in his hand. Jack studied the bottles for a second, one arm half in the sleeve of his coat.

"Oh," both said simultaneously.

"I didn't realize how late it was ..." Ianto started to explain.

At the same time Jack tried to explain himself, "I thought you were cleaning up ..."

Both men stopped talking. Ianto turned around and retraced his steps back into the kitchen. Putting the bottles on the kitchen counter, he let escape a defeated sigh he hoped Jack hadn't heard. Jack still stood in the hallway half in his coat, but he could still see Ianto's back as well as his fists still clenched around the bottles. Jack didn't know what it was about, but he sensed Ianto's new tension and wanted to ease it.

"I could stay longer, if you'd like?"

The way Jack's voice went up at the end of the suggestion, making it into a question, made Ianto think the sentiment was less than genuine. And he had no intention of letting on how much he wanted Jack to stay. Jack wanted to go? The he could go.

"No, it's fine. I just lost track of time. I know you've got places to be. I'll see you tomorrow." He hadn't meant to say it, that passive-aggressive phrase in the middle of his refusal. How transparent. Pathetic!

Jack was quiet for a second too long. "I really don't mind staying."

Ianto almost snorted with derision. Don't mind!? "No, you should go. Long day. Tomorrow, then."

Ianto turned toward Jack, looked him straight in the eyes and put on an excellent I've-got-beers-to-drink-and-couldn't-give-less-of-a-shit smile. "Have a good night!"

He was apparently convincing as Jack gave a big grin in return and finished pushing his arm through his sleeve. "'Night! Thanks for the great company!" he exclaimed, walking with his long, self-assured gait out the front door. Ianto walked to the door after him, turned the lock, and put his forehead to the warm dark wood.

Visions of Jack with nameless, faceless beauties, both male and female, went through his head. Jack naked, sweating, holding other well-toned bodies against his as he thrust into them in a various positions. Positions Ianto wanted to experience with Jack.

Ianto imagined his own head thrown back, legs wrapped around Jack's waist, arms around Jack's neck, holding on for dear life while Jack furiously fucked into him. Ianto envisioned his captain sitting back on his knees in the middle of Ianto's bed, holding Ianto from behind, Jack's chest pressed to his back, Jack's arms around Ianto's chest, Jack's big, strong hand splayed around his neck as he helped Ianto ride up and down on Jack's hard cock. Then it was Ianto on his knees in front of Jack's splayed legs, working his stretched mouth down Jack's spit-covered length, Jack looking down at him with heavy lidded eyes, appreciating the view.

Ianto banged his head against the door. If Jack was doing those things, it sure the hell wasn't with him. He didn't know who, but deep down, so deep he could barely admit to himself that he thought it, he suspected he knew who Jack was seeing. One person Jack wouldn't tell anyone about, couldn't tell anyone about, because of the impropriety. The possibility of fights at the hub. Of jealousy or painful snark. The danger of ruining the one real relationship any of them had outside the hub probably held Jack's tongue in check.

Ianto suspected, with a growing surety, that Jack was seeing their very attached colleague, Gwen Cooper.