Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Who-verse. That honour belongs to RTD (the TW arm at least – Miracle Day, what were you thinking?), Steven Moffat (I am not worthy) and the mighty and glorious BBC. I merely play here occasionally and try to set right the terrible wrongs inflicted on Jack and Ianto...

So here we are, the long (very long) awaited final chapter. I'm sorry it has taken such a ridiculous time to post. I must lay the blame firmly at the door of the dreaded writer's block with additional contributions from decorating, summer hols and work deadlines. The plus side is that, a bit like the last chapter, the boys had unfinished business which means that it's sneaked up to almost 10,000 words.

As always heartfelt thanks to my beta Orion for adding that last touch of polish. Grateful thanks too to all of you who have taken the time to read, review and stick with this story. I really appreciate your continued support and I hope this last chapter was worth the wait!

The sun was already well overhead by the time they finally cast off the mooring ropes and pulled out into the by now steady procession of boats passing them in both directions. Although Jack longed for a turn at the helm, Ianto had apologetically but firmly informed him that a series of locks began just around the next bend and he had no intention of handing over control of Myfanwy to an unpractised hand.

"No problem," Jack replied with an easy smile. "I don't know about you, but I worked up quite an appetite this morning." The smile almost descended into a leer.

"Jack...," Ianto muttered, in a tone half way between despair and regret.

"What?" Jack's face was suddenly a picture of innocence. "I was merely enquiring if you fancied some lunch. With what I found this morning in that big fridge I can rustle us up a mean club sandwich." He raised one eyebrow questioningly.

Ianto looked relieved, although the infinitesimal slump in the arm resting on the tiller screamed disappointment.

"A club sandwich would be great," he confirmed.

Jack vanished through the hatchway and moments later the sound of banging cupboards and clattering utensils drifted up from the bowels of the boat. Ianto winced at the mess he knew would be left waiting for him to find.

"Are you all right down there?" he called into the open hatch, flinching as a particularly loud crash and tinkle told him that at least one glass had not survived the Myfanwy's maiden voyage.

There was a beat of silence before Jack's voice, in a tone that Ianto recognised as his 'Everything's-gone-to-hell-but-I-don't-want-you-to-know-it' approach, replied, "Yep, it's all under control." There was a pause and then, conversationally, "These worktops are stunning. Real granite, are they?"

Ianto almost groaned aloud. Clearly Jack was now looking at a great gouge in the worktop. "No, granite would have been too heavy," he said, keeping his voice calm and level. "Those are made from an experimental lightweight polymer manufactured to look and feel like granite."

"I imagine they were quite expensive." Jack's voice had moved on to the 'I'm-fucked' tone that was normally reserved for occasions when faced by impending doom or the need to conduct annual personnel appraisals.

"Very," Ianto said dryly. "How big is the hole, Jack?"

"Tiny," Jack assured him. "Well, small anyway." There was another, longer pause. "About five centimetres across. Sorry."

"I'll deduct the replacement from your next month's salary," Ianto said smoothly. "How long will lunch be?"

"Five minutes." Jack's relief was palpable.

"Try not to sink our boat in the meantime," Ianto called down. "And Captain Harkness? Consider yourself on wash-up duty for the rest of the holiday."

Jack's "Yes, sir!" was inexplicably jaunty.

Ianto had to admit that the club sandwiches, stuffed with so many slices of chicken and bacon that he could hardly hold the two sides of the sandwich together, were utterly delicious and might even have been worth the ruined worktop (Jack's five centimetres were nearer ten when he'd finally summoned up the courage to look). An hour's steady cruising had brought the Myfanwy to the base of the impressive stairway of seven locks that made up Bank Newton Locks, the grey Yorkshire stone lock-keeper's cottage nestled against the hillside. Two locks above them, Jack and Ianto could see the lower gates slowly swinging open, telling them that another boat was making the long slow descent.

Ianto steered the boat into the side and killed the engine while Jack jumped ashore to tether either end of the barge.

"It'll be about half-an-hour," Ianto said with a smile. "Do you fancy stretching your legs?" Without waiting for an answer, he jumped down onto the bank and began to stroll leisurely up towards the first pair of lock gates. Jack hurried after him, before slowing to match his pace and slipping his hand into the younger man's. He smiled as he felt Ianto squeeze gently. It was so rare that they had chance to do this, just be a couple.

In silence they climbed the path which rose alongside the locks. The locks were busy, the fine weather bringing out a multitude of walkers and picnickers to the landscaped grassy slopes. Both men smiled and nodded politely to those they met on the path but it was clear to anyone who saw them that they were in a world of their own where any further friendly exchange of greetings would only be viewed as an intrusion. Just above the third lock they halted where a broad slope ran up the hill to their left, studded with early spring flowers, and turned to look back down the flight of locks to the Myfanwy, the dark green blaze of the Dales hills behind her rising to meet the cloudless azure sky.

"I can understand why you love it here, Yan," Jack said with a sigh of contentment. "I mean, I love my cities, Cardiff, New York, New New New York, Veltersimmion Hive Five...but this is just so..." He struggled for the word.

"Perfect," Ianto filled in with a grin. "I felt the same way at twelve. I feel the same now." He squeezed Jack's hand hard and leaned his head back on Jack's shoulder. "Actually it's better now. So much better..." He left the statement hanging. Suddenly, spotting that the descending boat was just about to exit the last pair of lock gates, he stood up and set off at the sprint down the hill.

"Race you," he yelled over his shoulder.

Jack won, but only by a hair's breath. Panting, Ianto collapsed against the guard rail, but not without first firing up the engine.

Barely out of breath, Jack untied the boat and was about to walk up to the lock when Ianto shook his head and waved for him to climb aboard.

"No...need...there's...a...keeper," he managed between gasps. He swallowed hard. "And...there's...loads of...day-trippers...who want...a...go." He waved vaguely to one side and Jack, following his wave, noticed, for the first time a dozen people, men, women and children, leaning against the lock gates with excited, expectant faces.

