He sat moodily in the corner of the pub wondering what on earth he was doing here. Across the room, he could see his lover being chatted up by a spiky haired blonde young man who, he had to admit, had truly stupendous buttocks. He could understand the attraction but, God, he hated this, hated witnessing the hunt, hated being an observer of the seduction dance, despite the fact that he had been known to dance it himself on occasion.

The blonde now had a possessive hand on his lover's waist, a hand that was drifting down to cup a denim clad buttock. The two men were moving closer, giving each other little touches, not-quite-innocent brushes on the hand, the chest, the thigh; something else for him to hate. There was that special smile creeping across the handsome face, he hated that too. No, that wasn't quite true, he loved that smile – wicked, sly, seductive and promising – what he really hated that it was put there by someone other than him.

Morosely he began shredding his beer mat. The simple truth was that this was pretty much his fault. He had been acquiescent when the notion of an open relationship had been suggested, no ,more than that, he had been enthusiastic. They were just friends with benefits, nothing serious, no ties – why wouldn't an open relationship be a good idea? Neither of them wanted to be tied down and Cardiff was full of pretty faces.

The problem was that, for quite some months now, being tied down was exactly what he wanted, the notion of non-exclusivity had become repugnant to him. He wasn't sure how many more nights he could watch his lover leave with somebody else and pretend to be OK with it.

I love him, he realised with a jolt, holy shit I've fallen hard for him, how the hell did that happen? He risked a glance back at the bar where the fair and the dark head were close together suggesting an intimate negotiation was taking place. The urge to race across the room and beat the blonde interloper senseless was so great that he was actually on his feet before his natural restraint kicked in and he hurriedly sat down again, ducking his head to glare at his shredded beer mat as the object of his affection glanced across at him and began to walk across the pub towards him.

He kept his gaze fastened on the sad remains of his beer mat only looking up when his lover cleared his throat in a pointed manner. 'Jack? I'm heading out for a little bit with Stephen, over there, OK?' Ianto gestured over his shoulder to where the blonde guy was shrugging on his leather jacket.

Jack gave a small nod and returned to his new hobby of beer mat destruction, he managed a weak smile as he did so.

Ianto frowned, this wasn't the reaction he had been expecting, it was almost as if... surely not. Hesitantly he reached across the table and sliding two fingers under the perfect chiseled chin, raised Jack's head so that he could look into his eyes.

'Jack? Is everything alright? Say something, Cariad'

'Please don't go'

'Jack?'

'I was wrong. I don't want to share you. I want you to be mine, just mine. I don't want to be with anyone else, I want to be yours. Just you and me and no-one else ever again'

With a brilliant smile Ianto sat down, swept the remains of the beer mat onto the floor and threaded his fingers through Jack's.

'OK'