OH JESUS WTF IS THIS
There I was, just correcting student papers, and fuming over the 
kinkfreezone debacle. And then it hit me.
A plot bunny.
And then there was fic. And it was... fic.
I am so, so sorry.
Title: Vanilla
Fandom/Pairing: Torchwood; Jack/Ianto
Rating: Well, there's no sex in it.
Timeline: Post-They Keep Killing Suzie
Summary: Ianto doesn't want to do anything kinky.
Wordcount: 788
Disclaimer: Torchwood is not mine. Hell, I'd disown this fic, too, but I can't.
Author's Notes: This is: (a) a very blatant response to the kink restriction list on
kinkfreezone; and (b) the first fic I have written and finished since I was... oh, about 16 or so. I do not promise a literary masterpiece, but at least, I hope it is mildly (albeit pointedly) entertaining. No beta; ergo, this is all my fault.
“I wondered when this would happen.” Jack flashes Ianto a victorious smirk. Ianto hates that smirk. He wants to punch it off of Jack’s face. God, it turns him on. “Though color me surprised that you’re the one to initiate it. You’ve never been with another man before, right?”
“That’s right.” Ianto looks at that ground, away from that infuriating (irresistible) smirk, and coughs at the ground nervously. “Uh, sir.”
“So, what do you want to do?” Jack steps forward, runs a teasing finger under Ianto’s collar. “Because I can think of so many things.”
“Well, uh, that’s the thing. Sir. With this being my first time and all, I just. I don’t want to do anything kinky.”
“Kinky?” Jack frowns, confused. The twenty-first century is supposed to be when everything changes, and “everything” is supposed to include sexual mores. Aren’t people more open-minded in this century? But he’s done this before-gradually led people into debauchery-and he steels himself to do it again. The smirk becomes a trademark 40-watt Jack smile, and he starts his seduction over. “All right. Let’s start off simple.”
Jack runs his fingers sensuously down the lapels of his coat, and turns around, his back to Ianto. He looks over his shoulder, anticipating the expression on Ianto’s face when he watches the coat slide down Jack’s back, landing in a satisfying pool on the Hub floor. Instead, Ianto lunges forward, holding the coat on Jack’s shoulders. Jack turns back around, another frown on his face.
“Ianto? What is it?”
“The coat. Sir. Doing a striptease for your partner-that’s a kink.”
Jack is mildly annoyed, but he maintains a pleasant expression for his new lover. (Potential lover-if he ever manages to get anything started.) “Okay, if that’s the way you feel.” He runs his thumb over Ianto’s cheek. “We don’t even have to take the coat off. I know how much you love it.”
“We can’t do that, sir. That would count as a clothing fetish.”
Jack manages not to sigh with exasperation. “Hey, if we’re trying not to be kinky here, shouldn’t you stop calling me ‘sir’? Isn’t that power play, or something?”
“You’re right, si-uh, Jack.” The word feels strange and foreign in Ianto’s mouth and, once spoken, it trails away awkwardly.
“Um. Okay. How about I turn off the lights, and we take our clothes off in the dark?”
“Can’t do that. Uh, Jack. That would count as lightplay.”
This time, Jack can’t stop the sigh from coming out. “Fine, Ianto. What do you propose?”
“Um, all right. How about we turn our backs to one another, and then take our clothes off?”
“Whatever will speed this along.” Jack hopes that whatever sense of arousal and anticipation has been lost during this whole, limiting, frustrating conversation will be regained as he waits for Ianto to strip. Jack takes no care with his own clothes, leaving them in a rumpled, satisfying pile, while Ianto meticulously folds each removed article of clothing and searches for a place to leave his cufflinks. Ianto usually does the dry cleaning run on Thursdays; whatever lack of care Jack displays for his own clothes will be remedied during work tomorrow. That is, if Ianto doesn’t decide that going to the dry cleaner’s constitutes clothing fetishism, as well.
By the time Ianto tiptoes behind Jack, whispering, “Okay, you can turn around now,” in his ear, Jack has regained some of his initial arousal, and is bouncing excitedly on the balls of his bare feet. He turns around and looks his fill at Ianto, half-hard, his body covered with a light dusting of hair, the expression on his face equal parts embarrassment and cold.
“Well, isn’t that a beautiful sight.” Jack smiles again and reaches for Ianto, one hand brushing across his belly, around to the small of his back and then down, grabbing Ianto’s ass with impunity. He’s just about to kiss Ianto, and make good use of his other hand, when Ianto pushes him away.
“Wait! Wait, Jack! Stop!”
“Dammit, Ianto! What is it this time?”
“This is my first time! I just remembered-first time sex is a kink, too. We can’t do this.”
Jack just drops his arms to his sides and stares at Ianto, uncomprehending. This makes no sense.
Ianto sighs and rolls his eyes. He searches amongst the pile of gently folded clothes on Jack’s desk for his trousers, and pulls them up over his hips. Jack tries to pull his eyes away from Ianto as he dresses, and fails miserably. Ianto walks to the door of Jack’s office.
“I’m going to make coffee. Jack. Would you like some?”
