forcibly smushing together things I like, part 1
Fic! This has been on my laptop and in my brain for a while now, but recently I was given the perfect opportunity to post it, so.
Ruffling Feathers
Shadow Of The Templar/Torchwood crossover. Simon/Jeremy and vague Jack/Ianto, with the obvious addition of Jack's tendencies to flirt with anything in his line of sight.
Set after Templar's last book, and between seasons 2 and 3 of Torchwood, so spoilers up to both those points, but nothing particularly major I don't think.
*
At this time of night, the museum is washed out in moonlight, occasional streetlights outside making orange pools on the marbled floor, and every sound echoes and reverbs through what sounds like the whole building. Even when one is technically supposed to be here, every footstep sounds loud and incriminating. Jeremy allows himself a minute smile at such paranoia, more suited to an amateur than someone of his caliber, and walks casually into the display room; when the security cameras are frantically reviewed tomorrow, all they will see is the security guard on his nightly rounds, and because the route and guard are the same every night (at least, for the last ten days) they will never know that the tape is actually looping back the feed from the previous night.
The centre piece of the exhibit is the newly-excavated and brightly-coloured section of Roman mosaic, found about a week ago by a group of school children taking a shortcut home through the woods. Apparently, no one is sure whether it is a complete pattern or just a section of one, but either way is very well preserved and has the archaeologists in spasms of glee.
It also has a rather eccentric family of birdlovers all a-flutter (Jeremy can imagine Simon rolling his eyes at him, Jesus Christ Archer, even with your crappy British sense of humour you've gotta admit that's terrible) and willing to pay Jeremy extremely handsomely to, ah, take it off the museum's hands and relieve the poor archaeologists of the trouble of working out which it is. They are an odd bunch, it has to be said - their house is absolutely covered with feathers, and a flock of assorted pet birds are allowed free range of the place, invariably converging on any visitor and leaving them covered in irridescent feathers. Also, several are not any kind of bird he's ever seen for sale in Britian, and the five owners, all gray-haired and looking as if they've recently been electrocuted unexpectedly and are expecting to be ambushed again by their assailent at any given time, are a twitchy and secretive bunch, although they pay very well.
But now is not the time to be distracted by disparaging his employers, because even if this isn't anything like the Morning Star job it is still important to concentrate, however regrettably small the likelihood of attractive FBI agents appearing to foil this operation is. That said however, this should by all rights be a simple-as-shit job - melt open the glass case to avoid triggering the alarms that are primed to go off if it's opened unduly, tuck the mosaic safely away inside his specially-padded pocket, and continue on his rounds. As the guard responsible for this section of the museum, no one will notice anything wrong until tomorrow morning.
Jeremy slides one of his little canisters from his wrist holster, where he was carrying it in lieu of the taser (no need for that here given he's technically here legally - for once, and for a given definition of 'legally', he can hear Simon saying, snorting) and gives it a practised tap against the top edge of the diplay case, like cracking an egg, then sends the contents splashing over the top pane of glass with a flick of the wrist. The smell of dissolving glass is always unpleasant, and he doesn't bother hiding the flare of his nostrils, but it does the job, and now all he has to do is reach in and-
"Damn, and I thought he'd be using a laser like in the movies," an American voice says cheerfully from somewhere to his right, accompanied by the dissapointed snap of fingers.
It's sheer suprise that makes Jeremy hesitate on activating the gas contraption as he spins to face the man emerging from behind the partial reconstrustion of a villa wall. He's attractive in the typical American way, all strong-jawed face (complete with dimpled chin, oh lord), short-but-floppy brown hair, a long, dark blue coat that curls down past his knees like a cape, and a gun pointed directly between Jeremy's eyes.
"I wouldn't move, if I were you," the guy adds helpfully, "we're all perfectly capable of shooting you before you get anywhere." Jeremy catches another flicker of movement and turns halfway to either side, keeping an eye on the first man; there's another man to his left, wonderfully besuited and dark-haired, and a woman to his right with her hair in a ponytail and the stiff, steady stance of a law-enforcement official, most likely police.
