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It was a rainy Saturday afternoon, and they were canoodling on the couch. Everything was ready for the movie marathon they had invited everyone over for; but the problem with finishing preparations early meant that ‘taking it easy’ until their guests arrived quickly morphed into making out on the couch like a couple of teenagers.
At the first guest’s knock, Ianto jolted, and Jack groaned, wondering if it was too late to cancel. He’d found something much more appealing to do, and now he’d have to wait hours before they could pick up where they’d left off.
“Get up,” Ianto hissed, pushing at Jack and trying to get him to rise from where he’d draped himself over Ianto’s body as they had kissed.
“I’m trying,” Jack pouted, not liking Ianto’s eagerness to have him move, at all. In a bit of a strop, he might have taken an extra moment or two standing up from the sofa before reaching down and helping Ianto up, as well.
“Where’s my cardigan?” Ianto asked as he pulled his t-shirt over his head and ran his hands through his hair. “Jack!”
“What?” Jack asked. He was at the door, with his hand on the doorknob, but Ianto’s tone caught him.
“Cardigan?” Ianto was looking around frantically. He’d brought it out earlier, intending to put it on when their guests began to arrive.
“Why do you need…” Jack trailed off as Ianto went still and turned to him. Ianto’s annoyance faded as he realized that Jack had missed the point, and now telling him would cause him pain.
Ianto approached Jack and took his hand.
“My scars, F'anwylyd,” he said, his voice gentle. He saw Jack flinch and leaned in, kissing Jack’s cheek. “You and I are used to them, but that lot,” he nodded towards the door, “aren’t. The ones who were here when it happened get upset, and the ones who weren’t are either morbidly curious or painfully awkward. Today’s supposed to be about fun. I don’t want my past foolishness to jeopardize that.”
“Not foolish,” Jack said, leaning in to kiss Ianto’s cheek. But Ianto didn’t have to elaborate. Jack well remembered the incident that had highlighted this, for his lover. It had happened about six months ago, just after Jack and Ianto had celebrated the second Earth anniversary of ‘the quarantine’, where the team had locked them in a hotel room and told them to sort themselves (and their bond) out; but their anniversary celebrations had been quietly done, because it had only been about two months since they’d lost Mickey to a rogue weevil, and Martha had still been deep in mourning.
(She was still grieving, of course, but it was no longer like those early days, when it felt like they had to remind her to breathe. But she was slowly returning to the world, as evidenced by the fact that she had accepted their invitation for today without them having to convince her to come over, even if it was only for the first movie.)
***
The incident had followed what had begun as a simple enough mission; but the alien’s life support suit had malfunctioned. Exposed to Earth’s atmosphere, the creature was instantaneously liquefied. The suit, not quite done malfunctioning, then somehow projectile vomited the alien’s fluid remains onto the emissary who had been attempting to communicate with it.
Luckily, said emissary was Ianto, because the dousing he got would have been detrimental to anyone besides him or Jack. As a special treat, the liquefied remains of the alien were remarkably disposed to return to a solid state. Most of it had hardened into a putrid, varnish-like substance that had soaked into the layers of his clothes, reaching all the way to his skin, in some areas. Thankfully, it wasn’t toxic enough to overcome his healing factor, but it did sting, and it pulled his hair uncomfortably as it dried.
Ianto had moved as quickly as the hair being pulled on his chest, thighs, and more tender areas would allow, dropping his cufflinks on the bench by the sink, kicking off his shoes and socks, and stepping into one of the hub’s communal shower stalls fully clothed and turning on the hot water, just a degree or two below scalding.
Various pieces of clothing were hopelessly stuck to each other, by now. The entire outfit was ruined. Cursing Jack, bug-like aliens, their faulty space suits, and especially their disgusting remains, he managed to tear his suit jacket away from his waistcoat and toss it towards the opening of the shower stall. He then tore off his tie, relieved it wasn’t a favorite. That allowed him to unbutton his waistcoat and shirt, which were now fused together. He sent gratitude to the universe for the ability to untuck his shirt from his trousers, though it did take a bit of effort, and any gratitude was mitigated by the pain caused by tugging that material free.
