A Welsh Holiday, or, Jack and Ianto Tackle the Plumbing 6/7
Chapter 6: How Jack was Beaten by a Cooker
“How is is that you flew a Spitfire in the War but can't tell the difference between a Philips and a Flat Head screwdriver?” Ianto asked, exasperated, as Jack handed him (once again) the wrong tool. He glared at Jack from under the bed rails.
“Maintenance crew,” Jack said, shrugging his shoulders and tossing the correct tool to Ianto. “And I do know the difference. I just like seeing you all hot and bothered on our new bed.”
“Under the bed, Jack,” Ianto stressed, grunting as he shifted position. “Under, not on. And at this rate, if you don't start actually bloody doing something, I'll never be on!”
Jack laughed. “Fine, fine. I'll finish the screws over there,” he said, pointing to the other corner of the rail. “Soon as we get these together, we can break in that new mattress.
Ianto grunted, screw between his teeth as Jack shifted around. Two days. Two bloody days since Jack fell asleep on him in the hotel room. For two bloody days they'd been working to get everything ready for the furniture. At least Jack had been honest when he said he'd hired plumbers (and electricians) while they'd been at IKEA. Once they'd finished, all that was left was basic cleaning.
At least, that had been all that was left. Now the furniture had arrived.
“Why are these things so hard to put together?” Jack grunted as he tried to move the screw.
“You'll've cross-threaded it,” Ianto said. “And a least it's not a flat-pack wardrobe. Those things are death traps.”
“When have you ever put together a flat-pack wardrobe?”
“Lon-” Ianto began, twisting his body to get the final screw in place. “London. Me an' Lisa had one. No room in our closet for her clothes. Bloody clothes horse, that woman.”
Ianto squinted as he watched Jack finally get the screw tight. “No worse than you, though.”
“Excuse me?” Jack said, glaring at Ianto. “Last time I checked, I had all male anatomy.”
“Yeah, plus the added bonus of potential pregnancy. Thank god for contraceptives in the rain. And have you looked in your wardrobe lately? Who needs seven pairs of the same boots? Honestly! Seven!”
“Hey! I am very tough on my clothes! Besides, dashing heroes need to look the part!” Jack said, throwing a piece of packing foam at Ianto.
“Dashing my arse.”
“Get this bed finished and I'll take care of that arse!”
“Don't you dare! You think I'm trusting you again after that last show? Worst. Manners. Ever!” Ianto said, throwing the foam back and inching his way out from under the bed rails. “Hurry up and help with the mattress.”
“Love it when you go all bossy.”
“You won't love it when I take the car and leave you here by yourself.”
Jack finished the second screw and stood up, sauntering over to help Ianto shift the mattress. “You'd never leave. We have a house. You're stuck with me.”
Ianto dropped the mattress and pushed Jack against the wall, taking him in for a deep kiss.
“No mortgage. I can leave whenever I want. I think you're the one that's stuck with me.”
“Oh yeah?” Jack said, lifting an eyebrow.
“Yup. Without me, this place'd fall apart.”
Jack cupped the back of Ianto's head and touched their foreheads. “Without you, I'd fall apart.”
“Oh god, Jack,” Ianto said, groaning. “Last time I checked, this wasn't a bodice-ripping Mills and Boon novel. Could you be a bigger sap?”
“Don't know. You'd look good in a bodice. All tight whale bone and white cream silk,” Jack pushed back, his hands tracing the curve of Ianto's arse. “I could take you on the bed, slowly removing those ties, watching you come all apart for me.”
Ianto growled. “I am not, have never been, and will never be, a girl. And besides, you're the one with the hips for a bodice. Now help shift that mattress or we'll never be done.”
“It's a cooker, Ianto, just a cooker. If I could get a Chula spaceship to make me a hypervokda on command, I can fix a cooker,” Jack sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. They'd finally finished with the mattress, and Ianto'd spent nearly half an hour arranging the linen perfectly. Jack had promised supper, but hadn't gotten the cooker to work.
“Jack, please, just-”
“No! I will get this cooker to cook if it kills me!” Jack said, reaching for the hammer. Best mechanical lesson ever? If it didn't work, hit it as hard as possible. Words to live by even in the 51st Century.
“But Jack, it's-” Ianto tried again, reaching to pull the hammer away from Jack.
“It's just a damn cooker! I'll get it to work!”
“Yes, but Jack, please just listen,” Ianto begged.
“Fine, ok what?” Jack sighed.
“It's...well...it uses wood,” Ianto said, sheepishly.
“Sorry?” Jack said.
“Haven't you ever cooked on it before?” Ianto asked, moving to stand next to the cooker and protect it from any stray hammers.
“Well, no,” Jack said, blustering. “I'd only ever be here for a day or two. I'd go into town or just eat something cold. No need to cook.”
“Yes, well, remember, Jack, it's a Welsh cottage. Probably been here since Mary Jones's time. It uses wood, see?” Ianto said, pulling open the little hatch near the bottom. Lo and behold, there was the requisite space for wood.
