Nothing left to say [fic]
Title: Nothing left to say
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters or Pairing: Ianto/Owen
Rating: R
Word Count: 2561
Summary: Post EOD Owen needs to let off some steam and Ianto apparently doesn't care anymore. Spoilers for whole of series one.
A/N: Big thanks to
laligin, who required similar amounts of brain bleach to me to beta this. Written for
karaokegal's come you're not party.
Why it’s a costume: It's...Ianto/Owen. I've never written it, I don't think I've ever read it. But here they are - Ianto/Owen fans feel free to rip holes in it, just so long as they're justified. Style's also a bit OOC.
It’s getting on for nine hours now and they’re still no closer to figuring out where Jack’s gone, or indeed why, and everyone’s looking increasingly at him - to him, with expectant eyes, like now he’s officially in charge, instead of just a precaution against their Captain’s apparently non-existent mortality, he’ll have answers. Or maybe that’s just his own paranoia playing tricks on him; Ianto’s gotten slightly more up himself, now quite comfortably rummaging through Jack’s office, every drawer pulled out and emptied, and Owen takes a moment to watch him and marvel over how even when Ianto’s making a mess it’s that bit neater and more orderly than everyone else’s mess.
Gwen seems to have illusions of taking charge, striking a pose and loudly wondering and suggesting as though she’s forgotten how much they all bitched about it when Jack did it. No one bothers to remind her; it all falls apart after half an hour or so; she’s so far had three phone calls from the boyfriend, which send her into a small flustered panic. She keeps terminating them, except for the one she answered unthinkingly; she spends the next half hour hiding out in the TIC trying to placate him. Tosh glances up at him from time to time with an unreadable expression and though it’s unfair to her (and to himself) Owen’s pretty sure she’s waiting for him to break down and admit that he doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing and is shit scared.
Which might well be the case, but he’s not going to let her know that. Not until they’re a few months away and either Jack has returned and re-taken the helm or he’s got into the swing of things. Quite possibly never.
For all he broke down sobbing into Jack’s arms and asked for forgiveness, Owen fucking hates him at the moment, and hates him ever more as more time passes and it looks all the more likely that he’s got to take over as leader. He’s not meant to be the leader. He’s meant to be the idiot who messes around and offends everyone and makes everyone laugh by turns, and doesn’t seem to get any work done (“seem” being the operative word).
He can’t lead. He screws up. What’s worse, people know he screws up and refuse to listen to him. The only reason they went along with opening the Rift was because they’d each seen… whatever each of them had seen. And that turned out to be a colossal mistake.
He drops onto the sofa and sighs. And then realises he’s seen Jack do that umpteen times and jumps up quickly, sitting back down more slowly, back straight like his Gran always nagged him. He doesn’t want to be anything like Jack. Jack solves problems by killing people. Jack got shot by his own people (and alright Owen was the one who did it, but Jack knew he would the instant he said it - and what kind of idiot says something like that to someone holding a gun? Immortal idiots, clearly). It didn’t take an idiosyncratic genius to see that the two points were connected.
So he sits and brainstorms with Tosh, and Ianto, having exhausted secret hiding places for important documents or clues for where Jack might have gone, joins them, and the three of them realise that they know him even less than they thought. Gwen and Ianto try to think of why he might have gone and it occurs to Owen as he watches that this may be the first time he’s seen them have a voluntary, independent conversation. It’s slightly frightening.
He leaves Tosh to go through the CCTV and he goes down to the autopsy room for a good old pace. It’s coming on for twelve hours now and they’ve still got nowhere. Not to mention Ianto seems to have forgotten to feed Myfanwy. Owen has been trying to channel all the hatred and frustration he’s got into finding Jack - sooner they find him the sooner he can deck him - but it’s not working and the whole thing tastes like Suzie all over again, except now with added bitterness; someone they know, only not really, is lost, could be in terrible danger (though why he or anyone else is worried is beyond Owen; the man’s immortal for Christ’s sake, and even if he wasn’t he is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Well, practically perfect - those few times he isn’t he’s got the immortal bit to fall back on. Point is there’s no point worrying), or could have left of his own accord without a second thought, which Owen thinks is looking more and more likely.
If he’s been kidnapped surely there would be some kind of sign; an indicator of a struggle, a ransom note… unless they’re planning an invasion and have whisked him, the world’s greatest alien expert, away. Of course, if Jack’s in that situation he’ll be able to shag his way out in no time.