He unbuckled his belt, but it was now attached to his trousers, refusing to budge. He stood under the water for a moment, muttering deprecations as he tried soap, shampoo, and even conditioner, to see if any of them would help loosen the dried alien matter. Not only did they not work, but they seemed to react with the substance to cause an unpleasant smell that made his eyes water.
It was at this point in the proceedings that Jack joined him. He had stripped down to his pants, a pair of white boxer briefs that, as the water soaked them, left almost nothing to the imagination. Much to Ianto’s displeasure, he was brandishing a wet/dry electric razor with a crooked grin. Ianto was not happy about it, but his own efforts thus far had let him know in no uncertain terms that it would take the razor to separate his shirt from his body, at this point.
Ianto hissed as Jack gently lifted the shirt away from his skin before using the razor to separate chest hair caught in the dried alien remains from chest. Ianto closed his eyes and leaned against the shower wall, allowing the hot water to cascade over both of them as Jack worked.
“I suppose if you just gave it a good yank, it wouldn’t be much different from a waxing,” Ianto mused as Jack tried to spare as much of his lover’s hair as possible.
“Don’t even think such a thing,” Jack scolded in a scandalized tone, and Ianto opened his eyes to peer into his lover’s face. Jack looked up. “What? You know how much I love your chest hair! You’re not allowed to just rip it out!”
“I’m pretty sure it’s a lost cause, Jack,” Ianto said, looking down and grimacing as Jack freed the right side of his shirt.
“I’m only shaving what I have to, and it’ll grow back more quickly from shaving than yanking it out by the roots. Plus, it won’t hurt as much.” He looked up at Ianto again, startled. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”
“It stings, but I’m hoping Owen will have something to soothe it,” Ianto replied.
They stood in silence for a few more moments, and then Jack gave a triumphant cry of “Ha!” as the shirt finally came free. As Ianto peeled the shirt and waistcoat off of his right arm, Jack put the razor on the shelf next to the toiletries and reached for the closure on Ianto’s trousers. They both jumped when a brash voice spoke up.
“I’ll take that,” Donna offered, holding out a hand for the ruined clothing.
Ianto wondered how long she had been standing there. His suit coat was no longer on the floor, and judging by how she was holding the bin bag, she had at least had time to add it to the bag. She was standing there now, staring appreciatively at Jack.
“Must you ogle?” Ianto asked, more amused than annoyed.
“Yes,” came the candid reply, but then she turned to Ianto and gave him a saucy wink. “Don’t be selfish. Despite all of his talk about naked Fridays, I don’t get to see this very often,” she gestured to Jack, who spared her a grin before returning to Ianto’s trousers.
Ianto lifted an eloquent brow, but then tilted his head, conceding her point. Jack was quite fetching, particularly in his current circumstances.
“Ianto, I think we’re going to have to cut these off of you,” he said, giving his lover a sympathetic look when the younger man sighed in resignation over the loss.
“Let me bag this lot, and I’ll go fetch some scissors,” Donna offered.
Hissing, Ianto peeled the shirt from his left arm and turned it inside out to hand to Donna so any contact would be with parts of the shirt not covered in a now somewhat furry shellac. Donna held the bin bag open and allowed him to deposit the ruined garments, but in the next instant, she dropped the bag with a soft intake of breath.
Ianto stared in surprise as she took his left hand, cradling it so that the back of his hand was gently held in her right palm. Her left hand cradled his elbow, and she stared at his arm with a grief-stricken expression.
“Donna?” Ianto asked, and Jack looked up from where he was trying to wedge the button of Ianto’s trousers through the buttonhole to which it was now welded. For the moment, he was ignoring how the teeth of the zipper looked as though they had been preserved in epoxy.
“Oh, Sweetheart,” she murmured, moving her left hand to delicately trace the edge of one of the ugly, ropey scars that ran along the inside of his forearm. Her scrutiny was short-lived, because upon touching the scar again, she drew back her hand to cover her mouth, looking as though she would begin weeping, any moment.
“Donna,” Ianto sighed, and Jack stepped back so the younger man could reach out with his free hand and grasp her arm. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”
“I did,” she replied, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. “But I didn’t... They said you healed, so I didn’t realize. I… I’m so sorry!”
“Why are you sorry?” Ianto asked, confused. Now Jack put a hand on Ianto’s arm, his head lowered as the memory of that awful night came crashing back in. Ianto released Donna long enough to reach out and caress Jack’s cheek. He leaned towards his lover and brushed his lips against Jack’s, trying to bring him back to the present. “Everything is fine, now,” he found himself assuring both of them.
