out_there | Entries tagged with fic: torchwood random jack

Ianto likes seeing live amateur comedy. Sitting at the back of a half-dark pub, drinking beer and watching would-be-comedians flounder on stage is his idea of a good time.

Whenever he suggests it, Jack tries to object. It's not that he doesn't like spending a night out with Ianto, or that he dislikes pubs, beer or the opportunity to sit in the almost dark and feel Ianto up under the table.

It's that the comedians aren't funny.

Their jokes are tired and obvious, old lines that Jack heard in the fifties, or jokes that are horribly crass, even by Jack's standards. Some of the comics are obnoxious and arrogant, all but insulting their audience; others are terribly shy, stuttering through their monologues. But none of them are funny.

He tries to point out that there's only a one in five chance of a jokes being vaguely amusing. There's a one in fifteen chance of them saying something that's worth a laugh. (Jack's counted, and this ratio is almost true.) There's a one in two chance of them saying something that'll make Ianto cringe.

But when Jack starts to argue that going somewhere else -- anywhere else -- would be a better night out, Ianto says, "Comedy needs to be supported," and smiles in a way that Jack finds irresistible.

There's frequently a kiss thrown in for good measure, Ianto's hand wandering down the front of Jack's shirt as he adds, "You don't mind, do you?"

It's terrible comedy, almost painful to sit through, but at the end of the night, Ianto will smile and say, "Thanks," and he might even let Jack molest him in an alley on the way home, so Jack always sighs and gives in.

But Amateur Night is never funny.

Jack pauses at the end of his tale, allows a dramatic moment for the punch line to sink in. Then he leans forward over the Tourist Office counter, ducks his head closer to Gwen and Ianto, and conspiratorially whispers, "I couldn't wash the smell of strawberries off me for a week."

As expected, it's just enough to tip them both into laughter. It's a great sight: Ianto leaning his head on one hand, shoulders shaking with mirth; Gwen close to tears, mouth open wide, wheezing to breathe around her chortles. This reaction is why Jack tells these stories, regardless of how ridiculous they make him look. It's worth it to hear his team reduced to giggles.

"Strawberries--" Ianto starts but the rest gets lost in smiggers.

"It took me years to get a taste for them again." Jack grins and stands up straight. "It's amazing how spending seven hours lying in a strawberry patch in someone else's underwear--"

"--Hiding from trained gorillas," Gwen adds.

Ianto drags in a deep breath and manages, "Don't forget the dozen sharpshooters watching!"

"If those gorillas hadn't been a protected species," Jack says, pulling a face and patting Gwen on the back when she starts to wheeze again, "and belonged to the High Judge, I wouldn't have spent days scrubbing strawberry juice from my skin. And you don't even want to imagine the number of pictures that got pinned in the mess after that. They even ran a competition for the most embarrassing shot."

Okay, this Random Jack is a slight cheat (but only because I've got a whole alphabet of files to sort through this afternoon and I'm only up to D, hence I don't have the time to sit down and write up a proper "just thought of it this morning" Random Jack entry) but still better than nothing.

Jack was wearing a suit.

Ianto had grown up around suits and the importance of a well-dressed man, and it was almost automatic to observe the outfit through the eyes of a tailor. The suit was double-breasted, charcoal grey and a great example of bespoke tailoring. It fitted smooothly across Jack's shoulders, was comfortably loose across the biceps and neatly skimmed the curves of Jack's waist and hips. The trousers were slightly looser than was currently fashionable (really didn't do Jack's thighs justice, Ianto found himself thinking) but combined with the wide buttons and low V of the jacket, gave the suggestion of a 1940s suit without being obvious.

Like Jack himself, the outfit was deceptively simple. A dark suit with a pale shirt and dark grey silk tie. But the shirt wasn't quite white; it was instead an incredibly pale shade of blue. The suit wasn't strictly grey; it had a very subtle sky-blue pinstripe. It looked simple but it made Jack look incredible.

Belatedly, Ianto realised Jack was looking at him. And possibly had been talking. "Yes?"

Jack laughed, shaking his head. "I guess I should wear this suit more often?"

"Definitely," Ianto said, looking at the crisp collar and silky stretch of tie. Swallowing, he debated tearing that suit off Jack right now.

When Ianto suggests they go camping, Jack's not sure how to take it. "Are you sure you want to? Given what happened last time?"

Ianto frowns. It's an adorable expression on him, but Jack knows better than to say that out loud.

"If you remember," Ianto says, adding a drawn brow to the frown, "we didn't get to the camping part."

"I remember tents."

"Putting up tents doesn't mean camping. Much like making a bed isn't the same thing as sleeping." Under his breath, Ianto adds, "Not that you'd know much about making a bed."

Jack swings his feet off his desk and stands up. "To me, bed-making is a spectator sport."

"Clearly."