Speaking of which…
He glances up at Tosh for the briefest of moments and then turns his attention to Gwen and Ianto, who are still talking. It’s just not right. He climbs up the steps to join them and he can see it’s turning into an argument. That’s more like it.
He considers for a moment. He’s already been there with Gwen, and he may have been pissed off at the world in general, but he meant what he said about getting bored. Plus after everything that happened, and Jack throwing their affair in her face, daring to suggest she didn’t love her darling Rhys, she’ll probably relish the opportunity to turn him down and prove how different things are. Or maybe not. She keeps doing hundred and eighty degree turns, which, sure, is psychologically entertaining for a bit, but can get a bit wearing after a while.
Then there Ianto, who’s… Ianto. And apparently Jack’s. No wonder Ianto had shot him.
He’d be interesting new territory, and there’s no chance of disappointment, given that Owen had never once considered what it might be like to fuck him. Well, maybe that once, but that was the excess of pheromones in his bloodstream. God knows, the state he was in he’d found Jack’s hat stand sexy.
See, if Jack were here this problem would be sorted; he’d come to Jack, explain the situation, sleep with Jack and then afterwards they might go down the pub. Of course if Jack were here the whole stressful situation wouldn’t exist. Selfish bastard. Wasn’t like he could just go down a club and pick someone up for a few laughs and a one night stand, not since Jack confiscated the alien Lynx (no doubt for personal use). Job took too much out of him these days. And after today, well it was just out of the question!
Gwen.
Ianto.
Ianto.
Gwen.
Someone upstairs makes the decision for him as Gwen’s mobile goes off and she actually answers it, barking, “What?” in her would-be-tough way that usually makes Owen snigger. Mistake, as it turns out, and she hurries off to once again explain to the boyfriend why she hasn’t come home for the past five days.
Later he convinces the girls, one at a time, to go home. Gwen is particularly difficult, making a multitude of excuses, until Owen cuts to the chase and points out the sooner she goes home the sooner can sort out her boyfriend. She has to go after that; otherwise she’d lose her right to complain about being forced to lie to him etc.
“You alright?” he asks Ianto, who looks surprised and then suspicious. If Owen didn’t have ulterior motives he’d consider punching him. Hell, even without the ulterior motives…
Ianto shrugs and turns back to the list he’s looking at. “Fine. You?”
Owen shrugs one shoulder back. “Shoulder’s giving me a bit of trouble. Dread to think what would have happened if you hadn’t missed.”
“I didn’t -” Ianto begins, then purses his lips and looks away again, pointedly ignoring Owen.
“Look, why don’t we give this a rest, yeah? We’ve been at it for ages, haven’t gotten anywhere. We need a break, night’s sleep or whatever.” Ianto doesn’t move and Owen rolls his eyes. “Look, both the girls have gone home, there’s no point you and me burning the midnight oil.”
“And what if he comes back, sends a signal for help?” asks Ianto, sounding and looking annoyingly composed.
“You think Captain Indestructible is going to need our help? Fine, we’ll stay in the Hub with the stale air and pissed off Pterodactyl. Just don’t go blaming me when she decides to eat one of us.”
Ianto lowers the papers. “Why are you staying here?”
Owen scoffs, considering making some remark about how dangerous it is to leave Ianto in the Hub unattended, but dead girlfriends aren’t a turn-on. He instead shrugs again. “Could do with some company. What do you reckon?”
Ianto opens his mouth, and Owen can see him casting about for a reason why not. But there isn’t one, besides the fact they don’t really like each other very much and that’s not stopped either of them in the past, so he puts his lists and papers away and shoves his hands in his pockets, mimicking Owen.
“So…”
“Drink?”
“I don’t think we have any except for…” He glances up at Jack’s office and suddenly Owen can’t be bothered because, seriously; the world ended not twelve hours ago. It’s a miracle he’s not shit-faced already.
He starts towards the office, daring Ianto (in his mind) to try and stop him. He hears Ianto start after him, striding to catch up to him, but then he slows to a stop. Owen keeps going, picking his way through the mess on the floor and rights the whisky bottle on the desk top. He glances around for a moment, then turns to Ianto, who’s just stood watching him.
“You know where the glasses are?”
Ianto sighs. “I’ll get some mugs,” he says, and withdraws upstairs.
Owen lowers himself into Jack’s chair, tries leaning back and almost falls backwards. He rights himself and props his elbows on the desktop. Sitting here actually feels quite unpleasant; he needs to sit with a certain poise, which probably comes naturally to Jack, and the desk feels like a barrier, trapping him in this stupid little fish tank of an office.
