A/N: I wrote this ages ago, and because it's definitely AU, and maybe even crack, I haven't posted it. I like it though, so I present it to you fine folk.

WARNING: Coarse language (Owen has a mouth that could make a truck-driving sailor cringe). And because its Torchwood there is always the chance there will be slash, mentions of slash, allusions to slash, or significant glances in slash's direction. Slash could fall out of the Rift. You never know.

Neither of them had bothered to turn on a light and the room was pitch-black and sticky hot. Owen pushed the sheet off and tried his best not to feel awkward. He was used to sharing a bed, to feeling the weight and heat of somebody sleeping beside him. He picked up girls whenever he could, and those nights usually ended with tangled limbs in tangled sheets. This was different though. This was a co-worker, a friend, someone he cared about. Though his manner would never show it, Owen was always awkward and slightly bitter on these nights. Even in the dark he could see distant blue eyes staring off into space, wide-awake and wishing Owen was somebody else. Wishing I was him. Owen thought. Always wishing I was that stupid git. What am I, deficient in some way? Owen tried to tell himself that he was wrong, the day after he could convince himself that he was wrong, but in the dark, laying in the heat and smelling of exhaustion and sweat, he knew better. He sat up suddenly and turned on the light. He ignored the soft groan of protest that came from his left and fished under the bed for his pants. He pulled them on and left the room without a word.

He headed straight into the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of expensive scotch. It had been a really bad day. Jack had died, Tosh had been injured, Gwen was in a pissy mood, and Ianto had been edgy and biting, the way he always got when the Captain was killed. Then, as if he needed it to be any worse, Owen had spent the evening indulging in a self-destructive affair that never left him feeling good. Oh, yeah, that was just brilliant. Being sober was just a bit too much to top off a day like this.

He pulled down a tumbler and filled it half way. As an afterthought he poured out another and, drinks in one hand, bottle in the other, he headed back into the bedroom. When he walked in he surveyed the tableau in front of him and felt vaguely sick. His eyes locked on swollen, bruised looking lips and he realized he didn't know whether he wanted to kiss and bite them, or smash them with the bottle. Probably both. Defiantly both.

Owen closed his eyes and tried to swallow his anger with a gulp of scotch. It didn't work; he could still feel it sitting like a stone in his throat. He sat on the edge of the bed and passed the other drink.

"Are you in love with him?" he asked. There was a contemplative silence and then "Yes. I guess I am." Owen nodded. He'd expected nothing else.

"Why do you do this with me, then?"

"Owen… I don't know. Why do you?"

Owen shrugged and gazed into his glass. "Does… do you think he knows?"

There was bitter laughter and the answer came in an angry, hurt voice. "No, I don't think he's noticed. I wish he'd notice."

Owen felt that he had put up with a lot for the sake of this relationship, this thing, whatever it was they had, but listening to his lover moon over another man was more than he was willing to take. His fingers curled tightly around his glass and his mouth curled into sneer. "Well, he doesn't," he said, "he doesn't notice, or maybe he doesn't care. Have you thought of that, or are you too fucking stupid? Maybe he knows, and he doesn't give a damn." He watched the hurt flash across Ianto's face and felt a moment's remorse. It was true though. He wasn't sure what Ianto thought he and Jack were doing, but Owen could see it wasn't as serious for Jack as it was for the tea-boy. Just as what they were doing wasn't as serious for Ianto as it was for him. He hated that, comparing himself to the pathetic, sniveling tea-boy. He hated this, sleeping with and caring about the pathetic, sniveling tea-boy. He hated himself, and he was ashamed, for so many reasons.

At the moment he was ashamed for lashing out at Ianto. They'd never promised each other anything, and it had been clear from their first drunken encounter at the Hub that they were both only using each other, for different reasons. For Ianto it was about Jack, about the fact that Jack had left him, about trying to move on as fast and as furiously as he could. When Jack had returned, Owen thought it would end; nothing changed, though, except Ianto's reasons. Now, it was about keeping distance between Jack and himself, and getting revenge in an absurdly harmful, passive-aggressive way.

