Fic: Lazy Sunday (Slash, Janto, 1/1) Rated PG

[d8rkmessngr]

I did say I owe you all a story. Before I cram two kids, a hubby, my cats to drop off at my sister, two teddy bears, gameboards, pretzels, blankets and their favorite pillows, I thought I'll post this. Belated apology. Kisses to all. Next week, loves.

Title: Lazy Sunday
Author: d8rkmessngr
Rating: PG
Words: 2,200 words, complete
Summary: There's too much to do on a Sunday

Warning: silly, silly, silly
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: TW is owned by RTD and BBC. Just borrowing custody for a tick.

 

Sundays meant waking up alone in his bed, a post-it in place of a warm, solid feeling, affectionate Jack Harkness. For Jack, Sundays meant catching up on tedious paperwork on a day without Whitehall, UNIT, or any of the other governments harping for his lover's attention like chicks squawking in a nest. Ianto usually comes in early Monday to a haggard Jack, who ends up napping quietly when Ianto hustle him to bed with promises of waking him after the first person arrives.

 

He always wakes him after Owen arrives.

 

Ianto knew it was a necessary evil in order to keep Torchwood running. So while Jack did his paperwork in the Hub, Ianto substituted his presence with the mind-numbing chores of owning your own flat. It was better this way, Ianto often told himself. Much work to do. Bills needed to be paid. Suits needed to be pressed. Errands needed to be run. Sundays were very productive for both of them.

 

Today, however, was different.

 

Ianto lain on his side, his head propped up with a fist and he contemplated his clearly occupied bed—one slightly feverish Jack Harkness.

 

The Rift had released a rather nasty beast whose only nourishment was blood; preferably iron-rich, preferably still warm. It injected its food with a coagulating and paralyzing agent, leaving them slowly suffocating and drowning in its own fluids while the alien fed.

 

Jack, of course, was its next victim.

 

To be fair, Owen was first, originally. The alien was probably drawn to his rather rude remark that it looked like a pink sumo-vampire. Ianto had secretly agreed but he didn't say it out loud and certainly not to its face! Nevertheless, Owen had proved once again why he was never a diplomat and the creature pounced. Jack got in its way. Spectacularly.

 

"You always have to show off," Ianto murmured. He reached over to brush away bangs from Jack's forehead. He frowned when he felt the dry heat. Hm. While Jack's healing abilities would keep the fatal effects at bay, Owen did warn the venom would have to run its course like influenza. Jack was first intrigued; he'd never been sick before. The novelty lost its charm when Jack threw up just after taking Ianto deep into his throat. Jack swallowed, suddenly looked up at Ianto with a confused, distressed look, then promptly vomited into the little bin by the desk. That killed Jack's mood quickly.

 

So no paperwork Sunday today. No DVD Saturday either. They normally argued over what DVD to watch, only ending up making love on the couch, the coffee table, the rug, and the movie was always left running all the way to the end. Last night, Ianto did watch the movie but alone, his fingers absently threading through Jack's fever damp hair, Jack fitfully asleep and stretched out with his head on his lap. It was nice really.

 

Until Jack woke up and threw up into his boots. Then into his soup. Then the toilet.

 

Ianto stroked Jack's brow, his mouth crinkled sympathetically when Jack grimaced in his sleep and curled tighter around the pillow pressed to his stomach. Saltines didn't help. Nor did the dry toast or weak tea. Jack had joked feebly at least it wasn't morning sickness.

 

…

 

He'll have to ask Jack about that one.

 

Reluctantly, Ianto levered off the bed and padded to the bathroom. He did what needed to be done and emerged smelling faintly of toothpaste and soap. Jack was still asleep when Ianto tiptoed to the kitchen and made everything on Owen's list Jack's stomach might tolerate. When he returned with the laden tray, Jack had moved on to hug his pillow to his face.

 

Ianto stood at the foot of the bed, feeling a little silly watching Jack take a deep whiff of his pillow like a diver bursting out of the sea. His stomach quivered pleasantly and Ianto set down the tray on the end table and stooped down to kiss Jack's ear.

 

"Don't vomit on my pillow," Ianto murmured onto Jack's hair. Jack simply scrunched up his nose, muttered something about Weevils before he buried his nose into the pillow again. Ianto shook his head; pulling the pillow only made Jack held on more stubbornly.

