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out_thereTitle: Five Times Ianto Thought Very Seriously About Shooting Jack Harkness
Subtitle: Five Recordings Jack Made of Ianto
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG
Notes: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gothams3rdrobin for the Britpick and discussion on sofas vs couches vs settees. Thanks to ekaterinn for betaing and making the story a lot funnier than it would have been. *hearts* No actual spoilers in here.
Summary: Five times shooting Jack Harkness would have been a perfectly reasonable action to take.
ETA: Now with a fantastic cover byin_the_bottle!
***
There was something so typical about it, Ianto thought. Owen had bitched about the weather this morning -- stuck in the middle of a stream of complaints, Welsh weather had somehow been as offensive as under-dressed teenagers and over-friendly hands on crowded buses -- but it had remained overcast, dark and dry all day.
Until now.
"Is this really necessary?" Ianto asked, staring at the CCTV camera. He knew Jack would be watching. Probably the entire team was crowded around the big monitor on Tosh's desk.
"Take the suit off," Jack replied smugly. Clearly, he was enjoying this.
"Jack--"
"Barbeque sauce. You're soaked in it."
"Sorry," Tosh interrupted quickly, "I really didn't mean to."
Jack continued, "You're not stepping back inside the hub wearing that suit."
The light drizzle started to get heavier, cold drops sliding under the back of Ianto's collar. "I could have gone to the employee showers and changed," he said, letting some of his annoyance bleed through.
He had every right to be annoyed with the four of them.
Gwen and Owen had been the ones tossing around the barbeque sauce easy-to-squeeze bottle and left it lying on the autopsy stairs. Tosh was the one who stepped on it, causing the sauce to spray out into the autopsy bay and all over the back of Ianto's jacket. And Jack was the one who moved while the others were apologising or laughing, who grabbed Ianto and shoved him onto the invisible lift, and left him stranded on a public walkway in Cardiff.
In the rain.
"Take the suit off, Ianto," Jack drawled, stretching his name out for longer than needed.
"Give the crowds a cheap thrill," Owen suggested and Ianto could hear Gwen trying not to laugh.
"Invisible lift," Ianto reminded him. "No one else can see you, that's the whole point."
Jack laughed. "Then you shouldn't have any problem getting undressed."
Ianto decided that for the next hour -- at least -- he hated Jack. It seemed unfair to blame an animal for its diet, so he wasn't going to hold a grudge against Myfanwy but Gwen and Tosh, and their stifled giggles, were fair targets.
Everyone was getting decaf for the next week.
Ianto closed his eyes against the rain and dragged in a deep breath. He ignored the sounds of conversation from the other side of the street -- the four women dressed in straight skirts and feminine shirts, pulling out umbrellas and clicking their heels against the footpath -- and started unbuttoning his jacket.
He shrugged it off, ignoring the way the damp fabric stuck to his shoulders, and folded it at his feet. The rain got heavier as he undid his waistcoat and added it to the pile. The water was cold against his back, plastering the dark blue shirt to his skin.
He felt slightly ridiculous standing still in the rain, but there was no way on god's green earth that he was stepping off that stone. "Can I come in now?"
"And the pants, Ianto," Jack said and Ianto had no doubt he was recording this.
The first thing he'd do once he was dry and dressed would be to sift through the network and find wherever Jack had saved this, Ianto promised himself as he bent down to untie his shoes. Then he was going to delete it, and use one of Tosh's hacking programs to delete the deletion. His socks were wet and cold, so he pulled them off too. It was going to be gone.
His fingers were freezing, but he got his belt undone. He didn't let himself pause, didn't let himself think about the fact that he was standing on a public footpath, undoing his trousers and stepping out of them as people walked by.
"Boxer-briefs, really?" he heard Gwen mutter. The only reason he didn't die of embarrassment was to avoid giving Jack the satisfaction.
Folding the trousers carefully, feeling the cold rain landing on his shoulder and his back and his bare legs, Ianto fought the urge to mutter deprecations under his breath. Torchwood did not pay him enough for this shit.
***
It was Saturday. The Rift was supposed to stay closed and quiet until Monday night, so the team had taken the weekend off. For lack of anything better to do -- and because files were stacked a foot high on his desk with a purple post-it note saying, "For review!" in Ianto's neat, loopy handwriting -- Jack was sorting through paperwork. He was approving expense claims and reading through mission reports, signing and initialling where necessary.
He was being diligent. He was being the hardworking and meticulous boss.
He was bored to the point of insanity.
Pushing his chair back, Jack stood up, sighing. He still had at least eight inches of files and no one to yell at for coffee.
"Oh, please!"
Jack started at the sound of Ianto's sudden yell. He knew Ianto's tone wasn't alarmed -- annoyed, but not seriously bothered -- and having Ianto around might be a fun distraction. Leaving his office, he set the CCTV to record.
He found Ianto sitting on the couch, elbows propped on the thighs of his worn denim jeans, staring at the monitors above Tosh's desk and muttering something heated in Welsh. Jack followed the line of Ianto's sight, and snorted as he saw the screens covered in the bright, vivid green of fields. There were white lines painted onto the grass and groups of brightly dressed young men running after a ball. "You fixed Tosh's monitors to watch TV?"
"Reception's out at my flat," Ianto replied dully, not looking away from the screen. "Can't get Sky Sports."
"Did you pay for it?"
"Paying doesn't usually effect my reception." For the first time, Ianto looked at Jack, giving a fast, naughty smile. "But I didn't have time to fix it before the match started. Coming in here was quicker."
