FIC: A DAY'S DIFFERENCE
Title: A Day's Difference
Author Name: thisbedear
Recipient: lollyphants
Pairing: Jack and Ianto
Summary: Ianto has plans for the evening. Jack is not amused.
Rating: PG-13 for language and sexual innuendos
Disclaimer: Mine in fantasy only. RTD and the Beeb’s in reality.
Warnings: None
Word Count: 2000
Author's Notes: As it will become apparent quickly, I’m terribly American. My apologies to all things Welsh.
Betas: Anonymous - my beta from other fandoms.
“So, tonight, I’m thinking, The Thin Man and a big Greek salad piled with plenty of -”
“No.”
Well, that certainly stopped short the demonstration of the amount of cucumbers needed per menu’s instructions, and more than a few suggestive innuendos, hands at side salad size.
“What, you don’t do Greek? You should try it sometime, the island of Ikaria, a sailor with eyes the color of the Aegean -”
“By all means, Sir, indulge your Hellenistic culinary appetite this evening.” A freshly showered, neatly coiffed, closely shaven, shoes shined, nails polished, creased and tucked and trimmed wafting Desire Blue provocative Ianto emerged from below. “I just won’t be joining you.”
Dinner ceased to be the burning issue. Oh, Jack was all about eating, but his mouth wasn’t watering at the idea of antipasto, eyes feasting instead with a languid vertical ride along pinstripes. “You changed.”
“Only proper considering my evening’s engagement. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”
And it for damn sure wasn’t anticipatory zeal for feta stomach flutters working down there when long fingers straightened an already pristine merlot double Windsor. “Forgotten that tonight you’re engaged?”
“Yes, Sir, it being the last Friday of the month.”
“And that means it’s…uh…” A second’s lapse there as fingers moved to tug starched white cuffs. “It’s employee dress to drive their boss…oh.” Flat palms accompanied fingers for the waistcoat smooth down, that six-buttoned crime against a naked, flat, waiting to be licked happy trail. “Drive their boss bat-shit with - fuck!” Legs now received the exacting attention, a sauntering lean line caress down, thigh…knee… calf…ankle, banishing what had had the temerity to entertain ludicrous thoughts of lingering there. “Oh, for the gods’ sake, Ianto!”
“I believe, if one were to trust the veracity of your hourly IMs, complete with sexually explicit emoticons, we observe over excited boss on a daily basis. However…” A smirk - self-congratulatory with more than a smidge of teasing evil - turned round to the desk, showcasing a different angle for viewing pleasure. “Today is…”
“Friday, yes, I know, our night. It’s always our night. What could be more impor…tant…than…our mo…vie…” The appeal faltered. All the points that would make his case for an evening spent on the couch not watching Nick and Nora in favor of more sweaty pursuits vanished. Every routine-following oriented tip culled from those frequent attendance mandatory lectures, rapturous attention to the speaker having less to do with embracing the benefits of organization and returning pens to their desk of origin than watching a talented tongue dart out to lick equally endowed lips whilst calculating when next he would be brought to a wanton and willing mass by both, completely dried up. Logic for debate, perverseness for whine, will for restraint, everything evaporated when Ianto leaned across the desk.
“Ianto.”
Arms invaded dark gray’s personal space, following belt’s example to hug slender hips, also gathering to meet in the middle, need hooking thumbs over leather, want jacket vent insinuating from behind. “Damn, what you do to me.”