Wherever he is, Jack had best buck his ideas up.
He waits a little while, making a bet with himself over whether or not Ianto is going to come back, then decides, he has Jack’s whisky; he doesn’t care. He unscrews the lid and has a quick swig. It’s the good stuff; burns all the way down.
“Better watch out, you’re fast becoming an alcoholic.”
Owen’s hands slip on the bottle’s neck. Ianto has come back, with the promised mugs, looking smug and prim. Owen’s starting to wish he’d picked Gwen. Still, he’s started (almost, not quite), so he’ll see it through.
Ianto doesn’t say a word, or do that Spock eyebrow twitch, over Owen sitting in Jack’s chair, instead sitting opposite him and setting out the mugs. Owen pours them each a drink and they clink mugs. Owen watches as Ianto downs his drink, and pretends to finish his.
“So, how long’s it been going for?” he asks.
Ianto tilts his head from side to side, trying to make up his mind. “Bit after Tosh became psychic for a week.” He waves a hand, leaning back in his chair. It seems he has the right balance for these chairs too. “It wasn’t a regular thing. Just on and off.”
Owen nods and tops up his drink, then holds out the bottle to Ianto who pushes his mug forward. “How many times you do it?”
Ianto laughs, though he doesn’t really sound amused. “You’re very interested all of a sudden.”
“I’ve been proved embarrassingly wrong. Don’t like it when that happens.”
Ianto stares into his drink. “You think he went willingly?”
Owen sighs and takes a gulp of whisky. Enough of the subtleties. “You fancy it?”
Ianto blinks. “Fancy what?”
“Sex.”
Ianto blinks again. “What?”
“Sex,” Owen repeats. “Just forget all this is going on for a bit.”
“Why else would you and I be sleeping together?”
Good point. Owen considers. “I dunno. Aliens maybe?”
“Or alcohol.” Ianto picks up his drink, hesitates, then downs it, slamming it back down on the desktop. “How drunk you think we’d need to get?”
“Usually I’d go a couple more.”
“Let’s say three in case someone finds out.”
“Fair enough.”
Three drinks later the mugs have been knocked onto the floor and the bottle tipped over, what remains of the whisky being soaked up by the scattered paperwork as Owen and Ianto wrestle on the desk.
Ianto’s more… well, up for it is the only phrase Owen can think of, than Owen would’ve imagined him; more aggressive, more challenging, more… experienced. Then again, sleeping with Jack - it’s an education.
This said it’s not the best sex Owen’s ever had - nowhere close. Okay, the mutual dislike makes things interesting, but it’s nowhere near as eventful or engaging as hate sex. And the whole doing it on a desk thing? People seem to leave out the fact that should either of you chose to roll you could both find yourselves in a very comfortable position on the floor. They don’t quite get that far, thank God, but they have a few close calls.
Afterward Owen slips off the desk to sprawl in Jack’s chair - there’s not enough room for the two of them.
“Well.”
“Yeah.”
Ianto reaches across and rights the whisky bottle. “You think he’s got any more lying around here?”
Owen grunts and rubs his shoulder. He’s not feeling quite so tense now, but his shoulder is killing him.
Ianto slides off the desk and dresses, the lack of speed doing nothing to prevent him from missing two buttons in his shirt.
“I don’t think you should drive home tonight,” Owen remarks as Ianto ties his tie the wrong way around and inside out.
“Probably not,” Ianto concedes. “Going to bunk down in Jack’s quarters.”
“Fair enough.” Owen shuts his eyes and decides he’s quite comfy here.
“You want coffee?”
“Ianto, you can’t button your shirt up properly. You are not using the coffee machine.”
“You can’t tell me what to do!”
“I’m the boss!”
“Since when?”
“I’m second in command, I’m in the chair and I just fucked you on the desk. I’m in charge.”
Ianto considers this for a moment, then shrugs and wanders off.
Owen dashes home early next morning for a shower, change of clothes and aspirin. Upon his return he finds Ianto looking his usual immaculate self and they get to work. Tosh gets in early and gives the two of them an odd look, then tilts her head and smiles sympathetically.
“Late night was it?”
Ianto begins to answer but then stops almost immediately. Owen looks up and sees why. Tosh is glancing from one to the other, eyebrows raised and an evil smile.
Oh. Shit.
“She knows,” Ianto breathes.
“I do now,” she singsongs, and Owen can feel his headache getting worse by the minute. “Excuse me, have to check the CCTV.”