Face still scarlet from the exertion, but finally catching his breath, Ianto straightened and steered the Mayfanwy into the narrow lock which was only wide enough for a single boat. With a call of thanks, Jack threw the rope up to the waiting arms of a young walker colourfully garbed in cherry red walking trousers and jacket. Moments later the Myfanwy had begun its ascent, the moving walls reminding Jack of an old-fashioned goods elevator.

"You never get out of breath," Ianto complained as his breathing finally settled into something approaching a regular rhythm. "It's an unfair advantage."

Jack chuckled. "Don't blame me, blame the whole immortality package. Anyway, I do get out of breath, look at last night." As he spoke he ran the tip of his tongue across his top, then bottom lip in a lazy circle.

"Jack, there are minors about," Ianto admonished, lifting his eyes warningly to the children watching from the lock sides. "Time and a place."

Jack leaned back against the cabin roof with a satisfied smirk.

"Time...?" He checked the chronometer built into the defunct Vortex manipulator on his wrist. "About seven hours from now. No, make that six. Place?" His eyes raked down the length of Ianto's body, leaving the young man under no illusions that the immortal was mentally stripping every stitch of clothing from him. "I'll make my mind up later," he said thoughtfully.

"Er...lads?"

The shout from one side brought the two men up abruptly and looking round, face flushed with embarrassment, Ianto saw the amused gaze of the lock keeper, a bearded man in his forties.

"Sorry," he apologised, steering the boat out of the open upper lock gates and directly into the open lower gates of the second lock.

"I think we should keep our minds on the locks," he hissed to a grinning Jack. "Imagine all these people are a pack of vicious K'nids and we're trying to escape."

"Vicious what?" Jack asked in confusion.

"Vicious K'nids. Jesus, Jack, please don't tell me you've never read Roald Dahl? Our base is built under the Plas named after him," Ianto scolded, genuinely taken aback.

"So many books, so little time," Jack apologised with a shrug. "So, these K'nids? Very dangerous, right?"

"Yes, Jack, very dangerous. Giant egg-shaped beings from Vermes. Like to spell the word SCRAM to show off," Ianto explained patiently.

"Oh, you mean Verniciouskernids," Jack exclaimed. "Why didn't you say so? OK, I agree, they would require us to escape as quickly as possible. Love to know how Roald Dahl knew about them...unless...where was Mr Dahl in 1953?"

"Jack?" Ianto gave his husband a look which said quite clearly that he didn't believe a word he was saying, or at least was reasonably sure he didn't believe a word he was saying, or... He swallowed. Jack's face was impassive, his eyes darkly serious.

"Jack..." he repeated, and this time his voice held a strong tremor of doubt.

The immortal face remained grim for a full ten seconds, then it broke into an impish smile and he blew the younger man a kiss. "Gotcha!"

The remaining four locks passed uneventfully, although. the dark glances Ianto kept throwing in Jack's direction told the immortal that his husband would be working on payback sometime in the not too distant future.

"So, is there any chance of me getting a drive?" Jack questioned, once they had reached the broad stretch of water at the top of the flight of locks.

"After that stunt you pulled with the Vicious K'nids?" Ianto scoffed. Jack's face fell, and he looked so disappointed that Ianto didn't have the heart to tease him further. "Oh, all right. Just so you know though, don't think for one instant that I've forgotten, or that I'm going to let you get away with it." He grinned as Jack's face lit up once more with boyish enthusiasm, and beckoned him over to take his place at the tiller.

"Remember, work the tiller in the opposite direction you want to go," Ianto directed, guiding Jack's hand with his own. "And Jack, remember this doesn't react like those speed boats you are so fond of driving. You need to move well in advance of any obstacle." He stepped away and leaned back against the cabin bulkhead, his brow creased with concern. "I don't want a hole in my boat like there is in the worktop."

"Our boat," Jack corrected gently.

"What?"

"She's our boat. Relax, Yan. I've got it covered," the older man assured him.

And it appeared he did. After half a mile of incident free cruising in which Jack had successfully navigated around two oncoming craft, Ianto had to concede, with a little irritation, that Jack clearly found the new challenge of piloting the Myfanwy down the narrow canal as effortless as he seemed to find every other challenge he faced. Really, the man had no business being talented at everything.

They were passing through leafy woodland now, the drooping branches of willow trees grazing the water and masking one bank. In the cool shade Ianto found himself relaxing enough to start watching the scenery rather than every movement of Jack's hand on the tiller and soon the random patchwork of dappled sunlight on the surface of the water, the slow deep throb of the engine and the cries of water fowl had lulled him into a daydream in which delicious payback and Jack featured heavily.

"Shit!"

Jack's sudden curse shocked Ianto out of his reverie. He looked round wildly at the immortal, although the slender whipping branches of a willow hitting his face as he turned informed him exactly what was wrong. The Myfanwy was almost grazing the wooded bank. Angry words at Jack's carelessness sprang to his lips, but before he could voice them he saw the reason for Jack's manoeuvre. A pleasure cruiser was barging its way up the centre of the canal, clearly unwilling to give any ground. At the helm a corpulent, balding fifty-something, wearing mirrored sunglasses and a sneer, seemed oblivious to their presence.

"Hey there! Move over!" Jack called pleasantly, easing off the throttle, his voice loud even above the throaty roar of the pleasure cruiser's engine. The man made no acknowledgement, even though there was no way he could not have heard Jack's request. Jack flushed red with anger.

"Oi, wanker," he bellowed, all pleasantness vanishing. "Move that crate over now or I'll... I'll... report you." Well, he could hardly shoot the man, could he?

Now almost level with the nose of the Myfanwy the man slowed the cruiser a fraction and looked down condescendingly at Jack over the top of his sunglasses.

"Really? Who to? The British Waterways Agency?" he sneered. "I'm so scared." And deliberately he raised his middle finger in salute.

Wordlessly Jack reached into the back pocket of his jeans pulling out his wallet and, flipping it open to his ID, the Torchwood logo plain to see, turned it to show the man, who was by now abreast of him.

"Are you scared now?" Jack asked in an even, silky tone, watching as every vestige of colour fled the man's florid face. "Thought so."

Shakily the white-faced man turned the wheel, moving the pleasure cruiser away from the Myfanwy towards to the far bank, even though he was now well past Jack and Ianto. Jack watched the boat retreat and then turned round to face Ianto once more, his smile broad.

