your young sunless summer (jack/ianto; pg-13)
Title: your young sunless summer
Author: etharei
Rating: PG-13
Timeline: post-"Cyberwoman"
Spoilers: "Cyberwoman" (104)
Summary: But while he heartily approves of Ianto enjoying the various delights that Cardiff has to offer a young man, Jack is rather tired of inviting himself along, unsure if he’s there as a friend or a parole officer.
Author's Notes: I really, really liked this prompt. *pets new addition to iPod*
Disclaimer: Torchwood and all the characters and situations featured therein are the property of Russell T. Davies, the BBC and their affiliates. I’m only borrowing them for purely non-profit, recreational purposes.
Written for: horizonssing, Day #25.
Summertime
Mae
Summertime, summertime
brought me back to thinking you were mine all those times.
We laid it down and left it all behind, we were blind.
Oh, the summertime.
We could ride, we could ride.
Take my hand and watch the world go by.
Laugh or cry, well we need to try, get off the line, time to fly.
Oh, the summertime.
Go on ahead and let it fade away.
No looking back you know the past will stay.
It's you and me, we could get out of here.
Jump in and go and we could drive for years.
We could feel alive...
Here we are, here we are,
windows down we see a falling star.
Stop the car.
Waiting, nothing but our beating hearts, going far.
Oh, the summertime.
So feel the air, feel the air,
take the map and point to anywhere.
I don't care. Fingers through your hair,
the sky I've seen, blue and green.
Oh, the summertime.
Driving away, leaving it all behind.
Driving away
your young sunless summer
by etharei
Blood on his hands. Third time this week, too. He sighs, tiredly, and scrubs at his skin. Even under the nails- and he should get them cut, before they catch on something and get fingers torn off like that time in ’65...
“Jack?”
Looking up, Jack pastes on falsely cheerful smile at seeing Ianto hovering near the door of the washroom. “Ianto. What is it?”
“I’m thinking of checking out this new club tonight.”
It’s something Ianto has taken to doing, occasionally, visiting shops and pubs and other public establishments that are known for being good at something or other. Jack has often accompanied him, enjoying the chance to see details of his adopted city and keep up with contemporary trends.
But while he heartily approves of Ianto enjoying the various delights that Cardiff has to offer a young man, Jack is rather tired of inviting himself along, unsure if he’s there as a friend or a parole officer.
“Good,” he declares, washing the soap off his hands. “I look forward to hearing your tales of wanton debauchery in the morning. Not that I condone heavy drinking during the night before work,” Jack winks, “but I do have a pill for it that can take off the worst of the hangover.”
Ianto looks surprised. “I gather Owen doesn’t know about it, then?”
“They’re only for my favorite people.” Jack smiles winningly at Ianto, and dries his hands on a towel. Ianto makes no move to leave, his eyes fixed on Jack’s middle. Looking down, Jack realizes that his shirt is still bloody from where he’d gotten stabbed in the abdomen earlier. Damn.
“I seem to be going through a lot of shirts,” he says, casually, and brushes past Ianto to go up to the main level. “Go on, have a taste of the nightlife.”
Ten minutes later, Jack is sitting behind his desk in a fresh shirt, ineffectually massaging his temples and his forehead. Ianto appears at his door.
“Do you want to come with me?”
~*~
Jack gazes dubiously at the building in front of him. Flashes of colored lights shine out of the high windows, and the music is loud enough to be heard out on the street. From the hour and the number of people still going in, Jack is sure the club’s going to be packed inside.
He’s quite prepared to just shove his way in, falling back on Torchwood clearance if the first charm offensive failed, but Ianto deliberately goes to the end of the line just like everybody else, and Jack gives him a long-suffering look before following suit. Though he doesn’t mind getting the time to fully appreciate Ianto’s appearance.
Tight trousers, like that first night in the park, and a form-hugging black T-shirt. Black cord necklace, thick metal bracelets. There was gel in his hair. In short: yum.
Jack idly wonders if he can convince Ianto to show up like this to work one day, just to see the team’s reactions. But while Ianto looks vastly changed from the Ianto he sees everyday, it’s not as identity-confusing as it would be for the others; perhaps because this is how Jack first met Ianto.
And, just like then, he wants to push Ianto against a hard surface and fuck him to the stars, and he can’t.
The young man appears to be similarly examining Jack. Jack had been convinced to change into something more contemporary; that is, Ianto had placed the clothes, still in their shopping bags and smelling of the store, on top of Jack’s desk, and said he’d wait in his car. It gives Jack a little spark of warmth, the thought that Ianto had bought him clothes. Of course, Ianto bought him clothes all the time, to replace the ones he regularly damaged beyond repair on the line of duty, but this is different. And damn good fits, too. Tighter than he normally liked, but a good, complimentary type of tighter. Jeans, a navy blue shirt, black belt, black boots.
