The Analogy Stands, Jack/Ianto for the Winter challenge
Title: The Analogy Stands
Author: giddygeek
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Spoilers: General S1.
Notes: Very PG 800 word flashfic for the Winter challenge, squeaking in under the wire. :) Many thanks to kaneko for beta!
~
"I once spent a week in a snowglobe," Jack said. "Well. A week on that planet was worth about a month here. And it wasn't so much a snowglobe as a prison cell."
Many of Jack's stories involved a week or so in a prison cell. "Ah," Ianto said, as he often did when one of those stories began. "Yet I'm certain that the analogy stands in some way."
Jack nodded, grinning, and with the snowflakes melting in his hair, glittering in the light, and his swirling coat with the cream silk scarf tucked carelessly around his neck, he looked quite dashing. He offered Ianto his arm and, when Ianto declined to take it, switched sides to take Ianto's arm instead.
Ianto huffed out a breath, amused, then tucked his chin down into his own scarf, the blue one his Nan had knitted him for Christmas.
"It stands," Jack said, squeezing Ianto's arm lightly as they walked down the quiet street, snowflakes falling lazily around them, Owen, Gwen and Tosh's laughter echoing behind them. "Since the cell was a great big clear globe in the middle of a great big snowy field. And it must've been winter--their storms were as long as their weeks, Ianto. Snow just kept coming down, big fat flakes that fell for hours. They hissed against the globe like snakes in a sandstorm, too. It was quite the experience, I can tell you. I've never seen or heard anything like it in my life."
"I'm sure," Ianto said, and he was. Something about Jack's enthusiastic style of storytelling always made him feel like he was seeing whatever marvelous or horrifying things Jack had seen. "But how did you end up in that cell to begin with?"
"I was...keeping warm," Jack said, with that warm, lushly amused tone which made everything sound deliciously filthy.
Ianto grinned into his scarf and shook his head. "Only that?" he asked, dryly playing along, and Jack laughed.
"Me and the head honcho's daughter," he said, with relish. "And his nephews--both of them. On his throne."
"Oh, well, that was hardly inappropriate at all," Ianto said. "For you anyway, Jack."
"True. And I've got to tell you, that place was horridly cold," Jack said, with a dramatic shiver that knocked them both sideways a little. Jack tightened his grip on Ianto's arm and drew him closer as they steadied. "I kept swearing it was the only way I'd survive. Surprisingly enough, he disagreed--violently, I must say--and after a short but valiant battle, I ended up in the brig."
"And how did you escape freezing to death in the cell?"
"Well, I wasn't the only one in trouble, was I?" Jack laughed again and leaned into Ianto, clearly delighted with himself, his story, the weather, with Ianto himself. "I'd take you there for the storms," he said against Ianto's ear, warm breath washing over his skin. "Well, if we didn't have them here."
Their storm amounted to puffy flakes, falling slowly and just dusting the ground with white. But the streets were quiet and calm, empty except for them and the rest of Torchwood 3; Gwen had teamed up with Tosh to scrape the grass clear and throw snowballs at Owen while he ducked and alternated between trying to tackle one, then the other.
Jack had been playing too, until Gwen got snow down his collar, and although they were both laughing when Jack spun her around and got twice as much snow down her pants, he'd quit soon after. He'd caught up to Ianto, strolling leisurely ahead and enjoying the brisk cold, the gently falling snow, the quiet and their laughter.
Ianto hadn't been afraid to put his back to the rest of the team; he hadn't thought any of them, except perhaps Jack, would attempt to get snow down his clothing--and he knew just how to deal with Jack, if he did. But Jack hadn't. He'd just beamed at Ianto, all ruddy-cheeked and playful, mood lightened by the rare Cardiff snowstorm, and told his story.
Ianto felt color rising on his own cheeks, courtesy of the chilly wind and the warmth of Jack beside him, and he ducked his head further into the collar of his coat.
"Ianto," Jack said, jostling him a little. "Tell me. What's your favorite winter memory?" Ianto gave him a sideways glance and Jack was looking back, interested, curious, fond.
This one, Ianto didn't say. He shrugged and instead told Jack, "I'm more of a spring person, myself."
Then he listened to Jack's long and involved story about pollen the size of an automobile, two bees the size of ponies, a naked lady and a field of grass soft as velvet; listened to the rest of the team hollering and laughing like schoolchildren behind them; and smiled to himself all the way back to the Hub.