Jack walks over to his doorway, stepping right into Ianto's personal space and sliding a hand around the dip of Ianto's back. "You, bent over a bed? It's a great view."

Ianto tries to look unimpressed, but Jack spots the amused quirk of Ianto's mouth. Ianto glances to the side, trying to hide his reaction, so Jack takes advantage of the moment. He sneaks a quick kiss to Ianto's mouth, smoothing his hand lower.

Ianto hums against Jack's lips, but holds himself still. He doesn't let his hands wander. And when he pulls back, he asks, "Camping?" as the conversation hadn't been nearly interrupted.

"I don't think it's a good idea," Jack says simply, shrugging with a shoulder.

"Why not?"

"Last time we tried that as a team-bonding exercise, it didn't really work."

True to habit, Ianto rolls his eyes. "If I'd wanted the whole team to go, I would have suggested it in front of them. I wanted to take you camping, Jack."

"Really?" Jack can't hide the confused surprise on his face, not that he even tries. (Ianto frequently sees through him, so there's very little point in hiding his reactions.) "Why?"

"You were the one extolling the virtues of camping to Owen," Ianto says, backing up his argument by shifting his hips against Jack. It's a sneaky move that Jack appreciates.

"Only because it was necessary for the mission. And to make Owen stop complaining." Ianto presses against Jack again, so Jack grins and tightens his hold. "It wasn't out of choice."

Ianto kisses him lightly, slowly, a teasing promise of a kiss. "Come camping with me."

"Give me a good reason."

"Because it's fun. It's an adventure."

Ianto kisses him again, and Jack already knows he's lost this argument. But it's always best to go down fighting, so he puts on his best impassive, unconvinced face and says, "Go on."

"It'll be an escape, just you and me in the middle of nowhere. We'll take the weekend off, drive for a few hours and put up a tent."

"Not very appealing," Jack lies.

"You, me, and a shared sleeping bag. Be a miracle if you didn't see the appeal."

"Hmmm." Jack aims for serious, but half a grin still escapes. "I'd have to try it to be sure."

Ianto laughs softly and curls his hands around Jack's biceps. "Just to be sure."

It's an icy winter morning, and Ianto's breath steams in the air as he rubs his hands together, pledging to remember his gloves tomorrow. Or buy new ones next time it's this cold. He unlocks the front door, enters his code into the hidden keypad, and then switches on the light.

He has a routine in the mornings. Unlock the door, turn on the light, switch on his computer. Take off his coat, type in his log-in password (the computer up here is older and purely Earth tech, so it's slower than the rest of the Hub; it needs time to warm up) and take off his coat while Windows loads. Then lock the computer from prying eyes and head downstairs to make fresh coffee.

It's a comforting habit, but more importantly, it works efficiently. By the time the others come in, the Tourist Office is open for customers, there's coffee for all and Ianto's had a chance to sort through the group inbox and flag anything worth checking.

It's not until his coat is hung up neatly and Ianto reaches for the keyboard that he notices something is... different. He freezes, looking first at his computer screen (hasn't been moved, looks the same) to his keyboard and then across the desk. The desk's surface is still clean and messily organised, the brochures are neatly stacked, the drawers are still closed, but...

Then Ianto sees it. It makes him smile.

It's Jack's mug, wide blue and white stripes, sitting next to the phone. He can see it's full of dark coffee (the way Jack likes it) and when he reaches over to pick it up, it's still hot. Ianto takes a sniff, indulging in the heat against his fingers and the rich smell, and then sips.

He finishes logging into his computer and isn't surprised that the most recent email is from Jack: It looked cold this morning.

Ianto swallows, holding Jack's mug in both hands. He has a routine, but he also knows the others won't be in for at least half an hour. Eventually, he types a reply.

If you're still feeling the chill, I'm sure I can think of a way to warm you up.

(A short Random Jack, because I'm incapable of more today.)

Jack watches Ianto as often as he can. Not through the internal CCTV system, because that feels like cheating. It takes the fun out of the game to turn on a monitor and observe Ianto from high angles. Jack finds it far more rewarding to wander along the catwalk, to stand in his office doorway, to skulk around the Tourist Office for a good view.

The thrill isn't watching Ianto unnoticed; it's watching the sly, smug smile form when Ianto knows Jack's watching.

Ianto 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.

Jack walked through the Tourist Office and gave a double-take when he noticed Ianto standing beside the doorway, shoulders flat against the wall, eyes closed and lips moving soundlessly.

Jacks stayed very still -- a lot of strange behaviour in Torchwood made sense in context, so better safe than sorry -- and cautiously asked, "What are you doing?"

Ianto shot him the kind of look that could have killed an elephant at a hundred paces. "I'm reminding myself why I'm not allowed to stab people in the face."

"Because of the stack of paperwork involved," Jack replied with a grin. "Was it Owen?"

"No."

"Gwen?"

Ianto shook his head. "No."

