Breakfast in the boardroom, Jack had cheerfully announced, and, after running out of excuses, Gwen and Toshiko warily joined Ianto and the captain.  A heap of bacon rolls awaited them, fresh from the local café, accompanied by steaming hot tea, Ianto insisting it was tea with bacon rolls and that was the end of it, ask for coffee and I’ll laugh in your face.

Despite their fears after the drama of the previous evening, the women were soon reassured that a state of some sanity had been achieved, and Jack was no longer going to be scary over-protective wannabe boyfriend, Ianto was going to stop terrorising Jack with the truth, and everyone was going to stop trying to shoot Owen, but naturally that was a far easier promise to keep whilst Owen wasn’t in the building.

Not much on the books for the day: Jack had dealt with the communications problems during the night, and would now be designing/constructing a new home for the alien in the air conditioning duct; Gwen thought she’d review the latest missing person reports in light of the arrival of those strange creatures; Toshiko would start analysing the samples Owen had taken and try to ascertain if their security system could be sensitised to the presence of these latest visitors.  Ianto made plans for H to J, and set the alarm on his phone to remind him to feed Owen at regular intervals.

“Will you be requiring me to die horribly today, Sir?” he checked, and at least two people at the table paused mid-chew.

“It’s an open possibility,” Jack replied, but his super-serious face was ruined by the irresistible grin that swiftly followed.

…

“Anomalous readings, Port Talbot,” Ianto called to Jack, mid-morning.

“Not interested,” Jack sang back.

Ianto printed out the latest information and took it to him.

“You’re just ignoring this?”

“Read the files, it’s been taunting us for decades.  Couple of months and it will stop again for a few years.”  Jack presented Ianto with the plans on his computer.  “How about that?”

Ianto glanced over the design: a container for their guest in the duct.

“Ghostbusters,” Ianto deadpanned.

“Have a good night?” Jack changed the subject.

“Good enough.”

“Sleep well?”

“Eventually.”

“Eventually would be right.  Don’t care who you were with, I could hear you screaming my name from here.”

“And what were you screaming?  ‘Be gentle with me, Myfanwy’?”

“Hey, she’s single, I’m single…”  Jack sighed.  “But it’s all so meaningless.”

“I do know a nice sheep, just out of a long-term relationship, I could…”

“Be ruthlessly silenced?”

Jack came to Ianto, took the report about the anomaly and casually tossed it away.

“I’m not picking that up.  I’m especially not bending over to pick that up.”

Just as his hands were about to touch Ianto, Jack stopped to check.

“Providing I don’t cosset, I can still harass?”

“Is a little professional courtesy completely out of the question?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

Accepting the inevitable, Ianto undid his buttons and opened his jacket to Jack, hoping it wouldn’t get too tellingly creased this time.  Jack’s hands slid around his waist, bringing Ianto close.

“I missed you.”

A predictable, whispered confession before a single, well-behaved kiss.

“It’s all wrong, Jack,” Ianto responded in the same, confidential tone.  “We’re wrong.”

“No.  Sometimes…you’re my only joy.”

There it was, at last, the first blatantly obvious crack in Ianto’s resistance, a flicker of shock/doubt/panic in his eyes.  Jack longed to know what Ianto had recalled at that moment, because he was certain it was a memory of some significance that had betrayed the young man, but ultimately the content wasn’t as important as the impact it had made.  Ianto, shaken, attacked in defence.

“How many people have you used that line on?”

Ianto pushed away, and Jack graciously released him, disguising his triumph well.

“One.”

The snort of disbelief didn’t ring as true as it might have a week ago.

Ianto, composure shot to hell, fled.  That was the only word for it.  He fled.  Jack felt his discomfort, empathised, but refused to sympathise.

For the first time since his return Jack didn’t feel the need to pursue Ianto.  It was a relief, and he hoped that his instincts were right, that a corner had been turned and the result was inevitable.  He’d let Ianto run because, whatever path he took, it would, inexorably, lead him back to Jack.

…

Ianto was in the Tourist Office making a mess of all his exquisite tidiness, trying to be normal and busy and calm, but what Jack had said had shaken him to the very core.  It was as if he’d known what Ianto had been thinking about when he’d been wanking, what had made him come for fuck’s sake!  Disturbing, and Ianto was, indeed, disturbed.