Jack grinned. Ianto breaking the rules was always fun. "Any chance of a coffee?" He waggled his eyebrows at Ianto, but the effect was spoiled when Ianto glared at him.
"No suit," Ianto said, waving a hand from his head to his knees, "no coffee. Football only."
Frowning, Jack buried his hands in his pocket. Being ignored was the opposite of fun and as the boss, he was kind of sure that he wasn't supposed to be ignored. "Who's playing?"
"Birmingham and Arsenal. I used to follow Arsenal when I lived in London," Ianto said, staring back at the screen. He suddenly pointed at the bottom left corner -- where a man in black and white was waving at the screen -- and then erupted, "Like that's fair! That's ridiculous!"
"Uh-huh?" Jack said, faking an interest.
"Quite clearly he didn't--" Ianto paused, and blinked at Jack. "Do you even know what sport I'm watching?"
"Rugby?"
"No, football," Ianto said slowly, turning back to watch the screen. "And you're not interested in either, are you?"
"My only interest in rugby was Arthur Gould." Jack paused for a moment, remembering. "Very athletic man, but his moustache used to tickle."
Ianto stared at him like he'd grown a third arm (which Jack had during those months on Nehkignosh but he'd got it removed later). "You slept with Arthur Gould?"
Jack grinned widely and sauntered over to the couch. He stopped in front of Ianto and said, "He could do this really interesting thing with--"
The effect was spoilt by a sudden applause behind him, and Ianto lurching sideways to see the game. He let out a fast, half-growled stream of Welsh that Jack didn't need to understand to know Ianto was swearing. When he paused for breath, he said in a low, controlled voice that sent shivers down Jack's spine, "Jack?"
"Yes?"
"I know where the stun guns are kept," he said, in that same dangerous tone. "If you make me miss another goal, I'm going to incapacitate you until the game is over."
Jack sighed but there was something very -- frighteningly -- serious about Ianto's expression. "You don't want me around?" he asked, and threw in a pout for good measure.
"It's only an hour. Go away."
***
Ianto was going to shoot him.. He was going to shoot Jack starting with each knee-cap, then each shoulder and then a few through his torso to make sure it really hurt.
As soon as he got his hands untied, as soon as he got this rope free from his wrists and the metal frame of Jack's cot, he was going to find Jack's gun and shoot him. It was going to be really, really painful. Ianto needed to sure the message got through Jack's thick skull.
The message was simple. If Jack was going to suggest light bondage and then excuse himself to answer the phone -- and have a half-hour conversation with Brigadier Whoever while Ianto was naked and tied to a bed -- it would end in pain. The bad kind of pain. The kind that Jack would not enjoy.
Grimacing as the ropes bit into his wrists and refused to budge, Ianto spotted the tell-tale gleam of reflection between the corner of walls and ceiling. He knew Jack well enough to recognise the camera.
Forget shooting. Ianto was going to use knives.
***
Jack followed the sound of one-sided conversation up the stairs, taking each step as quietly as he could.
Even if he hadn't known Gwen, Tosh and Owen had gone on a field trip to the closest Tesco -- he believed the 'alien influence' story as far as he could throw the three of them -- even if he hadn't recognised the deep Welsh vowels, he still would have known it was Ianto from the location. Ianto was the only one who regularly had conversations while making coffee.
"Of course, sir," he was saying, placing a new filter into the machine. "I understand completely."
Crossing his arms, Jack leaned a shoulder against the wall and enjoyed the view. Ianto was wearing a black suit with fine navy pinstripes and had taken the jacket off sometime during the day. As always, Ianto dressed with precision: the sharp edges of a perfectly white collar sat smoothly over the royal blue tie; tailored trousers leaving a little too much to the imagination; waistcoat neatly buttoned down to the second-last buttonhole. Layer upon careful layer, built to a presentable, meticulous standard.
Most of the time, it left Jack's fingers itching to mess it up, to tug the tie loose and undo that starched collar, to unbutton the shirt, and waistcoat, and trousers, and then do whatever it took to unsettle Ianto in every other way.
But sometimes he just liked to look.
"Yes, we understand the importance of this issue, sir. However, Captain Harkness isn't currently able to take this call," Ianto explained, opening the sugar container and frowning when he saw it was empty.
Jack knew it was empty. He'd been the one to empty it this morning.
Ianto stepped back and opened the cupboard below the bench, saying, "I do believe the Captain emailed that file to your office this morning, sir." Then he bent at the waist, nearly sticking his head inside the cupboard as he searched for the bag of sugar.
It was right up the back, hidden behind a dish-washing liquid, spare rubber gloves and a box of crackers that no one ever admitted buying. Jack had made sure of that. If Ianto was going to be bent over, the seat of his trousers pulled tight, repeating "Of course, sir," and "Understood, sir" while keeping the annoyance out of his tone, Jack wanted to enjoy that view for as long as he could.
And it made him very, very glad they had CCTV.
Ianto lifted the bag of sugar to the bench. "I'm sure the Captain was aware you needed the Cost-Benefit analysis by the end of today."
Jack was pretty sure he'd gotten away with the subterfuge undetected, until Ianto turned -- unerringly -- to face him.
Jack smiled as wide as he could. That smile had got it him out of three death sentences, two nuclear explosions, and one blind date with a rather grabby eight-armed Eillefont. But Ianto answered it with a smile of his own. That small, tight smile of endless courtesy, complete willingness to help, and the ability to ruthlessly exact vengeance. "Actually, sir, the Captain's just returned. I'm sure he'll be able to clear this up."
Jack pressed his palms together, pleading softly, "Ianto."
