sariagray | Good Times, For A Change

Title: Good Times, For A Change
Author:

sariagray
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto, mentions of Gwen
Word Count: 474
Rating: PG
Spoilers:Takes place post S2, but no real spoilers
Warnings:None!
Disclaimer: I do not own Torchwood, its characters, or its environs, nor do I receive any monetary gain.
Beta:NA, though it’s

analineblue-approved!
Summary: Bed is cozy.
Author's Note: Written for

pocky_slash’s Rainy Day Cuddles, Cookies, and Tea Fest. Title comes from The Smith’s “Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want.” Because it was playing while I was trying to think of a title, to be honest. Remember when I wrote angst, you guys? *Nostalgic sigh*

Good Times, For A Change

“It’s just gone nine,” Ianto mumbles into the pillow. It smells good, like cotton and fabric softener and shampoo. “We should get up.”

“It’s Saturday.”

“We’re Torchwood.”

“Saturday.”

Jack swings a leg over one of Ianto’s and hooks it bizarrely around his calf, effectively trapping him. Which is all well and good, but Ianto isn’t doing much by way of movement, anyway. It’s warm underneath the duvet and cold in the room, which is perhaps the most amazing feeling ever. When he cracks an eye open, he can see that Jack’s eyes are still defiantly closed, too. It’s still raining, the water dripping lazily down the windowpane and the morning light is grey-dark.

“Torchwood,” Ianto counters, but the protest is marred by a yawn and outright ruined when he burrows further down in the mess of covers and closer to Jack. Jack’s skin is sleep-feverish, soft and pliant, and Ianto really can’t resist the heaviness of his own eyelids.

“We’re on strike,” Jack says.

“Mmm. Does Gwen know?”

“She started it.”

Ianto thinks for a moment, searches the annals of his fuzzy brain for any recent memory of Gwen declaring a strike. There was some to-do with her boots a few days ago, and something else about alien splatter in her hair, but both of those tirades had been aimed specifically at Jack.

“You can’t go on strike against yourself.” Still, he presses his mouth to Jack’s collarbone and shifts even closer. “Unless we’re going on strike against the Queen.”

“Can we do that?”

“I’d have to check.”

Jack wraps an arm around him and groans half-heartedly. “That means you’ll have to get out of bed.”

“Yep.”

“That defeats the whole purpose!”

“We could just have a day off. Like normal people.”

“Okay.”

Jack blows a cool stream of air in Ianto’s face, and Ianto scowls and opens his eyes. Jack’s smile is soft and inviting like the bed and his skin, or maybe it’s just the lighting, but it’s nice either way. He smiles back and goes to sit up, but Jack holds him down and growls.

“I just need to get my mobile,” Ianto says, and rolls his eyes, and leans over to kiss the side of Jack’s mouth.

Jack’s arm goes slack, so Ianto reaches over to his nightstand and grabs his mobile. He types out a quick message to Gwen and lets the device drop before snuggling back into bed. Like a magnet, Jack attaches himself to Ianto’s side.

“You were gone too long,” he mutters against Ianto’s neck.

“Shut up.”

Just as he’s beginning to doze off again, his mobile beeps twice with the arrival of a new text, but Ianto is perfectly content where he is right now, his head against Jack’s shoulder and their legs comfortably entwined and the rain outside painting everything cold grey and wet.

The End

Current Mood: nostalgic
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