Random Jack (sick day)
Jul. 4th, 2008 02:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
out_thereIanto doesn't call in sick; he sends a text message to Jack's phone. It's short, simple -- "Am sick. Not coming in today. Maybe tomorrow" -- and unlikely to hide a cryptic message detailing a hostage situation, but Jack goes over to check it out. Just in case.
He has to knock on Ianto's door twice before the door is opened slowly. Ianto looks a mess: his hair is sticking up in all directions; his dark blue flannel pyjamas are hanging loosely, creased and lopsided; his face is pale and there’s a shadow of stubble along his jaw line. He's also holding a tissue to his nose and staring at Jack in a way that makes Jack very glad he's immortal. "What do you need?"
Ignoring the grumpy tone, Jack smiles and steps inside Ianto's flat. "I wanted to check if you're okay."
"I'm *sick*," Ianto says sourly, then sneezes into the tissue.
"I thought it might be serious."
"Thought I had Alien Death Flu, then?" Ianto runs a hand -- the one not holding the tissue -- through his hair. It only succeeds in messing it in the same general direction. "Not to disappoint, but it's just a cold."
"You called in sick for a cold?" Jack wonders aloud, but Ianto's glare gets worse.
"I have sick-leave. Am I not allowed to use it?"
"I never said that." Jack steps forward and slides his hands onto Ianto's hips, hooking his thumbs into the elasticised waistband. "But you've worked for me for over a year and never taken a day off. It's unusual, that's all."
Ianto shrugs. "Been a while since I got sick."
It only takes a small tug to convince Ianto to step closer and loop his arms around Jack's shoulders. Jack strokes his thumbs against the top curve of Ianto's hip bones, and presses a kiss to Ianto's cheek. Beneath the scratch of stubble, Ianto's skin feels hot. "Come on. Let's get you into bed."
Ianto drops his forehead to Jack's shoulder. "Should've known you'd come round to mine just to get me between the sheets." It's too muffled to sound sarcastic.
"How can I resist you when you're all rumpled and bed-ready?" Jack teases, and Ianto pulls back to wipe his nose.
"Just because you can't die doesn't mean you can't catch cold. Before you try anything, remember that here in the 21st century, we don't have a cure. It's all bed rest, liquids and feeling terrible." That firm tone doesn't work very well while Ianto's wearing PJs and looking as cranky as a preschooler who lost his favourite toy.
Jack doesn't point that out, though. Likewise, he doesn't mention that he's vaccinated against anything this millennium can throw at him and even if he wasn't, an average 51st century immune system wouldn't have any trouble with a common cold. He doubts Ianto would appreciate that information right now, so instead Jack says, "I'll take my chances," and leads Ianto into the bedroom.
He has to knock on Ianto's door twice before the door is opened slowly. Ianto looks a mess: his hair is sticking up in all directions; his dark blue flannel pyjamas are hanging loosely, creased and lopsided; his face is pale and there’s a shadow of stubble along his jaw line. He's also holding a tissue to his nose and staring at Jack in a way that makes Jack very glad he's immortal. "What do you need?"
Ignoring the grumpy tone, Jack smiles and steps inside Ianto's flat. "I wanted to check if you're okay."
"I'm *sick*," Ianto says sourly, then sneezes into the tissue.
"I thought it might be serious."
"Thought I had Alien Death Flu, then?" Ianto runs a hand -- the one not holding the tissue -- through his hair. It only succeeds in messing it in the same general direction. "Not to disappoint, but it's just a cold."
"You called in sick for a cold?" Jack wonders aloud, but Ianto's glare gets worse.
"I have sick-leave. Am I not allowed to use it?"
"I never said that." Jack steps forward and slides his hands onto Ianto's hips, hooking his thumbs into the elasticised waistband. "But you've worked for me for over a year and never taken a day off. It's unusual, that's all."
Ianto shrugs. "Been a while since I got sick."
It only takes a small tug to convince Ianto to step closer and loop his arms around Jack's shoulders. Jack strokes his thumbs against the top curve of Ianto's hip bones, and presses a kiss to Ianto's cheek. Beneath the scratch of stubble, Ianto's skin feels hot. "Come on. Let's get you into bed."
Ianto drops his forehead to Jack's shoulder. "Should've known you'd come round to mine just to get me between the sheets." It's too muffled to sound sarcastic.
"How can I resist you when you're all rumpled and bed-ready?" Jack teases, and Ianto pulls back to wipe his nose.
"Just because you can't die doesn't mean you can't catch cold. Before you try anything, remember that here in the 21st century, we don't have a cure. It's all bed rest, liquids and feeling terrible." That firm tone doesn't work very well while Ianto's wearing PJs and looking as cranky as a preschooler who lost his favourite toy.
Jack doesn't point that out, though. Likewise, he doesn't mention that he's vaccinated against anything this millennium can throw at him and even if he wasn't, an average 51st century immune system wouldn't have any trouble with a common cold. He doubts Ianto would appreciate that information right now, so instead Jack says, "I'll take my chances," and leads Ianto into the bedroom.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-04 08:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-06 04:37 am (UTC)