“As I was saying,” and silently reveling in the warmth sparking out from the curve of bodies merged, life puffing precious across flushed quick skin, the weight of his captain, the strength and confidence, the power and vitality - sense memory flashes of this morning, early and unhurried, a dark tangle of limbs, shuddered supplications for more and now and please, images of how he had held it, all of it, all of him, moved with and for, consumed and subsumed, how he, tea-boy betrayer and back of the pack drifter, out of time and space’s infinite offerings, became this singularity in the universe’s chosen, Ianto allowed himself to indulge in a ‘He’s mine’ silly grin, and retrieved from, spun right, and pointed to the correct day on Jack’s calendar. “The last Friday of each month is…”
Loathe to pause lips’ sampling where tiny curls teased behind ear lobe lest he miss that magic place that elicited the most groin zinging Ianto moan, Jack hesitantly looked up and over shoulder to the date a lately wicked, and better be again soon, index finger indicated. “So, today is…” Written in crisp, angular letters, identical to next Tuesday’s video conference with PM, last week’s deadline for amended budget requests, and the fourteenth’s 11:45 haircut, the entire month filled with subtle time management directives, “CSC.”
2008 flipped backwards, Ianto’s influence abundant on every page, “Just as every last Friday of the previous ten months.”
“Ten months, huh?” Journey to the moan derailed, Jack had the inestimable pleasure of another beginning, lips - with tongue this trip - back at the start, curls and Ianto’s heated skin. “After ten months of diligent attendance, surely you can miss one.”
“No, Jack, out of the question.” Distractee became distracter, mouth smothering sultry where stiff collar couldn’t protect. “A promise is a…a…a…”
“Promise?” Uncharacteristic stuttering while in rebuff mode indicated moan was imminent, but just to sweeten the deal, to insure utter Ianto capitulation and dinner plans’ abandonment, thumbs unhooked, and with the time keeping precision of Gallifrey, pressed into just getting there excitement with a simultaneous bite to -
“Jaaaaaaack!”
Head snatched, mouth claimed, chest slammed, suddenly Jack was surrounded by light. A fiery, youthful light that pushed all his buttons in delectable and decadent ways, giving back in enthusiastic kind. A ferocious light of loyalty, duty and pride, a tender light of compassion and empathy, a seeking light of wit, will and wonder. A damaged and tainted light that had snuck into his fierce guarded shadow places to offer not condemnation, but commiseration. A light in a three piece suit that tasted of toothpaste, passion and normal. Jack held on, to gray pinstriped wool, to the body arching into his, to what he knew was love if ever he had the courage to trust again, held on knowing that despite all the bargains negotiated with life, the universe and everything for just a little bit more, this sublime light would, in the blink of an immortal’s eye, be all too soon extinguished.
“Tonight, then?” Gasps shared for kiss starved mouths. “Al fresco and al dente?”
“Later.” Ianto’s kiss guaranteed he would give Jack as many laters as Torchwood would grant. “Right now I’ve got reservations.”
And in order to make those reservations, Ianto needed to leave the Hub. In order to leave the Hub, Ianto needed to vacate the office. In order to vacate the office, Ianto needed to disentangle from the hands squeezing his bum.
“You can’t take the SUV.”
“Would never be so forward, Sir.”
“Need to be able to contact you if -”
“Per protocol, carrying both mobile and Blue Tooth.”
“Hey, this isn’t fair!” Jack chased after Ianto’s office and out to the main floor exit, with a brief doorway moment to adjust his frustration. “I was there. I should be a CSC member, too.”
“No, Jack, you belong to the CWATTNTWGB club.”
“And what the hell is that?”
“That would be the Captains Who Arrive on Tractors in the Nick of Time with Guns Blazing club.” Gwen paused the log off to glance from under black fringe towards her boss. “Don’t worry, Jack, you are the President and only member.”
“Well, what about you, then? They had you at knife point.” Jack stood petulantly proud as he grasped his last keep Ianto with me straw. “And Owen.”
“If you ask me,” snark drifted up from the autopsy bay, and continued right ahead despite Ianto’s best ‘I don’t recall doing that’ glare, “commemorating almost being the main course by going out to…wow!”
Dusky twilight, deep, palatable, clung and caressed, exposed willowy neck, framed heart’s twin pillows, whispered of black lace, smooth thigh and almond skin, the sky’s hovering touch of darkness bedtime story an intimate to the curves and hollows undulating with the intoxicating rhythm of four inch satin heels.
