order_of_chaos (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
order_of_chaos) wrote2008-09-24 04:53 pm
order_of_chaos) wrote2008-09-24 04:53 pm
Entry tags:
Torchwood Drabbles - Morning, Noon, and Night.
Titles: Morning, Noon, and Night
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
order_of_chaos
Rating:PG-13
Characters: Ianto. Etc.
Summary: Three interconnected Ianto-centric drabbles embodying the worst pairings I could think of at the time. Some of which are very wrong; some not at all, really.
AN: The majority of this was written before season two; finished today.
Morning
Ianto slipped into the hub, studiously ignoring the corner where Myfanwy was performing fellatio on a battered looking bottle of barbecue sauce. Some things were best not to contemplate, and exactly how Suzie had gone about training the pterodactyl was probably one of them.
A quick check showed Gwen and Tosh getting to know each other better (he made a mental note to wipe down Owen’s desk later, remembered he didn’t like Owen and cancelled it) and Jack murmuring quietly and intently to the severed hand in its jar. Owen, as usual, was late.
Ianto headed for the coffee maker.
Noon
Coffee had been prepared. Coffee had been imbibed. Ianto had declared his disinclination toward being eaten – almost eaten – twice in one week, and stayed behind when the rest of the team left to thwart and/or have sex with the alien menace of the week.
Finally.
He had peace. He had quiet. He had strategically disabled certain inconvenient recording devices.
Smiling faintly, Ianto made his way to the cells.
“Hello, beautiful,” he whispered, stepping into one and closing the door securely behind him. “I’ve missed you.”
Janet moaned in welcome, and didn’t complain once – not even when he called her Lisa.
Night
The duties of the day were, mostly, done. The team had returned, Gwen had dragged Tosh and Owen home to meet Rhys (horrible, horrible idea), and the alien menace of the week was well and truly thwarted. It sprawled drowsily over Captain Jack, silk-furred tentacles in inappropriate places; Jack, in his office chair, positively exuded smugness.
Ianto made hot, sweet love to the coffee machine, cleaned it, and tucked it tenderly into its cupboard. He whisked away a last layer of clutter, took Jack his final cup of coffee, and kissed him and his tentacle-monster goodnight.
Then he went home.
Author:
order_of_chaosRating:PG-13
Characters: Ianto. Etc.
Summary: Three interconnected Ianto-centric drabbles embodying the worst pairings I could think of at the time. Some of which are very wrong; some not at all, really.
AN: The majority of this was written before season two; finished today.
Morning
Ianto slipped into the hub, studiously ignoring the corner where Myfanwy was performing fellatio on a battered looking bottle of barbecue sauce. Some things were best not to contemplate, and exactly how Suzie had gone about training the pterodactyl was probably one of them.
A quick check showed Gwen and Tosh getting to know each other better (he made a mental note to wipe down Owen’s desk later, remembered he didn’t like Owen and cancelled it) and Jack murmuring quietly and intently to the severed hand in its jar. Owen, as usual, was late.
Ianto headed for the coffee maker.
Noon
Coffee had been prepared. Coffee had been imbibed. Ianto had declared his disinclination toward being eaten – almost eaten – twice in one week, and stayed behind when the rest of the team left to thwart and/or have sex with the alien menace of the week.
Finally.
He had peace. He had quiet. He had strategically disabled certain inconvenient recording devices.
Smiling faintly, Ianto made his way to the cells.
“Hello, beautiful,” he whispered, stepping into one and closing the door securely behind him. “I’ve missed you.”
Janet moaned in welcome, and didn’t complain once – not even when he called her Lisa.
Night
The duties of the day were, mostly, done. The team had returned, Gwen had dragged Tosh and Owen home to meet Rhys (horrible, horrible idea), and the alien menace of the week was well and truly thwarted. It sprawled drowsily over Captain Jack, silk-furred tentacles in inappropriate places; Jack, in his office chair, positively exuded smugness.
Ianto made hot, sweet love to the coffee machine, cleaned it, and tucked it tenderly into its cupboard. He whisked away a last layer of clutter, took Jack his final cup of coffee, and kissed him and his tentacle-monster goodnight.
Then he went home.