Torchwood: Picnic Basket

[fajrdrako_fic]

Title: Picnic Basket
Author: fajrdrako
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine, no claims, all property of the BBC.
Notes: Set midway through Torchwood series one. No significant spoilers. Cross-posted to my lj, my Dreamwidth account, and to torchwood_fic.


Picnic Basket

Flat Holm, Saturday afternoon. There was time for a picnic today.

It was Jack's idea, of course. He was thinking of maybe a bit of pork pie picked up in the corner shop, washed down by water, followed by sex. But he left the catering to Ianto.

Ianto found an old picnic basket in the depths of one of the storage rooms. It had real porcelain dishes, clearly from the days before plastic, delicately painted with the Torchwood insignia. There were teacups, and a set of crystal wine glasses.

So Ianto got a loaf of French bread, paté, a selection of specialty cheeses, TyNant on ice, a thermos of good hot coffee, and fresh cherries for dessert.

He picked the location carefully, and timed things so that when Jack emerged from the facility, everything was laid out: the meats on a Torchwood platter, the bread in a basked lined with a linen napkin, the water chilled in ice, the cheese arranged on a cheese-board.

Grinning, Jack sat beside him, moved close. Ianto's body went on alert: being close to Jack did that too him, as if he were having trouble breathing, or too warm, or filled with a sort of excitement and happiness that never seemed to happen at other times. "You have a sense of style."

"I try to please." Ianto dropped his eyes. "Sir." He was wearing a blue suit with fine brown lines. It was overwarm in the summer sun. Jack tossed aside his own coat, loosened his tie, and leaned in to kiss Ianto, loosening Ianto's tie as his lips teased and caressed, tossing the cloth aside. "Suits shouldn't be allowed on picnics," he said.

"I'll keep that in mind, sir," said Ianto, slightly breathless. Jack's kisses sometimes had that effect.

Jack took a blue bottle from the ice bucket, and poured two glasses. He was able to to that with one hand, the other touching Ianto's shoulder, his back, his hand. The touch was both gentle and arousing. "To us," he toasted, and downed his glass. "To us," echoed Ianto, but he didn't drink. Instead he watched Jack, seeing the wetness of his lips from the water, watching the motion of his throat as he swallowed. No man should be so sexy.

Jack said, "You didn't need to go to all this trouble for a little al fresco fucking. I'm easy that way."

Ianto blushed. "I wasn't trying to...."

"You don't want sex?"

Ianto looked up sharply. "I didn't say that, sir!"

But Jack was only teasing him. "I'm glad to hear it." He moved closer, unbuttoning Ianto's shirt halfway, pulling off his jacket, dipping his head to kiss Ianto's throat, lips lingering. Ianto could feel the contrast: warm lips touched with cold water. He shivered.

Jack raised his head and met Ianto's eyes. "You look sad."

"It's so perfect here, with you. I want it to last forever."

"Nothing lasts forever. We have this moment."

"A perfect moment," whispered Ianto. He pulled Jack tight to him, kissed him hard. "You're all that matters to me. You."

"And Torchwood," said Jack, only half teasing, eyes half shut, his hands playing over Ianto's body.

"Same thing," said Ianto.

- end -