“Tosh, you…look…you are…” If regret ever wore a name tag, it would read Owen Harper, MD. “amazing.”
“A lavender vision, Toshiko.” The aficionado of all things beautiful smiled with appreciative approval. “Truly stunning.”
“Thank you, Jack.” A dip of a petite head, self-deprecating and giddy, tinkled gold and crystal entwined with tendrils upswept midnight had released free to dance. “Owen.”
“Not that I’m criticizing, mind you.” Gwen’s derisive grumph at the blatantly false qualifier was first out of the gate, on its heels an eye roll, a dubious frown and a lifted “Oh, really?” brow. “OK, I am, but, aside from it being morbid and more than a bit cracked, what’s the point of…” Indeterminate gesture wildly indicated what his eyes had been devouring, and now also narrowing at a certain suit’s too close proximity.
“It’s only dinner.”
“Ianto’s idea actually.” Tosh’s wrap handed over awaiting the proper date help on. “Dressing fancy for dinner.”
“Our meetings before were catch when can chips on the pier, coffee to go, or conference room take away. Wished for this once to be special.” Another Ianto glare lasered into Owen. “For Tosh.”
“Oh, Ianto.” A blush, pink and sweet next to the earthy plums of shyly upturned lips. “Should be special for us both.”
“Your idea, huh? Should I be worried?”
Ianto winked to Jack a “Maybe.”
“Here now!” Time for some Owen dissuading tactics. “What about that Rift spike you monitored, Tosh? Like a door, you said, open and close? What about that?”
“It was small, Owen. Hardly worth a mention.”
“Should go out and investigate anyway. That is what we do here, right? Rift opens, spews all over the streets of Cardiff and we come running with mops and buckets. And weevil spray. And Retcon. And bullets.”
“If out of your depth on this one, Owen,” a quick, precise coat shrug, and Ianto was ready to depart, “perhaps Gwen -”
“Oi! No!” Black leather jacket lounging disinterested in the conversation over chair’s back abruptly snagged, Gwen made for the door, hoping to out race the field assignment in the formative stage on Jack’s tongue. “Tonight it’s Rhys. I promised.”
“OK, who doesn’t have plans tonight?” Jack really wanted to know.
A bandaged hand was the lone one raised.
Gwen risked a getting out on time moment to kiss the gentleman’s cheek and a hug for the lady. “You two have fun tonight,” a cheeky nod back to the two fronted storm threatening to flood the Hub in a jealous deluge, “yanking their chains.”
“Gwen…”
“Three month anniversary is alcohol and debauchery, in that order. So, any early morning calls, expect voice mail.” And the cog rolled to, her daring escape a success.
“That’s it then.” Arm offered was arm accepted. “Shall we, ma’am?”
“But, of course, sir.”
“Jack? The lift, would you, please?”
A begrudging compliance to the reasonable request - “Don’t think about ignoring me when I call.” - one more for the road Owen glare - “What about your car, Tosh? Want me to bring it round to yours?” - and the couple strolled away, this month’s meeting of the CSC called to order.
“That’s Jack’s favourite suit.” A clipped British whisper.
“You’re wearing Owen’s favourite colour.” A rounded Welsh voweled aside.
“What’s on tonight’s menu?”
Ever the gallant, Ianto extended his hand to help Tosh up. “The usual for the Cannibal Survivor’s Club.”
“Vegetarian.”
Slab in motion, the truth of being Torchwood shrinking away, arms went round, drawing strength in friend and kinship close -
“The Rift?”
“Tomorrow.”
- as they ascended to diamond strewn infinity.
Down below, a pair of lonely for tonight guys stood, shoulders drooped, expressions resigned, hands now burdened with the next several hours to fill shoved morosely into pockets.
“We could check out that Rift spike.”
“You’re right, we could.”
“And there’s always paperwork.”
“That, too.”
Jack sighed, and Owen echoed.
“Thai for me and Halo 3?”