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters or Pairing: Ianto/Owen
Rating: R
Word Count: 2561
Summary: Post EOD Owen needs to let off some steam and Ianto apparently doesn't care anymore. Spoilers for whole of series one.
A/N: Big thanks to
laligin, who required similar amounts of brain bleach to me to beta this. Written for
karaokegal's come you're not party.
Why it’s a costume: It's...Ianto/Owen. I've never written it, I don't think I've ever read it. But here they are - Ianto/Owen fans feel free to rip holes in it, just so long as they're justified. Style's also a bit OOC.
It’s getting on for nine hours now and they’re still no closer to figuring out where Jack’s gone, or indeed why, and everyone’s looking increasingly at him - to him, with expectant eyes, like now he’s officially in charge, instead of just a precaution against their Captain’s apparently non-existent mortality, he’ll have answers. Or maybe that’s just his own paranoia playing tricks on him; Ianto’s gotten slightly more up himself, now quite comfortably rummaging through Jack’s office, every drawer pulled out and emptied, and Owen takes a moment to watch him and marvel over how even when Ianto’s making a mess it’s that bit neater and more orderly than everyone else’s mess.
Gwen seems to have illusions of taking charge, striking a pose and loudly wondering and suggesting as though she’s forgotten how much they all bitched about it when Jack did it. No one bothers to remind her; it all falls apart after half an hour or so; she’s so far had three phone calls from the boyfriend, which send her into a small flustered panic. She keeps terminating them, except for the one she answered unthinkingly; she spends the next half hour hiding out in the TIC trying to placate him. Tosh glances up at him from time to time with an unreadable expression and though it’s unfair to her (and to himself) Owen’s pretty sure she’s waiting for him to break down and admit that he doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing and is shit scared.
Which might well be the case, but he’s not going to let her know that. Not until they’re a few months away and either Jack has returned and re-taken the helm or he’s got into the swing of things. Quite possibly never.
For all he broke down sobbing into Jack’s arms and asked for forgiveness, Owen fucking hates him at the moment, and hates him ever more as more time passes and it looks all the more likely that he’s got to take over as leader. He’s not meant to be the leader. He’s meant to be the idiot who messes around and offends everyone and makes everyone laugh by turns, and doesn’t seem to get any work done (“seem” being the operative word).
He can’t lead. He screws up. What’s worse, people know he screws up and refuse to listen to him. The only reason they went along with opening the Rift was because they’d each seen… whatever each of them had seen. And that turned out to be a colossal mistake.
He drops onto the sofa and sighs. And then realises he’s seen Jack do that umpteen times and jumps up quickly, sitting back down more slowly, back straight like his Gran always nagged him. He doesn’t want to be anything like Jack. Jack solves problems by killing people. Jack got shot by his own people (and alright Owen was the one who did it, but Jack knew he would the instant he said it - and what kind of idiot says something like that to someone holding a gun? Immortal idiots, clearly). It didn’t take an idiosyncratic genius to see that the two points were connected.
So he sits and brainstorms with Tosh, and Ianto, having exhausted secret hiding places for important documents or clues for where Jack might have gone, joins them, and the three of them realise that they know him even less than they thought. Gwen and Ianto try to think of why he might have gone and it occurs to Owen as he watches that this may be the first time he’s seen them have a voluntary, independent conversation. It’s slightly frightening.
He leaves Tosh to go through the CCTV and he goes down to the autopsy room for a good old pace. It’s coming on for twelve hours now and they’ve still got nowhere. Not to mention Ianto seems to have forgotten to feed Myfanwy. Owen has been trying to channel all the hatred and frustration he’s got into finding Jack - sooner they find him the sooner he can deck him - but it’s not working and the whole thing tastes like Suzie all over again, except now with added bitterness; someone they know, only not really, is lost, could be in terrible danger (though why he or anyone else is worried is beyond Owen; the man’s immortal for Christ’s sake, and even if he wasn’t he is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Well, practically perfect - those few times he isn’t he’s got the immortal bit to fall back on. Point is there’s no point worrying), or could have left of his own accord without a second thought, which Owen thinks is looking more and more likely.
If he’s been kidnapped surely there would be some kind of sign; an indicator of a struggle, a ransom note… unless they’re planning an invasion and have whisked him, the world’s greatest alien expert, away. Of course, if Jack’s in that situation he’ll be able to shag his way out in no time.
