TW -- Tea with Jack
Title: Tea with Jack
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/Ten/Ianto
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,227
Warnings: language, relatively understated sex
Summary: Ianto is temporarily baffled by Torchwood's visitor. Bafflement, of course, is only the beginning.
Author's Note: Written for eltea when she least expected it. Okay. She probably expected it to some degree. XD
TEA WITH JACK
The newcomer slipped his hands into his pockets, looking Ianto up and down, and pursed his lips.
Ianto had been acquainted with this man for a grand total of two minutes, and he had already observed a tendency for that. Their guest was also possessed of the most expressive eyebrows Ianto had ever seen.
“’S a nice suit,” was the verdict. The voice delivering it was a wild one-Londoner, by the sound of it, and he had a thing for rolling vowels around, like he was trying to torture information out of them, or like he was tagging them before he released them into the wild. “I like your style, Ianto. Ianto. I-an-to. Ooh, that’s fun.”
Ianto wished it was the first time he’d heard that.
“Thanks,” he said, attempting not to notice that they were both wearing pinstriped suits, collared shirts, and ties, though the stranger’s ensemble was a whole lot more disheveled than Ianto’s had ever been.
The guy also had a pair of those trainers that Gwen wore, and his hair seemed to reflect his mind with striking accuracy-it was trying to wander in every direction at once.
“This is Tosh,” Ianto said, motioning to her as she packed up her things, flashing them a distracted smile.
“Hullo, Tosh,” the guy declared, beaming. “Tosh, that’s lovely. Have you all got great names? Jack’s been holding out on me.”
Ianto found it hard to believe that Jack would hold out on anybody whom he expressly requested would get a full tour with no questions asked, and he found it even harder to believe that Jack would refuse a cute, skinny brunet with a nose-wrinkling habit anything the man could ask.
He hoped this wasn’t going where he knew it had to be. Ianto was clever, and he listened, and he learned things. He knew who he was leading towards Jack Harkness with every step.
“Holding cells just underground there-” He pointed. “And the loo’s off that way, should you need it. For now, Jack said he’d like you to meet him in his office for tea.”
The man was pursing his lips again-rubbing at his hair, tilting his head back to consider the lift, the ceiling, all of it at once.
“Can I ask you a potentially awkward question, Ianto Jones?”
“Can I stop you?” Ianto murmured.
The man grinned radiantly. “Oh, I quite like you. But tell me-when Jack says ‘tea,’ does he still mean ‘a quick shag on top of the conference table’?”
Ianto clenched his jaw. “You must be an old friend.”
“Could say that. Though I’ve gotten him killed a few times, and tried a few more than that.”
“I imagine we all have,” Ianto noted, drawing the door open and holding it for their guest. “Or we’ve certainly wanted to.”
The man smiled his gratitude for the gesture and stepped through, walking with that weird, leisurely swagger he had. Ianto leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest, and watched Jack’s Doctor pick up a scrap of alien metal to sniff at it.
If he licked that thing, Ianto was going to run like hell.
“How’s he doing?” the Doctor asked. “Old Captain Jack?”
“Better for seeing you,” Jack announced from the doorway, grinning from ear to ear. His eyes were so bright you could just tell-you could tell how much he knew, how much more he knew than you did.
And the Doctor’s eyes were even deeper, somehow. Maybe that was why Jack needed him; maybe that was why Jack obsessed over him at the level of instinct, unconsciously-he needed somebody who knew more. He needed somebody he could be inferior to.
The practically-extinct genius alien in question was hopping up onto the glass tabletop to sit, as apparently the chairs had failed to meet his standards. His grin was broad, but his eyelids were low, like he recognized this part of the movie, and he was waiting for his favorite scene.
“Hullo, Jack,” the Doctor said. “You must be mad, inviting me here.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Jack replied. “Ianto, could you bring coffee?”
“Just tea for me,” the Doctor cut in, “if you’d be so kind.”
Ianto was always so kind, and when kindness meant leaving Jack Harkness in the company of an attractive alien likely at any second to start bouncing off the walls, he wondered why that had to be so.