He knows he’s not imagining the frequent glances towards his ass from the people around them, anyway.
The line moves quickly, despite the crowd. The man and woman at the door give both of them approving sweeps of the eyes, before taking their money and waving them in.
It feels like walking into a wall of heat, and Jack has an extensive library for comparison. And after the heat, the bone-rattling bass. Beside Jack, Ianto falters in his step, eyes wide as he stares at the full dance floor, bodies packed like canned sardines. Jack knows that the young man has been living in relative isolation, in the last few months during his suspension and probation, and the months before that when he’d been tending to Lisa. He taps Ianto on the arm, and points toward the bar. Ianto nods, not ungratefully.
Luckily, the bar is angled so that some of the noise is deflected by a short partition. Still loud, though. And crowded, but Jack manages to find two empty bar stools at the far end. He orders a beer for them both, and pays the ridiculously high price without blinking, his attention mostly on Ianto.
“Haven’t been in one of these places for a long time,” Jack remarks.
Ianto shakes his head, takes a deep breath. “Me neither.”
Why are we here, then? he wants to ask, but restrains himself. Looks around, for something to do while Ianto collects himself and out of a deeply ingrained instinct to scan the perimeter when in a public place. He notices many inquisitive, interested looks aimed at them, from men and women alike.
The beers arrive. Ianto takes a sip of his, biting on his lower lip. A tell, Jack has learned, that Ianto has something to say but there’s some negotiation going on between brain and mouth. “I stopped going to clubs after I met Lisa, unless it was the two of us out for a night with a group of friends. All Torchwood, of course, since it was hard to keep friends from the outside.”
Jack makes a vague noise of sympathetic agreement.
“Even in uni,” Ianto continues, “These kinds of scenes were always a bit too loud for me, a bit too crowded. Fun when you need to take a break, get your mind off things, but I wasn’t the type to turn up every night.”
Ianto’s fingers are idly tracing circular patterns through the light film of condensation on his beer bottle. Jack finds the slow, light motions a little bit distracting. “It’s been a hell of a week,” he ends up saying, just to fill the gap in the conversation.
“More for you than the rest of us. So I thought, a night out of the Hub...” Ianto trails off.
Oh. Jack looks up, sees Ianto looking at him with an undecipherable expression. So serious, Jack thinks, and so young.
Jack’s been doing his best, to be the friend and sort-of mentor that he should have been from the start. They seem to have gotten that part down pat, at least; but there’s still a lot of baggage, heavy with had-beens and could-have-beens and a healthy smattering of I-don’t-know-what-the-hell-that-was, all cluttering up the hallway because neither of them can figure out which rooms to store them in.
It occurs to Jack that, in defiance of all expectations and good sense, Ianto may still want, well, something that should be an option for either of them anymore.
The silence is mildly uncomfortable. They finish their beer, and Jack notices that Ianto’s eyes have been fixed on a specific point along the bar for some time. He turns, follows the younger man’s line of sight. A girl, a pretty brunette with smooth arms and very nice legs, is waving off a friend of hers who’s being coaxed out to the dance floor by a guy. The girl daintily sips the last of her cocktail, discreetly checking out her options from the men at the bar.
Jack suppresses the instinct to catch her eye, instead nudging Ianto with his elbow. “Go ask her to dance.”
It’s hard to see in the lighting at the bar, but Ianto smiles in that small, endearing way he sometimes does when he’s blushing. “It doesn’t seem polite to abandon you when you’re here on my invitation...”
“What’s a bit of impropriety between friends?” Jack winks suggestively. “Go and dance.”
Jack watches Ianto approach the girl, who gives him a thorough once-over. He seems to pass muster, since she drains her glass, and stands up, deliberately brushing against him. Even in heels, the top of her head only goes up to Ianto’s shoulder. He smiles down at her, probably getting a good view down her low-cut top, but his expression remains gentlemanly as he takes her hand and leads her into the swirling, sparkling masses.
Two more bottles later, Jack decides that Ianto is likely staying with his companion for the rest of the night, and gets up to leave. He’s considered acquiring his own partner and going for a spin, but there’s a chance Ianto might see him (if he’s even in there still, Jack last glimpsed him three songs ago) and be his overly-solicitous self.
Getting to the exit requires wading through a quarter of the dance floor. Jack enjoys being summarily groped by several people, and even grinded against by a tall redhead who almost makes him change his mind about leaving. But he shakes his head, not without some regret, and pushes on.
