Fic: Saturday Morning (Slash, Janto, G)
Oct. 4th, 2008 02:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
d8rkmessngrDrabble: Saturday Morning
Author: d8rkmessngr
Pairings: Janto (of course)
Rating: G
Warning: fluff, no sex, humor, domestics
Summary: What are our boys doing right now…Set in the Storm-verse. Not in any particular order. One-shot.
Author's Note: Dedicated to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gingerlr (because I owe her comfort), soullessminion (because I just so owe her), bassair (prelude to a bribe), teachwriteslash (because I hope she'll take this as a bribe) and bakaknight (for bribing me with the loveliness of Paul G). :)
This was not how he was expecting to spend his rare weekend off.
Ianto sniffed (or snorted, his ears were so clogged, he couldn't hear himself properly) when he lifted his heavy head off the many pillows Jack had stuffed under him so he could breathe properly. Gritty eyes focused, well…tried, until he could see to the right of him.
Empty.
Too soon after everything, Ianto couldn't stop the wavering, "Jack?" coming out of his cracked lips. He squint at his watch, left forlorn by the nightstand, Jack's wide wrist strap glaringly absent. It was early enough, the sun hasn't hinted across the horizon yet. He sat up, swallowed so he wouldn't vomit (again) and checked the foot of his bed. He squinted in the dark.
One pair of shoes. His. One pair of slippers. Also his. Jack liked walking around his flat in his bare feet. Liked to feel like he was on solid ground, Jack once said.
Ianto clutched the footboard of the bed, unsure if he was dizzy from sitting up too quickly or from the fact that Jack's boots were absent.
Makes sense, Ianto told himself as he gathered the duvet around himself like a cape and padded out to the living room in a crooked line.
We were planning to spend the weekend in then I caught Tosh's flu, Ianto thought morosely as he stared at the empty hanger by the door where Jack had hung his coat, he probably thought it better to do some work instead.
The logic, while making practical sense, made his throat dry.
"Jack?" Ianto called out again in some silly hope Jack wasn't as logical. It was just as well Jack wasn't here, Ianto decided as he shuffled towards his couch. Ianto loathed the thought of Jack finding him standing barefoot in the living room, huddled in his red duvet (Boxing Day gift from Owen), calling out for him with a voice that could double for a cartoon.
The minute he sat down on the couch, Ianto was aware of how he was still shivering, still dripping snot (how unattractive), and he was too tired to make the trek back to the bedroom. Plus, the thought of having the bed to himself again made his eyes burn.
Ianto hunched within his duvet, tucked his feet under him on the increasingly soft cushions and wearily dropped his head on one armrest. After a cough and a few more sniffles, Ianto went back to sleep.
The next time he woke, it was a more decent hour of morning—still too early to do anything though, but too late to go back to sleep.
Ianto found he was completely stretched out on the couch now, warm socks on his feet, the duvet tucked tightly around him and Jack's greatcoat pulled up to his nose.
The ceiling solidified after a few blinks and Ianto puzzled for a moment at the smell of…coffee?
Something pinged.
Ianto stiffened under the covers. Prowler? Where was his gun? Damn, in the bedroom. Hockey stick? Bugger, back in Jack's quarters.
Another ping. Someone shushed.
A shushing prowler?
Ianto clutched the top edge of his duvet and Jack's—wait.
Taking a whiff of the wool greatcoat, Ianto relaxed.
Ianto blinked fuzzily towards the kitchen and sure enough, the light was on, and Jack's tall shadow sailed slowly across his view.
Huh.
Ianto should get up; he should investigate the ping-pings he's hearing and Jack's random shushing that wasn't really effective because they just kept getting louder.
One foot lifted—sort of—and Ianto gaped at the blurry vision of cross-eyed reindeer grinning stupidly back at him after having devoured his feet in a fit of argyle and yarn.
Last year's Christmas gift from Owen. It was just his misfortune to have Owen pull his name out in their Secret Santa. He must thank Owen properly when he was better. Maybe he'll loosen his chair. Or switch out his lab coats with a larger size.
