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Jones. Ianto Jones.

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     The brisk October night air rushed over Ianto’s face as he and Jack exited the cinema. He shivered and leaned into Jack more, seeking the warmth of his boyfriend’s greatcoat. Jack smiled and reached for a gloved hand, bringing it up to kiss the back of it. “Well? Come on, tell me: was it everything you’d dreamed it’d be and more?”

     Ianto shrugged, a slight pout settling onto his lips. “Actually...I’m sort of disappointed.”

     Jack groaned. “Spectre is all you’ve been able to talk about all month, and you’re telling me it disappointed you?”

     “It’s not my fault it disappointed me,” he whined. “I don’t want it to be disappointing! Especially after Skyfall was so good….I’m just not sure how I feel about the casting of Blofeld. And it’s not that I necessarily don’t like her, but how is Madeleine better than any other Bond girl? Why is she the reason Bond suddenly feels he can ride off into the sunset like some cheesy romantic lead? And don’t give me that look,” he huffed, catching Jack’s slight eye roll. “I know he can be cheesy, but not like this; not on this level. And you’re hardly one to be able to judge on that account.”

     “Hey!”

     “My point,” he continued, ignoring Jack’s pout, “is that it seemed like a cop out, a rushed ending. And for what? It’s not like she’s Vesper levels of wit, or heart, or elegance, or--”

     “I get it, Vesper is the Holy Grail of Bond girls to you,” he chuckled. A sudden thought lit up a leer on Jack’s face. He wiggled his eyebrows slightly and leaned into Ianto more. “Maybe it’s time for a Bond boy, then. Switch things up a bit.”

     Ianto snorted, though it sounded more like a scoff than anything else. “Hollywood’ll burn to the ground before they have the balls to make Bond explicitly bisexual. No, that little hint in Skyfall--as much as I love it--is all we’ll ever get. Hints. Subtext, etc.” He sighed. “Scraps.”

     Another kiss to the back of Ianto’s hand, this time soothing, though admittedly with a slight hint of humor behind it. “You’re a good actor. You should march up to the studio and demand an audition. Ianto Jones: the first ever Bond boy.”

     A laugh burst out of Ianto at that. “Can you imagine? Bond is sent to dreary, drab Cardiff of all bloody places and decides he wants me. Or my character, rather. And I am not that good of an actor, Jack.”

     “Don’t sell yourself short. And why is this so funny to you? Wouldn’t you want James Bond to make love to you?” ‘Make love’ is loaded with an extra layer of melodramatic tone, causing Ianto to nudge Jack with his elbow.

     “Of course I would. Who wouldn’t? But they’ll never do it, with me or any other man. I guess I’ll have to stick with my teenage fantasies.”

     “Oooh, and did teenage Ianto often get seduced by Bond in his fantasies?”

     “Okay, now you just sound like a pervy old man. Just because you are one doesn’t mean you have to act like it.”

Excuse you, that was a low blow, Mister. Let’s see if I support your acting career ever again.”

     “For the last time,” he snorted, “I can’t act.”

     “What do you call roleplaying, then? And interrogations?”

     A slight blush dusted over Ianto’s cheeks. “That’s completely different. That’s either just for you or for work. Not a career. And definitely not in front of James Bond."

     The small smirk on Jack’s face slowly transformed back into a devious leer. “Well....we’ll see about that.”

***

     Weeks later, Ianto was tidying up the tourist center; Wednesday had brought in an alien made entirely of sand, and Ianto was still sweeping three days later. Just when he thought he’d gotten the last speck out from every corner, another pile would appear. He’d even somehow found sand underneath his coffee mug. Just as the possibility that maybe the sand could still travel once it was separated from the main body was starting to cross Ianto’s mind, the door to the Hub opened. A suspiciously coy looking Toshiko stepped out, doing her absolute best to push down a sly smile.

     “Done for the night, are you? I was wondering if I could pop over with a bottle of wine. Owen and I still need to finish our Star Wars rewatch before The Force Awakens, and Jack’s busy, so--” He squinted his eyes as he studied her simpering face before letting out an exasperated sigh. “We’re not watching Star Wars tonight, are we?”

