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It had been a long, gruelling day at work, and Ianto was very tired. Too tired to be fighting a more skilled opponent with a weapon he was still learning to wield properly.
That was the point, of course.
His opponent swung at him and he managed to turn and parry at the last second, holding the sword a few inches away from his face.
He was breathing heavily, the physical strain making him a bit too warm even after taking his waistcoat off and rolling up his shirtsleeves, sweat making the thin fabric of his shirt stick to him. He met his opponent’s eyes as he held his position despite the pressure applied on his blade, and the bastard smirked at him. He didn’t even look the slightest bit strained.
With an effort, Ianto harnessed his irritation and gathered enough strength to push him off, making him take two steps back and opening a line of attack.
By the time his hit landed, the man was in position to beat parry easily, deflecting him in one swift, precise movement.
“Enough,” he called, his blade clashing with Ianto’s and with a swirling motion pushing it harmlessly down.
Ianto was panting.
“I can keep going,” he complained.
“I’m sure you can, but we’ve already been sparring for almost an hour,” he drawled, pointing to the clock on the wall to his left.
Ianto glanced at the clock with a frown, convinced he’d find that couldn’t be true, but to his surprise, he found that it was well past ten. They were only supposed to train for half an hour.
“That was good. I know you’re tired, but it barely held you back, and you compensated very nicely when I changed hands.”
Of course, the bastard was ambidextrous. And of course, he hadn’t warned him, not at the beginning. He’d even waited after they’d sparred several times to pull the trick on him, comfortably flipping his sword from one hand to the other without losing a beat and quickly disarming him in one fell swoop.
Even with all the effort he’d put into being a better man in the past months, through all the growth and all the improvements that had led to Jack allowing him to join the team, it was times like this that convinced Ianto that John Hart was determined to remain a true bastard through it all.
Ianto sighed, a little disappointed practise was over, even as the strain in his muscles welcomed the respite.
“I can still only barely hold you back,” Ianto griped, knowing fully that he was being irrational but not being able to help it. “And I know you’re going easy on me, I’ve seen you fight.”
John rolled his eyes, having heard this from Ianto before, and as before, he pointed out the fallacy in his sort-of friend’s reasoning. “I’ve been training since I was fifteen, Eye Candy. If you could take me on after eight months, I’d be terrified. That you can do this much, this well, is frankly well above average for an amateur, so stop whining already. You did well.”
Mollified and a little embarrassed by how much the praise cheered him, Ianto reached out his free hand to grab John’s practise sword and put both swords away, as he always did after training. The bastard held it out of his reach until Ianto made eye contact, then slowly handed it over with a little smile. Ianto grabbed it and quickly retreated, aware he was blushing and hating it.
Teaching Ianto and, to everyone’s surprise, Tosh how to use a sword had been one of the few strategies deployed by John shortly after joining the team in order to win everyone’s trust. He’d offered to teach all of them, but only Ianto and Tosh had taken him up on it.
They’d all been wary of letting John join the team at first. Even after he’d managed to subdue Jack’s brother before he managed to do something horrible - as it seemed he’d been hell-bent on doing - and handing him off to Jack as a prisoner - and had Jack been pissed about that, but he’d had to agree, as John had refused to hand him over otherwise - they had all remained suspicious of his motives for months. Even after Gray’s interrogation had yielded horrifying answers, and they were all forced to confront the reality that the only thing standing between Gray’s meticulous plans and their continued survival and/or wellbeing had been nothing other than John Hart, bastard extraordinaire.
It appeared that he really did care about Jack after all.
He’d only saved the rest of them because he’d caught on to how much they mattered to Jack, back then, but having now spent the better part of a year working next to him, Ianto thought that John had come to care for each of them on their own merits.
Possibly, Ianto was deluding himself, but he didn’t think so.
As he stepped back into the room they always used to train after putting the practise swords away in the adjacent depository, Ianto wasn’t surprised to find John waiting to walk him back to the main part of the Hub.
“Come on, Eye Candy. Jack will be impatient to take you home.”
Ianto deliberated for only a moment as he grabbed his discarded waistcoat and coat, before taking the plunge. “We’re going to grab dinner at the pub before going home. If you want to join us?”
John masked his surprise quickly, or possibly he affected surprise and pretended he was stifling it specifically to create an effect; Ianto still wasn’t sure how much he could trust John’s expressions to reflect his genuine reactions, though he was becoming more and more certain of where they stood.
“Sure, I’m starving,” John said casually, lips quirking in what Ianto estimated was genuine satisfaction.
