Disclaimer: As always, I don't own anything you recognize.

~.~.~

It started with an aching, clawing pressure in his stomach and a nagging feeling that he was missing something, that somewhere along the line, he'd forgotten to do something important.

At first, Ianto had thought he'd forgotten to switch over Lisa's fluids or missed a dose of the new sedative they were testing out, but he'd checked in on her.

Twice.

Then Captain Harkness had practically pushed him through the cog door with the usual you work too hard and Jesus, you're pale. Eat a Brussels sprout or something. His mam had phoned his mobile earlier with the standard why did you move home if I still never see you? guilt trip, so he reckoned that, for the first time in nearly a week, he'd actually go home to sleep in his own bed.

But the pressure had morphed to churning panic the closer he was to the tourist office. Ianto reminded himself, over and over, that everything was fine. Paperwork was filed. Lisa was sleeping. The pterodactyl had its—her?—mutton. There was a nice, warm bed waiting for him.

Everything was as well as it had been since London.

But it felt like the world was crashing down.

His chest ached, then pounded as he approached the door leading out to the Quay. Every breath he pulled into his lungs felt like dozens of white-hot pins. His vision blurred, his palms were sweating. He only had one simple, consuming thought.

Go back, go back, go back.

Ianto felt as though he'd die if he moved from where he was leaning against the cool metal door, but managed to put one foot in front of the other.

He stumbled past the desk and groped for the button hidden behind it.

The fogginess in that had covered his senses lifted.

He slid through the door as soon as there was enough space for him to squeeze through.

His jagged, painful breathing calmed.

He made his way through the damp corridors, the tap tap of his step beating a soothing rhythm on the concrete.

The horrible tightening in his chest eased.

By the time Ianto made it back to the cog door, his episode—or whatever the hell that had been—was over, leaving an empty exhaustion that settled on him like a wet cloak.

Inside, Captain Harkness was lounging on the ratty old sofa he swore was "vintage." He'd shed the blue button-down he'd worn during the day, leaving a white undershirt that made his skin look almost bronzed. His grey braces lay limply at his sides.

His brow furrowed when he saw Ianto. "I coulda sworn I sent you packing for the night."

Ianto didn't know what to say. He had no valid reason for staying and he wasn't about to tell the truth. Yeah, boss, you did. But then I had a nervous breakdown when I tried to open the door, so I figured I'd crash here. On the couch you're laying on. No worries, though, I'll set up a camp bed down in the darkest recesses of your Hub, where I've got my ill and semi-metallic girlfriend stashed away.

That'd go down a treat.

"I...er...fancied a cup of coffee first. It's a bit cold out this evening," he lied.

He shuffled to the kitchenette before the Captain could reply. He was half-afraid that his calm butler mask was so thoroughly shattered that his secrets would be written all over his face.

Ianto's hands fiddled with the coffee maker on autopilot. His fingers still trembled slightly and he mused that the last thing in the world he needed in that moment was more caffeine, but Captain Harkness would be expecting a cup now.

He filled his own black cup and set about filling the other man's blue-and-white striped mug. Half cream, half coffee. Three sugars. It was practically blasphemy, to add that much rubbish to his perfect coffee, but there was no accounting for taste. Ianto didn't fancy his boss's dental bills, either, with that much sugar every day.

With a final stir and a steadying breath, he carried his tray back to the hideous sofa. Harkness gave him a winning, toothy smile and enthusiastic thanks. Ianto settled down next to him and they drank their coffee in companionable silence.

It struck him how long it'd had been since he'd simply...sat with someone, just existed in the same space. Not since London, at least, when he'd sit on the lumpy armchair to read because Lisa would stretch out and take up the whole sofa to watch Strictly Come Dancing.

The time he'd spent with her since was mostly taken up by checking the equipment and the medication while she slept. Or cried.

