Chapter Fourteen
As Ianto entered the bakery the following morning, he blurted out the words before he could stop himself. "I kissed Jack."
He was a tired and strung out wreck, having spent most of the long and sleepless night on the verge of a full-blown panic attack as the events of the previous evening replayed over and over again in his head. Finally, he'd drifted into a restless sleep half an hour before his alarm had gone off. He'd dragged himself out from under the bed covers and got ready for work, but even a cup of industrial-strength coffee had done little to help, and the dull throb at the back of his skull seemed destined to turn into a blazing headache at any moment.
Just before he'd dropped his bombshell, Rhys had been looking at him with the beginnings of a concerned frown, probably ready to berate him over his beleaguered appearance. Now his best friend was gaping at him and doing an admirable job of impersonating a goldfish.
But then Rhys recovered and responded with a hearty laugh. "You daft sod. You're pulling my leg."
Wishing that was true, Ianto swallowed and shook his head.
The humour faded from Rhys's features. "You're serious, aren't you? Bloody hell!" His expression turned from astonishment to confusion. "Wait. He kissed you, or you kissed him?"
"He kissed me. But I kissed him first." Ianto scrubbed a hand over his face and was dismayed to discover a tiny patch of stubble at the edge of his jawline that he'd missed while shaving.
"Here. Come and sit down, mate. You look like you haven't slept a wink all night." Rhys ushered him over to the pair of stools on the other side of the kitchen and sat down beside him. "Tell me what happened. Start at the beginning."
With a heavy sigh, Ianto recounted the events of the evening as succinctly as possible, starting with running into Lisa and her brain surgeon fiancé at the museum and ending with his hurried departure from Jack's flat several hours later. "Then I buggered off as fast as I could with my tail between my legs," he finished, mortified all over again by the vivid memory of his undignified dash to freedom. "Jack must think I'm mentally unbalanced." A strangled laugh escaped from this throat. "Maybe I am."
Rhys was looking at him with an expression of sympathy and concern. "Come on, it can't be as bad as all that." He tilted his head, curiosity appearing in his eyes. "So, what was it like? Kissing Jack?"
Ianto shrugged, trying his best to feign nonchalance. He could barely admit to himself that kissing Jack hadn't been the least bit unpleasurable, let alone admit it to anyone else. "All right, I suppose. He knows what he's doing, I'll give him that." He shook his head in frustration. "It's all so bloody confusing. I'm not gay. I don't like men. So why did I kiss him?"
Rhys scratched absently at the back of his neck and seemed to consider the question. "Maybe you're a bit bisexual, but you didn't realise it until now? You wouldn't have kissed Jack if you didn't fancy him."
"But shouldn't there have been some warning signs?" It was the same question that Ianto had been asking himself all night. He'd been a late bloomer in his formative years, but it was absurd to think that he might not be entirely heterosexual, yet never had the slightest inkling. He'd been happy enough with his girlfriends in the past, after all. He'd never felt a yearning to look for anything different. "I'm almost thirty, Rhys. Isn't it a bit late to discover that I'm attracted to men as well as women?"
"Well, I'm not sure if age comes into it." Rhys looked thoughtful. "Are you really, though? Attracted to men in general? Or are you only attracted to Jack?"
Ianto's first instinct was to respond with an emphatic no on both counts. But he closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and tried to consider the question rationally. Of course, he'd seen plenty of handsome men during his life, in person as well as in films, on the telly and in the media. He could appreciate a good-looking man and had been envious of more than a few. But it was always in a detached, clinical sort of way. He'd never felt the stirrings of attraction or thought about kissing or doing anything sexual with another bloke.
But then there was Jack. Jack was... he didn't know what Jack was. Jack was different somehow. And although he was struggling to admit that he found Jack attractive, there was obviously some part of him that was drawn to the confident and charismatic man. He remembered how good it had felt when Jack pulled him into a hug, enveloping him in strong arms and holding him against his broad, solid chest. A part of him had wanted to stay in Jack's arms, sheltered from the doubts and insecurities reawakened with seeing Lisa again. Then, as they'd pulled apart and he'd found himself staring into Jack's handsome face, the desire to press his lips against Jack's had suddenly been overwhelming – like some primal instinct or imperative he'd been powerless to resist. Whatever this thing was, it wasn't men in general. It was Jack. It was only Jack. He wasn't sure if that made it better or worse.
He took another deep breath and opened his eyes. "No... I'm not attracted to other men. It just seems to be him. It doesn't make sense."
Rhys appeared to remain remarkably unfazed. "Maybe it's just that you haven't met a bloke you've fancied before? Jack's a gorgeous bastard, there's no denying that. Plus, he's a really nice bloke. The two of you get on well. You've got things in common. You like spending time with him." He shrugged. "If you're going to be interested in a bloke, why wouldn't it be Jack?"
