Love Is A Game 6: Greetings Card
Sep. 20th, 2010 08:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
galadriel1010Title: Greetings Card
Characters: Jack/Ianto
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Rating: G
Summary: Ianto wakes up to find a 'get well soon' card.
Disclaimer: Torchwood and its environs, occurrences and persons belong to the BBC. The original characters have disowned me.
Ianto woke slowly and reluctantly, pleased to discover that he was at least in his own bed. The warm light of late morning washed across the room through a gap in the curtains, and he settled back into the mountain of pillows around his head. He wasn't quite sure where Jack had found them all, but he was grateful for the support they gave. Memories drifted through gently, memories of Jack's warm hands running a hot bath, cleaning him, redressing him in warm pyjamas and then tucking him into bed, almost clumsy in their careful tenderness, as if Ianto were suddenly breakable and Jack didn't really know what to do with him. Maybe he didn't; concussion wasn't exactly something that could be made better with a kiss, a chat, a hug, a blowjob – not that they'd actually returned to that stage yet – a good night's sleep... He'd needed Jack completely, unable to do even the simplest things himself without the danger of passing out. And if he had and Jack hadn't been there...
He eased himself upright and shuffled over to the bedside table where Jack had left two tablets and a glass of apple and blackcurrant squash. He took the pills and drank the rest gratefully, rearranging the pillows against the headboard and leaning back against them to wait for the painkillers to kick in.
The flat was completely quiet, he realised. The low hum of the fridge was the only accompaniment to his musings apart from the occasional roar from a particularly loud engine on the road outside, usually a motorbike or souped up hatch tearing too fast down the street. Even though he'd known that Jack couldn't stay all night, it made him wistful and sad. Just having someone there, a warm body and nothing more, was enough to take the edge off the worst nights – having someone there who cared about you, who warmed you right through, was something far more precious.
Before he could descend to a maudlin level of affection, Ianto hauled himself out of bed and headed for the kitchen, shedding his pyjama top on the way because it made him feel about six. He dumped it on the bathroom floor when he stopped in there to take a piss and brush his teeth, then left it and continued down the corridor. In the doorway, he stopped and smiled at the table. It had been set for one person, with a glass and two different cartons of juice set out next to a plate with a big slice of fruitcake on it, cake fork resting at an artistic angle across the plate.
He smiled as he sat down at the table and dug his fork into the cake. The cake was dry, but the fruit was moist, and the cake was still slightly warm, as if...
Ianto got up again and opened the carton of apple juice whilst he crossed the kitchen and opened one of the cupboards. In one of those see-through cake containers, which was fogging up with condensation, was three quarters of a fruit cake. He shook his head, still smiling, and returned to the table to pour himself a glass of juice and finish the slice of freshly baked cake.
When he got up to take the plate and glass to the sink, he found an envelope hidden underneath it. It was baby blue, and Ianto recognised it as being one of the set that he kept in a box in the living room, just in case he forgot and needed one at short notice. He put the plate and glass back down and opened it to look at the picture first – kittens and flowers – and then to read the message inside.
“Ianto,
This isn't a date either, and I am still determined to collect. If stuff keeps getting in the way, I may have to take you home and ravish you, and do the date afterwards.
Tuesday, work permitting? (That's next Tuesday, not today.)
Hope you like the cake. I'm taking a slice to work with me, chef's prerogative.
Don't come in today, we'll handle it. Just rest your poorly head and think fondly on us poor wretches, slaving away in the darkness.
Love Jack.”
It finished with a ridiculous number of kisses filling up the bottom of the page, which gave the impression that Jack had just run out of things to say and hadn't wanted to leave the space. Ianto closed it and slid it back into the envelope, then hurried back to his bedroom to put it in the box in the bottom of the wardrobe with his other fond memories. He knew that Jack would get this box one day, and would look through it (because he cared, and he was nosey), and he'd find himself in there alongside Lisa, and Torchwood, and university, and school, and Rhiannon and their parents. Jack was overtaking even Lisa, now, and if he kept on the way he was going, he'd need a box to himself. He hoped that Jack appreciated that, because Ianto definitely did.
