Jack and Ianto's lettersChapter:
One Shot; lettersCharacters:
Jack Harkness, Ianto JonesAuthor: a_silver_storyGenre
crack, fluff - flirty?Rating:
PG-13, if that.Warnings:
Sexual references. Disclaimer:
If I owned anything in this, I'd be a rich rich rich bitch. However, I am not a rich rich rich bitch so you may all, therefore, assume I own nothing. Which I don't. It all belongs RTD and the BBC, in case any of you didn't know.Summary:
Set pre-Cyberwoman, and purely for the crack. Jack disappears for a few days, and Ianto gets a funny email. A bit of long-distance flirting. The idea just made me smiley, is in no way in line with canon or even that IC. Torchwood Index/Masterlist
I am currently trapped in a Spanish prison. Can’t be specific just yet, but if you could get my out ASAP that would be smashing.
Legal methods preferred, though not mandatory.
If I’m going to set up an ‘appeal’ I’m going to have to know three things :
1. Who did you kill/maim/offend?
2. How long is your sentence for?
3. What the Hell are you doing in SPAIN?
Make it good, and you better be nice to me when you get back, sir.
1) I offended some form of diplomat. Totally not my fault. He really did look like a woman.
2) I think three years. Less if the warden is as gay as I think he is.
3) I think the promise of free-flowing alcohol, a top-up to my tan and the possibility of beach sex has something to do with it. Tell Owen I’ll need blood tests when I get back.
Please hurry, Ianto! It’s so awful here, surrounded by hot, sweaty, olive-skinned young men who’ve all been very, very bad boys. I also miss your coffee and promise to be extra nice to you when I get back. Maybe dinner?
Maybe dinner. Stress on the ‘maybe’.
I’ve sent an email to the Embassy so hopefully you’ll be on the way out soon.
Also, could you sign a note telling Gwen to stop:
- pinching my cheeks and calling me ‘adorable little lamb’.
- telling me how to do my job. I know how to archive. My system just happens to be different from the Police one.
- rubbing it in our faces that we’re all sad and single while she’s got lasagne and Rhys at home. I love lasagne, and the current lack of it in my life is driving me to distraction.
- asking me if I’m gay, and if so/not would I like to meet her friend?
- touching me in general.
Bear in mind how fast you get out depends on me entirely.
I don’t understand a few of your problems. First off, you *are* an adorable little lamb. Gwen just needs to make sure you haven’t forgotten. Don’t forget, either, that Gwen knows best. I think a re-shuffle of the Archives and a new labelling system may be in order.
And what’s wrong with her touching you? Touching you is a very enjoyable pastime. I should t
I miss lasagne, too. If only I ‘d been imprisoned in Italy ....
Had a reply from the Embassy. They seem to find the idea of you being in a Spanish prison very amusing, sir.
Nevertheless, I am negotiating your release and hopefully you should be out in a few days.
Owen’s laying down bets as to how many women you’ve slept with. If you could give me a general idea so that I can win, I should be very grateful and may even persuade the Embassy into getting you out a bit sooner. If you disapprove of this betting round, however, I shall apprehend and penalise Owen for it according to several overlooked regulations from the mid-thirties about gambling. I can twist them to fit my needs. Muahahahaha.
Just so you know, we currently have a blue Cyclops donkey living in the cells. Owen calls her ‘Wonkey’. Is it wrong of me to mentally refer to her as ‘Suzie’?
You’ll be back soon hopefully. Not the same without you. Definitely more fun when you’re around.
I really hope you find my release soon.
If you put a bet on that I’ve slept with 42 (human) women, not only will you be (vaguely) right, you will also be providing that mysterious, age-old question to the answer Deep Thought gave in ‘The Hitchhikers’ Guide to the Galaxy’.
Yes, everything really does revolve around ME.
The donkey sounds interesting, but naming the animals is *my* job. I vote ‘Rhiannon’, and my vote counts as six because of my Torchwood Loyalty Points.
Can’t wait to see youallagain and finally have your coffee.
You shall be out a week on Wednesday (23rd) and I shall meet you outside and fly you home. There’s a gap between you getting out and the flight, so maybe we could have that thank you dinner round about then?
I put on my bet of 42. If I win, I promise you copious amounts of coffee and extra donuts for a month – even if you get a bit of jaundice and start putting on weight.
I’ll call you Homer.
See you on the 23rd!
P.S.: ‘Rhiannon’ is a no-no for the donkey. My sister is called Rhiannon.
I look forward to being stuck in a very tight and confined space with you, and it will be my pleasure to buy you dinner (and a large amount of wine) first.