The lights above change from blue and white to red and purple, and there is a distinct shift in tempo when the music transitions to new song. Jack’s nearly gained the edge of the dance floor, hampered by the flow of people going the opposite direction since the exit is also the main entrance, when someone catches his hand. Annoyance flashes, for the briefest instant; until he recognizes the long fingers, the raised skin across the palm where a piece of rift junk turned out to be an alien pocket knife that activated when held a certain way.
He allows himself to be pulled back by the sure grip, and ends up standing very, very close to Ianto. “Leaving so soon, Captain?”
The look on Ianto’s face is bold and challenging and a little bit predatory, and it turns the space between their bodies into something heavy and charged. “You know how it is,” Jack says, his attempt at a light tone incongruous with the deeper note in his voice. “Pterodactyls to tuck in, Weevils to read a bedtime story to, paperweights to rearrange.”
Ianto’s other arm winds around Jack’s waist, the hand resting on his lower back. “I believe I do two out of those three.”
“The Weevils, really?”
“Hänsel und Gretel for choice, in the original German.” Ianto steps backwards, taking Jack with him, heedless of the jostling bodies on all sides.
Jack follows, eyes locked on Ianto’s. The younger man stops moving before Jack realizes, and he takes that extra step that brings their bodies to touching, almost an embrace. Their noses bump, Jack can feel Ianto’s breath, hot, drifting down to his lips.
“Dance with me?” Ianto asks. So close, that Jack parts his lips as if to pull the words in out of the air. The music thrums around him, like a living thing, and it’s... slower, different. He puts his free hand on Ianto’s arm, sliding it up to his shoulder, then down his back, over a shifting shoulder blade. Most of the people around have gone into pairs, a distant part of him observes. Guitar chords energetic and... intimate, and Jack decides the song is not bad, not bad at all.
Summertime, says the singer, and that’s kind of how this feels. The charged stillness, the heat, the promise suspended in the air. Ianto is in his arms, strong and alive, still carrying that lost look, but as if he’s spotted a lifeline in the distant. Staring at Jack, take my hand and watch the world go by, and Jack barely has time for another oh of comprehension before he’s tasting soft lips, traces of lip gloss, Ianto.
And he’s kissing back, even when he’s intimately familiar with all the reasons why he shouldn’t and all the ways this can go wrong for them both. Laugh or cry, well we need to try, oh God he’s missed this. He shouldn’t, by all rights he shouldn’t, but Ianto flicks Jack’s lip with his tongue and pushes in, and after that the only thing Jack can do is pull him closer.
They’re moving, not so much dancing as using body to explore body, slow, swaying to the song. Jack’s hand teases the skin at the back of Ianto’s neck, fingering the necklace. He follows the line of shoulders, down the arm, lifting up Ianto’s elbow and placing Ianto’s hand on Jack’s chest.
Go on ahead, let it fade away, Ianto kisses just like he remembers, smooth and sure, no looking back, you know the past will stay. Like he's always meant it. Jack breaks off, follows the line of Ianto’s jaw with his lips. Ianto makes a gorgeous throaty groan when Jack nips at sensitive skin, swirls a tongue over the shell of his ear. Ianto rolls his hips, sending delicious friction against Jack’s groin, his fingers finding and teasing Jack’s nipple through his shirt.
There’s a vague concern over public decency and laws concerning it, so Jack steps back with one foot, raising the hand still holding Ianto’s. The younger man raises his eyebrows, but obediently turns, slow. Jack is distracted by the play of red light over Ianto’s cheekbones, and nearly forgets to step back in while Ianto is turned away. Ianto gasps at the feel of Jack against his back. Pushes his arse back into Jack’s groin, tilts his head back.
“Beautiful,” Jack murmurs, tasting the pale skin being offered to his mouth. He doesn’t know if Ianto heard him, but fingers tighten on his skin, almost digging in, and they’re so close Jack can feel Ianto’s every movement, every breath. Ianto brings up their joined hands, rests it over his chest, waiting, nothing but our beating hearts, turning his head for a kiss. He keeps grinding back against Jack, shallow movements disguised by their swaying, and Jack realizes that this position is not much better for continued law abidance after all. Nor for comfort; his jeans are uncomfortably tight, spurred on by proximity of Ianto’s arse.
He turns Ianto around again, gaze falling on Ianto’s mildly swollen lips. Ianto looks disheveled, scattered, and magnificently aroused. Jack kisses him, because there’s nothing else, only the beat and bodies and heat, and he feels alive. It’s part of Jack’s nature to desire things he should not have, a recklessness no score of deaths or years will take from him, but he’s mostly learned better when there are others involved.
