Title: A Close Shave
Rating: PG-13
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Jack, Ianto ; Jack/Ianto
Summary: Ianto lets Jack participate in a daily morning ritual.
Word Count: ~2000
Disclaimer: Torchwood and associated characters belong to BBC and RTD.

It's a rare thing for Jack to wake up after Ianto. Usually he gets his four hours of sleep before carefully getting out of bed to watch the Rift on the program he has set up on Ianto's computer. If an alert goes off small enough for one person to tackle, he'll take care of it. Most nights he crawls back into bed an hour before Ianto's alarm goes off, just to doze a little or to watch his lover sleep; savoring the feeling of waking up curled around someone, or being curled around. And then there's the morning sex of course.

Today he opens his eyes and finds only empty blankets under his arms. The other side of the bed is empty and with a grumpy huff, he wriggles into the still warm space. He hears the sound of water running and rolls around. The door to the en suite is open, and he hears the clink of glass before Ianto appears at the doorway, brushing his teeth.

"At last Sleeping Beauty awakes," he says, removing his toothbrush to speak through a mouthful of foam.

"Gimme a kiss," Jack mutters, pulling the blankets higher. He expects Ianto to wait until he's finished with his teeth, but instead he saunters to the bed and plants a foamy smack on Jack's forehead.

"Ugh." With a grimace, Jack swipes at his forehead and wipes his foamy hand on the blankets while Ianto chuckles and retreats to the bathroom. There's just enough time for Jack to appreciate the sight the pajama pants riding loose on Ianto's hips before Ianto vanishes through the door.

Moments later Jack can hear the sound of water running and takes that as a sign to get up. He sees no reason to hurry though, and kicks the covers away to stretch long and languidly in bed, pulling and rolling his muscles until he's completely loose limbed and relaxed; almost enough for him to consider snuggling under the blankets again and going back to sleep. Instead he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and with a final spine-popping stretch, gets up and shuffles off into the kitchen to make breakfast.

Ianto has a secret only Jack knows. Ianto will, when desperate, resort to instant. And while this happens only once in a blue moon, there is always a jar of it tucked in the back of his cupboard, the one he's dedicated solely to all his coffee-making paraphernalia. Even after spending three months worth of mornings at Ianto's, it still makes Jack chuckle every time he catches a glimpse of its blasphemous label as he pulls out the beans, the grinder, and the French press. He fills the kettle and sets it on the stove to boil.

There is a second secret. Jack knows how to make coffee. Good coffee. Almost on par with Ianto's, although he'd only achieved that level thanks to Ianto's patient tutoring (and impatient lack of tolerance for what he saw as the less than adequate coffee Jack made for the both of them during the first few times he'd attempted the gesture). So it's quite common for him to actually make the coffee in the mornings, while Ianto spends his usual forty-five minutes in the bathroom making himself look pretty.

Twenty-first century men.

Jack quickly grinds the beans and dumps them into the French press. While he waits for the water to boil, he pulls out two mugs. Ianto's is a white one with a purple blob on it that he'd explained was supposed to be cat on one side, while on the other is carefully spelled in a jumble of upper and lowercase letters, "unClE IanTO fROm mICa". Jack's plain blue mug is decorated with a stick figure in a cape; a gift from Tosh on the anniversary of her first year at Torchwood. The drawing is slowly fading away making the hero's cape look frayed and torn at the edges.

With a sigh he sets the mugs down and then lowers the heat on the stove. On Thursdays Gwen gets pastries from the bakery near her place so Jack does not need to make breakfast today. He saunters back to the bedroom, making sure to slow down when he passes the window in the living room -Mr Parker next door has the tendency to peek, even if it's only to bang on Ianto's door so that he can complain to him loudly about his shameless boyfriend wandering naked through the house and offending everyone's delicate sensibilities.

He steps into the bathroom just as Ianto's stepping out of the shower, dripping wet and in the process of wrapping a towel around his waist. Jack has stopped teasing him about it. Prudish or no, he does find it rather endearing how Ianto is shy about his nakedness unless sex of some kind is involved.

Today Jack leans against the doorway, returns the chaste kiss that Ianto gives him, and watches how Ianto carefully prepares for his daily shave. It's something that admittedly fascinates Jack. He grows no facial hair, so he has no experience in that regard except for that short stint in his time with the Agency where he had to impersonate another Agent. It hadn't been a good experience, though that probably has more to do with being shot than his struggle with personal grooming. Between that time and now however, he has had several male lovers (and one or two -or three- female ones) with varying degrees of facial growth and it interests him no less.

Jack's never picky, so he has no personal preferences regarding this either -after all, it is not his body, and any willing body is a great body, facial hair or no. So he's not quite too keen on beards, but that's more of a hygienic concern than an aesthetic preference. (So he's had bad experiences with beards. So what?) A goatee can be devilishly attractive depending on one's ability to pull it off. Moustaches are… interesting, sometimes fun to play with. And the prickle and burn of stubble can occasionally be rather pleasing.

So it comes to him today, while he is standing at the doorway of his lover's en suite, that he would like to try something he has only done a few times. He quickly walks up to the counter where Ianto's about to squeeze some shaving gel onto his hand and plucks the tube from him. A small frown appears between Ianto's brow and he starts with an playfully admonishing "Jack-", but is cut off with a "Let me do this." Ianto's hands fall to his sides, swaying slightly.