"If you'll hold for just a moment, I'll transfer you now." Ianto ignored him and walked straight to the nearest phone. Quick fingers flew across the buttons and then Jack's headset beeped in his ear.
"Ianto," Jack tried again, "please."
Ianto stared back, keeping that sharp smile in place. Wincing, Jack answered the call. "Do I have to?" he asked, not placing much hope in appealing to Ianto's mercy.
He was pretty sure Ianto had no mercy, at least not where coffee-related mischief was concerned.
"Lieutenant-Colonel Berry is on the phone, sir. He's from the London UNIT office. Apparently, they haven't received the costing figures for the SUV's last three upgrades." Then Ianto pressed transfer.
"Captain Jack Harkness, at your service." As the Lieutenant-Colonel started to complain, Jack consoled himself with the thought of CCTV and congratulated himself on having the forethought to aim the camera rather precisely before setting it to record.
***
"I suppose the fate of the world depends upon it," Ianto said dryly. He didn't hold a lot of hope for getting out of this -- it was Jack's idea after all, and Jack looked far too pleased about it -- but he wanted his objections noted for the record.
"Not the world," Jack replied, emphasising the last word as if it was a ridiculous idea. "Only Britain. Well, the explosion might melt a corner of France, but the rest of the world would be fine."
They turned as Gwen came into the conference room. She was frowning but -- more importantly -- holding a bag of muffins from the bakery. "How come every time I go get breakfast, I come back to talk of the country exploding?"
"Good timing?" Ianto suggested, taking the orange-poppy-seed muffin before Jack could. It was Jack's favourite; he knew the gesture would be noticed.
Gwen passed a blueberry muffin to Tosh (who went straight back to typing into her laptop), and a choc-chip one to Owen, who said, "Ta. The story goes that alien weapons smugglers have set up shop in a new nightclub. It wouldn't be a problem except that one of their..." Owen paused and looked at Jack.
"Jsenalianeon decoctevanescor," Jack supplied helpfully.
"It's leaking energy and likely to explode."
"Can withstand a nuclear attack but give it quick kick to the barrel and it turns into a ticking time bomb. Who designs a gun like that?" Jack wondered aloud, clearly not expecting an answer.
So Ianto answered him. "A species that values adaptable weapons?" he asked, taking a big bite of his muffin when Jack gave him a quick frown.
Owen rolled his eyes. "Jack thinks we should all go undercover and find it before Six Nations gets cut down to three."
"Sounds right enough." Gwen turned to Ianto, giving him a quizzical smile. "What's the problem?"
"Ianto here doesn't want to play dress-up," Owen answered for him.
"I don't see why I'm required," he corrected, staring straight at Jack. Jack was doing this for his own amusement, he was sure of it. "I think I'd be far more useful at the Hub helping Tosh locate the device."
"I'll be working behind the bar, Gwen and Owen will be in the crowd." Jack grinned widely. "We need someone to have access backstage."
"I think I'm missing something," Gwen said, tearing off a chunk of her muffin with her fingers. "Wait, there's a stage?"
"The Jazz Age," Tosh added, still typing. "It's that new place on the edge of town."
Gwen scrunched her face up as she thought. "I think I read about that one. 1920s theme, live singing?"
Owen nodded. "That's the one, except the singer went missing, the kind of missing that Torchwood can't find."
Sighing, Ianto explained, "According to Jack's plan, I'll be undercover as a replacement singer for tonight. Singing songs that I don't know and am somehow expected to learn how to sing professionally in the next ten hours."
"Why isn't Jack doing it?" Gwen asked, biting into her muffin.
"Couldn't carry a tune in a bucket," Jack said easily and Gwen nearly choked in surprise. "What?"
Ianto and Gwen exchanged a look. Gwen gave a tiny shake of her head and Ianto understood. "Nothing," they chorused.
"God, I work with a bunch of girls," Owen said, rolling his eyes. Ianto manfully resisted the urge to kick him under the table. From Owen's sudden wince, Gwen gave into her urge for violence, not that it stopped Owen talking. Nothing short of laryngitis could stop Owen from talking. "The employee showers downstairs? There's still a CCTV camera working down there. It's probably the most watched piece of footage in the hub."
Jack grinned, eyes lighting up, and Ianto just knew he'd be hearing about this later. Probably in embarrassing detail. "Really?"
"Ianto's got a point. You sing that geriatric jazz in the shower," Owen said. "Why aren't you doing this?"
"Because I'd rather Ianto was holding the microphone and I was holding the gun." There was a smile but Jack was serious: he thought Ianto would be safer on the stage. He glanced over at Ianto, and Ianto nodded back, giving in. "Besides, I have this."
Jack produced a shiny silver disc from his pocket and waved at Ianto to come closer.
Ianto watched it -- nothing he recognised -- and didn't move. "What is that?"
"Trust me."
"Last time you said that, a perfectly harmless device turned my hair purple."
"You never came into the Hub with pur--" Gwen's eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open as she saw the embarrassed expression on Ianto's face. "Oh. Not the hair on your head."
Ianto closed his eyes. If he was really, really lucky, the Rift would open up and swallow him whole.
He wasn't that lucky.
"This is harmless." Ianto could hear that Jack was laughing on the inside. "It's a teaching device that downloads the muscle memory straight into your brain."
Tosh started from her computer screen, demanding, "Why haven't we used that? Even if we only used it within Torchwood, it could be a huge improvement of our understanding of alien technology, of grasping higher concepts of mathematics and physics. We could--"
"No, we couldn't," Jack interrupted, turning the disc this way and that. It caught the overhead light, reflecting as it turned. "This is the musical edition only. Great for learning how to sing, useless for everything else. But in this case..."