 

Ianto frowned. He remembered how warm the skin was when his lips lingered over Jack's ear. Owen better be right about it only lasting a few days. Otherwise Jack was sure to bring up that ridiculous suggestion again about him taking his Webley into his office. He wasn't a sick horse, damn it. He went back into the bathroom, still scowling at the memory of Owen actaly considering it. He carefully carried out a basin of cool water and the softest flannel he could find.

 

The first moist stroke across his face roused him. Jack sleepily blinked up at Ianto.

 

"I 'ant to kiss you…'ut I threw up again 'ast night," Jack mumbled as an apology. He sighed when the flannel wiped over his throat. "'ice…" he sighed.

 

"Feel up to a shower?" Ianto whispered as Jack sat up. Jack carefully swung his legs over the side and sat there swaying.

 

"'aper'ork," he wheezed.

 

Ianto pursed his lips. "You're dropping syllables everywhere," Ianto told him. "You're not up for paperwork." He stared at Jack's lap, his morning erection glaringly absent.

 

"You're not up for anything, for that matter."

 

Jack gave him a weak grin. "Not 'ow, 'oney, 'ave a 'eadache?" Jack tried.

 

Ianto rolled his eyes. "Yes, well, come on, Pookie, let's get yourself rinsed off. You'll fee better." He slipped an arm under Jack's and hauled him up. He staggered when Jack fell heavily on him. "Jack!" Ianto panted. He braced the back of his legs to the bed. "Maybe we'll get a shower later, hm?"

 

"Sho'er," Jack insisted. "'aper'ork."

 

"Perhaps," Ianto scoffed as he hobbled with Jack towards the bathroom, "when you regained verbal command of your p's and w's."

 

"'ookie?" Jack slurred and nearly smacked his face into the door.

 

"Oops…well, you call me honey," Ianto returned. Suddenly, he yelped, his grasp loosening when he reached for his bum and Jack crashed a bare knee to the sink.

 

"Ouch." That one was clear and properly annunciated.

 

Ianto set him on the edge of the tub. He stood there, rubbing his right butt cheek. Jack grinned up drunkenly.

 

"Serves you right," Ianto scolded, but he did check Jack's knee with a hand. He jerked, failing to evade the next pinch. Ianto glowered at an unremorseful Jack. "You're supposed to be sick! Act like it!"

 

Jack would only pout.

 

 

 

 

It was clear after the third stumble, Jack was not ready to be on his own in the shower. Ianto found himself shedding his worn t-shirt and his jogging pants to stand behind Jack and the hot spray.

 

It was hard to concentrate with Jack swaying on his feet, making odd little hums and murmurs as Ianto squeezed a sponge over him and warm, soapy water clung to overheated skin. Was it possible to be jealous of water? Trickles of white, bubbly froth trailed down Jack's elegant spine and pooled in the dimples that marked the cleft of his ass. Ianto was contemplating murdering his plumbing as suds flowed between taut cheeks that flexed automatically at the feel of its liquid touch.

 

Jack sighed, exhausted and braced his arms straight out to the wall in front of him, his back archly slightly, his ass…

 

"Give me strength," Ianto muttered as Jack inadvertently lined himself up perfect to Ianto.

 

"'hat?" Jack mumbled, turning his head, slipped and fell towards the tub edge.

 

Ianto caught him quickly, arms swooping under Jack's, and he pulled him in close. They stood, chest to chest, heaving, both dizzy with the close call.

 

"Ouch," Jack exhaled and rested his head on Ianto's right shoulder.

 

"Nearly," Ianto breathlessly agreed. "Jack, maybe we should—" He closed his eyes when Jack nuzzled a spot behind his ear.

 

"Mm…'ice…" Jack slurred. His arms went around Ianto's torso in a lazy circle, his lax genitals brushing against Ianto's bare hip.

 

It was hard to ignore Jack when he was clothed and alert. It was impossible when Jack was warm, practically boneless and rubbing languidly against him, his eyes half-mast and glazed. Jack was all nips and wiggles under the warm shower, water trickling down and making a slippery friction between them.

 

Jack murmured his name again, muttered something about being lightheaded and continued nuzzling him like a content puppy with a warm blanket.

 

Hands that were supporting now gripped and ran greedily over each other. Mouths partially open in sleepy mumbles now open with moans and half-slurred encouragements.