Jack opens his eyes, pulls back. Ianto doesn’t appear surprised, only tightening his hold on Jack. Strong, unbroken, steadfast as time, the Earth, the Welsh weather. It occurs to Jack that maybe his new trust of Ianto can start with trusting him to take care of himself. Ianto, who’s looking at Jack like he knows Jack needs him. It’s more than enough.
How many times does someone like Jack get a second chance like this?
It sweeps over him, the heat, sweet summertime, heart beating loud as bass. A subtle shift, deeper than skin, like the whole world pivoting, and the air between them silent, storm-eye still. The breathless, wandering thought: if this is what the Doctor always meant, an ordinary person being the most important thing in the universe. Ianto reaches up, touches Jack’s face, Jack’s temple, fingers in your hair.
“Hello,” whispers Jack, in the quiet of the music.
Ianto blinks, and Jack can see the gears turning in the lovely mind behind those eyes. “Hello.”
Hello, Jack wants to say, for old time’s sake, but he kisses Ianto instead.
The song ends, changes into another. They’re left looking at each other, the heat no longer dancing but stealing into their bones; no longer desperate, now an inevitable thing. Ianto nods at Jack’s unspoken question; they make for the exit.
Cold night air is a shock after the closed humidity inside the club. Jack feels Ianto shivering next to him, thinks longingly of his coat. He’s surprised to find that he’s sweaty, his white shirt sticking to him in several places. A short walk brings them to Ianto’s car.
Inside, the silence is as overwhelming as the music had been inside the club. Ianto doesn’t put the key into the ignition, instead staring at the wheel in front of him. Jack sits back, not moving, waiting it out.
“I want you,” Ianto finally says - a promising beginning, in Jack’s book. “When Lisa was… Remember that girl, earlier? Five minutes of dancing with her and I’ve got my hand up her top. I thought, ‘this is what I’ve been missing, this is what I need’. She wanted to leave, but I was having too much fun dancing. Then, without warning, she gave me a kiss, told me I was nice but I should really get back to my boyfriend.” Ianto licks his lips, chances a brief glance at Jack, who’s not sure if he should be amused or not. “I asked her her name, feeling a bit like an arse for not asking earlier. She said, ‘Lisa’.”
Jack huffs, brows raised. “Seriously?”
Ianto nods, chuckles. “I must have stared after her with my mouth gaping open for a full minute. And then I looked for you, but you weren’t at the bar anymore. Thought you’d left. And would you believe it - she came back, Lisa, told me that you were nearly at the door. I thanked her, she left again. With the girl she’d been drinking with.” He shrugs. “And... well, you were there for the next bit.”
Jack leans his head back, at a lost as to what to say,. “It’s a pretty common name, Lisa,” is all he can think of.
“Yeah.” Ianto lets out a long breath. Chews his lower lip industriously for a few minutes. “It’s been a long time since I’ve lived just for myself. And every time I think about the things I want, do you know what’s at the top of the list?”
Jack allows a few seconds in case it’s a rhetorical question, then ventures, “Fewer dry-cleaning runs?”
“That’s at number eight,” replies Ianto, worryingly somber. “Between number seven, shooting at Owen, and number nine, a better coffee machine.”
Thing is, Jack already suspects the answer. “You’re going to say me, aren’t you?”
Ianto nods. “You.” He looks down at his hands on his lap. “Except... shagging the boss? Never a good idea.”
A smile tilts up the corners of Jack’s mouth, and his body relaxes. “Yeah. I completely agree. Against the rules, too. Once there was even a clause specifically prohibiting non-professional liaisons with Captain Jack Harkness.”
“I’ve seen it. You’ve got the page bookmarked in your copy of ‘Torchwood Institute Rules and Regulations’, printed in 1953. Which I recently excavated from the back of the coffee mug shelf.” Ianto shoots him a disapproving look, but the effect is somewhat marred by Ianto’s hand sliding over Jack’s open palm.
“Is that where I hid it?” Jack’s voice is quiet; he watches Ianto lean closer, closer...
“Perhaps the mugs borrowed it for a bit of light reading,” says Ianto, mouth hovering over one corner of Jack’s mouth.
It feels natural, for them fall into easy camaraderie. But then, Ianto has a bit of a soldier in him, the soul of a scorched survivor; he just doesn’t know it yet. “Cheeky,” he murmurs, parting his lips-
A loud beeping causes both of them to jump, startled, and they simultaneously pull out their phones.
“Weevil sighting,” reports Jack.
Ianto nods, starts his car. “Do you want me to drop you off to the Hub?”
Jack’s hand rests on Ianto’s on top of the gear stick, and he grins into the dark. “Better yet - want to come hunting with me?”