"I'd like to point out I haven't actaully laid so much as a finger on the actual artefact, and as such haven't techinically yet done anything particularly wrong."
The American smiles. "Although that's mostly due to our superb timing, right? Better remove the temptation, then." His eyes flick sideways. "Ianto?"
Suit Guy - Ianto, apparently - goes over to the now-open display case while still keeping half a wary eye on Jeremy, carefully fitting his hand around as much of the mosaic as he can before he lifts it out and tucks it into one of those bubble-wrap-lined padded envelopes, which he produces rather magically from somewhere about his person and hangs from its flap between his last two fingers with the gun still regretably steady as a rock in the first three. Task done, he returns the envelope to it's hiding place and steps back into his place in the triangle.
"Do you mind if I ask what the point of stopping me was?" Jeremy says, bemused. "And I can hardly credit conflicting professional, er, interest. As far as I'm aware, it really is just a probbable bit of Roman floor tile."
"Maybe we have unusual decorating tastes," Ianto says, face blank and voice pleasently low and Welsh-accented, and the other two chuckle.
Jeremy raises his eyebrows, allowing one side of his mouth to quirk up in amusement. Currently, gassing them would result in more bullet holes than he'd like, so why not play along? "Highly, if you don't mind my saying so. And there I assumed 'remove the temptation' meant handcuffs or some such."
The American smirks. "Oh, we can arrange those too, if you're so partial. However, I imagine someone like you wouldn't stay in 'em for very long, so we'd have to search you first."
Jeremy turns to face him fully, amused now and watching the American follow the movement with his eyes. "By all means, search away." He spreads his arms accomodatingly.
The American's smirk widens, and the woman snorts. "Believe me, I'd love to, but I suspect you have some sort of devious escape plan attached."
"Damn, you caught me."
Ianto manages to audibly roll his eyes, although it's the woman who speaks, sounding vaguely amused. "Jack, stop flirting with the apprehended thief."
"Oh," Jeremy says, "are you going to arrest me? It's just, you've rather been taking your time about it and I assumed you were going to," he shrugs, "well, I don't know, but," and he looks straight at Jack and tilts his head slightly, letting the innuendo creep in, "something else."
Jack raises his eyebrows and grins lazily, apparently ignoring the rest of his team. "Oh really?"
"Mmm."
"Jack." Ianto sounds fondly exasperated, and Jeremy pivots slightly towards him, glancing away from Jack to look at Ianto instead. Ianto meets his eyes and, after a moment, raises his eyebrows queryingly, and Jeremy favours him with a little, amused smirk.
"Okay!" the woman says loudly, and Jeremy turns to give her his full attention. "We're not going to arrest you, but we are going to cancel that looped security feed you had going, so if you try to steal anything else..."
Jeremy nods slowly. "Alright. I know you won't believe me, but I'm not. That," and he nods at Ianto and the mosaic he has somewhere about his person, "was all I was, ah, hired to obtain."
"Yeah," Jack breaks in, and Jeremy turns back to him, "but then your uh, employers found out about us instead, so we'll just take over from here. So nobody is getting arrested, or breaking the law, or dissapointing their employers, so we're all happy." He flicks his head and a second later Ianto enters Jeremy's field of vision, walking backwards towards the door, gun still trained on Jeremy, and Jeremy can hear the woman shifting behind him to cover Ianto's position.
Jeremy has to admit that the crazy bird people seem completely the type to suddenly change their minds like Jack said, and these three don't seem at all like rivals, but he's still uneasy about this sudden change in plans. However, it's not like he can do much about it - as soon as Ianto's out the door Jack and the woman follow him, guns trained on Jeremy until they're through the door too, Jack throwing him a final grin before he vanishes around the corner and their rapid footsteps fade out down the corridor.
