Thanks as always to Prothrombintime for so graciously offering feedback and encouragement.


Chapter Seven

Jack had known even before his lips touched Ianto's that kissing his flatmate ranked high on the list of the more stupid things he'd ever done. Self-control had never been one of his strong points, and with Ianto standing right there in front of him, looking stunning in that charcoal-grey tailored suit and deep red shirt, his down-turned pink lips so sensual and tantalising, Jack had taken leave of his senses and given into his desires.

Unfortunately, the experience had been all too brief. Ianto had reacted with an intensity of emotion that had left Jack reeling, both physically and mentally. He'd been momentarily lost for words, an admittedly rare occurrence for him. For that one moment, the fire hidden beneath Ianto's repressed exterior had been unleashed and directed at him without restraint. That explosive surge of emotion had been glorious and undeniably arousing, and almost a little frightening in its intensity. The one thing it hadn't been was indifferent. The bastard in Jack couldn't help feeling rather proud of himself for managing to evoke such a powerful reaction from the other man. That brief touch of Ianto's warm, soft lips against his own hadn't disappointed him either.

However, he knew he'd crossed the line. He'd fled from the flat the following morning, then jumped at the chance for a few days away in London when a buddy of Rhys' needed an extra photographer for a magazine shoot. They'd cleared the air though, he'd apologised and promised it wouldn't happen again, and it seemed that all was forgiven. He'd been surprised when Ianto had apologised as well, his regret over the intensity of his reaction seeming genuine.

Jack resigned himself to a look but don't touch policy and made a vow to himself to keep his over-active libido in check. Even if Ianto was in denial about his sexuality as Jack suspected, the younger man had made it clear that he wasn't interested, and that had to be the end of it. Jack's ego might have been a little bruised, but no matter how much he liked a challenge, he would never try to take advantage of someone who didn't reciprocate his interest. He just wished that the man wasn't so damn gorgeous. Even Ianto's frequently unpleasant personality did little to diminish his physical appeal.

Although it was only a few days, the time away felt long and arduous. No matter how hard he tried, he kept thinking about Ianto and their aborted kiss. The simple, irrefutable truth was that he missed his flatmate. They weren't friends, they didn't even like each other, but they'd spent a lot of time together and he'd gotten used to the other man's presence. He'd think about the way Ianto rolled his eyes in exasperation, or recall one of Ianto's rare, cheeky, sexy little grins, and he'd feel the corners of his lips twitch upwards of their own accord. With grudging reluctance, he was forced to admit to himself that he didn't dislike Ianto Jones quite as much as he'd claimed.

Finally he was back in Cardiff and unlocking the flat's front door, tired from a busy week and a long drive, but glad to be home. He hadn't been sure what sort of welcome he'd receive, but Ianto's smile suggested that his flatmate wasn't unhappy to see him again.

He grinned with delight as Ianto handed him a steaming mug of coffee and placed a plate of two muffins in front of him on the coffee table. There was one of each of his favourites – blueberry and banana, and chocolate filled with dark chocolate chips.

Reclining on the sofa, he groaned with appreciation as he breathed in the coffee's heavenly aroma and took his first sip. "God, I've missed this. You've completely ruined me for any other coffee, I hope you know that."

He took another sip and watched with amusement as Ianto shifted his discarded bags over to the nearest armchair and began fussing with their contents. The younger man looked predictably appalled as he extracted Jack's crumpled clothes and sorted them into neat piles on the floor.

Jack gave him a rueful smile. "I've been drinking tea all week because every cup of coffee I tried tasted like sludge."

Ianto glanced up at him, and Jack didn't miss the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "It's my secret weapon," he deadpanned. With a sigh he turned his attention back to his task, then carried the piles of clothes away and ferried the rest of Jack's belongings to his bedroom.

"You think you can bend anyone to your will with coffee, huh?" Jack asked when Ianto had returned and sat down in the armchair again, picking up his own mug from the coffee table.

Ianto shrugged. "Pretty much. It worked on you."

