Cold Coffee Chapter One
Author junoharkness
Beta: a_silver_story
Rating: NC-17 overall. Don't know how bad this story's going to get
Warnings: None for this chapter
Summary: Ianto wakes up after COE
Disclaimer:If I owned Torchwood, Ianto would of never died, instead Gwen would have taken his place when facing 456. However I don't RTD owns it.
Thanks to a_silver_story for being Beta. Turned out way better than planned
'Great … it's dark, and I can't breathe ...' he thinks, gasping back to life. 'What the Hell's going on? And why's it so bloody freezing …?'
He feels like he's running out of air, finally starting to take in the rest of his surroundings. It's dark, so he can't see much, but he can feel cold metal all around where he's lying. His feet hit solid wall, and with one sharp push the morgue drawer slides outward, forcing him to screw up his eyes against the bright light as it hits him.
'What happened …?' wonders, trying to recall any memories of the previous few days. 'We were down in London … some alien … the 456 … taking over the children … God my head hurts … We were standing there and aiming our guns at the tank … it didn't break … They poisoned the room and … I told Jack I love him … he never said anything back … and … and … and I died …'
He sits there for a short while, acknowledging that he was most probably in shock, before realising he recognised this morgue. Torchwood Two: Glasgow. He was in Torchwood Two.
He hopped down from his drawer with a shudder and closed it carefully. Slipping out under Archie's nose wouldn't be too difficult, he surmised, and within fifteen minutes he was stood outside in the Glaswegian rain, his absence undetected.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Last night ... the night before ... the night before that ... the memories were still rather blurry ...
Jack slowly wakes up, yawning, warm and comfortable in bed, the sun creeping in through the window on the other side of the room. His temples were pounding, the daggers trying to work their way out from the inside of his head informing him that yes: he had had way too much to drink for that last ... how many nights was it? The last few nights, anyway.
This was proving to be one of the worse hangovers of his entire two-millenia-and-a-bit-long life, and he already hated hangovers as it was. He groans a bit, wishing the pounding would stop as much as he was wishing the sun wasn't quite so bright. Glancing over at the alarm clock, he can't even read the time, his eyes blurred and misty from sleep and hangover. Rolling with great effort onto his side, he smiles, seeing the form his currently most favourite man in all the world.
He shuffles closer, wrapping arms around him, spooning him from shoulder to thigh, hearing that deep voice in his head, thick with sleep, those tired, blue eyes ... Jack kisses the nape before him, one of the spots on Ianto's body he loved most. Patiently, despite his hangover and the drumming against the inside of his head, he waits for him to wake up so that he might finally ask for a cup of coffee.
The still-sleeping figure before him makes a snuffling sound as he slowly starts to wake up, rubbing his face into the pillow to try and dislodge the sleep from his eyes. Slowly, he rolls over and sees that Jack is already awake. "Morning ..." he whispers, his words rasping with dehydration and thick with sleep.
Jack feels himself grinning a little dopily as he sees Ianto's smile - there's always something about Ianto smiling that makes him feel better, no matter what his mood. It didn't matter whether Jack was upset, frustrated or angry: Ianto's smile could make the whole room change - Jack could even feel the marching band clamouring through his head beginning to quieten. Cuddling him closer, Jack gently kisses him. "Morning," he murmurs. "How did you sleep last night?"
"I slept wonderfully - what about you?" he replies, returning the kiss and watching Jack.
"Great ... well ... except for the hangover," he says, chuckling a little and barely realising the man before him isn't speaking with a Welsh accent. "Can you get me a cup of your fabulous coffee?" he begs, giving him another kiss. Ianto doesn't move, and Jack widens his eyes to his best hungover and puppy-eyed expression. "Please, Ianto?"
Alonso raised an eyebrow to the name. "What are you talking about? ... My name's not 'Ianto', and I've never made a cup of coffee in my life ..."
Jack shuffles closer to him, through sleep-fogged brain still thinking he was Ianto. "Ohhh," he groaned. "Please don't mess around like this. My head's killing me, and I just want your coffee. Please?" he begs.
Sitting up in the bed, Alonso is suddenly feeling very, very awkward. "Jack ... my name's Alonso? Who the Hell is 'Ianto'? And I can't make make coffee. I told you," he explains, pulling back the covers and climbing out of bed, offended. "I'll ... I'll see you around, Captain," he grumbles bitterly, pulling on his uniform as he heads to the door of their hotel room.
"Wait!" Jack gasps, scrambling to follow him. "Don't go!"
He swings a foot over the side of the bed to get up, yelling in pain as the prongs of a plug, ripped from the wall during the frantic fumbling of the night before and belonging to the bedside lamp, found itself digging into his sole. Tripping forward, he threw his hands out before him in an attempt to steady himself on the wall, but off-balances and the bedknob in the corner of the frame became the waist-height point of impact, going straight into Jack's groin. With a yelp and a dry-heave, Jack curled up on the floor in agony.