"That was fun." He pushed forward the throttle, aiming the barge back into the centre of the canal.

"I'm glad to see you are in no way continuing to abuse your Torchwood credentials," Ianto said in a reproving tone, although his eyes glittered with barely contained amusement. In his opinion there were few things as hot as watching his husband throw his weight around against arseholes who desperately deserved it. "You'll have half the canal community scared to talk to us if you keep it up."

"And the other half will be commenting on our nocturnal activities," Jack shot back cheekily. "Speaking of which, shouldn't we be finding some where out of the way to moor up? As I recall there was some discussion of an appropriate time and place. By my reckoning, the appropriate time is fast approaching, all we need is an appropriate place..." He looked hopefully in Ianto's direction, but the Welshman shook his head regretfully.

"Sorry, Jack, there are no private or secluded moorings along this stretch. We'll have to stay in one of the public moorings, lots of people about."

Jack's shoulders slumped in disappointment. "I was looking forward to this evening," he complained. "I'd got it all planned out in my head. You would have really enjoyed it," he added mournfully.

"Sorry, cariad, it'll have to wait till we're alone... Or at least not wedged in between two other barges." Ianto shrugged his shoulders apologetically. "Look, we better pull in here, it's already getting busy and at least there's a pub just up the lane. We can go out for a meal, the food's decent."

Jack looked at the small, already crowded mooring approaching on the port side and scowled. Ianto's prediction that they would be sandwiched looked to be spot-on.

"Here, let me guide her in," Ianto said, relieving Jack of the tiller, "it's a bit tight."

Jack leaned back against the cabin, his handsome features marred by a sulky frown. At the helm, Ianto, observing his husbands childish huff, smirked inwardly. Payback was coming along nicely...

Three hours later Jack's mood had improved, but his shoulders still slumped dejectedly as he strolled back from the pub. The pub, all low ceilings, wood beams and white-washed walls, had served a good pint of Copper Dragon from the local brewery in Skipton and offered a menu that, whilst not extensive, had showcased some of the area's finest produce. As a consequence Jack was more than comfortably full, on the verge of tipsy, and as horny as hell with no prospect of gratification. It was enough to make an immortal swear, he thought grumpily, especially as his husband didn't seem in the least bit put out that the evening promised nothing more than a chaste kiss and cuddle.

The last rays of spring sunshine had long since vanished below the horizon, leaving nothing more than a faint glow on the western horizon and the lane, shadowed by ancient trees on either side, was gloomy, only the lights from barges on the distant canal showing them the way home. It was deserted, the heavy tread of Jack's boots the only sound in the encroaching darkness.

Suddenly Jack became aware that Ianto was no longer matching his stride. He paused, turning to look for his husband, and suddenly found his wrist being grabbed tightly. A moment later he was dragged from the road into the hedgerow. Ianto's grip didn't lessen and Jack realised the younger man was pulling him through a gap in the thicket which bordered the lane and into what appeared to be a copse of trees beyond. Before he could open his mouth to question what Ianto was up to, his back was slammed against a broad tree trunk and his mouth was being devoured, that was the only word for it, by his husband's. Teeth and tongues clashed against his, remorselessly seeking dominance, barely giving Jack the freedom to respond. Ianto released Jack's wrist, instead pushing the older man's shoulders against the bark as his tongue plundered the depths of Jack's mouth time and time again. His hips sought rest against Jack's, his arousal evident. Ianto released Jack's shoulders but leaned in close, his weight keeping Jack pinned to the trunk. The bark was rough at his back, digging through the thin material of his T-shirt, but somehow the feeling was more sensual than painful and Jack groaned against Ianto's mouth, the sound guttural and muffled. In response Ianto's hands delved between them, fingers eagerly seeking out Jack's waistband, freeing the hem of the T-shirt so that warm fingers could finally caress heated skin. At the touch Jack shivered, his desire, so close to the surface all evening, blazing up. His hands, until now limp at his sides, reached up and around Ianto's back, aiming to return the favour. His fingers scrabbled for purchase, Ianto's frenzied and continued attack on his mouth robbing him of reason and coordination. Eventually he managed to free Ianto's shirt from his jeans, his hands sliding up the smooth skin of Ianto's back. Ianto's breath hitched in his throat and he bit down on Jack's lower lip, almost drawing blood. Jack's cry was swallowed by Ianto's mouth, lifted a fraction from Jack's lips.

"Sssh," he mouthed, his words barely a breath. "You'll wake the neighbours." He thrust one hand inside Jack's jeans, his fingers seeking out the velvet flesh straining for release, and grinned against Jack's lips as, object achieved, he felt his husband buck wildly against his hand. "Quiet," he commanded. "Not a sound."

Jack's eyes flared wide with surprise, simultaneously darkening with desire. Mute, he nodded, his movement restrained by Ianto's mouth resuming the kiss. But only for a moment. Without lifting his mouth, Ianto instead let his tongue travel down languorously across the immortal's chin and neck, his tongue laving a wide warm trail across his skin. He felt a shiver run though the older man's frame and, seemingly unable to support its own weight, Jack's head lolled back until it was supported by the trunk. As Ianto's lips and tongue wove slowly down, his free hand worked Jack's t-shirt up his chest, centimetre by aching centimetre, until the material was bunched between them, exposing Jack's heated skin to the cool night air and, another shudder that had nothing to do with the cold, frissoned down the length of Jack's spine. Smiling against the trembling skin of his husband's neck, Ianto let his fingers turn their attention to Jack's nipples, rolling them between his fingertips, working them to such a state of sensitisation that, when his mouth encountered the neckline of the T-shirt and he transferred its attention to them, he felt Jack's legs start to buckle beneath him, and heard a harsh exhale of breath, just short of a silent scream.

"You like that, don't you, Jack?" he commented throatily against the skin of Jack's chest. Jack opened his mouth to respond, but Ianto placed a finger on his lips and he nodded instead, his hands tightening on Ianto's back, fingernails digging deep into the pale skin. Ianto's body arched, driving his hips deeper against Jack's, Ianto's trapped fingers flexing involuntarily. There was a harsh rattle deep in Jack's throat as his own hips spasmed in reply.

