Love Is A Game 7: Candlelit Dinner
Sep. 20th, 2010 10:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
galadriel1010Title: Candlelit Dinner
Characters: Jack/Ianto
Genre: Romance
Rating: G
Summary: Jack uses his influence to organise a romantic dinner in a spectacular location
Disclaimer: Torchwood and its environs, occurrences and persons belong to the BBC. The original characters have disowned me.
Ianto was getting used to being wooed and courted. Little things, like a tin of his favourite hot chocolate appearing in the cupboard and a bottle of gold top milk to make it with in the fridge, and properly completed forms with little personal notes in the margins, nothing private, just sweet and personal. When he'd pointed out to Jack that the forms would go into the Archives and stay there, with his notes on them, he'd said, “I want them to. Let the future know.”
Ianto thought it was incredibly sweet, actually.
This, though, wasn't exactly a little thing. It was quite a big thing, actually, even for a first official date, and Ianto found himself wondering how he could possibly measure up in planning the next. Jack was standing in front of him, hands in his trouser pockets to keep them still, the warm light of evening warming the colours of his face and giving him a glow that was even healthier than usual. Behind him, a picnic blanket was laid out, with a wicker basket next to it, two candles and a bottle of wine lying on top of the basket. Ianto thought that this was incredibly sweet, too.
He took a step closer to Jack, so that he could rest the tips of his fingers on Jack's arm. “You closed the Barrage.”
“Yes I did.” Jack's cheek dimpled, just a little, with the smile that was thinking about forming.
“How closed?”
Jack shrugged one shoulder. “It's still open for shipping, and for emergency and contracted vehicles. Just closed to the public.”
“So we have it to ourselves?” he started rubbing his fingers on the soft cotton of Jack's shirt, greatcoat waiting forlornly at the Hub in deference to the hot weather.
Laughing, at last, Jack withdrew his hands from his pockets and caught Ianto's, pressing kisses to the fingertips of one hand whilst holding the other against his chest, pulling Ianto in by it. “Mr Jones, I really hope that you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting.”
Ianto kissed him, just a gentle brush of their lips, and trailed his tongue along Jack's bottom lip after it. “I might be.”
Jack laughed, and smothered it by dragging Ianto even closer and crushing their lips together properly. Soon they were laughing again, whilst Jack tugged Ianto towards the picnic blanket and fell backwards, tumbling Ianto on top of him and grunting with the impact. It sounded actually painful, so Ianto propped himself up on his hands and rolled to the side, running one hand soothingly down Jack's chest whilst he rested his cheek on the other. Seriously, he asked, “Did that hurt?”
“Yeah,” Jack admitted, pulling a face. “It was a stupid thing to do.”
“Well I wasn't going to say so, sir,” he demurred, smiling coyly.
“Wretch,” Jack laughed. He stopped when he turned his head to the side and found himself face to face with Ianto, though. “Ianto...”
Pressing his lips against Jack's, Ianto swallowed the end of his sentence, adding a silent one of his own in the sweep of his tongue and the gentle nip of his teeth. Jack spoke the language fluently, giving his reply in stroking hands and gently probing fingers.
Once they'd said everything they needed to say, they slowed and fell still, with Ianto sprawled across Jack, cheek pressed to his shoulder and half-closed eyes fixed on the sunset over Cardiff. Jack stroked his back and squeezed his hip, then pushed at it. “Come on, lump. Unless you're not hungry?”
“Starving,” Ianto sighed, sitting up and combing his fingers through his hair to neaten it from the disarray Jack had created. “What have you brought?”
Jack set the two candles and the bottle of wine upright next to the blanket and fished in the basket to retrieve a box of matches. Once he'd lit the candles, and whilst Ianto settled himself comfortably on the blanket to watch, he started fishing in the basket again. “I brought quiche, and French bread and pâté, and cheese and things.”
He pulled them out of the basket as he listed them, and Ianto found himself staring, and even hungrier than he had been before. “Jack, did you make this?” he gestured to the quiche.
“Yeah, I did,” Jack smiled, almost shy. “That's why I didn't come around last night; I wanted this to be perfect.”
Ianto busied himself cutting the bread. “How long have you been planning it?”
“I...” a bag of cherries emerged last, and Jack closed the basket. “I had the idea whilst I was...”
They'd still not covered that time, Jack's side of it, in any detail. Jack wasn't ready to talk about it, and Ianto understood that well enough to wait. He passed Jack a lump of the bread, also home-made, if he wasn't mistaken, and brushed their fingers together. “You're coming home with me tonight, aren't you?”
Jack spread pâté on the bread and smiled. “I'd like to, if I'm invited.”
“You are.” It was the perfect night: beautiful weather, good food, excellent company and a stunning view... The night had to have the perfect finish too. “You are what I want.”
