"Oh, Pants."
Title: Oh, Pants.
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: None referenced.
Rating: Mostly Harmless.
Notes/Summary: Owen takes advantage of Ianto's basic day-to-day clothing maintenance skills. Fluff. A gift for my live-in partner, who is occasionally Plotbunny Incarnate, and looks good in almost any trousers.
“Owen, so help me, if you don’t quit fidgeting I’m going to jab you.”
“Yeah, well excuse me if I’m not used to having another man kneeling in front of me, alright?”
Ianto rolled his eyes and went back to pinning the hem of Owen’s trousers. “I don’t see why you always bring these things to me. It’s not as if there aren’t several perfectly reputable tailors nearby. I can even recommend a couple.” He cocked his head to the side and pursed his lips. “Alright, take them off.”
Owen undid his trousers and gingerly stepped out of them, trying to avoid the six or so pins that ringed each ankle. Ianto snapped them up as soon as they hit the floor, glad that the boardroom was at least one of the tidier areas of the Hub. He held them by the waistband and gave them a quick looking-over before sitting down in the workstation chair and turning them inside out. He glanced up at Owen, who was pacing back and forth in his shorts.
“Where did you say you got these again?”
“Asda. I was in a hurry. Why?”
Ianto shrugged and began sewing the hem, making small, uniform stitches. Every so often he held the cuff flat to check the evenness of his work.
“Do you have to be so bloody slow? It’s freezing in here.”
“If you’re cold, put your jeans back on.” He snipped a thread on the first pant leg, turned it right side out, and inspected his work. Satisfied, he started on the second while Owen fidgeted with one of the decanters.
“Are you almost finished?” Owen asked as he moved to lurk over Ianto’s shoulder.
“I might be if you’d quit bothering me.” He made three more quick stitches, checked the tension on the thread, and then tied it off. With a snap of his office scissors Ianto snipped the loose threads before turning the trouser leg back out. He pressed each cuff quickly with the steam iron he’d brought in earlier, then relinquished the trousers to their owner. “There. All set.”
“Thanks, Teaboy. You’re a star.” He tugged the trousers back on, put on his dress shoes, and darted out into the Hub.
Ianto watched from above as Owen made a final run to his workstation to grab his jacket. Their doctor had just stepped up to the security cage when Ianto emerged onto the catwalk.
“You do realize those are women’s trousers, right Owen?”
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: None referenced.
Rating: Mostly Harmless.
Notes/Summary: Owen takes advantage of Ianto's basic day-to-day clothing maintenance skills. Fluff. A gift for my live-in partner, who is occasionally Plotbunny Incarnate, and looks good in almost any trousers.
“Owen, so help me, if you don’t quit fidgeting I’m going to jab you.”
“Yeah, well excuse me if I’m not used to having another man kneeling in front of me, alright?”
Ianto rolled his eyes and went back to pinning the hem of Owen’s trousers. “I don’t see why you always bring these things to me. It’s not as if there aren’t several perfectly reputable tailors nearby. I can even recommend a couple.” He cocked his head to the side and pursed his lips. “Alright, take them off.”
Owen undid his trousers and gingerly stepped out of them, trying to avoid the six or so pins that ringed each ankle. Ianto snapped them up as soon as they hit the floor, glad that the boardroom was at least one of the tidier areas of the Hub. He held them by the waistband and gave them a quick looking-over before sitting down in the workstation chair and turning them inside out. He glanced up at Owen, who was pacing back and forth in his shorts.
“Where did you say you got these again?”
“Asda. I was in a hurry. Why?”
Ianto shrugged and began sewing the hem, making small, uniform stitches. Every so often he held the cuff flat to check the evenness of his work.
“Do you have to be so bloody slow? It’s freezing in here.”
“If you’re cold, put your jeans back on.” He snipped a thread on the first pant leg, turned it right side out, and inspected his work. Satisfied, he started on the second while Owen fidgeted with one of the decanters.
“Are you almost finished?” Owen asked as he moved to lurk over Ianto’s shoulder.
“I might be if you’d quit bothering me.” He made three more quick stitches, checked the tension on the thread, and then tied it off. With a snap of his office scissors Ianto snipped the loose threads before turning the trouser leg back out. He pressed each cuff quickly with the steam iron he’d brought in earlier, then relinquished the trousers to their owner. “There. All set.”
“Thanks, Teaboy. You’re a star.” He tugged the trousers back on, put on his dress shoes, and darted out into the Hub.
Ianto watched from above as Owen made a final run to his workstation to grab his jacket. Their doctor had just stepped up to the security cage when Ianto emerged onto the catwalk.
“You do realize those are women’s trousers, right Owen?”