Chapter Twenty-Five

Morning, all. You get this chapter nice and early because I'm just that lovely (and because I won't be able to do so before tomorrow, otherwise).

This was very much That Difficult Twenty-Fifth Chapter, but after this will be more plot and drama and fun. Thank you, as ever, for all of the reviews; they feed my ego beautifully, but I'm always hungry for more!

Pip pip.

If one night without Jones's company had been difficult for Jack, two was going to be downright impossible... he just knew it.

Ianto woke his employer at the usual time, with his usual cup of coffee and the usual professional demeanour, but as soon as he had served breakfast and then washed up the casualties of Jack's appalling table manners, he had to throw himself into the task of writing up his reports from the previous evening; something he wouldn't have the time to do after work hours.

More than once Jack tried to drop the hint that the letters could simply be drafted out on a typewriter, thus eliminating the need for Brock to be there at all, but the young poet said that he wished to know what he was supposedly sending to his aunt in case she should make reference to anything he'd said. Besides which, she enjoyed the personal touch of a hand-written letter.

Listening to their conversation, Ianto raised his head from the neat stack of papers beneath his hand and offered Jack what was meant to be a sympathetic smile... but emerged as more of a smirk.

"Perhaps, sir, you could take Mr Brockless out into the city to inspire his creative mind, and enjoy a little fresh air yourself?" he gently suggested.

"Marvellous idea, Jones!" Tommy enthused while Jack narrowed his eyes at his valet. "Come on Jack, your man could use the quiet. How can he concentrate with his boss flitting around all the time?"

"My sentiment precisely, sir. You can be quite a distraction" Ianto solemnly agreed, rising from his seat and taking great pains in maintaining a grave expression, while Jack forced a cough to swallow the threatening snort of laughter.

"Very well, Jones. I wouldn't want to take your mind off the job" he sighed, placing his hands on his hips in a manner which he knew stretched his sky-blue shirt tightly over his chest muscles. Ianto – to his credit – maintained eye contact, even as he slid by Jack to retrieve his employer's jacket and caught the scents of musk and coffee which clung naturally to the other man.

"I received your note sir, and if it is of any comfort, the inclination was reciprocated" Ianto murmured directly into Jack's ear as he took his time sliding the coat sleeves up to rest on the his broad shoulders, glancing surreptitiously back towards the lounge where Tommy was gulping down one last hot beverage.

Jack closed his eyes and smiled, standing completely still to enjoy the feeling of those tender hands smoothing down imaginary creases in the fabric beneath them, and the light brush of warm breath behind one ear.

"Good to know, Jones" he purred. "I don't suppose you thought of me at all, during your wild night out?"

"Of course, sir. I thought about how I would have been able to visit more than only two clubs, had you accompanied me to distract those who surrounded and made various unseemly offers towards myself" Ianto breezily replied.

Jack spun on his heel, flashing suspicious eyes.

"Unseemly? In what sense?"

"Surely a man of the world such as yourself does not require translation for the term, sir."

"You're toying with me, Jones."

"Absolutely, sir."

Jack growled low in his throat and Ianto raised an eyebrow. He knew he'd won.

"I find it doubtful that I could have pulled anybody away from you, Jones. You yourself are magnetic to the core. I know this... only too well" Jack said, voice lowering to a whisper as the sentence ended. "One night, when Brock has gone, I want to hear about all of these offers you've had... so I can try to better them."

The tension radiating between them was palpable, and Ianto's next breath shuddered slightly in its intake. Jack licked his lips and rolled his shoulders slowly. He had snatched victory away, which soothed the throb of jealousy that surged at the thought of Ianto dripping with beautiful women... and potentially, a few men.

"Very kind of you, sir. I would appreciate the additional tutelage" Ianto replied, his voice even once more, though his eyes maintained their flush of darkness.

"Like you need it" Jack huffed. He'd be envious if he wasn't the one reaping the rewards of Ianto's natural talents. "How many more clubs on your list, Jones?"

"Seven, sir. If I can be especially prolific, no more than another three evenings' worth."

His employer grunted again, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

"Ianto Jones, defender of the endangered poet... what am I going to do with you?"

Ianto stepped close to him once more, his smirk returning.

"You'll think of something, sir" he murmured, voice husky, watching Jack's eyes widen before Tommy approached and clapped his friend on the back with unnecessary zeal.

