Chiaroscuro by a_silver_story | Complete (Post Too Large)
You Should Have Started Here
~*~*~*~
John was AWOL, and Jack just wanted the day to be over with. He'd pretty much come to the conclusion that he wasn't going to find anybody because he was too hung up on Ianto, but supposed he'd best see the rest of his applicant wannabes out of politeness before asking John to do it.
Of course, John's phone wasn't being answered at the moment. At least Jack still had time to locate him.
There was a knock at the door, and Jack plastered on a smile to go and answer it. Less than a minute later it was closed again, and Jack was leaning against the door, glad that by his count that was the last one and he could stop saying 'no' and seeing hopes dashed so low. He was about to push himself away from the door when there was another knock, and Jack could barely be bothered to put his smile on before wrenching it open a little too forcefully.
“Not interrupting, am I?” Ianto asked, peering past Jack to see if he had a visitor. Jack swallowed.
“Ianto?”
“Yep.”
Jack stepped aside to let him in, his eyes sweeping up and down the finely tailored three piece suit he had elected to wear.
“Are you all-all right?” Jack asked, his mouth too dry.
“I left a tie here,” Ianto explained, crossing over to the little photograph studio set-up Jack had cobbled together for testing shots, should any happen. “Been busy?”
“Mainly opening the door and closing it again,” Jack admitted.
“Oh. I'm sure you'll find someone.”
“Yeah,” Jack nodded. “So … ah … What's with the posh suit?”
“Ran out of clean clothes. I've been busy seeing somebody behind my father's back rather than my share of the housework.”
“Was the somebody worth it?” Jack asked.
“I'm not sure,” Ianto admitted, turning to face him. “I went to his studio pretending I'd left a tie and we just sound up speaking in vague metaphor for five minutes.”
Jack felt himself smiling, and he took a few steps closer. “I'm sorry.”
“It wasn't you,” Ianto said, shaking his head. “I was an idiot. Stupid and jealous, because you never take photographs of people and then you chose to take hers.”
“You refused.”
“I know. I brought you a gift to apologise.” He help up an origami box he'd clearly made himself. Jack took it from him curiously and opened it.
“A new filter,” he grinned. “Excellent.”
“I made it myself,” Ianto mumbled, colouring a little. “It's a contrast filter. It works best in black and white, so I brought you some rolls of black and white film, too, if you wanna try it.”
Jack's grin widened, accepting the little carrier bag. “I've never properly experimented with grayscale images, if I'm honest. I like colour.”
“Well … you said Cardiff was grey, is all.”
Jack nodded. He had.
He fiddled with the strap on his watch for a moment. “Would you like some orange juice?” he eventually managed to ask.
“Please,” Ianto smiled. “Mind if I use your bathroom?”
“Go ahead,” Jack shrugged, testing his pitcher of orange juice and grimacing. It had gotten old. “I'm gonna make up some more.”
The door to the bathroom clicked shut and the lock slid across, so Jack busied himself with getting some juice made up. He set the fresh pitcher on the coffee table and sighed, leaning back with his hands above his head wondering what Ianto really wanted.
The bathroom door opened, and Jack leaned forward to hold up Ianto's orange juice for him to take.
He very nearly dropped it.
Ianto emerged from the bathroom nervously, wearing only the dressing gown Jack had left there. They both swallowed, and Ianto's cheeks flushed slightly pink. “Where do you want me?” he asked.
Jack crossed the room to him. “Ianto ...” he breathed. “Are you …?”
Ianto nodded. “You said you needed me. You said … for the exhibition.”
Jack nodded. “You don't have to do it if you don't want to.”
“Just tell me you need me, Jack,” Ianto said, his eyes shining, creasing in the corners.
Swallowing hard, Jack nodded. “I need you, Ianto.”
Ianto drew in a shaky breath. “Where do you want me?” he repeated.
“The bed,” Jack replied hoarsely, turning to go and fetch his camera. He hesitated a moment, then picked up the filter and film that Ianto had brought.
Ianto was probably wondering what the Hell he was doing as he made his way to Jack's bed. He perched on the end, holding the dressing gown around him, and Jack noted the tense set of his shoulders and the way his eyes resolutely remained on the laminated floor.
“Okay?” he asked him.
Ianto nodded, raising his head to look at Jack stood before him and towering. He held Jack's gaze as he ran his fingers down the opening in the dressing gown, undid the belt and then pulled it slowly apart to reveal his body. He let it slide down his arms until he was no longer wearing it, just sitting on it. “Am I okay?” he asked.
Jack sank to his knees, drinking him in with hungry eyes. “You're perfect.”
“I'm sorry about the … Well, I am naked and you're staring at me like that and-”
“I want you to be hard,” Jack breathed, and he leaned into Ianto's neck, inhaling deeply and kissing and nipping gently. Ianto's pulse was thudding fast beneath his lips and Jack knew his blood was no longer prioritising his brain as both their cocks began to grow. “Lie back,” Jack whispered into Ianto's ear. Ianto nodded, and leaned back, allowing Jack to pull the dressing gown out from beneath him. Jack crouched by the foot of the bed, the shot he needed forming in his mind and the perspective was perfect.
“Relax,” Jack coaxed gently. He reached out to move Ianto's cock better into shot, and Ianto moaned gently. “It's called posing, but you don't need to pose at all, Ianto. Just look at me, look at me and pretend I don't have the camera. Look at me like you would then.”
Jack snapped a couple of pictures, then gave in and crawled up the bed to lie beside Ianto. He pressed their mouths together passionately, forgetting about his camera for a moment, feeling Ianto's fingers curling into his t-shirt.
“You're tense,” Jack observed, his hands running over the taught muscles of Ianto's shoulders.
“Just a bit shy,” Ianto admitted, his eyes darting to the abandoned camera by the pillows.
“Would it be easier for you if I were naked, too?”
Ianto nodded, lying back to watch as Jack knelt up and pulled off his t-shirt then his socks, jeans and underwear. He lay on top of Ianto, pressing them together and pulling Ianto's legs around him. Jack felt hands in his hair as they kissed some more, running his own hands down Ianto's thighs and back up to his buttocks. The chill of Ianto's heels on his lower back made him shiver in delight, before he hesitated in disappointment as Ianto pushed his shoulders away gently.
“You're supposed to be taking pictures,” he reminded him.
Jack nodded. “Just … erm … We're setting up the shot,” he grinned, then dropped his head to press one more kiss to Ianto's lips.
Willing is breath to come back, Jack reached again for his camera, wound on the film and swallowed. He stared at it a moment, then glanced up at Ianto. “I don't know where to start,” he admitted.
Ianto scratched his head. “A portrait?” Ianto suggested. “A head shot?”
Jack nodded. “Okay … What do you suggest?”
“Point and click?”
Chuckling, Jack sidled closer and kissed his mouth, pushing him gently to lie back. He straddled Ianto's hips, raising his camera. “Pretend the camera's not there,” he repeated.
“That's not easy.”
“You'll get used to it, I promise,” Jack assured him, rearranging the covers and pillows around Ianto's head.
Ianto squeezed his eyes shut. “What if the gallery don't like this set of photos, either?”
“Then we can keep them for us,” Jack shrugged. “In fact … We should take some especially for us …”
Ianto rolled his eyes and Jack snapped a photo. “Heyy,” Ianto complained. “I wasn't ready!”
They stuck mainly to the bed, Jack capturing images of what seemed like every inch of Ianto's body. The effort that went into keeping Ianto's excitement maintained was beginning to drive them both insane until Jack got half way through their third roll of film and set the camera aside. “I have to fuck you,” he panted.
“Finally,” Ianto breathed.
They wrapped themselves around each other, rolling and writhing on the bed, tangling in the covers, kissing, biting, licking and scratching whichever bit of each other was presented. Jack fumbled blindly in his bedside drawer before yanking it out completely, breaking away from Ianto and hurriedly sifting through the mess on the floor.
He found what he needed, and Ianto rolled over onto his stomach. He gasped and groaned as Jack gently forced a wet finger inside him, listening to Ianto hissing through his teeth and watching his hips pressing down repeatedly into the bed, desperate for friction. He pushed up against Jack's finger, so Jack withdrew, added a little more gel to his fingers and gently worked two into him.
Ianto whimpered in a rather unmanly way, and Jack chuckled, feeling the thrum of Ianto's body as he finally pushed three fingers inside him and stretched him out properly.
“Oh God, Jack,” Ianto gasped. “Oh God … I'm gonna …”
Jack pulled his fingers out as quickly as he could, and Ianto whined in frustration. He rolled onto his back and pulled Jack down on top of him by the back of his neck, clumsily kissing him. Jack pushed the foil condom packet into his hand, and watched as Ianto used his teeth to rip it open. His long, pale fingers removed the condom, and carefully felt their way down to Jack's cock.
“Oof,” Jack grunted appreciatively. “Cold.”
Ianto rolled it on, and Jack wasted no time lining himself up, ready to enter him. He hesitated and swallowed. “Ready?”
Ianto nodded. “Go on.”
Jack pushed himself forward, and Ianto gritted his teeth and tensed. Jack paused, nuzzling against Ianto's ear. “Relax,” he murmured, kissing the lobe. “It's all good. Relax.”
He slid inside the rest of the way easily, and he bit back a long groan. He slowly began to gyrate his hips, feeling the chill of Ianto's heels pressing into his lower back and coaxing him in deeper, asking him to go faster.
Sweat broke out over their skin, and Jack could feel his heart hammering louder than it ever had before in his life as it tried to keep oxygen flowing around his body, making sure Jack wouldn't have to stop.