It was obviously why Jack wanted to stay after Ianto had left the previous morning.  He’d wanted time to bug the house and…and…okay, technology that could read thoughts, did they have any, no, nothing that was inventoried here, he’d know, so did Torchwood in its entirety have the ability, he’d check, use Jack’s highest level of security clearance, or was it something that Jack had himself developed after learning about the possibility from the pendant that Mary had inflicted upon Toshiko, or was it…was it…

“I’m insane,” Ianto told himself as he forced to a halt the ridiculous notions that were steamrolling their way through his common sense.

Jack had known exactly what to say.  Exactly what button to push.  How?

The question plagued Ianto for hours as he carried out his routine on automatic pilot and then, mid-afternoon, he was glad to receive the kind of text that would typically have him spitting nails but right now gave him the escape route he desperately needed.  He phoned Jack and briefly explained that Owen required a few necessities, not giving the captain time to reason or object before hanging up and leaving the Tourist Office for the day.

Strange, shopping for Owen, but Ianto was happy to do so because it took him away from Jack, and it gave him things to think about other than the litany of hows.

At Owen’s flat he was greeted with an informal grunt and left to find the kitchen for himself while Owen returned to his sofa and, at a rapid accessing glance, sulked.

“Hungry?” Ianto called.

“No.  Yes.  Not hungry hungry.  Bored hungry,” Owen answered grumpily.

“What would you like?”

“D’know.”

Ianto could take a good guess though: company.  The fridge and cupboards were already fairly well stocked, there had been no real need for the ‘now or I’ll die’ text.

“Drink?”

“Can’t.”

“Tea, coffee, hot chocolate?”

“You bought me hot chocolate?” Owen sneered.

“Comfort food.”

There was a pause filled with the distinct sound of a doctor reversing.

“Yeah, go on then.”

As the milk heated, Ianto found plates and filled one with cakes, the other with a selection of chocolate biscuits.

“Savoury or sweet?” he belatedly, pointlessly asked.

“Sweet.  You know what I fancy?  One of those blueberry muffins with the cream.  I don’t s’pose you…”  A cream-filled blueberry muffin appeared in front of Owen’s nose.  He took it without a word of thanks.  “When I’m fat I’ll blame you,” he told Ianto in a spray of muffin crumbs.

Ianto brought a tray in, drinks and treats, and set it on the coffee table.  He took his own tea and wandered, having a good look at Owen’s home.

“Nice place,” he complimented as he returned to sit with Owen.

“What’s yours?  No, let me guess.  Very modern, no clutter, deceptively normal until you get to a fucking great cyber-shrine out the back.”

“That’d be right.”

“Nah, tell me.”

“Two bed, Victorian semi in Roath.  Near the park.  Outside’s untouched traditional, inside’s modern, no clutter, deceptively normal until you get to etcetera, etcetera.”

Owen grinned and sipped his chocolate, face contorting in appreciation.

“This is spectacularly good.  You ever want the girls at your feet bring some of this to work.”

“Just the girls?” Ianto smirked.  “I think that was your orgasm face.”

Owen sniggered and drank.

“Talking of orgasms, you and Jack stopped fighting?”

Ianto nodded, but his troubled thoughts re-emerged.

“Sometimes…  You know Jack knows things?  Like he’s in your head, but…  You’re a doctor, can you tell me if there’s an answer to the how?”

Much sipping and pondering ensued.

“Some of it’s a scam.  He’s reading your body language, not your mind.”

“And when it’s not a scam?”

“I think he knows…because he knows.”

“You think that maybe it’s just instinctive?”

“Yeah.  And maybe those are the kind of instincts everyone’ll have one day.  Evolution will dictate that those of us who choose, instinctively, not to stand next to the suicide bomber, or not to get on the plane with the cracked fuel line, are the ones that will survive to breed.”

“Is there a gene for intuition?”

“Bound to be.”

Owen reached out to put his empty mug on the table and winced.  Ianto was immediately on his feet.

“Can I get you some painkillers?”

“Can’t yet.  Another…”  He looked at his watch.  “…hour-and-a-half.”