Ianto's lips settled once more over Jack's nipple, lazily sucking and teasing before moving over to the other to repeat. After a minute his mouth resumed its downward exploration. Jack's back arched, straining against Ianto's mouth, his hands against his lover's shoulders, pushing his head down to the flat planes of his stomach and beyond, telegraphing his obvious need.

Ianto lifting his head to look up at Jack with sly amusement. "Really, Jack? Against a tree? In a dark lane? Sort-of living up to the stereotype, aren't we?"

Jack's reply was no more than a pair of dark, pleading orbs, almost black with need. They held Ianto's momentarily, silently begging, before Jack's head fell forward, chin to his chest, his breathing laboured.

With a soft sigh Ianto released the button on Jack's jeans with his free hand, pushing the denim down over Jack's hips. He felt Jack sag against the tree, sensing imminent fulfilment.

"Against a tree it is," he said wickedly. "Remember, not a sound, cariad..."

The good captain would, Ianto pondered later, have some explaining to do as to why he needed to be treated for bite marks to his hand, but the Welshman had to admit, his husband hadn't made a sound.

Nor had he, for that matter, but then the bite marks on Jack's shoulder were much easier to hide.

Maybe he could blame them on the Verniciouskernids. There was, he reflected, a lot to be said for payback.

Much to Jack's disappointment Ianto chivvied him out of bed the following morning with almost disgusting haste, deftly avoiding Jack's hands as they made a concerted effort to draw the Welshman back into the cocoon of the duvet.

"Sorry, cariad," the younger man apologised as Jack made his displeasure known through a series of grunts and deep sighs. "Today is our last chance to get through the Foulridge tunnel. We have to turn back tomorrow if we want to have any chance of getting back to the boatyard on time."

As he spoke he deliberately threw the duvet back, the cool air hitting Jack's skin like an Arctic blast.

"Sadist," Jack grumbled as he reluctantly rolled over and up until he was perching on the side of the bed. "As far as I'm concerned, I don't want to back to the boatyard at all. Our little private mooring on the other hand..." His last words were muffled as he pulled the single remaining intact black t-shirt over his head.

The temptation to capture Jack's hands above his head, trap him inside his improvised strait-jacket, and push him back against the mattress was strong enough for Ianto to take a step towards the immortal, but before he could act further on his impulse, Jack's tousled hair emerged through the neck hole and his piercing blue eyes fixed Ianto with a knowing smirk.

"Look me in the eye and tell me you don't agree with me a thousand percent?"

Ianto blinked innocently and, without deigning to give his husband the satisfaction of a reply, turned his back and walked out of the bedroom into the main cabin, aware that Jack's smirk was following his every step.

Jack joined him there less than a minute later, the black t-shirt now moulded to the planes of Jack's well-defined shoulders and chest, a pair of faded denim jeans worn through at the knees emphasising rather than obscuring his long lean legs.

Ianto thrust a mug of steaming coffee into his hands, leaned across to drop a warm but chaste kiss on his lips and retreated back to the galley kitchen, perching on one of the high stools tucked under the breakfast bar.

Jack looked down at his mug, then across to Ianto and the kitchen, which appeared to be devoid of food of any description. His face fell.

"Are you trying to starve me?" he asked disconsolately. "I worked up quite an appetite last night if you recall."

"It's an incentive," Ianto replied with a cheeky grin. "There's a café about an hour further on that does a mean all-day breakfast. Sausage, bacon, black pudding, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, hash browns and as much tea and toast as you can eat." His grin widened as he watched Jack positively salivate at his description.

"Fried bread?" Jack asked hopefully. Ianto grimaced.

"I don't know how you can eat that stuff. Pure grease." He shuddered. "But, yes, fried bread, if that's what you desire."

Jack sighed in contentment at the prospect. Then, as though he'd only just taken in Ianto's actual words, his lips curved slyly and he stepped across to Ianto, pinning him back against the counter with the weight of his body.

"But, if we're talking about what I desire..." he murmured in Ianto's ear. Leaving the sentence hanging, his mouth found the skin of Ianto's neck, his teeth grazing lightly down towards the younger man's collarbone before retracing his path with sweeping strokes of his tongue. With satisfaction he felt Ianto lean into his touch, the Welshman's breath escaping in a long sigh that contained Jack's name.

Without lifting his mouth from Ianto's neck, Jack deposited his coffee mug on the counter, freeing up his hands to position them on either side of his husband, preventing him from escaping.

Not that Ianto felt like moving anywhere. From the first breath of Jack's murmur, his desire to move anywhere had deserted him entirely. The effect of Jack's touch had been immediate, igniting a steady burn low in his belly and robbing him of the will to do anything but seek more of Jack's caress. As Jack's mouth moved across his skin he belatedly realised that his own coffee mug was trapped between his body and Jack's, in hands that were fast losing the capacity to hold onto the container of scalding liquid. As though reading his thoughts, he felt Jack's hand push between them, divesting him of the burden. He arched his back, hoping that Jack would give him the touch he so desperately needed but after a moment he felt Jack's hand return to its position on the counter top, trapping him on the stool. His disappointment was halted as he felt Jack push insistently at his legs, willing him to move them apart and let the immortal in closer. He obliged, pushing his hips forward so that they connected against Jack's, the slow burn flaring to an inferno of sudden heat and need. He tried to raise his arms to touch Jack but felt Jack's head shake against his neck, the barrier of Jack's arms at either side tightening, preventing movement.

Jack's mouth moved around and down, lips and tongue working against the hollow at the base of his throat. Clenching his hands into fists at his sides, Ianto's head fell back involuntarily, a low moan escaping his throat. At the sound, Jack ground his hips slowly forward, his body tensing as Ianto met his thrust with one of his own. The friction of skin against denim, stoking the radiating heat that burned like a brand despite the still chaste contact.

Ianto's hands tried to fight free, his fingers flexing as they sought the waistband of Jack's jeans, but still Jack held him immobile.

