Fic, FAITHFUL, 23/50?: The Loving Cup

[loveslashangst]

Story: Faithful
Author: Love! Slash! Angst! melindakitty
Beta: the coming-down-with-something ophymirage
Characters: Captain Jack Harkness, Captain John Hart, Ianto Jones
Rated: Adult for slash, bisexuality, mature content, language, violence, Tarantino-style filmmaking, and lots and lots of sex (multiple pairings/groupings)
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, 'cause if I did there would be no doubt who Jack came back for, Gwen would stick with the man who loves her, we'd have regular doses of Unexpected!John, and everyone would cheer the f*** up.
Spoilers: AU. If you haven't seen the first two series of Torchwood, you WILL be spoilered. I like to mess with canon, especially when it pisses me off. The PROLOGUE takes place right after "Countrycide" in series 1. The rest of the story, from Chapter 1 on, takes place about three weeks after "Exit Wounds", the end of Series 2.
Summary: Torchwood OT3 ZOMG! Jack/John/Ianto. The Rift is active, the Weevils are acting weird, and Captain John Hart is back in town. Let the crack-tastic smut ensue. I think there's a happily ever after in here somewhere, but until then, enjoy the insanity.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Okay, so here's the dealio...

This chapter was hard for me, in part because it's a "morning after" scene (which I don't think I'm very good at, if I'm honest), in part because I'm trying to get back to the Plot for a bit, and in part because I needed to seed a lot of the stuff for use in later chapters.

My goal is to finish and post 1 more chapter before the Husband arrives on Tuesday. After that, I'll be out of communication until after the first of the year. [I think that means I don't get to talk to her either. - O] By way of apology, I have a few OT stories that I'll be giving to O to post. They're not from the DW/TW fandoms, but they are my first forays into erotic fanfic.

So Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Good Yule, Merry Kwanzaa, or have an enjoyable non-denominational mid-winter festivity of your choice.

And a Happy New Year.

On with the show...

"I never cared much for moonlit skies
"I never winked back at fireflies
"But now that the stars are in your eyes
"I'm beginning to see the light.

"Used to ramble through the park
"Shadow-boxing in the dark
"Then you came and caused a spark
"That's a four-alarm fire now.

"I never made love by lantern shine
"I never saw rainbows in my wine
"But now that your lips are burning mine
"I'm beginning to see the light."
(Johnny Hodges, Harry James, Don George, & Duke Ellington)

(In which Jack serves a cup, John drinks a cup, Ianto brews a new cup, and Gwen could really use a cup.)



SUBTITLE: We've secretly replaced TW3's regular coffee with Jack's Special Dark Roast... Let's see if John notices....

"You really are a prick, Captain," says Ifan, smiling. "Jack delights in pranks under the very best of conditions. He'll consider that lost bet a declaration of war."

"One can only hope." John steals his lover's mug. Takes a sip. Savours the way the flavours blend on his tongue. (Better than Therinian chocolate is Ianto's coffee.)

Ifan raises an eyebrow. "Why do you do that?"

He traces the edge of the cup with the tip of his tongue. "Do what, darling?"

"Make everything pornographic." In spite of the even tone, the high flush gives Ifan's impure thoughts away.

He takes that as his cue. Gets slowly to his feet. Flashes a bit of thigh. (And Ifan is just human enough to look). Stands behind Ifan's chair. "Everything IS pornographic, my love." He sets his hands on Ifan's shoulders. "If you look at it right."

"Would you do something for me, Captain?" says Ifan softly.

Oh, so many ways to answer that question, and all of them fun. "Very likely." He slides his hands inside the robe. Down Ifan's chest.

Ifan tips his head back to look up at him. "Would you remove the nasal filters?"

He pauses, fingertips brushing Ifan's nipples. "Are you sure that's wise?"

"No." Ifan swallows hard. "But if this -- whatever this is -- between us is going anywhere, I can hardly spend the whole time with my nose plugged, can I?"

Ohhhhhh, much as he wants to just have a bit of Welsh rough trade, he must actually care about the boy, because he has a sudden attack of Conscience. (Ruddy irritating, that.) "All right," he says, "but the moment you start acting out of control..."

Ifan nods agreement. Smiles faintly. "I trust you."

"You ARE mad." But the thought of Ifan's trust both warms and unnerves him. When he was in the Agency, they not-so-affectionately called him "The Widowmaker" because of his tendency to get partners killed. (And he wasn't even in love with any of them.)

