Torchwood, Ianto/Jack, hypothermia
It was cold. Fucking cold. Unbelievably fucking cold. The fact that the heater in the hub had broken six hours ago made it infinitely worse. Ianto had tried fixing it, but apparently they lacked a key part that the Cardiff area stores would have to specially order. There was nothing more that Ianto could do except for what he did best.
“Tea, Sir?”
Jack, shivering uncontrollably, took the teacup. It rattled on the saucer and the spoon rattled in the cup.
Ianto tried not to laugh. “It isn’t that cold.”
“It is,” Jack insisted. He took a few sips and gave Ianto the most miserable of looks possible.
“Chances are, you won’t die,” Ianto said, holding back his smile.
“Still…” Jack drank a little more tea. “Better not take any risks. It’s going to be cold tonight. Too cold to be believed—”
“We can go to my flat—” Ianto began to suggest, but was cut off immediately. Jack wasn’t even listening.
“My body temperature is slightly higher than yours, but even so… Ianto, I’m afraid the only way we’re both going to survive is to keep each other warm.”
Ianto’s eyebrows rose just slightly. “Well, Sir, if that is indeed the only way, I suppose we have no choice.”
Soon they were naked and clinging to each other beneath the covers of Jack’s bed. Initially, Ianto had been full of doubts, but after a few minutes of pressing his body against Jack’s, he didn’t care about anything else.
Jack stirred in more ways than one and not for the first time Ianto got impression that all this—the coldest day of the year combined with a broken heater and an impossible-to-find part— might just be a clever way for Jack to get Ianto in his bed. Even when he realized this, though, he found he didn’t care one bit. “So cold,” he whispered. Jack’s arms tightened around him and Ianto stirred as well.