Another ping and Jack shushed again. A bit more frantic.
Ianto frowned, halfway sitting up now. Did Jack bring a guest over? Ianto dropped back on the couch. Tosh? Gwen? Owen? Ianto swallowed as he stared at the ceiling. It would be nice to have visitors, Ianto supposed.
Wait. He smelled coffee. Was Jack using his coffee maker?
Stuff it.
Ianto wrestled out of Jack's coat and duvet and waddled—he was too warm to abandon the atrocious socks—to the kitchen. He stopped at the doorway.
Jack stood barefoot in his kitchen, his braces off, his sleeves rolled up. He was staring intently at the pan on the stove, his spatula raised in one hand like a sword.
Jack jumped, looking like a caught child, when he saw Ianto.
"Morning," Jack grinned at him. His smile faded. "I wake you?"
"No," Ianto mumbled, "I slept too much." He stared at the plates of toast and pancakes on the table. "You made breakfast?" he said blankly.
"Not all of it," Jack dismissed airily as he stirred the vegetables on the sauté pan he was watching and wrapped the omelet over. He sighed when the yellow circle didn't quite fold properly over the vegetables. Jack set it aside on a plate piled with other imperfect omelets. "I got the muffins and coffee outside."
Ianto was about to tell Jack he should use the other spatula to roll the egg mixture or he shouldn't overstuff the eggs when he saw two mugs gently dancing in a circle in the microwave.
Jack chuckled when he saw where Ianto was staring.
"I checked. Owen said coffee was fine as long as you don't have a fever." Jack narrowed his eyes at Ianto. He looked at him up and down. "Do you?"
Ianto shook his head numbly. "You called Owen?" he parroted.
Jack snickered. "Wasn't too happy I called him this morning but I wanted to check what would be safe and he said…" Jack straightened up and coughed into his fist. "'Jonesy can bloody well eat whatever he likes now so hang up and let me sleep, you twit.'"
Ianto stared before he snapped his mouth shut. "That's a horrible accent," was all he could think of.
Jack pouted in a way that shouldn't look good on a man but did. "Ouch." Then, Jack shrugged because everything about him always rolled off him with an acceptance that disturbed Ianto.
Before Ianto could apologize, the two muffin halves popped out of the toaster with a ping. Jack spun around and shushed it.
A congested chuckle broke free. "I thought we had a guest you were shushing," Ianto grinned.
Jack pointed at the toaster wildly with his spatula. "That thing has been going ping, ping, ping all morning!" Jack spread his arms wide, mimicking the appliance. He was louder than the actual toaster.
Ianto grabbed a muffin half as he stood next to Jack. He peered around Jack and watched Jack carefully fold the omelet perfectly around the filling.
"Hah!" Jack crowed as he transferred it to a plate and set it on Ianto's place on the table.
"You didn't have to do all this," Ianto protested but couldn't stop smiling as he sat down. He bit into the muffin he still held. Mm, cranberry with a hint of—
Ianto's brow rose. "Are these from Welling's?"
Jack nodded as he grabbed the coffees and set them on the table. Jack sat down across from Ianto and began buttering all the toast. For a few minutes, all Ianto could hear from Jack was the harsh scraping of knife to charred bread. Jack was horrible with toast. He'd once set the kitchen on fire. Well…just a wall. Scorched. Singed really.
A nibble of muffin—thankfully perfectly toasted—and Ianto closed his eyes briefly at the taste of cinnamon. "Did they open a shop nearby?" God, he loved their muffins. It was indecent how much he enjoys them.
"Nope," Jack said as he took an omelet from the other plate then flicked the broccoli onto Ianto's plate. Ianto gave him a glare—why make broccoli if you don't like it—and contemplated the muffin again.
"These are from Welling's," Ianto said doubtfully.
"I don't bake," Jack announced. He drained his coffee and looked at Ianto's, scowling when Ianto pulled it closer to him.
