(no subject)
Title: Breathe
Characters: Jack, Ianto
Words: 1000-ish
Note: Very late birthday ficlet for tanarian. For 'Jack/Ianto,' 'chill,' and 'coffee morning.' Lack of plot. May be fluff, angst, or some weird combination of the two.
Jack woke first to the realisation that it was early morning and second to that he was alone. He must have slept, he realised; that was a surprise, though not as much of one as late. Sleep, or something approaching it, was an awful lot easier to accomplish with a warm body wrapped around you. Jack yawned, stretched languidly, and spent a few very conflicted moments convincing himself that he really ought to move. What finally did it was the fact that in those moments, said warm body never returned.
He found a bathrobe draped across the back of a chair and shrugged it on; no doubt he was the one who'd left it there, since Ianto tended not to wear robes (much to Jack's utter delight) and would have hung it on the hook on the inside of the bathroom door, which is where Jack supposed it belonged, if he had. At the last moment, he noticed that the temperature had dropped overnight and shoved back the duvet to retrieve a light knit blanket and wrap it around his shoulders.
He got halfway to the front door before he found any signs of where Ianto'd gone. It wasn't a large flat at all, a handful of rooms and a kitchen, but it currently felt very cold and very empty. And very dark-- none of the lights were on, so Jack found himself relying on the faintly reddish haze of sunrise through the windows. But speaking of windows--
The door to the balcony was open. No wonder it was so chilly.
The balcony was one of the nicest things about the otherwise average flat. And though Ianto demonstrated excellent taste in the few decorations he had, the flat really was overwhelmingly average. The first time they'd come here Ianto had confessed to leasing the first thing on the market; all he'd cared about was getting Lisa to Cardiff as soon as possible. Therefore, it really was amazing that he'd lucked out in any aspect.
At three stories up and in a residential area, the view was suburban scenic at best and irritatingly public at worst, but that didn't stop it from being enjoyable. Nor did it stop Jack and Ianto from enjoying it whenever they had the opportunity. They'd sit out here to share a bottle of wine-- or whiskey, depending on the context-- and watch the stars. Sometimes, though he'd be loath to admit it, Jack watched Ianto's neighbors too. They'd weren't particularly interesting people, but you take what you're dealt. And when huddled together out on the balcony, Ianto's head back on his shoulder, he'd never had any reason to complain.
Jack paused at the sliding doors, resting his shoulder against the frame. Ianto was sitting on the metal-framed cushioned bench, his eyes distant. As he wore only a threadbare t-shirt and boxer shorts, he looked cold; his skin was pale, paler than usual in the chill and the dim light of dawn. Jack shifted in place, then quietly ventured, "Hey."
A handful of seconds went by and still Ianto said nothing. When it seemed clear that there was no plan to acknowledge his presence, Jack sat down beside Ianto, then shifted to drape half the blanket over his shoulders. Ianto leaned into the warmth and Jack noticed, unsurprised, that he was shivering. Instead of making another valiant attempt at conversation, he rubbed Ianto's back and upper arm.
"It's the air," Ianto said after a long silence. "I needed to breathe."
Jack inhaled sharply, then nodded to himself. He'd woken up like that more often than not, struggling, clawing at his own throat to open up the airway. Even when it wasn't that bad, it was bad-- and Ianto certainly had reason enough for those kinds of nightmares, considering what little he'd revealed about his experiences when Torchwood One came tumbling down.
But instead of bringing that up, he just chuckled and made his answer as light-hearted as he can. "And you couldn't have put on trousers?"
Ianto turned to press his forehead against Jack's shoulder. It took a bit, but finally he laughed. "First time you've ever implied I wasn't wearing enough clothes." He paused, and Jack could feel him weighing his options before he snuggled closer. "Blanket's nice, though."
"Thanks," Jack replied airily. "Picked it myself. I would've offered the robe, but then I'd just be giving your neighbors a free show and you've never liked that idea in the past."
"Of course I haven't, sir," Ianto countered, almost managing 'affronted' through the weariness he projected. "If you're going to do that, you could at least let me charge. You know what sort of state the main treasury's in."
Hearing the smile, albeit hidden, in Ianto's voice, he chuckled again-- until abruptly, the sound fell away. Neither spoke and instead they stayed, still, huddled together on the little balcony. The sun was climbing now, the windows of the building across the street shining orange. In the interim, Ianto seemed to gather himself; Jack was willing to wait as long as it took. As long as it didn't take too long, because the even the arrival of the sun was not warming things up.
"Come on," Jack said finally, giving Ianto's wrist a quick squeeze. "Time for breakfast. My feet are freezing."
"Breakfast?"
"Breakfast," he confirmed, nodding his certainty. "You know, the first meal of the day, sometimes said to be the most important, often served in bed. I just realised that I've never cooked you one and that's so much of a shame that it's got to change. If you don't mock me too much, I might even let you help."
"God forbid I let you attempt the coffee machine, after all."
"Jeez!" Jack kept stroking Ianto's arm, his fingers dipping beneath the short sleeve to touch now-warmed skin. "You try to be nice to a guy..."
Ianto hadn't moved, but the one visible corner of his lip quirked into the beginnings of a smile.
Breakfast, Jack thought as he looked down, then the rest of the day, and they'd go from there.