They were still just talking, though, when he returned with the tray, which was something of a comfort, at least. The Doctor had one hand on Jack’s shoulder, the other hovering nearby, one slender index finger raised to punctuate a point. He had an eyebrow quirked again, and the undeniable sense of power seething from him made Ianto want to drop the coffee on the floor.
Instead, he brought it to the table and set it down.
“Bless you, Ianto,” the Doctor declared. “He’s dead quick, Jack; where’d you find this one? If you don’t watch out, I’ll steal him for the TARDIS, and you’ll be out of luck.”
“I’d track you down and take him back,” Jack decided, winking at Ianto over the rim of his mug.
The Doctor grinned, drank a huge sip of tea without waiting for it to cool, and then blinked, apparently unperturbed by the massive nerve death that must have just occurred in his mouth. “Have you got any food?” he wanted to know.
Ianto wasn’t entirely sure how a person could exist in fits, starts, and a complete lack of an attention span, but apparently it was working for this guy.
“We’ve got a fridge out that way,” Ianto told him, motioning. “Not sure what’s all in it, but…”
The Doctor was up and off and out of the room.
Jack folded his arms, grinning slowly. “So,” he said, meaningfully, “what do you think?”
Ianto peeked around the doorframe, watching the Doctor-or the Doctor’s arse, which was emerging from the refrigerator, swaying to a tune nobody could hear as its owner rooted through the contents of the fridge.
“He’s insane,” Ianto said.
Jack just grinned a little wider, and Ianto watched him, trying to parse that smile.
“He’s a bit skinny.”
Jack smirked. “He fidgets off all the fat. He fidgets in his sleep. He never stops moving.”
He was moving back towards them at the moment, halfway through a slice of cold pizza. “This is good; where d’you get this?”
“Place just down the way,” Ianto answered.
Jack stole a pepperoni when the Doctor paused to swallow. “Did you have to pick the pizza?” he sighed. “Ianto, do you have mints?”
Ianto fished the little tin out of the pocket in the lining of his jacket and passed it over, trying not to notice how much Jack’s fingers brushed his.
“Anything else?” he asked when Jack had set five little blue mints on a Kleenex-four of them probably intended for the Doctor-and handed back the tin.
Jack looked at the Doctor, who was licking his long fingers. “I think we’re good,” he said lightly.
Jack was so good it made mountains crumble. That was the trouble of it, really.
Ianto nodded wordlessly and headed out the door.
“Where are you going?” Jack cut in, sounding genuinely surprised. He looked it, too, when Ianto turned.
“I was planning to make myself tactfully inconspicuous,” Ianto explained.
“Are you kidding?” Jack asked. “You don’t want to miss this. He’s got nine hundred years of experience.”
The Doctor paused, leaning in to remark quietly, “Don’t… do that. Just don’t.”
“What?” Jack was grinning. “Pull the age card? I just can’t wait ’til you hit a thousand; I’m going to throw you the biggest party in the galaxy. So let’s get a head start now-come on, Ianto. The more the merrier.”
Ianto paused. “With all due respect, sir-”
“Get over here,” Jack said. “That’s an order, Mr. Jones.”
Ianto paused again. “I believe that’s illegal in virtually every civilized country, Jack.”
Jack opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the Doctor was on his feet and sauntering towards Ianto, both hands in his pockets, with a heron’s grace and a kitten’s curiosity.
“You know what I hate?” he asked.
Steeling himself for the worst, Ianto shook his head.
The Doctor withdrew his hands from his pockets, running one through his hair and setting the other on his hip. He looked at Ianto’s neck.
“I’m always the one wearing the tie,” he said. Slowly and wolfishly he grinned. “Except today.”
Slim, strong, recently-licked fingers curled around Ianto’s tie and hauled him into a wild, warm, maddening pepperoni-and-Earl-Grey kiss.
Ianto hadn’t believed Jack about the nine hundred years thing. Now he did.
The Doctor drew back and turned to Jack, looking delighted, leaving Ianto’s tie in a crumpled mess.