“Sure. Just bring it downstairs. I’ll be in my bunk.”
kinkfreezone debacle. And then it hit me.
A plot bunny.
And then there was fic. And it was... fic.
I am so, so sorry.
Title: Vanilla
Fandom/Pairing: Torchwood; Jack/Ianto
Rating: Well, there's no sex in it.
Timeline: Post-They Keep Killing Suzie
Summary: Ianto doesn't want to do anything kinky.
Wordcount: 788
Disclaimer: Torchwood is not mine. Hell, I'd disown this fic, too, but I can't.
Author's Notes: This is: (a) a very blatant response to the kink restriction list on
kinkfreezone; and (b) the first fic I have written and finished since I was... oh, about 16 or so. I do not promise a literary masterpiece, but at least, I hope it is mildly (albeit pointedly) entertaining. No beta; ergo, this is all my fault.
“I wondered when this would happen.” Jack flashes Ianto a victorious smirk. Ianto hates that smirk. He wants to punch it off of Jack’s face. God, it turns him on. “Though color me surprised that you’re the one to initiate it. You’ve never been with another man before, right?”
“That’s right.” Ianto looks at that ground, away from that infuriating (irresistible) smirk, and coughs at the ground nervously. “Uh, sir.”
“So, what do you want to do?” Jack steps forward, runs a teasing finger under Ianto’s collar. “Because I can think of so many things.”
“Well, uh, that’s the thing. Sir. With this being my first time and all, I just. I don’t want to do anything kinky.”
“Kinky?” Jack frowns, confused. The twenty-first century is supposed to be when everything changes, and “everything” is supposed to include sexual mores. Aren’t people more open-minded in this century? But he’s done this before-gradually led people into debauchery-and he steels himself to do it again. The smirk becomes a trademark 40-watt Jack smile, and he starts his seduction over. “All right. Let’s start off simple.”
Jack runs his fingers sensuously down the lapels of his coat, and turns around, his back to Ianto. He looks over his shoulder, anticipating the expression on Ianto’s face when he watches the coat slide down Jack’s back, landing in a satisfying pool on the Hub floor. Instead, Ianto lunges forward, holding the coat on Jack’s shoulders. Jack turns back around, another frown on his face.
“Ianto? What is it?”
“The coat. Sir. Doing a striptease for your partner-that’s a kink.”
Jack is mildly annoyed, but he maintains a pleasant expression for his new lover. (Potential lover-if he ever manages to get anything started.) “Okay, if that’s the way you feel.” He runs his thumb over Ianto’s cheek. “We don’t even have to take the coat off. I know how much you love it.”
“We can’t do that, sir. That would count as a clothing fetish.”
Jack manages not to sigh with exasperation. “Hey, if we’re trying not to be kinky here, shouldn’t you stop calling me ‘sir’? Isn’t that power play, or something?”
“You’re right, si-uh, Jack.” The word feels strange and foreign in Ianto’s mouth and, once spoken, it trails away awkwardly.
“Um. Okay. How about I turn off the lights, and we take our clothes off in the dark?”
“Can’t do that. Uh, Jack. That would count as lightplay.”
This time, Jack can’t stop the sigh from coming out. “Fine, Ianto. What do you propose?”
“Um, all right. How about we turn our backs to one another, and then take our clothes off?”
“Whatever will speed this along.” Jack hopes that whatever sense of arousal and anticipation has been lost during this whole, limiting, frustrating conversation will be regained as he waits for Ianto to strip. Jack takes no care with his own clothes, leaving them in a rumpled, satisfying pile, while Ianto meticulously folds each removed article of clothing and searches for a place to leave his cufflinks. Ianto usually does the dry cleaning run on Thursdays; whatever lack of care Jack displays for his own clothes will be remedied during work tomorrow. That is, if Ianto doesn’t decide that going to the dry cleaner’s constitutes clothing fetishism, as well.
By the time Ianto tiptoes behind Jack, whispering, “Okay, you can turn around now,” in his ear, Jack has regained some of his initial arousal, and is bouncing excitedly on the balls of his bare feet. He turns around and looks his fill at Ianto, half-hard, his body covered with a light dusting of hair, the expression on his face equal parts embarrassment and cold.
“Well, isn’t that a beautiful sight.” Jack smiles again and reaches for Ianto, one hand brushing across his belly, around to the small of his back and then down, grabbing Ianto’s ass with impunity. He’s just about to kiss Ianto, and make good use of his other hand, when Ianto pushes him away.
“Wait! Wait, Jack! Stop!”
“Dammit, Ianto! What is it this time?”
“This is my first time! I just remembered-first time sex is a kink, too. We can’t do this.”
Jack just drops his arms to his sides and stares at Ianto, uncomprehending. This makes no sense.
Ianto sighs and rolls his eyes. He searches amongst the pile of gently folded clothes on Jack’s desk for his trousers, and pulls them up over his hips. Jack tries to pull his eyes away from Ianto as he dresses, and fails miserably. Ianto walks to the door of Jack’s office.
“I’m going to make coffee. Jack. Would you like some?”
“Sure. Just bring it downstairs. I’ll be in my bunk.”