Ianto leaned up and kissed his mouth, wrapping his arms around Jack's shoulders. Jack pressed their foreheads together as they kissed and kissed, clinging onto Ianto's thighs as he began to rock both of their bodies faster, Ianto moving with him, tightening his muscles rhythmically and making Jack see stars.
With a bitten-back moan, Ianto's body tensed below him and Jack watched him come while holding his breath, hardly daring to breathe in case he took away from Ianto's moment. Ianto himself came back down with a gasp for air, his nails digging into the back of Jack's shoulders painfully. They shared a small smile, and Jack began moving again.
It only took a moment or so, and Jack followed Ianto over the edge. He collapsed on top of him, his head buried in Ianto's neck and breathing deeply. He rolled off, panting as he lay on his back. After a moment or so, he reached for his camera, snapped a couple of shots of Ianto in oblivious post-coital bliss and set it back down again. He pulled Ianto close, tucked his head under Ianto's arm, rested his head on his chest and closed his eyes.
They didn't need to say anything to each other.
Contentedly, they fell asleep.
~*~*~*~
They spent the next fortnight experimenting with their new dynamic as a model and photographer. Ianto got used to being naked around Jack and his camera pretty quickly, as Jack had promised, and Jack had gotten used to being constantly naked around Ianto, too. They hardly bothered to wear clothes any more unless they left Jack's loft.
Ianto walked through the door to Jack's home and set the shopping bags on the kitchen counter. He took the prints he'd managed to do the night before and smuggle out of the lab from his inside coat pocket as he felt Jack pressing up against his back.
“You did it?”
“Yep,” nodded Ianto.
Jack took the pictures and started laying them out on the coffee table. “What did you think of them?”
“I think I look awful.”
Jack blinked. “You look gorgeous - look at your skin there! And your eyes! The black and white was a good idea. It brings out your light perfectly.”
Ianto's cheeks coloured. “I'm all pale and … I look … I dunno,” he shrugged.
Jack ignored him, searching through the pictures and locating the obvious 'no's and tossing them aside. “What happened here?” Jack frowned.
“I assumed you'd gotten come on the camera again,” Ianto replied amusedly. “Beer?”
He joined Jack by the coffee table with two bottles, handing one over. Jack accepted it and took a long swig. “The colour ones came out great, too. You're so cute here,” he grinned, pointing to one of Ianto stood by the memorial in Cathays Park in the rain.
“I was cold, I was wet, and I was nearly crying because I wanted a pasty. How is that cute?”
“You're a more self-deprecating artiste than I am,” Jack replied amusedly. “I think I should have full control over which pieces are submitted for the show set.”
“Aww, but-”
“No, no, no. Never let the subject choose. Golden rule.”
“Written by whom?”
“Me.”
“And voted into officiation by whom?”
“Me.”
“And?”
“Me.”
Ianto sighed. “Fine, it's your exhibition I suppose. You have full control. Just … don't pick the ones where I look fat, okay?”
“If I come across one, I'm sure I'll leave it out.”
Ianto sighed again. Jack realised that clearly, Ianto thought he looked fat in all of them. Jack mimicked his sigh, then sipped his beer. “Wanna have sex?”
Ianto was already shirking his coat. “Thought you'd never ask …”
~*~*~*~
“So … John and I met in Singapore,” Jack began awkwardly.
Ianto and John narrowed their eyes at each other over the booth's table.
“John's a painter. Graphic nudity, mainly, and sometimes gore and torture. We hate each other's work.”
John smirked. “I'm more into raw realism,” he said. “I show the world as it is.”
“Whereas I show the world as I actually see it.”
“Oh, Jack,” John said, clicking his tongue. “Take that rose-tinted filter off of your camera for a minute and stop daydreaming.”
Ianto cleared his throat. “You do realise that 'off of' is so painfully incorrect, it actually hurts my ears to hear it?” he scowled.
“Oh, get off of your high horse,” replied John with an eye-roll.
“It's not hard to be perceived as on a high horse when faced with someone so simple,” Ianto retorted.
Jack was beginning to think that introducing Ianto and John might have been a bad idea. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Now, now,” he tried. “Can't you at least try to get along?”
“He uses extraneous prepositions!” Ianto argued.
“Hey, hey!” John interrupted. “It's not my fault we can't all have private educations,” he scowled.
“I didn't have a private education,” Ianto smugly replied. “I just actually paid attention while I was in my low-budget state school. What were you doing? Eating glue and using your ruler to saw welts into the edges of the desk?”
John's mouth pressed into a thin line.
That wasn't far off the mark to what he'd been doing, actually.
Ianto sensed John's hesitation and folded her arms. “I rest my case.”
John glowered at him a second, then turned to Jack. “I don't like him.”
“I don't like him,” Ianto snapped.
Jack rolled his eyes. “No shit, Sherlock.”
John shrugged. “Elementary, Dr. Watson.”
Ianto tutted loudly. “Holmes never actually said that, y'know.”
Jack slapped his forehead with his hand. “Right - if you two don't start making an effort, we're leaving.”
There was a moment's silence around the table. Ianto and John stared each other out a moment.
Ianto won.
“I'll get my coat then, shall I?” he suggested, getting to his feet.
Jack glowered at John, giving him a death glare, then followed Ianto over to the coat rack and out of the pub.
~*~*~*~
“Right,” Jack breathed. “I think these are the ones.”
Ianto looked down at the five pictures Jack placed before him. He nodded his approval, if a little reluctantly.
“You don't think these are right?” Jack asked worriedly.
“Only for petty personal reasons,” Ianto assured him. “If it wasn't me naked in them, I'd probably be fanboying over them right now.”
“I'm fanboying over the real thing,” Jack grinned, sliding an arm around his waist to kiss his cheek. “Okay … I have the prints, I have my original cells. Are you sure you can get the screen prints without your Dad seeing?”
Ianto's father had come around to the idea of Ianto being with Jack now that it appeared Jack might be staying longer - and that if he did leave, the offer was open for Ianto to go with him rather than be left behind as just another lover. However, they hadn't quite broken to him the more adult nature of some of their photoshoots, and Ianto wanted to prolong it as long as possible.
“Erm … Ianto?”
“Yeah?”
Jack drew a shaky breath. “Can I ask a favour?”
“Depends on what the favour is.”
“Can I borrow one of your suits for the meeting? I felt rather underdressed last time.”
“No, you can't,” Ianto replied, shaking his head. “You should go as yourself, Jack. That's who they're after.”
Jack pouted, but conceded the point. “Okay,” he agreed. “I'm getting nervous already,” he admitted, looking through the prints again.
“I've been nervous for the last fortnight,” Ianto smiled. “One more night, and it'll either all be over or all just beginning. Well … for me and my career as muse and model, anyway.”
“You'll always be my muse and model,” Jack promised.
Ianto raised an eyebrow. “Always? I doubt that.”
“I told you I can't take good pictures of people. If I don't have you to photograph, all I have left is the rest of the planet. I'll be back to my hundreds of pictures with no people in it, just waiting until I come back to Cardiff to entertain you again. Unless, of course … you come with me?”
Ianto shook his head again. “I can't.”
“You can.”
“I won't.”
Jack just shut up. He sat down heavily and tugged Ianto's hand to make him sit next to him. “I'll take you for dinner tonight,” he promised. “Somewhere swank.”
“Can't we just order pizza or chicken or something?”
Jack shrugged. “Works for me. Can we eat it naked?”
“I thought we learned from that last time?” Ianto asked amusedly.
With a chuckle, Jack recalled the memory. “You're right,” he nodded. “Bad idea.”
After a small amount of bickering over pizza toppings before deciding on a half and half, they finally relaxed, took deep breaths and waited for the next day to finally come.
~*~*~*~
Jack was sat outside that room again, waiting for the committee to make a decision. The nerves bubbled up inside him and gave him far too much energy, and the woman sat behind the desk at the far end of the corridor kept giving him dirty looks in response to his rhythmically tapping fingers and feet.
Finally, Jack was called back in again.
He lowered himself into the plastic chair, preparing himself for what Ms. Hardman's answer might be.
“Mr. Harkness,” she began, and Jack hoped it really was lightness he sensed in her tone. “I have to say, these really are vastly different to the tone of your previous collection. Perhaps you could explain what you were trying to achieve with …” She picked out a random one. “… this one?”
Jack swallowed. “I can't remember any more,” he admitted. “I can remember the moment it was taken, but whatever was in my head at the time … I wasn't thinking about what the shot would look like. I was just thinking about the moment I actually took it.”
Ms. Hardman nodded, and so did a couple of others.
“What's the story behind this one?” she asked, pushing forward the picture of Ianto by the Cathays Memorial.
“It was just an ordinary day,” Jack shrugged. “It was dull and grey. Then Ianto got all excited about something, despite the rain, and ran off ahead. He looked back at me, and I snapped the shot. The picture came out so much brighter than its twin - the one without him in it. I must hold the camera differently when I point it at him - the light seems to bounce from the rain, the sun seems to seep into the picture just that little bit brighter.”
Again, Ms. Hardman only nodded. “Why did you choose to do the nude pieces in black and white?” she asked. “Everything else you've ever presented to us has been colour.”
“Cardiff is grey,” explained Jack. “People assume that grey things are boring. I used the black and white film to show that in grayscale, light is more pronounced, and if you can see that light in the right way you don't need colour to see something as bright, or as beautiful, or as boring. The images are black and white because it shows how his pale, white skin really glows. It shows the sharp angles of his face and the dips and planes of his body through the deep shadows and brilliant highlights that are only possible to capture in black and white.”