“Does he always taste like spearmint?” the Doctor asked, fascinated.
Jack grinned, peeling off his suspenders to let them swing down at his sides. “A better question,” he decided, “is ‘Does he taste like spearmint everywhere?’”
Ianto had time to blink before they were upon him.
Half an hour later, he had a chance to catch his breath.
“Oh, fuck,” he gasped. “Oh, fuck.”
“Yes, we did,” Jack said.
Ianto covered his face with both hands. The Doctor patted his arm.
“I can make you some tea,” he offered. “And there’s more pizza, if you like.”
“He’s always starving after sex,” Jack noted idly. “Don’t be alarmed if he starts chewing on you.”
“Good point,” the Doctor said. “Go get me some pizza, Jack.”
Jack looked over across Ianto, and the Doctor looked back, popping one very communicative eyebrow. Jack shrugged, heaved himself up, got most of the way back into his pants, and headed for the fridge.
The Doctor folded his hands over his ribs, and his voice was soft when he spoke. “Who did you lose, Ianto Jones?”
Ianto looked at the Doctor’s hair, which was probably a universal landmark by now.
“Her name was Lisa,” he said. “Canary Wharf. What about you?”
“Rose,” the Doctor breathed, the faintest hint of a smile twisting at his mouth. “Same. Well-” He chewed on his lip, making half a shrug. “It’s a bit more complicated than just that, but… yeah. She’s gone.”
“I’m sorry,” Ianto said. He shifted, rubbing at a new mark on his neck, just low enough that his shirt collar would cover it tomorrow. “I… how do you do it?”
“Look this good? Comes natural. Or do you mean how do I bear the responsibility?”
Ianto closed his eyes, then opened them, trying to blot out the images with the afterburn of the fluorescent lights. “She’d been-they’d partly changed her. I thought I could save her, and I tried; I did everything I could think of, but nothing worked. She killed two people, and then they got her. Jack and Tosh and-everyone. I guess they thought they had to, but-maybe-things could’ve been different…”
“Can’t think like that,” the Doctor told him softly. “You’ll go mad if you think like that; believe me. You can’t keep score.”
“The trick,” Jack noted, padding back in, his feet bare, his slacks sliding down below his hips, an old pizza box in one hand, “is scoring instead.”
“You’ll also lose it if try to have a serious conversation when Jack’s skulking around,” the Doctor mused.
“I don’t ‘skulk’; I exhibition.”
“Learned both of those lessons my first day on the job,” Ianto murmured.
“Sorry,” Jack said blithely. “Some days, I despise the thought of clothing.”
“It’s overrated,” the Doctor agreed. “Except ties. Ties you can’t possibly like too much.”
Jack sat down on the edge of the table-for of course it had been on the table; Ianto always ended up scrubbing the damn thing the next morning before anyone else was in, hoping to erase any evidence-and considered them both. Ianto went a little pink, and the Doctor folded his hands behind his head, crossed his legs, and let his eyes slide shut, like he was sunbathing under the lights. Jack balanced the pizza box on Ianto’s chest; it was a little chilly from being in the fridge.
“Life is short,” Jack said. “But it means more that way.”
“Oh,” the Doctor scoffed, “I don’t know. I think it’s kind of nice staying around long enough to see the results of what you’ve done.”
Jack looked at him for a long moment, and the Doctor smiled, softly, reaching over to ruffle Ianto’s hair.
“Speaking of doing,” Jack said, his hands moving for the zipper of his pants, “who wants to go again?”
As Jack climbed properly up onto the tabletop, leaning over his coffee boy to snatch another kiss, Ianto figured it out. The reason Jack’s mind raced, the reason his blood ran, the reason his heart broke for this odd, quixotic Doctor was because the Doctor wasn’t scared of time. The Doctor wasn’t scared of endlessness. The Doctor gave him hope that the whole mad thing was worth it. The Doctor showed him how much fun forever could be.
Ianto curled his fingers in Jack’s hair and kissed him a little harder, smiling now.
