(Untitled)

[mrmoneypenny]

Let it be known that the Narration is run by a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad person who never lets Villiers play in Milliways much recently

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[likesthecoat]

A pair of hands grasp his shoulders and a Welsh-accented voice says into his ear, "Well, hello, stranger."

[mrmoneypenny]

With a start, Villiers realizes he recognizes that voice.

And, somewhere deep in his brain, he probably recognizes those hands as well. Good memories. Very good memories.

As his brandy appears, he ignores it in favour of his lovely Welsh company, offering a smile. "Well, if it isn't Ianto. Ianto...Jones, was it?"

Of course, he remembers. Encyclopaedic knowledge, this one has. But, still.

[likesthecoat]

"Yes," Ianto says and leans on the bar. "That's me.

"Have you been away long?"

[mrmoneypenny]

"A while, yes." There's a moment where he looks up, thinking back. "A few weeks, at least, for me -- and I've no idea how my world matches up with Bar-time, if it even does."

And, of course, he does know how long he's been gone. Thirty-two days, give or take a few hours. Thirty-two days of unwarranted amounts of stress, worse than the past year in total.

Brandy reached for, sipped from, set down. "And you?"

[likesthecoat]

"I've been around. Looking for familiar faces, which has seemed a bit rare lately."

[mrmoneypenny]

"Sadly true."

He hasn't seen Le Chiffre around, and so far today, (which, granted, has only been a few minutes), there has been no ridiculously happy Momiji bounding up to him. Imriel isn't in sight, but then again, he's always been a quieter presence. So, yes. A sad lack of familiar faces.

A sigh. "Apologies if I'm not at my best," he says after a moment, rubbing an eye. "Life back home is...tough."

[likesthecoat]

"I'm sorry," Ianto says softly and rubs Villiers's shoulder.

[mrmoneypenny]

The touch is much appreciated. Villiers even manages a small smile, at that.

"I really ought to be used to it -- but being here for so long spoiled me rotten, I'm afraid."

Just like a sudden appearance of a large terrorist network targeting London (ie, humans at stake) after a lull of petty intelligence-related issues (ie, numbers on a page at stake).

[likesthecoat]

Ianto nods, still rubbing his back. "I don't think anyone gets used to it, living this kind of life," he says quietly. "Dealing with a kind of madness day in and day out . . ."

[mrmoneypenny]

"What people in this -- my -- world are capable of," he murmurs, relaxing slightly and leaning into those hands. "And the lengths they'll go to in order to topple all of UK...or just to kill my boss."

The latter of which has been the most stressful. There was a failed attempt just last week, the closest the bastards have managed to get in a good couple of years. A reminder.

[likesthecoat]

Ianto makes a sympathetic sound and concentrates on the base of Villiers's neck with his thumbs.

[mrmoneypenny]

At that, there's a distinctly happy-sounding hum-slash-purr of contentment.

"...and you, love, are far too kind," he continues murmuring, clearly slipping out of work mode and into relaxed mode. And, apparently, letting his language slip into something distinctly more dialectical.

[likesthecoat]

Ianto quietly laughs. "Not at all. This is purely selfish."

[mrmoneypenny]

"Mmm...then be as selfish as you like," Villiers all but purrs, closing his eyes.

[likesthecoat]

"Yes, sir," Ianto says in an amused tone and works his fingers into Villiers's back, between his shoulder blades.

[mrmoneypenny]

Cue an eyebrow quirk and a rather surprised expression.

"'Sir'? Mmm..." Villiers takes a moment to digest that. "Never been called that before..."

As for his smile? Yes, it's quite an amused one.