Donna sniffed and nodded, but made no move to release Ianto’s hand. It was like the severity of the scarring somehow conveyed the depth of his pain and despair, and she could not help but feel an echo of it, herself.
“Hey,” Ianto gently drew her attention from his arm. “It was a terrible time, I won’t even try to deny that. But I got through it. I recovered, in every sense of the word, and Jack and I have been very happy, since I returned. Thanks in no small part to you and the rest of the team, as you well know,” he smiled and gave her arm a squeeze.
“And even though they are a reminder of a very dark time for us,” Jack added, “they also serve as a reminder to not let things go unsaid, or to fester.”
“I understand,” Donna nodded, rallying with a sniffle as she squared her shoulders. “It was just a surprise. I don’t think it ever occurred to me that I’d never seen your bare arms. I’m just used to the suits, I suppose.” She gave him a watery smile. “I’ll go grab some scissors. And I’ll see if Owen has any recommendations,” she finished, gesturing towards Ianto’s bare torso, which was covered in harsh fuchsia patches that were hot and tender to the touch.
Jack hissed in sympathy and adjusted the shower so it was a gentler spray and cooler temperature. Ianto leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, hoping the extra material of the placket on his trousers and the zipper took the brunt of the damage. But he knew that some of the substance soaked through, as evidenced by the uncomfortable tugging at hairs in inconvenient places.
Ianto stayed as still as he could, but when he felt a change in the flow of water, he opened his eyes to see Jack, who had placed a hand to either side of Ianto’s shoulders and was leaning in, about to steal a kiss. He only hesitated a fraction of a moment when Ianto opened his eyes before treating the younger man to a gentle smile and a tender kiss.
They were still snogging when Donna returned. She watched them for a moment before announcing her presence. Each of them was bloody gorgeous by himself; but together, they were magnificent. It wasn’t really that rare to catch them in a private moment. After all, they were a very tactile couple, constantly touching or kissing. And despite the fact that Ianto did his best to keep the team from witnessing more than those touches or kisses, everyone in the hub had at some point stumbled upon an eyeful, after hours.
Donna had no interest in either man, and they certainly only had eyes for each other, but she could appreciate beauty as well as any woman. Just because she had no interest in taking either of them home with her didn’t mean she couldn’t thoroughly enjoy the view, when the opportunity presented itself. And the sight before her was just too delicious to look away from.
Jack’s boxer briefs were soaked and clinging to him, highlighting his toned body. He was leaning into his hands as he kissed Ianto, not touching the younger man (other than at the lips). Ianto was pale and shirtless, his alabaster skin a lovely contrast to Jack’s tan. It put to mind the many ways they were like yin and yang.
It looked like she had caught them at an indiscreet moment; Jack half-naked, Ianto half-dressed, his belt undone and his trousers riding low on his lean waist. He had one hand on Jack’s shoulder and the other in his hair – not in a passionate clinch but more a loving hold. It was a comfort to Ianto and a show of gratitude to Jack for allowing him to dictate how much touching there would be, in his current predicament.
Having looked her fill, Donna cleared her throat testily. Rather than jumping apart, they continued to kiss for several seconds before ending it. It reminded Donna of those times she would find Ianto reading a file at his desk or in the archives. He always made a gesture that acknowledged a person’s presence but asked that he be allowed to finish the sentence he was reading before shifting his attention. He sometimes even went as far as to mark where he had left off, before looking up. She vaguely wondered if he and Jack were taking the time to telepathically arrange to resume their tryst later.
Once the kiss ended, Jack slowly pulled away from Ianto, but not before leaning back in to bump noses and give him a smile. He looked to Donna, who had to offer her own smile, acknowledging how much she had enjoyed their interaction. With a grin and a wink, he reached out a hand to take the extremely sharp scissors she had brought.
Ianto gave her a tentative look, wondering if she might still be upset. She gave him a reassuring smile before holding up the pot of lotion she had asked Owen to provide. She set it on the bench and retreated back to her desk, sorry she had seen Ianto’s scars but simultaneously grateful for the insight it had provided.
