Always Take the Weather

Notes: verasteine asked for Jack/Ianto fluff with rain (over on the You Should Write meme), and I'm always up for distraction from my WIPs, so this is for her. I hope it's sufficiently fluffy! Title from the Crowded House song, "Weather With You" (thank you, lemniskate!). Set sometime during the second season, no specific spoilers.

Pairing: Jack/Ianto

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Torchwood and its characters are the property of the BBC and Russell T. Davies. I make no profit from this fanfic.

Ianto wakes to the sound of the rain. He'd left the windows open when they got back to the flat, since for a summer night it was relatively cool and he hated turning on the aircon when it wasn't utterly necessary. Now, lying in the dark with Jack breathing deep and slow next to him, he listens to the rain coming down and shivers pleasantly.

The peacefulness of it doesn't last long. Even as Ianto cranes over to see the time on the bedside clock, a car horn blares from the street below, tires squeal; then angered voices rise in argument, spitting curses at each other. He sighs. It's well after midnight, not that that's ever stopped anyone before. He starts to push up out of bed to close the window against it.

Jack makes a sleepy sound and mutters, "Leaving?"

"Closing the window," Ianto murmurs, leaning over to press a brief kiss to Jack's forehead. Jack's sprawled on his stomach, taking up most of the bed in the way he likes to do, seeming to expand in his sleep. He smiles without opening his eyes, and Ianto stands, not bothering with clothes as he goes to shut the window. It sticks a little with the wet outside, but he wrestles it down and then goes into the main room of his flat to start up the aircon. The stillness of the flat is broken by the monotonous hum of the ancient unit, but it starts sucking the humidity out of the air immediately, and he sighs in relief.

Ianto moves through the darkness to the kitchen and takes a bottle of water out of the refrigerator, bringing it back to the bedroom with him. In his absence, Jack has shifted, curled on his side. In the streetlight from the window, Ianto can make out the lean shapes of arm and shoulder, hip and thigh. Jack always looks vulnerable and young in his rare sleep; it never fails to make something ache deep in Ianto's chest. Setting the water down by the clock, Ianto slips back under the covers, pressing himself to Jack's back, molding himself around Jack.

Jack makes a quiet sound and reaches back to grasp Ianto's thigh under the covers. He's not really awake, Ianto can tell, and that's fine with him; these moments of stillness are rare and cherished. Even rarer the times that he can appreciate Jack without Jack's knowledge; he takes in the slow, steady rhythm of Jack's breathing, chest moving under Ianto's arm, the pulse of heartbeat matching his own. Here in the dark, he can pretend that he can hold on to Jack, that he doesn't have to let go.

As the air cools around them, Ianto reaches for the heavier comforter, kicked to the end of the bed in their earlier exertions, and pulls it up over them. Jack shifts, too, moving to lay on his back, never fully relaxing even in sleep, and Ianto isn't really surprised when Jack's eyes blink open and he smiles lazily at him. "You should get some rest," he informs Ianto, his voice thick.

"I am resting," Ianto replies, his own mouth quirking in the barest smile.

"Sleep," Jack says, as if by merely bidding Ianto to do so, it'll magically cast Ianto into slumber. "I'll stay."

"Mmf." Ianto smiles into Jack's collarbone and settles himself into a more comfortable position. The sheets are a warm nest around them and Ianto closes his eyes, allowing himself at last, albeit reluctantly, to slide back into sleep. There'll be more moments to savour.

Back to the Torchwood Fic.

this page last updated on 9 september 2009