He hits the release sequence on his Vortex Manipulator. Ianto sneezes violently. Blinks to clear his eyes of tears as his body ejects the filter.

No immediate signs of pheromone poisoning. Ifan inhales deeply. Looks at him: though the deep blue of his eyes doesn't immediately seem abnormal, the flush of his cheeks deepens. John concentrates. Releases a carefully-measured dose.

Ifan leans into John's neck. Inhales again. "You smell wonderful."

"Ifan?" And it's probably wrong of him to enjoy being scented, one hunter to another. (Though his cock wonders how Ifan's interest can be a bad thing.)

Ifan looks at him with eyes that are a little clearer than is comfortable. "Is this what it's like... to be you?"

Really really bad to be this turned on. "To be me?"

Ifan glances around the room as if looking through new eyes. "So clear. Vivid. I can see and hear things...smell things..." The boy meets his gaze again. "I don't have the words."

Okay, that's it. A man can only hold out so long. He kisses the boy deeply. Slowly. Ifan's a little rougher than usual. More bite. Delicious.

"If this is what being your lover is like," Ifan says. "I'm going to become a hopeless addict."

"Suits me." John holds him close. Presses up into each kiss. Bites back just a little. Catches Ifan by the back of the neck. Snakes an arm around his waist. The lovely boy comes so easily to the embrace -- it's a bit frightening how right it feels to touch him. Taste him. Kiss him, deeply and roughly in turns.

"Last night," Ifan murmurs.

"Mmmm," he purrs back. "Remind me. Please."

"Thank you, Gianni." Ifan teases his lips. "For everything."

He chuckles. "Not breaking up already, are we?"

"No." Ifan snogs him fiercely. "Definitely not."

And that's when the smell hits him.

Oh dear GOD what the FUCK is that? If they'd taken the festering remains of the twice-buried Emperor of Thice, ground them with raw refuse and added a dash of shit, then run the lot of it through a filthy engine fueled only by fish guts, it'd be more appetising.

Gagging, he and Ifan break apart.

Jack sashays between them. Brandishes a silver tray under John's nose with a flourish that's equal parts style and spite. "Service?" Jack says like some perky, nightmarish Jeeves.

John jerks back. Retreats to the other side of the table to get away from whatever shite Jack put in that coffeepot. "What--?" he swallows hard against bile, "the fuck" -- not going to throw up -- "is that?"

"Your new pot, honey!" chirps Jack with saccharine venom. He follows John around the table. Sets the tray down before him. Pours a cup of the stinking mire with his usual melodramatic flair.

"Of what?" He is seriously going to lose it if he has to keep breathing that stuff.

"My own special brew." Jack plunks a cup into Ifan's hand. The boy regards it as if it's offered him mortal offense. (Which, considering Ifan's skills at brewing, it really has.)

If his nose serves him -- and it's already sending dire warnings to his stomach -- several of the things Jack's added to the vile concoction are at the least painful, at worst fatal, and certainly violate every law the Shadow Proclamation AND the Time Agency had for this planet during this period of time. He turns his own glare up to "flay and eviscerate. With lasers."

"You're fucking insane if you think I'm going to drink that," John says.

Jack clicks his tongue, scolding. Waggles a finger at him. "Such language, Captain Hart," he says, parroting the words back to him in a poor impersonation of John's earlier snark.

Jack pours another mug of the steaming-turd-in-a-pitcher. "Does this mean you refuse my service?"

He narrows his eyes -- damn Jack for hitting him in the honour. "I'm not drinking that."

Jack holds out the mug, a courteous challenge. "Of course, if you refuse my service, you void the wager."

If he voids the wager, Jack's a free man. Instead of infuriating him further, the move is an instant turn-on that revives the rock-hard erection Ifan had inspired a minute ago.

When he took Jack home to meet the family, the boy was positively useless in virtually every political and social test John's dad could cook up. He missed the innuendos. (Well, except for those from his cousin, who had all the sexual subtlety of a pulse-pistol bolt to the groin.) Jack didn't get that every gesture mattered. He didn't see how to manoeuvre to his advantage. Didn't notice when others manoeuvred him. He didn't even grasp the full importance of wearing the right colour, even if it does do horrors for one's complexion.

The aw-shucks innocent-but-not-virginal act worked great for Jack when he was the highest-paid worker at a very different agency, but in the court of the most feared (and respected) House in Machiavellian Serenissima, Jack's heavy-handed, farmboy charm only accentuated what an ignorant outworlder he was.