He missed it. He missed Lisa, of course, but this feeling, too. He missed feeling like he wasn't so damn alone and isolated. He missed just talking about things that weren't aliens or dinosaurs. He missed being touched.

Ianto looked over at his boss and wondered if it would really be so bad to take his boss up on the offer he'd made a fortnight ago. He didn't fancy men, not really, but Harkness was handsome and it wasn't about that, anyway. To keep the stress and the loneliness from filling you up, he'd said.

And that's what was happening. The stress was burying him, giving him ulcers and panic attacks. The loneliness...well, he'd had a fulfilling, loving relationship with Lisa before everything had gone to hell and he was starting to feel like he'd never been loved in all his life.

He wondered what Lisa would think, if she'd be angry. He wanted to think that she'd understand and told himself it couldn't really be cheating if he didn't actually feel anything for the other person.

And he didn't. He liked Harkness well enough, but even if he did start being...er...interested in men, the Captain wouldn't be the type he'd be interested in. Too flashy, too adrenalin-addicted.

Even if he did smell good. Really, really good.

"Sir," he started, sounding shaky even to his own ears. He cleared his throat. "I was thinking about the conversation we had in your office..."

He'd expected Harkness to leer or tease—something wholly inappropriate. He didn't expect the steady, serious way those blue eyes pinned him to the ugly sofa.

"Which?"

Damn. He'd hoped that the conversation wouldn't require any more...well, conversation. Ianto shifted awkwardly. "The one regarding...stress."

The Captain—Jack. Christ, if they were going to be doing this, he couldn't keep thinking of him that way. It felt wrong, somehow—slid closer, until their legs were touching. Ianto felt a stab of fear in the back of his mind, telling him all at once how very badly this could go. Anything could happen from here on out. He could lose his job. He could be humiliated. He could be...obligated to do...things he wasn't comfortable with.

But Jack's voice was quiet and calming. "And you're feeling stressed?"

"Yes."

Jack nodded, the picture of self-control. "Lean back and close your eyes."

He let out a shaky breath and slumped back He was trying hard to control the trembling that had taken hold of his entire body, but with his eyes closed, it was impossible.

Ianto jumped slightly when he felt fingers tugging at his belt. Jack's touch was surprisingly gentle but insistent, then warm. The air in the Hub was cool around his still-soft cock and he worried for a moment that things wouldn't go any further. Even as he started to become convinced he'd made a horrible, embarrassing mistake, Jack squeezed and stroked the insecurity away.

It struck Ianto how very different it felt. Lisa's hands were—are—soft and small. Her touch was always delicate, almost hesitant. His own hand, though larger, was still smooth. But Jack—Jack's hands were strong and calloused. Ianto felt himself respond and his hips hitched into the grasp of their own accord.

The more he focused on it, the more the rough friction against his cock drove him wild. Jack was clearly someone who knew exactly what he was doing. His grip was confident and firm, kneading and stroking in a steady rhythm.

Ianto gave himself up to it, letting the other man's spicy scent invade his senses and rocking into his touch. A throaty moan escaped him when Jack's thumb caught a drop of precome and spread it along his length.

Jack quickened his pace and Ianto knew the entire thing would be over embarrassingly soon. It was too much and it had been too long. He balled his fists into the soft wool of his trousers, desperate to make the feeling last just a little longer even as he felt the beginnings of his orgasm rise up in him. He wasn't ready to trade the simple, unthinking pleasure for the embarrassment and responsibilities that waited for him.

Ready or not, he came with a shout that filled the Hub.

Ianto, heart pounding, sat stock still with his eyes squeezed shut. He trampled down the uneasiness that threatened to return. He told himself, even as Jack gently tucked him back into his pants and fastened his trousers, that his boss was a professional and a gentleman. There was no reason to brace himself for a humiliating, emasculating comment. It was normal, just stress-relief.

And he did feel better. The coil of fear at the pit of his stomach had unwound itself. He felt more relaxed than he had in weeks, perhaps months.

