Fic: Five Times Ianto Jones Woke Up in Footy Pajamas (And One Time He Went to Bed in Them)
Title: Five Times Ianto Jones Woke Up in Footy Pajamas (And One Time He Went to Bed in Them)
Author: thepyromanical1
Length: 800 words
Pairings/Characters: Jack/Ianto/Pajamas, Owen
Rating: PG 13
Warnings: American spelling of "pyjamas."
Genre: Humor/crack
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, nor any footed pajamas.
AN: Written for tw_gleeclub's Gold High Tops Challenge. ladykorana asked for Ianto in footy pajamas. AND SHE GOT IANTO IN FOOTY PAJAMAS. heddychaa was my awesome googledocs beta. ♥ ♥
Five Times Ianto Jones Woke Up in Footy Pajamas (And One Time He Went to Bed in Them)
The first morning Ianto wakes up in footed pajamas, he's pretty sure Jack is playing a joke on him. It has to be some weird fifty-first century fetish, or a punchline that won't make sense for the next three millennia, because why else would he be wearing a ridiculous lavender fleece jumpsuit?
(It has an ass-flap. With buttons.)
Ianto brings him an admonishment with his morning cup of coffee.
"I wear suits during the day, not when I sleep. Also, you're sick. Those are for children."
(Ianto had owned a pair when he was seven and they had been his very favourite, but between Tin Tin and the cinema he wasn't sure how much more of his childhood Torchwood could taint without him losing his fucking mind.)
Jack says nothing, which Ianto takes as an admission of guilt, and moves on with his day.
The rest of Monday is normal (of course, normal for Ianto Jones means "two Weevils before lunch and fucking Jack post-resurrection in the archives").
By Tuesday Ianto's pretty sure it's not Jack, because he's poked around all of the expense accounts Jack uses and can't find any orders to adultfootypajamas.com or whatever.
(That morning's pair was a rather vibrant kelly green. His research tells him that they don't even sell that kind, so unless Jack is making them by hand or paying a back alley footy pajama tailor in cash, the pajamas are officially Rift Shenanigans.)
There are other Rift Shenanigans on Tuesday night, namely something with large teeth and a taste for human flesh in a grocery store. Ianto thinks vaguely of his neglected grocery list (tomatoes, pasta, milk, and bananas, Jack likes bananas) as he empties a clip into its side.
It's five by the time Ianto collapses into bed nude, after pulling off his suit (stained with tomato soup after a rather impressive shootout in the canned goods aisle).
(He does not hear Jack’s laughter as he exits the shower to find Ianto already in a new pair of pajamas.)
Ianto wakes up swaddled in his fleecy nemesis once again. He finds a note from Jack taped to the bananas they'd brought home last night:
Be in by noon.
Maybe we should look into the pajama thing.
Thursday morning proves that even sleeping at the Hub will not stop the footy pajamas from finding him. If anything, it seems to make the ordeal more mortifying--that morning's pair is powder blue with rubber ducks.
His only clean suit at the Hub is hanging in the locker room, so he shoves a razor and a bar of soap into the pajama pockets (convenient, he has to admit) and makes his way to the showers on level minus two.
Which is, of course, when he runs into Owen.
"What the fuck are you wearing?" Owen is gaping at him, more frog-like than ever. Ianto decides that this is one of those questions he'd rather not answer and looks straight ahead as he marches into the locker room.
The archives have no answers for him re: pajama phenomena, and Owen snorts every time he sees him (Ianto can't even put laxatives in his coffee for revenge any more), so Ianto leaves the Hub early. He pulls the comforter off his bed that night, knowing it'll be too hot with the inevitable footed pajamas.
On Friday, the pajamas are starting to take up enough room in his hamper that he feels obligated to wash them. Of course, they’re magical Rift pajamas, so of course there are no labels or washing instructions.
He stuffs all of them (they're rather bulky) into the washer and pours the detergent. He wonders if there's an obscure charity or fetishist group he could donate them to. The fleecy material gathers static and he gets zapped a few times when he takes them out of the dryer.
(If they smell like fabric softener it's pure chance. Ianto did not waste any on the damn things. Absolutely not. No way.)
His washer cannot possibly handle six pairs of footed pajamas at once, and he doesn't want to wash potentially alien footy pajamas with his other things, so that night, Ianto gives up. Jack snickers, but Ianto pulls on a pair of the pajamas (the dark blue ones seem the least ridiculous, he has to maintain some sense of dignity).
"You know..." Jack says as Ianto gets back into bed. He is sprawled out, hair stuck to his forehead from their earlier activities and his eyebrow cocked just so.
"Absolutely fucking not." Ianto rolls over, ending the conversation before it’s started and probably giving Jack a magnificent view of his beflapped arse.