Speaking of which…
He glances up at Tosh for the briefest of moments and then turns his attention to Gwen and Ianto, who are still talking. It’s just not right. He climbs up the steps to join them and he can see it’s turning into an argument. That’s more like it.
He considers for a moment. He’s already been there with Gwen, and he may have been pissed off at the world in general, but he meant what he said about getting bored. Plus after everything that happened, and Jack throwing their affair in her face, daring to suggest she didn’t love her darling Rhys, she’ll probably relish the opportunity to turn him down and prove how different things are. Or maybe not. She keeps doing hundred and eighty degree turns, which, sure, is psychologically entertaining for a bit, but can get a bit wearing after a while.
Then there Ianto, who’s… Ianto. And apparently Jack’s. No wonder Ianto had shot him.
He’d be interesting new territory, and there’s no chance of disappointment, given that Owen had never once considered what it might be like to fuck him. Well, maybe that once, but that was the excess of pheromones in his bloodstream. God knows, the state he was in he’d found Jack’s hat stand sexy.
See, if Jack were here this problem would be sorted; he’d come to Jack, explain the situation, sleep with Jack and then afterwards they might go down the pub. Of course if Jack were here the whole stressful situation wouldn’t exist. Selfish bastard. Wasn’t like he could just go down a club and pick someone up for a few laughs and a one night stand, not since Jack confiscated the alien Lynx (no doubt for personal use). Job took too much out of him these days. And after today, well it was just out of the question!
Gwen.
Ianto.
Ianto.
Gwen.
Someone upstairs makes the decision for him as Gwen’s mobile goes off and she actually answers it, barking, “What?” in her would-be-tough way that usually makes Owen snigger. Mistake, as it turns out, and she hurries off to once again explain to the boyfriend why she hasn’t come home for the past five days.
Later he convinces the girls, one at a time, to go home. Gwen is particularly difficult, making a multitude of excuses, until Owen cuts to the chase and points out the sooner she goes home the sooner can sort out her boyfriend. She has to go after that; otherwise she’d lose her right to complain about being forced to lie to him etc.
“You alright?” he asks Ianto, who looks surprised and then suspicious. If Owen didn’t have ulterior motives he’d consider punching him. Hell, even without the ulterior motives…
Ianto shrugs and turns back to the list he’s looking at. “Fine. You?”
Owen shrugs one shoulder back. “Shoulder’s giving me a bit of trouble. Dread to think what would have happened if you hadn’t missed.”
“I didn’t -” Ianto begins, then purses his lips and looks away again, pointedly ignoring Owen.
“Look, why don’t we give this a rest, yeah? We’ve been at it for ages, haven’t gotten anywhere. We need a break, night’s sleep or whatever.” Ianto doesn’t move and Owen rolls his eyes. “Look, both the girls have gone home, there’s no point you and me burning the midnight oil.”
“And what if he comes back, sends a signal for help?” asks Ianto, sounding and looking annoyingly composed.
“You think Captain Indestructible is going to need our help? Fine, we’ll stay in the Hub with the stale air and pissed off Pterodactyl. Just don’t go blaming me when she decides to eat one of us.”
Ianto lowers the papers. “Why are you staying here?”
Owen scoffs, considering making some remark about how dangerous it is to leave Ianto in the Hub unattended, but dead girlfriends aren’t a turn-on. He instead shrugs again. “Could do with some company. What do you reckon?”
Ianto opens his mouth, and Owen can see him casting about for a reason why not. But there isn’t one, besides the fact they don’t really like each other very much and that’s not stopped either of them in the past, so he puts his lists and papers away and shoves his hands in his pockets, mimicking Owen.
“So…”
“Drink?”
“I don’t think we have any except for…” He glances up at Jack’s office and suddenly Owen can’t be bothered because, seriously; the world ended not twelve hours ago. It’s a miracle he’s not shit-faced already.
He starts towards the office, daring Ianto (in his mind) to try and stop him. He hears Ianto start after him, striding to catch up to him, but then he slows to a stop. Owen keeps going, picking his way through the mess on the floor and rights the whisky bottle on the desk top. He glances around for a moment, then turns to Ianto, who’s just stood watching him.
“You know where the glasses are?”
Ianto sighs. “I’ll get some mugs,” he says, and withdraws upstairs.
Owen lowers himself into Jack’s chair, tries leaning back and almost falls backwards. He rights himself and props his elbows on the desktop. Sitting here actually feels quite unpleasant; he needs to sit with a certain poise, which probably comes naturally to Jack, and the desk feels like a barrier, trapping him in this stupid little fish tank of an office.
