milliways_bar | (no subject)

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As usual, Ianto is sitting at the bar with a cup of coffee and his diary.

If one were to peek over his shoulder, one would see the words, "Today is my birthday" written at the top of today's page.

But one wouldn't do that, would one? It's terribly bad manners.

[tags of smallness: Maj. Evan Lorne, Billy Kaplan.]

[ooc: ~~Work-relate slowtime in effect.~~]

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John pretends to ponder this (and definitely does not look smug at being Ianto's wish. Nope, no smugness here, move along.) "Well, let's see. If we go to your Cardiff, we'll probably get caught in an alien invasion. If we go to my London... we're not, so forget it. We could go outside here, but the place has been overrun by sentient jungle and feral dough -- fuckin' Milliways," he snorts. "So long walks on the beach are right out, thank God. That leaves us here. Ordinarily, I'd say a birthday calls for a piss-up, rude behaviour and a monumental hangover. But, ah," he says with a grin, "We just sang that song last week.

"Choice number two: we could skip the preliminaries, go upstairs and shag ourselves stupid. But --" still grinning "-- we plan to do that anyway. Which leaves choice number three: The whole candlelit dinner option. Which'd be a novelty for me, but I'm happy to suffer for the greater good." He cocks his head. "What say you?"

"I wouldn't mind the candlelit dinner option," Ianto says, managing not to look smug, either.

"Feral dough? Do I want to know what that's about?"

"No sodding idea whatsoever," says John with a shake of his head. "There's dough out there and it attacks people, that's all I know. I'm not my best in the great pastoral outdoors," he adds, winning the Unnecessary Statement of the Year award.

"So, right. We need a table, a private table. With candles and such. Easy enough, I suppose. You're in charge of food and drink, though, or we'll end up with curry and lager."

And lo, there just happens to be an empty table in a private corner. Milliways can be obliging that way.

Ianto's eyebrow arches in a way that says, Feral dough. Right.

He's happy enough to let it drop. "What do you like, aside from curry and lager?"

Narration will presume they move to the conveniently private table in the corner. Narration also supplies a scurry of wait-rats to provide tablecloth, silverware, etc etc including lit candles.

John, however, does not provide shit. "You're the birthday boy, don't ask me what I want. What do you like?"

"I like duck," Ianto says. "With new potatoes and green beans, and something rich and ridiculous for dessert, like crepes suzette."

John smiles. "And I like a man who knows what he wants. Make that for two," he says to the wait-rat, which scurries back to the kitchen.

John pours them both champagne, which just conveniently happens to be chilling beside the table. "So, another year above ground. Here's to a good one," he toasts.

Ianto returns the toast, smiling. "Thank you.

"I have this idea for you and I, and it's probably quite mundane--but I have films on my laptop, and if I can time it right sometime and bring it in with me, let's watch a movie."

"All right, why not? What films are you thinking of?" He pauses and raises an eyebrow. "S'not all demon apocalypse and seedy back alleys for me, you know. More often than I'd like it's beans on toast and Top Gear on the telly."

"Well, dating." He plays with the champagne glass. "It's odd to know how to approach it with anyone.

"I like old movies best. Classics. That's mostly what I've got on the computer right now, things like Casablanca and The Godfather."

"Can we do the Maltese Falcon as well? I love that one."

A pause, during which wait-rats come by with the food.

Then, "Dating," John says, looking at his plate and starting to eat with polite care. "Strange, innit? Like something out of an old film." He looks up at Ianto and winks.

"Absolutely. I love that one."

He eats a bite of duck with eyes closed in appreciation. Good food is so good.

"If we were an old film I'd be Myrna Loy, I suspect. To your Humphrey Bogart."

John snorts a laugh. "Myrna Loy, is it? Should I have got you diamonds, then?"

Bite, chew, swallow. "S'really good, this. You're going to be picking the food more often, I think. Broaden my horizons." Bite, chew, swallow. "We're pretty good too, aren't we, the two of us."

"I don't think diamonds go with my complexion," Ianto says dryly.

"I'll pick the food any time you like. Though sometimes I do like a curry and lager, too."

He eats a bite too. "Yeah. We are."

He has a sip of champagne. "There is something, though. An explanation I owe you, I think."

John looks up with a bit of a glower. "You don't owe me anything."

"Which is also what I said," Ianto points out. "But I'd feel better if you know how things are with me."

"All right."

John taps his fingers on the table. His hand goes to the pocket where he keeps his cigarettes, and then stops, and returns to tap on the table some more.

"There's this bloke at home," Ianto says, avoiding looking at the tapping fingers. "We're not together or anything. There hasn't been anything but a kiss and a lot of flirting. But the possibility's been there since basically the first day we met, and now I don't quite know what to do."

"Do as you please. You don't owe me anything," John repeats bluntly.

If you didn't know John, you probably wouldn't notice, but something's changed. Something behind the eyes -- something that's been open whenever Ianto's been around -- has just closed.

"I shouldn't have brought it up." He frowns at his plate.

John shrugs and keeps eating. "Bring up what you like, do as you please. No promises, no harm, no foul. You're a big lad now, make your own decisions."

"Right."

He has another drink.

"I really do like you, you know. I like being with you. I'm not just waiting around for him to make up his mind."

"Why don't you bloody well make up his mind for him," John snaps, then winces. "Sorry. Sorry.

"Look, sunshine," he continues in a more ... civilized manner. "You and me, good times all around, right? No promises and no regrets. Besides, not as if the bloke ever came around here."

"He used to," Ianto says evenly. "You might even know him. Jack Harkness."

At the name, John explodes into laughter. "Jack Harkness? Not the one who used to work the brothel! Oh, sunshine, you're going about it the wrong way."