Title: Intimacy
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Status: Complete
Summary: Jack/Ianto. A moment with the couple before they fall asleep. The title comes from the fact that I apparently felt like following the one-word pattern after "Innuendo." Maybe I'll stitch it into a series. What do you think?
Two men lay below the bowels of the hub, blankets up to their legs and a fag between the lips of one by the name of Ianto Jones. He was no smoker, he wouldn't find time for it even if he could, but it put him in a whisked away, sensual mood, something that flattered Jack very well, in fact.
There had been many nights like that one, but Ianto could barely recall when they first began to culminate. He seldom followed his own timeline that well, though somehow in his mind, Lisa's face and voice were imprinted as significations of the past and the inevitable present. In the moments of silence or times when he could still feel so inevitably alone, he could remember her voice and even her acknowledgement. She was Lisa. His Lisa.
Whoever Jack Harkness was, he wasn't naïve, nor did he share the same vulnerable streak inlaid so naturally within Ianto. Ianto returned to Torchwood for one specific thing: to save the woman he loved. If it meant buckling down and becoming the proverbial tea boy for eternity, he would accept that fate, at least that's what he fancied telling himself.
He didn't anticipate losing her. He didn't anticipate falling for the boss, either. He could have turned Jack in for sexual harassment the first day he walked into the hub, but he didn't. He kept coming back for more. He had made his bed and lied in it, and he was falling harder than he could have known was possible. But Jack knew it was possible.
Despite being something of a rogue, Jack could feel as well, and Ianto had picked up on a few things. Jack was telling after one night in the sack, let alone months and months. The more you lied with him, the more he would reveal, even without the use of words.
The nights Jack collapsed to sleep, his limbs in a secure and unconscious tangle around the younger man's, it was clear indication it had been a long, stressful day. No one ever said Jack wasn't a man of stamina. So long as he carried an inner libido, he could outlast most men. He had quite a few decades on him, after all, and Ianto rolled with the punches.
But there was a clear cut difference between a mind blowing sex romp with a stopwatch and when something was wearing on Jack's mind. Jack barely spoke to Ianto, let alone anyone, following the days of Estelle's death. He had barely spoken to him at all since Lisa and his inevitable suspension, though he had promised himself he would have. That night, he only requested that drink, and in turn, he lent it to Ianto for a few on the sly sips. It was tense, Jack didn't say a word, nor did Ianto question anything. When Jack finally pulled Ianto in, Ianto had nearly told the boss to take the night off, but Jack pursued harder than Ianto had ever seen before. When it was all over, Jack's entire body, soul, and mind lumped like a large cloud of exhaust leaving a wind pipe.
"Another 'Happy Place' shag again, am I?" Ianto said once, while Jack laughed it off and disappeared into a slumber.
Other times, Jack shoved his back against the end of the cot, slid his arms around Ianto, and mumbled pure bollocks into his ear, revealing close to nothing in the short minutes he could still keep his eyes open. Most of it was rubbish, platitudes on top of platitudes, but so natural that Ianto couldn't bear to interrupt at any time. In those moments, he could be alone, truly alone, with the Captain – sir, Jack, whatever he called him. Jack had bestowed his company beside him, and behind all that emotion, there was pure honour and admiration.
Ianto had lost – and been without – Jack once. Lisa was permanently gone, and he had watched his lover die and come back to life twice. He knew what was at stake if that happened again.
That night in the hub, the cigarette still smoking from Ianto's tired fingers, fell into another category, a kind that Ianto had yet to internally define. Both men continued to breathe against each other with partially open eyes and firm grasps.
After a whole two minutes, Ianto moved to singe the cigarette and stretch away from the cot, nearly tempted to leave, but Jack stretched out his arm to draw a line down his bare, pinkish-white back. Ianto's breath caught in his throat and slowly lowered as he relaxed back into him.
He could still feel Jack's fingers behind him, and each time Jack took in a breath, Ianto's body shifted slightly. The gaps of time were long and steady.
Jack's fingers caressed through the back of his hair momentarily, still utterly silent. Finally, Jack spoke, though he was tired and a bit cramped, and he didn't care how he sounded. "Stay here tonight."
"We can stay at my flat. It's a bit, how you say, roomier." Ianto cracked a smile at that, just as Jack squeezed his hand as he lent it to him from over his shoulder.
"If close quarters bother you, you're free to go home." Jack was calm and stoic and could have fallen asleep at any moment, but he fought it. God knows how early it was, at this point. Ianto's body obstructed Jack's clear view of the alarm clock, but it was surely past three in the morning.
"Close quarters are quite all right, now that you mention it."
Jack had audibly laughed, his weight falling back against Ianto as his eyes permanently closed for the rest of the night. "Good answer."
Ianto smiled and surely assumed Jack had fallen back asleep, but he kept talking. "…And we'd just have to come back in three hours. I need my… delicious, strong coffee every morning."
"Figures," Ianto rebutted as he shivered and pulled up the stray blanket. There really was no room to argue, so all he could do was press closer to him. "Now go to sleep."
It always felt so appropriate every time Ianto and Jack ended up beneath the hub, completely guarded from the rest of the team, Millennium Centre, all of Cardiff. Even like this, they were still Torchwood.
Ianto heard no reply, only the steady, slow, lullaby breath of the man behind him. Without hesitation, Ianto spoke a few moments later, his voice low and quiet, as if footsteps still lurked from above even as late as it was.
"I love you, Jack." Ianto was supremely aware of his words and the weight of them, and consequently, he was calm but guarded.
Jack didn't speak, but his arms tightened around him and his chin bumped against him as he finally gave a stoic nod. Moments later, both men freed their minds to nod off.
Underneath the blue, moth-zapping light of Jack's cot, there was no Tosh, no Owen, no Gwen, no Lisa, no Doctor, no Weevil named Janet, and no rift; just sincere actions, no matter how simple or innovative they turned out to be. Deep down, they needed their intimacy and the warmth of another person's touch, the press of flesh.
Neither of them could say they were better off from where they started from, but it had to be right, surely, if it felt so right.