The shaving gel feels cool against Jack's skin and he works the blue blob between his palms until it lathers into smooth white foam. Its smell and the texture of it on his skin strikes him over the head with the force of a small mallet, digging up sepia memories of barber shops, a straight razor dragging up the curve of a neck, the brush of stubble against his cheek, warm breath in his ear, blood beading up from a small cut; pieces of a puzzle he can no longer put together properly. He spends a moment staring off into space, hands moving together mechanically until Ianto nudges him gently. Jack steps out of the memories with a deep breath, and gives Ianto a small smile of reassurance, which helps erase the frown line that crawled across Ianto's brow. (It crawls there far too often lately; there is painful irony in that fact that Ianto worries far more now that there are two less people to worry about.)

Jack lathers the foam carefully onto the lower half of Ianto's face, making sure to cover all the parts he's watched Ianto do regularly; his cheeks, up the angle of his jaw to the sideburns, and with special attention to the chin and neck. When dabbing it around Ianto's mouth, a bit of it gets onto his lips, and Jack grins as Ianto sputters a little, glaring at him.

Jack picks up the multiblade razor (the last time he'd done this he'd used a straight razor) and weighs it in hand. Then he reaches out with the other to turn Ianto's head slightly to the left, and with a smooth, sure stroke, drags the razor down his cheek, along the angle of his jaw. The razor cuts a bare streak through the swathe of white foam, revealing the smooth, pale skin below. Jack washes off the foam and hairs, and as he lifts the razor back up for another stroke, Ianto's breath puffs along his wrist. His bright blue irises peek over the corner of his eyes as Jack drags the razor down a second time, Jack's other hand lightly pulling the skin taut to get a closer shave.

He does the same thing on the other cheek, Ianto following each light touch to turn and tilt his head as Jack needs him too. They don't talk, and silence settles comfortably between them, among the bottles and tubs on the shelf; it lies down on the floor and plays quietly with the puddles in the shower, only broken by the slight scrape of the blades running over skin and the rush of water when Jack rinses away the foam and cut hairs.

With the same silence and compliance, Ianto tilts his head back at the slightest pressure of Jack's finger up against his chin, exposing the pale curve of his neck. Jack carefully runs the blade down, from top to bottom in long smooth strokes that, like with Ianto's cheeks, reveal smooth clean skin beneath it, while Ianto's steady pulse beats centimeters away.

Again, there is only the quiet puffs of their breathing that fills the air next to the scritchscritchof the razor. As Jack pauses to rinse the blade, Ianto swallows, and Jack watches the undulation of muscle and cartilage beneath the skin, sliding smooth just under the surface.

He finishes the neck, and moves on to Ianto's chin. Short downward strokes that start just below the gentle swell of Ianto's bottom lip, cutting through the white lather down to the curve of his chin. His free hand rests lightly on Ianto's bare shoulder and he can feel the muscle tense or relax in turn as Ianto moves minutely, or shifts his weight.

Finally there's the strip of skin beneath the nose, and Ianto curls his upper lip in without being asked for Jack to run the razor down there while Jack's large hand cups his chin to steady him, his thumb brushing over Ianto's bottom lip.

And then they are done.

Jack sets the razor down on the counter without turning around; it teeters for a moment at the edge of the sink then falls in with a clatter. With his thumb, he wipes away the traces of shaving cream from Ianto's lips, then leans forward to kiss him.

Once again the smell of the shaving foam takes him back, but now he takes Ianto with him; the smooth curves of his neck where Jack's hands rest, the flush line of his lips that move against his own. A flicker of tongue to draw him into Ianto's mouth and away from the fragmented past. Now it's just the present. He can feel Ianto's hand card through his hair which is still soft and floppy without the usual product in it. The other hand slips down his side to curl around his bare buttocks, pulling him closer, making him hard as Ianto grinds against him, his answering hardness responding through the soft towel.

It's far too late to remember he hasn't brushed his teeth and still has morning breath, but Ianto does not seem to mind or notice this time. Maybe it's thanks to the traces of mouthwash Jack can taste as he runs his tongue over Ianto's teeth then flicks it up to brush his palate. It makes Ianto moan and his grip on Jack's hair tightens almost painfully, and Jack finds himself maneuvered, shifted enough for Ianto draw his bottom lips between his teeth and suck, nip, pull before releasing it, now flushed red, to turn his attention to the slope of Jack's neck.

He leaves a very large hickey there, one that will likely stay the whole morning and cannot be hidden by Jack's shirt. His mouth roams downward, insistent on marking a new one when the kettle starts whistling in the kitchen.

Ianto mouths "Bugger," against Jack's skin, then pulls away. Jack lets his hands rest a moment longer, brushing his thumb down the curve of Ianto's cheek. "No aftershave today, please? Eau de Ianto."

"Only for you," Ianto sighs a he reaches for a washcloth. "No everyone likes that."

Jack buries his face in the crook of his neck and inhales deeply. "Will anyone else be doing this?"

Ianto nods briefly, a smile curling the corner of his lips that Jack cannot help kissing before he leaves to turn the goddamn kettle off.

fin