*
"Why'd you include all the stuff about how hot they were?" Simon asks a month later, eying Jeremy narrowly from where he's lounging in the doorway from the kitchen. "Cause I could point out all the hot people I see every day too, if you like." He pauses for a moment, and when he next speaks, Jeremy can hear the amusement in his voice. "Are you tryin' to make me jealous, Archer?"
Jeremy holds up his hands, allowing his mouth to curl up but keeping his eyes on the newspaper on his lap. "Why no Simon, I was most certainly not trying to make you jealous, I was just stating the facts." Simon makes an irritated little noise and gulps down more coffee (he's on his third mug of the morning, so he is, for the moment, comfortably caffinated), and Jeremy waits a moment before adding, "And by 'all the hot people' I assume you mean people like Johnny and Dave, given I believe they're the ones you see most of. Is your, er, 'Upstairs' also attractive, then?"
As he'd hoped, Simon chokes magnificiently on his mouthful of coffee and actually snorts some of it out of his nose. Jeremy mentally awards himself a brace of points, and ducks his head so Simon won't catch his smirk.
"Oh Christ, fuck, Archer, don't ever-!" He splutters incoherantly a bit more, then the mug thunks to the floor and Simon appears in front of him, arms folded and probably glaring, although it's his waist and hips currently in Jeremy's line of sight so Jeremy is hardly paying attention to his face. He continues reading to the end of the paragraph, reining in his grin and taking the opportunity to enjoy the view as he raises his eyes.
"Yes?"
The newspaper is swept unceremoniously onto the floor and Simon leans right into his space, one knee coming up to rest of the seat right next to Jeremy's thigh, arms braced on the back of the chair.
"Oh fuck you," Simon says softly and with no malice at all, so, so close that all Jeremy can comfortably focus on is his mouth, which is hardly a hardship. "You're just gonna keep saying things like that until I find a way to shut you up, aren't you."
Jeremy shrugs and wraps his arms contentedly around Simon's neck, letting his voice drop into that purr and watching Simon's eyes darken accordingly. "Well Simon, that rather depends on what you have in mind. And incidentally, that sounds like an excellent idea."
Ruffling Feathers
Shadow Of The Templar/Torchwood crossover. Simon/Jeremy and vague Jack/Ianto, with the obvious addition of Jack's tendencies to flirt with anything in his line of sight.
Set after Templar's last book, and between seasons 2 and 3 of Torchwood, so spoilers up to both those points, but nothing particularly major I don't think.
*
At this time of night, the museum is washed out in moonlight, occasional streetlights outside making orange pools on the marbled floor, and every sound echoes and reverbs through what sounds like the whole building. Even when one is technically supposed to be here, every footstep sounds loud and incriminating. Jeremy allows himself a minute smile at such paranoia, more suited to an amateur than someone of his caliber, and walks casually into the display room; when the security cameras are frantically reviewed tomorrow, all they will see is the security guard on his nightly rounds, and because the route and guard are the same every night (at least, for the last ten days) they will never know that the tape is actually looping back the feed from the previous night.
The centre piece of the exhibit is the newly-excavated and brightly-coloured section of Roman mosaic, found about a week ago by a group of school children taking a shortcut home through the woods. Apparently, no one is sure whether it is a complete pattern or just a section of one, but either way is very well preserved and has the archaeologists in spasms of glee.
It also has a rather eccentric family of birdlovers all a-flutter (Jeremy can imagine Simon rolling his eyes at him, Jesus Christ Archer, even with your crappy British sense of humour you've gotta admit that's terrible) and willing to pay Jeremy extremely handsomely to, ah, take it off the museum's hands and relieve the poor archaeologists of the trouble of working out which it is. They are an odd bunch, it has to be said - their house is absolutely covered with feathers, and a flock of assorted pet birds are allowed free range of the place, invariably converging on any visitor and leaving them covered in irridescent feathers. Also, several are not any kind of bird he's ever seen for sale in Britian, and the five owners, all gray-haired and looking as if they've recently been electrocuted unexpectedly and are expecting to be ambushed again by their assailent at any given time, are a twitchy and secretive bunch, although they pay very well.
