(no subject)
TITLE: Terms of Endearment
AUTHOR: Estelle Cole
FANDOM: Torchwood
PAIRING: Jack/Ianto
RATING: R, I suppose. F-bomb.
WORD COUNT: 340
SPOILERS: Uhm. None, really, although if you don't know Jack and Ianto are "dabbling" then I don't know what to tell you.
DISCLAIMER: Just playing. Not mine. No money has or ever will exchange hands over this, although I’m not making any promises about sexual favors.
AUTHOR’S NOTES: This came to me as I was napping. Honest. Please to note that I am the literary equivalent of Air Supply, ‘cause I make love out of nothin’ at all.
His arm was asleep.
Not half-pleasantly-tingly asleep, either. His left arm was stone cold, completely immobile, and very firmly lodged to the shoulder under Ianto’s chest, which rose and fell with the steady rhythm of deep sleep. And Ianto, thus deeply asleep, was also completely immobile, barring a Weevil attack or a weekly end-of-the-world crisis.
"Shit," Jack murmured. He leaned in and pulled. Neither his arm nor Ianto budged. "Hey. Ianto."
The breathing rhythm continued undisturbed.
"IANTO. Roll over."
Nothing.
Jack poked Ianto’s belly, bit him lightly on the shoulder, and pulled his hair. The last earned a small dreamy smile, but no torso movement.
He really didn’t feel right claiming a world-altering crisis just to get Ianto to roll off his arm; however, that arm was going to hurt like a bastard when the circulation restarted, and the longer it was trapped, the worse it would be. Finally, in raw desperation borne of despair, Jack resorted to the kind of name-calling that his lover would never expect, and thus had a fighting chance of getting through to Ianto in his REM state.
"Sweetheart. Lambkin. Honey-love. Sugar-pie honeybunch. Schmoogie-poogie pooh bear. Baby doll."
Ianto rolled over and sat upright. "What the fuck!" He looked at Jack with wide startled eyes.
Jack lifted his arm with his right hand and settled in onto his own lap. "Phew. Finally. I’ve been trying to get you to roll over for...well. Not hours, but it felt like it."
Ianto eyed him warily. "Prove you’re Jack and not a shapeshifter." His hand slid under his pillow, where Jack knew he kept rather a nastily biting Glock 27.
Jack smiled and replied with three words: "Stopwatch. April. SUV."
Ianto relaxed and flopped back down onto the bed. "Don’t ever do that to me again."
"I was desperate." Jack shook his arm and gritted his teeth through the inevitable pins-and-needles feeling until he could move his fingers again. "All right. I’m sorry."
"Phhmph. You should be." Ianto grudgingly accepted a kiss without further protest, and closed his eyes. "Good night, Jack."
"'Night, pumpkin." He laughed as the pillow whomped onto his head.
*end*
AUTHOR: Estelle Cole
FANDOM: Torchwood
PAIRING: Jack/Ianto
RATING: R, I suppose. F-bomb.
WORD COUNT: 340
SPOILERS: Uhm. None, really, although if you don't know Jack and Ianto are "dabbling" then I don't know what to tell you.
DISCLAIMER: Just playing. Not mine. No money has or ever will exchange hands over this, although I’m not making any promises about sexual favors.
AUTHOR’S NOTES: This came to me as I was napping. Honest. Please to note that I am the literary equivalent of Air Supply, ‘cause I make love out of nothin’ at all.
His arm was asleep.
Not half-pleasantly-tingly asleep, either. His left arm was stone cold, completely immobile, and very firmly lodged to the shoulder under Ianto’s chest, which rose and fell with the steady rhythm of deep sleep. And Ianto, thus deeply asleep, was also completely immobile, barring a Weevil attack or a weekly end-of-the-world crisis.
"Shit," Jack murmured. He leaned in and pulled. Neither his arm nor Ianto budged. "Hey. Ianto."
The breathing rhythm continued undisturbed.
"IANTO. Roll over."
Nothing.
Jack poked Ianto’s belly, bit him lightly on the shoulder, and pulled his hair. The last earned a small dreamy smile, but no torso movement.
He really didn’t feel right claiming a world-altering crisis just to get Ianto to roll off his arm; however, that arm was going to hurt like a bastard when the circulation restarted, and the longer it was trapped, the worse it would be. Finally, in raw desperation borne of despair, Jack resorted to the kind of name-calling that his lover would never expect, and thus had a fighting chance of getting through to Ianto in his REM state.
"Sweetheart. Lambkin. Honey-love. Sugar-pie honeybunch. Schmoogie-poogie pooh bear. Baby doll."
Ianto rolled over and sat upright. "What the fuck!" He looked at Jack with wide startled eyes.
Jack lifted his arm with his right hand and settled in onto his own lap. "Phew. Finally. I’ve been trying to get you to roll over for...well. Not hours, but it felt like it."
Ianto eyed him warily. "Prove you’re Jack and not a shapeshifter." His hand slid under his pillow, where Jack knew he kept rather a nastily biting Glock 27.
Jack smiled and replied with three words: "Stopwatch. April. SUV."
Ianto relaxed and flopped back down onto the bed. "Don’t ever do that to me again."
"I was desperate." Jack shook his arm and gritted his teeth through the inevitable pins-and-needles feeling until he could move his fingers again. "All right. I’m sorry."
"Phhmph. You should be." Ianto grudgingly accepted a kiss without further protest, and closed his eyes. "Good night, Jack."
"'Night, pumpkin." He laughed as the pillow whomped onto his head.
*end*