Red Is My Colour Prompt for Day Fourteen
Title: You Blame the Wine, I'll Blame the Thermal Underwear
Author: blue-fjords
Pairings/Characters: Jack/Ianto, Owen, Gwen
Setting: after "Greeks Bearing Gifts"
Words: 1600
Rating: PG
Summary: Jack and Ianto go on what is definitely not a date, and are interrupted.
Prompt: Day Fourteen for "Red Is My Colour"
Ianto leaned over the railing to the Med Bay. Owen looked rather engrossed. It wasn't every day he got to inspect a pair of possessed thermal underwear. When he was bent over his work like that, excited and focused, he was almost bearable. Almost.
Ianto walked quietly down the stairs and exchanged a fresh cup of coffee for the one holding only dregs. Owen never looked up to acknowledge his presence. An improvement. Clearly, Tosh had taken Ianto's place at the top of Owen Harper's Shit List for this week.
Ianto's eyes skirted over to Tosh's empty workstation. She was out of the Hub, having a Conversation with Jack, one in which Ianto devoutly hoped that everyone else's thoughts would not be mentioned. Ianto didn't know what she had overheard from him, but it was probably fairly maudlin.
Gwen looked up with a somewhat confused half-smile on her face when he got to her workstation. "So!" she said, obviously under the impression that silence called for talk. "Possessed thermal underwear, huh? Only at Torchwood!"
She gave a small laugh that almost sounded genuine. Ianto felt sorry for her, really, while at the same time he wanted to pick up a branch and beat her over the head until she saw sense. Owen? Seriously? There was no way that was going to end well.
Gwen's laugh died as Ianto just stood there. Blandly. She shrugged her shoulders, uncomfortable, and her eyes automatically slid over to the Med Bay. Ianto sighed inwardly.
"Have there been many possessed objects sent through the Rift, Ianto?" she asked idly.
"Certainly," he replied, and her eyes snapped back to him, interested. "Seven years ago there were five pairs of trousers. Six years ago, a set of braces. I believe the Captain claimed them for himself, after the exorcism, of course."
She laughed delightedly, and opened her mouth to ask another question but stopped abruptly as the Cog door clanged and whistled to reveal Jack, alone. He swept into the Hub, coat swishing, looking like a feudal lord out to inspect his serfs, Ianto thought. No, more like Ringmaster at the circus.
"Owen still wrestling with that thermal underwear?" he asked, nodding his thanks as Ianto handed him his coffee. If his eyes looked more intently at him in those five seconds, Ianto couldn't tell. Perhaps he had dodged a bullet.
"Owen's got it licked, in point of fact," Owen announced, walking up the stairs.
"Great. Well, kids, get out of here," Jack said, heading to his office. "Ianto, I need to see you for a moment."
Gwen shot him a sympathetic look, and Owen a smirk, as they shrugged on their coats and left together. Ianto straightened his tie, donned his best blank expression, and wished that he had a tray or something as a barrier, but he had just given Jack his coffee and had no excuse to be bringing another.
He walked slowly into the office and stood in the middle of the floor, hands clasped behind his back. "You wished to see me, Sir?" Ianto was proud that his voice did not tremble.
Jack looked into his coffee cup for a long moment. "Ianto, you ever been to that little French bistro with the purple awning, three streets over?"
Ianto was startled. "No, Sir. Is it owned by aliens?"
Jack looked up then and grinned. "No, Ianto, but it does serve French food, so . . ."
Ianto gave a hesitant half-smile. "Did you want some take-away from there, Sir?"
"No, Ianto, I thought we could go there. Eat in a restaurant like the rest of the non-alien chasing world."
Ianto froze. That would mean at least one hour of Jack Harkness' undivided attention. He wasn't sure if he could handle that right now. He opened his mouth to beg off, but changed his mind when his eyes met Jack's. Jack looked . . . kind. It was a strange fit on him, but Ianto wasn't going to quibble. It had been awhile since anyone had looked at him like that.
"Very good, Sir."
Jack still had his coat on, and Ianto hurriedly pulled his own on before following him to the Cog and outside that way. Ianto didn't know if there would ever come a time when he was comfortable being back on the Invisible Lift. Out on the street, Cardiff was freezing. Ianto’s breath puffed out in front of him, and he imagined little ice crystals hanging off of each cloud of air that issued from his mouth. Beside him, Jack walked with his coat hanging open, swishing back and forth in the wind of their passage.
