Ah. His first mission since Lisa and they played 'who's the last person you snogged'? It all sounds painfully awkward.
"Sounds like some of my reconnaissance missions. McKay likes to keep a running tally of his lifetime radiation exposure and tell us all about it."
Which makes for cheerful commentary. John has found, though, that McKay's background chatter is a good sign. It's bad when he goes quiet. Ianto seems to be similar in that.
Ianto shakes his head at the thought of it. "Sounds like delightful company," he replies.
He picks at his sandwich a bit more. He's not sure that he really wants to talk about being miserable about Lisa with John either, even if it's true that he was, at the time. That he does miss her and mourns her loss. But he knows she's gone now, and he knows that he lost her at Canary Wharf, not in the basement of the Torchwood Hub. He's pretty certain he'd always known that, it'd just taken him time to recognize it at last.
"It was a while before they let me out on field duty again after that," he continues instead. "I get the feeling that Jack felt a bit responsible for what had happened, how it all turned out. And I did have a concussion to get over too, I suppose."
He takes another sip from the bottle before holding it out to Ianto, waiting for him to take it before reaching to rub the back of the other man's neck slowly. A gentle reassurance that he's there, that he understands these aren't pleasant memories.
John doesn’t even know the half of it. Doesn’t understand how far Ianto had fallen after that, and Ianto’s not really keen on telling him that part either. Not unless it becomes relevant in some way. But he does appreciate the support John offers, even so. Even without knowing the rest.
“Yeah,” he says, taking the bottle from the other man and knocking back another healthy swig, leaning into the touch of John’s hand a little after he does. “They beat me over the head with a baseball bat,” he offers, with a wince of memory. “Well, they beat me in general with the bat, but it was hitting me in the head that did me in.” He glances aside at the other man, flicking him the hint of a smile. “I headbutted him in the face so that Toshiko could escape to get help. I don’t think he quite approved...”
John lets his hand move from the back of Ianto's neck, slides his arm around his shoulders and draws him into his side.
"That sounds," he says, "like the kind of brash, stupid thing that I'd do."
He turns his face into Ianto's hair, squeezes him a little as if to press comfort into him. Press warmth into him to reassure him further. He's seen Ianto try to fight before, seen him scurry under a wagon, seen him desperately hit out at people with his stun gun. John knows Ianto is not, exactly, a fighter. Yet he has a lot of fight in him. Ianto throws himself into things that he wants head first, he always tries.
He huffs out the breath of a laugh at John's reply. In retrospect, he hadn't really known what he was doing at the time. He hadn't even known the proper way to throw a headbutt, it had probably been that as much as the bat that had knocked his brain around inside his skull.
"Well, when the alternative was to sit around and watch them sharpen their cleavers and talk about tenderizing our meat," Ianto points out, "I had to at least make an attempt." All the same, he leans into the arm around his shoulders, turning his face a little into John's neck as if his presence by his side would protect him, now, nearly a full year after the fact.
"It wasn't the best of days," he concludes, after a moment.
Cleavers? God. It's borderline comical with how grimly evil it is. Then again, cannibals as a whole are kinda like that. The kind of horror reserved for books and comics and bad b-movies, not something you want to be real.
"You did good," he says, because even if he wasn't there he can surmise that from what Ianto says -- and he seems like he needs to hear it.
Ianto has to smile at that. John's reassurances are simple but heartfelt, and between the words and the touch, they do mean more to him than he might admit otherwise. He shouldn't want it, he shouldn't need it. But he does. Perhaps because Jack hadn't been very good at this part, and he'd been left to his own devices for a bit too long the last time.
"Thank you," he says. Leaning into the other man's touch. He moves to take another swig from the bottle John had handed to him before giving it back. "I still needed rescuing, but. I'd like to think I did the best I could, given the circumstances." He huffs out a breath. "Maybe someday I'll have enough of an idea how to take care of myself that I won't be kidnapped in the first place."
"I'll give you a special discount on my bodyguard fees, how's that?"