Author: etharei
Rating: PG-13
Timeline: post-"Cyberwoman"
Spoilers: "Cyberwoman" (104)
Summary: But while he heartily approves of Ianto enjoying the various delights that Cardiff has to offer a young man, Jack is rather tired of inviting himself along, unsure if he’s there as a friend or a parole officer.
Author's Notes: I really, really liked this prompt. *pets new addition to iPod*
Disclaimer: Torchwood and all the characters and situations featured therein are the property of Russell T. Davies, the BBC and their affiliates. I’m only borrowing them for purely non-profit, recreational purposes.
Written for: horizonssing, Day #25.
Summertime
Mae
Summertime, summertime
brought me back to thinking you were mine all those times.
We laid it down and left it all behind, we were blind.
Oh, the summertime.
We could ride, we could ride.
Take my hand and watch the world go by.
Laugh or cry, well we need to try, get off the line, time to fly.
Oh, the summertime.
Go on ahead and let it fade away.
No looking back you know the past will stay.
It's you and me, we could get out of here.
Jump in and go and we could drive for years.
We could feel alive...
Here we are, here we are,
windows down we see a falling star.
Stop the car.
Waiting, nothing but our beating hearts, going far.
Oh, the summertime.
So feel the air, feel the air,
take the map and point to anywhere.
I don't care. Fingers through your hair,
the sky I've seen, blue and green.
Oh, the summertime.
Driving away, leaving it all behind.
Driving away
your young sunless summer
by etharei
Blood on his hands. Third time this week, too. He sighs, tiredly, and scrubs at his skin. Even under the nails- and he should get them cut, before they catch on something and get fingers torn off like that time in ’65...
“Jack?”
Looking up, Jack pastes on falsely cheerful smile at seeing Ianto hovering near the door of the washroom. “Ianto. What is it?”
“I’m thinking of checking out this new club tonight.”
It’s something Ianto has taken to doing, occasionally, visiting shops and pubs and other public establishments that are known for being good at something or other. Jack has often accompanied him, enjoying the chance to see details of his adopted city and keep up with contemporary trends.
But while he heartily approves of Ianto enjoying the various delights that Cardiff has to offer a young man, Jack is rather tired of inviting himself along, unsure if he’s there as a friend or a parole officer.
“Good,” he declares, washing the soap off his hands. “I look forward to hearing your tales of wanton debauchery in the morning. Not that I condone heavy drinking during the night before work,” Jack winks, “but I do have a pill for it that can take off the worst of the hangover.”
Ianto looks surprised. “I gather Owen doesn’t know about it, then?”
“They’re only for my favorite people.” Jack smiles winningly at Ianto, and dries his hands on a towel. Ianto makes no move to leave, his eyes fixed on Jack’s middle. Looking down, Jack realizes that his shirt is still bloody from where he’d gotten stabbed in the abdomen earlier. Damn.
“I seem to be going through a lot of shirts,” he says, casually, and brushes past Ianto to go up to the main level. “Go on, have a taste of the nightlife.”
Ten minutes later, Jack is sitting behind his desk in a fresh shirt, ineffectually massaging his temples and his forehead. Ianto appears at his door.
“Do you want to come with me?”
~*~
Jack gazes dubiously at the building in front of him. Flashes of colored lights shine out of the high windows, and the music is loud enough to be heard out on the street. From the hour and the number of people still going in, Jack is sure the club’s going to be packed inside.
He’s quite prepared to just shove his way in, falling back on Torchwood clearance if the first charm offensive failed, but Ianto deliberately goes to the end of the line just like everybody else, and Jack gives him a long-suffering look before following suit. Though he doesn’t mind getting the time to fully appreciate Ianto’s appearance.
Tight trousers, like that first night in the park, and a form-hugging black T-shirt. Black cord necklace, thick metal bracelets. There was gel in his hair. In short: yum.
Jack idly wonders if he can convince Ianto to show up like this to work one day, just to see the team’s reactions. But while Ianto looks vastly changed from the Ianto he sees everyday, it’s not as identity-confusing as it would be for the others; perhaps because this is how Jack first met Ianto.
And, just like then, he wants to push Ianto against a hard surface and fuck him to the stars, and he can’t.
The young man appears to be similarly examining Jack. Jack had been convinced to change into something more contemporary; that is, Ianto had placed the clothes, still in their shopping bags and smelling of the store, on top of Jack’s desk, and said he’d wait in his car. It gives Jack a little spark of warmth, the thought that Ianto had bought him clothes. Of course, Ianto bought him clothes all the time, to replace the ones he regularly damaged beyond repair on the line of duty, but this is different. And damn good fits, too. Tighter than he normally liked, but a good, complimentary type of tighter. Jeans, a navy blue shirt, black belt, black boots.
