[TW Fic] though it's been said many times, many ways
though it's been said, many times, many ways
for pinkfairy727, who prompted Jack/Ianto, drinking coffee/tea/hot chocolate/hot orange/whatever to warm them up because it's cold, possibly snowing, outside.
I'm still accepting Christmas fic prompts here (friends only, I'm afraid).
--
“Your hot chocolate is almost as good as your coffee,” Jack says. Ianto raises an eyebrow as if to say, ‘only almost?’, but turns his attention back to the view without saying a word. They’re standing on the top of the Millennium Centre, passing a thermos of Ianto’s hot chocolate between them as they look down on Cardiff - on what remains of Cardiff. Ianto had griped all the way to the top - complaining about good shoes getting sodden in the slush and it’s not like there’s much to see now that Hart blew up the city and he really does not want to freeze his arse off on a roof when they could be sitting in his flat, huddled round a fire and making good on the promise Jack had whispered in his ear when handing over his Christmas present, a tie of the finest silk - but now that they’re both here, sides pressed together under the pretence of body heat, Jack’s glad that he made him come. It’s true that the city’s looking a little worse for wear, even with the rebuilding starting, but Jack still finds it beautiful; there’s something wonderful about standing above a city, his city, and seeing it covered in the thinnest layer of snow. Children are already taking advantage of it, and it makes Jack smile even though they’re nothing more than matchstick figures from up here.
There wasn’t any snow on the Boeshane Peninsula; just sand for miles and miles around. Isn’t any snow. Won’t be. It’s been a long time since Jack’s time travelled, and all the training he did at the Time Agency about which tense you’re supposed to use when referring to something that happened in your past but the chronological future has completely disappeared - along with most things that he learned. Jack can’t be blamed, of course; he consumed a lot of very cheap booze during those years. For most natives of Cardiff and the surrounding area, this snowfall wouldn’t be anything to write home about, but Jack loves it. It makes him feel like a child, and though he knows Ianto’s humouring him, dragging his-well, Jack doesn’t know what Ianto is to him; he’s everything and yet something he can’t put a name on-out into the snow, throwing slushy snowballs at Gwen (and Owen and Tosh, the Christmas before…) and taking everybody to the ice rink in Cardiff’s Winter Wonderland makes Jack feel warm and Christmassy.
He didn’t even know what Christmas was until he’d started travelling with the Doctor and Rose, listening to her explanations of trees and carols and families and too much food and-the list went on and on. Now, he can’t imagine how he could ever have lived without the festival.
They’re all great, those moments, but Jack can’t help but feel that this, right now, is the one that he wants to remember. Him and Ianto on a roof, shared hot chocolate, a quiet, snow-covered city. Eventually, they won’t be anything other than those small snatches of a moment, but that doesn’t matter. Jack knows he’ll remember. This time, this place has become his life, and though he’ll go on living - new lives in new places with new people - there’s always going to be a special place in his heart for Cardiff, Wales, Earth in the twenty-first century, and the team he created at Torchwood Three. For Ianto Jones, maker of the best coffee the universe has ever seen, who’s currently standing by his side, nose and cheeks reddened by the cold and a slight smile on his face.
“It’s so quiet,” he remarks, and Jack realises that he hadn’t even noticed how muted the snow had made the city; he’s been too busy watching Ianto who’s watching the world below. Watching Ianto is one of his favourite activities, and his office in the Hub provides a great viewpoint - and where he can’t see with his eyes, there are security feeds providing him with the perfect view. Now, however, Jack wants to do more than just look; he grasps Ianto’s face with his hands and kisses him soundly. Ianto makes a surprised noise, although whether that’s at the coldness of Jack’s fingers or the unexpected kiss Jack can’t be sure, and then he pulls away, screwing the lid on the thermos flask and balancing it carefully on the ground before pressing his lips against Jack’s. Jack laughs into his mouth; even when faced with a Harkness kiss, tales of which have travelled over half the known universe, Ianto still finds time to make sure that nothing spills.
Jack’s still laughing as he lies back on the roof and Ianto climbs over him, a distinctly pleased look on his face as he watches - Jack thinks that he’s probably happy that after everything, Jack still remembers how to laugh - before joining in, tucking his head under Jack’s chin and huffing into his neck.