…and that was how it happened.
That was how Ianto ended up standing in a moody little nightclub, blinded by stage lights, singing "Pennies from Heaven" and "Love Me or Leave Me". Fist tight around the microphone, trying to ignore his heart pounding in his chest, trying to breathe past the grasshoppers in his stomach, Ianto focused on singing each note, each word. It was strange; singing songs that felt as if he'd known them forever, always in the back of his mind but not connected to any memory. So familiar he could sing them without really thinking about it -- but it only felt stranger when he relaxed and didn't think about it, and when he didn't think about it...
That was when he started thinking about how many people were sitting out there, watching him. He could hear the murmur of conversations, of glasses being set down, but unless he raised a hand to shade his eyes from the light, he couldn't see a thing. And when he did check, he could only see outlines of the first few tables, fully seated. There had been fourteen tables when he walked in and six chairs at each, so if every table was only half-full that would still be over forty people staring at him. He was glad he'd worn something he felt comfortable in (simple, black three-piece suit, plain white shirt, black tie).
He'd almost forgotten how much he hated public speaking.
But he got through the first set and made it to the intermission (without throwing up or fainting, thankfully) and fumbled for his earpiece. "Tosh? Any luck locating it?"
"Go out to the club," Jack's voice answered. "Head towards the bar. Look to your right."
Ianto pushed through the side door and walked towards the bar (thinking longingly of a pint). "What am I looking for?"
"You'll know it when you see it," Jack said and Ianto stopped as he saw them. Saw all four of them -- Jack, Tosh, Gwen and Owen -- sitting around a table near the wall. Jack stood up and waved. "See us?"
Ianto pulled the earpiece out and dropped it into his pocket as he cut across the room. "What happened to the device?"
"We found it an hour before your performance began. Gave us enough time to get here without missing the start," Jack said happily. "Did Gwen forget to tell you?"
Gwen grinned at him, unrepentant. "Jack said he'd tell you."
"They both said they'd told you," Tosh said with a shrug. Ianto didn't miss the digital camera sitting at her elbow. Traitor. "But I think they just wanted to see you on stage."
"You were really good," Gwen gushed.
"You didn't look like a world-class tool," Owen allowed, passing Ianto a well-deserved pint. Given the source, it was a compliment.
"You looked great." With a flirtatious grin, Jack let his gaze fall slowly to the floor and looked back up Ianto just as slowly. Jack got up and walked around the table, stopping in front of Ianto. "Just one improvement."
"Yes?"
"The tie should go," Jack said, and started undoing it, leaning in close enough that Ianto could smell his aftershave.
As he was tugging the knot free, Ianto said softly, "One of these days, I'm going to die of embarrassment and you'll be the cause."
Jack chuckled, soft and low, and pulled the tie free from his collar. With a flick of his fingers, he undid the first two buttons of Ianto's shirt. "Surely you can't blame me for falling for your charms, Ianto Jones?"
"I hold you entirely responsible for your actions," Ianto said but decided that maybe -- just this once -- he'd let Jack keep the recording.
Subtitle: Five Recordings Jack Made of Ianto
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG
Notes: Thanks to
gothams3rdrobin for the Britpick and discussion on sofas vs couches vs settees. Thanks to ekaterinn for betaing and making the story a lot funnier than it would have been. *hearts* No actual spoilers in here.Summary: Five times shooting Jack Harkness would have been a perfectly reasonable action to take.
ETA: Now with a fantastic cover by
in_the_bottle!***
There was something so typical about it, Ianto thought. Owen had bitched about the weather this morning -- stuck in the middle of a stream of complaints, Welsh weather had somehow been as offensive as under-dressed teenagers and over-friendly hands on crowded buses -- but it had remained overcast, dark and dry all day.
Until now.
"Is this really necessary?" Ianto asked, staring at the CCTV camera. He knew Jack would be watching. Probably the entire team was crowded around the big monitor on Tosh's desk.
"Take the suit off," Jack replied smugly. Clearly, he was enjoying this.
"Jack--"
"Barbeque sauce. You're soaked in it."
"Sorry," Tosh interrupted quickly, "I really didn't mean to."
Jack continued, "You're not stepping back inside the hub wearing that suit."
The light drizzle started to get heavier, cold drops sliding under the back of Ianto's collar. "I could have gone to the employee showers and changed," he said, letting some of his annoyance bleed through.
He had every right to be annoyed with the four of them.
Gwen and Owen had been the ones tossing around the barbeque sauce easy-to-squeeze bottle and left it lying on the autopsy stairs. Tosh was the one who stepped on it, causing the sauce to spray out into the autopsy bay and all over the back of Ianto's jacket. And Jack was the one who moved while the others were apologising or laughing, who grabbed Ianto and shoved him onto the invisible lift, and left him stranded on a public walkway in Cardiff.
In the rain.
"Take the suit off, Ianto," Jack drawled, stretching his name out for longer than needed.
"Give the crowds a cheap thrill," Owen suggested and Ianto could hear Gwen trying not to laugh.
"Invisible lift," Ianto reminded him. "No one else can see you, that's the whole point."
Jack laughed. "Then you shouldn't have any problem getting undressed."
Ianto decided that for the next hour -- at least -- he hated Jack. It seemed unfair to blame an animal for its diet, so he wasn't going to hold a grudge against Myfanwy but Gwen and Tosh, and their stifled giggles, were fair targets.