He knows he’s not imagining the frequent glances towards his ass from the people around them, anyway.
The line moves quickly, despite the crowd. The man and woman at the door give both of them approving sweeps of the eyes, before taking their money and waving them in.
It feels like walking into a wall of heat, and Jack has an extensive library for comparison. And after the heat, the bone-rattling bass. Beside Jack, Ianto falters in his step, eyes wide as he stares at the full dance floor, bodies packed like canned sardines. Jack knows that the young man has been living in relative isolation, in the last few months during his suspension and probation, and the months before that when he’d been tending to Lisa. He taps Ianto on the arm, and points toward the bar. Ianto nods, not ungratefully.
Luckily, the bar is angled so that some of the noise is deflected by a short partition. Still loud, though. And crowded, but Jack manages to find two empty bar stools at the far end. He orders a beer for them both, and pays the ridiculously high price without blinking, his attention mostly on Ianto.
“Haven’t been in one of these places for a long time,” Jack remarks.
Ianto shakes his head, takes a deep breath. “Me neither.”
Why are we here, then? he wants to ask, but restrains himself. Looks around, for something to do while Ianto collects himself and out of a deeply ingrained instinct to scan the perimeter when in a public place. He notices many inquisitive, interested looks aimed at them, from men and women alike.
The beers arrive. Ianto takes a sip of his, biting on his lower lip. A tell, Jack has learned, that Ianto has something to say but there’s some negotiation going on between brain and mouth. “I stopped going to clubs after I met Lisa, unless it was the two of us out for a night with a group of friends. All Torchwood, of course, since it was hard to keep friends from the outside.”
Jack makes a vague noise of sympathetic agreement.
“Even in uni,” Ianto continues, “These kinds of scenes were always a bit too loud for me, a bit too crowded. Fun when you need to take a break, get your mind off things, but I wasn’t the type to turn up every night.”
Ianto’s fingers are idly tracing circular patterns through the light film of condensation on his beer bottle. Jack finds the slow, light motions a little bit distracting. “It’s been a hell of a week,” he ends up saying, just to fill the gap in the conversation.
“More for you than the rest of us. So I thought, a night out of the Hub...” Ianto trails off.
Oh. Jack looks up, sees Ianto looking at him with an undecipherable expression. So serious, Jack thinks, and so young.
Jack’s been doing his best, to be the friend and sort-of mentor that he should have been from the start. They seem to have gotten that part down pat, at least; but there’s still a lot of baggage, heavy with had-beens and could-have-beens and a healthy smattering of I-don’t-know-what-the-hell-that-was, all cluttering up the hallway because neither of them can figure out which rooms to store them in.
It occurs to Jack that, in defiance of all expectations and good sense, Ianto may still want, well, something that should be an option for either of them anymore.
The silence is mildly uncomfortable. They finish their beer, and Jack notices that Ianto’s eyes have been fixed on a specific point along the bar for some time. He turns, follows the younger man’s line of sight. A girl, a pretty brunette with smooth arms and very nice legs, is waving off a friend of hers who’s being coaxed out to the dance floor by a guy. The girl daintily sips the last of her cocktail, discreetly checking out her options from the men at the bar.
Jack suppresses the instinct to catch her eye, instead nudging Ianto with his elbow. “Go ask her to dance.”
It’s hard to see in the lighting at the bar, but Ianto smiles in that small, endearing way he sometimes does when he’s blushing. “It doesn’t seem polite to abandon you when you’re here on my invitation...”
“What’s a bit of impropriety between friends?” Jack winks suggestively. “Go and dance.”
Jack watches Ianto approach the girl, who gives him a thorough once-over. He seems to pass muster, since she drains her glass, and stands up, deliberately brushing against him. Even in heels, the top of her head only goes up to Ianto’s shoulder. He smiles down at her, probably getting a good view down her low-cut top, but his expression remains gentlemanly as he takes her hand and leads her into the swirling, sparkling masses.
Two more bottles later, Jack decides that Ianto is likely staying with his companion for the rest of the night, and gets up to leave. He’s considered acquiring his own partner and going for a spin, but there’s a chance Ianto might see him (if he’s even in there still, Jack last glimpsed him three songs ago) and be his overly-solicitous self.
Getting to the exit requires wading through a quarter of the dance floor. Jack enjoys being summarily groped by several people, and even grinded against by a tall redhead who almost makes him change his mind about leaving. But he shakes his head, not without some regret, and pushes on.