“I’ll get the X-Box.”
Author Name: thisbedear
Recipient: lollyphants
Pairing: Jack and Ianto
Summary: Ianto has plans for the evening. Jack is not amused.
Rating: PG-13 for language and sexual innuendos
Disclaimer: Mine in fantasy only. RTD and the Beeb’s in reality.
Warnings: None
Word Count: 2000
Author's Notes: As it will become apparent quickly, I’m terribly American. My apologies to all things Welsh.
Betas: Anonymous - my beta from other fandoms.
“So, tonight, I’m thinking, The Thin Man and a big Greek salad piled with plenty of -”
“No.”
Well, that certainly stopped short the demonstration of the amount of cucumbers needed per menu’s instructions, and more than a few suggestive innuendos, hands at side salad size.
“What, you don’t do Greek? You should try it sometime, the island of Ikaria, a sailor with eyes the color of the Aegean -”
“By all means, Sir, indulge your Hellenistic culinary appetite this evening.” A freshly showered, neatly coiffed, closely shaven, shoes shined, nails polished, creased and tucked and trimmed wafting Desire Blue provocative Ianto emerged from below. “I just won’t be joining you.”
Dinner ceased to be the burning issue. Oh, Jack was all about eating, but his mouth wasn’t watering at the idea of antipasto, eyes feasting instead with a languid vertical ride along pinstripes. “You changed.”
“Only proper considering my evening’s engagement. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”
And it for damn sure wasn’t anticipatory zeal for feta stomach flutters working down there when long fingers straightened an already pristine merlot double Windsor. “Forgotten that tonight you’re engaged?”
“Yes, Sir, it being the last Friday of the month.”
“And that means it’s…uh…” A second’s lapse there as fingers moved to tug starched white cuffs. “It’s employee dress to drive their boss…oh.” Flat palms accompanied fingers for the waistcoat smooth down, that six-buttoned crime against a naked, flat, waiting to be licked happy trail. “Drive their boss bat-shit with - fuck!” Legs now received the exacting attention, a sauntering lean line caress down, thigh…knee… calf…ankle, banishing what had had the temerity to entertain ludicrous thoughts of lingering there. “Oh, for the gods’ sake, Ianto!”
“I believe, if one were to trust the veracity of your hourly IMs, complete with sexually explicit emoticons, we observe over excited boss on a daily basis. However…” A smirk - self-congratulatory with more than a smidge of teasing evil - turned round to the desk, showcasing a different angle for viewing pleasure. “Today is…”
“Friday, yes, I know, our night. It’s always our night. What could be more impor…tant…than…our mo…vie…” The appeal faltered. All the points that would make his case for an evening spent on the couch not watching Nick and Nora in favor of more sweaty pursuits vanished. Every routine-following oriented tip culled from those frequent attendance mandatory lectures, rapturous attention to the speaker having less to do with embracing the benefits of organization and returning pens to their desk of origin than watching a talented tongue dart out to lick equally endowed lips whilst calculating when next he would be brought to a wanton and willing mass by both, completely dried up. Logic for debate, perverseness for whine, will for restraint, everything evaporated when Ianto leaned across the desk.
“Ianto.”
Arms invaded dark gray’s personal space, following belt’s example to hug slender hips, also gathering to meet in the middle, need hooking thumbs over leather, want jacket vent insinuating from behind. “Damn, what you do to me.”