"Tosh?"

"No."

Frowning, Jack thought carefully. Then he asked, "Me?"

"No." Ianto shot him a sideways glance, and the barest hint of a smile hovered at the edge of his mouth. "If it was you, I could stab you without worrying about the paperwork."

"Thanks," Jack said mock-hurt. It was hard to be genuinely annoyed when it made Ianto smile. "Remind me to keep you far away from sharp implements. Who was it?"

"Tourists," Ianto ground out, adding under his breath, "People that stupid don’t deserve to live."

Reaching forward, Jack grabbed Ianto's hand and tugged him away from the wall. "I know how to make you feel better."

"If you're about to suggest something you know I'll refuse," Ianto warned slowly, "be aware I may be overcome by the urge to grab your gun and shoot you."

"That's what I was going to suggest," Jack said, grinning widely, but Ianto only looked concerned.

"Hurting you?"

"Shooting something," Jack explained, leaning closer to drop a quick kiss on Ianto's cheek. "Come down to the shooting range, practice your aim. It'll make you feel better."

Ianto nodded and started towards the lift. When he noticed Jack following, he asked, "And where are you going?"

"I'm going to help you work on your stance. Adjust where appropriate."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Jack waggled his eyebrows. "That's to make me feel better."

There's an awesome Zombie-Meme going around, but every time I try to think of a response, I blank. So I'm going to use it as fuel for today's Random Jack (I want to try to make this a personal Friday tradition).

You are in a mall when the zombies attack. You have:
1. one weapon.
2. one song blasting on the speakers.
3. one famous person to fight alongside you.

"As far as zombie's go," Ianto said calmly, helping Jack lift the long wooden seat and use it to barricade the pub's door, "I'll accept Owen but that's where I draw the line."

"They're not zombies," Jack muttered, giving the seat a final shove. When he looked over, Ianto was staring at him, one eyebrow raised in patient disbelief. "They're not."

"They're reanimated corpses stumbling around trying to crack open the skulls of the living."

"It's mindless violence against all breathing creatures. They don't want to eat your brains."

"Oh," Ianto said dryly. "I see how that makes all the difference."

There was banging at the door, the thumping sound of arms and fists hitting wood. Jack leaned back on the seat, using his weight to brace it. "It's a simple application of nano-technology to move and control inanimate organic matter. Add some dubious programming and you have the perfect weapon. Drop the capsule on your enemies and ta-da: high damage on their side, no casualties on yours."

"Excuse me if I find it hard to appreciate the military brilliance while they're trying to pull down the door," Ianto said, worriedly looking around at the high windows.

Jack reached over, grabbed Ianto's hand and pulled him down. He landed on the with a slight thud, half on the seat and half on Jack's lap. Jack didn't mind at all. "They're moving but not really thinking. They won't think of the windows. They won't even think of opening the door handle. They'll just crowd around the doorway until the residual energy wears out."

"How long until their batteries go flat and we're left with a stack of corpses?"

Jack checked his wrist strap. Then he sighed. "Tosh is jamming the signal, but we'll probably be stuck here for another two hours."

Ianto nodded. "You, me, down the local pub. It'd be a date, if not for the hoard of ravenous zombies waiting outside."

"They're not zombies." Jack wrapped a hand around Ianto's waist, tugging him all the way onto Jack's lap. Glancing at the jukebox in the corner, Jack pressed a few buttons on his wrist strap and smugly watched it light up.

Then Kylie Minogue started singing that she should be so lucky.

Jack grimaced. "That wasn't the mood music I was looking for."

Hiding a laugh against Jack's collar, Ianto shook his head. "Zombies and romance. Only you, Jack."

"Now," Jack said, holding a beer high in one hand and using the other to gesture widely across their table, "you have to remember that we'd had four bottles of the sparkling orange wine between us and it seemed like a fantastic idea at the time. John said that if the grey haired old monks could do it, he certainly could, and neither of us even considered that those monks had spent decades learning to bend that way."

Gwen grimaced, like she didn't want to ask but had to. "What did he try to do?"

"Cross his ankles," Jack said, pausing to laugh, "behind his head."

"And he couldn't?"

"Oh, he could. He could and did." Jack's grin widened. "What he couldn't do was uncross them!"

"No, not really," Gwen said around her giggles. "If you got them up..."

"He got a cramp and couldn't move his legs. He started waving his arms around, yelling for me to help, and it knocked him off-balance so he was rolling across the floor. It was a hillside village and those floors sloped. Once he started rolling, he couldn't stop."

"You didn't try to help?" Ianto asked with a smirk that was almost mean.

"I was laughing too hard to breathe! It was hilarious! And there I am, bent over, laughing so hard I'm crying, and he rolled out the door and off the balcony." Jack stopped laughing long enough to swallow a mouthful of beer. "No damage done, other than a few bruises but he complained about his sore thighs for a week."