[ FINISHED/CLOSED ]

[impavid]

Who: John Sheppard & Ianto Jones
What: I Held My Tongue For Like 30 Minutes What More Do You Want?
When: Backdated to the, 24th/25th of May?
Where: Leaving main Wyver for Khalo
Warning(s): Weird Tension, fyrra use


John's best lead for the whole thing is going to be Khalo, but they can at least meander through the main hub first so Ianto can get a drink before he collapses on the floor. He can explain it once Ianto is a little more alert. John is benevolent enough to suggest this without letting on it's mostly for Ianto's sake, even though they both know it is. It's fine, though, he knows the theoretical timeline they're working on -- and since the the whole altar thing was a bust (probably he should mention that, too) this is more firefighting than anything.

He waves off another kid trying to get suspiciously close to him and his bag, mouths scram as he waits for Ianto to get his drink (which, no doubt, he won't enjoy as much as his own fancy coffee) and skims his phone again. It's heating up enough that his jacket is stowed in his bag, and he eyes Ianto idly wondering if he's put on any sunblock. His own arms are getting browner every minute, and he probably has tan lines.

"So," he says, stowing his phone and squinting up at the sky thoughtfully. Clear so far, it's only going to get hotter then. "Your boyfriend seemed in a good mood."

Ultra smooth. Nailed it.

Comments

[torchwoodteaboy]

Ianto honestly can't tell whether the pressure behind his eyes is from lack of caffeine or the weather or his knock on the head or some combination thereof, but he's pretty sure a coffee would help. Even if it is from a place that honestly probably burns its beans. It's better than nothing, and he's sure he'll feel better once he's gotten some caffeine in his system.

That is, until John opens his mouth and he remembers the odd mood the other man had been in the night before. He frowns at him, taking off the lid to blow across the top of drink in the effort to cool it down (even Ianto isn't the sort of man who can drink a steaming cup of coffee and not burn himself).

"I don't know what you're playing at but if that's your way of casually requesting the dirty details of my sex life, it could use some work," he replies.

[torchwoodteaboy]

As far as Ianto is concerned, it's been a very long day. He has never been a very physical person, and walking to their destination is taking its toll, even with sensible shoes on. He's been doing his best to stay hydrated, doing his best not to over-exert himself and get heat stroke, and he suspects that John has slowed his pace for his sake.

He gets the sense that John is doing a lot for his sake, including but not limited to the oversight and aid in his sunblock application. He's not sure anyone's ever been quite so diligent about it as the other man. Including himself for that matter. Every few hours like clockwork he'd made certain Ianto had reapplied. Thoroughly. To the extent that Ianto was grateful when they made camp and the sun began to set because he wasn't certain how much longer he could take the exchanges that evening. John's assessing eye and gentle fingers. His light jokes and easy charm. And Ianto, standing there bare before him, a jumble of thoughts and emotions tangling up inside of him. He wants to bat his hands away. He wants them to linger still. He feels a little bit as though he might scream, and he needs to take a mental step back and collect himself again.

Of course, he's not certain that camping will help in that. He's never liked camping, and even with the present company -- perhaps especially with the present company -- he feels a bit on edge. A fish out of water, he's a city boy, and being in a place like this makes him feel more uncomfortable still. Uncomfortable that he has to sit back and leave John to do most of the work. He knows how to do the whole bit with a proper tent and kit and all but this really is roughing it and he doesn't even know where to begin. So instead he sits back and stays out of the other man's way and thanks the stars that there are, so far, no alien mosquitoes to speak of. Small blessings, he supposes.