“Go on, then. I’ll head to the lockers to change and meet you at Jack’s office.”
John obnoxiously trailed his eyes up and down Ianto’s dishevelled frame, looking his fill in as provocative a manner as he could. “Or, I could help you with those clothes and Jack can watch us on the CCTV…”
Ianto did his best not to react outwardly, instead giving John his most unimpressed look, and saying, voice flat and categorical, “Or you can do as you’re told, and go wait for me in Jack’s office.”
John took the refusal in stride, shrugging it off and strutting away still smiling. “Whatever. I’ll win you over eventually,” he said as he passed Ianto on his way to the door, eyes resting a bit too long on Ianto’s lips as usual.
Ianto breathed through the lungful of pheromones, taking a few seconds to get his bearings as he heard John’s steps leading him past the corridor outside the training room and all the way to the stairs that led up to the main Hub.
Fuck, he almost wished he hadn’t invited John to grab dinner with them, then he could corner Jack in his office and drag him directly down into his bunker to work out the sexual tension John was so good at building up in him.
He pushed down the desire and made his way to the lockers, trying to focus on the now.
He knew that John was taunting him on purpose, well aware of the effect his flirting and his pheromones had on him. He knew, as well, that John’s offer to train them in sword fighting had been a deliberate attempt at fast-tracking the building of trust between him and the team. He’d been successful on both counts, the trust-building and the teasing, but Ianto wondered if John truly believed his own words when he said he’d wear him down eventually.
Ianto had already decided what he wanted, in regards to John. He had plans; plans he’d already discussed with Jack, at length, because whatever he’d been feeling for John, Jack was still Ianto’s first priority, and if he hadn’t been interested, then Ianto would have abandoned his plans in a flash.
What he had with Jack was far too important for Ianto to ever risk. Jack had to come first.
Thankfully, Ianto knew Jack very well, he’d seen the attraction for John was still there, knew that while Jack could confine himself to one lover and be happy, it wasn’t his first instinct or his culture’s norm to practise strict monogamy.
(It had been a difficult conversation when Jack had first revealed that to him not long after he’d come back from his trip with the Doctor, determined to make an effort to have a real relationship with him and be more open about himself than he had been with anyone in decades. Ianto’s own insecurities and occasional possessiveness had made him worry that Jack could never be happy in the monogamous relationship Ianto wanted to have with him. But they’d talked through it, and Jack had explained that he could be happy with one partner, if it was the right partner, and the discussion had only brought them closer together and strengthened their relationship.
Neither of them could have guessed, back then, that the one who’d bring up possibly opening up their relationship to a third partner, even if only temporarily, would be Ianto.
Ianto had never been so glad that Jack had shared so much about his past and his worldview as he was when he’d realised the depth and nature of the feelings he was developing for Jack’s ex.)
After changing into one of the many spare outfits he kept at the Hub - and giving himself some time to calm down - he walked upstairs to the main Hub.
He found John lounging on the sofa in Jack’s office as they chatted amiably. Both of them perked up when Ianto stopped at the door, and they both took in his casual outfit a little too intensely. He’d gone for jeans and a t-shirt, plus the black leather jacket Jack had got him for his last birthday, seeing as they were off duty for the rest of the night, Rift permitting.
Ianto tried not to let himself be distracted by thoughts of what having both of these men’s complete attention might be like in a more intimate setting.
“Ready to go?” he managed to keep his voice steady.
Jack blinked, mind visibly tuning in to the present situation.
“Yeah. I’m done with paperwork for today,” he said, as if Ianto didn’t know that Jack always watched him and John train unless something urgent demanded his attention.
“I’m starving,” John said, eyes still firmly fixed on the way the black jeans clung to his legs.
Ianto suppressed a shiver.
Soon, he thought. He’d make his move soon.
But not tonight.
“Well? Come on, then,” he prompted them, and they both stood up.
They followed him to the invisible lift, where they both stood unnecessarily close, as usual. Jack wrapped one arm around him, and Ianto caught John staring at it in interest before looking over Ianto’s shoulder to exchange a charged look with Jack.
From his position between them - and again, he had to force his mind off distracting scenarios - he could only see John; he wondered what kind of expression might be on Jack’s face to cause that vulnerable intensity in John’s.
They reached the surface, and John stepped smoothly away.
Jack grabbed Ianto’s hand - a rare though not unheard of public gesture between them - and held it as they walked to the pub, he and John bickering about some old friend of them, who Ianto discovered as the conversation progressed was not an actual friend, but rather someone they’d worked with a few times who had tried to kill both of them on different occasions.