It was just a ten minute walk to the little French bistro, but Ianto had already lost feeling in his extremities by the time they reached the door. Jack opened it for them, and ushered Ianto inside to welcome warmth.
The interior of the bistro was dimly lit, a squat candle on each table. The tables themselves hovered on the edge of tiny, and all except three sat just two people. There was a fire in a fireplace, flowers hanging artfully from stacked vases on the walls, and a violinist sat next to the fire, playing a mournful tune. In short, it was the most romantic restaurant Ianto had ever been in. He felt his face heat up, and was thankful for the warmth despite the embarrassing situation. Jack didn’t seem to notice, at any rate, just grinned at the hostess and followed her to a table in a secluded corner. Ianto trailed behind, trying to get his bearings.
Jack took one look at the wine menu and ordered the most expensive one on it. Ianto’s eyes widened when he caught the label. Personally, he felt that wine was overpriced at places like these and a mid-range bottle many times tasted better than the highly exclusive stuff. The bottle that Jack ordered, however, was an exception. The only problem with drinking expensive wine at a romantic French bistro with your boss was that it didn’t make things feel any less like a date.
Ianto took refuge in perusing the dinner menu. He didn’t speak French, but thought he recognized the word for cheese and ordered that dish. He definitely recognized escargots, and easily avoided them. Jack ordered a large helping, of course.
After the waiter took their order, however, they were left alone with nothing to do but talk to each other. Ianto almost wished for Gwen and her persistent questions; she’d be a distraction, at least, and wouldn’t really expect him to talk.
Jack didn’t seem bothered by the silence. He glanced around the restaurant, taking in the couples holding hands across the tiny tables, and turned to Ianto, grinning.
“So I bet you’re wondering,” he began, and Ianto’s mind filled in the blanks: Why you brought me here, of all places? If Tosh told you what I was thinking? Do you expect me to confide in you?
“What really happened with those possessed trousers a few years back?” Jack finished.
Ianto blinked. No, that hadn’t made the list at all. Jack looked at him knowingly.
Ianto decided to play it cool. He shrugged his shoulders slightly, and answered, “Not really, Sir, but if you’d like to share, please feel free to do so.”
Jack grinned again, and launched into a story about five pairs of trousers and their coordinated mission to take over Cardiff’s largest farmer’s market. They were led by a pair of fluorescent orange hotpants, who spoke with a French accent, as it turns out. Jack poured the wine, and Ianto drank, as he went on to describe how he needed to use a truckload of broccoli for bait, and somehow, he had wound up trouser-less himself (“Much to my chagrin,” and Ianto snorted). The purple flowered leggings were doing the can-can when Ianto did something he had not done in longer than he could remember: he laughed out loud, and meant it.
Jack looked delighted, and leaned across the table to grab a forkful of Ianto’s dinner (it turned out to be some kind of fancy macaroni and cheese). Ianto noted to himself that Jack had a tendril of melted cheese hanging off of his lip. It looked delicious, and Ianto couldn’t figure out if he meant the cheese or Jack’s lower lip. He had drunk most of that bottle of wine himself.
The people at the table next to them stood up to leave, and Jack moved closer to Ianto’s side of the table to let them pass. Ianto could smell his cologne, or perhaps it was just his pheromones. Ianto’s heart started to beat faster. Jack was looking at him, really looking, and he had told a dumb story just to make him laugh, and they weren’t going to talk about what Tosh had heard, at least not tonight, but Ianto refused to accept any of those reasons for why he snaked a hand around Jack’s neck and pulled him into a deep kiss. No, it was definitely the wine that did it.
Ianto lost himself in the sensation of another person, 100% human, kissing him back with both skill and enthusiasm. He could taste the garlic from Jack’s escargot, the cheese from his own dish, and above all, that wondrous wine. Someone was moaning, and he had the sneaking suspicion it was himself, when Jack’s phone started ringing. They broke apart reluctantly, both staring at the phone; Jack in exasperation and Ianto in bemusement. The ID flashed OWEN.
Jack sighed and flipped up the lid. “Owen, the world had better be ending.”
There was a pause, and then Owen’s muffled voice: “I’m being suffocated by possessed thermal underwear. Does that count?”
As Jack threw down money for the bill, and they shrugged into their coats and hurried through the cold back to the Hub, Ianto decided that if the opportunity for dinner with Jack ever arose again, he was going to lock Owen into a cell first, just in case.