"Come along, Jackie! Get out of Jones's way, he's too busy for you" he announced cheerfully, forcing him through the door with a laugh that Jack did not join in with.

The ensuing night was much like the previous for Ianto; too busy to think very hard about what he was missing, though feeling increasingly less awkward in the very public atmosphere than he was used to. He couldn't claim that he was truly enjoying it, because there was that omnipresent sense of not quite belonging, but the people were friendly and almost everybody he met attempted to involve him in their conversations and activities.

Again, he found his pockets filled with telephone numbers (one or two punctuated with lipstick kisses), and wondered what life was like for a man who collected women in that way, only to date and drop them as if they were toys. Or... half the time become engaged to them, in Jack's case.

In hindsight, it was becoming difficult to imagine Jack as that person any longer. Not that he had ever truly seen Jack as much other than the surprisingly vulnerable, lonesome person he showed only to Ianto, but he knew the stories – the lengths Jack had gone to over the years to lessen that loneliness.

Ianto had long suspected that Jack hadn't had a stabilising influence in his life (besides his aunts, if they could be called such a thing) from a very young age, but he had never asked. Parentage was a subject which both men studiously ignored. Beyond telling Jack that his father was dead, Ianto had never so much as mentioned him again, and even Jack's employer files were devoid of information on the subject.

It was the most prominent conclusion Ianto could draw as to the making of his employer. He knew from personal experience that it took more than a few bad friends and broken hearts to make a man build up such a heavy mask, even if one so experienced in that area as Ianto could see through it right from the start.

He felt a fresh ache of empathy for his employer; a man who talked a great deal whilst saying very little, where Ianto preferred not to speak at all. He smiled softly, only half listening to the blues band on the stage before him. How he could not have foreseen himself feeling this way about Jack, at some point or another... it seemed so absurd, now.

Tommy had indeed become inspired by midday New York City. So inspired that he drafted Jack in as his jumping point, asking him to throw out words that reminded him of this place so that Tommy could start riffing lines, jumping around the flat in a whirlwind of creativity. Jack had to admit that, despite the circumstances and the constant desire to be alone with his valet, Tommy was really growing on him, for which he was relieved. He knew how it felt to come last on a supposed friend's list of priorities, and he had no desire to make Tommy feel that way.

He and Ianto only saw each other again for the serving of supper, then Ianto was off once more, dressed to the nines and looking – in Jack's opinion – delectable. Tommy went to 'bed' early once again, his body still struggling to cope with the shock of being awake during the day, and so Jack was left to a night with his thoughts and a brand new tub of Vaseline; half sulking that he was spending the honeymoon period of a new relationship alone, and half brimming with anticipation for what their immediate future might hold.

The next day, fate conspired against them and brought unusually heavy rain to New York, ensuring a complete lack of escape from the flat. Tommy chose to sit at the vast lounge window mumbling about 'this grey city' or some such artistic nonsense, while Jack climbed the walls with boredom. Ianto had been forced to take the typewriter into the kitchen, quietly exasperated by Jack's twitchy behaviour. Their eyes had met and held several times during the morning, blue on blue with reflected tension, but Ianto was simply too busy to even offer him an opening for innuendo or flirtation.

He couldn't claim to be surprised when Jack entered the kitchen under the pretence of looking for a snack, bending down to pretend to read Ianto's report over his shoulder. Ianto fought hard to keep his hand steady, but Jack's breath was washing over his cheek, and his scent was filling the younger man's head with blurred sins...

Then his employer stood, grabbed a few biscotti from the jar next to the coffee machine and waltzed away as nothing had occurred. Later, with Tommy at the breakfast table rewriting Ianto's (ridiculously neat) scribblings in his own handwriting, Ianto stood alone in his bedroom preparing to change into his tuxedo once again when a wicked and vengeful idea occurred to him.

Inching open his bedroom door, he silently confirmed that Jack was just within his line of sight on the other side of the lounge, whereas Tommy couldn't see Ianto's bedroom at all from where he sat. Pulling the door a little wider, Ianto leaned on the frame and began to remove his tie, watching Jack and waiting for him to notice the movement.