Jack laughed, shaking his head. "Sneaky bastard. I think you've been watching too much Bond. Next you'll be plotting world domination and taking control of the global supply of coffee beans." He made short work of both muffins, then fixed Ianto with an expectant stare. "You never answered my question. Did you miss me?"

Ianto snorted, rolling his eyes. He looked pointedly at Jack's shirt. It was covered in muffin crumbs. "I didn't miss cleaning up after you."

Jack casually flicked the crumbs onto the empty plate. "But did you miss me?"

Ianto sighed. "If I say yes, will it shut you up?"

"No." Jack grinned.

Ianto's gaze drifted to where Moses was sprawled out beside Jack. "Moses missed you. He's been a grumpy little bugger all week."

"I missed the little guy, too." Jack smiled down at Mo and stroked under his chin. He looked back up at Ianto. "But did you miss me?"

"I didn't miss how bloody annoying you are." Ianto folded his arms across his chest and glared at him. "Arrogant arse."

"Priggish clean-freak," Jack retorted with a chuckle. "You know I'm not going to stop until you answer the question."

"Well, I've got a freezer full of muffins and there was no one here to eat them. Does that count? I took a container full of them downstairs for Rose to give to Rhys."

Jack nodded. "Rhys told me. He was ecstatic. He said to tell you you're a prince among Welshmen. He's probably eaten them all by now and looking for more. But, no, that doesn't count."

Ianto huffed, muttering something under his breath that Jack wasn't quite able to catch. "All right, fine. I missed you... a bit."

"Yeah?" Jack gave him a self-satisfied grin.

Ianto rolled his eyes again. "Yep. Satisfied?"

Jack nodded, still grinning. "Oh, yeah." He swallowed the rest of his coffee and jiggled the empty cup at Ianto. "Can I have some more coffee? And another muffin?"

###

It was Jack's lack of self-control that had gotten him into hot water with Ianto the last time. The next time, it was another of his failings that came to the fore – his innate and inexhaustible sense of curiosity.

Almost three weeks had passed in relative peace since his return from London. Neither of them had mentioned the incident of the aborted kiss again, and things seemed to be back to normal. Jack continued to fantasise about Ianto, his imagination running free within the confines of his bedroom at night, but he managed to keep himself under control while in the other man's presence. It was nothing more than a passing infatuation, he continued to tell himself. He hadn't been with anyone since Tommy, a situation he recognised as a self-imposed penance for the hurt he'd caused his ex-lover. He rationalised that his abstinence had manifested as an unhealthy attraction to his flatmate. He just needed to move on and start having some fun again. He was a young man in his prime, with a healthy libido, and he had needs that weren't currently being met. He was under no illusion that he was built for celibacy.

It was Thursday lunchtime and after a last minute rescheduling at the studio, Jack found himself with an unexpected free afternoon. He returned to the flat, planning to make himself some lunch and indulge in a cup of Ianto's coffee while he decided what to do with the rest of his day. He'd just landed an assignment with the Welsh Tourism Board for a new promotional campaign, and he supposed he could make a start on that even though he hadn't planned to begin until the following week. Or maybe he'd just relax for the afternoon, perhaps taking in a movie at the Cardiff IMAX. He wondered if he might be able to convince Ianto to take a break from his writing and accompany him.

He sighed with disappointment when he discovered that Ianto wasn't home. After a wistful look at Ianto's gleaming coffee machine, he boiled the kettle and made himself a cup of tea. He'd once tried to sneak a jar of instant into the flat, but Ianto had found it, looked at him as if he'd committed the most heinous crime imaginable, then dropped it into the rubbish bin.

Settling on the sofa as he sipped his tea, Jack's eyes landed on the coffee table and his eyebrows shot up. Aligned perfectly with the table's edge was a neat stack of crisp A4 paper bound by a bulldog clip in the top-left corner, a red ballpoint pen lined up against the left-hand side. The page on top was covered in computer printed text, with a handful of red annotations in Ianto's neat handwriting down the margins on both sides. The words 'Chapter One', in bold capitals, stood out from the top of the page.

He stared for a moment, frowning in confusion. Then he shrugged to himself, picked up the stack of sheets, and began to read.