Jack cut down each side seam of Ianto’s trousers, then carefully cut the inseam from ankle to ankle. He then cut the waist so he could toss the back half of the trousers and belt away and then gently pulled the front of each leg, finding where it was stuck and cutting away as much of the material that was loose as he could without causing Ianto discomfort. Ianto was left looking like he was wearing a strange apron that covered the front of his body from hip bones to mid-thigh.
“Back to the razor,” Jack said mournfully, taking up the implement and slowly shaving away the hair to which the substance had adhered. He was thankful that the stuff peeled away from Ianto’s skin, leaving it irritated but unharmed. As he worked, he could see that the only thing (besides Ianto’s clothing) that it had bonded to more permanently was hair. “It would have been a right mess if this had stuck to your skin, as well,” he murmured.
“Small favors,” Ianto agreed.
By the time the last of the material had been tugged, shaved, and peeled from tender, intimate skin, Ianto’s energy was flagging. The irritant seemed to have spread, so Jack helped him wash with an antiseptic gel that Owen had developed for exposure to alien irritants. After gently drying his savaged skin, Jack helped him apply the lotion, as well.
The lotion soothed Ianto’s skin, but by the time he was dressed (in track pants, t-shirt, and a long-sleeved hoodie), he had become so drowsy Jack had to help him down to the med-bay. Owen scanned him and examined his skin before giving him an analgesic and letting him crash on the sofa near Tosh’s workstation.
He’d ended up with a fever that rendered him delirious and prone to wandering off in search of something Jack was fairly certain he had encountered during his travels with the Doctor. By the time the fever broke several days later, everyone was exhausted from trying to keep him out of mischief (as well as the subetheric resonator, Janet’s cell, Myfanwy’s eyrie, and the bay). Despite remembering none of this, he did make it up to the team with coffee, chocolate, and pie.
Lots of pie.
***
Even now, when Jack thought back on ‘the squirty alien incident’, he mostly remembered the pie. The exchange with Donna in the shower had been supplanted in his memory by subsequent events, so he hadn’t even considered the fact that the team rarely saw Ianto in something other than one of his suits. And on the rare occasion they saw him in a more casual setting, Ianto always wore long sleeves. Jack had never realized what a mark of consideration that was. Sure, Ianto was an incredibly private man, but this was almost entirely down to him not wanting to remind his friends of difficult times.
“I love you,” he blurted, and Ianto went still again before smiling that soft, lovely smile that made Jack want to eat him up with a spoon.
“I love you, too,” he whispered, leaning in for a soft, open-mouthed kiss.
The doorbell interrupted them again.
“Where did you last leave it?” Jack asked, surprising Ianto with his practicality.
“End of the sofa.”
“We probably kicked it over the edge,” Jack pointed in that direction.
Ianto went around the sofa and, sure enough, the cardigan had fallen down between the sofa and the end table. He held it up triumphantly and quickly donned it as Jack opened the door and greeted their guests.
“’bout time,” Owen groused, stepping into the flat and handing Ianto a six-pack of bottled lager. “You two told us three o’clock, how can you be late to your own…” he trailed off, then groaned. “Please say you weren’t just shagging on the couch we have to sit on!”
“Of course not, Owen,” Ianto reassured, heading into the kitchen with the beer.
“Yeah, that was last night,” Jack said helpfully over his shoulder as he took Toshiko’s and Donna’s coats.
Owen glared at him, but he blinked innocently. And really, only Jack could be so bloody innocent about sex – it really was a pure, uncomplicated thing, for him. Owen sometimes envied him that. Wouldn’t do to let him know that, so Owen rolled his eyes and tossed his jacket at Jack and headed for the sofa.
Jack put the coats on the futon in Ianto’s study while Ianto put the beers in the refrigerator and began making coffee for everyone. By the time he was done, everyone had arrived. The living room was plenty large, but with the addition of some pillows and cushions for anyone who might want to sit on the floor and the giant beanbag big enough for two (or three, at a stretch) from Jack’s study, the space was cozy and welcoming.
“Ianto, aren’t you warm in that?” Rhys asked, plucking at the sleeve of the cardigan as Ianto handed him his coffee.
“Nah, Jack likes to keep it on the cool side in here,” Ianto replied.
“Then he has no excuse not to snuggle,” Jack said, wrapping his arms around Ianto, giving him a quick squeeze and a quicker smooch on the cheek before releasing him and telling Martha that he had made the canapes.
