Jack booked them a room at a small B&B on the outskirts of Abergavenny. Like Gwen's current accommodation, it had been a while since it had last been redecorated, yet you could tell that this room had once been well-loved. The textured wallpaper had been painted a warm pale yellow but was peeling in the corners of the room and the colours of the small illustrations framed on the wall had faded over time. The beige carpet was thin and threadbare in places, but the room was well cleaned and smelled of fresh linin.

Finally alone with Ianto, Jack found he didn't know what to do. Back at Martha's room in the hotel, at least it had felt natural for Ianto to wake up in his arms again, to kiss him unhurriedly as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. He hadn't had to think about anything. Well, that wasn't quite true. He'd spotted the cameras watching from the desk and knew that someone – most likely Gwen – would appear once whoever was keeping an eye on them knew they were both awake. Ianto had also clocked the cameras and they'd shared an unspoken conversation through sly looks and impish grins and come to the same conclusion. It had been much more fun to see how far they could get in their childish game before Gwen came barging in.

But here, he felt off-balance as he lingered in the small entrance space between the sun-damaged wardrobe and door to the bathroom. The utter desperation he'd felt upon seeing Ianto's shoe in the rubble and his frantic search to rescue him was still there, although it had faded slightly with the comfort of Ianto's continuing presence at his side. But so was the cataclysmic grief and longing that Ianto's death in his arms had left him with.

Yet for Ianto, Jack knew there would be none of this. He had no memory of his death nor the words he had spoken in his last moments. He was sure that Ianto had some idea of the pain that his death had caused him from the way Jack had been acting since his resurrection, but he wouldn't understand it all.

As far as his memories went, yesterday was just another normal day by Torchwood standards, with Jack being more of a mysterious selfish prick than usual, until he'd discovered quite how selfish Jack had been this time. Dragged back to life after sending to his death.

He didn't know what to do.

But Ianto did.

He did what he always did when they were alone. He took charge.

It had been Ianto who had initiated their first kiss years ago on the night he'd sent Jack through the Rift for a life of pain and death before he'd changed his mind. Instead of keeping his earlier promise, Ianto had saved him and brought him home. Back in the SUV – still dressed neatly with waistcoat and tie despite the hour – he'd leant across the central console, grabbed Jack's face in his hands, and kissed him firmly. Jack had been so shocked by the turn of events that it had taken a moment or two for him to kiss Ianto back. They'd gone back to Ianto's flat that night and thoroughly enjoyed themselves until an early morning Rift Alert drew Jack away, leaving Ianto still sleeping peacefully in his bed.

It was only meant to be a one-time thing (a one-night stand, as it was known in early twenty-first century English), not a relationship, but less than a week later, Ianto propositioned him over the body of their former colleague with a stopwatch and a suggestion. Against his better judgment, Jack had accepted the invitation and every other after with less and less hesitation.

It would take Jack fifteen months to ask the young Welshman out on a date (although from Ianto's point of view it had taken seven, three of which Jack had been absent for), and another month until he actually made good of his word. But other than that, Ianto had always led the way in their undefined relationship. Jack followed behind, enjoying the view.

This time, as so many times before, Ianto took his coat without a word, sliding it from his shoulders then hung it carefully in the wardrobe. Then he kissed him. There was no way Jack deserved Ianto's forgiveness after what he had done, but through the kiss, Ianto gave it freely to him anyway.

The tender kiss grew into something else, all tongue and teeth, Jack pulling him in, cupping Ianto's warm pink cheeks with hands that shook. He felt that at any moment he might just fly apart. He was shaking. His hands were shaking and his breath was catching in his throat and he thought that perhaps he might be crying. Ianto might have been crying too, but he didn't know for sure, and he certainly won't recall after.

All that matters was that they were here, they're both here together. They're here after everything, holding each other and crying – or not crying as the case may be – but holding each other and kissing each other and crying with each other.