Ms. Hardman repeated her nodding gesture. “Well,” she said with an air of finality. “I think we've seen enough.”
Jack held his breath, his head spinning. He'd never wanted to be featured in an exhibition so much in his entire life.
“I think we can definitely find space for you collection in the Christmas Exhibition,” she smiled. “We've got you some papers all drawn up and ready, and also details of our requirements for space, scale and curation. You'll be required to have your large-scale prints ready for hanging by next Friday, ready for the Saturday night opening. A cheque will be made out in your name at the front desk once you present your signed consent forms to the admin desk.”
Jack grinned at her like a loon, springing to his feet. “Thank you so, so much,” he babbled. “I mean really - this means so much to me. Really, really means so much. I can't believe it - you're all brilliant, all of you …”
He managed to hug them all before finally signing the consent forms and taking his copy and the exhibition guidelines. He was practically skipping to the front desk, slapping his forms down proudly as the receptionist went to fetch a supervisor to finalise the gallery's payment. Jack's eyes weren't bugging out of his head at the relatively small amount the gallery were paying him to display his work, but he didn't care. He was walking on air.
Deciding a celebration was in order, he quickly phoned Ianto to tell him the news.
~*~*~*~
Jack fidgeted, tugging at his collar. This time, he'd insisted on wearing one of Ianto's suits, and once he'd been talked around the idea Ianto had become very particular with how Jack was going to wear it.
“Stop messing,” Ianto muttered into Jack's ear as they climbed the stairs to where the exhibition was being held, his hand tucked under Jack's arm.
“I can't help it. I'm trapped in a noose, here,” Jack muttered back. He sensed Ianto's eye-roll as they approached the gallery, and Ms. Hardman appeared before them.
“Ah! Jack!” she smiled. “And this must be Ianto?”
Ianto nodded, offering out his hand for her to shake. Jack could sense her eyes examining him like they had his photographs, comparing the figure shown in them to the man stood before her. He wondered what she saw when she looked at Ianto's physical self compared to how Jack had shown him to her in the photographs.
She led them into the gallery, and they glanced over the other works on display.
“Wow,” Ianto murmured under his breath. “Look at some of these …”
Jack pouted. “My prints are bigger,” he said, petulant.
Ianto chuckled. “It's not the size that counts.”
“You have the means to say that,” winked Jack.
“Shush!” Ianto chastised.
“What? It's on the wall over there, if anybody wants to compare …”
Ianto sighed, then changed the subject. “Do you know any of these people?” he asked.
Jack had a quick look around. “A few. Some of them are critics, others are dealers. The rest I'm not too sure about. I haven't had an exhibition in a very, very long time.”
Ianto nodded as they slowly gravitated to the corner where Jack's photographs were hanging, ominously alone. Ianto could barely look at them, his cheeks colouring. “I can't believe I let you do this,” he groaned. “You didn't even get me drunk first.” He'd admitted to Jack the night before wasn't too sure he wanted the pictures displayed any more. It had taken Jack a while, but eventually they got there.
“Nobody's coming to look at them,” Jack observed, worriedly.
“That's bad?” Ianto asked, then gave him a playful nudge with his elbow. “They're probably just working their way down from January. The party only started two minutes ago. They need to stand and stare and 'hmmm' at eleven other months' worth of pieces before they get to yours.”
“You're right, I hope,” Jack nodded. “Shall we find champagne?”
“I'll need Dutch courage before my Dad gets here,” Ianto agreed. “And maybe one or two mini-cheesecakes ...”
Fifteen minutes later, Ianto was stood opposite the June artist's pieces, frowning thoughtfully as he stared at a felt tip drawing of a rather childish tree with a mini chocolate cheesecake delicately perched between his fingers.
Jack appeared at his side, taking a break from mingling. “You like this?” he asked.
Ianto's frown deepened. “I don't get it,” he said. “I could have done that. Why's it in a gallery?”
“Whether or not the observer would have been able to do it themselves isn't the point,” Jack tutted. “It's whether or not they would have thought to do it themselves.”
Ianto tilted his head to the side thoughtfully. “Hmmm,” he nodded.
“C'mon,” Jack chuckled, tugging him away. “I want you to meet my new friends …”
The gallery slowly filled up with all sorts of people - even Gwen responded to Jack's invitation and came to have a look. “Never knew you had it in you,” Gwen told Ianto, standing before the set of pictures.
Jack smirked. “In that one, he didn't have anything in him.”
Ianto whacked his arm. “Jack!” He glared at him, then turned to peer around the rest of the gallery. “My Dad's not here yet,” he said, relieved. “I'm dreading it.”
“You invited his Dad?” Gwen asked.
“He insisted on coming - and Jack wouldn't say 'no',” scowled Ianto, resting a hand on Jack's shoulder to help him balance as he got up on his tip toes. “He should be here by now. Maybe he couldn't find anywhere to park and gave up …”
“C'mon,” Jack said, guiding Ianto away from his section of the gallery. “Let's find rich people to sweet-talk into buying limited edition prints.”
Ianto groaned. “Jack …”
“We could even sign them,” he grinned.
Ianto took another flute of champagne from a passing waiter, sipping it. “Can we just get this all over and done with?”
“This is our first show together,” Jack sulked. “We should stay until the last guest leaves.”
“What if the last guest is waiting for the last guests to leave and we wind up in a stalemate and trapped in this room forever?” Ianto asked worriedly.
“I think you've had enough champagne,” Jack decided. “How many is that?”
“This is my fourth, I think.”
“Knew I'd have to keep an eye on you,” Jack smiled. “That's your last one, okay? I'm not carrying you home.”
Ianto made an affirmative sound as he plucked another cheesecake from another passing waiter. Jack soon found himself absorbed in conversation about another artist's work, and Ianto stood at his side quietly, listening. They drifted through the event together, Jack answering all sorts of questions about his artwork that Ianto didn't even consider. He blushed a little when Jack returned to their little section with a rich-looking old man in a cravat who was perfectly happy to closely examine the prints of Ianto's naked self before moving to the fully-clothed outdoor ones.
Jack really did seem to talk about light and glow a lot, and eventually Ianto phased out, nodding in agreement whenever it seemed necessary. After nearly three hours on his feet, mingling through the crowd and feeling sick with too much cheesecake, he finally asked Jack if they could go home.
“All right,” Jack conceded. “Maybe we can check on your Dad on the way. Find out what happened.”
Ianto nodded, tucking his hand under Jack's arm. “So … when you say 'we' go 'home', you mean 'us' in your loft, do you?”
“Oh shush, you,” Jack pouted. “You gotta admit, though: the moment you finish work you're 'round at mine until you need to be at work again …”
“And I have a drawer.”
“You do,” Jack agreed, then sighed. “This is new for me - you know that?”
“New? I thought you'd done a couple of exhibitions before?”
“No … I mean … The drawer … the 'us' home thing.”
“Me too,” Ianto shrugged. “And it's not like I've moved in. We've been together a few months, and we're guys. Our libido is too strong for us to be separate for too long.”
Jack nodded seriously. “That's why you should come with me.”
Ianto tutted loudly. “I told you, Jack: I won't leave my father - and most certainly not for a fling.”
Jack tutted back at him, skimming the crowd to find Ms. Hardman to say goodbye. In the end he gave up and he and Ianto booked a taxi and headed outside to wait for it.
“Chilly,” Ianto complained, rubbing his arms.
“Damn Cardiff,” Jack agreed.
“Could be worse,” Ianto assured him. “At least it's stopped snowing.”
“Don't jinx it,” Jack warned him. Headlights appeared at the end of the road, slowing to a stop by the gallery entrance. They climbed into their taxi.
“You heading straight to mine?” Jack asked Ianto.
“May as well. I'll ring my Dad from there in the morning. Knowing him he probably just forgot it was tonight and had his feet up watching G.O.L.D before having an early night.”
Jack laughed, and gave his address to the driver.
They appreciatively shirked their coats as they entered Jack's warm studio loft, and Ianto yawned widely. “I want to make an outlandish suggestion,” he began.
“Go on?” Jack prompted.
“How about we go to bed … and actually sleep?”
“I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that. It's a little out of my comfort zone.”
Ianto grinned sleepily, but Jack conceded his point. They both stripped down to their underwear and crawled under the covers.
“Thanks for everything,” Jack murmured as Ianto snuggled against his back.
“I'm already regretting it,” Ianto muttered back, his eyes drifting shut.
Jack closed his eyes, too, and very soon they were both comfortably fast asleep.
~*~*~*~
The exceptionally loud hammering on the door was confusing for Jack. He cracked an eye open, squinting in the early morning sunlight. Assuming it was John, for it was he it was the most likely option to be, Jack didn't bother dressing after disentangling himself from a still thoroughly unconscious Ianto Jones and heading to the door.
His eyes were still pretty screwed up when he opened the door, and he stared at the young dark-haired woman stood there in confusion.
“Is Ianto here?” she asked.
“Huh? Yeah … Erm … Who are you?”
“I'm Rhiannon.”
“Rhiannon?”
“His sister.”
Jack didn't quite recall the mention of a sister. He turned slightly back into his studio. “Ianto!” he called. “Ianto - your sister's here.”
There was a muffled and rather surprised sound from the bed, and wrapping himself in the duvet Ianto dragged himself over to the door. “Rhi?” he frowned, eyes half shut against the light and full of sleep.
“Ianto,” she said, her voice flat. “Ianto … I think you need to sit down.”
“I need to go back to fucking sleep,” he scowled. “What do you want?”
“Ianto,” Rhiannon growled, warning in her tone.
“Okay, okay,” he grumbled, and retreated to the sofa and sat down. Jack moved aside to let Rhiannon in and she cast her eye over the place.