"Why Captain Harkness." John favours his no-longer-so-clueless ex with a smile. "I do believe I've underestimated you."

"I get that a lot," Jack says. He raises his eyebrows, another challenge. "Service?"

Ifan sets down his mug, hand to his nose to block the stench. "John..."

He ignores his lover and takes the mug. "If Mum could see this..."

"I keep telling you," says Jack. "I've changed."

Ifan stares at them both as if they're insane. "You're not seriously going to drink that, are you, Gianni?"

"Yes," he says. "It's a question of honour."" He salutes Jack with the mug of foetid slime. "To Captain Jack Harkness. May he continue his education in how to be a devious fucking bastard."

This is really going to hurt, but here goes. Eyes on Jack, he exhales completely. Plugs his nose. Swallows the entire contents of the mug. Coughs. Sputters. Spice and heat and shit and OH MY FUCKING GOD WHAT WAS IN THAT?! He lands on his back. Writhes on the floor. Fights for breath.

"John!"

Jack thrusts out an arm. Holds Ifan back.

Poison. Not just any poison, but Nuban mushrooms, the devious bastard. He stares through streaming eyes at Jack. "You didn't." His screaming stomach is trying to burrow out through his back.

Jack grins. "I did."

His throat constricts. The flesh fills with fluid. He claws at his collar. He prods the symbiont, which is even more slow and surly than ever.

"Jack." Ianto sounds equally pissed and frightened. "What the hell did you do to him?"

His hands contract to claws as the neurotoxin kicks in. Nudges the symbiont a little harder. (Do your fucking JOB, worm!)

"JACK!" Ianto shouts. "What the FUCK did you put in his drink?"

Jack propels the boy down into a chair. Sinks to a crouch. Feels for a pulse in John's neck (which is a bit spongy from the swelling). Times it against his watch. Nods. "There. His symbiont will have him all fixed up in a minute. And even if it doesn't, man like him will have a backup plan."

And damn if the symbiont doesn't kick in right then. His heart slows. The pain begins to subside as the symbiont filters the various toxins and poisons out of his bloodstream.

"Fixed--" Ianto stands, looking like he's going to kill Jack again. "Are you insane?"

John drags a deep gasp of air through a windpipe that's expanding by the second. His hands relax. His body relaxes. He lays for a minute, breathing hard, then grins up at Jack. "That was a good one, lover."

Ifan watches in disbelief as Jack gives him a hand up. In return, he claps Jack on the shoulder in congratulations. Then he notices the greenish spots on the backs of his hands. "Oh, you bastard. You remembered the Inellis Flower?"

Jack laughs as he hands him the mug of non-poisoned coffee to cleanse his palate. "I did."

His answering laugh devolves into a violent fit of coughing. Grateful, he drowns the cough in the last swig of Ianto's heavenly coffee. (Which also does wonders to wash the sewage taste out of his mouth.) "You," he says, smiling, "are the worst butler ever, Jack."

Ianto touches his shoulder, tentative. "Are you all right, Captain?"

"Fine, yes. He just tried to poison me is all. Nothing serious."

Ifan scans his face, worried. "The spots?"

He casts a withering look at Jack, who is all but giggling. "Now see what you've done, you heartless prick -- you've gone and upset Ifan." He enfolds the dear worried boy in a warm, reassuring embrace. Kisses his temple gently. "It's all right, darling -- Jack's not the only one who's nigh-immortal. There's not a poison yet created that my symbiont can't metabolize, which is most of the reason why I'm still alive."

Ifan throws himself into his arms with palpable relief and a little desperation. (One too many traumas in his life lately, poor thing.)

He looks pointedly at Jack, who clues in a couple beats late. Moves behind Ifan. Sandwiches him between them. Ifan relaxes into the embrace.

"Do me a favour, Jack?" says Ifan.

"Sure." Jack kisses his way up one side of Ianto's neck, so of course John has to attend to the other side.

"Don't ever pull a stunt like that again?"

Jack sighs, disappointed.

John saves him before he can make an even bigger fool of himself. "He can't promise you that, my love. We'll always have a dash of homicide between the two of us -- part of what makes Jack such a spicy lover -- but he can--" he gives Jack another pointed look-- "promise to warn you first."

"Fair enough," says Jack. His hand ghosts over John's arse, a tease through the terrycloth robe.

