"Jack," he dropped his hands onto Jack's shoulders and started massaging gently, just enough to distract Jack from his paperwork. "You need a break."
They'd been working non-stop for two weeks now, coordinating demolition and repair work, chasing disturbed weevils (well, more-disturbed-than-usual Weevils), negotiating back-up and cover with UNIT, searching for new staff... replacements. Ianto shuddered involuntarily and shook his head. He'd adopted the disaster fund as his personal project and was helping Angie to co-ordinate fund-raising right across the country, even across the world, whilst Gwen was helping the police to distribute it. Jack was sleeping more than Ianto had ever known him to – more than Ianto was, in fact – and his sleep was plagued by nightmares. When he was in the Hub, he threw himself into his work to distract himself from the claustrophobia caused by being underground, and every night ended up at Ianto's flat with the curtains open and Jack facing towards them, with Ianto wrapped against his back. Snoring.
Jack scribbled his signature onto a letter for the Prime Minister and turned around in his chair, taking Ianto's hands when they dropped from his shoulders. He kissed the pads of Ianto's thumbs and smirked. "A break? What did you have in mind?"
Ignoring the way his heart soared – apart from a life-affirming blowjob which had seemed to take Jack by surprise completely that first night, the contact between them had been chaste since The Night, and although it was nice to know that their relationship and their sanity could survive three weeks without sex, Ianto missed it – Ianto tugged one hand free and combed it through Jack's hair. "I mean a proper break, not five minutes in the archives."
"It gets better. Did you have a location in mind?"
He thought about it. "Guernsey. Apparently it's nice at this time of year, although not particularly warm."
Jack studied him, rubbing his thumbs in circles on Ianto's palms. "So when you said a break, you meant..."
"A weekend, maybe more," he gestured vaguely to Jack's desk. "UNIT can and will cover it. We both need to stop, Jack. You especially."
"I need to be able to help," he protested. "I need to feel..."
"I know," Ianto interrupted softly, silencing further protests by pressing his lips against Jack's. "But if we keep on like this, one of us is going to crash out and take the other with us." It was a bit below the belt, suggesting that his own health was in Jack's hands, but it was the truth.
"Okay." Jack kissed him again, more purposefully than before. "I'll call UNIT, you..."
"I'll call the hotel." Ianto stepped back when Jack released his hands and grazed his fingers over Jack's cheek once more.
Hotels had always been Ianto's biggest luxury expense. Before Jack moved in with him, they had provided the occasional night of pampering and luxury, a change from the Ikea-neat lines of his flat, or the damp clutter of the Hub. It was better when Jack joined him, because of the extra bonus of not having to wash the sheets and not having to worry about his neighbours hearing them. Then, after Jack moved in with him and he was spending more nights at his own flat, and every night with Jack, they became a bunk-off, somewhere to run to when the Rift gave them a quiet night and they needed a break. They'd get in Jack's Jaguar, or Ianto's Aston Martin, and drive until they found somewhere they liked the look of that had vacancies. Sometimes they had to take the penthouse suite, because it was all that was vacant. Ianto loved tying Jack to four-poster beds, loved the trust it implied and the way that Jack came utterly undone when tied up.
The flight was only twenty minutes, so they didn't even get in-flight drinks, let alone chance for a fumble in the toilet, and a taxi was waiting for them at the airport, ready to whisk them away to Cobo and the hotel Ianto had booked. He'd gone for the penthouse again, liking the way it rose above its surrounding buildings by a floor and the glass walls of the bedroom. Jack was sitting on the edge of the enormous bed – not a four-poster, sadly, and it even had a solid headboard, impossible to tie anything to – looking around the room in wonder. The wall behind the bed and the one to the right were both sheet glass, with a door leading onto the balcony in the corner. To the left, the wall was covered with floor-to ceiling mirrors, with a mirrored wardrobe door and bathroom door marked out only by a white border. Opposite the bed the wall was plain white, with a huge TV mounted above a chest of drawers and two side tables, which matched the cabinets next to the bed and the bed itself. A book of photos of Guernsey was on top of the chest of drawers, between two vases of Freesias, and a door next to one of the cabinets led into the entrance hall, which the sitting room led off.
Ianto straightened up from putting their things away in the chest of drawers and watched Jack. His gaze flickered around the room, but kept returning to the tempestuous sea visible through the huge windows. "Jack," he called softly, dragging Jack's attention back to him as he sat next to him. Ianto smiled and cupped Jack's cheek, bringing their lips together softly. "You need to sleep," he murmured. "I'll watch over you."
Jack shook his head, but pulled his clothes off and dropped them in a pile next to the bed; Ianto couldn't bring himself to care. He raised his eyebrows when Jack started on the buttons of his shirt, especially as Jack had only stripped down to his boxers, but complied and dropped his clothes on top of Jack's. They tugged the quilt down between them and laid side-by-side, touching each other gently just to know that they were both there. "I hate myself for thinking it," Jack whispered, "but I'm glad it wasn't you."
Ianto didn't need him to explain; he surged forwards and pressed himself against Jack fully, trying to be there and alive as much as possible. "I won't leave you. I'm here and I won't leave you."