Ianto wakes the next morning to Jack's laughter, wearing two pairs of footed pajamas.
Fin.
Author: thepyromanical1
Length: 800 words
Pairings/Characters: Jack/Ianto/Pajamas, Owen
Rating: PG 13
Warnings: American spelling of "pyjamas."
Genre: Humor/crack
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, nor any footed pajamas.
AN: Written for tw_gleeclub's Gold High Tops Challenge. ladykorana asked for Ianto in footy pajamas. AND SHE GOT IANTO IN FOOTY PAJAMAS. heddychaa was my awesome googledocs beta. ♥ ♥
Five Times Ianto Jones Woke Up in Footy Pajamas (And One Time He Went to Bed in Them)
The first morning Ianto wakes up in footed pajamas, he's pretty sure Jack is playing a joke on him. It has to be some weird fifty-first century fetish, or a punchline that won't make sense for the next three millennia, because why else would he be wearing a ridiculous lavender fleece jumpsuit?
(It has an ass-flap. With buttons.)
Ianto brings him an admonishment with his morning cup of coffee.
"I wear suits during the day, not when I sleep. Also, you're sick. Those are for children."
(Ianto had owned a pair when he was seven and they had been his very favourite, but between Tin Tin and the cinema he wasn't sure how much more of his childhood Torchwood could taint without him losing his fucking mind.)
Jack says nothing, which Ianto takes as an admission of guilt, and moves on with his day.
The rest of Monday is normal (of course, normal for Ianto Jones means "two Weevils before lunch and fucking Jack post-resurrection in the archives").
By Tuesday Ianto's pretty sure it's not Jack, because he's poked around all of the expense accounts Jack uses and can't find any orders to adultfootypajamas.com or whatever.
(That morning's pair was a rather vibrant kelly green. His research tells him that they don't even sell that kind, so unless Jack is making them by hand or paying a back alley footy pajama tailor in cash, the pajamas are officially Rift Shenanigans.)
There are other Rift Shenanigans on Tuesday night, namely something with large teeth and a taste for human flesh in a grocery store. Ianto thinks vaguely of his neglected grocery list (tomatoes, pasta, milk, and bananas, Jack likes bananas) as he empties a clip into its side.
It's five by the time Ianto collapses into bed nude, after pulling off his suit (stained with tomato soup after a rather impressive shootout in the canned goods aisle).
(He does not hear Jack’s laughter as he exits the shower to find Ianto already in a new pair of pajamas.)
Ianto wakes up swaddled in his fleecy nemesis once again. He finds a note from Jack taped to the bananas they'd brought home last night:
Be in by noon.
Maybe we should look into the pajama thing.
Thursday morning proves that even sleeping at the Hub will not stop the footy pajamas from finding him. If anything, it seems to make the ordeal more mortifying--that morning's pair is powder blue with rubber ducks.
His only clean suit at the Hub is hanging in the locker room, so he shoves a razor and a bar of soap into the pajama pockets (convenient, he has to admit) and makes his way to the showers on level minus two.
Which is, of course, when he runs into Owen.
"What the fuck are you wearing?" Owen is gaping at him, more frog-like than ever. Ianto decides that this is one of those questions he'd rather not answer and looks straight ahead as he marches into the locker room.
The archives have no answers for him re: pajama phenomena, and Owen snorts every time he sees him (Ianto can't even put laxatives in his coffee for revenge any more), so Ianto leaves the Hub early. He pulls the comforter off his bed that night, knowing it'll be too hot with the inevitable footed pajamas.
On Friday, the pajamas are starting to take up enough room in his hamper that he feels obligated to wash them. Of course, they’re magical Rift pajamas, so of course there are no labels or washing instructions.
He stuffs all of them (they're rather bulky) into the washer and pours the detergent. He wonders if there's an obscure charity or fetishist group he could donate them to. The fleecy material gathers static and he gets zapped a few times when he takes them out of the dryer.
(If they smell like fabric softener it's pure chance. Ianto did not waste any on the damn things. Absolutely not. No way.)
His washer cannot possibly handle six pairs of footed pajamas at once, and he doesn't want to wash potentially alien footy pajamas with his other things, so that night, Ianto gives up. Jack snickers, but Ianto pulls on a pair of the pajamas (the dark blue ones seem the least ridiculous, he has to maintain some sense of dignity).
"You know..." Jack says as Ianto gets back into bed. He is sprawled out, hair stuck to his forehead from their earlier activities and his eyebrow cocked just so.
"Absolutely fucking not." Ianto rolls over, ending the conversation before it’s started and probably giving Jack a magnificent view of his beflapped arse.
Ianto wakes the next morning to Jack's laughter, wearing two pairs of footed pajamas.
Fin.