     Tosh slowly pulled an unmarked envelope out of her coat pocket; you’d never think to give her credit for just how well she could sell dramatics. “I was told to give you this,” she said in that smug tone of voice which makes her seem almost devilishly all-knowing. “Rift-permitting, we can all settle down and finish the rewatch tomorrow. But tonight, you’ve got an assignment.” She handed him the envelope before heading to the door. “Goodnight, and good luck,” she said over her shoulder before turning her coat collar up against the wind and disappearing into the dark.

     He stared after her for a few moments before hastily opening the envelope. Inside was a note that said in purposely unrecognizable handwriting, “Put on your best suit and come to the Park Plaza Hotel at 9 o’clock. Ask for the keycard placed in your name, and don’t be late.” A grin started to toy with the corners of his lips as he looked at his watch. Just barely past 8. Tosh timed herself perfectly. Making a hasty check to ensure that his keys and wallet were in his pocket, he turned out the lights of the tourist office and dashed out the door.

***

     Turning the keycard over and over in his hand, Ianto glanced down at his watch. One minute to 9. Judging by the speed of the lift, he should be right on time. Considering that he’d procrastinated changing into his suit (a deep black pinstripe with his favorite crimson dress shirt and a simple gray and black striped tie) for fear of being too early, and then got stuck in traffic and feared being late, this was an amazing feat on its own. As the lift doors opened onto his floor, Ianto could only hope that the rest of the evening lived up to this impeccable timing. Though between the sleek classiness of the hotel and the promises of what awaited him on the other side of the approaching door, he doubted that whatever Jack had in store for him could fail to meet his high--if confused--expectations. It wasn’t their anniversary. No birthdays were coming up (not that Jack had bothered to remember his over the years). Definitely too early even for an early Christmas gift. Whatever Jack’s reasoning was, Ianto decided, he was certainly not going to argue.

     After taking a moment to brace himself, Ianto swiped the keycard through and opened the door. A short hallway led off to a bathroom to the right, and at the end opened up to the main bedroom. In said bedroom, stood in front of a bureau, was Jack. He was looking into the mirror attached to the bureau, doing something that, in Ianto’s near decade of living with Jack, he had never seen him do.

     He was tying a bow tie.

     Specifically, a black bow tie; a stark contrast to his crisp white shirt. It was the simplest of looks, especially when Jack and his 1940s flair were concerned, and yet...he looked stunning. His hair was slightly more tamed than usual, and his trousers and shoes were a plain black to compliment the bow tie. Extremely simple, yet sophisticated, and more than a little sexy. Silver cufflinks gleamed in the light as his hands stopped their attention to the bow tie, then dropped all together. He turned and looked over at Ianto. A calm, steely look worked to hide the slightly intrigued expression that scanned over Ianto, before finally an inviting smile settled in. His gaze returned to the mirror as he finished tying his bow tie. “You must have the wrong room,” Jack said. “Although,” he mused, giving Ianto a more thorough once over, “I almost wish you didn’t.”

     Smooth steps brought Jack down the hall, to the coat closet, and closer to Ianto, who tried his best to pace himself and the scene. He knew that Jack wouldn’t keep his intentions for the night a secret much longer, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t impatient. Nevertheless, they’d done this enough times for Ianto to know that he couldn’t rush into his role. The best thing to do was to allow himself to settle comfortably into what Jack wanted, and what he knew Ianto would want, too. Learning to give up control had been tricky when they’d first started planning roleplay nights separately to surprise one another, but Ianto had since learned to trust Jack’s judgement (at least, in these matters), and to revel in the uncertainty, guided by Jack’s precise and immaculate plans.

     Another intense onceover scanned Ianto before Jack reached into the coat closet and pulled out a black suit jacket. Of course, it was tailored perfectly; too perfect to bear, really. Ianto almost averted his eyes (again: the pacing was key) before he stopped himself--he noticed that Jack was reaching out to shake his hand.

     “The name’s Bond,” Jack said. “James Bond.”

     Oh.

     Jack grasp on Ianto’s hand tightened slightly as he pulled a little, and Ianto could only assume it was Jack’s subtle way of keeping him from toppling over. Jack couldn’t help but chuckle a little. “And you are?”

