Standing at the glass window that makes up one entire wall of his office, Jack stares down at his team in the main Hub, each busy with his or her own work, hoping to get finished and leave at a decent hour for once.
It comes as no surprise to him that Ianto’s doing it again, but as always, Jack can’t be entirely sure whether he’s being deliberately provocative or just carrying out the task at hand in the easiest and most efficient way possible. The young Welshman is nothing if not efficient.
General advice is that to avoid back strain one should always bend at the knees to pick things up off the floor, but Ianto only does that when lifting something heavy. For collecting rubbish or empty mugs, deliciously flexible as he is he simply bends over, the back of his jacket, if he happens to be wearing it, sliding up to reveal that delectably taut trouser-clad behind in all its inimitable glory. It’s a sight that never fails to make Jack’s fingers itch to touch, smoothing over fabric pulled tight across firm muscle. Ianto has the most perfect arse it has ever been Jack’s pleasure to fondle, emphasis on the pleasure. He likes to nibble and lick it too, whenever he gets the opportunity.
Now, watching his lover stoop to scoop up a random piece of trash tossed in the general direction of a rubbish bin but having fallen short, Jack’s breath catches in his throat and his mouth goes dry as his tongue darts out to lick his lips. He could stare at that behind for hours; watching Ianto tidying the Hub is one of the highlights of Jack’s day, and it gets his juices flowing in preparation for later when, hopefully, he’ll get to enjoy unwrapping that pale, lean body and indulge in its multitude of delights.
If Ianto is aware of the effect his actions have on Jack, he gives no sign, just gets on with cleaning up the detritus of another day, keeping the team from drowning in their own rubbish. It might not be the most enjoyable of his daily chores, but it still needs to be done, and he never shirks his duties, carrying out each job on his extensive To Do list to the best of his not inconsiderable abilities. That’s just one more reason for Jack to admire Ianto Jones, which he does, although right now he’s busy lusting after Torchwood’s General Support Officer slash Archivist.
Down in the Hub, Ianto bends to pluck a piece of rubbish from the floor, dropping it into the black bag he has open in his other hand. He doesn’t spare the smallest glance towards Jack’s office, but then he doesn’t need to; even without seeing, he knows his Captain is staring at his arse. It’s tempting to throw in a provocative wiggle as he bends, but he won’t, because then Jack would know that Ianto knows he’s being stared at, which wouldn’t do at all. Far better to keep Torchwood’s leader wondering, but never knowing for certain whether Ianto is deliberately teasing him by bending over or just carrying out one of the more tedious duties on his list.
It’s all part of the game; Ianto stands a better chance of winning if Jack doesn’t know it’s a game. It’s a known fact that the best way to deal with boring or unpleasant chores is to turn them into a game, but nowhere does it say that any other participants, or even the audience, have to be aware of the game. Besides, even if it could be termed cheating, Jack cheats at everything else, so Ianto figures he’s entitled to level the playing field a bit. It’s his game, so surely that means he gets to set the rules.
Even unseen, Jack’s eyes on his arse feel like the most intimate of caresses. It excites Ianto, knowing his lover is watching so avidly, and he turns slightly as he reaches under the edge of Gwen’s workstation, trying to snag an elusive wad of paper with the tips of his fingers. It takes Ianto a full minute to retrieve the scrap, and he smirks inwardly the entire time, knowing he’s at just the right angle to afford Jack a perfect, unrestricted view as the muscles in his legs strain and his arse shifts back and forth, pushing higher in the air as he bends further.
Straightening at last with his prize, he drops it in the trash bag, puts both hands in the small of his back, and stretches, easing the kinks out of his muscles. He can practically hear Jack groan, and it makes him want to laugh out loud, but he doesn’t. Jack is probably drooling by now and longing for an excuse to send the others home early. Nothing much is happening right now, so maybe he will.
At her workstation a few feet away, Tosh hides her smile behind her hair. She knows Ianto’s performance is deliberate even if Jack doesn’t, mostly because Ianto told her about the game he plays one night when they were both a little tipsy. If you can’t confide in your best friend, knowing your secrets are safe, then who can you confide in? Ianto knows she’ll never tell.
It’s funny though, sneaking peeps at Jack, who probably thinks nobody’s noticed the way he’s staring at Ianto, fidgeting, licking his lips and adjusting his trousers. He’s trying to be subtle about it, but he’s not succeeding; Ianto is putting on an excellent show tonight and even though he is her best friend, and more like a brother to her, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t appreciate the view when he bends down in her eye line. It’s well worth looking at, though she does so far more discreetly than Jack, whose stare can only be described as lascivious.
She’s got the CCTV set up so she can record Jack’s reactions for Ianto’s viewing pleasure, as well as her own. They’ll watch the show together at their next curry night, giggling at their esteemed leader shamelessly drooling. The recordings of Ianto’s performance, however, she’ll keep to herself, a teaser trailer to some of the other footage she’s saved of her friend and his lover. There are some things she’ll never even tell her best friend about, unwilling as she is to embarrass him, although she suspects he already knows. Not much gets past Ianto; it’s not an idle boast that he knows everything.
Nevertheless, working for Torchwood does have some very interesting perks!