Everyone was getting decaf for the next week.
Ianto closed his eyes against the rain and dragged in a deep breath. He ignored the sounds of conversation from the other side of the street -- the four women dressed in straight skirts and feminine shirts, pulling out umbrellas and clicking their heels against the footpath -- and started unbuttoning his jacket.
He shrugged it off, ignoring the way the damp fabric stuck to his shoulders, and folded it at his feet. The rain got heavier as he undid his waistcoat and added it to the pile. The water was cold against his back, plastering the dark blue shirt to his skin.
He felt slightly ridiculous standing still in the rain, but there was no way on god's green earth that he was stepping off that stone. "Can I come in now?"
"And the pants, Ianto," Jack said and Ianto had no doubt he was recording this.
The first thing he'd do once he was dry and dressed would be to sift through the network and find wherever Jack had saved this, Ianto promised himself as he bent down to untie his shoes. Then he was going to delete it, and use one of Tosh's hacking programs to delete the deletion. His socks were wet and cold, so he pulled them off too. It was going to be gone.
His fingers were freezing, but he got his belt undone. He didn't let himself pause, didn't let himself think about the fact that he was standing on a public footpath, undoing his trousers and stepping out of them as people walked by.
"Boxer-briefs, really?" he heard Gwen mutter. The only reason he didn't die of embarrassment was to avoid giving Jack the satisfaction.
Folding the trousers carefully, feeling the cold rain landing on his shoulder and his back and his bare legs, Ianto fought the urge to mutter deprecations under his breath. Torchwood did not pay him enough for this shit.
***
It was Saturday. The Rift was supposed to stay closed and quiet until Monday night, so the team had taken the weekend off. For lack of anything better to do -- and because files were stacked a foot high on his desk with a purple post-it note saying, "For review!" in Ianto's neat, loopy handwriting -- Jack was sorting through paperwork. He was approving expense claims and reading through mission reports, signing and initialling where necessary.
He was being diligent. He was being the hardworking and meticulous boss.
He was bored to the point of insanity.
Pushing his chair back, Jack stood up, sighing. He still had at least eight inches of files and no one to yell at for coffee.
"Oh, please!"
Jack started at the sound of Ianto's sudden yell. He knew Ianto's tone wasn't alarmed -- annoyed, but not seriously bothered -- and having Ianto around might be a fun distraction. Leaving his office, he set the CCTV to record.
He found Ianto sitting on the couch, elbows propped on the thighs of his worn denim jeans, staring at the monitors above Tosh's desk and muttering something heated in Welsh. Jack followed the line of Ianto's sight, and snorted as he saw the screens covered in the bright, vivid green of fields. There were white lines painted onto the grass and groups of brightly dressed young men running after a ball. "You fixed Tosh's monitors to watch TV?"
"Reception's out at my flat," Ianto replied dully, not looking away from the screen. "Can't get Sky Sports."
"Did you pay for it?"
"Paying doesn't usually effect my reception." For the first time, Ianto looked at Jack, giving a fast, naughty smile. "But I didn't have time to fix it before the match started. Coming in here was quicker."
Jack grinned. Ianto breaking the rules was always fun. "Any chance of a coffee?" He waggled his eyebrows at Ianto, but the effect was spoiled when Ianto glared at him.
"No suit," Ianto said, waving a hand from his head to his knees, "no coffee. Football only."
Frowning, Jack buried his hands in his pocket. Being ignored was the opposite of fun and as the boss, he was kind of sure that he wasn't supposed to be ignored. "Who's playing?"
"Birmingham and Arsenal. I used to follow Arsenal when I lived in London," Ianto said, staring back at the screen. He suddenly pointed at the bottom left corner -- where a man in black and white was waving at the screen -- and then erupted, "Like that's fair! That's ridiculous!"
"Uh-huh?" Jack said, faking an interest.
"Quite clearly he didn't--" Ianto paused, and blinked at Jack. "Do you even know what sport I'm watching?"
"Rugby?"
"No, football," Ianto said slowly, turning back to watch the screen. "And you're not interested in either, are you?"
"My only interest in rugby was Arthur Gould." Jack paused for a moment, remembering. "Very athletic man, but his moustache used to tickle."
Ianto stared at him like he'd grown a third arm (which Jack had during those months on Nehkignosh but he'd got it removed later). "You slept with Arthur Gould?"
Jack grinned widely and sauntered over to the couch. He stopped in front of Ianto and said, "He could do this really interesting thing with--"
The effect was spoilt by a sudden applause behind him, and Ianto lurching sideways to see the game. He let out a fast, half-growled stream of Welsh that Jack didn't need to understand to know Ianto was swearing. When he paused for breath, he said in a low, controlled voice that sent shivers down Jack's spine, "Jack?"
"Yes?"
"I know where the stun guns are kept," he said, in that same dangerous tone. "If you make me miss another goal, I'm going to incapacitate you until the game is over."
Jack sighed but there was something very -- frighteningly -- serious about Ianto's expression. "You don't want me around?" he asked, and threw in a pout for good measure.
"It's only an hour. Go away."
***
Ianto was going to shoot him.. He was going to shoot Jack starting with each knee-cap, then each shoulder and then a few through his torso to make sure it really hurt.
As soon as he got his hands untied, as soon as he got this rope free from his wrists and the metal frame of Jack's cot, he was going to find Jack's gun and shoot him. It was going to be really, really painful. Ianto needed to sure the message got through Jack's thick skull.
