Ianto Jones, Personal log
Ianto Jones. Personal Log and Information. March 27, 2008.
It appears I'm going on a date. I'm twenty-four with a steady, high-paying job and I am going on a date with my boss. I'm am now a twelve year old girl, fluttering my lashes and wringing my hands.
What a mess.
I feel so out of practice, despite knowing Jack fairly well. We've gone to dinner before. Just he and I. We've even gone to the kind of dinner that was killing time before a long night of shagging. More like stocking up for energy really, with a bit of shop talk and chit-chat when we really saying, "I can’t wait to leave so we can fuck." Not much romance in that. Which was fine, for the most part. I thought I was fine with it being fine throughout. But then he left. He left and it hurt. I don’t hurt much anymore so the fact that he could and did hurt me was terrifying.
Now, however, after the many lists of speeches and lectures I was going to give him and the icy resolve I planned to have, I can’t wait. He was so… honest. But still very Jack. In fact, had he come to me with romantic words and flowers I would have known he was fishing for a lay and that would have been it. But he was awkward and trying so hard. For the first time I felt as though he knew he couldn’t just take me for granted. I like that feeling. I don’t know what it means but I’m going to go with it.
I still don’t trust him. A date doesn’t mean much from a man like Jack. Still, I fully plan on enjoying it. There hasn’t been anyone else. Not because I’m faithful, but because this job makes it impossible to have anything that’s not a lay of desperation or a coworker.
Except for Gwen that is. She came in lucky. I hope Torchwood doesn’t screw that up for her.
We’re going out to dinner tomorrow night- Jack and I, not Gwen and I. I’m not one for date movies anymore and it would just irritate me when Jack’s hands were no longer to himself. Unless it’s in black and white I doubt it will catch his attention anyway, so why waste the time?
I’m not entirely sure of gay date protocol. Who holds the door? Do we pull out each other’s chairs? Who is supposed to pay? I suppose the one who asked the other out should pay. And he’s the one who left. He’s paying. I’m getting steak and prawns. And a bottle of French wine. I don’t even drink French wine.
The girls are going to ask me everything so I should just wear a spy camera on the damn thing. And Owen… Owen who would have ribbed me with “Think you’ll get a raise- or did you give him one?” Now just gets this look that makes me think of a golden retriever stuck in a one room flat. Or at least he does whenever sex comes up. Poor bastard.
I'm lying. I don't feel sorry for him at all. This is what he's needed for a long time. He was living like a teenager and that doesn't do any good in real life. But now, his heart has been broken and his protector went away so he's sobered up to things.
Now I get to live like a teenager for a bit.
After I'm done sleeping off this 34 hour reset day.