He takes the bottle with his other hand, draws back enough to give a gentle kiss to Ianto's cheek before taking another swig from the bottle.
"Plus, you said you were going to come running with me more often. Remember? Then you can get fast enough to run away before anyone hits you with a cleaver, or at least run in my direction so I can shoot them for you."
John's not fussed about which it is, any outcome where Ianto is safe is fine. A better one might be to teach him to fight, but he'd seemed a little wary of even using the other setting on his stun gun. Which is fine, that's his choice. Maybe if he taught him a choke-hold or something at least, though. A way to knock people out faster.
"That's right, I did agree to that, didn't I?" He can't help the slight flush that starts to spread across his face at the press of the other man's lips to his cheek.
"A special discount on your bodyguard fees, hm?" Ianto repeats, with the flick of a smile in the other man's direction as he does, leaning back far enough to be able to look him in the eye as they speak. "And what are those fees, then?" he asks, tilting his head at the other man as he does.
It's a good question. One John dwells on for a long moment as he lets go of Ianto to rummage for the cap of his bottle again, screwing it on before setting it down vaguely out of danger. He can feel it starting to slowly warm him up already, and John doesn't want to get too totally drunk before he's been through everything he wanted to say.
He turns back toward Ianto and braces a hand on his arm once more, gently reaches up the other to cup Ianto's face and keep him studying his own.
"Free for you," he manages, "Always. I would never let anything happen to you."
Ianto is starting to feel the alcohol himself as well, warm and pleasant as the touch of John's hands on him.
Free for you.
He keeps his eyes level on the other man even as his expression sobers a little. Well -- softens from the flirtation he'd offered into. Something else. It's not like John to give him idle promises or reassurances, after all. He knows he means it. More than that, he knows that it's true.
This is a distinct difference from John's sudden change of heart in the Central, and honestly while Ianto still has questions it's just a relief that whatever it was hasn't shut him off completely. He moves a hand to brace John's hand on his cheek, fingers curling lightly around his wrist as he offers, "No, you wouldn't, would you." Giving the other man a moment to understand that he knows what extremes he'd go to on his behalf, before he lightens the moment slightly, another flick of a smile at him as he continues, "No dragons, no cannibals, no bandits, no...sunburns."
No sunburns. John matches the smile, lets his eyes flicker closed for a moment and touches their foreheads together.
"None of that," he agrees, and takes a steadying breath. Okay, he can do this. He needs to do this. He has to, it's not fair. Okay. Pull yourself together, John. Come on. "Ask me," he prompts, because maybe it's easier if Ianto starts. If he's pushed into it instead of dithering at the threshold. "Ask me what you want to ask."
Since he can still feel it between them, as gentle as Ianto's touch is.
Ask me what you want to ask. Ianto had shut his eyes as John had leaned forward to touch their foreheads together, and he keeps them shut for a moment longer to gather himself. Just in case this is about to be another struggle with the other man, he needs to prepare himself for whatever might come next.
He pulls back a little so that he can look John in the eyes. Studying his expression and trying to regain his footing, his momentum, and his train of thought from before.
"What happened back there, John?" he asks, quietly. It seems as good a place as any to start.
What happened back there? It's a good question. He feels fuzzily uneasy just thinking about it, and after a moment he pulls back to snag up the bottle from where he set it down on the ground.
"I don't know if you realise," he begins, "but if anyone saw us sitting together like this I'd probably be reported and discharged. I mean, don't get me wrong, I know there's nobody to report that kind of thing to here... nothing to discharge me from... but, back when there was."
You know. That's how it worked. He uncaps the bottle and tags a swig for strength, holds it out questioningly to Ianto.
Ianto takes the bottle back from the other man once he holds it out to him and sets it against his knee for a moment, considering his words. Peripherally, he understands that the military isn't exactly tolerant of -- well, this. The world in general still isn't all that tolerant of it, truth be told, but. Reported and discharged, really?
"And that's why you'd never done anything quite like that before, then," he hazards aloud, studying the other man's expression as he does. "You've spent most of your adult life in the military, after all."