For Owen, it had started out of jealousy. It had been about taking and having something that was Jack's. It had also been a power thing; having Ianto want and need him kept Owen over him, made Owen better than him. That was one of the myriad reasons Owen was ashamed. He honestly liked Jack, and he cared for Ianto. It was so complicated. His reasons, his feelings had changed. He was beginning to hate Jack because Ianto would always be his, and because Jack hurt Ianto so flippantly. And Owen was starting to love Ianto, maybe just a little, but, maybe an awful lot. It was difficult to tell because the good feelings were all tied up with the anger and the hurt. Owen couldn't separate the knot, couldn't even begin to sort thru it, because he couldn't find the place where one thread ended and another began. That wasn't the point though, and it really didn't matter. The point was that somewhere along the way it had stopped being about possessing and controlling Ianto, and now Ianto had power over him. Now Owen was the one Ianto was standing over, and he hated himself.

"He'd care," Ianto said, " if only because we hid it from him. Don't fool yourself into thinking we're doing an alright thing."

"No, I know it's not alright. Some people would consider sleeping with your boss's boyfriend to be suicidal, and very, very wrong. Even if he does give a damn, it might not be for the right reasons, Ianto." Ianto grabbed the bottle and refilled his glass. His face looked worried and angry and Owen was afraid he was crossing a line. It was hard to tell; they'd crossed so many together it was getting difficult to find them. "It might not be," Ianto said, "and I know I should care, but I don't. We don't live in a perfect world, Owen. Even if he doesn't love me, I'm okay with that." Owen burst out laughing, hard and loud. He laughed until his stomach hurt and tears were rolling down his cheeks. He laughed until he was afraid he couldn't stop.

When he'd composed himself, Ianto was staring at him bemusedly. "Please, share the joke. What's so funny?" Owen hitched in a breath and tried to figure out where to start. Nothing was really funny, not about this, but it was either laugh or scream or start throwing punches. "You are such a liar." Owen finally said, "If you didn't care about that, you wouldn't be doing this. But you really don't believe that do you? You've really convinced yourself that it's okay if Jack doesn't love you; as long as he's with you it's all just fine. You really are that blind. Well, let me tell you something, baby. It's not okay, it's not right, and it's not fair. And, somewhere deep inside you, you know that. You know you'd be better off with almost anybody else. Shit, Ianto, you'd be better off with me." The rage didn't mask the fear and pain in his voice and Ianto's expression was less angry than compassionate. He also looked resigned and Owen knew that he'd just gone all in and lost. He still wasn't sure what the stakes had been, and it was his only hope that they hadn't been too high.

"I'm sorry Owen. You're probably right. I couldn't love almost anybody else, though. I love him, and I guess that's what it comes down to. Do you want to end this? I've always told you we can end this at any time."

"I wish you wouldn't say it like that. I wish I didn't know how easy I am to toss aside. You and Gwen, I'm not even good enough to make a decent second best for you people, am I?" Ianto took his hand and met his eyes. "That's not true, Owen. It wouldn't be easy, but I'm not keeping you here. I don't have the right. If this didn't mean something to me I wouldn't do it. It's your call, though, right now. Are we thru?" Owen didn't give himself time to think, just answered quickly, with his heart. "No. Not right now. We're okay for right now. I don't know how much longer I can take this."

Ianto nodded. "Right, then. Okay. Come to bed. Don't leave, just stay here and let's just forget about this for right now. Let's just sleep." Owen wanted to decline, to finish dressing and walk out. He wanted to take back what he'd just said and go home to his own empty bed, in his own empty flat and drown himself in pity about his wretched, empty life. He wanted to call it quits, throw in the towel, make this a thing that had been, but wasn't now. He wanted that almost as much as he wanted to crawl back into this bed and be held tight; he wanted that almost as much.

In the end, he slipped his jeans off and slipped back in between the sheets. It was still baking in the bedroom, but he rolled towards Ianto, seeking contact despite the heat. They laid together for a few minutes and then, despite his better judgment, Owen asked "Does he ever stay the night with you?" Ianto sighed and stroked his hair. "No, but I've never asked him to, either. Just sleep now, love. We both need to get some sleep."

Owen settled into the bed and tried his best not to feel awkward. This was wrong and it was painful and there was no way it was going to end well; but, at the end of the day, it was something he wanted. No matter the reason, and no matter the cost, he still wanted it, and that had to count for something.

DISCLAIMER: Torchwood is the property of the BBC and RTD. I own nothing, I make nothing.