Ficlet: The Art Of Coffee
Title: The Art Of Coffee
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Jack.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 444
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Ianto is the master of making coffee, and Jack appreciates both him and his art.
Written For: Challenge 180: Lever at fan_flashworks.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
Jack loves to watch Ianto as he makes coffee; it’s positively mesmerising. He’s always so focussed, lost in a world of his own where only coffee exists. His graceful, long-fingered hands move confidently over his beloved machine, grinding the beans, inserting the filter, filling the reservoirs, and steaming the milk… He seems to know instinctively how long each step needs to take in order to produce the desired result, when to push buttons, flick switches, or pull slowly but steadily on one of the levers as the dark, rich, steaming liquid flows into a cup, filling the Hub with a heady, unmistakeable aroma.
Watching him never fails to make Jack’s mouth water, and he honestly can’t decide whether it’s because of the piping hot beverage or the man making it. Not that it really matters; both are hot, gorgeous, and endlessly delicious.
When it comes to coffee, Ianto is a consummate artist. Every cup he makes is as perfect as the one that came before, and each is treated as if it’s the most important thing that exists in that precise moment. Sometimes, Jack almost feels jealous of the machine, wishing Ianto’s hands were caressing him with the same intimate care, and it’s all he can do not to pounce on his lover, pull him away from the chrome and enamel, the levers and the spigots of his mechanical rival, pressing him up against the kitchen worktop and ravishing him right there. The only thing that stops him is the sure and certain knowledge that such behaviour would earn him cheap instant decaf for at least a week. It might almost be worth the punishment, but not quite; he’s not that much of a masochist.
So Jack contents himself with watching as Ianto picks up the familiar blue and white striped mug, holds it under the spigot, and deftly pulls down on the lever that will dispense the first mug of coffee for the day, knowing that it’s for him and will shortly be delivered into his hands, accompanied by a smile, and if he’s lucky, a kiss. Sometimes there’s even a doughnut to further sweeten the deal.
Later, after the working day is over, when the last cup of coffee had been made and drunk, the machine cleaned and polished, and the mugs washed and put away, he’ll finally have Ianto all to himself, those strong, gentle hands working his body with the same skill and certainty as when he makes coffee, and yet with a rough tenderness never displayed elsewhere.
Between the coffee and the coffee maker, when it comes right down to it, Jack knows he’ll be the winner every time.
The End
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Jack.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 444
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Ianto is the master of making coffee, and Jack appreciates both him and his art.
Written For: Challenge 180: Lever at fan_flashworks.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
Jack loves to watch Ianto as he makes coffee; it’s positively mesmerising. He’s always so focussed, lost in a world of his own where only coffee exists. His graceful, long-fingered hands move confidently over his beloved machine, grinding the beans, inserting the filter, filling the reservoirs, and steaming the milk… He seems to know instinctively how long each step needs to take in order to produce the desired result, when to push buttons, flick switches, or pull slowly but steadily on one of the levers as the dark, rich, steaming liquid flows into a cup, filling the Hub with a heady, unmistakeable aroma.
Watching him never fails to make Jack’s mouth water, and he honestly can’t decide whether it’s because of the piping hot beverage or the man making it. Not that it really matters; both are hot, gorgeous, and endlessly delicious.
When it comes to coffee, Ianto is a consummate artist. Every cup he makes is as perfect as the one that came before, and each is treated as if it’s the most important thing that exists in that precise moment. Sometimes, Jack almost feels jealous of the machine, wishing Ianto’s hands were caressing him with the same intimate care, and it’s all he can do not to pounce on his lover, pull him away from the chrome and enamel, the levers and the spigots of his mechanical rival, pressing him up against the kitchen worktop and ravishing him right there. The only thing that stops him is the sure and certain knowledge that such behaviour would earn him cheap instant decaf for at least a week. It might almost be worth the punishment, but not quite; he’s not that much of a masochist.
So Jack contents himself with watching as Ianto picks up the familiar blue and white striped mug, holds it under the spigot, and deftly pulls down on the lever that will dispense the first mug of coffee for the day, knowing that it’s for him and will shortly be delivered into his hands, accompanied by a smile, and if he’s lucky, a kiss. Sometimes there’s even a doughnut to further sweeten the deal.
Later, after the working day is over, when the last cup of coffee had been made and drunk, the machine cleaned and polished, and the mugs washed and put away, he’ll finally have Ianto all to himself, those strong, gentle hands working his body with the same skill and certainty as when he makes coffee, and yet with a rough tenderness never displayed elsewhere.
Between the coffee and the coffee maker, when it comes right down to it, Jack knows he’ll be the winner every time.
The End