He plays with the bottle between his fingers for a moment, taking a careful swallow before setting it back against his knee. John had still come up with the idea himself despite that, though. He'd still seemed to enjoy it, up until the point where some switch had flipped and the moment had gone from a playful ruse to an uncomfortable trap.
"But... You've. Experience with other men even despite that, yeah?" he hazards, glancing back up at him as he hands the bottle back across to John. "A little?"
"A little," he agrees, and takes the bottle back. "You have to be careful. There's a Clinton policy in place that's meant to... you know, stop you being forced to incriminate yourself but. All people need is some small thing to trigger an investigation and you're out. If people hate you enough they'll grab at anything they can, sometimes people run the plates of cars outside bars. You know."
The wrong kinds of bars. He takes another swig of from the bottle, takes a deep breath.
"And if you're discharged it's not like... being fired from a job. If they don't give you an honourable discharge, which they don't have to, you risk losing all your benefits and having a mark on your permanent record that anyone who wants to employ you can see."
John holds out the bottle, hesitates.
"Anyway. I know it's -- stupid, there's no... well, no reason to be careful here we know about."
It's just... weird, as much as he's constantly reassured other people he can't seem to break the habits himself.
"But you've had to be careful all your life," Ianto infers for him. His eyes are a deep blue as he sits back to study him, observant and watchful. Looking for any sign of regret or frustration. Reaching to take the bottle for him after a moment and taking another healthy swig of his own before taking a breath to respond.
"It's not stupid," he reassures him quietly. "I wish you'd have told me earlier, so that maybe we might have found a better way to have gone about things, but. I'm not angry at you for it, or anything. It's not like. That's exactly me either, you know? Groping you in the hallway and. Honey."
He swirls the drink around in the bottle a little. Really starting to feel the warmth of it now and maybe it's that, that gives him the courage himself to go on. "No matter what you might think, I'm not asking for you to be someone you're not, you know. Believe it or not, you're the one that interests me."
He's not especially frustrated, John is mostly still on the edges of being tense and uncomfortable. Talking about this is uncharted territory for him, and he's only managing it through the slowly descending fog of alcohol.
Still.
Once Ianto stalks talking about groping in the hallway and honey John rolls his eyes a little, winces.
"I was exaggerating a little for the audience," he says, "but I just --"
He trails off, takes a slow breath. He just wanted to do something wild to prove he wasn't afraid to touch Ianto, that he could be something like normal.
"Anyway, it's not you."
That's the key point. His eyes dart away uncomfortably again to some vague point that isn't looking at Ianto.
Ianto nods for a moment, playing the bottle against his knee and taking another swig again before moving to hand it back to the other man again.
"But you are," he asks, after a second's hesitation that only just shows on his face as he does. "Interested, I mean? In me, that is. I -- I know that I'm not..." He trails off, hesitating again as he tries to find exactly the right words. "Not a lot of people are, I know. They haven't been, anyway. So I hope..."
He hopes at the end of the day, putting himself through the anxiety of fighting against something as ingrained as what he's describing, it really is something he wants for himself as well. And not, as he'd hinted at the day before, just because he thinks it would make him happy.
Not a lot of people are. What's that supposed to mean? Hadn't he been sleeping with his boss? Wasn't Kirk flirting with him? It doesn't add up to a person nobody is interested in. He takes the bottle off Ianto, re-caps it and sets it aside again.
"Of course," he assures him, and reaches to cup his face. "Ianto, I... don't know why I wouldn't be, I..."
He takes a deep breath, lets it out shakily. God, he's such an asshole. He shouldn't have let it drag out this long, just because he's stupid and doesn't know how to -- it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, because he can still fix this. That's all Ianto needs, something to hold onto. John can give him that. He moves his weight fully onto the bed, eases Ianto into a kiss and drops one hand to brace the small of his back.
Ianto himself can think of a hundred and one reasons why a person might not be interested in him, but they all pretty much go right out of his head as the other man reaches for him. Leans in to kiss him and slips a hand around his back to brace him there. Ianto can think of a hundred other reasons why he might put on a show or use him for a bit of fun to get access to the computer panels in the Central, but for god's sake no one in their right mind should be kissing him like this unless it's what they want.