He opened his eyes to find Jack running a handkerchief over his palm.

"Better?"

Ianto nodded and gestured helplessly at Jack's lap. "Do you want...?"

The older man smiled, his shiny, perfect teeth catching the dim light. "I'm good, thanks," he said, knocking his shoulder playfully against Ianto's. "You oughta go catch some sleep while you can, I've got a feeling tomorrow's gonna be a busy day."

~.~.~

As the days passed, Ianto realized there was definitely something to Jack's foxhole philosophy. He wasn't sure when the secret to contentment became a handjob and a good night's rest, but that's what it boiled down to.

The situation hadn't changed, of course. Lisa was still...ill and he was still lying with every other word he spoke, but the release was just...beautiful. He no longer worried that he'd have a heart attack at any moment or that he'd be unable to find more pain medicine when Lisa ran out. He could think properly again, plan his next move rationally. Jack had given him a gift.

Neither man mentioned the incident nor had there been any encores, but Ianto began to pay more attention to his boss. He couldn't quite explain it—and considering the way he was betraying Jack for Lisa, he certainly couldn't justify it—but he couldn't get around the urge to look after Jack in whatever small ways he could.

He ordered whatever lunch Jack suggested, regardless of the ensuing conversation of "We've had pizza four times this week, Harkness. Give it a rest."

He delivered Jaffa Cakes along with his afternoon coffee after Suzie had been moaning—again—about Jack's refusal to allow her to use deceased Torchwood operatives to test out her glove.

He even took to doing Jack's post-mission paperwork then leaving them stacked neatly on the Captain's desk next to the weird heat lamp, riddled with "Sign here!" post-it notes.

Ianto didn't think about it, just as he didn't think about how unusual it was for him to spend so much time stealing glances at another man's hands.

So when Jack appeared one evening in Ianto's little office in the Archives, looking like a man carrying the weight of world on his shoulders, something twisted in Ianto's gut.

"Busy?"

Ianto put away the paperwork he was working on—forged order forms for oxycodone—and smiled sheepishly. "No, sir," he said. "Just finishing up for the night."

Jack stepped towards the desk, picking up a bulldog clip. He fiddled with it, closing it around his thumb. "There were three civilian casualties today. Owen's got 'em on coolin' in Autopsy storage."

He nodded, wondering what kind of shape the bodies would be in after encountering something like a Hoix. He'd already used the car accident cover twice this month. Maybe an explosion of some sort… "I'll take care of it right away, sir."

"No need," Jack said, setting the clip back down. "They'll still be there in the morning. I…I actually wanted to talk to you about something else."

Ianto trampled down the moment of surprised panic—after all, if Lisa had been discovered, surely there would be a gun pointed in his direction?

"I…well, I could use a hand."

He straightened. "Weevils, again?"

Jack shook his head sharply, his blue eyes intense. "No, Ianto. A hand."

Oh. "Of course. Is…is here alright?"

The Captain smiled, one of the rare, genuine smiles that reached his eyes. Ianto rolled his chair backwards and let his boss sit on the organized surface of his desk.

He set about unbuckling Jack's belt, ignoring the trembling of his fingers and the rushing in his ears, but Jack caught his wrists.

When he spoke, his normally brash American accent was breathy and stilted, but his eyes were closed and his handsome face was passive. "This is not a job requirement. You will not be sacked if you kick me out right now."

After another moment, the grip eased and fell away. Ianto slid the black leather from the buckle, the button from its hole. He was glad Jack kept his eyes closed. He wasn't sure his bravado and sense of fair play would carry him this far with those piercing blue eyes fixed on him.

Jack's breath hitched as Ianto drew down the zip and the sound went straight to Ianto's cock. He told himself, even as he wrapped his fingers around Jack's hard length, that it was the taboo, the rush of doing something new that was arousing him so much—No, not Jack himself. Not the thought of making Jack pant with need. Not the fantasy of Jack moaning his name when he came.