It didn't take long. Jack raised his head from the sheet music he was flicking through as he became aware of some darkened motion from the corner of his eye, and looked up just as the tapered end of Ianto's tie parted from his collar. Throat immediately dry, he made no movements except for the dilating of his pupils as Ianto flicked open his top two shirt buttons. The jacket and waistcoat had been stripped already, so the crisp white cotton fell open and apart immediately as each button was released.

Ianto gazed lazily back with amusement, realising with a start that he truly was a natural tease and that Jack would have to step up his game if he wished to compete. At last the shirt was open all the way, parting to reveal pale skin and dark hair, which Jack may as well have shouted that he wanted to run his hands all over for all the subtlety of his expression.

Even from where he stood Ianto could see Jack's throat undulate wildly, and he chuckled softly to himself before casually stepping back and kicking the door closed with the toe of one highly-glossed shoe. I win.

Jack's dark glower when Ianto finally left the room looking immaculate and feeling deeply smug was a small price to pay. He cheerfully wished both his employer and Tommy a fine evening, to which the former replied with a dangerous growl while Tommy waved in all his mindless optimism.

Ianto was feeling too self-satisfied about his own risqué behaviour to worry too much about the last five clubs on the list. He handled all attention with a certain polite detachment that seemed to work well in making his admirers lose interest in him more quickly. Having previously assumed that part of this task was throwing himself into the mood of the night and the people around him, it was a relief to realise that it wasn't altogether necessary. He simply wasn't a social butterfly, and was entirely certain that he would never see any of these people again.

As the night wore on and the third and final club of the evening was soothing Ianto's tired mind with some Bessie Smith, there appeared at his elbow a young, eager and weasly-looking man, inching too closely with the air of somebody who wasn't sure if they recognised the person they were gawking at.

"May I help you, sir?" Ianto asked, fighting the urge to shift to the next seat.

"Oh, no... I mean, yes! Are you... I thought I knew... are you a friend of Jack Harkness?" the man asked, hope in his wide eyes.

"I'm his valet" Ianto corrected him, wondering why the man looked mildly surprised at the mention of his role as he extended a hand. "Ianto Jones."

"Ahh, valet... yes, I saw you at The Rift last week. I was talking to Jack at the bar. Nice surname, by the way" he grinned, shaking the proffered hand with great keenness. "Eugene Jones. Stage director, producer, writer, all of the above and more!"

"Pleased to meet you" Ianto murmured, unnerved by a man who possessed even more enthusiasm as Jack, with none of the charm.

"You see Ianto, I was having a wonderful talk with your boss that night, and I've been trying to call him, but the silly ass gave me the wrong number!" Eugene said with a snort. "I was hoping I'd bump into him around the city, actually... but now you're here, and that's just as good. If I could grab the number from you, I'd be so grateful!"

Ianto rolled his eyes; trust Jack to get his own telephone number wrong. However, it wasn't a shock... he still did so in Cardiff after nearly six years in his Welsh home. It was actually a surprise that he knew any part of his number here in New York. While this Eugene character didn't seem to be especially sparkling company, Ianto could see no reason why he shouldn't have his real telephone number if Jack had bothered to write one out to start with.

As if by magic, Eugene produced a small diary and a pen, and Ianto offered his most professionally polite smile once the deed was done.

"Ianto, you are a legend amongst butlers" the man announced.

"Thank you sir, but I'm not actually a but-"

"G'night, Mr Jones!"

Ianto watched him launch himself into the club's throng, clearly even more excitable than he had been on his arrival within Ianto's personal space. He idly watched the man mingle with some curiosity as to how he had held Jack's attention to the extent where he would give him his contact details at all. Recently, Jack had decided to hone what he fondly called an 'internal bullshit detector', which he had told Ianto was sure to stop landing him in tight spots with people he didn't really like. Eugene Jones hardly seemed like Jack's ideal social partner, so either there was something enthralling about him that remained a mystery to himself, or Jack's bullshit detector was on the blink.

With a long sigh, Ianto decided that enough was enough. Only two more clubs on the list, then once tomorrow was over... blood rushed southwards so quickly that it left him feeling light-headed as he stood and slid neatly and inconspicuously from the club. The night air cooled his sudden ardour as it hit, and he chuckled to himself as a taxi door was immediately opened for him. He could hardly claim he felt like a teenager again, since his teen years were spent training for his profession, but the levels of desire Jack inspired within him certainly made him feel even more youthful than his years.

It was a peculiar emotion, yet by no means unwelcome.