Beta: a_silver_story
Rating: NC-17 overall. Don't know how bad this story's going to get
Warnings: None for this chapter
Summary: Ianto wakes up after COE
Disclaimer:If I owned Torchwood, Ianto would of never died, instead Gwen would have taken his place when facing 456. However I don't RTD owns it.
Thanks to a_silver_story for being Beta. Turned out way better than planned
'Great … it's dark, and I can't breathe ...' he thinks, gasping back to life. 'What the Hell's going on? And why's it so bloody freezing …?'
He feels like he's running out of air, finally starting to take in the rest of his surroundings. It's dark, so he can't see much, but he can feel cold metal all around where he's lying. His feet hit solid wall, and with one sharp push the morgue drawer slides outward, forcing him to screw up his eyes against the bright light as it hits him.
'What happened …?' wonders, trying to recall any memories of the previous few days. 'We were down in London … some alien … the 456 … taking over the children … God my head hurts … We were standing there and aiming our guns at the tank … it didn't break … They poisoned the room and … I told Jack I love him … he never said anything back … and … and … and I died …'
He sits there for a short while, acknowledging that he was most probably in shock, before realising he recognised this morgue. Torchwood Two: Glasgow. He was in Torchwood Two.
He hopped down from his drawer with a shudder and closed it carefully. Slipping out under Archie's nose wouldn't be too difficult, he surmised, and within fifteen minutes he was stood outside in the Glaswegian rain, his absence undetected.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Last night ... the night before ... the night before that ... the memories were still rather blurry ...
Jack slowly wakes up, yawning, warm and comfortable in bed, the sun creeping in through the window on the other side of the room. His temples were pounding, the daggers trying to work their way out from the inside of his head informing him that yes: he had had way too much to drink for that last ... how many nights was it? The last few nights, anyway.
This was proving to be one of the worse hangovers of his entire two-millenia-and-a-bit-long life, and he already hated hangovers as it was. He groans a bit, wishing the pounding would stop as much as he was wishing the sun wasn't quite so bright. Glancing over at the alarm clock, he can't even read the time, his eyes blurred and misty from sleep and hangover. Rolling with great effort onto his side, he smiles, seeing the form his currently most favourite man in all the world.
He shuffles closer, wrapping arms around him, spooning him from shoulder to thigh, hearing that deep voice in his head, thick with sleep, those tired, blue eyes ... Jack kisses the nape before him, one of the spots on Ianto's body he loved most. Patiently, despite his hangover and the drumming against the inside of his head, he waits for him to wake up so that he might finally ask for a cup of coffee.
The still-sleeping figure before him makes a snuffling sound as he slowly starts to wake up, rubbing his face into the pillow to try and dislodge the sleep from his eyes. Slowly, he rolls over and sees that Jack is already awake. "Morning ..." he whispers, his words rasping with dehydration and thick with sleep.
Jack feels himself grinning a little dopily as he sees Ianto's smile - there's always something about Ianto smiling that makes him feel better, no matter what his mood. It didn't matter whether Jack was upset, frustrated or angry: Ianto's smile could make the whole room change - Jack could even feel the marching band clamouring through his head beginning to quieten. Cuddling him closer, Jack gently kisses him. "Morning," he murmurs. "How did you sleep last night?"
"I slept wonderfully - what about you?" he replies, returning the kiss and watching Jack.
"Great ... well ... except for the hangover," he says, chuckling a little and barely realising the man before him isn't speaking with a Welsh accent. "Can you get me a cup of your fabulous coffee?" he begs, giving him another kiss. Ianto doesn't move, and Jack widens his eyes to his best hungover and puppy-eyed expression. "Please, Ianto?"
Alonso raised an eyebrow to the name. "What are you talking about? ... My name's not 'Ianto', and I've never made a cup of coffee in my life ..."
Jack shuffles closer to him, through sleep-fogged brain still thinking he was Ianto. "Ohhh," he groaned. "Please don't mess around like this. My head's killing me, and I just want your coffee. Please?" he begs.
Sitting up in the bed, Alonso is suddenly feeling very, very awkward. "Jack ... my name's Alonso? Who the Hell is 'Ianto'? And I can't make make coffee. I told you," he explains, pulling back the covers and climbing out of bed, offended. "I'll ... I'll see you around, Captain," he grumbles bitterly, pulling on his uniform as he heads to the door of their hotel room.
"Wait!" Jack gasps, scrambling to follow him. "Don't go!"
He swings a foot over the side of the bed to get up, yelling in pain as the prongs of a plug, ripped from the wall during the frantic fumbling of the night before and belonging to the bedside lamp, found itself digging into his sole. Tripping forward, he threw his hands out before him in an attempt to steady himself on the wall, but off-balances and the bedknob in the corner of the frame became the waist-height point of impact, going straight into Jack's groin. With a yelp and a dry-heave, Jack curled up on the floor in agony.