Ianto's eyes widen. "Wait, that Welling's? On the Plass?"
Jack shot him an exasperated look. "How many Welling's are there?" Jack passed across a piece of only mildly burnt toast that was oddly dark completely on one end, barely touched on half of the other side.
"Oh." Ianto really couldn't think of anything else to say. He took a tentative bite of toast and discovered it had been generously slathered with ginger jelly. Weren't they out?
"So, according to Owen, a little more bed rest," Jack mumbled, his mouth full—God, he adored the man, but his manners were beastly sometimes.
"…figured we could finish watching those DVDs we started last week. It's safe enough to order Chinese for dinner. Gwen was bringing soup over for lunch. I could make some sandwiches—"
"You're staying?" Ianto blurted out.
The fork of eggs halted in mid-air. Jack paused. "Uh…we were going to stay in this weekend, right?" Something flickered across his face. "Did you want me to go?"
"I uh—"
"Because I know some people are uncomfortable with company when they're sick—"
"No, no, I meant—"
"Tosh was going to drop by and check later. There's work I should finish anyway. I could always—"
Ianto mentally flailed. "What I meant—"
Jack was poking his eggs. "UNIT wants to talk to me anyway—"
Ianto threw up his hands. "No, no. Stay! Burn my toast, shush the muffins; I want you to stay."
Jack blinked at Ianto. He stuck the fork of eggs in his mouth, swallowed, and nodded with a tiny, shy smile.
The omelet was suddenly fascinating. Ianto ducked his head and with his fork, poked out the piece of eggshell and hid it under his napkin.
"So…" Jack said, his words hesitant but definitely happy again, "how are you feeling?"
Ianto took another bite of toast that was both bitter—too charred—and sweet from the jelly.
"Feeling better already," Ianto declared. He felt Jack's foot reached over and slyly stroke a spot above his sock.
Jack grinned and when Jack looked down at his own food, Ianto hid yet another eggshell piece under his napkin. He ate a piece of omelet, his goofy smile fading when something crunched.
Yes, Chinese takeaway for dinner might be a brilliant idea.
The End
Author: d8rkmessngr
Pairings: Janto (of course)
Rating: G
Warning: fluff, no sex, humor, domestics
Summary: What are our boys doing right now…Set in the Storm-verse. Not in any particular order. One-shot.
Author's Note: Dedicated to
gingerlr (because I owe her comfort), soullessminion (because I just so owe her), bassair (prelude to a bribe), teachwriteslash (because I hope she'll take this as a bribe) and bakaknight (for bribing me with the loveliness of Paul G). :)This was not how he was expecting to spend his rare weekend off.
Ianto sniffed (or snorted, his ears were so clogged, he couldn't hear himself properly) when he lifted his heavy head off the many pillows Jack had stuffed under him so he could breathe properly. Gritty eyes focused, well…tried, until he could see to the right of him.
Empty.
Too soon after everything, Ianto couldn't stop the wavering, "Jack?" coming out of his cracked lips. He squint at his watch, left forlorn by the nightstand, Jack's wide wrist strap glaringly absent. It was early enough, the sun hasn't hinted across the horizon yet. He sat up, swallowed so he wouldn't vomit (again) and checked the foot of his bed. He squinted in the dark.
One pair of shoes. His. One pair of slippers. Also his. Jack liked walking around his flat in his bare feet. Liked to feel like he was on solid ground, Jack once said.
Ianto clutched the footboard of the bed, unsure if he was dizzy from sitting up too quickly or from the fact that Jack's boots were absent.
Makes sense, Ianto told himself as he gathered the duvet around himself like a cape and padded out to the living room in a crooked line.
We were planning to spend the weekend in then I caught Tosh's flu, Ianto thought morosely as he stared at the empty hanger by the door where Jack had hung his coat, he probably thought it better to do some work instead.
The logic, while making practical sense, made his throat dry.