Later, Jack won't recall who was the first to pull back or the first to let go. It didn't matter. All he will remember is Ianto in his arms again, chanting his name over and over whenever he pulls away to breathe whilst Jack, in turn, whispers promises and prayers that he thought he had forgotten long ago and until this moment was sure he no longer believed in. He asks for forgiveness with each brush of his lips and each whisper of breath in Ianto's ear and Ianto grants it to him unconditionally.

Jack will remember how pale skin once again was flushed pink with heat, no longer cold and grey. He'll remember the tickle of dark curls at the nape of Ianto's neck curling with sweat as he rests it upon his shoulder. He'll remember Ianto's heart beating strongly against the palm of his hand whilst his fingers idly smooth the coarse hair that covers his chest. He'll remember the taste of damp skin as he joined the constellation of freckles that were scattered across Ianto's body with his tongue, a myriad of star systems that were usually hidden from view by a well-tailored suit.

All this he will remember until he takes his very last breath, thousands of lightyears away from here and several billion years after today.

Afterwards, they laid tangled together and Jack's touches finally lost their frantic edge. He noticed then Ianto's well-concealed winces and small intakes of breath. He can't bear to let go just yet so kept his touch soft and tender, fingers barely stroking Ianto's skin but still leaving goosebumps in their wake. He traced the curls of coarse dark hair, noticing how they obscured even darker bruises underneath. But he still couldn't bring himself to let go completely. Not just yet.

The desperate passion had faded and in its place was left the deep affection that one might even call love. Jack had called it that many times in his head before. But his gentle touches were restrained not because he feared rousing his sated lover spread before him, but because they were marred by his hesitant caution. He's already broken this man once, twice, and again (and again and again and again), lead him to his death and pulled him violently from his eternal slumber because he couldn't deal with the guilt.

He knows he does not deserve Ianto Jones.

He was pulled from that thought as Ianto reached over covered Jack's hand with his own, entwining their fingers as he brought their joined hands to rest over his heart. Jack could feel the beats gradually slowing down. One day they'll stop again. He doesn't know what he'll do then.

"Let me take care of you," Ianto whispered, turning in his arms so they're face to face once more.

"You always do," Jack replied with a weak smile.

"I want to," he admits as if Jack didn't already know that. "Please."

The corner of Jack's lip twitched upward. Ianto knows full well what he's doing to him with that tone of voice.

Jack bit his lip, but it doesn't stop his smile or the twinkle of delight in his eyes that was mirrored in Ianto's. He watched that spark of light, of life, until he almost went cross-eyed when Ianto lent over and kissed him softly, chasing his spreading smile until it turned into a laugh and Jack couldn't help but kiss him back.

"I should be looking after you," Jack gasped into Ianto's mouth. "I should-"

"Then let me take care of you," he growled in return, not letting him finish.

This time, Jack takes control of the kiss, re-remembering every little detail that he'd thought forgotten and trying to commit him to memory so that when he was inevitably gone once more, Jack would never forget one single thing about this wonderful, incredible man.

The exact taste of his kiss, the contrast of his soft pink lips and the light stubble on his jaw, the way he pulled him in until gravity lost all control under his touch. So many little details Jack thought he had already forgotten in the six months he'd been gone.

When Ianto pulled back to breathe, Jack immediately buried his head in the crook of his neck, nipping gently at the skin and making Ianto chuckle. The sound was warm and rich and breathless. Jack didn't want him to ever stop.

"Slowly," Ianto chided, although his tone is playful rather than stern. He buried his hand in Jack's hair, though didn't pull him away. Instead, he just rested it there, scratching at the skin with his blunt nails. Jack didn't know whether to push into his light grip or press further into the dark warmth of his body. "Let me take care of you," he repeated softly.

Jack could only nod.

Ianto guided him, softly pushing and pulling at him in a way that let Jack still think that he was in control when in reality he knew it was Ianto who was setting the pace this time. He worshipped Jack's body and let him worship his in return. And just like how he thought he'd forgotten the exact taste of Ianto's kiss until his lips touched his – the sweetness perfectly complimenting the bitterness of his dark roast coffee blend – Ianto's actions subtly reminded Jack of all those little details that had slipped his mind.

Come hell or high water, Jack wasn't going to let Ianto leave him again.