You remind me I live in a
shell
Safe from the past and doin'
okay but not very well
No jolts, no surprises, no
crisis arises
My life goes along as it
should
It's all very nice, but not
very good
And I'm ready to take a chance
again
Ready to put my love on the
line with you
Been livin' with nothing to
show for it
You get what you get when you
go for it
And I'm ready to take a chance
again with you
-
Ready to Take a Chance Again, as sung by
Barry Manilow
Ianto’s flat was
exactly as Jack had imagined, or is the word dreamed. Slightly winding slightly dingy white walls
and badly carpeted steps abruptly led to an immaculately painted door that
opened to the smell of hardwood floors and sandalwood. It was a nerd boy’s Shangri-La. It was open-spaced, living room to the right
and dining room to the near left.
“I’ll take your
coat,” Ianto said as he showed Jack a felt-covered hanger. “You can leave your shoes on the mat.” Jack nodded – just like Ianto.
The furniture was
comfortable but spare – a three-person beige couch and two matching lounge
chairs. The book Ianto was reading
before this misadventure started lay on a cedar coffee table, a green bookmark
neatly poking out like a lonely dick at a 6th-grade dance party. Once Jack had his shoes off he walked towards
the dining room table wrapped against the nearby wall. The table was heavy, tinted glass that
matched the cabinet cut out which served as a wet bar. Jack stopped at the bottle of Laphroaig. It always fascinated Jack how the crew spent
their enormous Torchwood salary. Gwen
and Reese were “saving for that dream house”; Tosh supported various family
members; for Suzie, it was designer clothes and shoes; while Owen had every
medical gadget known to man. And now
Ianto – creating a persona of an English gentleman. He would correct me and say he was a Welsh
gentleman. “Sorry,” Jack said
looking at the Glenlivet, “I didn’t know you were such a connoisseur.”
“Ah, yeah,” Ianto
replied. “I think we’ve both had enough
to drink. How about I put the kettle
on?”
Jack chuckled,
“Sure! And a bit of seltzer, please? I’d
hate to vomit all over your nice furniture!”
Ianto scurried into the kitchen, pushing aside the swinging wooden half
doors. Jack smiled watching the young
man move which reminded him that he always liked how blue jeans made asses look
yummy. “Can we sit at the table?” he
called out to Ianto.
“Sure,” Ianto said
tentatively. As he retrieved two cups
from his white cabinets, Ianto wondered, in a slightly drunken haze, Is this
how he seduces people? Sitting at
the table drinking British tea? “Do
you . . .?” He stopped himself as he was
a dutiful manservant and already knew what Jack liked in his tea – black with a
bit of honey, just like his heart. The
kettle’s whistle brought him out of a haze and he was reoriented to the task at
hand. He prepared the tea on a tray then
thought to add a snack and added a plate of brie and crackers. When he came out, Jack was sitting at the
table and had already started on his scotch.
“I never drink tea
alone,” Jack grinned. “Please,” he
pointed to the seat across from him, “We should talk . . . need to negotiate
terms, consent if you will.”
Ianto sat down as
instructed. “I see you don’t dally . . .
come right out with it.” It wasn’t like
he hadn’t anticipated this . . . that things would go here. And his loneliness and nearly uncontrollable
intrigue with Captain Jack Harkness led him to conclude that deep down he wanted
to have sex with this man . . . right now, right here, ah shit. “Since sleeping with you is a fait accompli,”
he said with a firm tone he wasn’t certain was his voice, “I want to make
something clear.” He took a sip and
straightened his back, “I am not experienced, by anyone’s measure. More importantly, I’ve never . . . never
slept with a man.”
“It’s not much
difference,” Jack dismissed, taking a large gulp of the hot liquid. “Lots of kissing . . . lots and lots of
kissing . . . I like that part . . . like it a lot. Did I ever tell you about that Alturnian I
made out with that one time when I was doing an investigation in
Inverness? Nearly froze the top of my
dick but what a lovely . . .”
“Yes sir,” Ianto
interrupted, “your prowess is known throughout the galaxies.”
Jack stopped
smiling and gave him an irritated look.
“Ianto, when are going to stop calling me ‘sir’ when you know your
status in this relationship? I mean
really?” Jack took another sip, of the scotch this time. He needed liquid courage if he was going to
get this outright, “where some people are control freaks, you’re an aficionado.
You are no sub, baby.”
Ianto’s face was
flush and hot, but he pushed on. “What
does that mean? I am talking about . . .
being present for you . . . I don’t know how to . . . ah, how to . . . how to
pleasure you.”
Ianto’s blush
returned Jack’s smile which made Ianto shift in his seat. “What do you want to do?”
Ianto thought for
a moment. “Watch you cum.”
It was Jack’s turn
to blush. “Brazen hussy! Who knew that inside that suit was a heathen
in training!” They both laughed and when
that died down everything got uncomfortable again. The inside of an empty teacup was never so
interesting. Jack’s voice was a whisper,
“Ianto, I’d never hurt you, sexually or otherwise.”
“You damn right
you won’t, Jack Harkness!” came Felix’s voice seemingly from out of
nowhere. Ianto wasn’t certain if his pet
had just saved him from the worst mistake of his life or if this moment was
part of some inescapable destiny.
Ianto Jones
decided all this psychobabble rat wheel thinking wasn’t getting him laid.
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