“As I was saying,” and silently reveling in the warmth sparking out from the curve of bodies merged, life puffing precious across flushed quick skin, the weight of his captain, the strength and confidence, the power and vitality - sense memory flashes of this morning, early and unhurried, a dark tangle of limbs, shuddered supplications for more and now and please, images of how he had held it, all of it, all of him, moved with and for, consumed and subsumed, how he, tea-boy betrayer and back of the pack drifter, out of time and space’s infinite offerings, became this singularity in the universe’s chosen, Ianto allowed himself to indulge in a ‘He’s mine’ silly grin, and retrieved from, spun right, and pointed to the correct day on Jack’s calendar. “The last Friday of each month is…”
Loathe to pause lips’ sampling where tiny curls teased behind ear lobe lest he miss that magic place that elicited the most groin zinging Ianto moan, Jack hesitantly looked up and over shoulder to the date a lately wicked, and better be again soon, index finger indicated. “So, today is…” Written in crisp, angular letters, identical to next Tuesday’s video conference with PM, last week’s deadline for amended budget requests, and the fourteenth’s 11:45 haircut, the entire month filled with subtle time management directives, “CSC.”
2008 flipped backwards, Ianto’s influence abundant on every page, “Just as every last Friday of the previous ten months.”
“Ten months, huh?” Journey to the moan derailed, Jack had the inestimable pleasure of another beginning, lips - with tongue this trip - back at the start, curls and Ianto’s heated skin. “After ten months of diligent attendance, surely you can miss one.”
“No, Jack, out of the question.” Distractee became distracter, mouth smothering sultry where stiff collar couldn’t protect. “A promise is a…a…a…”
“Promise?” Uncharacteristic stuttering while in rebuff mode indicated moan was imminent, but just to sweeten the deal, to insure utter Ianto capitulation and dinner plans’ abandonment, thumbs unhooked, and with the time keeping precision of Gallifrey, pressed into just getting there excitement with a simultaneous bite to -
“Jaaaaaaack!”
Head snatched, mouth claimed, chest slammed, suddenly Jack was surrounded by light. A fiery, youthful light that pushed all his buttons in delectable and decadent ways, giving back in enthusiastic kind. A ferocious light of loyalty, duty and pride, a tender light of compassion and empathy, a seeking light of wit, will and wonder. A damaged and tainted light that had snuck into his fierce guarded shadow places to offer not condemnation, but commiseration. A light in a three piece suit that tasted of toothpaste, passion and normal. Jack held on, to gray pinstriped wool, to the body arching into his, to what he knew was love if ever he had the courage to trust again, held on knowing that despite all the bargains negotiated with life, the universe and everything for just a little bit more, this sublime light would, in the blink of an immortal’s eye, be all too soon extinguished.
“Tonight, then?” Gasps shared for kiss starved mouths. “Al fresco and al dente?”
“Later.” Ianto’s kiss guaranteed he would give Jack as many laters as Torchwood would grant. “Right now I’ve got reservations.”
And in order to make those reservations, Ianto needed to leave the Hub. In order to leave the Hub, Ianto needed to vacate the office. In order to vacate the office, Ianto needed to disentangle from the hands squeezing his bum.
“You can’t take the SUV.”
“Would never be so forward, Sir.”
“Need to be able to contact you if -”
“Per protocol, carrying both mobile and Blue Tooth.”
“Hey, this isn’t fair!” Jack chased after Ianto’s office and out to the main floor exit, with a brief doorway moment to adjust his frustration. “I was there. I should be a CSC member, too.”
“No, Jack, you belong to the CWATTNTWGB club.”
“And what the hell is that?”
“That would be the Captains Who Arrive on Tractors in the Nick of Time with Guns Blazing club.” Gwen paused the log off to glance from under black fringe towards her boss. “Don’t worry, Jack, you are the President and only member.”
“Well, what about you, then? They had you at knife point.” Jack stood petulantly proud as he grasped his last keep Ianto with me straw. “And Owen.”
“If you ask me,” snark drifted up from the autopsy bay, and continued right ahead despite Ianto’s best ‘I don’t recall doing that’ glare, “commemorating almost being the main course by going out to…wow!”
Dusky twilight, deep, palatable, clung and caressed, exposed willowy neck, framed heart’s twin pillows, whispered of black lace, smooth thigh and almond skin, the sky’s hovering touch of darkness bedtime story an intimate to the curves and hollows undulating with the intoxicating rhythm of four inch satin heels.