“Anything at all I can do?”

Owen tried to shake his head and winced again.  He waved Ianto to sit.

“Jack still catching up on what we were doing while he was gone?” Owen asked; Ianto nodded.  “In any order?”

“Not that I can see, not alphabetically or chronologically.  Now the interesting gadgets are out of the way, he’s just reading whatever takes his fancy.”

Owen shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“He can’t have got to Talygdowen yet.”

The men exchanged an uneasy look.

“Don’t worry,” Ianto said stiffly, “there’s nothing in that report to indicate…”

“Instincts, remember?  Exactly what we’re talking about.  He’ll know.”

“Personally, I won’t tell him any more than what’s on the page.”

“Perhaps you should.”

“Still got a death wish, have you?  I’d hoped you were beyond that particular foible.”

“If he’s told, it’s…controlled.  When he finds out because of some fuck-up…”

“He won’t.”

“He will,” Owen insisted.  “And that’s when he’s likely to go ballistic.  Specially now.”

The uneasy look didn’t get any easier.

“If and when necessary,” Ianto grudgingly accepted.

“Just do it, mate.  Get it over with.”  Ianto shook his head, and went to wash up their mugs.  “You’d better get going,” Owen called to him.

“Not yet.”

“He’ll be climbing the walls.”

“He knows where I am.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet he does.  You know he’s probably got you bugged.”

Ianto shuddered at the joke that he hoped was a joke, and made a mental note to examine every inch of his house and possessions once he got home.  He wouldn’t need reminding to crawl into the nearest convenient bottle though, it was that kind of day.

…

There was no pretence when, disturbed from his alcoholic stupor at two in the morning, Ianto reached out to find someone alongside him in bed and hazily thought Bryn.  Clumsy in his semiconscious state, he shuffled closer for a cuddle, just as he’d done dozens of times in the past.  His mumbled, “Bryn,” was not refuted, and Ianto added thanks as the body rolled to meet his, supplying the real and solid comfort he’d been missing.

So familiar a situation that Ianto didn’t have to attempt thought, his hand travelling to the tail of Bryn’s spine and stroking, smooth movements that became spasmodic as he dozed.  When Bryn rolled onto his back Ianto barely surfaced, mindlessly following and draping himself over Bryn’s body, head comfortably on his shoulder, settled and secure with arms tight around him.

Dreaming?  Had to be.  Bryn was gone but here, and Ianto was hard and grinding himself into the man’s hip.  Dreaming.  Strong hands gripped and moved him, moved with him, and then his cock was rubbing against Bryn’s, and that desperate, throaty growl might have been coming from him, but this was a dream so it could and did come from Bryn.  Urgent, demanding thrusts.  Wanted, being wanted.  Ianto apologised to Bryn and thought of Jack, and in the dream this was Jack and the fingers digging into the muscles of his buttock were Jack’s, the sensation well remembered.

Passion without finesse, Jack would have called it, this desperate rutting, and that was fine because this was almost Jack and Jack was forgiving of mindless, horny exuberance and Bryn was simply forgiving.  Ianto wanted to fuck Jack but he couldn’t seem to dream his way inside so he went for kisses instead which were often as erotic because, obviously, that was Jack’s way, and because this was a dream it wouldn’t matter that Ianto tasted foul, sour from whisky on a near-empty stomach.

Sliding easily now, slick from their mutual excitement as they writhed in unison, not long, couldn’t be long, and Ianto’s hand was clenched in Jack’s hair as they kissed and there was a hand pushing between them and it probably wasn’t his and it caught their cocks and squashed them together and twisted and pulled and one final pinch had Ianto breaking the kiss to whoop in air as he juddered into a ferocious release that was further intensified by the sweet moans that told him it was mutual.

As his shuddering breaths began to smooth out, Ianto flopped onto his back and let himself float on his orgasmic high.  Best dream.  Best dream.  His sweet Bryn, tolerating Jack.  Bryn, who…

Ianto was surprised to hear his own voice in the darkness, an insecure whisper, although he was not surprised by his greed.

“Tell me you love me.”

Jack squeezed his eyes shut against the tears and swallowed down the lump in his throat.

I love you.

Attrition 14       Attrition Index       Attrition Notes

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