Next chapter
Characters: Jack/Ianto
Genre: Romance
Rating: G
Summary: Jack uses his influence to organise a romantic dinner in a spectacular location
Disclaimer: Torchwood and its environs, occurrences and persons belong to the BBC. The original characters have disowned me.
Ianto was getting used to being wooed and courted. Little things, like a tin of his favourite hot chocolate appearing in the cupboard and a bottle of gold top milk to make it with in the fridge, and properly completed forms with little personal notes in the margins, nothing private, just sweet and personal. When he'd pointed out to Jack that the forms would go into the Archives and stay there, with his notes on them, he'd said, “I want them to. Let the future know.”
Ianto thought it was incredibly sweet, actually.
This, though, wasn't exactly a little thing. It was quite a big thing, actually, even for a first official date, and Ianto found himself wondering how he could possibly measure up in planning the next. Jack was standing in front of him, hands in his trouser pockets to keep them still, the warm light of evening warming the colours of his face and giving him a glow that was even healthier than usual. Behind him, a picnic blanket was laid out, with a wicker basket next to it, two candles and a bottle of wine lying on top of the basket. Ianto thought that this was incredibly sweet, too.
He took a step closer to Jack, so that he could rest the tips of his fingers on Jack's arm. “You closed the Barrage.”
“Yes I did.” Jack's cheek dimpled, just a little, with the smile that was thinking about forming.
“How closed?”
Jack shrugged one shoulder. “It's still open for shipping, and for emergency and contracted vehicles. Just closed to the public.”
“So we have it to ourselves?” he started rubbing his fingers on the soft cotton of Jack's shirt, greatcoat waiting forlornly at the Hub in deference to the hot weather.
Laughing, at last, Jack withdrew his hands from his pockets and caught Ianto's, pressing kisses to the fingertips of one hand whilst holding the other against his chest, pulling Ianto in by it. “Mr Jones, I really hope that you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting.”
Ianto kissed him, just a gentle brush of their lips, and trailed his tongue along Jack's bottom lip after it. “I might be.”
Jack laughed, and smothered it by dragging Ianto even closer and crushing their lips together properly. Soon they were laughing again, whilst Jack tugged Ianto towards the picnic blanket and fell backwards, tumbling Ianto on top of him and grunting with the impact. It sounded actually painful, so Ianto propped himself up on his hands and rolled to the side, running one hand soothingly down Jack's chest whilst he rested his cheek on the other. Seriously, he asked, “Did that hurt?”
“Yeah,” Jack admitted, pulling a face. “It was a stupid thing to do.”
“Well I wasn't going to say so, sir,” he demurred, smiling coyly.
“Wretch,” Jack laughed. He stopped when he turned his head to the side and found himself face to face with Ianto, though. “Ianto...”
Pressing his lips against Jack's, Ianto swallowed the end of his sentence, adding a silent one of his own in the sweep of his tongue and the gentle nip of his teeth. Jack spoke the language fluently, giving his reply in stroking hands and gently probing fingers.
Once they'd said everything they needed to say, they slowed and fell still, with Ianto sprawled across Jack, cheek pressed to his shoulder and half-closed eyes fixed on the sunset over Cardiff. Jack stroked his back and squeezed his hip, then pushed at it. “Come on, lump. Unless you're not hungry?”
“Starving,” Ianto sighed, sitting up and combing his fingers through his hair to neaten it from the disarray Jack had created. “What have you brought?”
Jack set the two candles and the bottle of wine upright next to the blanket and fished in the basket to retrieve a box of matches. Once he'd lit the candles, and whilst Ianto settled himself comfortably on the blanket to watch, he started fishing in the basket again. “I brought quiche, and French bread and pâté, and cheese and things.”
He pulled them out of the basket as he listed them, and Ianto found himself staring, and even hungrier than he had been before. “Jack, did you make this?” he gestured to the quiche.
“Yeah, I did,” Jack smiled, almost shy. “That's why I didn't come around last night; I wanted this to be perfect.”
Ianto busied himself cutting the bread. “How long have you been planning it?”
“I...” a bag of cherries emerged last, and Jack closed the basket. “I had the idea whilst I was...”
They'd still not covered that time, Jack's side of it, in any detail. Jack wasn't ready to talk about it, and Ianto understood that well enough to wait. He passed Jack a lump of the bread, also home-made, if he wasn't mistaken, and brushed their fingers together. “You're coming home with me tonight, aren't you?”
Jack spread pâté on the bread and smiled. “I'd like to, if I'm invited.”
“You are.” It was the perfect night: beautiful weather, good food, excellent company and a stunning view... The night had to have the perfect finish too. “You are what I want.”
Next chapter
