Author:
badly_knittedCharacters: Ianto, Jack.
Rating: G
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: The weather is miserable, they’ve had a tough day, but Jack and Ianto find something to make everything better.
Word Count: 902
Written For: Prompt 028 – Old Fashioned at fandomweekly.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters. They belong to the BBC.
They’d been out braving the wet and windy weather for hours, chasing down a weird scuttling thing that had come through the Rift, but at last they had it safely ensconced down in the cells where it could sleep off the sedative they’d dosed it with. As for Jack and Ianto, all they wanted was to get back to Ianto’s little house and snuggle up in front of the fire, a much cosier place to spend a night like this than the draughty Hub. It would be worth going out in the gales again just to get there.
The gusting winds were bringing down small branches as they turned the SUV into Ianto’s street, so instead of leaving the big vehicle at the kerb, Jack pulled in under the carport at the side of the house, where it would have some protection. Ianto’s own car, which was usually parked there, was still in Torchwood’s underground garage, which in this weather was probably the safest place for it.
Jack turned off the engine, and the two men pulled their coats tightly around themselves, darting out of the vehicle, buffeted by the wind. Despite it only being a short distance between the carport and Ianto’s front door, they were both soaked from the heavy rain by the time they got inside. Stripping out of their wet coats and shaking them off, they hung them in the porch to drip dry and hurried through into the hall, locking both doors behind them.
Ianto turned the heating up and set about lighting a fire in the hearth, something he only did on the coldest days when he was home. Central heating was more efficient and a lot less work, but there was something especially warming about a roaring fire.
After a hot shower, they pulled on dry clothes and trooped back downstairs. The house was starting to warm up nicely.
“You know what I could really go for right now?” Jack asked, wandering into the kitchen and leaning against the counter as Ianto set to work brewing their favourite beverage.
“Coffee?” The suggestion was made with a smirk.
“No. Well, yes, of course, I never say no to your coffee. That’s not what I was thinking about though.”
“What then?” Ianto opened the cupboard and took down two mugs, setting them beside the coffee machine and turning to look at Jack, one eyebrow raised.
“Hot buttered toast! I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon.”
From the expression on Jack’s face, Ianto half expected his lover to start drooling. “You know where the bread lives,” he laughed. “If you want toast then make some. Coffee will be ready in a minute.”
“Yes!” Jack pushed away from the counter, got out the breadboard and knife, and pulled a fresh loaf from the breadbin, cutting half of it into neat slices. As Ianto poured the coffee, Jack slotted a couple of slices into the toaster and flicked the switch.
BANG!
Sparks flew from the toaster and all the lights went out.
“Damn!” Ianto scrabbled in a nearby drawer and pulled out a torch. “Looks like a fuse has blown.” He made his way to the cupboard under the stairs, where the fuse box was located, and flipped the breaker. The lights came back on, but the toaster just sat there forlornly smoking. Ianto quickly unplugged it. “Looks like it’s had it.” It hadn’t been the same since he’d caught Jack trying to cook fish fingers in it.
Jack’s lower lip wobbled. “But what about my toast? I was really looking forward to that!”
Plucking the slices of bread from the toaster, Ianto dropped them back on the breadboard with the other slices Jack had cut, grabbed plates, knives, and the butter from the fridge, and picked the whole lot up.
“Make yourself useful and bring the coffee,” he told Jack. “There’s more than one way to make toast.”
Five minutes later, they were sitting on the floor in front of the fire, holding slices of bread over the flames on the ends of the toasting forks Ianto had dug from the back of the kitchen drawer, the heat making their skin feel tight and their faces glow.
“I haven’t done this since way back in the fifties,” Jack said, dropping his slice onto a plate and poking the fork into the browned side before holding it over the fire again, checking occasionally between sips of coffee to make sure it wasn’t burning.
Before long, it was a deep golden brown on both sides. Jack buttered it lavishly and bit into it with a groan of pleasure. “Mmmmm, perfect! I’d forgotten how much better toast tastes cooked this way.”
“Yeah, toasters are a handy idea for people in a hurry, but they make the bread dry and hard. Sometimes the old fashioned ways are the best,” Ianto agreed, munching on his slice. “This is how toast ought to taste.”
They fell silent, concentrating on cooking and eating their toast as the wind howled outside and the pouring rain battered at the windows behind the closed curtains. It reminded Ianto of nights spent at his grandparents’ cottage when he was a boy, toasting homemade bread over crackling logs, and he smiled.
Let the weather do its worst; he and Jack were safe indoors and as warm as the toast they were cooking. Never had his little house felt more like home.
The End