Disclaimer- I do not have the pleasure of owning Torchwood. If I did, there would be less aliens and more beautiful Welsh vowels. As you can tell by the aliens, the BBC has the honour of owning the show.
Spoilers- None- for once this is absolutely, completely and utterly AU
Rating- T
Apologies- I'm sorry this chapter has been so long awaited; I had a bit of writer's block. I'm afraid there may be more long delays over the next fortnight because it is essay time, so writing must take a back seat. But bear with me; I still have the plotline ticking over in the back of my mind!
Thanks- To all my lovely readers and reviewers for taking the time to read and leave feedback; and for being so patient waiting for the next update. You're all fantastic fantastic fantastic!
Once again this chapter is dedicated to Kelly, the awesome being who inspired the whole London trip and keeps me going with laughter, encouragement and flamboyant cupcakes. x
Post-It Count: Abandoned
French translations at the end as usual.
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Sharing Blushes
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"Well, that was an interesting turn of events," Jack commented as he stepped into the lift.
Sarah Jane nodded, then laughed. "God, it's a long time since I last played agent for you."
"And you still do it impeccably," the model returned, giving her a quick hug. "Thanks for tonight, ma cherie. I couldn't have got through that without you."
"Pas de problème," Sarah Jane shrugged. "Mais pauvre Ianto."
"Ce n'est pas bien," Jack agreed with a frown. "Do you think he'll stay, SJ?" he dropped back into English, his voice the colour of concern.
For once Sarah Jane did not mind the epithet as she squeezed his hand comfortingly. "I think it's clear that he likes you a lot, Jack. There's every chance that the attraction will overcome any discomfort at the thought of public attention. And talking of Ianto…"
Her voice trailed off as they stepped out of the lift and a familiar voice greeted their ears.
"Like a Rhinestone Cowboy, riding out on a horse in a star-spangled rodeo…"
"Jesus wept!" Jack exclaimed, flying to the head of the stairs. "What the bloody fucking hell are they doing?!"
His voice died away as he reached the stairs and gazed down into the curve halfway down the flight, breath catching in his throat as he took in Ianto's appearance.
Oblivious to the newcomers, Ianto launched into the final line of the chorus with aplomb. Nervous and quiet at first, he had soon thrown himself into his performance with a surprising amount of enjoyment.
"Like a Rhinestone Cowboy, getting cards and letters from people I don't even know, and offers coming over the phone…"
Finishing with a flourish, he flung the cowboy hat dramatically in the direction of the upper landing. At the last moment, shocked blue eyes locked with his, and then Jack disappeared from view with a muffled exclamation.
"Shit!" the Welshman exclaimed under his breath, hurrying up the stairs with Tosh and Lisa in hot pursuit.
When he reached the top of the stairs, in his semi-inebriated state he was hard pressed not to laugh.
Jack was sat on the floor looking slightly dazed, a certain slightly bashed cowboy hat hanging half off his head; whilst Sarah Jane crouched anxiously beside her friend.
"Ooh, good shot Ianto!" Lisa snickered, and that was all it took. One glance at the scarlet and half-dressed Welshman and Jack collapsed in hysterics, setting everyone else off.
"Oh, fucking hell, I needed that!" the American gasped finally when they were all a little calmer. Reaching out to Ianto, he let the Welshman haul himself to his feet then stared round at the young tipsy trio.
"Now, I don't know what the hell you kids have been doing in my absence, and I'm not sure I want to know. But I do know that I still need a dinner, so what do you say we repair to Tosh's room, order room service and make a party of it?"
"Sounds like a plan!" Lisa enthused, whilst Tosh frowned a little.
"Why is it always my room?" she muttered under her breath, causing the teacher to snicker.
"We could always make it my room?" Jack offered, always the gentleman, and Ianto and Sarah Jane shuddered in stereo, the Welshman shooting the tech expert a pleading glance.
Sighing to herself, she relented. "No, it's ok. My room it is."
"Excellent!" Jack beamed. "The night is yet young- let's make the most of the time we have left."
Without further ado, he led the way to Tosh's door; and within five minutes they were settled comfortably on the bed and floor with room service on the way.
From his seat leaning against the wardrobe, Jack stared round at the younger trio with a wicked glint in his eyes before his gaze settled on his boyfriend.
"So, Ianto…" the model purred, his grin a mile wide. "You didn't tell me you do cabaret."
Ianto (now slightly more respectably dressed, having donned his shirt and once more and traded the hotpants for jeans) flushed scarlet, and Lisa laughed.
"Oh, come on, Yan, this is nowhere near as embarrassing as when you-"
Ianto clapped a hand over her mouth. "Don't say it!" he ordered. "Don't even think about saying it!"
Tosh turned away to hide her giggles as Lisa freed herself and pouted.
"Aww, but Yanno, it was so funny!"
It was almost possible to see Jack's ears prick up. "Oh, now I'm intrigued…"
The flustered Welshman opened his mouth to snap out a reply, but to his relief he was saved by a knock on the door: room service was here.
For the next fifteen minutes or so the talk drifted in other directions as they ate. Jack had not batted an eyelid at the telltale Cabernet Sauvignon bottles lying around Tosh's room, and had promptly ordered another couple to go with the food. As a consequence, all five were slightly tipsier when Jack grabbed Ianto's hand and smirked at the Welshman.
"What?" he slurred, confused by the stare.
The model grinned. "I believe you have a story to finish, Mr Jones."