Wherever he is, Jack had best buck his ideas up.
He waits a little while, making a bet with himself over whether or not Ianto is going to come back, then decides, he has Jack’s whisky; he doesn’t care. He unscrews the lid and has a quick swig. It’s the good stuff; burns all the way down.
“Better watch out, you’re fast becoming an alcoholic.”
Owen’s hands slip on the bottle’s neck. Ianto has come back, with the promised mugs, looking smug and prim. Owen’s starting to wish he’d picked Gwen. Still, he’s started (almost, not quite), so he’ll see it through.
Ianto doesn’t say a word, or do that Spock eyebrow twitch, over Owen sitting in Jack’s chair, instead sitting opposite him and setting out the mugs. Owen pours them each a drink and they clink mugs. Owen watches as Ianto downs his drink, and pretends to finish his.
“So, how long’s it been going for?” he asks.
Ianto tilts his head from side to side, trying to make up his mind. “Bit after Tosh became psychic for a week.” He waves a hand, leaning back in his chair. It seems he has the right balance for these chairs too. “It wasn’t a regular thing. Just on and off.”
Owen nods and tops up his drink, then holds out the bottle to Ianto who pushes his mug forward. “How many times you do it?”
Ianto laughs, though he doesn’t really sound amused. “You’re very interested all of a sudden.”
“I’ve been proved embarrassingly wrong. Don’t like it when that happens.”
Ianto stares into his drink. “You think he went willingly?”
Owen sighs and takes a gulp of whisky. Enough of the subtleties. “You fancy it?”
Ianto blinks. “Fancy what?”
“Sex.”
Ianto blinks again. “What?”
“Sex,” Owen repeats. “Just forget all this is going on for a bit.”
“Why else would you and I be sleeping together?”
Good point. Owen considers. “I dunno. Aliens maybe?”
“Or alcohol.” Ianto picks up his drink, hesitates, then downs it, slamming it back down on the desktop. “How drunk you think we’d need to get?”
“Usually I’d go a couple more.”
“Let’s say three in case someone finds out.”
“Fair enough.”
Three drinks later the mugs have been knocked onto the floor and the bottle tipped over, what remains of the whisky being soaked up by the scattered paperwork as Owen and Ianto wrestle on the desk.
Ianto’s more… well, up for it is the only phrase Owen can think of, than Owen would’ve imagined him; more aggressive, more challenging, more… experienced. Then again, sleeping with Jack - it’s an education.
This said it’s not the best sex Owen’s ever had - nowhere close. Okay, the mutual dislike makes things interesting, but it’s nowhere near as eventful or engaging as hate sex. And the whole doing it on a desk thing? People seem to leave out the fact that should either of you chose to roll you could both find yourselves in a very comfortable position on the floor. They don’t quite get that far, thank God, but they have a few close calls.
Afterward Owen slips off the desk to sprawl in Jack’s chair - there’s not enough room for the two of them.
“Well.”
“Yeah.”
Ianto reaches across and rights the whisky bottle. “You think he’s got any more lying around here?”
Owen grunts and rubs his shoulder. He’s not feeling quite so tense now, but his shoulder is killing him.
Ianto slides off the desk and dresses, the lack of speed doing nothing to prevent him from missing two buttons in his shirt.
“I don’t think you should drive home tonight,” Owen remarks as Ianto ties his tie the wrong way around and inside out.
“Probably not,” Ianto concedes. “Going to bunk down in Jack’s quarters.”
“Fair enough.” Owen shuts his eyes and decides he’s quite comfy here.
“You want coffee?”
“Ianto, you can’t button your shirt up properly. You are not using the coffee machine.”
“You can’t tell me what to do!”
“I’m the boss!”
“Since when?”
“I’m second in command, I’m in the chair and I just fucked you on the desk. I’m in charge.”
Ianto considers this for a moment, then shrugs and wanders off.
Owen dashes home early next morning for a shower, change of clothes and aspirin. Upon his return he finds Ianto looking his usual immaculate self and they get to work. Tosh gets in early and gives the two of them an odd look, then tilts her head and smiles sympathetically.
“Late night was it?”
Ianto begins to answer but then stops almost immediately. Owen looks up and sees why. Tosh is glancing from one to the other, eyebrows raised and an evil smile.
Oh. Shit.
“She knows,” Ianto breathes.
“I do now,” she singsongs, and Owen can feel his headache getting worse by the minute. “Excuse me, have to check the CCTV.”