"Jesus, Jack," he pleaded. "I need..." His words were lost in a gasping intake of breath as Jack bit down hard on his collar bone through the fabric of his T-shirt at the same time as grinding forward again, the circular motion driving Ianto back against the edge of the stool until the hard plastic edge dug deep into the back of his thighs. A streak of fire shot from his hips to his collarbone and back again, the sensation pooling in his belly like molten lava. His need was primal, raw. Captive, not only by Jack's weight but also by the confines of his clothes Ianto could feel his body trembling, begging for release. A second bite, this time on the bare skin just below his ear, another grinding thrust of Jack's hips and Ianto came, convulsing as the fire exploded outwards through his limbs, Jack's name erupting hoarsely from him as his body, still pinned, strained feebly against Jack's. But still Jack's assault on his neck and throat continued, hips rotating against him in an ever-increasing frenzy of movement, refusing to let him rest, and incredibly Ianto felt the urgency begin to build once more. Flexing his hands, he found that his fingers were now in a position to hook through the belt loops on his husband's jeans and he pulled Jack closer until he could work his fingers underneath the soft material of the tucked in T-shirt. As his fingers found the skin of Jack's stomach, he felt the older man shudder and for the first time he heard Jack give a low, harsh cry.

"I need to touch you...now!" Ianto's words were stilted and breathless. "All of you."

Jack made no reply, instead standing up to release Ianto and pulled the younger man after him back towards the bedroom. As soon as they were in the privacy of the still curtained room, Jack pulled Ianto back into his arms, pulling his T-shirt roughly over his head, revealing the Welshman's pale skin. Then he knelt down, and undoing the button of his husband's jeans, worked the faded denim down, past his hips, freeing each leg in turn. Breathlessly Ianto stepped free of the material pooled at this ankles, and looked down at Jack, still knelt at his feet. Jack hands ran down the length of his legs, skimming his hipbones with a light but sensuous touch that sent shudders of desire skidding up and down his spine. Jack smiled, caressing Ianto's bare feet, his mouth feathering the skin of his ankles and calves with light kisses, tickling the skin.

"Bloody hell, Jack. I thought I was supposed to be touching you," Ianto breathed.

"Plenty of time for that," Jack promised. "It's my turn now." His hands grasped Ianto at the hip, turning the younger man round and suddenly the kisses became open-mouthed, Jack's tongue cutting a swath up the back of Ianto's leg, the tip of his tongue swirling momentarily in the hollow at the back of the knee before continuing on its journey upwards.

"God, Jack," Ianto moaned, his fists clenching at his sides as Jack's tongue laved the top his thigh. He felt his legs start to give beneath him so that only Jack's hands on his hips were keeping him upright. Jack's mouth transferred to his other leg, this time travelling downwards as far as his knee, where Jack's mouth suckled the sensitive skin for a full minute.

Ianto's breath came in harsh gasps. Jack hadn't even touched him, yet another few seconds and he would come apart at the seams again.

Sensing his husband was close, Jack drew his head away, rising to his feet and pulling Ianto back against the solid warmth of his chest.

"Not yet," he admonished softly. Gently he lowered Ianto forward, laying him face down on the bed and climbed over him, straddling his calves. Lowering his head, he kissed the nape of the Welshman's neck, delighting as his husband squirmed at his touch. His hands played up and down Ianto's sides, the weight of his body pinning the younger man to the mattress, preventing any movement other than the tremors of passion which coursed through his limbs at the assault of Jack's touch on his inflamed flesh. At the same time, the immortal's mouth swept a path downwards, slow and steady, not leaving a centimetre of skin untouched. At each flick of the tongue he heard Ianto's moan, muffled by the soft down of the duvet beneath his head, interspersed with inarticulate pleas. Jack's mouth came to rest in the hollow at the base of Ianto's spine. He let one finger trace carefully and deliberately down the contour of Ianto's spine. On reaching the resting place of his lips, Jack placed it between his lips twirling his tongue about the tip before placing the wet digit against Ianto's skin to travel onwards into the start of the cleft there. He paused as he felt Ianto's hips strain up against his hand and mouth, desperately seeking the resolution Jack was offering. Letting his finger still, so close and yet achingly far away from the destination Ianto craved, Jack lifted the finger briefly, replacing the caress with a single laving kiss, then raised his head, bringing his mouth close to his husband's ear. He knew what his husband wanted, but he wanted to hear the words just the same.

"Tell me what you want," he mouthed, his lips brushing the curve of Ianto's ear.

Ianto's answer was almost a whimper. "Please, cariad. I need to feel you. All of you..." Panting, hands scrabbling against the duvet searching for some kind of anchor as shudders of desire began to shake his frame, Ianto twisted his head round to meet Jack's eyes in pleading desperation. "All...of...you..." he repeated deliberately. "Now!"

By the time Ianto finally cast off the mooring, the morning was well advanced, the bright blue sky which had looked so promising had disappeared behind a blanket of low grey cloud that threatened rain. Given the time of year, it was a miracle the weather had held as long as it had, Ianto reasoned, shivering slightly in the cool breeze sweeping briskly across the rear deck. Jack had seen the Yorkshire Dales and the canal at its best, and now it looked as though he was going to get a glimpse of what the county's weather was capable of. It was fortunate that a large chunk of the afternoon would be spent in the protection of the Foulridge tunnel but his plan to go through it and back again in time to moor up at this side for the evening was in tatters – much like Jack's last black t-shirt. Still, although he had told Gwen they would be away six days, there really wasn't anything stopping them taking the extra day it was now going to take to get back to the Snaygill boat yard; it wasn't as if they didn't have enough leave owing. At a push they might be able to snatch another day at the private mooring. An anticipatory smile curved Ianto's lips at the thought and he resolved to ring Gwen as soon as he had a spare moment.

Jack came bounding up the cabin steps, catching his husband mid-smile.

"What are you smiling at? Should I be worried?"

"I was musing on the relative merits of extending our trip for a couple of days. Unless we turn round now we haven't a hope in hell in making it back to Snaygill in time. Which would be a shame because I was really looking forward to witnessing your legman powers through the tunnel."

"Well, I wouldn't want to deprive you," Jack retorted with mock reluctance. "We'll ring Gwen later, once we're too far on to make it back in time if she orders us to turn round."