The message was simple. If Jack was going to suggest light bondage and then excuse himself to answer the phone -- and have a half-hour conversation with Brigadier Whoever while Ianto was naked and tied to a bed -- it would end in pain. The bad kind of pain. The kind that Jack would not enjoy.
Grimacing as the ropes bit into his wrists and refused to budge, Ianto spotted the tell-tale gleam of reflection between the corner of walls and ceiling. He knew Jack well enough to recognise the camera.
Forget shooting. Ianto was going to use knives.
***
Jack followed the sound of one-sided conversation up the stairs, taking each step as quietly as he could.
Even if he hadn't known Gwen, Tosh and Owen had gone on a field trip to the closest Tesco -- he believed the 'alien influence' story as far as he could throw the three of them -- even if he hadn't recognised the deep Welsh vowels, he still would have known it was Ianto from the location. Ianto was the only one who regularly had conversations while making coffee.
"Of course, sir," he was saying, placing a new filter into the machine. "I understand completely."
Crossing his arms, Jack leaned a shoulder against the wall and enjoyed the view. Ianto was wearing a black suit with fine navy pinstripes and had taken the jacket off sometime during the day. As always, Ianto dressed with precision: the sharp edges of a perfectly white collar sat smoothly over the royal blue tie; tailored trousers leaving a little too much to the imagination; waistcoat neatly buttoned down to the second-last buttonhole. Layer upon careful layer, built to a presentable, meticulous standard.
Most of the time, it left Jack's fingers itching to mess it up, to tug the tie loose and undo that starched collar, to unbutton the shirt, and waistcoat, and trousers, and then do whatever it took to unsettle Ianto in every other way.
But sometimes he just liked to look.
"Yes, we understand the importance of this issue, sir. However, Captain Harkness isn't currently able to take this call," Ianto explained, opening the sugar container and frowning when he saw it was empty.
Jack knew it was empty. He'd been the one to empty it this morning.
Ianto stepped back and opened the cupboard below the bench, saying, "I do believe the Captain emailed that file to your office this morning, sir." Then he bent at the waist, nearly sticking his head inside the cupboard as he searched for the bag of sugar.
It was right up the back, hidden behind a dish-washing liquid, spare rubber gloves and a box of crackers that no one ever admitted buying. Jack had made sure of that. If Ianto was going to be bent over, the seat of his trousers pulled tight, repeating "Of course, sir," and "Understood, sir" while keeping the annoyance out of his tone, Jack wanted to enjoy that view for as long as he could.
And it made him very, very glad they had CCTV.
Ianto lifted the bag of sugar to the bench. "I'm sure the Captain was aware you needed the Cost-Benefit analysis by the end of today."
Jack was pretty sure he'd gotten away with the subterfuge undetected, until Ianto turned -- unerringly -- to face him.
Jack smiled as wide as he could. That smile had got it him out of three death sentences, two nuclear explosions, and one blind date with a rather grabby eight-armed Eillefont. But Ianto answered it with a smile of his own. That small, tight smile of endless courtesy, complete willingness to help, and the ability to ruthlessly exact vengeance. "Actually, sir, the Captain's just returned. I'm sure he'll be able to clear this up."
Jack pressed his palms together, pleading softly, "Ianto."
"If you'll hold for just a moment, I'll transfer you now." Ianto ignored him and walked straight to the nearest phone. Quick fingers flew across the buttons and then Jack's headset beeped in his ear.
"Ianto," Jack tried again, "please."
Ianto stared back, keeping that sharp smile in place. Wincing, Jack answered the call. "Do I have to?" he asked, not placing much hope in appealing to Ianto's mercy.
He was pretty sure Ianto had no mercy, at least not where coffee-related mischief was concerned.
"Lieutenant-Colonel Berry is on the phone, sir. He's from the London UNIT office. Apparently, they haven't received the costing figures for the SUV's last three upgrades." Then Ianto pressed transfer.
"Captain Jack Harkness, at your service." As the Lieutenant-Colonel started to complain, Jack consoled himself with the thought of CCTV and congratulated himself on having the forethought to aim the camera rather precisely before setting it to record.
***
"I suppose the fate of the world depends upon it," Ianto said dryly. He didn't hold a lot of hope for getting out of this -- it was Jack's idea after all, and Jack looked far too pleased about it -- but he wanted his objections noted for the record.
"Not the world," Jack replied, emphasising the last word as if it was a ridiculous idea. "Only Britain. Well, the explosion might melt a corner of France, but the rest of the world would be fine."
They turned as Gwen came into the conference room. She was frowning but -- more importantly -- holding a bag of muffins from the bakery. "How come every time I go get breakfast, I come back to talk of the country exploding?"
"Good timing?" Ianto suggested, taking the orange-poppy-seed muffin before Jack could. It was Jack's favourite; he knew the gesture would be noticed.
Gwen passed a blueberry muffin to Tosh (who went straight back to typing into her laptop), and a choc-chip one to Owen, who said, "Ta. The story goes that alien weapons smugglers have set up shop in a new nightclub. It wouldn't be a problem except that one of their..." Owen paused and looked at Jack.
"Jsenalianeon decoctevanescor," Jack supplied helpfully.
"It's leaking energy and likely to explode."
"Can withstand a nuclear attack but give it quick kick to the barrel and it turns into a ticking time bomb. Who designs a gun like that?" Jack wondered aloud, clearly not expecting an answer.
So Ianto answered him. "A species that values adaptable weapons?" he asked, taking a big bite of his muffin when Jack gave him a quick frown.
Owen rolled his eyes. "Jack thinks we should all go undercover and find it before Six Nations gets cut down to three."