     Brief panic pushed its way through the thick fog of lust clouding Ianto’s brain. He hadn’t thought of a name to give. But maybe that was for the best. After all, if Jack was doing this solely based on that tiny conversation they had shared weeks before, then this was all for Ianto. This was not to be wasted on some character that would be discarded at the end of the night. “Jones,” he answered as he returned the handshake more firmly. “Ianto Jones.” The way Jack’s eyes sparkled at that suggested that they were both playing the game exactly as he’d hoped.

     “Well, Mr. Jones, I was about to head down to the bar. You’re welcome to join me, if you’ve got nothing better to do than go knocking on strangers’ doors.”

     Ah, so Jack was playing this for the long game. Well, Ianto couldn’t possibly say no to a drink with 007. “Oh, I don’t know. Apparently knocking on strangers’ doors can be quite rewarding. But I’ve been doing it all night, so I think I could do with that drink.”

     “And why bother continuing to knock on doors when you’ve found me on the other side of one?”

     A roll of his eyes before Ianto followed Jack down the hallway to the lift. What Jack lacked in a British accent, he certainly made up for in cheesy charm.

***

     “Vodka martini. Shaken, not stirred.”

     Ianto had expected as much when he and Jack had taken their seats at the bar, but he hadn’t expected what would come out of the bartender’s mouth, which was a very easy and natural, “Very good, Mr. Bond. And for your guest?”

     A moment of staring at Jack in slight awe mixed with horror was taken before Ianto hastily replied, “I’ll have the same.” How many favors had Jack called in to make this happen? How much money? How many hours of planning? How many--?

     “Um, Mr. Jones?” Jack was looking at him with an amused and affectionate smile. “Are you still here?”

     “Yeah, yes, sorry….So...American. What brings you here, Mr. Bond?”

     Jack looked two seconds away from rolling his eyes; Ianto just had to draw attention to the one flaw in his plan. Damn the Welsh for being so picky and so annoyingly good looking. Luckily, he had an excuse ready. Nothing was going to ruin this night, not even Ianto’s keen ability to uncover flaws. “I’m here on business, and I’m not American. I’ve got a meeting with someone who thinks he’ll be dining with a member of the FBI tomorrow night. Had to sell the full act, of course, so why not break in the accent by using it all day?”

     “Oh, of course. Makes complete sense.” A smirk. “So...this is all business, then.”

     “It doesn’t have to be. Not until tomorrow night, anyways. Thank you,” he added as the bartender handed each of the men their drinks. He raised his glass in a toast. “So...to the moments in between.”

     “To the moments in between,” Ianto agreed before taking a long, savoring sip. It was everything he’d hoped it would be. Sure, he had asked many a bartender (with a slight sheepish blush on his cheeks) to make the classic drink for him before, but those bartenders worked in cheap pubs and sleazy clubs with cheap and sleazy booze. This, however, was expensive; he could practically taste the luxury. Usually, he’d scoff at that. But this wasn’t a usual day. He was sitting next to the handsomest James Bond he’d ever seen, after all, and that called for a celebration.

     “So, Mr. Jones...I’ve given you a little hint of what I’m up to. What about yourself?”

     All these years of lying to family and friends about Torchwood were finally paying off for something just a little more pleasurable than waving away questions about his odd hours and the more-than-occasional cuts and bruises. “I’m an accountant. Not the most exciting job, but it pays the bills. Although I do sometimes have to fight off vicious old ladies and millionaires who could double their fortunes if they didn’t put all their money into their beer bellies.”

     “Oh, I shudder to think,” he chuckles. “Those are the worst of them all. And what do you do to wind down from the vicious old ladies and beer bellies?”

     Ianto shrugged and sighed pathetically. The bored, tired civil servant who wanted nothing more than one night to forget work and get shagged senseless by the mysterious stranger he was sharing drinks with. Hardly a stretch from the truth, now that he thought about it. But that’s what Jack wanted, wasn’t it? Jack may have been playing a character, but Ianto wasn’t. And that was the whole point. “I dunno. I read? Watch far too much telly. Take care of my cat.” He paused before adding, “Actually, that was a lie. Not the bit about reading and watching too much telly and taking care of my cat. That was all true. I mean the accountant bit. But I can’t tell you what I really do. Very hush hush.”

     “Oh? Well...drink up that martini, and we’ll see how secretive you are after a few more of those.”

     “I can hold my liquor very well, Mr. Bond. You’re not getting any secrets from me.”

