Sorry this took so long to post. Life got in the way. this is my first attempt at semi-smut. Please r&r.

Disclaimer: Don't own. BBC and RTD owns.

The day started impossibly badly for Ianto Jones. It started with him being late, not regular late, but 'Ianto' late, which was still 20 minutes earlier than even Jack started the day, but half an hour cut off his prep time. And he needed that prep time. It was impossible what was asked of him on a daily basis.

He was everything to Torchwood that it need him to be: housekeeper, butler, archivist, field agent, and yes, even guard dog. Then there was his personal life, which still maintained a 'Torchwood' quality, that had a bit to do with Jack thinking he was a super-hero. Because Jack knew everything that was asked of him, and he still expected Ianto to keep up after-hours.

It wasn't so bad really, considering Ianto was 25, and young enough not to need sleep as often as he'd certainly like it. But, dear God, what about turning 30? How the hell would he survive then?

' Probably won't have ' Ianto thought as he locked his door, a very droll thought to be starting out a Monday.

Then, his landlady happened at him. Once a month she managed to catch him coming in or out, and then he was in for at least a good 10 minutes lost, as he endured her latest prattle. She never seemed to happen to anyone else, so why she'd chosen Ianto for this fresh hell, he'd never understand.

Today, she started out with, "You really are quite a dashing young man. I don't know who's luckier, you or your boyfriend. Or, is that rude of me to say? You are the snappier dresser, though, gotta give you that. I wonder you haven't given him a makeover; I thought you boys loved that," she prattled on. It was agonizing.

20 minutes later he finally made it into the Hub, and was immediately accosted by Owen.

"Ianto, I need you to be a mate today," Owen said, taking him by the arm, and Ianto knew it was going to be bad.

"I'm going to talk to Jack," Owen continued, "and I'm gonna tell him that he has to let us sleep, at least four hours, at least twice a week. This two hours here and there thing will do us in far faster than anything else. That's gonna mean someone, and by that I'm sorry that I probably mean you, will have to do a rota. Jack's gonna say he does let us sleep, I'm gonna say ' no, you don't. . Then, he's gonna turn to you and say ' Ianto, do l let you sleep adequate hours?,' and here's the important bit: he will listen to whatever you say. Please, be a mate, and buy us sleep. You'd like some kip, now and then, wouldn't you, Ianto?"

God yes. Of course he would. But, he honestly didn't think what applied to the rest of them would ever apply to him. Still, it wasn't fair to take that out on the rest of them. Even though that meant he was actually buying himself more work. Of course, Jack gave him the rota.

Which was what he was working on when Jack emerged from his office, sullen at having lost a fight with Owen, and said, "Ianto, have you ever had drunken, weepy sex, when you weren't the drunk and weepy one?"

"Yes," Ianto said, after a beat. Another beat. "Why?"

"That's how I just spent my morning. Metaphorically speaking, just to be clear. Never let that woman on the phone to me again."

"I'll make a note, Jack." Guard - tick.

"You know," Jack said, smiling brightly, "I didn't actually expect you to say yes to that. I imagined you always held their hair back for them."

"I did go to University, Jack. And, I'm never what's expected of me."

"I know. Keep keeping me on my toes, and I'll never let you go."

The morning wasn't all bad.

xxXXxx

It was Jack's eyes, Ianto thought later, as he was watching the man dress, and not listening to him speak. Prattle, that's all Jack was espousing at the moment, but Ianto didn't mind. Because of Jack's eyes, and their deeper vocabulary.

Not an hour before ianto had been deep inside of him, thrusting slowly, taking as much pleasure from how open and vulnerable Jack was at these moments as he took from the feeling of Jack spasming around his cock. The best part though, the very best bit, was the look in Jack's eyes just before he came.

Those eyes had seen the furthest end of the universe, they'd seen time begin and end, they'd seen life and death, and thousands of years worth of stories. Those eyes had seen billions of lives, and probably hundreds of loves; they'd seen everything, but when Ianto was on top of him and softly stroking him, Jack's eyes saw only him.

The others could talk about Jack's smile, or his charm, but ianto knew better. It was his eyes that Ianto obsessed over. It was his eyes that contained all of his magic.

Ianto knew Jack would never say any of it out loud, but in those brief moments between Jack's lustful smirk and his release, his eyes said it all. They spoke of trust, and loyalty, unwavering faith, and, maybe, love.

The magnitude, the power, contained in that moment was always just as beautiful, and just as leg-numbingly hot as the sex itself, because that was when Ianto knew that everything he'd ever dared to hope for was true. He felt those things then as absolute knowledge.

Of course, every morning, when Ianto awoke cold and alone, the sheets smelling of fucking, and Jack and desolation, Ianto always knew better.

It was worth it though, for those brief seconds when Jack was his, only and ever his. Those moments made any bad day bearable. Or, so Ianto told himself on nights like this, when Jack was still close, and Ianto felt so alive.

The day started out impossibly badly for Ianto Jones, but Jack's lying, loving, haunted eyes made it perfect.