Poison Apple
Ianto lay with his head on Jack’s chest, listening to the reassuring beat of Jack’s heart. He traced slow circles on Jack’s stomach with the flat of his hand.
“Do they have fairy tales in your time?” he asked.
Jack curled a lock of Ianto’s hair around his finger. “Fairy tales?”
“Old stories that begin with ‘once upon a time’ and end with the handsome prince rescuing the beautiful maiden.” He shifted his head so he could softly lay a kiss on Jack’s chest. “Always thought it was unfair to girls, they never being the hero.”
“The stories were probably written by men,” Jack chuckled. “We had stories like that. Only ours were equal opportunity heroes.”
“Good to hear,” Ianto said. Jack could feel his smile against his skin. “Used to love those stories when I was a lad.” He draped his arm across Jack, pulled him even closer and sighed. “I stopped believing in ‘happy ever after’ after Canary Wharf.”
He was quiet a long moment, then murmured, in a voice slurred with sleep, “but I still believe in the poison apple.”