He reaches to brace one hand on the bed behind himself and clasp the other around John's jaw. Steadying himself into the kiss and letting out a soft noise of surprise and pleasure at this development. He had really enjoyed himself earlier, for all the disaster it had ended in. And if he's understanding correctly, it had been the audience to ruin the experience, not the kiss itself? If he's understanding correctly.
There's certainly been nothing to suggest otherwise. John is kissing him slowly this time, less of an air of desperation to it. There's no rush, nobody watching -- it's just them after all. His hands move after a moment, fumble for the front of Ianto's fleece and reach to unzip it -- to scrape it aside and try to pull up the layers underneath to get at skin. There's too many layers, though, the right amount from a practical 'it's snowing' perspective but too many when he wants them out of the way.
John pulls back from the kiss so he can concentrate a moment, drops his eyes and gives up on skimming up layers further to work undoing Ianto's belt instead.
"Let me prove it to you," he murmurs, because that's exactly what he plans to try and do.
It's certainly a different approach from how John has gone about this before, but Ianto doesn't mind. In fact, it's quite the opposite. His hand shifting to wrap around the back of the other man's neck, tightening in his hair as he feels John moving to reach and unzip his fleece.
He's breathless by the time the other man pulls away, his heart leaping in his chest as John reaches for his belt and offers to prove his interest to him. It's about at this point that he remembers he's not only got his thermal shirt on underneath his fleece here, but thermal trousers on underneath his jeans as well. No wonder he's feeling warm, after all the alcohol and the other man's attentions besides.
"Prove it to me," Ianto repeats, his hands braced on the other man's shoulders as he glances down to where John is working on his belt. "What... What did you have in mind?"
"Was the part where I'm undressing you not a clue?"
He feels it should have been a pretty solid clue. Fingers fumble open Ianto's belt and then John is beginning to paw open his jeans too, rubbing the heel of his hand against Ianto through them before trying to shift layers around to get his hand inside them. Ianto is warm and so close, so nice to just run his hands over. John can't help a momentary fantasy of the man writhing under him, of how he'd look spread out. Of how he'd feel.
John surges up into another kiss, this one a little more eager, and begins to coax him more to life with firm, efficient touches.
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"Sounds like some of my reconnaissance missions. McKay likes to keep a running tally of his lifetime radiation exposure and tell us all about it."
Which makes for cheerful commentary. John has found, though, that McKay's background chatter is a good sign. It's bad when he goes quiet. Ianto seems to be similar in that.
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He picks at his sandwich a bit more. He's not sure that he really wants to talk about being miserable about Lisa with John either, even if it's true that he was, at the time. That he does miss her and mourns her loss. But he knows she's gone now, and he knows that he lost her at Canary Wharf, not in the basement of the Torchwood Hub. He's pretty certain he'd always known that, it'd just taken him time to recognize it at last.
"It was a while before they let me out on field duty again after that," he continues instead. "I get the feeling that Jack felt a bit responsible for what had happened, how it all turned out. And I did have a concussion to get over too, I suppose."
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He takes another sip from the bottle before holding it out to Ianto, waiting for him to take it before reaching to rub the back of the other man's neck slowly. A gentle reassurance that he's there, that he understands these aren't pleasant memories.
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“Yeah,” he says, taking the bottle from the other man and knocking back another healthy swig, leaning into the touch of John’s hand a little after he does. “They beat me over the head with a baseball bat,” he offers, with a wince of memory. “Well, they beat me in general with the bat, but it was hitting me in the head that did me in.” He glances aside at the other man, flicking him the hint of a smile. “I headbutted him in the face so that Toshiko could escape to get help. I don’t think he quite approved...”
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"That sounds," he says, "like the kind of brash, stupid thing that I'd do."