"Erm, no." Ianto attempted to extricate his appendage, but Jack had entwined their fingers together and refused to let go.
"Will you tell if I tell you mine first?"
"Yes, he will," Lisa responded before Ianto even had time to think. He glared at her even as Jack shot her a predatory smirk.
"Of course, if Ianto and I are spilling, the rest of you can all follow suit. Anyone not game can leave now."
"What if I don't want to tell you mine? This is my room," Tosh pointed out reasonably.
Jack treated her to the full Harkness grin. "Ah, but that won't be an issue, Tosh, because you've already decided to stay," he pronounced with confidence.
The tech expert shrugged. "Oh well, it was worth a try!" she grinned back. "So, Jack, I believe you have a story to tell?"
Jack smirked and settled back more comfortably against the wardrobe. "Let me take you back some fourteen years," he began. "The year is 1995. The setting is the main catwalk of London Fashion week. Calvin Klein is announced, and at the end of the catwalk there appears a young lad of about 20. He has skipped a week of lectures to be here, but his tutors think he has flu. He's been having a fabulous time so far- it's his first major fashion event; his first steps out on the catwalk. He was pretty damn lucky to get taken on by Calvin Klein, actually; but really everyone knows they just wanted him cos he has a nice arse. No, really- you can tell they want him for his arse because he is modelling underwear. Today is a pair of decadently tight navy boxers. He knows he looks good in them. His music starts and he strides down the catwalk, swinging his hips. When he gets to the end, he turns a couple of times, giving that cute arse a wiggle. For a second the room goes silent bar the music; then a cacophony of wolf-whistles starts up. He grins and blows kisses before sashaying back down the catwalk with a more exaggerated hip-swing this time. He's feeling pretty damn good about himself. Until he spots the designer bearing down on him with a face like thunder. He finds himself dragged in front of a mirror and made to turn around. He gasps and turns scarlet. You see, kids, the music which accompanied his little sashay covered up a certain ominous ripping sound. He has not, as he thought, been showing off his lovely taut arse showcased in a pair of very expensive, very flattering boxers. He has been showing off his lovely taut arse hanging out of aforementioned very expensive, very ruined boxers."
Having listened patiently throughout, the younger three in the room could not help but fall about laughing. Having heard the story before, Sarah Jane turned away to hide a secret smile even as Jack held his hand up for silence.
"Oh, the story doesn't end there," he assured them. "Naturally, this was a bit of a talking point. Half the tabloids and most of the gossip magazines that week ended up with a picture of my arse printed in it. Now, my mother is an avid reader of gossip magazines."
Once again he was forced to halt in his tale as the trio who were hearing the story for the first time cracked up once more.
"Oh, that's not the worst of it," Jack cut over them, instantly attracting three wide-eyed gazes. "You'll realise when you meet her that my mother is a pretty easy-going kind of Mom; she thought it was hilarious. Anyway, she only saw the pictures in the papers. No, the worst of it was…" The model paused for dramatic effect before catching the eyes of his audience and delivering the crux of the tale: "My grandmother was sat in the front row. Boy, did she tear into me in front of the entire Calvin Klein team!"
He shuddered at the memory whilst the rest of the party gave in to their mirth. Their laughter was infectious, and it didn't take more than a second or two for the model to join in.
"God, I thought that was it for me!" he chuckled. "No-one was ever going to want to hire me again after that…"
Sarah Jane smirked at him. "I still think they re-employed you just for a laugh."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Oh, well volunteered, SJ! You're next!"
The journalist raised one back. "Un transition lisse, mon serpant avec la langue argentée!" She had not been slow to note the pleasure the model took in spinning out his embarrassing moment into a short tale, with his audience hanging off every word. The man was charismatic almost to a fault, and privately Sarah Jane suspected it was this as much as his looks that made him such a successful model.
The American laughed and rose to his knees, clasping his hands near his heart. "Ma belle cherie, je fais un recours de ton coeur d'or."
The journalist chuckled even as the younger three exchanged glances.
"Wait, you speak French together?" Lisa questioned.
Jack shrugged. "Yeah. It started as a deterrent to a nosy journalist who was eavesdropping. Over the years we've used it many a time to have a private conversation in public; and it's just habit now, even when it's just the two of us. Parlez-vous français?" he dropped back into the language, and the teacher laughed and shook her head.
"Nah, I was shit at it; dropped it as soon as I could."
"Yan? Tosh?"
Tosh echoed her friend's action. "Nope, I carried Spanish on to GCSE but I dropped all languages in the sixth form to focus on science and mathematics."
"And I preferred to study Welsh," Ianto added. "It seemed more relevant."
Jack gasped theatrically. "Never!"
Ianto rolled his eyes. "Don't take up acting, Jack."
The model pouted. "I still don't know why you keep denying that you're Gwen in male form."
The Welshman pouted back. "You only love me because you think I'm a reincarnation of your best friend."
"That's not true!" Jack returned, then waited the prerequisite beat. "You can't be a reincarnation of Gwen- she's not dead."
The hotel phone chose that moment to ring.
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Translations:
Ma cherie- My dear
Pas de problème- No problem
Mais pauvre Ianto- But poor Ianto
Ce n'est pas bien- It's not good
Un transition lisse, mon serpant avec la langue argentée- A smooth transition, my silver-tongued serpant
Ma belle cherie, je fais un recours de ton coeur d'or- My beautiful darling, I appeal to your heart of gold
Parlez-vous français?- Do you speak French?