 

Jack was relaxed enough that he accepted Ianto's cock with barely a sigh and little resistance. He braced himself up against the shower wall, Ianto clinging to his back as he thrust, soap and water running between them, around them, over them.

 

Steam obscured the sight of Jack's body, arched back as he accepted Ianto like an extension of himself, head thrown back and the shower ran over his closed eyes like joyful tears. Their bodies jerked and swayed in a music-less dance. Ianto felt Jack's body clenching and tightening around him in a wordless demand for more. He always obeyed his captain.

 

Their orgasms were simultaneous, explosive and simply glorious and stole both their breaths. They found themselves sitting on the bottom of the tub, water cooling over their overheated bodies, their legs tangled until it felt like it was one body and separation was impossible.

 

Ianto found himself weak kneed and heavy limbed as well as he coaxed Jack out of the tub, rubbed a flannel over that tempting golden body, battled Jack's sleepy random nibbles on his skin—there was something very arousing to see Jack this way—and awkwardly steered him back to bed. And promptly joined him.

 

Ianto should be annoyed with himself. Ten in the morning on a Sunday; laundry and errands shouldn't be left neglected yet here he was, Jack pressed up against him, his hand drawing symbols on Jack's back like a warding spell from the darkness that always haunted Jack. They laid there, the sun shining through the slated window to their bed but despite the warmth, the duvet was pulled over their naked bodies. Very unproductive. Ianto should be ashamed of himself. He wasn't sick. And Jack would be fine alone in bed. There were things to do. Much to do.

 

…maybe just a few more minutes.

 

Dry toast was unappetizing cold yet Ianto didn't feel the urgency to roll Jack's body away from him to make something warmer. He just sat up on the bed, Jack's head over his heart—Jack claimed it help him sleep—a leg thrown over Ianto's as if forbidding him to leave.

 

As if the idea would have ever occur to him.

 

"You're 'etting toa't in my 'air," Jack mumbled, not opening his eyes. One hand went up to lazily swat over his hair. "Is 'at 'offee I s'ell?"

 

"For me," Ianto told him as he munched on it slathered with butter and ginger jelly that Tosh bought them for Christmas. He ripped a dry corner that wasn't too burnt and tapped it to Jack's mouth. Jack obediently opened, accepted the corner. He made a face.

 

"Do you need the bin again?" Ianto inquired as he hesitated. He relaxed when Jack swallowed and shook his head.

 

Jack opened his eyes and propped himself up with his elbows. "'offee?" he wheezed insistently. He blinked at the folk of scrambled eggs.

 

"Open," Ianto said sternly, smiling when Jack reluctantly took the bite. Jack made another face. "No butter, no salt," Ianto told him. "And no coffee." At Jack's outraged face, Ianto added, "Unless you can promise it won't return onto this bed." Ianto nodded when Jack's face fell. "Thought so. Open, please." This time it was a spoonful of bland porridge. Jack didn't like that one either.

 

A third of the toast, two bites of egg, and a couple of spoonfuls of porridge later, Jack was huddled by the toilet again.

 

"I 'hould go in," Jack yawned as he climbed back into bed. He smelled minty after brushing his teeth again, thankfully cooler despite throwing up after Ianto had tried to give him aspirin. Twice. "'aper'ork…"

 

"I have errands I need to do as well." Ianto sank deeper into the bed. He felt Jack shuffle closer and Ianto pressed his head against Jack's shoulder; his turn to let Jack's heartbeat lull him to sleep. He smiled as Jack positioned himself so he was draped halfway over Ianto, yet careful not to crush him. Ianto gave the still full tray a passing glance. Maybe he’ll try some weak tea and bread later. Poor Jack barely kept enough down to sustain a mouse.

 

"'aper'ork…" Jack yawned again.

 

Ianto rubbed Jack's shoulder closest to him. "Hm," Ianto murmured in agreement. "Errands. Much to do on Sundays."

 

"I 'ate 'undays," Jack slurred before he melted to sleep against Ianto.

 

"Oh, I don't know," Ianto murmured. He felt the sun from the window, Jack's breath against his face, Jack's heartbeat under his ear.

 

"Sunday's alright."

 

The End

 

Comments

[amarin-rose.livejournal.com]

How can PG sex be so hot? Mmm, nice.