###

Ianto was in a lousy mood. He'd woken up in the middle of the night, hard as a rock and gasping for breath, his mind filled with vivid images from a dream he'd had about Jack. A dream that had gone far beyond him and Jack kissing. He'd tried to go back to sleep, but his body had refused to cooperate. When his aching erection showed no signs of diminishing after half an hour, he'd been forced to deal with it, cursing Jack the entire time as he'd tried to think of anything other than the man's naked body. It hadn't helped that he'd had to jam his fist against his mouth to stop himself from crying out from the intensity of his climax. Although it hadn't been the first time that Jack had appeared in his dreams, it had been the first time he'd given into his pent-up arousal.

He'd been struggling all week with his new book and was starting to have serious doubts about his ability to make a career out of writing. With his remaining savings continuing to dwindle away, he'd begun to consider that perhaps he'd been deluding himself all along. He glanced at his desk calendar on his way to the kitchen on Thursday morning and realised that it was six months to the day since Lisa had walked out on him. Jack added to his dark mood by being as obnoxious as ever and leaving a trail of mess in his path before departing for the day. He sighed and started to clean the kitchen, wondering how it was that his life had gone so wrong.

He was sitting on the sofa, feeling dejected and sorry for himself as he jotted down some notes on a freshly printed copy of the first half of his book. He often found it helpful to edit his writing when it was in printed form, and it was a reprieve from staring at the screen of his laptop. When he stopped working and looked at his watch, he realised that he was going to be late meeting Tosh for lunch. He quickly changed his clothes and headed out, not giving another thought to the hard copy he'd left sitting neatly on the coffee table.

After lunch, he spent the afternoon wandering around the bay area and trying to organise his desolate thoughts. It wasn't until he returned home a little after five p.m. and found Jack sprawled on the sofa, playing one of his noisy and mindless PlayStation games, that he'd realised his mistake.

Noting that the hard copy was now sitting askew, Ianto ignored Jack's distracted greeting and glared at the man as he clenched his hands into tight fists. He marched over to stand in front of Jack, grabbed the remote, and turned off the television. He dropped the remote back onto the coffee table, making a loud clatter in the sudden still silence of the room.

"Hey!" Jack protested, scowling up at him.

"How much did you read?" Ianto demanded, crossing his arms over his chest and squeezing his hands into fists again.

Jack's gaze flickered towards the stack of printed sheets. He shrugged. "Depends."

Ianto narrowed his eyes. "On what?"

Jack looked back at him, his gaze unflinching. The bastard didn't even have the grace to look guilty. "On how pissed off you're going to be."

"How much?" Ianto repeated, his voice becoming a menacing growl.

Jack breathed out a sigh. "All of it."

"Right." Ianto grabbed the bundle of paper and clutched it against his chest, then gestured towards the door with a tilt of his head. "Get out."

Jack just continued to look at him. "No."

Ianto blinked, staring back at Jack with disbelief. "What?"

"You heard me," Jack replied, not shifting an inch. "I said no. This is my home, too. I'm not going to leave just because you're having a temper tantrum. You know I'm a curious guy. What did you think would happen when you left that there for me to find?"

Ianto shook his head, unable to believe the unmitigated cheek of the man. "Oh, so it's my fault is it? You weren't even meant to be here. Why weren't you at work?"

"We had a cancellation at the studio so I had the afternoon off." Jack shrugged again. "Anyway, I thought you might like some feedback."

"Well, I don't." Ianto glared daggers at the man, tightness squeezing at his chest as he held his body rigid. "You had no right to read it without my permission. If I wanted your opinion, I would have asked for it."

"Fair enough." Jack directed a pointed look at the television and waved his game controller at Ianto. "If you don't mind, I'd like to get back to my game now."

Ianto opened and closed his mouth several times, fury robbing him of the ability to speak. "Bastard," he finally managed, the word coming out in little more than a seething hiss.

