Word Count: 445
Warnings: Er…None really. Just fluff
Summary: Jack just likes to watch.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything out of the Torchwood/Doctor Who universe. I just like to play with them once and a while
A/N: Not sexual, seriously! My friend kept on making weird jokes abou- Okay….not weird for this fandom :P. Also, if anyone could help be being a Torchwood Janto Beta, I would immediately love them :D
Jack just likes to watch
Ianto's in the kitchen again, delicious smells are wafting all through his flat. Jack Knows as soon as he steps through the door that he will not be eating Chinese, Indian or Pizza tonight, because the hallway is filled with the bangs of cabinets closing and pots being smashed about. That, and the loud, blasting sound of YMCA through the speakers.
So he takes off his boots, coat and socks, and pads around the divider that separates the nicely decorated kitchen from the rest of the apartment. He finds his favourite chair for this activity, sniffing at the garlic, and settles down for the show.
Ianto doesn't even see him come in, hears nothing, because Ianto is in his own little realm. He whisks from oven to spice rack, adding a hint of something to the nearest of four glimmering, simmering pots. He makes a face, adds some more, and then repeats the process. He moves to another cupboard, this one down low, and pulls out a masher. He claims, every time Jack asks, that said device can be used for nothing sexual, but the older man has his doubts.
So his boyfriend is whirling around his own little domain, opening doors to revel messy, haphazard organization. This is the one place that Ianto does not alphabetize, number and separate into categories. He always tells Jack it's because this was how his mother cooked. The time agent could remember once, when Ianto had taken a week off to visit his mother, sitting in the kitchen and putting every single thing in a place. He had wanted to surprise Ianto. The man had taken one look and yanked everything out.
He had spent the whole night putting everything back. 'How Am I supposed to find everything?!'
So now Jack just watched, watched him close cupboard doors with a bump of his hip, toss things in the dishwasher, set up cookbooks on the island and precisely time things until they were cooked to perfection. Peeling, pulling, stirring. Letting mouth-watering smells float up from his stainless pots in a cloud of white steam. All the while bobbing his head to some pathetic pop song and singing along softly.
And eventually he'll glance at the clock and do a double take, seeing how late it is. He'll be surprised, then look straight to Jack's favourite spot. And he always sits, smiles at Ianto, and gives a tiny wave.
And the largest of smiles breaks out on his lovers' face, because he realizes he's done it again.
And it makes Jack want to watch even more. As long as he can.
Because he loves it.