The lights above change from blue and white to red and purple, and there is a distinct shift in tempo when the music transitions to new song. Jack’s nearly gained the edge of the dance floor, hampered by the flow of people going the opposite direction since the exit is also the main entrance, when someone catches his hand. Annoyance flashes, for the briefest instant; until he recognizes the long fingers, the raised skin across the palm where a piece of rift junk turned out to be an alien pocket knife that activated when held a certain way.
He allows himself to be pulled back by the sure grip, and ends up standing very, very close to Ianto. “Leaving so soon, Captain?”
The look on Ianto’s face is bold and challenging and a little bit predatory, and it turns the space between their bodies into something heavy and charged. “You know how it is,” Jack says, his attempt at a light tone incongruous with the deeper note in his voice. “Pterodactyls to tuck in, Weevils to read a bedtime story to, paperweights to rearrange.”
Ianto’s other arm winds around Jack’s waist, the hand resting on his lower back. “I believe I do two out of those three.”
“The Weevils, really?”
“Hänsel und Gretel for choice, in the original German.” Ianto steps backwards, taking Jack with him, heedless of the jostling bodies on all sides.
Jack follows, eyes locked on Ianto’s. The younger man stops moving before Jack realizes, and he takes that extra step that brings their bodies to touching, almost an embrace. Their noses bump, Jack can feel Ianto’s breath, hot, drifting down to his lips.
“Dance with me?” Ianto asks. So close, that Jack parts his lips as if to pull the words in out of the air. The music thrums around him, like a living thing, and it’s... slower, different. He puts his free hand on Ianto’s arm, sliding it up to his shoulder, then down his back, over a shifting shoulder blade. Most of the people around have gone into pairs, a distant part of him observes. Guitar chords energetic and... intimate, and Jack decides the song is not bad, not bad at all.
Summertime, says the singer, and that’s kind of how this feels. The charged stillness, the heat, the promise suspended in the air. Ianto is in his arms, strong and alive, still carrying that lost look, but as if he’s spotted a lifeline in the distant. Staring at Jack, take my hand and watch the world go by, and Jack barely has time for another oh of comprehension before he’s tasting soft lips, traces of lip gloss, Ianto.
And he’s kissing back, even when he’s intimately familiar with all the reasons why he shouldn’t and all the ways this can go wrong for them both. Laugh or cry, well we need to try, oh God he’s missed this. He shouldn’t, by all rights he shouldn’t, but Ianto flicks Jack’s lip with his tongue and pushes in, and after that the only thing Jack can do is pull him closer.
They’re moving, not so much dancing as using body to explore body, slow, swaying to the song. Jack’s hand teases the skin at the back of Ianto’s neck, fingering the necklace. He follows the line of shoulders, down the arm, lifting up Ianto’s elbow and placing Ianto’s hand on Jack’s chest.
Go on ahead, let it fade away, Ianto kisses just like he remembers, smooth and sure, no looking back, you know the past will stay. Like he's always meant it. Jack breaks off, follows the line of Ianto’s jaw with his lips. Ianto makes a gorgeous throaty groan when Jack nips at sensitive skin, swirls a tongue over the shell of his ear. Ianto rolls his hips, sending delicious friction against Jack’s groin, his fingers finding and teasing Jack’s nipple through his shirt.
There’s a vague concern over public decency and laws concerning it, so Jack steps back with one foot, raising the hand still holding Ianto’s. The younger man raises his eyebrows, but obediently turns, slow. Jack is distracted by the play of red light over Ianto’s cheekbones, and nearly forgets to step back in while Ianto is turned away. Ianto gasps at the feel of Jack against his back. Pushes his arse back into Jack’s groin, tilts his head back.
“Beautiful,” Jack murmurs, tasting the pale skin being offered to his mouth. He doesn’t know if Ianto heard him, but fingers tighten on his skin, almost digging in, and they’re so close Jack can feel Ianto’s every movement, every breath. Ianto brings up their joined hands, rests it over his chest, waiting, nothing but our beating hearts, turning his head for a kiss. He keeps grinding back against Jack, shallow movements disguised by their swaying, and Jack realizes that this position is not much better for continued law abidance after all. Nor for comfort; his jeans are uncomfortably tight, spurred on by proximity of Ianto’s arse.
He turns Ianto around again, gaze falling on Ianto’s mildly swollen lips. Ianto looks disheveled, scattered, and magnificently aroused. Jack kisses him, because there’s nothing else, only the beat and bodies and heat, and he feels alive. It’s part of Jack’s nature to desire things he should not have, a recklessness no score of deaths or years will take from him, but he’s mostly learned better when there are others involved.