“If you get chilly,” Ianto went on as though Jack hadn’t just accosted him, “there are throw blankets and more coffee.”
“I suggest body heat, as well,” Jack declared exuberantly. “Hey!” he protested as more than one pillow sailed towards his head.
Donna had moved her grandfather to Cardiff with her a few months before, and he had quickly become an honorary member of Torchwood. She now sat on the sofa between her two favorite men (though only one of them was aware of that fact), with Wilf to her left and Rhys to her right.
Andy sat in the squashy armchair, and Owen shot him a glare as Toshiko piled a few pillows together to make a nest of sorts. One look from her had Owen joining her (on the bloody floor!) with hardly a grumble. Martha joined them.
With a cheeky grin, Jack tumbled Ianto into the beanbag chair, which accommodated both of their tall frames comfortably. Canapes and biscuits and coffee during the first movie gave way to pizza and adult beverages during the second. More coffee and sweets during the third, and popcorn and fizzy drinks during the fourth.
Everyone was in a happy food coma, curled up and dozing as the movie continued in the background. After the final round of food, Jack and Ianto had pulled Martha into their beanbag nest, where she snuggled between them, enjoying their warmth and comfort. A few stray tears may have escaped, but Ianto gently dried them as Jack kissed her temple.
All through her grieving process, they had been her shelter. The entire team had, but Jack and Ianto provided what no one else had been able to – that warm, male energy and comforting touch without any trace of sexual expectation. They had been her greatest comfort, after losing her beloved husband. To know she was not isolated or alone in a world suddenly devoid of warmth and love had meant – still meant – everything.
She remembered the night she had shown up at their door, drunk and desperate, weeping uncontrollably and at a complete and utter loss as to how to keep going. Soon after her arrival, she had made herself sick – not with drink, but with grief. Ianto had helped her bathe and wrapped her in warm clothes that were far too large for her petite frame.
That had been the first time she had seen his scars, and the realization that she was not alone in her pain had brought her back to herself in a way she could not explain. Jack and Ianto dressed in pyjamas and t-shirts and placed her between them in their bed. Wrapped up in the warmth of their embrace, she had slept for the first time since learning of Mickey’s death.
At first, she had hated them for not letting her see his body, but now she knew the memory of his mutilated corpse would have haunted her, and she was grateful for having been spared the sight. It was one of many things she would be grateful for, for all her many days.
Another was their friendship. Despite the physical comfort of holding and being held, the relationship remained entirely platonic. After another drink-fueled night (she blamed Owen, who had taken Andy, Toshiko, and her to a new pub and plied them all with so many drinks that Jack and Ianto had to come cart them home), she had kissed Ianto. And then Jack.
And then laughed hysterically at the wrongness of it as both men tried to navigate the situation. Both were relieved when there was no need to reject her advances, because she was laughing hard enough that they were the ones rejected. The whole incident put paid to any curiosity she may have harbored and allowed the friendship to be its strange, lovely self.
In time, she would recover. And she would even find love again. But she would never forget the love and friendship that helped her survive such a devastating loss.
When the last movie finished, they left her curled up like a cat, sleeping in the beanbag chair. Ianto tucked a blanket around her as Jack gently kissed her temple. They saw the others out, promising to see them on Monday, barring any emergencies. The rift was due to be quiet the next day, and the hub was on standby. Andy was on the roster to go in and feed the menagerie, so they had a lovely day off ahead of them – a rare, lazy day in which nothing was planned, other than to spend it together.
After a delicious night of gentle (and quiet) lovemaking, the mouth-watering smell of a proper fry-up – including eggs, bacon, sausage, tomatoes, mushrooms, beans (for Jack – Ianto couldn’t abide the bloody things), and toast roused them from their slumber.
They dressed in their “Martha’s here” pyjamas and tumbled into the kitchen to enjoy the meal she had prepared for them. Ianto’s coffee completed the feast, and they spent the dreary day reading, watching crap movies on the telly, and enjoying each other’s company.
There would be many such days in their long lives, but Jack and Ianto knew to savor each one as it occurred. Both days had been about food, friendship, laughter, and love. Life would always have its trials and losses, but in the end, the love would always make the struggles worthwhile.
***
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