TW fic: "Revenge Not Sweet, but Savoury" (Jack/Ianto, PG, 548 words)
Those of you on my flist will recognize this. I've decided to cut it from the beginning of the Mysterious Sexless NC-17 Jack/Tosh/Ianto fic, so it gets to stand on its own. There's only a few infinitesimal edits here and there.
I am 73.4% sure the next fic I post will be about ducks.
Title: Revenge Not Sweet, but Savoury
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Word Count: 548
Summary: Jack can eat all the leftovers he wants but Ianto always wins in the end.
Teaser: Glaring only encourages Jack to be obstreperous so Ianto should quirk a brow and tap the soles of his sensible shoes right out the door, but he had really been looking forward to the carbonara.
Revenge Not Sweet, but Savoury
For once on a Saturday, the world is not ending. Jack cites this as a good reason for a lie-in but the ghosts of half-done paperwork pull Ianto, chilled and ill at ease, from his bed. Jack retaliates by eating all the carbonara from the night before.
Ianto glares despite himself. Glaring only encourages Jack to be obstreperous so Ianto should quirk a brow and tap the soles of his sensible shoes right out the door, but he had really been looking forward to the carbonara. It's from that new Italian place in the posh district and the chef did things with the guanciale that made Ianto forget that he was eating three-week-old pig jowls. For all that Jack witters on about alien venison that falls from the bone with a curl of blue steam, Ianto is certain that his palate is as brutish and brash as his shoulders. The result of years of war rations and takeaway, surely. Ianto ate the same slop as everyone else in university but even so he would enjoy that carbonara more than Jack.
"It's a scam anyway," Jack mumbles, scooping sullen forkfuls from the styrofoam container. "Another name for this is 'coal miner's spaghetti' and they're selling it for twenty quid a plate. Are you sure you have to go in?" The last bit is querulous and he looks almost forgivable with a spot of sauce on his chin.
"Do you remember the last time we needed information from a report?" Ianto asks, trying to decide if he's going to let Jack know he has sauce on his face or not. The idea of Jack sitting around the flat with sauce on his face while Ianto is doing paperwork impeccably dressed is an idea which pleases Ianto. He wrings his joy from the small bitters of life. "We couldn't find the information because the report was improperly cross-referenced," Ianto says.
"That report was from 1973," Jack says firmly, pointing the fork at Ianto. "Improper cross-referencing wasn't the only problem with the information. I think some of those agents were on drugs. No way the Norfax had the head of a hippopotamus. No way."
"Even so," says Ianto, "Those agents had experience with the Norfax which would have been helpful. Only we were unable to access that information and there were dire consequences."
"There were not dire consequences," says Jack, and his hair is tousling excitedly in the pale light from the window. "Nobody was hurt!"
"Babies were hurt," Ianto says solemnly, and takes a bite of toast.
Jack gives Ianto a look like he's not sure what the line between earnest and parody is here. "Baby sheep," he points out.
Ianto tilts his head in mourning. "Lambs to the slaughter," he agrees.
"No one got slaughtered!" Jack cries. He shoots a sudden glance then asks, "No one got slaughtered, right? None of the baby sheep died. They just got rearranged a little."
"Perhaps you should double-check that with the report," says Ianto. "Once I've finished compiling it."
Jack's face is all suspicion and uncertainty and unwillingness to concede, and the spot of sauce is still there. Ianto takes advantage and leans across the table to pull the fork from Jack's fingers.
"That's delicious," he mumbles around the last bite of guanciale.
.
I am 73.4% sure the next fic I post will be about ducks.
Title: Revenge Not Sweet, but Savoury
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Word Count: 548
Summary: Jack can eat all the leftovers he wants but Ianto always wins in the end.
Teaser: Glaring only encourages Jack to be obstreperous so Ianto should quirk a brow and tap the soles of his sensible shoes right out the door, but he had really been looking forward to the carbonara.
Revenge Not Sweet, but Savoury
For once on a Saturday, the world is not ending. Jack cites this as a good reason for a lie-in but the ghosts of half-done paperwork pull Ianto, chilled and ill at ease, from his bed. Jack retaliates by eating all the carbonara from the night before.
Ianto glares despite himself. Glaring only encourages Jack to be obstreperous so Ianto should quirk a brow and tap the soles of his sensible shoes right out the door, but he had really been looking forward to the carbonara. It's from that new Italian place in the posh district and the chef did things with the guanciale that made Ianto forget that he was eating three-week-old pig jowls. For all that Jack witters on about alien venison that falls from the bone with a curl of blue steam, Ianto is certain that his palate is as brutish and brash as his shoulders. The result of years of war rations and takeaway, surely. Ianto ate the same slop as everyone else in university but even so he would enjoy that carbonara more than Jack.
"It's a scam anyway," Jack mumbles, scooping sullen forkfuls from the styrofoam container. "Another name for this is 'coal miner's spaghetti' and they're selling it for twenty quid a plate. Are you sure you have to go in?" The last bit is querulous and he looks almost forgivable with a spot of sauce on his chin.
"Do you remember the last time we needed information from a report?" Ianto asks, trying to decide if he's going to let Jack know he has sauce on his face or not. The idea of Jack sitting around the flat with sauce on his face while Ianto is doing paperwork impeccably dressed is an idea which pleases Ianto. He wrings his joy from the small bitters of life. "We couldn't find the information because the report was improperly cross-referenced," Ianto says.
"That report was from 1973," Jack says firmly, pointing the fork at Ianto. "Improper cross-referencing wasn't the only problem with the information. I think some of those agents were on drugs. No way the Norfax had the head of a hippopotamus. No way."
"Even so," says Ianto, "Those agents had experience with the Norfax which would have been helpful. Only we were unable to access that information and there were dire consequences."
"There were not dire consequences," says Jack, and his hair is tousling excitedly in the pale light from the window. "Nobody was hurt!"
"Babies were hurt," Ianto says solemnly, and takes a bite of toast.
Jack gives Ianto a look like he's not sure what the line between earnest and parody is here. "Baby sheep," he points out.
Ianto tilts his head in mourning. "Lambs to the slaughter," he agrees.
"No one got slaughtered!" Jack cries. He shoots a sudden glance then asks, "No one got slaughtered, right? None of the baby sheep died. They just got rearranged a little."
"Perhaps you should double-check that with the report," says Ianto. "Once I've finished compiling it."
Jack's face is all suspicion and uncertainty and unwillingness to concede, and the spot of sauce is still there. Ianto takes advantage and leans across the table to pull the fork from Jack's fingers.
"That's delicious," he mumbles around the last bite of guanciale.
.