“Not exactly family friendly, is it?”
“It's a studio, Rhi. You're not supposed to move your family in.”
“Looks like a shag pad,” she replied disdainfully.
Jack grinned to himself. A glare from Ianto told him to keep his mouth shut.
Wishing he was dressed, Ianto beckoned Rhiannon to sit with him. She did so, letting out a heavy sigh. “Ianto … I have bad news …”
“You're pregnant again?” he guessed.
“No.”
“Oh … What is it?”
Rhiannon took another deep breath and sniffed quietly. Ianto sensed her distress, leaning forward to offer the corner of his duvet cover for her to wipe her now streaming eyes.
“I had a call from the police this morning,” she managed. “Ianto … Ianto …” She gathered her resolve. “It's Dad.”
~*~*~*~
“I've been telling him to get his tyres changed for weeks,” Ianto said despondently. “I should have just done it myself.”
Jack put his arm around him and squeezed comfortingly. “It's not your fault. It was black ice - the car would have … er … It would have happened.”
The snow fell thickly into the grave, and Ianto bit his lip so hard it bled a little. “What am I supposed to do?” he asked.
“I'm sure your sister will let you have the shop.”
“He left it to her. She won't let go. She wants to turn it into a nail bar.”
“What did he leave for you?”
“Just money - but I wanted the shop. I deserved the shop.”
“I should pay you for posing for me,” Jack suggested. “It'll help get you a shop of your own.”
“I can't take your money, Jack.”
“It's valid payment for valid employment.”
Ianto turned away from the grave, and Jack followed him with the large umbrella. “I need to take a picture,” he muttered.
It was an urge that Ianto had gotten used to automatically fulfilling. He paid no attention to the camera as he tried to look past it to Jack, and once it was lowered he hugged him tightly. “I thought he'd leave me the shop,” he sniffed. “He said he'd leave me the shop. Why did he change his Will? Why?”
“When did he change it?”
“Just over a month ago, according to the solicitor. Only just made it past the twenty-eight day validation period.”
Jack's phone interrupted them, and while Ianto composed himself he answered it.
“Harkness,” he said, glad whomever it was hadn't rung only fifteen minutes ago. He made some affirmative sounds to the person on the other end of the line, then tried to draw the conversation to a close. “That's excellent - yes, I'll pick it up later. Okay. Goodbye.” He hung up. “We sold prints of the black and white photos,” he told Ianto.
Ianto nodded. “Good … Good … How much for?” He was flushed slightly - whether with embarrassment or the cold, Jack couldn't quite tell.
“Asking price,” Jack smiled. “Two and a half grand a piece with the promise they will be signed, supplied with a certificate of authenticity and won't be reproduced on anything larger than a post card.”
“That's good news,” Ianto nodded, and they continued heading toward the black car waiting for them. “So … you'll be moving on soon?”
“In the next couple of days, probably.”
Ianto nodded again. “Know where you're going?”
“No idea,” Jack shrugged. “I figured this time I'd just take the next international flight out of this place.”
“Exciting.”
With a grin, Jack held open the door of the car for him. “Y'know,” he tried. “You could come with me.”
Ianto hesitated, and his brow furrowed. He hugged himself slightly. “I can't,” he said quietly, settled in his seat. Jack climbed in beside him.
“Why?” he asked, trying not to sound sulky or as if he was pressuring Ianto too much.
“I'm not ready to leave Cardiff yet.” He stared past Jack out of the window, his eyes seeking out where his father now lay.
Jack squeezed his knee. “Ianto,” he said gently. “I think you and I both know you've been ready to leave Cardiff for a long time.”
Ianto sniffed, and a few tears began to escape before he could hurriedly wipe them away. “He's my Dad,” he managed through a wracking sob. “My Dad …”
~*~*~*~
“I wanna be on the next international flight outta here,” Jack grinned at the checking-in clerk. She smiled sweetly back at him.
“One moment, please, sir.” She began typing at her computer, and Jack bounced from foot to foot, wondering where he was heading next. The clerk stopped her typing and plastered her sweet smile back on. “Our next departing flight that you are in time to check in for is the two o clock to McCarran International Airport.”
Jack was grinning from ear to ear. “All riiiiiight,” he practically cheered. “Las Vegas, here I come.”
“Would you like me to book you a seat?”
“Yep.”
“And when would Sir like to return?”
“Sir wouldn't.”
“Understandable. First class?”
“All the way.”
She began her typing, not looking up as she requested his valid passport. He passed it to her, she checked it, and then took his card. The transaction went smoothly, and Jack accepted his tickets and boarding card eagerly before checking in his bag. He turned away from the check in desk and took a moment to look around Maes Awyr Caerdydd departures entrance one last time.
Still no sign of Ianto.
Jack had woken up alone that morning, and he couldn't find Ianto anywhere in the places he knew to look. He figured that if Ianto didn't want to be found, he probably wouldn't be - and most definitely not by a foreigner American who had gotten himself lost on a straight road.
With a regretful sigh, Jack hoisted his rucksack onto his back and headed toward the departures duty free. He browsed for a bit, not really looking at anything in particular and just trying to pass the time until he was called to his gate. He perused the stereotypically Welsh memorabilia, and in the end bought a shot glass with the Welsh flag transferred onto it and a black necklace with a little pewter dragon pendant.
He then went back and bought a cuddly stuffed dragon, and he named him 'Neville'.
Jack heard his gate called, and bit his lip. His heart leapt to his throat, and he stood on one of the waiting area seats to scan the crowd.
No Ianto.
Jack decided to wait a bit longer, even though the sinking feeling in his stomach told him he was out of luck; Ianto said he wasn't coming, and Ianto stuck to his word.
He waited a bit longer, and a bit longer, until the cabin steward had to come and ask him personally to come and board the plane.
Jack swallowed, and agreed.
Sagging into his seat, Jack put his head in his hands. What was the point? He glanced at the empty aisle seat next to him, and felt even lonelier.
What was he doing?
Cardiff hadn't been choking him, Jack admitted to himself. Fear had. Fear that he might actually settle, that he might actually have found someone who he could give up his unpredictable and slightly crazy and juvenile life for.
And Ianto needed him.
Ianto was depressed. He was grief-stricken, and Ianto needed Jack to help him through it.
But Jack, as usual, had been too busy trying to get out and away.
“Excuse me,” Jack called to the stewardess. “I need to get off this plane.”
“I'm sorry sir, we've already begun the journey toward the runway.”
“It's an emergency.”
“Are you ill?”
“No … I … Erm …”
“I'm sorry, sir. If you could please fasten your seatbelt, we'll be taking off in around three minutes.” She narrowed her eyes at the empty seat beside him, then headed back up the aisle and left Jack to it.
Jack bit his lip. He stood up. “This plane can't take off!” he shouted, and a mutter went around the passengers as they all suddenly paid attention. “We can't take off,” Jack repeated. “There are no phalanges on this plane!”
There was a ripple of laughter from the other passengers, and one of them yelled. “Siddown, mate! We're going to Vegas!”
Jack slumped back into his seat, wondering how much trouble he'd get into if he told them he had a bomb. He heard footsteps approaching quickly down the aisle behind him, and wondered if the stewardess had come to let him off. Turning his head, he opened his mouth, then felt it go slack in shock.
Ianto grinned at him. “Sorry - I was in the loo. Then I heard some idiot shouting about there not being a single phalanx on the plane.” He sat himself down in the seat beside Jack and strapped himself in.
“You … You're … You … How?”
Ianto gripped his arm rests as the engines began to rumble. “I was about ten minutes behind you.”
“You never said anything!”
“It was funny watching you. Though … I was starting to think you wouldn't get on the plane.”
Jack laughed, a slightly hysterical sound, but he was still delighted. “What made you change your mind?”
“I figured Dad changed his Will once he realised you'd take me with you - and that really, I wanted to go,” he explained. “He gave Rhiannon the shop so that one day I'd take the plunge and hop on the next international flight out of Cardiff Airport. My ears hurt.”
“Yawn,” Jack instructed, then yawned himself. The contagion caught, and soon the whole plane was appreciatively yawning.
“So … What are we gonna do in Vegas?” Ianto asked.
Jack shrugged. “Whatever takes our fancy. I made an American-based contact at the gallery opening who says he might be interested in me doing some commissioned work.”
Ianto nodded. “Cool.”
Jack grinned. “Cool.”
“Jack?”
“Yeah?”
Ianto swallowed heavily as the plane straightened out. “I … uh …” He stared at Jack a second, and Jack's face softened slightly.
“Yes, Ianto?” he coaxed.
“Jack … I … I …”
He took a deep breath, then relaxed back into his chair.
“Jack,” he announced bravely. “I think 'Neville' is a stupid name for a dragon.”
Jack barked out a laugh, and Ianto sighed with relief that the awkward moment was gone.
Jack, however, wasn't letting it go just yet.
“Ianto?”
“Yes, Jack?” Ianto asked, accepting a complimentary pack of peanuts and popping one into his mouth.
“What will we name our children?” Jack asked innocently.
Ianto spluttered, choked, flushed bright red, still spluttering.
Jack sat back into his seat and smiled to himself.
He realised that just because his heart settled, did mean he had to.
Besides, he was all for new experiences and adventures - maybe having Ianto around would make them all actually worthwhile.
Jack couldn't help but sit there, grinning like a lunatic.
He loved Ianto to bits, and relaxing back into his chair, listening to Ianto's babbling, Jack decided he would some day find the perfect way to show it.
The End
Be honest - did anybody yawn when I started talking about yawning?