"Sounds right enough." Gwen turned to Ianto, giving him a quizzical smile. "What's the problem?"
"Ianto here doesn't want to play dress-up," Owen answered for him.
"I don't see why I'm required," he corrected, staring straight at Jack. Jack was doing this for his own amusement, he was sure of it. "I think I'd be far more useful at the Hub helping Tosh locate the device."
"I'll be working behind the bar, Gwen and Owen will be in the crowd." Jack grinned widely. "We need someone to have access backstage."
"I think I'm missing something," Gwen said, tearing off a chunk of her muffin with her fingers. "Wait, there's a stage?"
"The Jazz Age," Tosh added, still typing. "It's that new place on the edge of town."
Gwen scrunched her face up as she thought. "I think I read about that one. 1920s theme, live singing?"
Owen nodded. "That's the one, except the singer went missing, the kind of missing that Torchwood can't find."
Sighing, Ianto explained, "According to Jack's plan, I'll be undercover as a replacement singer for tonight. Singing songs that I don't know and am somehow expected to learn how to sing professionally in the next ten hours."
"Why isn't Jack doing it?" Gwen asked, biting into her muffin.
"Couldn't carry a tune in a bucket," Jack said easily and Gwen nearly choked in surprise. "What?"
Ianto and Gwen exchanged a look. Gwen gave a tiny shake of her head and Ianto understood. "Nothing," they chorused.
"God, I work with a bunch of girls," Owen said, rolling his eyes. Ianto manfully resisted the urge to kick him under the table. From Owen's sudden wince, Gwen gave into her urge for violence, not that it stopped Owen talking. Nothing short of laryngitis could stop Owen from talking. "The employee showers downstairs? There's still a CCTV camera working down there. It's probably the most watched piece of footage in the hub."
Jack grinned, eyes lighting up, and Ianto just knew he'd be hearing about this later. Probably in embarrassing detail. "Really?"
"Ianto's got a point. You sing that geriatric jazz in the shower," Owen said. "Why aren't you doing this?"
"Because I'd rather Ianto was holding the microphone and I was holding the gun." There was a smile but Jack was serious: he thought Ianto would be safer on the stage. He glanced over at Ianto, and Ianto nodded back, giving in. "Besides, I have this."
Jack produced a shiny silver disc from his pocket and waved at Ianto to come closer.
Ianto watched it -- nothing he recognised -- and didn't move. "What is that?"
"Trust me."
"Last time you said that, a perfectly harmless device turned my hair purple."
"You never came into the Hub with pur--" Gwen's eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open as she saw the embarrassed expression on Ianto's face. "Oh. Not the hair on your head."
Ianto closed his eyes. If he was really, really lucky, the Rift would open up and swallow him whole.
He wasn't that lucky.
"This is harmless." Ianto could hear that Jack was laughing on the inside. "It's a teaching device that downloads the muscle memory straight into your brain."
Tosh started from her computer screen, demanding, "Why haven't we used that? Even if we only used it within Torchwood, it could be a huge improvement of our understanding of alien technology, of grasping higher concepts of mathematics and physics. We could--"
"No, we couldn't," Jack interrupted, turning the disc this way and that. It caught the overhead light, reflecting as it turned. "This is the musical edition only. Great for learning how to sing, useless for everything else. But in this case..."
…and that was how it happened.
That was how Ianto ended up standing in a moody little nightclub, blinded by stage lights, singing "Pennies from Heaven" and "Love Me or Leave Me". Fist tight around the microphone, trying to ignore his heart pounding in his chest, trying to breathe past the grasshoppers in his stomach, Ianto focused on singing each note, each word. It was strange; singing songs that felt as if he'd known them forever, always in the back of his mind but not connected to any memory. So familiar he could sing them without really thinking about it -- but it only felt stranger when he relaxed and didn't think about it, and when he didn't think about it...
That was when he started thinking about how many people were sitting out there, watching him. He could hear the murmur of conversations, of glasses being set down, but unless he raised a hand to shade his eyes from the light, he couldn't see a thing. And when he did check, he could only see outlines of the first few tables, fully seated. There had been fourteen tables when he walked in and six chairs at each, so if every table was only half-full that would still be over forty people staring at him. He was glad he'd worn something he felt comfortable in (simple, black three-piece suit, plain white shirt, black tie).
He'd almost forgotten how much he hated public speaking.
But he got through the first set and made it to the intermission (without throwing up or fainting, thankfully) and fumbled for his earpiece. "Tosh? Any luck locating it?"
"Go out to the club," Jack's voice answered. "Head towards the bar. Look to your right."
Ianto pushed through the side door and walked towards the bar (thinking longingly of a pint). "What am I looking for?"
"You'll know it when you see it," Jack said and Ianto stopped as he saw them. Saw all four of them -- Jack, Tosh, Gwen and Owen -- sitting around a table near the wall. Jack stood up and waved. "See us?"
Ianto pulled the earpiece out and dropped it into his pocket as he cut across the room. "What happened to the device?"
"We found it an hour before your performance began. Gave us enough time to get here without missing the start," Jack said happily. "Did Gwen forget to tell you?"
Gwen grinned at him, unrepentant. "Jack said he'd tell you."
"They both said they'd told you," Tosh said with a shrug. Ianto didn't miss the digital camera sitting at her elbow. Traitor. "But I think they just wanted to see you on stage."
"You were really good," Gwen gushed.
"You didn't look like a world-class tool," Owen allowed, passing Ianto a well-deserved pint. Given the source, it was a compliment.