The Doctor gave him a slow wink when they had drawn apart.
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/Ten/Ianto
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,227
Warnings: language, relatively understated sex
Summary: Ianto is temporarily baffled by Torchwood's visitor. Bafflement, of course, is only the beginning.
Author's Note: Written for eltea when she least expected it. Okay. She probably expected it to some degree. XD
TEA WITH JACK
The newcomer slipped his hands into his pockets, looking Ianto up and down, and pursed his lips.
Ianto had been acquainted with this man for a grand total of two minutes, and he had already observed a tendency for that. Their guest was also possessed of the most expressive eyebrows Ianto had ever seen.
“’S a nice suit,” was the verdict. The voice delivering it was a wild one-Londoner, by the sound of it, and he had a thing for rolling vowels around, like he was trying to torture information out of them, or like he was tagging them before he released them into the wild. “I like your style, Ianto. Ianto. I-an-to. Ooh, that’s fun.”
Ianto wished it was the first time he’d heard that.
“Thanks,” he said, attempting not to notice that they were both wearing pinstriped suits, collared shirts, and ties, though the stranger’s ensemble was a whole lot more disheveled than Ianto’s had ever been.
The guy also had a pair of those trainers that Gwen wore, and his hair seemed to reflect his mind with striking accuracy-it was trying to wander in every direction at once.
“This is Tosh,” Ianto said, motioning to her as she packed up her things, flashing them a distracted smile.
“Hullo, Tosh,” the guy declared, beaming. “Tosh, that’s lovely. Have you all got great names? Jack’s been holding out on me.”
Ianto found it hard to believe that Jack would hold out on anybody whom he expressly requested would get a full tour with no questions asked, and he found it even harder to believe that Jack would refuse a cute, skinny brunet with a nose-wrinkling habit anything the man could ask.
He hoped this wasn’t going where he knew it had to be. Ianto was clever, and he listened, and he learned things. He knew who he was leading towards Jack Harkness with every step.
“Holding cells just underground there-” He pointed. “And the loo’s off that way, should you need it. For now, Jack said he’d like you to meet him in his office for tea.”
The man was pursing his lips again-rubbing at his hair, tilting his head back to consider the lift, the ceiling, all of it at once.
“Can I ask you a potentially awkward question, Ianto Jones?”
“Can I stop you?” Ianto murmured.
The man grinned radiantly. “Oh, I quite like you. But tell me-when Jack says ‘tea,’ does he still mean ‘a quick shag on top of the conference table’?”
Ianto clenched his jaw. “You must be an old friend.”
“Could say that. Though I’ve gotten him killed a few times, and tried a few more than that.”
“I imagine we all have,” Ianto noted, drawing the door open and holding it for their guest. “Or we’ve certainly wanted to.”
The man smiled his gratitude for the gesture and stepped through, walking with that weird, leisurely swagger he had. Ianto leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest, and watched Jack’s Doctor pick up a scrap of alien metal to sniff at it.
If he licked that thing, Ianto was going to run like hell.
“How’s he doing?” the Doctor asked. “Old Captain Jack?”
“Better for seeing you,” Jack announced from the doorway, grinning from ear to ear. His eyes were so bright you could just tell-you could tell how much he knew, how much more he knew than you did.
And the Doctor’s eyes were even deeper, somehow. Maybe that was why Jack needed him; maybe that was why Jack obsessed over him at the level of instinct, unconsciously-he needed somebody who knew more. He needed somebody he could be inferior to.
The practically-extinct genius alien in question was hopping up onto the glass tabletop to sit, as apparently the chairs had failed to meet his standards. His grin was broad, but his eyelids were low, like he recognized this part of the movie, and he was waiting for his favorite scene.
“Hullo, Jack,” the Doctor said. “You must be mad, inviting me here.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Jack replied. “Ianto, could you bring coffee?”
“Just tea for me,” the Doctor cut in, “if you’d be so kind.”
Ianto was always so kind, and when kindness meant leaving Jack Harkness in the company of an attractive alien likely at any second to start bouncing off the walls, he wondered why that had to be so.