Comments are better than sex, and take an astronomically shorter time to satisfy me. ;D
.PDF COMING SOON.
~*~*~*~
John was AWOL, and Jack just wanted the day to be over with. He'd pretty much come to the conclusion that he wasn't going to find anybody because he was too hung up on Ianto, but supposed he'd best see the rest of his applicant wannabes out of politeness before asking John to do it.
Of course, John's phone wasn't being answered at the moment. At least Jack still had time to locate him.
There was a knock at the door, and Jack plastered on a smile to go and answer it. Less than a minute later it was closed again, and Jack was leaning against the door, glad that by his count that was the last one and he could stop saying 'no' and seeing hopes dashed so low. He was about to push himself away from the door when there was another knock, and Jack could barely be bothered to put his smile on before wrenching it open a little too forcefully.
“Not interrupting, am I?” Ianto asked, peering past Jack to see if he had a visitor. Jack swallowed.
“Ianto?”
“Yep.”
Jack stepped aside to let him in, his eyes sweeping up and down the finely tailored three piece suit he had elected to wear.
“Are you all-all right?” Jack asked, his mouth too dry.
“I left a tie here,” Ianto explained, crossing over to the little photograph studio set-up Jack had cobbled together for testing shots, should any happen. “Been busy?”
“Mainly opening the door and closing it again,” Jack admitted.
“Oh. I'm sure you'll find someone.”
“Yeah,” Jack nodded. “So … ah … What's with the posh suit?”
“Ran out of clean clothes. I've been busy seeing somebody behind my father's back rather than my share of the housework.”
“Was the somebody worth it?” Jack asked.
“I'm not sure,” Ianto admitted, turning to face him. “I went to his studio pretending I'd left a tie and we just sound up speaking in vague metaphor for five minutes.”
Jack felt himself smiling, and he took a few steps closer. “I'm sorry.”
“It wasn't you,” Ianto said, shaking his head. “I was an idiot. Stupid and jealous, because you never take photographs of people and then you chose to take hers.”
“You refused.”
“I know. I brought you a gift to apologise.” He help up an origami box he'd clearly made himself. Jack took it from him curiously and opened it.
“A new filter,” he grinned. “Excellent.”
“I made it myself,” Ianto mumbled, colouring a little. “It's a contrast filter. It works best in black and white, so I brought you some rolls of black and white film, too, if you wanna try it.”
Jack's grin widened, accepting the little carrier bag. “I've never properly experimented with grayscale images, if I'm honest. I like colour.”
“Well … you said Cardiff was grey, is all.”
Jack nodded. He had.
He fiddled with the strap on his watch for a moment. “Would you like some orange juice?” he eventually managed to ask.
“Please,” Ianto smiled. “Mind if I use your bathroom?”
“Go ahead,” Jack shrugged, testing his pitcher of orange juice and grimacing. It had gotten old. “I'm gonna make up some more.”
The door to the bathroom clicked shut and the lock slid across, so Jack busied himself with getting some juice made up. He set the fresh pitcher on the coffee table and sighed, leaning back with his hands above his head wondering what Ianto really wanted.
The bathroom door opened, and Jack leaned forward to hold up Ianto's orange juice for him to take.
He very nearly dropped it.
Ianto emerged from the bathroom nervously, wearing only the dressing gown Jack had left there. They both swallowed, and Ianto's cheeks flushed slightly pink. “Where do you want me?” he asked.
Jack crossed the room to him. “Ianto ...” he breathed. “Are you …?”
Ianto nodded. “You said you needed me. You said … for the exhibition.”
Jack nodded. “You don't have to do it if you don't want to.”
“Just tell me you need me, Jack,” Ianto said, his eyes shining, creasing in the corners.
Swallowing hard, Jack nodded. “I need you, Ianto.”
Ianto drew in a shaky breath. “Where do you want me?” he repeated.
“The bed,” Jack replied hoarsely, turning to go and fetch his camera. He hesitated a moment, then picked up the filter and film that Ianto had brought.
Ianto was probably wondering what the Hell he was doing as he made his way to Jack's bed. He perched on the end, holding the dressing gown around him, and Jack noted the tense set of his shoulders and the way his eyes resolutely remained on the laminated floor.
“Okay?” he asked him.
Ianto nodded, raising his head to look at Jack stood before him and towering. He held Jack's gaze as he ran his fingers down the opening in the dressing gown, undid the belt and then pulled it slowly apart to reveal his body. He let it slide down his arms until he was no longer wearing it, just sitting on it. “Am I okay?” he asked.
Jack sank to his knees, drinking him in with hungry eyes. “You're perfect.”
“I'm sorry about the … Well, I am naked and you're staring at me like that and-”
“I want you to be hard,” Jack breathed, and he leaned into Ianto's neck, inhaling deeply and kissing and nipping gently. Ianto's pulse was thudding fast beneath his lips and Jack knew his blood was no longer prioritising his brain as both their cocks began to grow. “Lie back,” Jack whispered into Ianto's ear. Ianto nodded, and leaned back, allowing Jack to pull the dressing gown out from beneath him. Jack crouched by the foot of the bed, the shot he needed forming in his mind and the perspective was perfect.
“Relax,” Jack coaxed gently. He reached out to move Ianto's cock better into shot, and Ianto moaned gently. “It's called posing, but you don't need to pose at all, Ianto. Just look at me, look at me and pretend I don't have the camera. Look at me like you would then.”
Jack snapped a couple of pictures, then gave in and crawled up the bed to lie beside Ianto. He pressed their mouths together passionately, forgetting about his camera for a moment, feeling Ianto's fingers curling into his t-shirt.
“You're tense,” Jack observed, his hands running over the taught muscles of Ianto's shoulders.
“Just a bit shy,” Ianto admitted, his eyes darting to the abandoned camera by the pillows.
“Would it be easier for you if I were naked, too?”
Ianto nodded, lying back to watch as Jack knelt up and pulled off his t-shirt then his socks, jeans and underwear. He lay on top of Ianto, pressing them together and pulling Ianto's legs around him. Jack felt hands in his hair as they kissed some more, running his own hands down Ianto's thighs and back up to his buttocks. The chill of Ianto's heels on his lower back made him shiver in delight, before he hesitated in disappointment as Ianto pushed his shoulders away gently.
“You're supposed to be taking pictures,” he reminded him.
Jack nodded. “Just … erm … We're setting up the shot,” he grinned, then dropped his head to press one more kiss to Ianto's lips.
Willing is breath to come back, Jack reached again for his camera, wound on the film and swallowed. He stared at it a moment, then glanced up at Ianto. “I don't know where to start,” he admitted.
Ianto scratched his head. “A portrait?” Ianto suggested. “A head shot?”
Jack nodded. “Okay … What do you suggest?”
“Point and click?”
Chuckling, Jack sidled closer and kissed his mouth, pushing him gently to lie back. He straddled Ianto's hips, raising his camera. “Pretend the camera's not there,” he repeated.
“That's not easy.”
“You'll get used to it, I promise,” Jack assured him, rearranging the covers and pillows around Ianto's head.
Ianto squeezed his eyes shut. “What if the gallery don't like this set of photos, either?”
“Then we can keep them for us,” Jack shrugged. “In fact … We should take some especially for us …”
Ianto rolled his eyes and Jack snapped a photo. “Heyy,” Ianto complained. “I wasn't ready!”
They stuck mainly to the bed, Jack capturing images of what seemed like every inch of Ianto's body. The effort that went into keeping Ianto's excitement maintained was beginning to drive them both insane until Jack got half way through their third roll of film and set the camera aside. “I have to fuck you,” he panted.
“Finally,” Ianto breathed.
They wrapped themselves around each other, rolling and writhing on the bed, tangling in the covers, kissing, biting, licking and scratching whichever bit of each other was presented. Jack fumbled blindly in his bedside drawer before yanking it out completely, breaking away from Ianto and hurriedly sifting through the mess on the floor.
He found what he needed, and Ianto rolled over onto his stomach. He gasped and groaned as Jack gently forced a wet finger inside him, listening to Ianto hissing through his teeth and watching his hips pressing down repeatedly into the bed, desperate for friction. He pushed up against Jack's finger, so Jack withdrew, added a little more gel to his fingers and gently worked two into him.
Ianto whimpered in a rather unmanly way, and Jack chuckled, feeling the thrum of Ianto's body as he finally pushed three fingers inside him and stretched him out properly.
“Oh God, Jack,” Ianto gasped. “Oh God … I'm gonna …”
Jack pulled his fingers out as quickly as he could, and Ianto whined in frustration. He rolled onto his back and pulled Jack down on top of him by the back of his neck, clumsily kissing him. Jack pushed the foil condom packet into his hand, and watched as Ianto used his teeth to rip it open. His long, pale fingers removed the condom, and carefully felt their way down to Jack's cock.
“Oof,” Jack grunted appreciatively. “Cold.”
Ianto rolled it on, and Jack wasted no time lining himself up, ready to enter him. He hesitated and swallowed. “Ready?”
Ianto nodded. “Go on.”
Jack pushed himself forward, and Ianto gritted his teeth and tensed. Jack paused, nuzzling against Ianto's ear. “Relax,” he murmured, kissing the lobe. “It's all good. Relax.”
He slid inside the rest of the way easily, and he bit back a long groan. He slowly began to gyrate his hips, feeling the chill of Ianto's heels pressing into his lower back and coaxing him in deeper, asking him to go faster.
Sweat broke out over their skin, and Jack could feel his heart hammering louder than it ever had before in his life as it tried to keep oxygen flowing around his body, making sure Jack wouldn't have to stop.