But now is not the time to be distracted by disparaging his employers, because even if this isn't anything like the Morning Star job it is still important to concentrate, however regrettably small the likelihood of attractive FBI agents appearing to foil this operation is. That said however, this should by all rights be a simple-as-shit job - melt open the glass case to avoid triggering the alarms that are primed to go off if it's opened unduly, tuck the mosaic safely away inside his specially-padded pocket, and continue on his rounds. As the guard responsible for this section of the museum, no one will notice anything wrong until tomorrow morning.
Jeremy slides one of his little canisters from his wrist holster, where he was carrying it in lieu of the taser (no need for that here given he's technically here legally - for once, and for a given definition of 'legally', he can hear Simon saying, snorting) and gives it a practised tap against the top edge of the diplay case, like cracking an egg, then sends the contents splashing over the top pane of glass with a flick of the wrist. The smell of dissolving glass is always unpleasant, and he doesn't bother hiding the flare of his nostrils, but it does the job, and now all he has to do is reach in and-
"Damn, and I thought he'd be using a laser like in the movies," an American voice says cheerfully from somewhere to his right, accompanied by the dissapointed snap of fingers.
It's sheer suprise that makes Jeremy hesitate on activating the gas contraption as he spins to face the man emerging from behind the partial reconstrustion of a villa wall. He's attractive in the typical American way, all strong-jawed face (complete with dimpled chin, oh lord), short-but-floppy brown hair, a long, dark blue coat that curls down past his knees like a cape, and a gun pointed directly between Jeremy's eyes.
"I wouldn't move, if I were you," the guy adds helpfully, "we're all perfectly capable of shooting you before you get anywhere." Jeremy catches another flicker of movement and turns halfway to either side, keeping an eye on the first man; there's another man to his left, wonderfully besuited and dark-haired, and a woman to his right with her hair in a ponytail and the stiff, steady stance of a law-enforcement official, most likely police.
"I'd like to point out I haven't actaully laid so much as a finger on the actual artefact, and as such haven't techinically yet done anything particularly wrong."
The American smiles. "Although that's mostly due to our superb timing, right? Better remove the temptation, then." His eyes flick sideways. "Ianto?"
Suit Guy - Ianto, apparently - goes over to the now-open display case while still keeping half a wary eye on Jeremy, carefully fitting his hand around as much of the mosaic as he can before he lifts it out and tucks it into one of those bubble-wrap-lined padded envelopes, which he produces rather magically from somewhere about his person and hangs from its flap between his last two fingers with the gun still regretably steady as a rock in the first three. Task done, he returns the envelope to it's hiding place and steps back into his place in the triangle.
"Do you mind if I ask what the point of stopping me was?" Jeremy says, bemused. "And I can hardly credit conflicting professional, er, interest. As far as I'm aware, it really is just a probbable bit of Roman floor tile."
"Maybe we have unusual decorating tastes," Ianto says, face blank and voice pleasently low and Welsh-accented, and the other two chuckle.
Jeremy raises his eyebrows, allowing one side of his mouth to quirk up in amusement. Currently, gassing them would result in more bullet holes than he'd like, so why not play along? "Highly, if you don't mind my saying so. And there I assumed 'remove the temptation' meant handcuffs or some such."
The American smirks. "Oh, we can arrange those too, if you're so partial. However, I imagine someone like you wouldn't stay in 'em for very long, so we'd have to search you first."
Jeremy turns to face him fully, amused now and watching the American follow the movement with his eyes. "By all means, search away." He spreads his arms accomodatingly.
The American's smirk widens, and the woman snorts. "Believe me, I'd love to, but I suspect you have some sort of devious escape plan attached."
"Damn, you caught me."
Ianto manages to audibly roll his eyes, although it's the woman who speaks, sounding vaguely amused. "Jack, stop flirting with the apprehended thief."