Characters: Jack, Ianto
Words: 1000-ish
Note: Very late birthday ficlet for tanarian. For 'Jack/Ianto,' 'chill,' and 'coffee morning.' Lack of plot. May be fluff, angst, or some weird combination of the two.
Jack woke first to the realisation that it was early morning and second to that he was alone. He must have slept, he realised; that was a surprise, though not as much of one as late. Sleep, or something approaching it, was an awful lot easier to accomplish with a warm body wrapped around you. Jack yawned, stretched languidly, and spent a few very conflicted moments convincing himself that he really ought to move. What finally did it was the fact that in those moments, said warm body never returned.
He found a bathrobe draped across the back of a chair and shrugged it on; no doubt he was the one who'd left it there, since Ianto tended not to wear robes (much to Jack's utter delight) and would have hung it on the hook on the inside of the bathroom door, which is where Jack supposed it belonged, if he had. At the last moment, he noticed that the temperature had dropped overnight and shoved back the duvet to retrieve a light knit blanket and wrap it around his shoulders.
He got halfway to the front door before he found any signs of where Ianto'd gone. It wasn't a large flat at all, a handful of rooms and a kitchen, but it currently felt very cold and very empty. And very dark-- none of the lights were on, so Jack found himself relying on the faintly reddish haze of sunrise through the windows. But speaking of windows--
The door to the balcony was open. No wonder it was so chilly.
The balcony was one of the nicest things about the otherwise average flat. And though Ianto demonstrated excellent taste in the few decorations he had, the flat really was overwhelmingly average. The first time they'd come here Ianto had confessed to leasing the first thing on the market; all he'd cared about was getting Lisa to Cardiff as soon as possible. Therefore, it really was amazing that he'd lucked out in any aspect.
At three stories up and in a residential area, the view was suburban scenic at best and irritatingly public at worst, but that didn't stop it from being enjoyable. Nor did it stop Jack and Ianto from enjoying it whenever they had the opportunity. They'd sit out here to share a bottle of wine-- or whiskey, depending on the context-- and watch the stars. Sometimes, though he'd be loath to admit it, Jack watched Ianto's neighbors too. They'd weren't particularly interesting people, but you take what you're dealt. And when huddled together out on the balcony, Ianto's head back on his shoulder, he'd never had any reason to complain.
Jack paused at the sliding doors, resting his shoulder against the frame. Ianto was sitting on the metal-framed cushioned bench, his eyes distant. As he wore only a threadbare t-shirt and boxer shorts, he looked cold; his skin was pale, paler than usual in the chill and the dim light of dawn. Jack shifted in place, then quietly ventured, "Hey."
A handful of seconds went by and still Ianto said nothing. When it seemed clear that there was no plan to acknowledge his presence, Jack sat down beside Ianto, then shifted to drape half the blanket over his shoulders. Ianto leaned into the warmth and Jack noticed, unsurprised, that he was shivering. Instead of making another valiant attempt at conversation, he rubbed Ianto's back and upper arm.
"It's the air," Ianto said after a long silence. "I needed to breathe."
Jack inhaled sharply, then nodded to himself. He'd woken up like that more often than not, struggling, clawing at his own throat to open up the airway. Even when it wasn't that bad, it was bad-- and Ianto certainly had reason enough for those kinds of nightmares, considering what little he'd revealed about his experiences when Torchwood One came tumbling down.
But instead of bringing that up, he just chuckled and made his answer as light-hearted as he can. "And you couldn't have put on trousers?"
Ianto turned to press his forehead against Jack's shoulder. It took a bit, but finally he laughed. "First time you've ever implied I wasn't wearing enough clothes." He paused, and Jack could feel him weighing his options before he snuggled closer. "Blanket's nice, though."
"Thanks," Jack replied airily. "Picked it myself. I would've offered the robe, but then I'd just be giving your neighbors a free show and you've never liked that idea in the past."
"Of course I haven't, sir," Ianto countered, almost managing 'affronted' through the weariness he projected. "If you're going to do that, you could at least let me charge. You know what sort of state the main treasury's in."
Hearing the smile, albeit hidden, in Ianto's voice, he chuckled again-- until abruptly, the sound fell away. Neither spoke and instead they stayed, still, huddled together on the little balcony. The sun was climbing now, the windows of the building across the street shining orange. In the interim, Ianto seemed to gather himself; Jack was willing to wait as long as it took. As long as it didn't take too long, because the even the arrival of the sun was not warming things up.
"Come on," Jack said finally, giving Ianto's wrist a quick squeeze. "Time for breakfast. My feet are freezing."
"Breakfast?"
"Breakfast," he confirmed, nodding his certainty. "You know, the first meal of the day, sometimes said to be the most important, often served in bed. I just realised that I've never cooked you one and that's so much of a shame that it's got to change. If you don't mock me too much, I might even let you help."
"God forbid I let you attempt the coffee machine, after all."
"Jeez!" Jack kept stroking Ianto's arm, his fingers dipping beneath the short sleeve to touch now-warmed skin. "You try to be nice to a guy..."
Ianto hadn't moved, but the one visible corner of his lip quirked into the beginnings of a smile.
Breakfast, Jack thought as he looked down, then the rest of the day, and they'd go from there.