     “Maybe not through just booze….” He finished off his martini and set it down onto the bar. “I’ve got a bottle of champagne in the fridge upstairs. Can I tempt you to share it with me?”

     Ianto set his empty glass down next to Jack’s. “How do I know you won’t poison it or something? And how do you know I’m not secretly that man you’re supposed to be tricking tomorrow night?”

     “I suppose we’re both going to have to take those risks, Mr. Jones. Unless you think someone else in this bar might enjoy that champagne more than you?”

     “Nope,” he said hastily, leading the way to the lift. “If you poison me, at least I’ll go out on champagne.”

     “Go out, or get off,” Jack muttered under his breath, trying to hide his leer.

     “What was that?”

     “Nothing, nothing.” He stepped into the lift, beckoning Ianto to follow. He raised his eyebrow before obeying.

     “Well, whatever you said, there’s something you should know: even accountants have imagination.”

***

     Once Ianto had stepped through the door Jack was holding open and into the hotel room, he heard the sound of the lock being secured. This earned another raised eyebrow. “Making it so I can’t escape easily?”

     “Trust me,” Jack said over his shoulder as he made his way to the minifridge, “if I wanted to catch you, a few seconds of you not having to fumble with the lock wouldn’t make a difference.” He smirked before popping the cork on the champagne and pouring it into two glasses that were waiting on the counter. The golden liquid sparkled as it glided through the air towards Ianto as Jack handed him the glass. He then raised his own in a toast, pausing for a moment to admire how the bubbles caught the light. “To chance meetings, Mr. Jones.”

     “And to locked rooms, Mr. Bond,” Ianto said, just loud enough to make the smirk on Jack’s face turn into a full grin.

     “Those are the best places for chance meetings.”

     “What if you’re the one trying to escape?”

     “I’ve succeeded so far, when I’ve wanted to.”

     “And when you haven’t? Wanted to, that is.”

     Taking Ianto’s glass from his hand, Jack set them both back down onto the counter before stepping closer into Ianto’s space. “Let me show you.”

     Ah, the moment of feigned resistance had come. “I’d like my champagne back first, Mr. Bond.”

     “James, please.”

     Ianto nodded slowly. “James, then....Whatever you have to show me can surely be done with a glass in my hand.”

     “No, Ianto,” he said, his champagne breath warming Ianto’s face as he leaned in closer. “It can’t.”

***

     Face pressed against Jack’s neck, Ianto let out soft giggle, too blissed out to attempt to hide how stupidly and utterly happy he was. “I can’t believe you did all this.”

     “Of course I did!” He pulled the sheets closer around them both, smiling back as he noticed how Ianto wiggled closer to feel the warmth of the sheets, as well as Jack’s own body heat. “Felt bad you didn’t like the film, so I wanted to make it up to you. Give you a taste of a real, over-the-top, luxurious, ridiculous James Bond one night stand.”

     “Mmm, it was certainly all of those things. Especially ridiculous.”

     “Oh, shut up, you loved it. I bet the whole hotel heard you singing Bond’s praises. Or screaming them, anyways.”

     “I didn’t scream.”

     “Oh, James,” Jack moaned loudly. “Oh, James, harder--!” He laughed into the hand that had suddenly cupped itself over his mouth, trying its best to silence him.

     “I swear, if you ruin this night, I will use every torture method I've learned from my super secret job that will still keep you just barely alive.”

     Jack kissed the palm of Ianto’s hand before peeling his fingers away from his mouth. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Mr. Jones. Besides, like I said: I always escape.”

     “Not from me,” he muttered, nipping at his neck. “And next time, I’ll be Bond.”

     He tries his best to mask the shiver that runs through him with some faux self-consciousness. “You saying I wasn’t a good 007?”

     “You were brilliant and you know it, but you don’t know the character inside and out like I do. You didn’t even catch the reference I made.”

     “Reference? What reference?”

     “‘Even accountants have imagination’. It’s from Casino Royale. Vesper says it.”

     A laugh bubbled out of Jack as he rolled his eyes. “You’re such a nerd.”

     “Laugh all you want, while you still can. That knowledge is going to be put to very good use on you soon enough, Mr. Harkness.”

     A firm hand cupped Ianto’s chin and pulled him up for a kiss. “And I can’t wait, Jones, Ianto Jones.”