Author: giddygeek
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Spoilers: General S1.
Notes: Very PG 800 word flashfic for the Winter challenge, squeaking in under the wire. :) Many thanks to kaneko for beta!
~
"I once spent a week in a snowglobe," Jack said. "Well. A week on that planet was worth about a month here. And it wasn't so much a snowglobe as a prison cell."
Many of Jack's stories involved a week or so in a prison cell. "Ah," Ianto said, as he often did when one of those stories began. "Yet I'm certain that the analogy stands in some way."
Jack nodded, grinning, and with the snowflakes melting in his hair, glittering in the light, and his swirling coat with the cream silk scarf tucked carelessly around his neck, he looked quite dashing. He offered Ianto his arm and, when Ianto declined to take it, switched sides to take Ianto's arm instead.
Ianto huffed out a breath, amused, then tucked his chin down into his own scarf, the blue one his Nan had knitted him for Christmas.
"It stands," Jack said, squeezing Ianto's arm lightly as they walked down the quiet street, snowflakes falling lazily around them, Owen, Gwen and Tosh's laughter echoing behind them. "Since the cell was a great big clear globe in the middle of a great big snowy field. And it must've been winter--their storms were as long as their weeks, Ianto. Snow just kept coming down, big fat flakes that fell for hours. They hissed against the globe like snakes in a sandstorm, too. It was quite the experience, I can tell you. I've never seen or heard anything like it in my life."
"I'm sure," Ianto said, and he was. Something about Jack's enthusiastic style of storytelling always made him feel like he was seeing whatever marvelous or horrifying things Jack had seen. "But how did you end up in that cell to begin with?"
"I was...keeping warm," Jack said, with that warm, lushly amused tone which made everything sound deliciously filthy.
Ianto grinned into his scarf and shook his head. "Only that?" he asked, dryly playing along, and Jack laughed.
"Me and the head honcho's daughter," he said, with relish. "And his nephews--both of them. On his throne."
"Oh, well, that was hardly inappropriate at all," Ianto said. "For you anyway, Jack."
"True. And I've got to tell you, that place was horridly cold," Jack said, with a dramatic shiver that knocked them both sideways a little. Jack tightened his grip on Ianto's arm and drew him closer as they steadied. "I kept swearing it was the only way I'd survive. Surprisingly enough, he disagreed--violently, I must say--and after a short but valiant battle, I ended up in the brig."
"And how did you escape freezing to death in the cell?"
"Well, I wasn't the only one in trouble, was I?" Jack laughed again and leaned into Ianto, clearly delighted with himself, his story, the weather, with Ianto himself. "I'd take you there for the storms," he said against Ianto's ear, warm breath washing over his skin. "Well, if we didn't have them here."
Their storm amounted to puffy flakes, falling slowly and just dusting the ground with white. But the streets were quiet and calm, empty except for them and the rest of Torchwood 3; Gwen had teamed up with Tosh to scrape the grass clear and throw snowballs at Owen while he ducked and alternated between trying to tackle one, then the other.
Jack had been playing too, until Gwen got snow down his collar, and although they were both laughing when Jack spun her around and got twice as much snow down her pants, he'd quit soon after. He'd caught up to Ianto, strolling leisurely ahead and enjoying the brisk cold, the gently falling snow, the quiet and their laughter.
Ianto hadn't been afraid to put his back to the rest of the team; he hadn't thought any of them, except perhaps Jack, would attempt to get snow down his clothing--and he knew just how to deal with Jack, if he did. But Jack hadn't. He'd just beamed at Ianto, all ruddy-cheeked and playful, mood lightened by the rare Cardiff snowstorm, and told his story.
Ianto felt color rising on his own cheeks, courtesy of the chilly wind and the warmth of Jack beside him, and he ducked his head further into the collar of his coat.
"Ianto," Jack said, jostling him a little. "Tell me. What's your favorite winter memory?" Ianto gave him a sideways glance and Jack was looking back, interested, curious, fond.
This one, Ianto didn't say. He shrugged and instead told Jack, "I'm more of a spring person, myself."
Then he listened to Jack's long and involved story about pollen the size of an automobile, two bees the size of ponies, a naked lady and a field of grass soft as velvet; listened to the rest of the team hollering and laughing like schoolchildren behind them; and smiled to himself all the way back to the Hub.