If the Grapes are Good 1/1 Highlander/Torchwood Crossover
This is part of The Immortal Ianto story, but set a hundred years or so ahead of the current timeline. Warning for Jack/Ianto (although does Jack/Ianto really need a warning?) in bed, but just lying there nekkid, nothing graphic. Completely unbeta’d, sorry.
Disclaimer: None of it's mine, not one little bit of it.
If the Grapes are Good
“Why are we still doing this, Ianto?” Jack asked as he ducked behind a wall to join Ianto in his cover from the lasers being shot at them by twenty aliens that looked remarkably bovine.
Ianto wasn’t entirely certain which ‘this’ Jack was referring to, but since they were currently in a firefight with cows from another dimension, he decided he meant fighting aliens.
“What else is there to do on a Wednesday night in Caerdydd?” he replied and fired blindly over the wall from his crouched position. Jack laughed and flashed one of the special smiles he reserved for Ianto, an honest one that reached his eyes, before he leaned around the end of the wall and opened fire, then ducked back to cover again.
“We’re outnumbered, ten to one. I’m bored with this. Are you bored?” Jack asked with a wicked grin that Ianto knew all too well after a century with Jack. Ianto rolled his eyes in response.
“Suicide run it is then,” he said, his voice dripping with snark. Jack clapped him on the back as they got to their feet. At a nod from Jack, the two began running toward the attackers, guns blazing.
The ploy worked, startling the aliens enough that Jack and Ianto were able to pick off two-thirds before the enemy began to return fire. The two men took hit after hit, but they kept firing.
Dimly, Ianto registered that Jack had fallen; Ianto’s Immortal healing had kept him alive a little longer, long enough to despatch the remaining aliens before he, too, died.
Ianto awoke with a groan and looked over to find Jack already standing up and talking on the com to HQ. He waited until Jack was finished and then sat up.
“Morning, sunshine,” Jack called. Ianto scowled at him.
“Can we at least try to win one without ruining a vintage suit?” Ianto bemoaned, pulling at the tatters of his jacket to demonstrate.
He still preferred the cut of 21st century suits, and they were getting hard to come by. He’d asked Jack several times how he never seemed to run out of RAF uniforms, but all the answer he got was “51st century fabric, practically indestructible,” and Ianto wasn’t sure whether or not Jack was joking.
The team arrived and the bodies were safely removed to the Hub, and then Jack and Ianto went back to the Hub, cleaned off the blood and put on clean clothes, and then promptly took them off again. Lying wrapped in each other’s arms in their quarters, Jack asked again,
“Why are we still doing this, Ianto?”
This time, Ianto knew exactly what Jack was referring to, but he decided to be purposely obtuse.
“Because we’re Torchwood, sir,” he answered, calling Jack what had ceased to be a formality and become a pet name a long time ago.
“Oh, anfarwol anwylyd, we’re too old for games. I meant, why are you still here?”
“If you don’t know the answer to that, Jack, then you’re an idiot,” Ianto gently chided, fondness in his voice and in the caress he gave Jack’s cheek as he spoke.
“I wouldn’t blame you for leaving. I’m going to keep getting physically older; look I’ve already got grey hairs. In a century or two, I’ll look like your father, and you’ll look no different.”
Ianto was shocked by the sudden show of insecurity from Jack. He knew that most of what Jack showed the outside world was bravado, but he was always stunned to be let inside that shell, even after all their time together.
“So I’ll be your toyboy. I always have been,” Ianto joked and snuggled closer in Jack’s arms.
That provoked a laugh from Jack, but he grew quiet and serious again almost immediately. He stroked Ianto’s arm and Ianto could feel the calluses on his hand from Jack’s revolver as they snagged on his skin. It was comforting, a reassurance that Jack was always going to be there, no matter how old he got.
“You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about this,” Jack said, breaking into Ianto’s musings.
That was true enough, Ianto had considered the implications of both his Immortality and Jack’s immortality, but now was not the time for such maudlin thoughts. Right here, right now, they had each other and they had eternity.
“Jack, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from Amanda, aside from keeping my head and lock picking; it’s to live in the moment. Just enjoy what we have, don’t question it.”
Jack sat up a little in the bed and examined Ianto, a look of wonder on his face.
“When did you get so wise, Ianto Jones?”
Ianto smiled and pulled Jack close again, a look of smug satisfaction on his face.