They were still just talking, though, when he returned with the tray, which was something of a comfort, at least. The Doctor had one hand on Jack’s shoulder, the other hovering nearby, one slender index finger raised to punctuate a point. He had an eyebrow quirked again, and the undeniable sense of power seething from him made Ianto want to drop the coffee on the floor.
Instead, he brought it to the table and set it down.
“Bless you, Ianto,” the Doctor declared. “He’s dead quick, Jack; where’d you find this one? If you don’t watch out, I’ll steal him for the TARDIS, and you’ll be out of luck.”
“I’d track you down and take him back,” Jack decided, winking at Ianto over the rim of his mug.
The Doctor grinned, drank a huge sip of tea without waiting for it to cool, and then blinked, apparently unperturbed by the massive nerve death that must have just occurred in his mouth. “Have you got any food?” he wanted to know.
Ianto wasn’t entirely sure how a person could exist in fits, starts, and a complete lack of an attention span, but apparently it was working for this guy.
“We’ve got a fridge out that way,” Ianto told him, motioning. “Not sure what’s all in it, but…”
The Doctor was up and off and out of the room.
Jack folded his arms, grinning slowly. “So,” he said, meaningfully, “what do you think?”
Ianto peeked around the doorframe, watching the Doctor-or the Doctor’s arse, which was emerging from the refrigerator, swaying to a tune nobody could hear as its owner rooted through the contents of the fridge.
“He’s insane,” Ianto said.
Jack just grinned a little wider, and Ianto watched him, trying to parse that smile.
“He’s a bit skinny.”
Jack smirked. “He fidgets off all the fat. He fidgets in his sleep. He never stops moving.”
He was moving back towards them at the moment, halfway through a slice of cold pizza. “This is good; where d’you get this?”
“Place just down the way,” Ianto answered.
Jack stole a pepperoni when the Doctor paused to swallow. “Did you have to pick the pizza?” he sighed. “Ianto, do you have mints?”
Ianto fished the little tin out of the pocket in the lining of his jacket and passed it over, trying not to notice how much Jack’s fingers brushed his.
“Anything else?” he asked when Jack had set five little blue mints on a Kleenex-four of them probably intended for the Doctor-and handed back the tin.
Jack looked at the Doctor, who was licking his long fingers. “I think we’re good,” he said lightly.
Jack was so good it made mountains crumble. That was the trouble of it, really.
Ianto nodded wordlessly and headed out the door.
“Where are you going?” Jack cut in, sounding genuinely surprised. He looked it, too, when Ianto turned.
“I was planning to make myself tactfully inconspicuous,” Ianto explained.
“Are you kidding?” Jack asked. “You don’t want to miss this. He’s got nine hundred years of experience.”
The Doctor paused, leaning in to remark quietly, “Don’t… do that. Just don’t.”
“What?” Jack was grinning. “Pull the age card? I just can’t wait ’til you hit a thousand; I’m going to throw you the biggest party in the galaxy. So let’s get a head start now-come on, Ianto. The more the merrier.”
Ianto paused. “With all due respect, sir-”
“Get over here,” Jack said. “That’s an order, Mr. Jones.”
Ianto paused again. “I believe that’s illegal in virtually every civilized country, Jack.”
Jack opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the Doctor was on his feet and sauntering towards Ianto, both hands in his pockets, with a heron’s grace and a kitten’s curiosity.
“You know what I hate?” he asked.
Steeling himself for the worst, Ianto shook his head.
The Doctor withdrew his hands from his pockets, running one through his hair and setting the other on his hip. He looked at Ianto’s neck.
“I’m always the one wearing the tie,” he said. Slowly and wolfishly he grinned. “Except today.”
Slim, strong, recently-licked fingers curled around Ianto’s tie and hauled him into a wild, warm, maddening pepperoni-and-Earl-Grey kiss.
Ianto hadn’t believed Jack about the nine hundred years thing. Now he did.
The Doctor drew back and turned to Jack, looking delighted, leaving Ianto’s tie in a crumpled mess.
