m_findlow

Title: Long term relationship
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Ianto, Jack
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 1,000 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for Bingo Card Prompt 35 - Concert at fffc
Summary: Jack puts up with a lot for love.

Ianto double checked the seat numbers on the tickets for the third time before indicating that these were their seats, pulling out the retractable red velvet and sitting himself on the right hand side. Jack pulled down the seat next to him and settled into it. It was comfy at least, which was lucky since Ianto had told him this was no ordinary concert. He was in for the long haul whether he liked it or not.

Ianto flipped open the program in his hand, studying it carefully and checking his watch. ‘The first round runs from eleven until two, then there's a break - lunch obviously - and a second round from the until six. After that they pare down each of the two rounds into five qualifying contestants, so that the last ten compete in the evening session which starts at seven thirty. The Winner, or winners if it's a pair, will be announced at the end.’

‘When's that?’

‘Ten thirty or thereabouts. There's some professional performances in between, whilst the judges are making their final tally of votes.’

Jack checked his own watch. Twelve and a half hours until this was all over. Gods! It was going to be one very long day! Thank the gods that the Welsh Amateur Operatic Competition only ran once a year. They should have called it the Welsh Amateur Operatic Marathon instead. Last audience member not dead of boredom or starvation wins an all expenses paid trip to anywhere but here.

‘This is nice, isn't it?’ Ianto asked, beaming with a relaxed smile on his face.

Nice? Sure. If slow, steady torture was your kinda thing. They'd been to concerts at the Millennium Centre before, both as audience members and as Torchwood officers on the trail of a case, but at all times Jack had been able to avail himself of the candy bar in the auditorium. Today there wasn't a chocolate bar, packet of crisps, or bag of wine gums to be found. No, it was all plastic flutes of champagne and little boxes that contained three crackers and a bit of cheese. Apparently the discerning opera fan did not require any calorific sustenance to make it through a twelve hour onslaught.

‘Jack?’

‘Mmm?’

‘I said this is nice, isn't it? Better than last year, in any case. At least we made it here.’

That was true. Last year's debacle of a competition had dragged them all right into the middle of it. What were the chances that an alien from a completely silent world would end up here, hell bent on trying to find the most beautiful sound and extract it from its living host? And turning up right before every beautiful voice was about to converge on Cardiff for a chance at fame and glory, plus a lucrative recording contract? Those were the kinds of odds you couldn't buy.

‘Oh, I don't know, Ianto. Opera really isn't my thing.’

‘I can tell,’ he replied, but reaching a hand across to rest on Jack's knee. ‘All the same, I appreciate you coming with me.’ His serious expression morphed into a smirk. ‘It's the least you could do given that I have to suffer through your show tunes around the hub and in the shower.’

‘I thought you liked my show tunes?’

‘If you live in Britain, can you still plead the fifth?’

‘I still prefer you to all these other operatic wannabes.’

Ianto snorted, his cheeks flushing slightly. ‘I don't sing. I was just doing my job. Badly, it must be said.’

‘Sure, you do. You're a great singer. And you did a great job of luring that alien out of the shadows. Why, I could listen to opera a whole lot more if it was you doing all those big notes. It must be that Welshness. I've yet to meet a Welshman who didn't secretly love to belt out a tune.’

‘Why does everything have to be about my being Welsh?’

Jack quirked an eyebrow at him. ‘Isn't it?’

‘Can I not just like a particular type of music? Some people like to lose themselves in the bottom of a bottle, others like to build things out of wood, read books, collect stamps…’

‘I don't think you can lose yourself in stamps.’

‘...Or tinker with alien spaceships,’ Ianto finished, directing his last comment at Jack. ‘You don't have to be able to sing to enjoy the raw power and emotion of music. But it's nice to be able to listen to people who really have a passion for it.’

‘I don't disagree. Why else would I be here with you?’

‘Because I paid a lot of money for the tickets? Because it's the least you can owe me after putting me through hell last year when I should have been parked on my sofa watching it all from the comfort of home?’

Jack rested his hand over Ianto's, which hadn't moved from his knee the whole time they'd been talking. That was one thing, he supposed. The audience was overflowing with couples of all persuasions, making them about as plain and everyday as was possible. It was nice to have Ianto be so open about who they were for a change.

‘Because if you love it, then I can learn to love it,’ Jack replied. And, he thought, because if we're stuck here for twelve hours, at least he might get away with an arm around his lover's shoulders for ten of those. He tried it out now, just for size, and felt Ianto sink a little bit sideways against him, prevented from fully snuggling only on account of the armrest between them. Jack let his head rest against Ianto's, eyes falling on the program in his lap. He could always shut his eyes and tune out the rest. ‘Maybe next year you'll be on that program.’

‘Fat chance, unless aliens abduct every opera singer in the country.’

‘I'd vote for you. Maybe then you'd sing for me every day.’