For quitehomoerotic: when I was seventeen

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As he crossed the street, Ianto shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and bent his shoulders forward even further. For once, his father wasn't around to tell him to stand straight, to look proud of being a Jones, so he didn't. Besides, he wasn't proud of being a Jones, not after Bethan Taylor had spent three weeks giving him hope over

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[quitehomoerotic]

That morning, Jack Harkness had rolled quietly out of Ianto Jones' bed. He'd tried to tiptoe and not wake him up, but even then Jack had suspected he was awake anyway. Still, it was a pretence to pretend he didn't notice that, and one that he kept up until it was time for him to leave, and he'd leaned over and pressed a small kiss to his lips. He'd whispered that he'd see him at work, just had something to sort, and he left.

It was just a small blip. A silly small blip over up by Llandaff. But a small blip could grow into a bigger one, and it was always best to check; nip it in the bud.

But it wasn't just a blip at all. In fact Jack parked the SUV along a side street and walked down a small path beside the Cathedral, and when he got to the other side? Something was wrong. Something was very wrong indeed.

Because when he reached the other side? He was in 2001.

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Ianto didn't have anywhere to be. Oh, he had plenty of places he could be--at home reading, visiting his sister, getting into trouble with his friends--but nowhere he absolutely positively needed to be.

But, after only a few more blocks, he was already sick of walking. He passed a bench, then backtracked, looked around, and sat down.

He slouched, his elbows resting on his knees, and felt, as he always did, that his legs were far too long. And as he slouched, his hair, which was also too long as well as too curly, the way it had been when he was a boy, fell in front of his eyes. It figured, really, and he left it there.

[quitehomoerotic]

The first thing Jack did, was steal a car. Not the most moralistic of things to do, perhaps, but he wasn't walking all the way from Llandaff back to the city. No way.

He had to find out what was going on. Well, no, he suspected he knew that much, but he had to reverse it. He needed to get back, and he didn't want to go the slow way. That was frankly eight years too slow for his liking.

So yes, he stole a car, and he drove it the short way to the city and dumped it in a side street. He'd walk to the bay from there and fund some way of getting into the hub without bumping into himself or Suzie. That'd never do.

He had no help here, and that was fine, he could do without it, but help... well... helped, and he'd got used to having it. Got used to people around him.

He walked along the street, passing houses and a teenager slumped down in a bench. Jack walked a few steps past and remarked just how much---

Sharply, he turned his head back.

Just how much he looked like Ianto Jones.

And for a while, he merely stood there staring.

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All teenagers are self-centered to a fault, and seventeen year-old Ianto Jones was no exception. He was so wrapped up in himself and the his various complaints he had about the world, that for several minutes he didn't notice that he was being watched.

Then, suddenly, he recognized the feeling that had been inching up his spine.

He frowned. As he glanced around, he caught sight of Jack staring, and his eyes narrowed.

Creepy.

Finally, Ianto straightened his shoulders as though preparing himself for something, some interaction that could go any number of ways.

"You know, I can see you," he said, his lips curling slightly as he spoke. His tone acerbic in a way that only people his age can manage.