Jack Harkness had once promised himself he'd never fall in love again and although he'd come close a few times... closer than had been safe a few times, he'd kept his promise... and then Ianto Jones walked into his life.
Ianto who was quiet and unassuming on the exterior, but had hidden depths, perhaps as deep as Jack's own. Ianto who flirted with him, teased him, in his own quiet way. Ianto who had blamed Jack for Lisa's death, but ultimately, forgave him, even if it would never be forgotten. Ianto who kissed him like he was both a blessing and a curse... and Jack reflected wryly, he was.
It wasn't hard to be with Ianto. To invite Ianto down stairs at the end of a long day, to kiss him, to run his fingers through soft hair, to touch him and taste him and slid deep into him until there was nothing left but a writhing mass of flesh and pleas for more. It was in fact, remarkably easy... the problem was, it was becoming hard *not* to be with Ianto.
The problem was when Ianto wasn't there, Jack would lay awake at night, remembering the texture of Ianto's flesh under his fingers, the little sound he made just as his orgasm washed over him, the taste of his lips, the smell of his cologne. Jack missed all those things, but god help him, he even missed the sound of his voice, the way he laughed, the way he neatly folded his clothes, no matter how eager they were to fall into bed, even the way he brushed his teeth, left to right, exactly ten rotations.
The problem was, Jack admitted to himself in the dead of night, as Ianto lay sleeping beside him, making Jack smile as he snuffled softly in his sleep... the problem was... he was in love.