He turned away and stormed into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He ripped the bulldog clip away from the stack of sheets and hurled them across the room, sending paper fluttering in all directions. Backing into the corner next to the bed, he slipped down the wall and pulled his legs up against his chest, his entire body trembling as silent tears began to trail down his face.

It was over three hours later before he finally emerged from his room. Jack looked up at him from whatever he was watching on the television. "Ianto..." he began, but Ianto ignored him and continued on his path to the kitchen.

He retrieved four bottles of beer from the refrigerator, two glasses from a cupboard, and the almost full bottle of Scotch he kept tucked away behind his neatly organised cleaning supplies. Precariously juggling his load, he carried it back to the living room and dumped it all onto the coffee table. Then he slumped down onto the opposite end of the sofa from Jack, popped the top off a bottle of beer and took a mouthful.

Finally he looked at Jack. He reached for another bottle and held it out to the other man. "If you're not going to piss off then you can bloody well get rat-faced with me."

Jack gave him a searching look before taking the bottle from his hand. He opened it and clinked it against Ianto's. "Okay."

Ianto narrowed his eyes at the other man, not trusting Jack's easy agreement and placid expression. A part of him had wanted a fight, an excuse to hurl himself at Jack and take pleasure in the feel of his fist connecting with that perfect jawline. All he needed was a little bit of additional provocation to tip him over the edge. It wouldn't take much, but it was typical of the smug bastard that he didn't have the courtesy to even give him that.

Jack didn't waste any time in draining his bottle and reaching for another. He gave the bottle in Ianto's hand a pointed look. "Well, go on, start drinking."

With a defiant scowl at the man, Ianto gulped down the rest of the bottle's contents and grabbed his second one. He'd be damned if Jack would out-drink him.

By the time he was pouring his fourth glass of Scotch, he was well on his way towards the oblivion he craved. His vision had begun to swim a little, his throat felt raw, and his stomach was rebelling against the onslaught of alcohol. After pushing the bottle towards Jack, he didn't hesitate to swallow down the contents of his glass. He cringed as the burn hit the back of his throat, but savoured the hazy warmth that spread over his body. He reached again for the bottle and managed to slosh some more of the dark amber liquid into his glass, then tipped it down his throat.

He glanced at Jack through blurry eyes. The man was smiling and looking relaxed as he sipped at his drink. Even in his inebriated state, Ianto couldn't help staring at that ridiculously handsome face. Jack grinned at him, emptying his glass. "How you doin' there, sport?"

Muttering a string of obscenities, Ianto slammed down his glass and pushed himself upwards. "Need more beer," he muttered. He lurched forward, but the room began to spin and his legs wavered as they struggled to support his weight. Just as the floor began to rush towards him, strong arms wrapped around his chest and hauled him back upright.

Jack's voice chuckled in his ear. "Whoa! Didn't have you pegged for such a lightweight. I thought you Welshmen could hold your liquor."

Ianto growled deep in his throat. "Get off," he slurred, yanking himself out of Jack's grasp. He managed one more step towards the kitchen before the room tilted sideways and Jack's arms were around him again.

"Come on, tiger. Let's get you to bed so you can sleep it off. You're going to have a hell of a hangover in the morning." The obvious amusement in Jack's voice only served to enrage Ianto further, but he slumped against the other man, his wobbly legs having given up completely.

Somehow they managed to stagger to his bedroom, his stomach giving a violent twist as Jack dumped him onto the bed. Ianto started tugging at the buttons of his shirt with uncoordinated fingers, everything feeling too tight and hot. He squeezed his eyes closed, hoping to block out the swaying of the room.

"Here, let me do that." Steady hands pushed his fingers away and pulled off the restrictive clothing. His half-hearted protest died before it reached his lips.

With a sigh of relief, he began trying to crawl under the bed covers, his uncoordinated body moving mostly on instinct. He was vaguely aware of his jeans and socks being tugged off, then the bed covers were being pulled up over him.

He risked cracking his eyes open and found Jack's face looking down at him through a foggy haze. Warm fingers brushed against his cheek, and he leaned into the touch, finding comfort despite the fading awareness that those soothing fingers belonged to the man he despised. Then darkness claimed him.