“Tosh, you…look…you are…” If regret ever wore a name tag, it would read Owen Harper, MD. “amazing.”
“A lavender vision, Toshiko.” The aficionado of all things beautiful smiled with appreciative approval. “Truly stunning.”
“Thank you, Jack.” A dip of a petite head, self-deprecating and giddy, tinkled gold and crystal entwined with tendrils upswept midnight had released free to dance. “Owen.”
“Not that I’m criticizing, mind you.” Gwen’s derisive grumph at the blatantly false qualifier was first out of the gate, on its heels an eye roll, a dubious frown and a lifted “Oh, really?” brow. “OK, I am, but, aside from it being morbid and more than a bit cracked, what’s the point of…” Indeterminate gesture wildly indicated what his eyes had been devouring, and now also narrowing at a certain suit’s too close proximity.
“It’s only dinner.”
“Ianto’s idea actually.” Tosh’s wrap handed over awaiting the proper date help on. “Dressing fancy for dinner.”
“Our meetings before were catch when can chips on the pier, coffee to go, or conference room take away. Wished for this once to be special.” Another Ianto glare lasered into Owen. “For Tosh.”
“Oh, Ianto.” A blush, pink and sweet next to the earthy plums of shyly upturned lips. “Should be special for us both.”
“Your idea, huh? Should I be worried?”
Ianto winked to Jack a “Maybe.”
“Here now!” Time for some Owen dissuading tactics. “What about that Rift spike you monitored, Tosh? Like a door, you said, open and close? What about that?”
“It was small, Owen. Hardly worth a mention.”
“Should go out and investigate anyway. That is what we do here, right? Rift opens, spews all over the streets of Cardiff and we come running with mops and buckets. And weevil spray. And Retcon. And bullets.”
“If out of your depth on this one, Owen,” a quick, precise coat shrug, and Ianto was ready to depart, “perhaps Gwen -”
“Oi! No!” Black leather jacket lounging disinterested in the conversation over chair’s back abruptly snagged, Gwen made for the door, hoping to out race the field assignment in the formative stage on Jack’s tongue. “Tonight it’s Rhys. I promised.”
“OK, who doesn’t have plans tonight?” Jack really wanted to know.
A bandaged hand was the lone one raised.
Gwen risked a getting out on time moment to kiss the gentleman’s cheek and a hug for the lady. “You two have fun tonight,” a cheeky nod back to the two fronted storm threatening to flood the Hub in a jealous deluge, “yanking their chains.”
“Gwen…”
“Three month anniversary is alcohol and debauchery, in that order. So, any early morning calls, expect voice mail.” And the cog rolled to, her daring escape a success.
“That’s it then.” Arm offered was arm accepted. “Shall we, ma’am?”
“But, of course, sir.”
“Jack? The lift, would you, please?”
A begrudging compliance to the reasonable request - “Don’t think about ignoring me when I call.” - one more for the road Owen glare - “What about your car, Tosh? Want me to bring it round to yours?” - and the couple strolled away, this month’s meeting of the CSC called to order.
“That’s Jack’s favourite suit.” A clipped British whisper.
“You’re wearing Owen’s favourite colour.” A rounded Welsh voweled aside.
“What’s on tonight’s menu?”
Ever the gallant, Ianto extended his hand to help Tosh up. “The usual for the Cannibal Survivor’s Club.”
“Vegetarian.”
Slab in motion, the truth of being Torchwood shrinking away, arms went round, drawing strength in friend and kinship close -
“The Rift?”
“Tomorrow.”
- as they ascended to diamond strewn infinity.
Down below, a pair of lonely for tonight guys stood, shoulders drooped, expressions resigned, hands now burdened with the next several hours to fill shoved morosely into pockets.
“We could check out that Rift spike.”
“You’re right, we could.”
“And there’s always paperwork.”
“That, too.”
Jack sighed, and Owen echoed.
“Thai for me and Halo 3?”
“I’ll get the X-Box.”