“Does he always taste like spearmint?” the Doctor asked, fascinated.
Jack grinned, peeling off his suspenders to let them swing down at his sides. “A better question,” he decided, “is ‘Does he taste like spearmint everywhere?’”
Ianto had time to blink before they were upon him.
Half an hour later, he had a chance to catch his breath.
“Oh, fuck,” he gasped. “Oh, fuck.”
“Yes, we did,” Jack said.
Ianto covered his face with both hands. The Doctor patted his arm.
“I can make you some tea,” he offered. “And there’s more pizza, if you like.”
“He’s always starving after sex,” Jack noted idly. “Don’t be alarmed if he starts chewing on you.”
“Good point,” the Doctor said. “Go get me some pizza, Jack.”
Jack looked over across Ianto, and the Doctor looked back, popping one very communicative eyebrow. Jack shrugged, heaved himself up, got most of the way back into his pants, and headed for the fridge.
The Doctor folded his hands over his ribs, and his voice was soft when he spoke. “Who did you lose, Ianto Jones?”
Ianto looked at the Doctor’s hair, which was probably a universal landmark by now.
“Her name was Lisa,” he said. “Canary Wharf. What about you?”
“Rose,” the Doctor breathed, the faintest hint of a smile twisting at his mouth. “Same. Well-” He chewed on his lip, making half a shrug. “It’s a bit more complicated than just that, but… yeah. She’s gone.”
“I’m sorry,” Ianto said. He shifted, rubbing at a new mark on his neck, just low enough that his shirt collar would cover it tomorrow. “I… how do you do it?”
“Look this good? Comes natural. Or do you mean how do I bear the responsibility?”
Ianto closed his eyes, then opened them, trying to blot out the images with the afterburn of the fluorescent lights. “She’d been-they’d partly changed her. I thought I could save her, and I tried; I did everything I could think of, but nothing worked. She killed two people, and then they got her. Jack and Tosh and-everyone. I guess they thought they had to, but-maybe-things could’ve been different…”
“Can’t think like that,” the Doctor told him softly. “You’ll go mad if you think like that; believe me. You can’t keep score.”
“The trick,” Jack noted, padding back in, his feet bare, his slacks sliding down below his hips, an old pizza box in one hand, “is scoring instead.”
“You’ll also lose it if try to have a serious conversation when Jack’s skulking around,” the Doctor mused.
“I don’t ‘skulk’; I exhibition.”
“Learned both of those lessons my first day on the job,” Ianto murmured.
“Sorry,” Jack said blithely. “Some days, I despise the thought of clothing.”
“It’s overrated,” the Doctor agreed. “Except ties. Ties you can’t possibly like too much.”
Jack sat down on the edge of the table-for of course it had been on the table; Ianto always ended up scrubbing the damn thing the next morning before anyone else was in, hoping to erase any evidence-and considered them both. Ianto went a little pink, and the Doctor folded his hands behind his head, crossed his legs, and let his eyes slide shut, like he was sunbathing under the lights. Jack balanced the pizza box on Ianto’s chest; it was a little chilly from being in the fridge.
“Life is short,” Jack said. “But it means more that way.”
“Oh,” the Doctor scoffed, “I don’t know. I think it’s kind of nice staying around long enough to see the results of what you’ve done.”
Jack looked at him for a long moment, and the Doctor smiled, softly, reaching over to ruffle Ianto’s hair.
“Speaking of doing,” Jack said, his hands moving for the zipper of his pants, “who wants to go again?”
As Jack climbed properly up onto the tabletop, leaning over his coffee boy to snatch another kiss, Ianto figured it out. The reason Jack’s mind raced, the reason his blood ran, the reason his heart broke for this odd, quixotic Doctor was because the Doctor wasn’t scared of time. The Doctor wasn’t scared of endlessness. The Doctor gave him hope that the whole mad thing was worth it. The Doctor showed him how much fun forever could be.
Ianto curled his fingers in Jack’s hair and kissed him a little harder, smiling now.
The Doctor gave him a slow wink when they had drawn apart.