"You looked great." With a flirtatious grin, Jack let his gaze fall slowly to the floor and looked back up Ianto just as slowly. Jack got up and walked around the table, stopping in front of Ianto. "Just one improvement."
"Yes?"
"The tie should go," Jack said, and started undoing it, leaning in close enough that Ianto could smell his aftershave.
As he was tugging the knot free, Ianto said softly, "One of these days, I'm going to die of embarrassment and you'll be the cause."
Jack chuckled, soft and low, and pulled the tie free from his collar. With a flick of his fingers, he undid the first two buttons of Ianto's shirt. "Surely you can't blame me for falling for your charms, Ianto Jones?"
"I hold you entirely responsible for your actions," Ianto said but decided that maybe -- just this once -- he'd let Jack keep the recording.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-02-25 10:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-25 11:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-25 11:36 pm (UTC)like I stalk Gareth? Haha, I think I just happened to be refreshing my flist when you posted. :) But yay! I am going right now to read!no subject
Date: 2008-02-25 11:44 pm (UTC)See, if that was true, I'd just be flattered because I look nowhere near as good in jeans.
no subject
Date: 2008-02-25 11:58 pm (UTC)Firstly, YES YES WET GARETH!!
Secondly, OMG YES YES YES IANTO IN JEANS!!
And, ok, I basically am YES! to everything he wears here and the descriptions of what he wears!! And I love that Jack is always watching him (and recording it!).
In conclusion: SO MUCH LOVE! (In addition to writing for Torchwood, they should also let you dress the actors! I would support that!
espcially if the costume is nekkid)no subject
Date: 2008-02-26 12:30 am (UTC)From the scene in Meat, that's pretty much canon. *g*
(In addition to writing for Torchwood, they should also let you dress the actors! I would support that! espcially if the costume is nekkid)
Hee! They could be naked for plot-driven reasons, like some alien device goes off so every time the team touches a door, tehir clothes get dematerialised. They could scramble to find something to wear -- anything, so, probably Jack would find his wardrobe being confiscated to be distributed amongst the team -- and then struggle to work a way out of the hub. (I'd watch it.)
But, yeah, I think it's John's fault that they're not naked more often. He's the one who mentioned that with the shooting schedule of TW, he hasn't had time to get to the gym, so no naked Jack scenes. *pouts*
no subject
Date: 2008-02-26 01:17 am (UTC)Blah, Borrowman, I will take you fat and nekkid! ;)
no subject
Date: 2008-02-26 01:29 am (UTC)How cute would that be? SO CUTE!
Mind you, I've got a mental image of Tosh wearing a Jack-shirt as a dress, and Gwen fighting Owen over Jack's last clean t-shirt, and Ianto quite happily wearing Jack's boxers and a big warm knitted sweater of Jack's (and usuing this as an excuse to keep the sweater and never return it).
no subject
Date: 2008-02-26 01:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-25 11:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-25 11:42 pm (UTC)And, yeah, I'm not a footy fan either. But Dad is and there's something oddly endearing about imagining Ianto sitting around, yelling out at the TV screen. (Yeah, I think Ianto's just blokey enough to be into footy -- to follow a team almost obsessively -- whereas Owen's just metrosexual enough not to really care.)
no subject
Date: 2008-02-26 02:49 am (UTC)That is TOTALLY how he learned to get out of the ropes in Meat! I knew it!!
"I hold you entirely responsible for your actions," Ianto said but decided that maybe -- just this once -- he'd let Jack keep the recording.
D'aw! That's love.
YAY! And I totally don't mind that I lost the "what should I write" poll. (For now at least... *g*)
no subject
Date: 2008-02-26 03:07 am (UTC)Then ossibly I stole the idea from you. Or maybe
D'aw! That's love.
*draws sparkley hearts around them both*
YAY! And I totally don't mind that I lost the "what should I write" poll. (For now at least... *g*)
How generous of you! (After all, I cheated and just shoved the two ideas together...)
no subject
Date: 2008-02-26 03:22 am (UTC)Well, I'm nothing if not generous, you know. *g*
Then ossibly I stole the idea from you. Or maybe godofwine. I don't know who, but I know someone posited that explanation for Ianto's mad anti-bondage skillz.
I'm sure PLENTY of people's dirty dirty minds went there during that scene. Swoon.
You writing TW fic makes me happy.
no subject
Date: 2008-02-26 04:01 am (UTC)If they didn't want our minds to go to the dirty places, the boys wouldn't pull such orgasm faces during that episode. I'm just saying.
no subject
Date: 2008-02-26 04:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-26 11:06 pm (UTC)And I never thank you for hooking me up with this show and the goodness od Ianto and Jack, so *bows* thank you so so much. One day I´m gonna have to send you something *starts planning*
no subject
Date: 2008-02-26 11:33 pm (UTC)And, yeah, this show? My big (canonically) gay scifi show? Is one of the best things on TV, I swear. And it's certainly a fun fandom.
no subject
Date: 2008-02-27 05:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-27 09:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-09 03:56 pm (UTC)I want to hug this fic to my chest and take it to bed. *is undecided if that urge was meant to be dirty or not*
no subject
Date: 2008-03-10 09:33 am (UTC)Given the existance of Jack in this fandom, I think it's probably a little dirty, but still very affectionate.
I know I should feel sympathetic, but I can't help it, he's just so adorable that I couldn't make myself disapprove of what Jack gets into his head to record
Poor Ianto -- even when he's fuming, he's still
hot as helladorable.no subject
Date: 2008-09-01 07:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-01 08:24 pm (UTC)At least inside my head.