Title: All the way home (I'll be warm)
Author: analineblue
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing/Characters: Jack/Ianto
Warnings/Spoilers: none
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~1,400
Summary: Jack, Ianto, and a quiet Christmas Eve in Cardiff.

Notes: This is for sariagray, who is hopefully still in the mood for ridiculously fluffy Christmas fic. Because that's what this is. ^_~

Also, Happy Holidays/Happy First Day of Winter, flist! ^_^


Ianto sinks back against the sofa with a sigh. Then he swings his fuzzy-socked feet up onto the coffee table.

He really should have bought that matching ottoman back when it’d been in stock. It’s Christmas, or close enough though, so he allows himself the luxury of putting his feet up on the glass tabletop, just this once. Jack would have a fit if he could see him, out of simple solidarity for all the times he’d been reprimanded for doing exact the same thing. Jack, however, is not here yet. Ianto picks up the remote, and begins to flip idly through the stations.

The snow is really coming down outside – Ianto imagines he can hear the flakes falling, but of course, he can’t hear a thing in here. It’s a bit like a cocoon inside his flat at the moment, quiet and warm and snug - just like it should be on Christmas Eve in Cardiff, in the middle of the 21st century.

Everything changes.

Everything except this, he thinks. Christmas is still white and blustery cold, but inside, he’s planning to stay warm. Rift-permitting, anyway.

He continues to flip through the channels, until finally, he settles on an old, familiar, black and white film. He’s watched it no less than a dozen times, but he’s always been a fan of the Christmas classics, no matter how many marathons he’s been forced to sit through over the years.

He settles in, sipping at a generous glass of Christmas scotch that warms his insides pleasantly and waits for Jack to arrive.

The longer he waits, the more Ianto finds himself entertaining the possible similarities between Jack and a certain other man who causes people to stay up past their bedtime anticipating his arrival on Christmas Eve. It’s a ridiculous comparison, but Ianto can’t get the image out of his head.

He smiles at the thought of Jack with a snow-white beard. On the telly, bells tinkle, angels get their wings, and outside the snow continues to fall.

**

Jack finally shows up just a little later than promised, as usual.

“This is exactly how I hoped to find you,” he says as he blusters in, scattering snow around the entryway of the flat. An icy cold blast of air follows on his coattails, sweeping across the room and causing Ianto to tuck his legs a little further under his blanket.

“Well, I’m glad I didn’t disappoint,” Ianto says, looking up from the sofa as he watches Jack close the front door. The air settles around him.

“Never,” Jack says affectionately. He glances at the telly, as he hangs up his coat, shaking snowflakes off from the collar and onto the carpet by his feet. “You know, sometimes I think you’re really an old man in disguise.”

“That’d make two of us then.”

Jack laughs as he crosses the room. His cheeks are rosy-red from the cold. Ianto thinks of round men in red suits, and tries not to smile.

He gestures to Jack’s wrist strap. “How’s the rift? Anything?”

“Not yet. It seems to be behaving. We might have the evening off after all.” Jack waggles his eyebrows, and Ianto can’t help but play along.

“Is that so?”

“Seems like it,” Jack says, a grin spreading across his face, which Ianto can’t help but return.

“Let me get you a drink.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

**

Once they’re both settled back on the sofa together, Ianto turns his attention to the movie (imagine that, it’s started again). The distraction is short-lived though, because he soon finds his attention drawn to the man sitting next to him--to Jack’s warmth, to the way Jack’s shoulder fits against his, pressed next to him on the sofa like this, and the way Jack’s hips lean towards him, just so.

“Mm,” Ianto murmurs, as Jack’s arm finds its way around his shoulders. “What was that for,” he asks, when Jack plants a soft kiss on his forehead.

Jack shrugs. “I need a reason?”

Ianto closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. He presses his cheek against Jack’s chest, and listens to Jack’s heart thumping there for a moment.

“I guess not,” he reasons. “And I guess I don’t need a reason to do this, either.” \

Then he leans over and presses his lips to Jack’s.

Jack’s lips part with ease and then Ianto is there again, he’s exploring Jack’s mouth just as he has a hundred times before. Only this time, he thinks, it’s just a little more festive, what with the snow falling outside and the Christmas classics on the telly.

Christmas has never been a big affair for Ianto. He’s always preferred quiet evenings like this to parties, and fireworks, and large family gatherings.

Ianto remembers years past, where as a child, he’d spent most of the holiday season wishing, vaguely for something different, something more. While everyone else seemed so focused on happy families and even happier celebrations, Ianto entertained fantasies of a taller, brighter Christmas tree, of presents that he could brag about without embellishing quite so much, of more warmth around the fire, more relatives he could actually relate to around the holiday dinner table, and less passive-aggressive arguments in hushed tones over too much wine.

Frankly, he’s not too broken up about leaving those memories behind in favor of a quiet moment with someone he cares about. He’d wanted this with Lisa, too, but Lisa’s family had been huge, and their traditions rather overwhelming (though he’d never have said that to her face).

He supposes that all of this may represent something deeper, something essential to the core of his personality, but right now, he’s just content to be here with Jack. In from the cold. Speaking of cold, Jack’s nose nuzzles against his cheek; it’s still chilled from being outside.

“Your nose is freezing,” he remarks, and when Jack laughs, light and clear, Ianto thinks that this is possibly one of his favorite things in the world, these moments when Jack just laughs like this. Being able to see the softer side of their fearless leader is not something he thinks he’ll ever take lightly.

“Well, it is winter,” Jack whispers, pressing that cold nose into the crook of Ianto’s neck. Then he nibbles a path from Ianto’s collarbone to his left earlobe. “I can think of a few ways we could warm up though.”

“Hm,” Ianto says, searching for a witty reply. “Or you could just take me to bed and be done with it,” is what he finally settles on, as Jack tugs him a little closer.

And then Jack laughs again, and Ianto thinks this might be shaping up to be one of the best Christmases he’s had in a while. It’s the sort of thing that sneaks up on him sometimes when he’s close to Jack like this, this realization that somehow, he’s ended up exactly where he wants to be, exactly where he belongs.

“I think I can manage that,” Jack murmurs, and Ianto closes his eyes to the sound of Jack’s breath against his ear, and the wind straining against the shutters outside.

**

“While I was waiting for you, I kept thinking of all those kids, waiting up for Santa,” Ianto says, and Jack’s arm tightens around his chest. He’s in a different sort of cocoon now, wrapped up in Jack’s warmth under the covers, still oblivious to the cold outside.

“I don’t really see the resemblance,” Jack says, and Ianto thinks that his voice sounds as pliant and as cottony-soft as his body; all warm, boneless limbs, and light, meandering lips. “I’m sure I could find a red suit somewhere though, if you’d like,” he whispers against Ianto’s ear. He presses his lips to Ianto’s earlobe, and Ianto arches and leans into the touch.

“I think I rather prefer you without clothing, sir,” he says, searching for Jack’s lips. He finds them eager and quick to return his rather sloppy attempt at expressing what his heart is practically overflowing with at the moment.

“Jack,” Ianto says, between kisses, and as if his face wasn’t flushed enough, it burns just a little hotter at way his voice catches in this throat. “Merry Christmas,” he says, and then presses his lips to Jack’s again to shut himself up. It’s not exactly what he means to say, but it’s seasonally appropriate, at least, and much less embarrassing than the alternatives.

Jack just hums his soft approval against Ianto’s lips. At least Ianto assumes it must be approval, with the way Jack deepens the kiss, and curls his toes against Ianto’s ankles under the covers.

He’s so warm, the blizzard of the century could be whipping around outside the covers and he’d never even notice.

end