They’re only doing this for body heat.
for pinkfairy727, who prompted Jack/Ianto, drinking coffee/tea/hot chocolate/hot orange/whatever to warm them up because it's cold, possibly snowing, outside.
I'm still accepting Christmas fic prompts here (friends only, I'm afraid).
--
“Your hot chocolate is almost as good as your coffee,” Jack says. Ianto raises an eyebrow as if to say, ‘only almost?’, but turns his attention back to the view without saying a word. They’re standing on the top of the Millennium Centre, passing a thermos of Ianto’s hot chocolate between them as they look down on Cardiff - on what remains of Cardiff. Ianto had griped all the way to the top - complaining about good shoes getting sodden in the slush and it’s not like there’s much to see now that Hart blew up the city and he really does not want to freeze his arse off on a roof when they could be sitting in his flat, huddled round a fire and making good on the promise Jack had whispered in his ear when handing over his Christmas present, a tie of the finest silk - but now that they’re both here, sides pressed together under the pretence of body heat, Jack’s glad that he made him come. It’s true that the city’s looking a little worse for wear, even with the rebuilding starting, but Jack still finds it beautiful; there’s something wonderful about standing above a city, his city, and seeing it covered in the thinnest layer of snow. Children are already taking advantage of it, and it makes Jack smile even though they’re nothing more than matchstick figures from up here.
There wasn’t any snow on the Boeshane Peninsula; just sand for miles and miles around. Isn’t any snow. Won’t be. It’s been a long time since Jack’s time travelled, and all the training he did at the Time Agency about which tense you’re supposed to use when referring to something that happened in your past but the chronological future has completely disappeared - along with most things that he learned. Jack can’t be blamed, of course; he consumed a lot of very cheap booze during those years. For most natives of Cardiff and the surrounding area, this snowfall wouldn’t be anything to write home about, but Jack loves it. It makes him feel like a child, and though he knows Ianto’s humouring him, dragging his-well, Jack doesn’t know what Ianto is to him; he’s everything and yet something he can’t put a name on-out into the snow, throwing slushy snowballs at Gwen (and Owen and Tosh, the Christmas before…) and taking everybody to the ice rink in Cardiff’s Winter Wonderland makes Jack feel warm and Christmassy.
He didn’t even know what Christmas was until he’d started travelling with the Doctor and Rose, listening to her explanations of trees and carols and families and too much food and-the list went on and on. Now, he can’t imagine how he could ever have lived without the festival.
They’re all great, those moments, but Jack can’t help but feel that this, right now, is the one that he wants to remember. Him and Ianto on a roof, shared hot chocolate, a quiet, snow-covered city. Eventually, they won’t be anything other than those small snatches of a moment, but that doesn’t matter. Jack knows he’ll remember. This time, this place has become his life, and though he’ll go on living - new lives in new places with new people - there’s always going to be a special place in his heart for Cardiff, Wales, Earth in the twenty-first century, and the team he created at Torchwood Three. For Ianto Jones, maker of the best coffee the universe has ever seen, who’s currently standing by his side, nose and cheeks reddened by the cold and a slight smile on his face.
“It’s so quiet,” he remarks, and Jack realises that he hadn’t even noticed how muted the snow had made the city; he’s been too busy watching Ianto who’s watching the world below. Watching Ianto is one of his favourite activities, and his office in the Hub provides a great viewpoint - and where he can’t see with his eyes, there are security feeds providing him with the perfect view. Now, however, Jack wants to do more than just look; he grasps Ianto’s face with his hands and kisses him soundly. Ianto makes a surprised noise, although whether that’s at the coldness of Jack’s fingers or the unexpected kiss Jack can’t be sure, and then he pulls away, screwing the lid on the thermos flask and balancing it carefully on the ground before pressing his lips against Jack’s. Jack laughs into his mouth; even when faced with a Harkness kiss, tales of which have travelled over half the known universe, Ianto still finds time to make sure that nothing spills.
Jack’s still laughing as he lies back on the roof and Ianto climbs over him, a distinctly pleased look on his face as he watches - Jack thinks that he’s probably happy that after everything, Jack still remembers how to laugh - before joining in, tucking his head under Jack’s chin and huffing into his neck.
They’re only doing this for body heat.