Owen's Really Done It This Time!
"Owen Harper, you bloody bollocking prat!" Ianto's bellow echoed through the Hub's rafters, waking Myfanwy who squawked angrily. "You're a dead man!" The only response Ianto got was the shriek of alarms as the cog door rolled closed.
Ten Minutes Earlier
Ianto hummed softly under his breath as he slipped into the wonderfully comforting ritual of coffee making. He selected and ground the beans, filled the water reservoir and put the beans into the filter; finally he flipped the switch to start the brewing process. As the mouth-watering aroma of coffee began to fill the air, Ianto retrieved his silver serving tray and placed it on the counter, then pulled a fresh linen cloth from the drawer and centred it on the tray. When he was satisfied that it was in its proper position, he then chose three mugs at random from the dozen or so in the cabinet, plus Jack's blue-and-white-striped mug and his own white mug with the red Welsh dragon emblazoned on the side and placed them all on the tray.
As the coffee maker spluttered the last of its liquid gold into the waiting pot, Ianto went to the refrigerator and selected a variety of flavoured creamers as well as a jug of plain cream, placing them all on the counter in a specific order before pulling the sugar bowl down and setting it next to the plain cream. Next, he collected four clean spoons from the drawer, one for each flavour of creamer and popped them into the mugs – he and Jack always shared the same spoon. He added a measured amount of cream to each mug, the amount exactly the same each time and remembered from day one. Into Jack's mug he added two spoonsful of sugar and a dollop of plain cream just the way he liked it. His own mug contained just pure cream, no sweetener. Last, the most important step in the ritual – pouring the freshly brewed nectar of the gods into the waiting mugs.
Within minutes, Gwen's mocha-flavoured coffee was delivered, Tosh's cinnamon-vanilla crème was within easy reach, and Owen's Baily's Irish-cream was on his desk. With only two mugs still on the tray, Ianto mounted the stairs to Jack's office, slipped inside and closed the door behind him. It was time for him and Jack to shut out the world for a few minutes and enjoy the well-deserved fruits of his labour. Over the rim of his mug, Ianto watched as Jack raised his own up to his nose, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, almost reverently, letting the scent fill his lungs and seep into his very soul.
Ianto never tired of watching this step in the ritual – Jack's enjoyment of his coffee often bordered on orgasmic, even pornographic at times. He waited with baited breath as Jack winked at him, blew on the surface of the liquid and then took and enormous sip.
"BLAH!" A spray of hot coffee spewed from Jack's mouth, sprinkling dark spots across the surface of his desk and into Ianto's face. "What the…!" Jack spit into his waste paper basket, trying to get the foul taste from his mouth. Looking at Ianto with despair in his eyes, he asked, "Why? Why would you do that?"
Shocked by Jack's totally unexpected and bizarre behaviour, Ianto grabbed hold of the blue and white striped mug and lifted it gingerly to his nose. His sniff told him nothing of use, other than once again he'd brewed the perfect pot of coffee. Drawing a deep breath, he raised the mug to his lips but rather than take a sip, he carefully stuck just the tip of his tongue into the liquid and within seconds he understood Jack's strong reaction: salt. Jack's mug was filled with the equivalent of black sea water.
It only took a moment for both men to realise what had happened and their eyes met with a look of mutual confirmation. "Owen!" Jack hissed through clenched teeth. 'How dare he mess with my most favourite thing on this planet!'
As for Ianto, his response was much more vocal. Slamming the mug down on the desk, Ianto jumped to his feet and headed for the door, opening it so hard that it bounced off the wall, rattling the glass dangerously.
"Owen Harper, you bloody bollocking prat!"
Winking broadly at Gwen, Owen grabbed his coat and bag and dashed through the cog door; as it closed behind him he definitely heard, "You're a dead man!"
Cackling with evil glee, the medic took the stairs two at a time, shouting back, "You have to catch me first!"