He resumes kissing Ianto. Soft lips. Hard mouth. Teasing tongue. Sweet rhythm. And that musk is stronger now. "So I assume," (Yes, my love, I adore the slide of your tongue on mine), "you're feeling more your usual annoying self, Jack?"

"Right as rain." (Feh. More than two thousand years old and Jack STILL thinks in clichés.) "So does my piss-poor service mean you're releasing me from our wager?"

"Not a chance." He pulls the belt on Ianto's robe. Brushes fingertips over the head of Ifan's cock, eliciting a delicious shiver. "Friends close," he murmurs against Ifan's lips. The boy snogs him like he means it. John reaches around to tease Jack through his trousers. Jack inhales sharply in pleasure. "And enemies closer."

"I will never--" But Ifan is already cupping his face in his hands, kissing him more and more determinedly. "--understand the two of you."

"Don't bother trying." He snogs Ifan shamelessly for several long minutes, then turns him in Jack's arms so his probably-no-longer-ex can have a go. Ianto throws himself into that kiss too, which hopefully means that the Drama of last night has sorted itself after a fabulous three-way shag, a good night's sleep, a bit of coffee, and a second aborted murder attempt. (Though, by his calculations, the score is still 4-1, his favour.)

And as always, the warm scent of "aroused young man" is a headier brew even than Ianto's heavenly coffee. He inhales deeply.

"Both," Ianto murmurs. "Yes, please both. I love you both."

He holds his lover tighter. Buries his face in Ianto's shoulder while Jack throws his whole heart into the kiss. John chuckles in Ifan's ear. "Judging by Jack's response, my love, I think you're the one thing we can both agree on."

His lover pulls back from Jack's kiss only very reluctantly. "Later," Ifan says.

Jack, who is flushed and warm and smells like the best kind of dirty weekend, grins. "I'll hold you to that."

John enfolds Ifan as completely as he can. If only he could just stay like this forever, in this moment right now. As it is, he'd settle for a quickie. "What would you say," he breathes low in Ianto's ear, "if I held you and let Jack do his worst."

He's rewarded by one of Ifan's eloquent shivers of anticipation. But the boy does pull his hands away, his touch gentle but firm. He turns in John's arms. Kisses him. "I'd say you should brief him on our plans while I get rid of that godawful pot of hot death and make us some proper coffee."

And he's gone before John can grab him.

Which, of course, leaves him alone with his ex. Who's not his ex. But could be. It's a terribly confusing situation to be in, and if he's honest with himself, he's not sure where he WANTS to stand with Jack.

"What?" But Jack's eyes are warm.

He steels himself for the inevitable Drama. "Last night--"

"Which was unbelievable," Jack says.

"--thank you for NOT interrupting me." But he can't hold onto the anger. Not while remembering the smooth slide of his lovers. The heat of their skin. "Last night... I asked you a question."

Jack gives one of his half-smiles, but it actually reaches his eyes. "You asked a lot of questions, John."

"Shut up, Jack," he says. "You know I hate putting myself in this position."

"I'm sorry." Jack catches his chin. Tips his face up so he can't look away. "I am sorry, honey. Which question?"

His pride will not let him say the words. "It's tomorrow." His heart is breaking at the thought of how stupid he is to think it would --

"Does it mean I have to stop torturing you?" says Jack.

"Fuck no," he says, relieved. "The minute you stop trying to kill me, I'll get bored. I just want hot sex and cuddling with my homicide and fisticuffs."

Jack grins. "All right then."

He presses slowly against Jack. Jack presses back, smiling. His no-longer-so-ex's arms feel like home. Strong hands cup his face. Jack smiles with heart-breaking tenderness. Kisses him. Gently. Deeply. Slowly. And he kisses back.

Jack nips his way over to John's ear. "I love you."

And damn him if he doesn't go weak-kneed like some idiot adolescent. "I love you too." He's waited what feels like lifetimes for Jack to tell him he loves him. And even though he has no idea what they'll do next or if there will even be a world to go to or anything, it's enough for a few blissful seconds to just enjoy the smooth roughness of Jack's tongue teasing his. The surprising softness of those lips, which can go from supple to firm at a moment's notice. He immerses himself in that vanilla-musk-bliss.