Author: blue-fjords
Pairings/Characters: Jack/Ianto, Owen, Gwen
Setting: after "Greeks Bearing Gifts"
Words: 1600
Rating: PG
Summary: Jack and Ianto go on what is definitely not a date, and are interrupted.
Prompt: Day Fourteen for "Red Is My Colour"
Ianto leaned over the railing to the Med Bay. Owen looked rather engrossed. It wasn't every day he got to inspect a pair of possessed thermal underwear. When he was bent over his work like that, excited and focused, he was almost bearable. Almost.
Ianto walked quietly down the stairs and exchanged a fresh cup of coffee for the one holding only dregs. Owen never looked up to acknowledge his presence. An improvement. Clearly, Tosh had taken Ianto's place at the top of Owen Harper's Shit List for this week.
Ianto's eyes skirted over to Tosh's empty workstation. She was out of the Hub, having a Conversation with Jack, one in which Ianto devoutly hoped that everyone else's thoughts would not be mentioned. Ianto didn't know what she had overheard from him, but it was probably fairly maudlin.
Gwen looked up with a somewhat confused half-smile on her face when he got to her workstation. "So!" she said, obviously under the impression that silence called for talk. "Possessed thermal underwear, huh? Only at Torchwood!"
She gave a small laugh that almost sounded genuine. Ianto felt sorry for her, really, while at the same time he wanted to pick up a branch and beat her over the head until she saw sense. Owen? Seriously? There was no way that was going to end well.
Gwen's laugh died as Ianto just stood there. Blandly. She shrugged her shoulders, uncomfortable, and her eyes automatically slid over to the Med Bay. Ianto sighed inwardly.
"Have there been many possessed objects sent through the Rift, Ianto?" she asked idly.
"Certainly," he replied, and her eyes snapped back to him, interested. "Seven years ago there were five pairs of trousers. Six years ago, a set of braces. I believe the Captain claimed them for himself, after the exorcism, of course."
She laughed delightedly, and opened her mouth to ask another question but stopped abruptly as the Cog door clanged and whistled to reveal Jack, alone. He swept into the Hub, coat swishing, looking like a feudal lord out to inspect his serfs, Ianto thought. No, more like Ringmaster at the circus.
"Owen still wrestling with that thermal underwear?" he asked, nodding his thanks as Ianto handed him his coffee. If his eyes looked more intently at him in those five seconds, Ianto couldn't tell. Perhaps he had dodged a bullet.
"Owen's got it licked, in point of fact," Owen announced, walking up the stairs.
"Great. Well, kids, get out of here," Jack said, heading to his office. "Ianto, I need to see you for a moment."
Gwen shot him a sympathetic look, and Owen a smirk, as they shrugged on their coats and left together. Ianto straightened his tie, donned his best blank expression, and wished that he had a tray or something as a barrier, but he had just given Jack his coffee and had no excuse to be bringing another.
He walked slowly into the office and stood in the middle of the floor, hands clasped behind his back. "You wished to see me, Sir?" Ianto was proud that his voice did not tremble.
Jack looked into his coffee cup for a long moment. "Ianto, you ever been to that little French bistro with the purple awning, three streets over?"
Ianto was startled. "No, Sir. Is it owned by aliens?"
Jack looked up then and grinned. "No, Ianto, but it does serve French food, so . . ."
Ianto gave a hesitant half-smile. "Did you want some take-away from there, Sir?"
"No, Ianto, I thought we could go there. Eat in a restaurant like the rest of the non-alien chasing world."
Ianto froze. That would mean at least one hour of Jack Harkness' undivided attention. He wasn't sure if he could handle that right now. He opened his mouth to beg off, but changed his mind when his eyes met Jack's. Jack looked . . . kind. It was a strange fit on him, but Ianto wasn't going to quibble. It had been awhile since anyone had looked at him like that.
"Very good, Sir."
Jack still had his coat on, and Ianto hurriedly pulled his own on before following him to the Cog and outside that way. Ianto didn't know if there would ever come a time when he was comfortable being back on the Invisible Lift. Out on the street, Cardiff was freezing. Ianto’s breath puffed out in front of him, and he imagined little ice crystals hanging off of each cloud of air that issued from his mouth. Beside him, Jack walked with his coat hanging open, swishing back and forth in the wind of their passage.