In all fairness, Ianto couldn't disagree. He'd grown to like Jack quite a bit despite his initial wariness of the man, and there was no denying that Jack had a lot going for him. That still didn't explain why he'd kissed him, though.
"Hang on. Are you sure it's just him?" A cheeky glint had appeared in Rhys's eyes which Ianto recognised all too well. "You don't fancy me too, do you? Because I don't want you getting any funny ideas. Even best mates have to draw the line somewhere."
Ianto rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to dignify that with an answer."
Rhys held up his hands in a placating gesture, a grin spreading across his face. "All right, just checking. Might have been a bit awkward if I had to lodge a sexual harassment complaint."
"Just a bit." Ianto laughed despite himself and wondered when his life had become so strange.
Rhys chuckled, but then he became serious again. "All right, so you kissed Jack, and he kissed you. What happens now?"
Ianto gave a helpless shake of his head. "I have no idea."
Obviously he'd have to talk to Jack and try to clear the air. Otherwise, things between them would be unbearably awkward. He supposed he could try to plead temporary insanity or loss of judgement or something equally inane – he didn't want to lose Jack as a friend, assuming that it wasn't already too late. At the same time, he needed to nip this thing in the bud. He could barely cope with the fact that he and Jack had kissed, and kissing invariably led to all sorts of other things... things he didn't want to even begin to contemplate. Besides which, it wouldn't be fair to Jack to use him as some sort of sexual experiment, even if Jack would be all too willing.
He knew that Jack fancied him, although he couldn't understand why, so any encouragement on his part would be tantamount to leading Jack on. After all, he reasoned, perhaps it had just been a brief moment of madness, brought on by seeing Lisa again, and had meant nothing at all. He'd been a bit vulnerable and had turned to the first available person for solace, which had just happened to be Jack. A couple of ill-advised kisses weren't a big deal. He was probably blowing the whole thing out of proportion.
Then another thought occurred to him, filling him with dread. Rhiannon would probably be sympathetic, plus she liked Jack, but Johnny would have a field day. "Rhys, don't say anything about this to Rhiannon, all right? Or anyone else."
Rhys blinked. "Yeah, of course I won't. Don't worry, mum's the word."
"Thanks." Glancing down at his watch, Ianto sighed and stood up. "Well, we've got a bakery to run..."
"Ianto." Rhys placed a hand on his arm, causing Ianto to turn back and meet his friend's concerned gaze. "Look, mate, you might not want to hear this, but I've noticed the difference in you lately. Since Jack came along, you've seemed... well... happier. Maybe that's just because you're mates, or maybe it's because business is starting to pick up. Either way, Jack's been good for you, and it seems to me that you like him more than you want to admit." He gave Ianto's arm an affectionate squeeze. "Don't be in too much of a hurry to burn any bridges, that's all I'm saying."
Try as he might to deny it, Ianto knew that Rhys was right.
###
When Ianto crossed the threshold of his flat that evening, he was ready to drop from exhaustion and wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for a week. But there was always work to be done, and after indulging in a relaxing soak in the bath, he settled down with a strong cup of coffee and turned his attention to catching up on paperwork and reviewing the week's figures. Business had been steady enough to keep them fairly busy for most of the day, and in his idle moments he'd occupied himself with cleaning anything he could lay his hands on. Whenever he was troubled or stressed, he cleaned until he felt calmer or exhausted himself, whichever came first. However, despite his best efforts, Jack and the events of the previous evening had remained stubbornly at the forefront of his thoughts.
Rhys had wanted to buy him a pint at their usual pub, but he'd declined and asked for a rain check, needing solitude and time alone more than the fleeting distraction of alcohol, tempting though it was. After reassuring Rhys that he'd be fine, he had headed home.
When the numbers on the screen of his laptop began to swim in front of his eyes, he finally admitted defeat. He made himself a fresh cup of coffee, heated up some dinner and settled in front of the telly, flicking through the channels until he settled on a Doctor Who repeat.
He picked half-heartedly at his microwaved meal, forcing himself to eat out of habit rather than actual hunger. But his eyelids soon grew heavy as the previous twenty-four hours caught up with him, and he succumbed to the welcome oblivion of sleep.
He dreamed of a glorious white wedding set in majestic gardens on a bright summer's day. Jack and Lisa were the picture perfect happy couple, both beautiful and elegant, admired by a sea of smiling onlookers. He was sitting in the back row, alone and bitter, watching his ex-lover commit himself to the woman he'd also once loved. In the end, he hadn't been good enough for Jack either, and Lisa had taken Jack away from him without even a hint of remorse.