"Oh," Jeremy says, "are you going to arrest me? It's just, you've rather been taking your time about it and I assumed you were going to," he shrugs, "well, I don't know, but," and he looks straight at Jack and tilts his head slightly, letting the innuendo creep in, "something else."
Jack raises his eyebrows and grins lazily, apparently ignoring the rest of his team. "Oh really?"
"Mmm."
"Jack." Ianto sounds fondly exasperated, and Jeremy pivots slightly towards him, glancing away from Jack to look at Ianto instead. Ianto meets his eyes and, after a moment, raises his eyebrows queryingly, and Jeremy favours him with a little, amused smirk.
"Okay!" the woman says loudly, and Jeremy turns to give her his full attention. "We're not going to arrest you, but we are going to cancel that looped security feed you had going, so if you try to steal anything else..."
Jeremy nods slowly. "Alright. I know you won't believe me, but I'm not. That," and he nods at Ianto and the mosaic he has somewhere about his person, "was all I was, ah, hired to obtain."
"Yeah," Jack breaks in, and Jeremy turns back to him, "but then your uh, employers found out about us instead, so we'll just take over from here. So nobody is getting arrested, or breaking the law, or dissapointing their employers, so we're all happy." He flicks his head and a second later Ianto enters Jeremy's field of vision, walking backwards towards the door, gun still trained on Jeremy, and Jeremy can hear the woman shifting behind him to cover Ianto's position.
Jeremy has to admit that the crazy bird people seem completely the type to suddenly change their minds like Jack said, and these three don't seem at all like rivals, but he's still uneasy about this sudden change in plans. However, it's not like he can do much about it - as soon as Ianto's out the door Jack and the woman follow him, guns trained on Jeremy until they're through the door too, Jack throwing him a final grin before he vanishes around the corner and their rapid footsteps fade out down the corridor.
*
"Why'd you include all the stuff about how hot they were?" Simon asks a month later, eying Jeremy narrowly from where he's lounging in the doorway from the kitchen. "Cause I could point out all the hot people I see every day too, if you like." He pauses for a moment, and when he next speaks, Jeremy can hear the amusement in his voice. "Are you tryin' to make me jealous, Archer?"
Jeremy holds up his hands, allowing his mouth to curl up but keeping his eyes on the newspaper on his lap. "Why no Simon, I was most certainly not trying to make you jealous, I was just stating the facts." Simon makes an irritated little noise and gulps down more coffee (he's on his third mug of the morning, so he is, for the moment, comfortably caffinated), and Jeremy waits a moment before adding, "And by 'all the hot people' I assume you mean people like Johnny and Dave, given I believe they're the ones you see most of. Is your, er, 'Upstairs' also attractive, then?"
As he'd hoped, Simon chokes magnificiently on his mouthful of coffee and actually snorts some of it out of his nose. Jeremy mentally awards himself a brace of points, and ducks his head so Simon won't catch his smirk.
"Oh Christ, fuck, Archer, don't ever-!" He splutters incoherantly a bit more, then the mug thunks to the floor and Simon appears in front of him, arms folded and probably glaring, although it's his waist and hips currently in Jeremy's line of sight so Jeremy is hardly paying attention to his face. He continues reading to the end of the paragraph, reining in his grin and taking the opportunity to enjoy the view as he raises his eyes.
"Yes?"
The newspaper is swept unceremoniously onto the floor and Simon leans right into his space, one knee coming up to rest of the seat right next to Jeremy's thigh, arms braced on the back of the chair.
"Oh fuck you," Simon says softly and with no malice at all, so, so close that all Jeremy can comfortably focus on is his mouth, which is hardly a hardship. "You're just gonna keep saying things like that until I find a way to shut you up, aren't you."
Jeremy shrugs and wraps his arms contentedly around Simon's neck, letting his voice drop into that purr and watching Simon's eyes darken accordingly. "Well Simon, that rather depends on what you have in mind. And incidentally, that sounds like an excellent idea."