Jack pulls the belt on his robe. Slides the robe open. Cool air caresses his bare skin, a counterpoint to the heady heat of Jack's hands. Instead of the fierce frot he might've expected, Jack takes every movement slowly. Savours him. Moves with him. And for all the times he and Jack shared a shag in the time loop -- and for all that Jack's still fully clothed -- for the first time, he has a real sense of what it might be like to be genuinely loved by his former partner.

It's enough to pretty well undo him.

Ifan's polite cleared throat saves him from making a complete arse of himself. He pulls back from Jack. Turns his face away to recover his composure.

He can hear the smile in Ianto's voice. "Don't suppose you need a hand with that, sir?" he says to Jack.

Jack strokes John's cock firmly, pulling a moan from him. "Got one."

"You sure?" Ianto appears completely calm as he pours three mugs of coffee, but again, that beautiful high flush gives him away.

Jack bends close as he continues to stroke him. "What do you think, honey? Could we use some help?"

His reply comes out as a slightly incoherent gibber.

"He looks better," Ifan says as he sets down the three mugs. "Spots are fading."

The sinuous, warm scent of perfectly-brewed coffee infuses his senses. Seduction in a mug, is Ifan's brew. No wonder Jack was powerless to resist.

And for his part, Jack always did give the best hand-jobs, even if he's back to being slightly infuriating. "Increased heart rate and body temperature," Jack says. "They help the symbiont metabolize the Inellian toxins faster. Yellowish should go dark in a minute. Ooh! Just like that. And then... Yup. Back to that gorgeous skin we both love."

And Ianto's just about to make his morning complete by kissing him again when W.P.C. Old Faithful goes off again.

"OH! OH! OH! OH! OH! OH! OH! OHGODRHYS!"

All three of them explode into laughter.

Jack kisses him. "I really should go deal with that, shouldn't I?"

"Probably," Ianto says. "Want to borrow the bleach for the desk?"

"Nah," Jack says with an adorable leer. "It's seen worse."

"I don't want to know," says Ianto.

John kisses his gorgeous Ifan again. Grabs Jack by the belt. He gives his best bedroom look. "O wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?"

The heat of raw arousal turns Jack's eyes an even more vivid shade of blue. He glances at Ianto. "Keep him warm for me."

Ifan presses close. "Yes, sir!"

And funny thing, but that belt on Ianto's robe doesn't stay in place for long. Though the new coffee does smell like an orgasm in a mug, neither of them are particularly motivated to leave off devouring each other long enough to taste it.

With another of those unspoken communications he is coming to truly adore, he and Ifan look at Jack. Ifan's hand strokes him leisurely, and he loves the silken slide of Ianto's cock through his fingers.

Ifan smiles Jack a silent suggestion.

He gives Jack a matching promise-filled look. "Hurry back, darling."

They share a chuckle when Jack hustles out, no doubt determined to sort his lady-satyr of an employee as quickly as he can.

"Now then." Ianto turns John's face gently back to meet his gaze. "Coffee, tea, or me?"

*******

When Jack fantasized about having Gwen half-naked and orgasming on his desk, he never considered the possibility that she'd be riding someone else.

By the time he makes it up to his office door, Gwen throws a leg over Rhys. Dismounts. Rhys slithers to the floor, unconscious. Gwen, flushed, sweaty, breathless, and happier than Jack's ever seen her, leans on the desk.

"Be a dear and help us find our knickers?" she says.

He arches an eyebrow at her. "Good morning."

"Oh shove off, Jack," she says affectionately. She collapses into Jack's leather desk chair, panting and content. "I'd look m'self, but me eyes won't focus at the moment."

Staring. He's staring. He shouldn't be staring. It's wrong to stare. Gwen crosses her legs pointedly and he remembers that she's another man's wife. (And it would probably be bad form to have a peek at the unconscious bridegroom.) He searches the room, but can only come up with a few scraps of lace here and there. He hands them to Gwen, apologetic. "I think Rhys kind of shredded them."

That earns him a million-watt grin. "He did didn't he, the big tosser." She winks at Jack. "He'll owe me a trip to Victoria's Secret when he wakes."

Jack doesn't get caught speechless very often.

Gwen tips her head back, grinning even wider. "God, I love my husband." She leans over to retrieve what's left of her jeans. "I'm in such a good mood I may even be able to tolerate that bastard Vera for more than two seconds."

The smell of freshly-fucked Gwen is becoming distracting. As he approaches, he can't help inhaling a little. (John's pheromones are a fresh song of lust in his bloodstream.)

Gwen rolls up a stack of reports and swats him on the back of the head with them like a bad dog.