“I was always this wise, sir. Have you only just noticed?”
A/N: The title is from an ancient Egyptian proverb: If the grapes are good, then the wine improves with age.
Disclaimer: None of it's mine, not one little bit of it.
If the Grapes are Good
“Why are we still doing this, Ianto?” Jack asked as he ducked behind a wall to join Ianto in his cover from the lasers being shot at them by twenty aliens that looked remarkably bovine.
Ianto wasn’t entirely certain which ‘this’ Jack was referring to, but since they were currently in a firefight with cows from another dimension, he decided he meant fighting aliens.
“What else is there to do on a Wednesday night in Caerdydd?” he replied and fired blindly over the wall from his crouched position. Jack laughed and flashed one of the special smiles he reserved for Ianto, an honest one that reached his eyes, before he leaned around the end of the wall and opened fire, then ducked back to cover again.
“We’re outnumbered, ten to one. I’m bored with this. Are you bored?” Jack asked with a wicked grin that Ianto knew all too well after a century with Jack. Ianto rolled his eyes in response.
“Suicide run it is then,” he said, his voice dripping with snark. Jack clapped him on the back as they got to their feet. At a nod from Jack, the two began running toward the attackers, guns blazing.
The ploy worked, startling the aliens enough that Jack and Ianto were able to pick off two-thirds before the enemy began to return fire. The two men took hit after hit, but they kept firing.
Dimly, Ianto registered that Jack had fallen; Ianto’s Immortal healing had kept him alive a little longer, long enough to despatch the remaining aliens before he, too, died.
Ianto awoke with a groan and looked over to find Jack already standing up and talking on the com to HQ. He waited until Jack was finished and then sat up.
“Morning, sunshine,” Jack called. Ianto scowled at him.
“Can we at least try to win one without ruining a vintage suit?” Ianto bemoaned, pulling at the tatters of his jacket to demonstrate.
He still preferred the cut of 21st century suits, and they were getting hard to come by. He’d asked Jack several times how he never seemed to run out of RAF uniforms, but all the answer he got was “51st century fabric, practically indestructible,” and Ianto wasn’t sure whether or not Jack was joking.
The team arrived and the bodies were safely removed to the Hub, and then Jack and Ianto went back to the Hub, cleaned off the blood and put on clean clothes, and then promptly took them off again. Lying wrapped in each other’s arms in their quarters, Jack asked again,
“Why are we still doing this, Ianto?”
This time, Ianto knew exactly what Jack was referring to, but he decided to be purposely obtuse.
“Because we’re Torchwood, sir,” he answered, calling Jack what had ceased to be a formality and become a pet name a long time ago.
“Oh, anfarwol anwylyd, we’re too old for games. I meant, why are you still here?”
“If you don’t know the answer to that, Jack, then you’re an idiot,” Ianto gently chided, fondness in his voice and in the caress he gave Jack’s cheek as he spoke.
“I wouldn’t blame you for leaving. I’m going to keep getting physically older; look I’ve already got grey hairs. In a century or two, I’ll look like your father, and you’ll look no different.”
Ianto was shocked by the sudden show of insecurity from Jack. He knew that most of what Jack showed the outside world was bravado, but he was always stunned to be let inside that shell, even after all their time together.
“So I’ll be your toyboy. I always have been,” Ianto joked and snuggled closer in Jack’s arms.
That provoked a laugh from Jack, but he grew quiet and serious again almost immediately. He stroked Ianto’s arm and Ianto could feel the calluses on his hand from Jack’s revolver as they snagged on his skin. It was comforting, a reassurance that Jack was always going to be there, no matter how old he got.
“You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about this,” Jack said, breaking into Ianto’s musings.
That was true enough, Ianto had considered the implications of both his Immortality and Jack’s immortality, but now was not the time for such maudlin thoughts. Right here, right now, they had each other and they had eternity.
“Jack, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from Amanda, aside from keeping my head and lock picking; it’s to live in the moment. Just enjoy what we have, don’t question it.”
Jack sat up a little in the bed and examined Ianto, a look of wonder on his face.
“When did you get so wise, Ianto Jones?”
Ianto smiled and pulled Jack close again, a look of smug satisfaction on his face.
“I was always this wise, sir. Have you only just noticed?”
A/N: The title is from an ancient Egyptian proverb: If the grapes are good, then the wine improves with age.