Rating: G--NC-17(Actually, only one of them is NC-17.)
Characters: Capt. Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Summary: Nine drabbles of Jack and Ianto's relationship.
Spoilers: A bit of Cyberwoman, Countrycide, and End of Days.
Warnings: Well, one of the scenes is a PWP, but other than that, nothing really.
Word Count: 100-300 words each.
X-Posted to: jackxianto
Hello There… (100 words)
“So, this is the Hub, Ianto. Torchwood One sent you with high regard.” Jack Harkness smiled brightly at the smartly dressed Ianto Jones, who, for his part, stood completely still to take in Torchwood Three.
“Yes, sir. What are my duties? I don’t expect to hold the same position, of course—”
“It’s Jack. I hear you make a mean cup of coffee, Ianto. How about we start there and work our way up?”
“Yes, sir,” Ianto responded, catching Jack’s gaze, and just as quickly turning away. Ianto could be invisible; he could fade into the background and go on.
Ianto. (100 words)
Ianto made coffee an art form. Jack watched the way Ianto’s long fingers sifted through the beans, measuring with a cupped palm; the way Ianto tilted his head ever so slightly, listening closely as he ground the coffee into smooth crystals; the way Ianto brought a handful of the grounds to his nose and inhaled deeply, his eyes shut at the rich smell; the way Ianto would sit and watch the dark liquid bubble and hiss, the barest hint of a smile on his face; Ianto’s job, his life, his passion. Yes, Jack thought, Ianto made coffee an art form.
Jack. (100 words)
Jack made flirting an art form. Ianto watched the way Jack could so easily slip under someone’s skin, delve deep into hidden secrets and gently pry away carefully constructed layers; the way Jack seduced like breathing, whispers in passing, inadvertent brushes of his fingers, stolen glances; the way Jack always seemed to be right there, a constant warmth behind him; the way Jack folded him into an embrace, kissing away his worry, letting him give himself over, letting him forget, just for a little while; Jack’s job, his life, his passion. Yes, Ianto thought, Jack made flirting an art form.
Teach Me How to Fight? (200 words)
Torchwood One had been a desk job. It was figures and paperwork, photos taped to the monitor, and games of solitaire on quiet days. Brecon Beacons had unsettled Ianto in a way nothing ever had before; this dark side of human nature he never thought he’d be involved in. He went to Jack, desperate to learn to defend himself. Why had Jack ever thought he could be a field agent, Ianto didn’t know. Deep within the Hub, they stood together, Ianto in Jack’s arms, warm and soothing as he rolled his shoulders back, aiming carefully and shooting the ink body of a target through its paper forehead. Again and again Ianto fired, each blank face blurring black circles and flesh: a man holding a cleaver, a woman with a shotgun and glittering eyes. He hadn’t realized the gun was empty until Jack grabbed his hand, Ianto’s fingers suddenly slack. The gun fell with a deafening thud onto the concrete floor, empty shells clattering in the aftershock. Jack kissed him gently, wiping Ianto’s tear-stained cheeks with his thumb. Ianto smiled gratefully against Jack’s lips, sagging into Jack’s arms, letting Jack be his strength now that he had none of his own.
I Thought You’d Never Ask. (150 words) Rated NC-17
Jack’s room was dark, the single bed at the bottom swathed in shadow, and quiet but for their harsh breathing and soft moans. Ianto could still taste the alcohol on his tongue, twisting with Jack’s, and all he could think was that he hadn’t had nearly enough whiskey to warrant this. Jack’s hands were everywhere, caressing his skin as one slick finger pressed inside of him, then two, Ianto pushing shamelessly back against them. Jack thrust into his willing body, filling him, a deep, driving pleasure thrumming in his veins as Ianto came with a wordless cry, clinging helplessly to Jack. They lay still in the silence, Jack dropping kisses onto Ianto’s jaw as he traced a finger idly through the sticky white on Ianto’s belly. It was such a change, Ianto thought, to let go, to be fucked so thoroughly, and, for once, Ianto was glad of his curiosity.
Don’t be so Stubborn, Sir. (300 words)
“Dammit, why won’t someone just kill me?” Jack complained, rolling onto his side and punching his pillow. How he hated being sick.
“Keep up that yelling, and we just might, sir.” Ianto had just descended the ladder, an empty bowl and spoon in hand and a thermos shoved under his arm. The smell of chicken soup filled the small bedroom, and Ianto handed the steaming bowl to Jack, who turned away with a huff.
“I’m not hungry,” came his muffled reply. Ianto sighed, rolling his eyes.
“Do I have to hand-feed you, Jack?” Ianto said dryly, eyebrow raised. Jack rolled back over, a lewd little grin tugging at his lips,
“Is that an offer, Ianto?” Ianto’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t give into the urge to smile, instead deadpanning, “Yes, sir.” Jack fluffed his pillows and leaned up against them, his mouth open wide.
“I’m ready for that soup now.” Ianto snorted, taking a spoonful and holding it up to Jack’s mouth, only to find it suddenly shut tight.
“I’m afraid I can’t eat it that way. That’s the wrong spoon.” Ianto’s brows raised as he looked at the perfectly normal spoon, then back up at Jack, who tapped the inside of his mouth with one finger, looking at Ianto innocently. Ianto glanced heavenward as he dipped the spoon into the soup again, looking past it to Jack as he brought it to his own lips.
“Wrong spoon my left bollock, sir.” And Ianto kissed Jack deeply, letting the soup out of his mouth and into Jack’s, their tongues tangling in their own taste and salty broth before Ianto pulled reluctantly away, just a little breathless. Jack licked his reddened lips, an infuriating little smirk creeping its way across his face.
“That’s alright. I like the right one better anyway.”
Who’s the Stubborn One Now? (100 words)
Ianto had been acting strangely ever since that last Weevil attack. Their quiet receptionist had managed to bring in one alone, a taser in hand as he shoved the creature into the Vault. Jack noticed the way he walked, usually standing straight, he now hunched a bit, wincing as he bent to retrieve a dropped folder. Jack didn’t confront him about it; the CCTV in the autopsy room showed streaks of blood across Ianto’s back as he peeled off layers of cloth to replace them. Jack smiled sadly at the footage, deleting it and walking back up to his office.
I Don’t Believe in Goodbye... (100 words)
Love was Ianto’s greatest fault; he fell to the emotion so easily, and so completely. Jack had left, and with him had gone the remaining shreds of Ianto’s heart.
Ianto really picked the wrong man to love.
Though always a bit of an insomniac, Ianto had stopped sleeping altogether. He sat in the Archives day after day, fading away into the background of Torchwood, just like he’d begun.
Ianto was being pathetic, he knew; but with this knowledge, he could bring Jack back to him. So he carried on waiting, Jack’s shirt tucked safely into Ianto’s lap for his return.
Torchwood Welcomes You Back, Captain. (100 words)
He came back! Was all Ianto could think. He came back, he came back! He came back and I punched him in the face! And it wasn’t some sort of sissy punch either; Ianto really decked him one. He wasn’t particularly angry, more overjoyed; but somehow his emotions came out wrong. He could have grabbed Jack and kissed the life out of him. He could have hugged Jack until his bones snapped. But instead he clocked Jack across the jaw. Ianto flushed in embarrassment; the team laughed; Jack kissed him, tasting of blood. “I came back,” was all Jack said.