Ianto leaned up and kissed his mouth, wrapping his arms around Jack's shoulders. Jack pressed their foreheads together as they kissed and kissed, clinging onto Ianto's thighs as he began to rock both of their bodies faster, Ianto moving with him, tightening his muscles rhythmically and making Jack see stars.
With a bitten-back moan, Ianto's body tensed below him and Jack watched him come while holding his breath, hardly daring to breathe in case he took away from Ianto's moment. Ianto himself came back down with a gasp for air, his nails digging into the back of Jack's shoulders painfully. They shared a small smile, and Jack began moving again.
It only took a moment or so, and Jack followed Ianto over the edge. He collapsed on top of him, his head buried in Ianto's neck and breathing deeply. He rolled off, panting as he lay on his back. After a moment or so, he reached for his camera, snapped a couple of shots of Ianto in oblivious post-coital bliss and set it back down again. He pulled Ianto close, tucked his head under Ianto's arm, rested his head on his chest and closed his eyes.
They didn't need to say anything to each other.
Contentedly, they fell asleep.
~*~*~*~
They spent the next fortnight experimenting with their new dynamic as a model and photographer. Ianto got used to being naked around Jack and his camera pretty quickly, as Jack had promised, and Jack had gotten used to being constantly naked around Ianto, too. They hardly bothered to wear clothes any more unless they left Jack's loft.
Ianto walked through the door to Jack's home and set the shopping bags on the kitchen counter. He took the prints he'd managed to do the night before and smuggle out of the lab from his inside coat pocket as he felt Jack pressing up against his back.
“You did it?”
“Yep,” nodded Ianto.
Jack took the pictures and started laying them out on the coffee table. “What did you think of them?”
“I think I look awful.”
Jack blinked. “You look gorgeous - look at your skin there! And your eyes! The black and white was a good idea. It brings out your light perfectly.”
Ianto's cheeks coloured. “I'm all pale and … I look … I dunno,” he shrugged.
Jack ignored him, searching through the pictures and locating the obvious 'no's and tossing them aside. “What happened here?” Jack frowned.
“I assumed you'd gotten come on the camera again,” Ianto replied amusedly. “Beer?”
He joined Jack by the coffee table with two bottles, handing one over. Jack accepted it and took a long swig. “The colour ones came out great, too. You're so cute here,” he grinned, pointing to one of Ianto stood by the memorial in Cathays Park in the rain.
“I was cold, I was wet, and I was nearly crying because I wanted a pasty. How is that cute?”
“You're a more self-deprecating artiste than I am,” Jack replied amusedly. “I think I should have full control over which pieces are submitted for the show set.”
“Aww, but-”
“No, no, no. Never let the subject choose. Golden rule.”
“Written by whom?”
“Me.”
“And voted into officiation by whom?”
“Me.”
“And?”
“Me.”
Ianto sighed. “Fine, it's your exhibition I suppose. You have full control. Just … don't pick the ones where I look fat, okay?”
“If I come across one, I'm sure I'll leave it out.”
Ianto sighed again. Jack realised that clearly, Ianto thought he looked fat in all of them. Jack mimicked his sigh, then sipped his beer. “Wanna have sex?”
Ianto was already shirking his coat. “Thought you'd never ask …”
~*~*~*~
“So … John and I met in Singapore,” Jack began awkwardly.
Ianto and John narrowed their eyes at each other over the booth's table.
“John's a painter. Graphic nudity, mainly, and sometimes gore and torture. We hate each other's work.”
John smirked. “I'm more into raw realism,” he said. “I show the world as it is.”
“Whereas I show the world as I actually see it.”
“Oh, Jack,” John said, clicking his tongue. “Take that rose-tinted filter off of your camera for a minute and stop daydreaming.”
Ianto cleared his throat. “You do realise that 'off of' is so painfully incorrect, it actually hurts my ears to hear it?” he scowled.
“Oh, get off of your high horse,” replied John with an eye-roll.
“It's not hard to be perceived as on a high horse when faced with someone so simple,” Ianto retorted.
Jack was beginning to think that introducing Ianto and John might have been a bad idea. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Now, now,” he tried. “Can't you at least try to get along?”
“He uses extraneous prepositions!” Ianto argued.
“Hey, hey!” John interrupted. “It's not my fault we can't all have private educations,” he scowled.
“I didn't have a private education,” Ianto smugly replied. “I just actually paid attention while I was in my low-budget state school. What were you doing? Eating glue and using your ruler to saw welts into the edges of the desk?”
John's mouth pressed into a thin line.
That wasn't far off the mark to what he'd been doing, actually.
Ianto sensed John's hesitation and folded her arms. “I rest my case.”
John glowered at him a second, then turned to Jack. “I don't like him.”
“I don't like him,” Ianto snapped.
Jack rolled his eyes. “No shit, Sherlock.”
John shrugged. “Elementary, Dr. Watson.”
Ianto tutted loudly. “Holmes never actually said that, y'know.”
Jack slapped his forehead with his hand. “Right - if you two don't start making an effort, we're leaving.”
There was a moment's silence around the table. Ianto and John stared each other out a moment.
Ianto won.
“I'll get my coat then, shall I?” he suggested, getting to his feet.
Jack glowered at John, giving him a death glare, then followed Ianto over to the coat rack and out of the pub.
~*~*~*~
“Right,” Jack breathed. “I think these are the ones.”
Ianto looked down at the five pictures Jack placed before him. He nodded his approval, if a little reluctantly.
“You don't think these are right?” Jack asked worriedly.
“Only for petty personal reasons,” Ianto assured him. “If it wasn't me naked in them, I'd probably be fanboying over them right now.”
“I'm fanboying over the real thing,” Jack grinned, sliding an arm around his waist to kiss his cheek. “Okay … I have the prints, I have my original cells. Are you sure you can get the screen prints without your Dad seeing?”
Ianto's father had come around to the idea of Ianto being with Jack now that it appeared Jack might be staying longer - and that if he did leave, the offer was open for Ianto to go with him rather than be left behind as just another lover. However, they hadn't quite broken to him the more adult nature of some of their photoshoots, and Ianto wanted to prolong it as long as possible.
“Erm … Ianto?”
“Yeah?”
Jack drew a shaky breath. “Can I ask a favour?”
“Depends on what the favour is.”
“Can I borrow one of your suits for the meeting? I felt rather underdressed last time.”
“No, you can't,” Ianto replied, shaking his head. “You should go as yourself, Jack. That's who they're after.”
Jack pouted, but conceded the point. “Okay,” he agreed. “I'm getting nervous already,” he admitted, looking through the prints again.
“I've been nervous for the last fortnight,” Ianto smiled. “One more night, and it'll either all be over or all just beginning. Well … for me and my career as muse and model, anyway.”
“You'll always be my muse and model,” Jack promised.
Ianto raised an eyebrow. “Always? I doubt that.”
“I told you I can't take good pictures of people. If I don't have you to photograph, all I have left is the rest of the planet. I'll be back to my hundreds of pictures with no people in it, just waiting until I come back to Cardiff to entertain you again. Unless, of course … you come with me?”
Ianto shook his head again. “I can't.”
“You can.”
“I won't.”
Jack just shut up. He sat down heavily and tugged Ianto's hand to make him sit next to him. “I'll take you for dinner tonight,” he promised. “Somewhere swank.”
“Can't we just order pizza or chicken or something?”
Jack shrugged. “Works for me. Can we eat it naked?”
“I thought we learned from that last time?” Ianto asked amusedly.
With a chuckle, Jack recalled the memory. “You're right,” he nodded. “Bad idea.”
After a small amount of bickering over pizza toppings before deciding on a half and half, they finally relaxed, took deep breaths and waited for the next day to finally come.
~*~*~*~
Jack was sat outside that room again, waiting for the committee to make a decision. The nerves bubbled up inside him and gave him far too much energy, and the woman sat behind the desk at the far end of the corridor kept giving him dirty looks in response to his rhythmically tapping fingers and feet.
Finally, Jack was called back in again.
He lowered himself into the plastic chair, preparing himself for what Ms. Hardman's answer might be.
“Mr. Harkness,” she began, and Jack hoped it really was lightness he sensed in her tone. “I have to say, these really are vastly different to the tone of your previous collection. Perhaps you could explain what you were trying to achieve with …” She picked out a random one. “… this one?”
Jack swallowed. “I can't remember any more,” he admitted. “I can remember the moment it was taken, but whatever was in my head at the time … I wasn't thinking about what the shot would look like. I was just thinking about the moment I actually took it.”
Ms. Hardman nodded, and so did a couple of others.
“What's the story behind this one?” she asked, pushing forward the picture of Ianto by the Cathays Memorial.
“It was just an ordinary day,” Jack shrugged. “It was dull and grey. Then Ianto got all excited about something, despite the rain, and ran off ahead. He looked back at me, and I snapped the shot. The picture came out so much brighter than its twin - the one without him in it. I must hold the camera differently when I point it at him - the light seems to bounce from the rain, the sun seems to seep into the picture just that little bit brighter.”
Again, Ms. Hardman only nodded. “Why did you choose to do the nude pieces in black and white?” she asked. “Everything else you've ever presented to us has been colour.”
“Cardiff is grey,” explained Jack. “People assume that grey things are boring. I used the black and white film to show that in grayscale, light is more pronounced, and if you can see that light in the right way you don't need colour to see something as bright, or as beautiful, or as boring. The images are black and white because it shows how his pale, white skin really glows. It shows the sharp angles of his face and the dips and planes of his body through the deep shadows and brilliant highlights that are only possible to capture in black and white.”