He turns his face into Ianto's hair, squeezes him a little as if to press comfort into him. Press warmth into him to reassure him further. He's seen Ianto try to fight before, seen him scurry under a wagon, seen him desperately hit out at people with his stun gun. John knows Ianto is not, exactly, a fighter. Yet he has a lot of fight in him. Ianto throws himself into things that he wants head first, he always tries.
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"Well, when the alternative was to sit around and watch them sharpen their cleavers and talk about tenderizing our meat," Ianto points out, "I had to at least make an attempt." All the same, he leans into the arm around his shoulders, turning his face a little into John's neck as if his presence by his side would protect him, now, nearly a full year after the fact.
"It wasn't the best of days," he concludes, after a moment.
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"You did good," he says, because even if he wasn't there he can surmise that from what Ianto says -- and he seems like he needs to hear it.
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"Thank you," he says. Leaning into the other man's touch. He moves to take another swig from the bottle John had handed to him before giving it back. "I still needed rescuing, but. I'd like to think I did the best I could, given the circumstances." He huffs out a breath. "Maybe someday I'll have enough of an idea how to take care of myself that I won't be kidnapped in the first place."
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He takes the bottle with his other hand, draws back enough to give a gentle kiss to Ianto's cheek before taking another swig from the bottle.
"Plus, you said you were going to come running with me more often. Remember? Then you can get fast enough to run away before anyone hits you with a cleaver, or at least run in my direction so I can shoot them for you."
John's not fussed about which it is, any outcome where Ianto is safe is fine. A better one might be to teach him to fight, but he'd seemed a little wary of even using the other setting on his stun gun. Which is fine, that's his choice. Maybe if he taught him a choke-hold or something at least, though. A way to knock people out faster.
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"A special discount on your bodyguard fees, hm?" Ianto repeats, with the flick of a smile in the other man's direction as he does, leaning back far enough to be able to look him in the eye as they speak. "And what are those fees, then?" he asks, tilting his head at the other man as he does.
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He turns back toward Ianto and braces a hand on his arm once more, gently reaches up the other to cup Ianto's face and keep him studying his own.
"Free for you," he manages, "Always. I would never let anything happen to you."
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Free for you.
He keeps his eyes level on the other man even as his expression sobers a little. Well -- softens from the flirtation he'd offered into. Something else. It's not like John to give him idle promises or reassurances, after all. He knows he means it. More than that, he knows that it's true.
This is a distinct difference from John's sudden change of heart in the Central, and honestly while Ianto still has questions it's just a relief that whatever it was hasn't shut him off completely. He moves a hand to brace John's hand on his cheek, fingers curling lightly around his wrist as he offers, "No, you wouldn't, would you." Giving the other man a moment to understand that he knows what extremes he'd go to on his behalf, before he lightens the moment slightly, another flick of a smile at him as he continues, "No dragons, no cannibals, no bandits, no...sunburns."
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"None of that," he agrees, and takes a steadying breath. Okay, he can do this. He needs to do this. He has to, it's not fair. Okay. Pull yourself together, John. Come on. "Ask me," he prompts, because maybe it's easier if Ianto starts. If he's pushed into it instead of dithering at the threshold. "Ask me what you want to ask."
Since he can still feel it between them, as gentle as Ianto's touch is.
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He pulls back a little so that he can look John in the eyes. Studying his expression and trying to regain his footing, his momentum, and his train of thought from before.
"What happened back there, John?" he asks, quietly. It seems as good a place as any to start.
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"I don't know if you realise," he begins, "but if anyone saw us sitting together like this I'd probably be reported and discharged. I mean, don't get me wrong, I know there's nobody to report that kind of thing to here... nothing to discharge me from... but, back when there was."
You know. That's how it worked. He uncaps the bottle and tags a swig for strength, holds it out questioningly to Ianto.
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"And that's why you'd never done anything quite like that before, then," he hazards aloud, studying the other man's expression as he does. "You've spent most of your adult life in the military, after all."
He plays with the bottle between his fingers for a moment, taking a careful swallow before setting it back against his knee. John had still come up with the idea himself despite that, though. He'd still seemed to enjoy it, up until the point where some switch had flipped and the moment had gone from a playful ruse to an uncomfortable trap.