"You're the boss," Ianto pointed out patiently. "You give the orders."

"You're not still labouring under that delusion, are you?" Jack gave a snort of laughter and shook his head. "If Gwen says jump, we ask how high? She has ways of making us suffer that make death look like the easy option."

"You have a point," Ianto conceded with a grimace. "OK, we ring Gwen when we're guaranteed at least one extra day, then I'll persuade her we really need two."

"You mean you'll lie." Jack raised his eyebrows at Ianto's expression of studied innocence.

"Of course, sir," Ianto replied, the last word drawn out in a husky tone. He held Jack's gaze steadily, moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue.

"I though you wanted to get through the tunnel," Jack scolded. "Have you no shame Ianto Harkness-Jones?" He took a step closer to the Welshman.

"None at all," Ianto shot back, the husky words now accompanied by a lascivious wink. "Sir."

"I think I better drive for a while." Jack stepped past Ianto, taking care that his hip brushed against the younger man, and placed his hand over the fingers curled about the metal bar of the tiller. "Your mind is clearly elsewhere."

The Welshman almost goggled at him. The infamous Captain Harkness was dodging some determined flirting from his husband?

"Are you punishing me for something?" he asked suspiciously. The brush against his hip and the caress of Jack's fingers over his own were certainly deliberate actions intended to arouse him.

"The last black t-shirt," Jack explained with a smirk. "I feel that a measure of cruel and unusual torture is required in return."

"As I recall, your exact words were 'For fuck's sake touch me!'" Ianto countered with a frown. "I was only following orders."

"Nevertheless..." Jack grinned evilly. "Stand down, Mr Jones."

Ianto gaped at his husband and then slid his hand out from underneath Jack's, stepping away to lean against the bulkhead. A million clever and witty retorts firmly refused to present themselves so Ianto Harkness-Jones did what any respecting grown man would do, he stuck his tongue out and blew a very loud and deliberate raspberry in his husband's direction before turning on his heel and somehow managing to flounce down into the cabin below.

"A coffee would be good," Jack called after him, smothering a chuckle.

The only answer was a repeat of Ianto's previous statement.

Jack was miserable. What little remained of the morning had passed without incident, traffic on the canal was light and Jack had steered an easy path between the high reeds on one bank and the towpath on the other. The threatening rain had materialised in the form of a light but steady mizzle which coated the surface of Jack's fleece without penetrating the warm material and leant an air of depressed dampness to the whole proceedings. But it wasn't the grey or the damp that was depressing Jack, it wasn't even the fact that the much anticipated full cooked breakfast had failed to materialise, thanks to some ill-timed café renovations. No, it was the fact that Ianto had taken him at his word and had not put his nose up through the cabin hatchway since he had flounced down there an hour before, not even to bring him a cup of freshly brewed coffee, the smell of which was rising in tantalising wafts from the galley.

Jack muttered a curse under his breath, one which no inhabitant of Earth would recognise, given that your average human wasn't equipped with three rectal orifices, and leant heavily against the tiller in frustration. This wasn't at all what he'd had planned for the rest of the day. Ianto never obeyed orders, well, not those kind of orders. Surely his husband recognised the 'requiring persuasion' routine by now. It was time to swallow his pride and apologise.

A sickening grating noise rent the air, startling Jack from his musing. His eyes focused in horror on the prow of the Myfanwy vanishing into the tall reeds which lined the wooded side of the bank. The grating noise harshened and Jack winced, recognising the unmistakable sound of the barge's hull scrapping across the bottom of the canal.

"Fuck!" Jack's curse was now loud and human as he frantically pulled on the tiller, trying to turn the Myfanwy's back out into the clear expanse of canal. The front of the barge slowly began to turn, ripping reeds from their roots, the long stems snagging on the prow. The grating of the hull became a screech and Jack prayed that he hadn't succeeded in running Ianto's precious Myfanwy aground.

Ianto appeared in the cabin doorway, his face white and etched with worry.

"It's fine, I'm handling it," Jack said immediately, trying to school his features into some kind of reassuring expression. "Just a slight steering error. Nothing to worry about." He admitted his words would have carried more weight if they hadn't been almost completely drowned out by the sound of wood tearing across the stony canal bed. "Honest, Yan. She's fine."

Ianto immediately started up the steep cabin steps, arm outstretched and ready to relieve Jack of the tiller. His hand was a foot away from the metal bar when the grating noise abruptly ceased, to be replaced by the slow steady throb of the engine as the barge regained the clear water. He stopped, taking in Jack's relieved expression with a small smile.

"A bit of a drastic way to gain my attention, cariad," he commented softly, "nearly sinking our boat."

"I did not nearly sink her," Jack shot back defensively, but the tight set of his shoulders told Ianto that until moment ago he had genuinely feared he had done just that. "It was just a slight miscalculation." He paused and grimaced. "I was distracted."

"What by?" Ianto asked, although he had a very good idea. After all, he'd been stood at the bottom of the steps waving that coffee pot around for the past 20 minutes, watching his husband's face become more and more despondent. Another minute and he'd have put the poor man out of his misery.

Jack sighed. "I've fucked up, haven't I? Ruined our anniversary. You thought I didn't want you. You thought I was serious."

Ianto shook his head in exasperation. "Twpsyn. I blew you a raspberry. Since when has blowing a raspberry at someone ever meant something was taken seriously." He leaned into Jack to place a stinging but conciliatory kiss on the immortal's lips. "I honestly thought you'd be calling me up from that cabin after 30 seconds. When you didn't, well, I just wanted to see how long either of us would last before one of us caved. Unfortunately we both appear to be as stubborn as each other. For the record, this anniversary has been absolutely perfect. I..."

Whatever Ianto had been about to say next was lost amid a barrage of squawking and shrill calls from the water behind the barge.

Startled, both men turned to see what was causing the commotion, stumbling backwards as a large and very angry swan took flight from the water a few yards behind the Myfanwy, its long neck, head and spear-like beak aiming very determinedly at their heads.

"Shit!" Ianto exclaimed, reaching behind him with one hand and, knocking Jack's hand off the throttle, threw it forward. The barge's engine whined into full power, the craft moving forward with a lurch. "Jack! Duck!"