Ms. Hardman repeated her nodding gesture. “Well,” she said with an air of finality. “I think we've seen enough.”
Jack held his breath, his head spinning. He'd never wanted to be featured in an exhibition so much in his entire life.
“I think we can definitely find space for you collection in the Christmas Exhibition,” she smiled. “We've got you some papers all drawn up and ready, and also details of our requirements for space, scale and curation. You'll be required to have your large-scale prints ready for hanging by next Friday, ready for the Saturday night opening. A cheque will be made out in your name at the front desk once you present your signed consent forms to the admin desk.”
Jack grinned at her like a loon, springing to his feet. “Thank you so, so much,” he babbled. “I mean really - this means so much to me. Really, really means so much. I can't believe it - you're all brilliant, all of you …”
He managed to hug them all before finally signing the consent forms and taking his copy and the exhibition guidelines. He was practically skipping to the front desk, slapping his forms down proudly as the receptionist went to fetch a supervisor to finalise the gallery's payment. Jack's eyes weren't bugging out of his head at the relatively small amount the gallery were paying him to display his work, but he didn't care. He was walking on air.
Deciding a celebration was in order, he quickly phoned Ianto to tell him the news.
~*~*~*~
Jack fidgeted, tugging at his collar. This time, he'd insisted on wearing one of Ianto's suits, and once he'd been talked around the idea Ianto had become very particular with how Jack was going to wear it.
“Stop messing,” Ianto muttered into Jack's ear as they climbed the stairs to where the exhibition was being held, his hand tucked under Jack's arm.
“I can't help it. I'm trapped in a noose, here,” Jack muttered back. He sensed Ianto's eye-roll as they approached the gallery, and Ms. Hardman appeared before them.
“Ah! Jack!” she smiled. “And this must be Ianto?”
Ianto nodded, offering out his hand for her to shake. Jack could sense her eyes examining him like they had his photographs, comparing the figure shown in them to the man stood before her. He wondered what she saw when she looked at Ianto's physical self compared to how Jack had shown him to her in the photographs.
She led them into the gallery, and they glanced over the other works on display.
“Wow,” Ianto murmured under his breath. “Look at some of these …”
Jack pouted. “My prints are bigger,” he said, petulant.
Ianto chuckled. “It's not the size that counts.”
“You have the means to say that,” winked Jack.
“Shush!” Ianto chastised.
“What? It's on the wall over there, if anybody wants to compare …”
Ianto sighed, then changed the subject. “Do you know any of these people?” he asked.
Jack had a quick look around. “A few. Some of them are critics, others are dealers. The rest I'm not too sure about. I haven't had an exhibition in a very, very long time.”
Ianto nodded as they slowly gravitated to the corner where Jack's photographs were hanging, ominously alone. Ianto could barely look at them, his cheeks colouring. “I can't believe I let you do this,” he groaned. “You didn't even get me drunk first.” He'd admitted to Jack the night before wasn't too sure he wanted the pictures displayed any more. It had taken Jack a while, but eventually they got there.
“Nobody's coming to look at them,” Jack observed, worriedly.
“That's bad?” Ianto asked, then gave him a playful nudge with his elbow. “They're probably just working their way down from January. The party only started two minutes ago. They need to stand and stare and 'hmmm' at eleven other months' worth of pieces before they get to yours.”
“You're right, I hope,” Jack nodded. “Shall we find champagne?”
“I'll need Dutch courage before my Dad gets here,” Ianto agreed. “And maybe one or two mini-cheesecakes ...”
Fifteen minutes later, Ianto was stood opposite the June artist's pieces, frowning thoughtfully as he stared at a felt tip drawing of a rather childish tree with a mini chocolate cheesecake delicately perched between his fingers.
Jack appeared at his side, taking a break from mingling. “You like this?” he asked.
Ianto's frown deepened. “I don't get it,” he said. “I could have done that. Why's it in a gallery?”
“Whether or not the observer would have been able to do it themselves isn't the point,” Jack tutted. “It's whether or not they would have thought to do it themselves.”
Ianto tilted his head to the side thoughtfully. “Hmmm,” he nodded.
“C'mon,” Jack chuckled, tugging him away. “I want you to meet my new friends …”
The gallery slowly filled up with all sorts of people - even Gwen responded to Jack's invitation and came to have a look. “Never knew you had it in you,” Gwen told Ianto, standing before the set of pictures.
Jack smirked. “In that one, he didn't have anything in him.”
Ianto whacked his arm. “Jack!” He glared at him, then turned to peer around the rest of the gallery. “My Dad's not here yet,” he said, relieved. “I'm dreading it.”
“You invited his Dad?” Gwen asked.
“He insisted on coming - and Jack wouldn't say 'no',” scowled Ianto, resting a hand on Jack's shoulder to help him balance as he got up on his tip toes. “He should be here by now. Maybe he couldn't find anywhere to park and gave up …”
“C'mon,” Jack said, guiding Ianto away from his section of the gallery. “Let's find rich people to sweet-talk into buying limited edition prints.”
Ianto groaned. “Jack …”
“We could even sign them,” he grinned.
Ianto took another flute of champagne from a passing waiter, sipping it. “Can we just get this all over and done with?”
“This is our first show together,” Jack sulked. “We should stay until the last guest leaves.”
“What if the last guest is waiting for the last guests to leave and we wind up in a stalemate and trapped in this room forever?” Ianto asked worriedly.
“I think you've had enough champagne,” Jack decided. “How many is that?”
“This is my fourth, I think.”
“Knew I'd have to keep an eye on you,” Jack smiled. “That's your last one, okay? I'm not carrying you home.”
Ianto made an affirmative sound as he plucked another cheesecake from another passing waiter. Jack soon found himself absorbed in conversation about another artist's work, and Ianto stood at his side quietly, listening. They drifted through the event together, Jack answering all sorts of questions about his artwork that Ianto didn't even consider. He blushed a little when Jack returned to their little section with a rich-looking old man in a cravat who was perfectly happy to closely examine the prints of Ianto's naked self before moving to the fully-clothed outdoor ones.
Jack really did seem to talk about light and glow a lot, and eventually Ianto phased out, nodding in agreement whenever it seemed necessary. After nearly three hours on his feet, mingling through the crowd and feeling sick with too much cheesecake, he finally asked Jack if they could go home.
“All right,” Jack conceded. “Maybe we can check on your Dad on the way. Find out what happened.”
Ianto nodded, tucking his hand under Jack's arm. “So … when you say 'we' go 'home', you mean 'us' in your loft, do you?”
“Oh shush, you,” Jack pouted. “You gotta admit, though: the moment you finish work you're 'round at mine until you need to be at work again …”
“And I have a drawer.”
“You do,” Jack agreed, then sighed. “This is new for me - you know that?”
“New? I thought you'd done a couple of exhibitions before?”
“No … I mean … The drawer … the 'us' home thing.”
“Me too,” Ianto shrugged. “And it's not like I've moved in. We've been together a few months, and we're guys. Our libido is too strong for us to be separate for too long.”
Jack nodded seriously. “That's why you should come with me.”
Ianto tutted loudly. “I told you, Jack: I won't leave my father - and most certainly not for a fling.”
Jack tutted back at him, skimming the crowd to find Ms. Hardman to say goodbye. In the end he gave up and he and Ianto booked a taxi and headed outside to wait for it.
“Chilly,” Ianto complained, rubbing his arms.
“Damn Cardiff,” Jack agreed.
“Could be worse,” Ianto assured him. “At least it's stopped snowing.”
“Don't jinx it,” Jack warned him. Headlights appeared at the end of the road, slowing to a stop by the gallery entrance. They climbed into their taxi.
“You heading straight to mine?” Jack asked Ianto.
“May as well. I'll ring my Dad from there in the morning. Knowing him he probably just forgot it was tonight and had his feet up watching G.O.L.D before having an early night.”
Jack laughed, and gave his address to the driver.
They appreciatively shirked their coats as they entered Jack's warm studio loft, and Ianto yawned widely. “I want to make an outlandish suggestion,” he began.
“Go on?” Jack prompted.
“How about we go to bed … and actually sleep?”
“I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that. It's a little out of my comfort zone.”
Ianto grinned sleepily, but Jack conceded his point. They both stripped down to their underwear and crawled under the covers.
“Thanks for everything,” Jack murmured as Ianto snuggled against his back.
“I'm already regretting it,” Ianto muttered back, his eyes drifting shut.
Jack closed his eyes, too, and very soon they were both comfortably fast asleep.
~*~*~*~
The exceptionally loud hammering on the door was confusing for Jack. He cracked an eye open, squinting in the early morning sunlight. Assuming it was John, for it was he it was the most likely option to be, Jack didn't bother dressing after disentangling himself from a still thoroughly unconscious Ianto Jones and heading to the door.
His eyes were still pretty screwed up when he opened the door, and he stared at the young dark-haired woman stood there in confusion.
“Is Ianto here?” she asked.
“Huh? Yeah … Erm … Who are you?”
“I'm Rhiannon.”
“Rhiannon?”
“His sister.”
Jack didn't quite recall the mention of a sister. He turned slightly back into his studio. “Ianto!” he called. “Ianto - your sister's here.”
There was a muffled and rather surprised sound from the bed, and wrapping himself in the duvet Ianto dragged himself over to the door. “Rhi?” he frowned, eyes half shut against the light and full of sleep.
“Ianto,” she said, her voice flat. “Ianto … I think you need to sit down.”
“I need to go back to fucking sleep,” he scowled. “What do you want?”
“Ianto,” Rhiannon growled, warning in her tone.
“Okay, okay,” he grumbled, and retreated to the sofa and sat down. Jack moved aside to let Rhiannon in and she cast her eye over the place.