"But... You've. Experience with other men even despite that, yeah?" he hazards, glancing back up at him as he hands the bottle back across to John. "A little?"
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The wrong kinds of bars. He takes another swig of from the bottle, takes a deep breath.
"And if you're discharged it's not like... being fired from a job. If they don't give you an honourable discharge, which they don't have to, you risk losing all your benefits and having a mark on your permanent record that anyone who wants to employ you can see."
John holds out the bottle, hesitates.
"Anyway. I know it's -- stupid, there's no... well, no reason to be careful here we know about."
It's just... weird, as much as he's constantly reassured other people he can't seem to break the habits himself.
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"It's not stupid," he reassures him quietly. "I wish you'd have told me earlier, so that maybe we might have found a better way to have gone about things, but. I'm not angry at you for it, or anything. It's not like. That's exactly me either, you know? Groping you in the hallway and. Honey."
He swirls the drink around in the bottle a little. Really starting to feel the warmth of it now and maybe it's that, that gives him the courage himself to go on. "No matter what you might think, I'm not asking for you to be someone you're not, you know. Believe it or not, you're the one that interests me."
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Still.
Once Ianto stalks talking about groping in the hallway and honey John rolls his eyes a little, winces.
"I was exaggerating a little for the audience," he says, "but I just --"
He trails off, takes a slow breath. He just wanted to do something wild to prove he wasn't afraid to touch Ianto, that he could be something like normal.
"Anyway, it's not you."
That's the key point. His eyes dart away uncomfortably again to some vague point that isn't looking at Ianto.
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"But you are," he asks, after a second's hesitation that only just shows on his face as he does. "Interested, I mean? In me, that is. I -- I know that I'm not..." He trails off, hesitating again as he tries to find exactly the right words. "Not a lot of people are, I know. They haven't been, anyway. So I hope..."
He hopes at the end of the day, putting himself through the anxiety of fighting against something as ingrained as what he's describing, it really is something he wants for himself as well. And not, as he'd hinted at the day before, just because he thinks it would make him happy.
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"Of course," he assures him, and reaches to cup his face. "Ianto, I... don't know why I wouldn't be, I..."
He takes a deep breath, lets it out shakily. God, he's such an asshole. He shouldn't have let it drag out this long, just because he's stupid and doesn't know how to -- it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, because he can still fix this. That's all Ianto needs, something to hold onto. John can give him that. He moves his weight fully onto the bed, eases Ianto into a kiss and drops one hand to brace the small of his back.
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He reaches to brace one hand on the bed behind himself and clasp the other around John's jaw. Steadying himself into the kiss and letting out a soft noise of surprise and pleasure at this development. He had really enjoyed himself earlier, for all the disaster it had ended in. And if he's understanding correctly, it had been the audience to ruin the experience, not the kiss itself? If he's understanding correctly.
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John pulls back from the kiss so he can concentrate a moment, drops his eyes and gives up on skimming up layers further to work undoing Ianto's belt instead.
"Let me prove it to you," he murmurs, because that's exactly what he plans to try and do.
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He's breathless by the time the other man pulls away, his heart leaping in his chest as John reaches for his belt and offers to prove his interest to him. It's about at this point that he remembers he's not only got his thermal shirt on underneath his fleece here, but thermal trousers on underneath his jeans as well. No wonder he's feeling warm, after all the alcohol and the other man's attentions besides.
"Prove it to me," Ianto repeats, his hands braced on the other man's shoulders as he glances down to where John is working on his belt. "What... What did you have in mind?"
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He feels it should have been a pretty solid clue. Fingers fumble open Ianto's belt and then John is beginning to paw open his jeans too, rubbing the heel of his hand against Ianto through them before trying to shift layers around to get his hand inside them. Ianto is warm and so close, so nice to just run his hands over. John can't help a momentary fantasy of the man writhing under him, of how he'd look spread out. Of how he'd feel.
John surges up into another kiss, this one a little more eager, and begins to coax him more to life with firm, efficient touches.
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