Ianto had learned so much about Jack’s past since John had joined the team, not all of it great. But all of it he’d loved learning. Ianto could never get enough of Jack.
As they walked down the Plass, with the backdrop of Jack and John’s amiable chatter, Ianto let his mind drift. The adrenaline from sparring was beginning to fade, making his limbs heavy and his mind a little drowsy.
But he felt safe, with Jack’s hand in his and John flanking his side.
When had John begun to feel safe?
Ianto couldn’t pinpoint an exact moment, but he knew it had been months ago.
Against all odds, John had fit right in with the team, filling a space none of them had noticed as a gap in their defences until he was right there covering it for them.
Jack had revealed to him privately that John was a master at adapting to different situations and different people; it was what made him such a skilled conman. Ianto suspected it was a skill he’d developed out of necessity, much like Jack himself. John had a way of being devastatingly fragile and lethally dangerous all at once, and damned if the unlikely combination hadn’t intrigued him from day one.
But Ianto was aware of his own weaknesses, just as he was aware of John’s skill set, and that was why he’d been dragging his feet about pursuing this even though it had been almost two months since he’d cleared the whole thing with Jack. Because both he and Jack knew that Ianto had a propensity to overlook both flaws and common sense when he loved, and neither of them had been sure that John didn’t have ulterior motives or that he wouldn’t stab them all in the back at a moment’s notice.
But it had been months; months of close observation, months of John proving himself, months of him working on his issues so he could stay on the team.
Oh, he was still a hot mess, make no mistake. He still drank too much and indulged in too much sex and far too many drugs for a Torchwood employee, but he had got so much better at reigning in his anger - had he really gone to murder rehab? - and he’d become mostly dependable. As dependable as Owen used to be, anyway, before he became physically unable to indulge in alcohol and sex and therefore had no more reason to be late to work because of a bender the night before.
And unlike Owen back then, John could win a fight even while high off his mind or completely plastered. Ianto had no idea how he did it.
They reached the pub within minutes, the smell of food reminding Ianto that he hadn’t eaten anything in way too long.
Jack didn’t let go of his hand even as they walked in.
The place was pretty empty, given the late hour and the fact that it was a weekday, but they went to one of the more secluded tables anyway. Standard practise in case they wanted to mention anything work-related.
John offered to go get the food, leaving Jack and Ianto alone on their side of the booth, out of sight of the bar and the few other patrons.
Jack placed his hand on Ianto’s knee under the table, squeezing it for a moment before trailing it up his thigh and letting it rest there. A simple gesture of comfort and affection, nothing more.
“You looked pretty worked up there, after your training session,” Jack stated, revealing that he had been watching them, as Ianto had suspected.
Ianto side-eyed him, comfortable with the gentle teasing but not so much with the idea of getting caught by the subject of their conversation.
“Shut up,” he said, a little flustered at the reminder.
“You’re going to make your move soon, huh?”
Ianto turned to look at him, studying his face for any sign of doubt or hesitation.
He didn’t find any. If anything, Jack seemed happy. Excited. It was subdued, but it was definitely there.
Ianto let the smallest smile curl his lips in response.
“Yeah,” he said softly.
Jack’s smile widened, showing off his perfect teeth.
“What did I do to deserve you, Ianto Jones?” he pondered quietly, eyes bright.
Before Ianto could come up with a comeback, John came back, a big basket of fish and chips in hand.
“Sorry to break up the whole tenderly gazing into each other’s eyes spiel,” he commented as he put the basket down on the table and slid into his side of the booth. “To be honest, I’d be more sorry if you didn’t do it so often,” he added good-naturedly. He grabbed a chip and shoved it into his mouth. Then, with his mouth full, he said, “And if I wasn’t so hungry.”
Jack had reached for the food as soon as the basket was on the table, but he nudged Ianto’s thigh with his own in a silent show of support.
"We'll be sure to schedule our next session for after you've been fed," Jack said, also with his mouth full.
"Don't they teach any table manners in the 51st century?" Ianto asked, not expecting an answer.
"No," Jack quipped at the same time that John said “Nope!”
Ianto shook his head in defeated amusement and reached for some chips.
It seemed his future would be ripe with more atrocious table manners, so he might as well get used to it sooner rather than later.
Looking at the two men putting away an impressive portion of the enormous fish and chips basket, Ianto couldn’t find it in himself to be the slightest bit bothered.
In fact, he couldn’t wait.