"Jack?" Ianto called out again in some silly hope Jack wasn't as logical. It was just as well Jack wasn't here, Ianto decided as he shuffled towards his couch. Ianto loathed the thought of Jack finding him standing barefoot in the living room, huddled in his red duvet (Boxing Day gift from Owen), calling out for him with a voice that could double for a cartoon.
The minute he sat down on the couch, Ianto was aware of how he was still shivering, still dripping snot (how unattractive), and he was too tired to make the trek back to the bedroom. Plus, the thought of having the bed to himself again made his eyes burn.
Ianto hunched within his duvet, tucked his feet under him on the increasingly soft cushions and wearily dropped his head on one armrest. After a cough and a few more sniffles, Ianto went back to sleep.
The next time he woke, it was a more decent hour of morning—still too early to do anything though, but too late to go back to sleep.
Ianto found he was completely stretched out on the couch now, warm socks on his feet, the duvet tucked tightly around him and Jack's greatcoat pulled up to his nose.
The ceiling solidified after a few blinks and Ianto puzzled for a moment at the smell of…coffee?
Something pinged.
Ianto stiffened under the covers. Prowler? Where was his gun? Damn, in the bedroom. Hockey stick? Bugger, back in Jack's quarters.
Another ping. Someone shushed.
A shushing prowler?
Ianto clutched the top edge of his duvet and Jack's—wait.
Taking a whiff of the wool greatcoat, Ianto relaxed.
Ianto blinked fuzzily towards the kitchen and sure enough, the light was on, and Jack's tall shadow sailed slowly across his view.
Huh.
Ianto should get up; he should investigate the ping-pings he's hearing and Jack's random shushing that wasn't really effective because they just kept getting louder.
One foot lifted—sort of—and Ianto gaped at the blurry vision of cross-eyed reindeer grinning stupidly back at him after having devoured his feet in a fit of argyle and yarn.
Last year's Christmas gift from Owen. It was just his misfortune to have Owen pull his name out in their Secret Santa. He must thank Owen properly when he was better. Maybe he'll loosen his chair. Or switch out his lab coats with a larger size.
Another ping and Jack shushed again. A bit more frantic.
Ianto frowned, halfway sitting up now. Did Jack bring a guest over? Ianto dropped back on the couch. Tosh? Gwen? Owen? Ianto swallowed as he stared at the ceiling. It would be nice to have visitors, Ianto supposed.
Wait. He smelled coffee. Was Jack using his coffee maker?
Stuff it.
Ianto wrestled out of Jack's coat and duvet and waddled—he was too warm to abandon the atrocious socks—to the kitchen. He stopped at the doorway.
Jack stood barefoot in his kitchen, his braces off, his sleeves rolled up. He was staring intently at the pan on the stove, his spatula raised in one hand like a sword.
Jack jumped, looking like a caught child, when he saw Ianto.
"Morning," Jack grinned at him. His smile faded. "I wake you?"
"No," Ianto mumbled, "I slept too much." He stared at the plates of toast and pancakes on the table. "You made breakfast?" he said blankly.
"Not all of it," Jack dismissed airily as he stirred the vegetables on the sauté pan he was watching and wrapped the omelet over. He sighed when the yellow circle didn't quite fold properly over the vegetables. Jack set it aside on a plate piled with other imperfect omelets. "I got the muffins and coffee outside."
Ianto was about to tell Jack he should use the other spatula to roll the egg mixture or he shouldn't overstuff the eggs when he saw two mugs gently dancing in a circle in the microwave.
Jack chuckled when he saw where Ianto was staring.
"I checked. Owen said coffee was fine as long as you don't have a fever." Jack narrowed his eyes at Ianto. He looked at him up and down. "Do you?"
Ianto shook his head numbly. "You called Owen?" he parroted.
Jack snickered. "Wasn't too happy I called him this morning but I wanted to check what would be safe and he said…" Jack straightened up and coughed into his fist. "'Jonesy can bloody well eat whatever he likes now so hang up and let me sleep, you twit.'"
Ianto stared before he snapped his mouth shut. "That's a horrible accent," was all he could think of.