It was just a ten minute walk to the little French bistro, but Ianto had already lost feeling in his extremities by the time they reached the door. Jack opened it for them, and ushered Ianto inside to welcome warmth.
The interior of the bistro was dimly lit, a squat candle on each table. The tables themselves hovered on the edge of tiny, and all except three sat just two people. There was a fire in a fireplace, flowers hanging artfully from stacked vases on the walls, and a violinist sat next to the fire, playing a mournful tune. In short, it was the most romantic restaurant Ianto had ever been in. He felt his face heat up, and was thankful for the warmth despite the embarrassing situation. Jack didn’t seem to notice, at any rate, just grinned at the hostess and followed her to a table in a secluded corner. Ianto trailed behind, trying to get his bearings.
Jack took one look at the wine menu and ordered the most expensive one on it. Ianto’s eyes widened when he caught the label. Personally, he felt that wine was overpriced at places like these and a mid-range bottle many times tasted better than the highly exclusive stuff. The bottle that Jack ordered, however, was an exception. The only problem with drinking expensive wine at a romantic French bistro with your boss was that it didn’t make things feel any less like a date.
Ianto took refuge in perusing the dinner menu. He didn’t speak French, but thought he recognized the word for cheese and ordered that dish. He definitely recognized escargots, and easily avoided them. Jack ordered a large helping, of course.
After the waiter took their order, however, they were left alone with nothing to do but talk to each other. Ianto almost wished for Gwen and her persistent questions; she’d be a distraction, at least, and wouldn’t really expect him to talk.
Jack didn’t seem bothered by the silence. He glanced around the restaurant, taking in the couples holding hands across the tiny tables, and turned to Ianto, grinning.
“So I bet you’re wondering,” he began, and Ianto’s mind filled in the blanks: Why you brought me here, of all places? If Tosh told you what I was thinking? Do you expect me to confide in you?
“What really happened with those possessed trousers a few years back?” Jack finished.
Ianto blinked. No, that hadn’t made the list at all. Jack looked at him knowingly.
Ianto decided to play it cool. He shrugged his shoulders slightly, and answered, “Not really, Sir, but if you’d like to share, please feel free to do so.”
Jack grinned again, and launched into a story about five pairs of trousers and their coordinated mission to take over Cardiff’s largest farmer’s market. They were led by a pair of fluorescent orange hotpants, who spoke with a French accent, as it turns out. Jack poured the wine, and Ianto drank, as he went on to describe how he needed to use a truckload of broccoli for bait, and somehow, he had wound up trouser-less himself (“Much to my chagrin,” and Ianto snorted). The purple flowered leggings were doing the can-can when Ianto did something he had not done in longer than he could remember: he laughed out loud, and meant it.
Jack looked delighted, and leaned across the table to grab a forkful of Ianto’s dinner (it turned out to be some kind of fancy macaroni and cheese). Ianto noted to himself that Jack had a tendril of melted cheese hanging off of his lip. It looked delicious, and Ianto couldn’t figure out if he meant the cheese or Jack’s lower lip. He had drunk most of that bottle of wine himself.
The people at the table next to them stood up to leave, and Jack moved closer to Ianto’s side of the table to let them pass. Ianto could smell his cologne, or perhaps it was just his pheromones. Ianto’s heart started to beat faster. Jack was looking at him, really looking, and he had told a dumb story just to make him laugh, and they weren’t going to talk about what Tosh had heard, at least not tonight, but Ianto refused to accept any of those reasons for why he snaked a hand around Jack’s neck and pulled him into a deep kiss. No, it was definitely the wine that did it.
Ianto lost himself in the sensation of another person, 100% human, kissing him back with both skill and enthusiasm. He could taste the garlic from Jack’s escargot, the cheese from his own dish, and above all, that wondrous wine. Someone was moaning, and he had the sneaking suspicion it was himself, when Jack’s phone started ringing. They broke apart reluctantly, both staring at the phone; Jack in exasperation and Ianto in bemusement. The ID flashed OWEN.
Jack sighed and flipped up the lid. “Owen, the world had better be ending.”
There was a pause, and then Owen’s muffled voice: “I’m being suffocated by possessed thermal underwear. Does that count?”
As Jack threw down money for the bill, and they shrugged into their coats and hurried through the cold back to the Hub, Ianto decided that if the opportunity for dinner with Jack ever arose again, he was going to lock Owen into a cell first, just in case.