Chasing weevils. Running hard, punch the bastard. Nearly killed (nothing new). 6 am, sun comes up, greasy spoon breakfast. Nearly fall asleep in the bacon. Back to the hub, crash.
Coffee, shower, clothes, shave, dinner, movie. Whiskey, sexual Olympics. Roll over go to sleep.
Wake up. Doze. Sex. Get up. Brunch. Basketball, heavy tackle, Jack sniggers. Dead leg. Back to bed. Sexual Paralympics. Supper, Whiskey, More sex. Sleep.
Bloody Monday again.
The music was rubbish. The club was sub-standard. Of all the ways he could be spending tonight. Some sort of rift activity? The only activity in here seemed to be wallflower shyness clinging to the edge of the room versus drunken hopes and attempts at true love. Or a quick shag. Whichever was preferable. Ianto downed his bottle of Corona and walked towards the men's. Owen made no attempt to look like he was having a good time, even when Toshiko looked at him hopefully.
What the bloody hell was he doing there? How had he ended up here? Ok, Jack's idea, that he should go along. Yes, very funny. Bastard. Ianto felt too old for this matchmaking shit, yet he was by far one of the younger people in the room.
How long were they going to go on pretending nothing was happening? Sooner or later everyone was going to realise they weren't working at weekends. Ianto did sort of dread the moment everyone was going to know, mostly because it wouldn't take long before Owen started on the "He's only taking your side cause your shagging him." Owen was like a kid at times, he looked to Jack for everything too often. One of the few things Ianto didn't need from Jack was his approval. Love, compassion, friendship and sex were a given. But he was still a knob for making him go with Tosh and Owen.
One more drink, then he'd go. Didn't want Tosh to feel bad, then again, when she did find out about him and Jack it made Ianto look far better than Owen who had to be duped into coming. Lucky Gwen, at home with Rhys eating dinner, planning a wedding and having palpitations over how the hell she was going to pay for it. He'd take that over the dank smell of the clubs toilets any day- and at this point he became horribly aware that someone was watching him in the act. Slightly flattering but also disturbing and un-nerving. He looked up to see a blonde woman eying some of his more personal attributes. He cleared his throat and she smiled sweetly, as if the eye contact they made was the only thing that had passed between them.
"Are you lost love?" He managed to blurt out, a little more confident than usual and less reserved from 2 for 1 larger. "Ladies is the door on the left."
Went to the sink. Rinsed his hands. Her eyes followed him across the room. Weird. But he'd had weirder things than this happen today at work so he let it pass.
Ianto stepped out the door and started to make his way back towards Tosh and Owen when his wrist was grabbed at full force and yanked into facing the girl. She tried to kiss him, and suddenly he was repulsed by her, like he could see something but only for a fleeting second, it didn't really register mentally, but something in his brain flashed up as wrong. He shoved her away from him. A little too powerfully. FUCK. That just looked bad.
He wanted out now. Tosh and Owen looked over. The Corals Dreaming of You started to play.
That's it. That's the last thing he wanted to hear right now. Owen mouthed to him as to what the fuck he was doing, to which Ianto waved dismissively and went to the door. People were still looking. That pissed girl no-where to be seen.
Is shoving common assault? Then again he could defend with sexual harassment. No, it was nothing. Put it out of his mind and get out of here. Don't walk. Might get mugged. Taxi. Rounded the corner out of sight of smokers and pukers from the club. Bloody Monday.
Out of nowhere she grabbed him again and threw him against the wall outside. This time he couldn't throw her off in time. She kissed him, hard on the mouth. Shoved her off again. She smiled and sniffed the air. Then walked off. Twilight zone. What the fuck? Ohhh, what's that?
Fuzzy head, strangely drunk. Really weird. Somehow he hailed a cab, and through tripping over his tongue asks for Roald Dahl plass. Two weeks later he remembered the cab driver telling him it was a thirty quid charge for throwing up. He held it back. He got his phone out and called Jack.