“Oh,” Jack said, the hammer dropping to the floor. “Wait, where do we get wood?”
Ianto snickered. Jack glared.
“It's not fun when the innuendo's that obvious,” he said, crossing his arms.
“Aw, Jack. Defeated by a cooker. All because he couldn't get wood,” Ianto said, laughing.
“Hey now!” Jack said, shaking a finger at Ianto. “I've always got wood! And who's Mary Jones? Any relation?”
Ianto stopped laughing and just shook his head sadly. “God, Jack. Just because the name's popular doesn't mean we're all related. We're not that bad!”
“Yes, well, the stories-” Jack began.
“Are much exaggerated,” Ianto finished, hand clamping over Jack's mouth. “We're Welsh Jack, not from the Isle of Wight.”
Jack sighed and licked Ianto's hand. Ianto dropped it, wiping it on his torn jeans and shot Jack a look of disgust.
“Fine, then,” Jack huffed. “Who is this no-relation-Mary Jones?”
“National hero, Jack, how do you not know this? Little girl, walked twenty-five miles from Abergynolwyn because the Sais wouldn't let her buy a Bible in her native Welsh?”
Jack just stared at Ianto, looking a bit lost.
Ianto sighed. “Doesn't matter. Damn Sais took our Land and our Language. Got back at them in '05 at the Grand Slam, though, thanks to Henson.”
Jack continued to look lost. Ianto sighed again.
“The rugby, Jack. Please try and learn something about the culture if you're to stay here for another hundred years.”
Jack grinned smugly. “You'll have to teach me. I can be a very slow learner. Might take all night long.”
“I am not having sex with you to teach you rugby,” Ianto said, shaking his head. “I will not denigrate the sport that way. Besides, if you tried it, you might like it. Bunch of dirty guys grabbing each other's arses.”
“Sounds like naked hide and seek.”
“Well yes, I suppose. But people pay to see rugby.”
“Oh trust me, Ianto. People would pay to see naked hide and seek.”
Ianto shot Jack a glare. “I know, Jack. I walked in on Gwen and Tosh betting on you while watching the CCTV, which you didn't erase, I might add.”
“Oh come on, Ianto,” Jack whinged. “We've only three days left! Can we please have sex on the new bed?”
“We've three days and half a cottage still in boxes,” Ianto said, gesturing to the varied deliveries.
“But I don't want to unpack,” Jack said, sidling over to ianto. “Or at least, I don't want to unpack these.”
Ianto sighed. At this rate, they'd never finish.
“Fine,” he huffed. “How 'bout we play a game?”
“Oooo!” Jack cried gleefully. “Like with a bit of sugar?”
Ianto shook his head and said, fondly, “You and your Julie Andrews fetish. I refuse to sing for you unless sufficiently toasted. And if any mirror start singing back, please call Tosh. We're close enough to the Rift for anything to happen. Now, how about this? You fully unpack one box. I time you. If I can get my box unpacked faster than you, you have to take off one piece of clothing of my choice.”
“And if I unpack my box before you?” Jack asked, his hand already going up underneath Ianto's t-shirt.
“I remove a piece of my clothing,” Ianto said smoothly, leaning in to Jack's touch. It really had been so long since they'd last had sex, but if Ianto gave in too soon, Jack would never learn. No one left Ianto tied to a bed without proper punishment. And Ianto knew just what his jeans did to Jack every time he bent over. And if Ianto happened to find every opportunity to bend over? Well, there were an awful lot of low cupboards to be filled. If a permanent hard-on wasn't enough of a punishment, nothing was.
“I like this game,” Jack said. “You got that stopwatch?” Ianto nodded as he grabbed it from the mantle.
Jack had never unpacked boxes as fast as he did that night.
“That was fun,” Jack sighed sleepily as he pulled Ianto flush. He reached down to grab the blanket and cover them. "Who won?"
Ianto rubbed a foot on Jack's left ankle. "You're still wearing a sock. Guess I win."
"Well it was fun anyway."
“Mmm,” Ianto said. “It's the button on the top. Now let me sleep.”
“It's the first night in our new bed,” Jack said, stroking Ianto's chest.
“And it'll be your first day at the laundromat tomorrow if your shouts were any indication. And yesterday was the first day you'd taken out the trash, the day before that was the first day you'd mopped... A whole week of firsts. I'll have you a trained batman before we get back to Cardiff.”
“Have I told you I loved you yet?” Jack asked softly.
Ianto snorted. “Non sequitur. No, you haven't. And please don't.”
Jack sighed. “Why, Ianto? Is this going to be an IKEA thing again?”
Ianto shifted so he faced Jack. “First of all, don't misuse IKEA. You start saying it during conversations like this, and it'll lose it's appeal. It is to be used only during sex, not after. And second, no. It's not like that. But saying it for the first time during the afterglow? Save it for when we're not doped up on post-orgasm seratonin. Make it real.”
He kissed Jack sloppily and promptly fell asleep.
“Well,” Jack said softly, not willing to wake Ianto. “Guess I'll just have to say it later then.”