Turning his head, he looked across to where Lisa's ex-fiancé was also watching the proceedings, the blond man's features set in a mask of hurt and bitterness that matched his own. Turning back to the happy couple, he watched, helpless and bereft, as Jack and Lisa finished reciting their vows and sealed their commitment with a passionate kiss.
He woke with a gasp, heart pounding in his chest. Cursing his subconscious, he ran an unsteady hand over his face and took a deep breath, then rolled his neck, trying to relieve the stiffness. The congealed remains of his dinner were still on the plate in front of him, the sight provoking a sick sensation in his stomach. Picking up the plate, he climbed awkwardly to his feet.
After tidying up and completing his night-time routine, he was lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, still tired, but unable to sleep. The memories of that disturbing dream lingered, and with nothing to distract him, his thoughts turned again to Jack – specifically to the memory of kissing Jack.
He could still recall everything about it with unerring clarity: the warmth of Jack's lips and their surprising softness, the insistent pressure and urgency, the strange and unfamiliar sensation of stubble scratching against his own. He remembered the passion and hunger on both their parts when Jack had grasped hold of his face and kissed him back. It had been a real, proper kiss, and a pretty spectacular one at that. Most damning of all, he remembered how his crotch had tightened with the rush of arousal. Lost in the moment, he hadn't really thought about the fact that he was kissing another man. He had simply been kissing Jack. And as much as he wished he could deny it, nothing about kissing Jack had felt wrong or distasteful.
Against his better judgement, he got up, retrieved his laptop and returned to bed. It only took a few moments to locate the blog he'd visited once before and open the page dedicated to Jack. Taking an unsteady breath, he clicked on one of the images to enlarge it. It was the photograph he'd looked at before from the gay men's magazine, showing Jack spread out in all his naked, seductive glory. He stared at the image, studying every line and contour of that perfect, masculine body. Lighting, make-up and digital retouching had undoubtedly played their part, but he doubted that present-day, unadulterated Jack would look any less stunning.
As he continued to stare at the erotic image, he tried to imagine how it might feel to move his hands over the smooth skin of Jack's sculptured torso, tracing each firm, well-honed muscle. He imagined trailing kisses over that broad chest, taking the pinkish-brown nubs of Jack's nipples into his mouth and feeling them harden against his tongue. He imagined the feel of Jack's warm, naked skin against his own as they wrapped themselves around each other. And he imagined what it might be like to take hold of Jack's long, thick length in his hand, feeling the weight, hardness and heat as he stroked it from root to tip.
He felt himself begin to swell and harden in response. Moving the laptop onto the bed, but keeping it angled so that he could see the screen, he slipped his hand into his pyjama bottoms and palmed his erection, rubbing slowly back and forth. A surge of warmth flooded his body, and he quickly pulled off his t-shirt, pushing the bed covers and his pyjama bottoms down and out of the way. He took hold of himself again and continued stroking. Some part of his mind was telling him that this was wrong and he needed to stop, but he was already too far gone, lost in the fantasy, lost in his thoughts of Jack.
He quickened his pace, running the fingers of his other hand through the hair on his chest and teasing his nipples, imagining it was Jack's hand touching him rather than his own. He stifled a groan as the heat continued to increase, sweat breaking out over his skin, the pressure building in his groin. In his mind, Jack was kissing him with fierce, unadulterated passion, murmuring his name and telling him how much he wanted him.
He wasn't prepared for the suddenness or intensity of his climax, even though he knew that it was close. A strangled gasp tore from his throat as he shuddered and sent hot, thick spurts splattering over his chest and stomach. He continued stroking until he'd drained himself and the aftershocks had subsided.
His heart was racing, the thumping beat unnaturally loud in his ears, his breathing rapid and uneven. With a despondent groan, he slumped on the bed and pressed his eyes closed, trying to quieten the turmoil in his mind as he waited for his body to return to its normal rhythm.
But when he opened his eyes again, the damning evidence was impossible to ignore. Mortified by his lack of self-control, he snapped the laptop shut, grabbed a handful of tissues from the box he kept on the bedside table and hurriedly cleaned himself up, then pulled up his pyjama bottoms, slipped back into his t-shirt and straightened the bed covers.
He sat there in the silence, stunned, confused and staring into space, when the ring-tone of his phone almost caused him to jump out of his skin. Rolling his eyes at himself, he reached for where the handset was charging in its cradle and stared down at the name of the caller with open-mouthed dread.
Knowing that ignoring it would only be putting off the inevitable, he cleared his throat, reluctantly accepted the call and put the phone to his ear. "Hello, Jack."