Ianto had thought of this. He'd wondered what it would feel like to touch him this way since that night on the sofa. He'd imagined that he'd be able to remain clinical and mature. In his own mind, he'd handle the other man's cock with a mild detachment…not distasteful, really, but certainly not thrilling.

How wrong he'd been.

Jack's cock was rock hard but delightfully pliant. He could feel the rushing of Jack's blood with every stroke of his palm just as clearly as he could feel his own heart thrumming in his chest.

He found himself staring, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Jack was…was magnificent. He could be in women's magazines, for Christ's sake. His cock was as long as Ianto's own, but thicker and as tan as the rest of him. There was no dark, coarse hair to interrupt the smooth rhythm and the gentle upwards arch of the length fit into his palm perfectly.

Jack was practically a bronzed god perched on the desk and Ianto was as turned on as he could remember being.

A quiet gasp drew his eyes to Jack's face. His lips were parted, his breath coming in small, eager pants. It struck Ianto how very vulnerable his boss looked. Jack wasn't hiding behind his flirty smiles, his confident leers or his intense authority. He was just Jack, open and exposed while he clutched the edge of Ianto's desk and neared his orgasm.

It did nothing to lessen the pressure of his own cock straining against his trousers.

Determined not to come in his pants like an overexcited teenager, Ianto quickens the movement of his hand, seeking to increase the friction as he pumped from root to tip.

The panting came harder and the keening whimpers filled the air with frantic tension. Ianto suddenly wanted to break the Captain's control, make his moans bounce off the concrete walls of his office. He changed the angle of his palm, twisting around the slick head of Jack's hard cock.

With only a grunt and the clenching of his fingers on the desk as warning, Jack was coming, twitching and shooting thick tendrils of come into Ianto's palm. He opened his eyes and smiled lazily.

Ianto wiped his hand with the rag he used for clearing dust and grime from artifacts while Jack straightened up his clothing. He sent a silent prayer that his own ridiculous erection would go unnoticed.

"You've got a little something…" Jack said, swiping his thumb along Ianto's jawline. "There. All better."

They both looked at the come glistening on the pad of Jack's thumb, and Ianto's eyes followed its movement right into Jack's mouth.

Jack winked playfully and left without a word.

~.~.~

Ianto leaned back against the desk in the Tourist Centre and tucked in his shirt. He rolled his eyes at Jack's smug smile.

They'd been doing this for nearly two months now, this clandestine pseudo-friends-with-benefits arrangement and it always left him calm and sated. They'd fallen into a schedule of sorts, finding one another in the darkness of the Archives or when the others had gone for the night.

Ianto knew that without this release, he'd never have been able to cope with the demands that caring for Lisa put on him. Especially not with the demands his job added.

He genuinely hoped, even as he lied and deceived everyone around him, that Jack was as satisfied.

Ianto still felt guilty, still worried would Lisa would think if she knew. He'd tried, briefly, to pretend he didn't need it. He told himself there wasn't anything he was getting from Jack that he couldn't do for himself, but as the days wore on and the stress became nearly unbearable, he buried the guilt as best he could.

"Why does this work?" Ianto blurted, before he could stop himself.

"I'd have figured you could figure it out on your own. See, there's friction and…" Jack laughed.

Ianto whacked him on the arm and rolled his eyes. "I know how that works, you wanker. I mean…well, we don't do anything that we couldn't…y'know, take care of ourselves, do we?"

"That's sort of the point."

He let his baleful glare ask the question for him.

"I know what the others think of me, that I'm all about the sex," the Captain started with a sad smile. "But they're wrong. It's so much simpler than that. Sometimes…all we really need is the touch of another human being.

~.~.~

A/N: Special gratitude to FaceOfMer/Janto321 for her time. She very kindly played sounding board for me. Bulldog clips, the thing on Ianto's desk that Ianto fidgeted with, are also called binder clips, depending on where you live. Thank you for reading!