He pulls back, stung. "What?"

"You." Gwen's eyes blaze warning. "Don't you come any closer, sniffing me like that, Jack Harkness, or I'll show you I can too thrash you."

"I'm sure you can." He's blushing a little. He never blushes. That's weird. "So you and Rhys...?"

"Like you would've noticed during that threesome of yours." Gwen turns the jeans from front to back and back again, then begins to shimmy into them. She laughs at his stare. "You smell like a cinnamon roll doused in Ianto's aftershave, for starters, so I'll assume that your confrontation ended in more pelvic handshake than sucker punch?" She yanks the jeans into place. "And if YOU missed the chance for a world-class threesome with your lover AND your ex...? Well then I'll have no choice but to file a 'no confidence' report and declare you unfit to run Torchwood Three."

He has to laugh. "Always knew you were gunning for my job."

She gets up unsteadily, then falls back into the chair. "And talking of Ianto and John, where are the stars of Wild Kingdom?"

The sound of impassioned cries resolves itself into John's voice. "OH OH OH OH OH OHGODYESIFAN!"

Gwen, smirking, cocks an eyebrow at him.

"Ianto made coffee," he says.

She laughs. "Can't leave those two alone for a minute, can you?"

He gives a theatrical sigh. "I'm doomed to eavesdrop on everyone else's fun this morning."

"Poor Jack." Gwen, chuckling, heaves herself to her feet. He steadies her. She kisses him, a nice platonic peck on the cheek. And for the first time since he met her, he doesn't want more than just that. (Well, not in more than the theoretical anyway.)

"So I'll assume from your not flying into a jealous rage that this means things went well?"

He's grinning like an idiot, yet he doesn't care.

Gwen smiles. She's still shaking a little, but seems to be doing better by the minute. "What did he say?"

All he can do is grin like an idiot. (It's been a long time since he was this happy.)

"And John?" Gwen says, smiling, though her eyes are serious.

Blushing. He's blushing furiously, and not with embarrassment. (The way John coordinated the three of them. The feel of him. Against him. Inside him.)

"Well, aren't you the lucky bastard?" She laughs at her own expense as she wobbles. "God, I can't feel anything below the waist."

"You okay?' he manages.

She winks at him again. "C'mon, love. I'll even put up with Vera for a cup of Ianto's coffee." She takes a step, grinning and wincing at the same time.

Jack offers her a discreet and gentlemanly arm. "Marital bliss?" he teases.

"Well," says Gwen, "You didn't think I married him for looks, now did you?"

That temptation is just too much. Jack grabs a handy blanket off the edge of the sofa. Heads for Rhys and a bit of a peek.

Gwen intercepts him. "I'll tuck m'OWN husband in, thank you, Jack Harkness."

"Just trying to help," he says, though he hands over the blanket without a fight.

"Figures you're a size queen," says Gwen.

He grins. "Never pass up the opportunity for a good show."

Gwen rolls her eyes at him. Tucks in Rhys tenderly.

Jack catches her again as she wobbles to her feet. A warm smile passes between them.

"Don't think I'm quite so bendy as usual," says Gwen.

"I'm going to get hit no matter what I say," he says.

Gwen smacks his arm lightly.

"See?" he says.

And she smiles at him. His friend. His conscience. His tie to this world, this time, this life. He loves her, yes, but not in the way he loves John and certainly not in the way he loves Ianto. For the first time since he's known her, he's happier at the thought of being fully-clothed with Gwen than at the thought of being naked with her. He pulls her into a hug.

And his heart warms when she hugs him back.

"Seriously," he says. "Are you all right, Gwen?"

Gwen scoffs. Straightens his collar. "Like this is the first time Rhys and me were at it all night." She grins like a guilty child. "And this time I get to tease him for being the first to give out."

His collar is suddenly a little too tight.

Gwen searches his face with warm eyes. "And you, Jack. Are you all right?"

The smile feels like it comes straight from his heart. "In a weird sort of way, I think I am." He gives a mock leer. "Other than having a sudden keen interest in your husband."

She punches him in the arm. "Go on, you. Let's get some coffee, shall we?"

Jack peers back over his shoulder at Rhys.

"JACK!" But Gwen is laughing.

"What?" he says. "Can't fault a guy for curiosity."

"Worse than a tomcat, you are."

He offers her his arm. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

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Link to previous Faithful!Verse stories

Crossposted to jackxianto, torchwoodslash