A/N: So, I'm currently experiencing severe writers block with my other stories, so I thought I'd try my hand at something completely new. This is my first Torchwood 'fic, so do tell me if I'm good at it. I have a few more ideas for stories, but whether I do them is a totally different story. I'm rather proud of this, and I like it a lot, lots of Janto goodness, but please do feel free to share your opinions, and review. I hope you enjoy it, I certainly enjoyed writing it! :)

They lay in Ianto's bed, for a change. Jack had begged him to let him see his house, where he was supposed to live, though he spent more time at the Hub working (and being distracted from work by Jack) to stay there much anymore. But this time, Jack had persuaded him, and Jack being Jack, it didn't take much for Ianto to agree.

They had begun downstairs, snuggled up on the sofa, watching some of Ianto's old DVD's, though neither of the two had been watching properly, they were more interested in the way their bodies touched, the way the other man's breath felt on his skin, the way their hands were entwined, holding onto each other, never wanting to let go.

Ianto had made coffee, working his "coffee magic", which Jack had once told him, with a wink, was almost better than sex. He'd made sure to stress the words "almost" and "sex", knowing exactly how they would affect the Welshman. Whilst boiling the kettle, Ianto had remembered these words, and blushed as he recalled the aftermath a little too vividly.

Before being able to take the first sip, Jack had wrapped his strong arms around Ianto's waist and pulled him into a strong kiss, one which they'd been waiting all evening to both give and receive. After falling over a chair, the sofa and almost breaking the coffee table, they had stumbled up the stairs, the pair blinded with passion, relying only on a vague sense of direction to lead them safely into Ianto's immaculate bedroom where they collapsed, tugging at the hems of clothes, ridding themselves of boundaries, relishing in the feel of skin against skin, igniting at the points of contact.

Some time later they had broken apart, exhausted, a thin sheen of sweat covering them. Ianto had fallen asleep, his body wrapped around Jack's, but Jack had stayed awake, reminiscing, thinking about the times they'd had together, thinking about the softness of his lover's lips, thinking about the gentle tones of his voice.

Ianto twitched in his slumber, breaking Jack's train of thought. As Jack gazed upon him, he started mumbling. At first Jack thought it was nothing, but then it became coherent words that he could make out.

"Jack." He was only half surprised to hear his name mentioned in Ianto's dreams. He'd watched him sleep many times before, the only difference this time was the urgency of his tone.

"Jack." Ianto repeated, more of the desperation in his voice. Except, there was more than that there. There was something else. Something Jack couldn't quite identify. Something Jack hadn't heard much before.

"Jack." A third time, louder.

The fourth time, he said something more. Something that made Jack realise what the other element was in his voice.

"Jack Harkness. I love you."

For a moment, Jack was stunned, before allowing a small smile to flicker across his face. It wasn't his usual smirk, but a true smile, filled with genuine happiness.

"You know what, Ianto Jones?" He replied, feeling he should compose some sort of reply, "I love you too." And as Jack kissed his forehead and burrowed into Ianto's warmth, he knew, in the core of his bones and the centre of his heart, that he meant it. Only Ianto would never know quite how much.