Jack pouted in a way that shouldn't look good on a man but did. "Ouch." Then, Jack shrugged because everything about him always rolled off him with an acceptance that disturbed Ianto.
Before Ianto could apologize, the two muffin halves popped out of the toaster with a ping. Jack spun around and shushed it.
A congested chuckle broke free. "I thought we had a guest you were shushing," Ianto grinned.
Jack pointed at the toaster wildly with his spatula. "That thing has been going ping, ping, ping all morning!" Jack spread his arms wide, mimicking the appliance. He was louder than the actual toaster.
Ianto grabbed a muffin half as he stood next to Jack. He peered around Jack and watched Jack carefully fold the omelet perfectly around the filling.
"Hah!" Jack crowed as he transferred it to a plate and set it on Ianto's place on the table.
"You didn't have to do all this," Ianto protested but couldn't stop smiling as he sat down. He bit into the muffin he still held. Mm, cranberry with a hint of—
Ianto's brow rose. "Are these from Welling's?"
Jack nodded as he grabbed the coffees and set them on the table. Jack sat down across from Ianto and began buttering all the toast. For a few minutes, all Ianto could hear from Jack was the harsh scraping of knife to charred bread. Jack was horrible with toast. He'd once set the kitchen on fire. Well…just a wall. Scorched. Singed really.
A nibble of muffin—thankfully perfectly toasted—and Ianto closed his eyes briefly at the taste of cinnamon. "Did they open a shop nearby?" God, he loved their muffins. It was indecent how much he enjoys them.
"Nope," Jack said as he took an omelet from the other plate then flicked the broccoli onto Ianto's plate. Ianto gave him a glare—why make broccoli if you don't like it—and contemplated the muffin again.
"These are from Welling's," Ianto said doubtfully.
"I don't bake," Jack announced. He drained his coffee and looked at Ianto's, scowling when Ianto pulled it closer to him.
Ianto's eyes widen. "Wait, that Welling's? On the Plass?"
Jack shot him an exasperated look. "How many Welling's are there?" Jack passed across a piece of only mildly burnt toast that was oddly dark completely on one end, barely touched on half of the other side.
"Oh." Ianto really couldn't think of anything else to say. He took a tentative bite of toast and discovered it had been generously slathered with ginger jelly. Weren't they out?
"So, according to Owen, a little more bed rest," Jack mumbled, his mouth full—God, he adored the man, but his manners were beastly sometimes.
"…figured we could finish watching those DVDs we started last week. It's safe enough to order Chinese for dinner. Gwen was bringing soup over for lunch. I could make some sandwiches—"
"You're staying?" Ianto blurted out.
The fork of eggs halted in mid-air. Jack paused. "Uh…we were going to stay in this weekend, right?" Something flickered across his face. "Did you want me to go?"
"I uh—"
"Because I know some people are uncomfortable with company when they're sick—"
"No, no, I meant—"
"Tosh was going to drop by and check later. There's work I should finish anyway. I could always—"
Ianto mentally flailed. "What I meant—"
Jack was poking his eggs. "UNIT wants to talk to me anyway—"
Ianto threw up his hands. "No, no. Stay! Burn my toast, shush the muffins; I want you to stay."
Jack blinked at Ianto. He stuck the fork of eggs in his mouth, swallowed, and nodded with a tiny, shy smile.
The omelet was suddenly fascinating. Ianto ducked his head and with his fork, poked out the piece of eggshell and hid it under his napkin.
"So…" Jack said, his words hesitant but definitely happy again, "how are you feeling?"
Ianto took another bite of toast that was both bitter—too charred—and sweet from the jelly.
"Feeling better already," Ianto declared. He felt Jack's foot reached over and slyly stroke a spot above his sock.
Jack grinned and when Jack looked down at his own food, Ianto hid yet another eggshell piece under his napkin. He ate a piece of omelet, his goofy smile fading when something crunched.
Yes, Chinese takeaway for dinner might be a brilliant idea.
The End