The immortal dropped into a crouch, just managing to evade the snapping beak of the angry swan, which flew past before circling round and lining up to make another pass of the barge.

"What the fuck!" Jack swore, covering his head with his arms.

"You must have disturbed a nest when we clipped the bank," Ianto said breathlessly, keeping one eye on the canal and the other on the approaching bird. "You need to get down below."

"No way! I'm not leaving you at the mercy of that thing," Jack protested, vehemently shaking his head.

"It's not pissed at me!" Ianto countered. "Get down below!"

The warning came too late. Fifty kilos of angry adult swan cannoned into Jack's shoulder, sending the immortal pirouetting into the cabin bulkhead with a crash. His legs concertinaed beneath him as he slumped motionless to the deck.

The swan fell stunned into the water beside the barge, where it too floated motionless for several moments before reviving and turning to follow in the boat's wake, resuming its angry litany of grievances.

"Jack!" Ianto looked anxiously at his motionless husband, frustrated that he could not leave the tiller to go to his aid. "Jack?"

"I'm fine." Jack's body remained unmoving, but the voice which emanated from inside the tangle of limbs was strong, if weary and more than a little pained.

"Boy, can that thing pack a punch. I've had less bruising attacks from a weevil. Has it gone? Can I get up yet?"

Ianto glanced back at the bird doggedly following in the wake of the Myfanwy.

"It's still hot on our heels. I should stay where you are, cariad. It's probably safer, full grown swans have been known to kill a man."

"Not really an issue, Yan," Jack replied wryly.

"True, but it would put a bit of a damper on our anniversary trip" Ianto shot back tartly. "Just lay still for five minutes. I'll let you know when it's safe to get up."

Jack harrumphed under his breath. "Fine. But I'm warning you my legs are already going numb."

"Noted."

The problem was, Ianto conceded fifteen minutes later, that the swan was clearly more stubborn than he'd counted on. Despite his maintaining top speed and staying well towards the towpath side of the canal, he found the bird still following them, a steady fifteen feet between itself and the rear of the boat and showing no sign of tiring or giving up the chase.

"It's still there, cariad. I can't shake it," Ianto said apologetically to the hunched form of Jack still feigning unconsciousness on the deck.

There was a distinct growl from Jack. "This is ridiculous! It's a bird. We've managed to give Government spooks the slip, not to mention a Hoix death squad, and we can't escape the wrath of one vengeful specimen of poultry."

"To be fair we are trying to evade it in a craft with a top speed of six knots," Ianto reasoned. "Look, five minutes more and we can moor up. You can make a break for the cabin and we can hole up inside for a couple of hours until it gets bored."

Jack's reply was a deep sigh.

The mooring was, Ianto was thankful to note, deserted. Certainly Jack's language as he stretched his cramped limbs in an awkward and ungainly move to descend into the cabin unnoticed by the swan was not fit for polite company. To Ianto's relief the bird made no move to attack the older man, merely swimming closer to the barge whilst letting out another cacophony of shrill angry calls.

Tying up the boat he followed Jack down into the cabin, coming face to face with a very disgruntled immortal at the bottom of the steps.

"Not...fun," Jack commented pointedly, punctuating each word with a brief but intense kiss on Ianto's lips. "Not...fun...at all! I've no blood in any of my limbs."

Ianto smiled against his husband's lips. "Never mind, cariad. I'm sure we can find a way to get the blood circulating satisfactorily again," he vowed, his voice low, husky and filled with promise. He stepped away. "Give me a minute to make sure we're secure for the night. I don't see us making the tunnel today."

He climbed up the steps, leaving Jack looking a lot more content. Poking his head up through the cabin doors, he looked at the swan drifting just behind the Myfanwy, its gaze fixed at the cabin entrance.

"Nice try, but no cigar. Night-night!" He waved jauntily at the white bird, looking up at the sky which, although filled with dark grey clouds, was still clearly hours away from darkening into twilight.

As he started to duck back down into the cabin, an almost black shape far on the horizon caught his attention. He stood up straight so as to get a better look. His heart sank.

Stooping down he called down into the cabin. "Jack, get dressed. We've got company."

The shuttle, bearing the familiar Torchwood logo, swept in low over the canal, stirring the water up into tiny waves. The swan took flight with one final angry squawk, flying just above the water back towards its nest.

Typical, Ianto thought sourly. Scowling, he watched as the sleek gunmetal grey ship circled and descended to land in a blast of warm air in the pasture bordering the tow-path. Almost immediately the side hatch lifted upwards and a short flight of stairs swung out from the dark recess of the shuttle, coming to rest in the long green grass. Two young men sporting the familiar black jumpsuits and red berets of U.N.I.T. descended standing to attention at either side of the bottom step.

"That'll be our ride," Jack grumbled, joining Ianto on the deck, dressed in his formal Torchwood attire, complete with greatcoat. Jack, the husband had been replaced by Captain Jack Harkness, leader of Torchwood. His brow creased in an angry frown, his displeasure obvious, as he vaulted the wooden fence and stalked across to the waiting soldiers.

"I understood we had given instructions that we were not to be disturbed," he barked, his face grim.

The young man nearest to him didn't speak or make eye contact but handed him a small portable vidscreen with a salute in which Jack's keen eyes caught the merest hint of a tremble. Jack returned the salute, after all he had no doubt the young man was only acting under orders, and whipped around, striding back towards the canal. Ianto met him half way.

"I guess this means a mauve alert," he said stonily. "Bloody typical!"

Jack nodded, activating the vidscreen. A rotating Torchwood logo and the words 'Connecting...' appeared briefly on the screen before being replaced by Gwen's face in close up, her eyes taut and red, the usual laughter lines around her mouth instead pulled into stern, worried lines. After a moment her brow softened and she gave an apologetic smile.

"Jack, Ianto, I'm sorry. I held off as long as I could. Have you had a good trip?"

"We can save that for later. What is it, Gwen? I can't see you calling us back for anything less than the apocalypse. Is it the 456?" Jack asked tersely. According to the information he'd had from the Doctor about the return of the 456, they weren't due for another year, and, whilst the vaccine Sîan had discovered was in mass production and being administered, there were still large swathes of the world's population as yet unprotected.