Next Chapter
Characters: Jack/Ianto
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Rating: G
Summary: Ianto wakes up to find a 'get well soon' card.
Disclaimer: Torchwood and its environs, occurrences and persons belong to the BBC. The original characters have disowned me.
Ianto woke slowly and reluctantly, pleased to discover that he was at least in his own bed. The warm light of late morning washed across the room through a gap in the curtains, and he settled back into the mountain of pillows around his head. He wasn't quite sure where Jack had found them all, but he was grateful for the support they gave. Memories drifted through gently, memories of Jack's warm hands running a hot bath, cleaning him, redressing him in warm pyjamas and then tucking him into bed, almost clumsy in their careful tenderness, as if Ianto were suddenly breakable and Jack didn't really know what to do with him. Maybe he didn't; concussion wasn't exactly something that could be made better with a kiss, a chat, a hug, a blowjob – not that they'd actually returned to that stage yet – a good night's sleep... He'd needed Jack completely, unable to do even the simplest things himself without the danger of passing out. And if he had and Jack hadn't been there...
He eased himself upright and shuffled over to the bedside table where Jack had left two tablets and a glass of apple and blackcurrant squash. He took the pills and drank the rest gratefully, rearranging the pillows against the headboard and leaning back against them to wait for the painkillers to kick in.
The flat was completely quiet, he realised. The low hum of the fridge was the only accompaniment to his musings apart from the occasional roar from a particularly loud engine on the road outside, usually a motorbike or souped up hatch tearing too fast down the street. Even though he'd known that Jack couldn't stay all night, it made him wistful and sad. Just having someone there, a warm body and nothing more, was enough to take the edge off the worst nights – having someone there who cared about you, who warmed you right through, was something far more precious.
Before he could descend to a maudlin level of affection, Ianto hauled himself out of bed and headed for the kitchen, shedding his pyjama top on the way because it made him feel about six. He dumped it on the bathroom floor when he stopped in there to take a piss and brush his teeth, then left it and continued down the corridor. In the doorway, he stopped and smiled at the table. It had been set for one person, with a glass and two different cartons of juice set out next to a plate with a big slice of fruitcake on it, cake fork resting at an artistic angle across the plate.
He smiled as he sat down at the table and dug his fork into the cake. The cake was dry, but the fruit was moist, and the cake was still slightly warm, as if...
Ianto got up again and opened the carton of apple juice whilst he crossed the kitchen and opened one of the cupboards. In one of those see-through cake containers, which was fogging up with condensation, was three quarters of a fruit cake. He shook his head, still smiling, and returned to the table to pour himself a glass of juice and finish the slice of freshly baked cake.
When he got up to take the plate and glass to the sink, he found an envelope hidden underneath it. It was baby blue, and Ianto recognised it as being one of the set that he kept in a box in the living room, just in case he forgot and needed one at short notice. He put the plate and glass back down and opened it to look at the picture first – kittens and flowers – and then to read the message inside.
“Ianto,
This isn't a date either, and I am still determined to collect. If stuff keeps getting in the way, I may have to take you home and ravish you, and do the date afterwards.
Tuesday, work permitting? (That's next Tuesday, not today.)
Hope you like the cake. I'm taking a slice to work with me, chef's prerogative.
Don't come in today, we'll handle it. Just rest your poorly head and think fondly on us poor wretches, slaving away in the darkness.
Love Jack.”
It finished with a ridiculous number of kisses filling up the bottom of the page, which gave the impression that Jack had just run out of things to say and hadn't wanted to leave the space. Ianto closed it and slid it back into the envelope, then hurried back to his bedroom to put it in the box in the bottom of the wardrobe with his other fond memories. He knew that Jack would get this box one day, and would look through it (because he cared, and he was nosey), and he'd find himself in there alongside Lisa, and Torchwood, and university, and school, and Rhiannon and their parents. Jack was overtaking even Lisa, now, and if he kept on the way he was going, he'd need a box to himself. He hoped that Jack appreciated that, because Ianto definitely did.
Next Chapter