“Not exactly family friendly, is it?”
“It's a studio, Rhi. You're not supposed to move your family in.”
“Looks like a shag pad,” she replied disdainfully.
Jack grinned to himself. A glare from Ianto told him to keep his mouth shut.
Wishing he was dressed, Ianto beckoned Rhiannon to sit with him. She did so, letting out a heavy sigh. “Ianto … I have bad news …”
“You're pregnant again?” he guessed.
“No.”
“Oh … What is it?”
Rhiannon took another deep breath and sniffed quietly. Ianto sensed her distress, leaning forward to offer the corner of his duvet cover for her to wipe her now streaming eyes.
“I had a call from the police this morning,” she managed. “Ianto … Ianto …” She gathered her resolve. “It's Dad.”
~*~*~*~
“I've been telling him to get his tyres changed for weeks,” Ianto said despondently. “I should have just done it myself.”
Jack put his arm around him and squeezed comfortingly. “It's not your fault. It was black ice - the car would have … er … It would have happened.”
The snow fell thickly into the grave, and Ianto bit his lip so hard it bled a little. “What am I supposed to do?” he asked.
“I'm sure your sister will let you have the shop.”
“He left it to her. She won't let go. She wants to turn it into a nail bar.”
“What did he leave for you?”
“Just money - but I wanted the shop. I deserved the shop.”
“I should pay you for posing for me,” Jack suggested. “It'll help get you a shop of your own.”
“I can't take your money, Jack.”
“It's valid payment for valid employment.”
Ianto turned away from the grave, and Jack followed him with the large umbrella. “I need to take a picture,” he muttered.
It was an urge that Ianto had gotten used to automatically fulfilling. He paid no attention to the camera as he tried to look past it to Jack, and once it was lowered he hugged him tightly. “I thought he'd leave me the shop,” he sniffed. “He said he'd leave me the shop. Why did he change his Will? Why?”
“When did he change it?”
“Just over a month ago, according to the solicitor. Only just made it past the twenty-eight day validation period.”
Jack's phone interrupted them, and while Ianto composed himself he answered it.
“Harkness,” he said, glad whomever it was hadn't rung only fifteen minutes ago. He made some affirmative sounds to the person on the other end of the line, then tried to draw the conversation to a close. “That's excellent - yes, I'll pick it up later. Okay. Goodbye.” He hung up. “We sold prints of the black and white photos,” he told Ianto.
Ianto nodded. “Good … Good … How much for?” He was flushed slightly - whether with embarrassment or the cold, Jack couldn't quite tell.
“Asking price,” Jack smiled. “Two and a half grand a piece with the promise they will be signed, supplied with a certificate of authenticity and won't be reproduced on anything larger than a post card.”
“That's good news,” Ianto nodded, and they continued heading toward the black car waiting for them. “So … you'll be moving on soon?”
“In the next couple of days, probably.”
Ianto nodded again. “Know where you're going?”
“No idea,” Jack shrugged. “I figured this time I'd just take the next international flight out of this place.”
“Exciting.”
With a grin, Jack held open the door of the car for him. “Y'know,” he tried. “You could come with me.”
Ianto hesitated, and his brow furrowed. He hugged himself slightly. “I can't,” he said quietly, settled in his seat. Jack climbed in beside him.
“Why?” he asked, trying not to sound sulky or as if he was pressuring Ianto too much.
“I'm not ready to leave Cardiff yet.” He stared past Jack out of the window, his eyes seeking out where his father now lay.
Jack squeezed his knee. “Ianto,” he said gently. “I think you and I both know you've been ready to leave Cardiff for a long time.”
Ianto sniffed, and a few tears began to escape before he could hurriedly wipe them away. “He's my Dad,” he managed through a wracking sob. “My Dad …”
~*~*~*~
“I wanna be on the next international flight outta here,” Jack grinned at the checking-in clerk. She smiled sweetly back at him.
“One moment, please, sir.” She began typing at her computer, and Jack bounced from foot to foot, wondering where he was heading next. The clerk stopped her typing and plastered her sweet smile back on. “Our next departing flight that you are in time to check in for is the two o clock to McCarran International Airport.”
Jack was grinning from ear to ear. “All riiiiiight,” he practically cheered. “Las Vegas, here I come.”
“Would you like me to book you a seat?”
“Yep.”
“And when would Sir like to return?”
“Sir wouldn't.”
“Understandable. First class?”
“All the way.”
She began her typing, not looking up as she requested his valid passport. He passed it to her, she checked it, and then took his card. The transaction went smoothly, and Jack accepted his tickets and boarding card eagerly before checking in his bag. He turned away from the check in desk and took a moment to look around Maes Awyr Caerdydd departures entrance one last time.
Still no sign of Ianto.
Jack had woken up alone that morning, and he couldn't find Ianto anywhere in the places he knew to look. He figured that if Ianto didn't want to be found, he probably wouldn't be - and most definitely not by a foreigner American who had gotten himself lost on a straight road.
With a regretful sigh, Jack hoisted his rucksack onto his back and headed toward the departures duty free. He browsed for a bit, not really looking at anything in particular and just trying to pass the time until he was called to his gate. He perused the stereotypically Welsh memorabilia, and in the end bought a shot glass with the Welsh flag transferred onto it and a black necklace with a little pewter dragon pendant.
He then went back and bought a cuddly stuffed dragon, and he named him 'Neville'.
Jack heard his gate called, and bit his lip. His heart leapt to his throat, and he stood on one of the waiting area seats to scan the crowd.
No Ianto.
Jack decided to wait a bit longer, even though the sinking feeling in his stomach told him he was out of luck; Ianto said he wasn't coming, and Ianto stuck to his word.
He waited a bit longer, and a bit longer, until the cabin steward had to come and ask him personally to come and board the plane.
Jack swallowed, and agreed.
Sagging into his seat, Jack put his head in his hands. What was the point? He glanced at the empty aisle seat next to him, and felt even lonelier.
What was he doing?
Cardiff hadn't been choking him, Jack admitted to himself. Fear had. Fear that he might actually settle, that he might actually have found someone who he could give up his unpredictable and slightly crazy and juvenile life for.
And Ianto needed him.
Ianto was depressed. He was grief-stricken, and Ianto needed Jack to help him through it.
But Jack, as usual, had been too busy trying to get out and away.
“Excuse me,” Jack called to the stewardess. “I need to get off this plane.”
“I'm sorry sir, we've already begun the journey toward the runway.”
“It's an emergency.”
“Are you ill?”
“No … I … Erm …”
“I'm sorry, sir. If you could please fasten your seatbelt, we'll be taking off in around three minutes.” She narrowed her eyes at the empty seat beside him, then headed back up the aisle and left Jack to it.
Jack bit his lip. He stood up. “This plane can't take off!” he shouted, and a mutter went around the passengers as they all suddenly paid attention. “We can't take off,” Jack repeated. “There are no phalanges on this plane!”
There was a ripple of laughter from the other passengers, and one of them yelled. “Siddown, mate! We're going to Vegas!”
Jack slumped back into his seat, wondering how much trouble he'd get into if he told them he had a bomb. He heard footsteps approaching quickly down the aisle behind him, and wondered if the stewardess had come to let him off. Turning his head, he opened his mouth, then felt it go slack in shock.
Ianto grinned at him. “Sorry - I was in the loo. Then I heard some idiot shouting about there not being a single phalanx on the plane.” He sat himself down in the seat beside Jack and strapped himself in.
“You … You're … You … How?”
Ianto gripped his arm rests as the engines began to rumble. “I was about ten minutes behind you.”
“You never said anything!”
“It was funny watching you. Though … I was starting to think you wouldn't get on the plane.”
Jack laughed, a slightly hysterical sound, but he was still delighted. “What made you change your mind?”
“I figured Dad changed his Will once he realised you'd take me with you - and that really, I wanted to go,” he explained. “He gave Rhiannon the shop so that one day I'd take the plunge and hop on the next international flight out of Cardiff Airport. My ears hurt.”
“Yawn,” Jack instructed, then yawned himself. The contagion caught, and soon the whole plane was appreciatively yawning.
“So … What are we gonna do in Vegas?” Ianto asked.
Jack shrugged. “Whatever takes our fancy. I made an American-based contact at the gallery opening who says he might be interested in me doing some commissioned work.”
Ianto nodded. “Cool.”
Jack grinned. “Cool.”
“Jack?”
“Yeah?”
Ianto swallowed heavily as the plane straightened out. “I … uh …” He stared at Jack a second, and Jack's face softened slightly.
“Yes, Ianto?” he coaxed.
“Jack … I … I …”
He took a deep breath, then relaxed back into his chair.
“Jack,” he announced bravely. “I think 'Neville' is a stupid name for a dragon.”
Jack barked out a laugh, and Ianto sighed with relief that the awkward moment was gone.
Jack, however, wasn't letting it go just yet.
“Ianto?”
“Yes, Jack?” Ianto asked, accepting a complimentary pack of peanuts and popping one into his mouth.
“What will we name our children?” Jack asked innocently.
Ianto spluttered, choked, flushed bright red, still spluttering.
Jack sat back into his seat and smiled to himself.
He realised that just because his heart settled, did mean he had to.
Besides, he was all for new experiences and adventures - maybe having Ianto around would make them all actually worthwhile.
Jack couldn't help but sit there, grinning like a lunatic.
He loved Ianto to bits, and relaxing back into his chair, listening to Ianto's babbling, Jack decided he would some day find the perfect way to show it.
The End
Be honest - did anybody yawn when I started talking about yawning?
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