Jack opens his eyes, pulls back. Ianto doesn’t appear surprised, only tightening his hold on Jack. Strong, unbroken, steadfast as time, the Earth, the Welsh weather. It occurs to Jack that maybe his new trust of Ianto can start with trusting him to take care of himself. Ianto, who’s looking at Jack like he knows Jack needs him. It’s more than enough.
How many times does someone like Jack get a second chance like this?
It sweeps over him, the heat, sweet summertime, heart beating loud as bass. A subtle shift, deeper than skin, like the whole world pivoting, and the air between them silent, storm-eye still. The breathless, wandering thought: if this is what the Doctor always meant, an ordinary person being the most important thing in the universe. Ianto reaches up, touches Jack’s face, Jack’s temple, fingers in your hair.
“Hello,” whispers Jack, in the quiet of the music.
Ianto blinks, and Jack can see the gears turning in the lovely mind behind those eyes. “Hello.”
Hello, Jack wants to say, for old time’s sake, but he kisses Ianto instead.
The song ends, changes into another. They’re left looking at each other, the heat no longer dancing but stealing into their bones; no longer desperate, now an inevitable thing. Ianto nods at Jack’s unspoken question; they make for the exit.
Cold night air is a shock after the closed humidity inside the club. Jack feels Ianto shivering next to him, thinks longingly of his coat. He’s surprised to find that he’s sweaty, his white shirt sticking to him in several places. A short walk brings them to Ianto’s car.
Inside, the silence is as overwhelming as the music had been inside the club. Ianto doesn’t put the key into the ignition, instead staring at the wheel in front of him. Jack sits back, not moving, waiting it out.
“I want you,” Ianto finally says - a promising beginning, in Jack’s book. “When Lisa was… Remember that girl, earlier? Five minutes of dancing with her and I’ve got my hand up her top. I thought, ‘this is what I’ve been missing, this is what I need’. She wanted to leave, but I was having too much fun dancing. Then, without warning, she gave me a kiss, told me I was nice but I should really get back to my boyfriend.” Ianto licks his lips, chances a brief glance at Jack, who’s not sure if he should be amused or not. “I asked her her name, feeling a bit like an arse for not asking earlier. She said, ‘Lisa’.”
Jack huffs, brows raised. “Seriously?”
Ianto nods, chuckles. “I must have stared after her with my mouth gaping open for a full minute. And then I looked for you, but you weren’t at the bar anymore. Thought you’d left. And would you believe it - she came back, Lisa, told me that you were nearly at the door. I thanked her, she left again. With the girl she’d been drinking with.” He shrugs. “And... well, you were there for the next bit.”
Jack leans his head back, at a lost as to what to say,. “It’s a pretty common name, Lisa,” is all he can think of.
“Yeah.” Ianto lets out a long breath. Chews his lower lip industriously for a few minutes. “It’s been a long time since I’ve lived just for myself. And every time I think about the things I want, do you know what’s at the top of the list?”
Jack allows a few seconds in case it’s a rhetorical question, then ventures, “Fewer dry-cleaning runs?”
“That’s at number eight,” replies Ianto, worryingly somber. “Between number seven, shooting at Owen, and number nine, a better coffee machine.”
Thing is, Jack already suspects the answer. “You’re going to say me, aren’t you?”
Ianto nods. “You.” He looks down at his hands on his lap. “Except... shagging the boss? Never a good idea.”
A smile tilts up the corners of Jack’s mouth, and his body relaxes. “Yeah. I completely agree. Against the rules, too. Once there was even a clause specifically prohibiting non-professional liaisons with Captain Jack Harkness.”
“I’ve seen it. You’ve got the page bookmarked in your copy of ‘Torchwood Institute Rules and Regulations’, printed in 1953. Which I recently excavated from the back of the coffee mug shelf.” Ianto shoots him a disapproving look, but the effect is somewhat marred by Ianto’s hand sliding over Jack’s open palm.
“Is that where I hid it?” Jack’s voice is quiet; he watches Ianto lean closer, closer...
“Perhaps the mugs borrowed it for a bit of light reading,” says Ianto, mouth hovering over one corner of Jack’s mouth.
It feels natural, for them fall into easy camaraderie. But then, Ianto has a bit of a soldier in him, the soul of a scorched survivor; he just doesn’t know it yet. “Cheeky,” he murmurs, parting his lips-
A loud beeping causes both of them to jump, startled, and they simultaneously pull out their phones.
“Weevil sighting,” reports Jack.
Ianto nods, starts his car. “Do you want me to drop you off to the Hub?”
Jack’s hand rests on Ianto’s on top of the gear stick, and he grins into the dark. “Better yet - want to come hunting with me?”