Gwen shook her head, "Thankfully not. No, it's our old friends the Sontarans."

"I hardly think a Sontaran ship warrants a Mauve alert," Ianto interjected acidly.

"If it were just the one ship, no," Gwen agreed with a small tight smile. "but we're currently tracking over a thousand ships on course for Earth. That's more of an armada. They've just entered the solar system and we've calculated they'll be in orbit around Earth in just over ten hours."

Ianto's muttered "Bugger" said it all.

"All right," Jack said. "We're on our way. We'll be with you in an hour or so."

"What are we going to do with the Myfanwy?" Ianto asked with a concerned glance backwards at his pride and joy.

"Moffatt can pilot the barge back to Snaygill," Gwen explained. "He has the necessary skills."

"Moffatt?" Ianto queried, his expression still troubled.

The young soldier who had handed Jack the vidscreen stepped forward with an embarrassed salute.

"I used to spend my summers helping my uncle with his charter business, sir. Private Davies will stay and help me crew her. I promise I'll look after her, she's a beauty."

Ianto's face relaxed a fraction. "What about Mr Thwaites? What's he going to say when these two pitch up on my boat?"

"Our boat," corrected Jack.

"Our boat." Ianto shot him an exasperated look.

"It's all taken care of," Gwen assured him. "We've told Mr Thwaite that you've been called back to work unexpectedly – he thinks you work for the government..."

"Which technically we do," Jack interjected, earning himself another sharp look.

"...and your nephew and his partner have come up to pilot the boat back for you and have a bit of a holiday at the same time." Gwen finished ignoring Jack completely.

Ianto looked at Moffatt curiously. The young soldier shook his head. "No sir, just friends, sir."

"Yes, well, the bed is off limits," Ianto retorted.

"Understood, sir." Moffatt coloured but nevertheless presented Ianto with a crisp salute before turning on his heel and returning to his post at the bottom of the shuttle steps.

"You were a bit harsh," Jack commented under his breath just loud enough for Ianto to hear. "He's only trying to help, and he is under orders."

Ianto sighed. "Yeah, well, I'm pissed off. You'd think the Earth could survive without us for six days. I was really looking forward to see your leg work through that tunnel."

"Next time, I promise," Jack vowed. "I'll go get our stuff together, make sure we haven't left anything incriminating behind."

Ianto harrumphed sulkily. "It's our barge, and we're married. Anything incriminating on there is nobody's business but ours." Jack stepped closer and dropped a placating kiss on his lips in full view of Moffatt, Davies and the pilot who was no doubt watching from the nose of the shuttle.

"I'll be back in a minute, Yan, you show Moffatt the ropes." He caught Ianto's eye and the unspoken message in his own steady gaze was clear. Apologise and make it right. Ianto gave a swift smile and nodded.

Jack strode back across the field towards the tow-path, vaulting the fence once more and disappearing down the hatch into the cabin. Ianto followed his progress and then turned to speak to Moffatt.

"I'm sorry, Moffatt, that was uncalled for," he said a touch stiffly. "You and Davies should make yourselves at home for the duration of the trip. There is fresh linen in the storage compartment under the bed. Come on, I should show you where everything is."

His face relaxed into a genuine smile and he gestured for the soldiers to follow him. Moffatt did as he was bid, hurrying after the Welshman. By the time the men reached the fence they were deep in easy conversation.

Ten minutes later, as the shuttle lifted from the pasture in a roar of engines that shattered the quiet peace of the Dales, Ianto watched Moffatt and Davies cast off from the bank, their faces alight with the joy of an unexpected few days away from the discipline of U.N.I.T.

"That should be us," he muttered.

"It will be," Jack promised. "Just as soon as we send these Sontarans packing." He leaned back in his seat and crossed one ankle onto one knee. "We'll be in Cardiff in an hour."

Beside him, Ianto relaxed, resting his head against Jack's shoulder, his eyes closing. Who knew when he would next get any proper rest? He was almost asleep when a movement disturbed him and he lifted his head, bleary eyed. In the hand that rested on his knee Jack was cradling a small book containing perforated postcards of pristine white card, in his right hand was a pencil. His brow was taut with concentration as he deftly created an image on the postcard. With interest Ianto watched as his own face took shape before him, his features captured in an expression bordering on rapture, another minute and Ianto could see himself standing at the tiller of the Myfanwy. In his posture there was no hint of tension, his stance easy, his shoulders relaxed. It was almost childlike, he realised, the child he had been all those years ago during that perfect idyllic fortnight. It was an image which caught something he thought lost forever. Something Jack had recognised as being rare and precious and worthy of remembrance.

At that moment Jack's hand stilled as he became aware of Ianto's scrutiny.

"Do you like it?" He turned the drawing towards Ianto so that he could see it more clearly.

Wordlessly Ianto plucked the book of cards from between Jack's fingers and slid it into a pocket of the greatcoat. Covering the now empty hand with his own, his thumb traced out an answer onto the warm calloused palm.

"It's perfect," he said in a low voice intending for no-one but Jack to hear. "Just like you, just like this trip. The best anniversary present I could have wished for."

"One year down, a couple of hundred to go," Jack quipped.

"At least," Ianto interjected.

"At least," Jack echoed. "What the hell can I give you to top this?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something," Ianto chuckled softly, then leaned into his husband's shoulder with a contented sigh. "But a week with you, me and the Myfanwy will do nicely for the foreseeable future,"

"You really love that boat, don't you?" Jack commented with a smile.

"Yes," Ianto admitted. "Do you mind that there is a rival for your affections?"

Jack pretended to consider the question. After a moment his lips curved in a sly smile as he explained in hushed whispers all the reasons why the Myfanwy was no competition.

Gwen Williams scanned the datapad containing the report logged by the Torchwood shuttle pilot on his return from Yorkshire and shook her head in incredulous despair. Did those two have no shame? No wonder the poor man had requested a transfer. With a sigh she turned her attention to the work request on her desk – installation of a soundproofed privacy screen between the shuttle cockpit and main passenger cabin – and resignedly stamped it as approved.