Teehee, nervosity. First Torchwood-fic! (Well, first Torchwood-fic of which you know for a fact that I've written it. Yay for thestopwatch!)
This is very silly. Also, I know it's pretty much standard to write smutty fics in the TW-fandom (or perhaps that's only with Jack/Ianto?), but I'm not much of a smutty writter. In fact, I'm the furthest from a smutty writer as you could ever get. I'll imply sex, no problem, I'll read about it, but please, don't ask me to write it. It would scar you for life.

Title: Washing Up (if that isn't creative, I don't know what is)
Author: nohwrah
Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Rating:PG-13
Word count: 893
Summary: Ianto Jones hates the washing-up, which really is quite unfortunate for a teaboy. Or is it?
Author's notes: This is just a really silly little fluffy fic that I thought of during work, which consists mainly of –as you can guess- washing up.



Ianto sighed and put his hands on his hips as he looked at the huge pile of washing-up right in front of him- the pile he'd just gathered from every corner and nook in the Hub.

He wondered how four people could use up such a phenomenal amount of kitchen supplies in under twenty-four hours- because Ianto washed up every. Single. Day. (He was particularly suspicious of Owen for using as many pieces of cutlery as he could manage just to spite Ianto. He often found forks in bed-pans, spoons among the syringes or knives in his white coat.)

Ianto despised washing-up. Even though he was a clean-freak and, according to Yvonne Hartman's psych eval, "obsessive compulsive", there were few things in the world Ianto hated as much as washing up (netspeak, cybermen and spoilt milk). So how in the name of heaven, Ianto wondered, had he managed landing a job that was 90 percent washing up?

It simply wasn't a grateful task, he mused. Mopping up floors, dusting, organising the archives, those were things one could see the results of, something that had some form of gratification in it. Washing-up entirely lacked that, Ianto thought. It was completely useless, because the next day, he'd be doing the exact same thing all over again.

And no one ever noticed. 'You keep a clean house,' people would say when they first saw his apartment. Or 'Alphabetical? How orderly!' But no one would ever once stop before eating and go, 'My, this is a particularly clean fork, Ianto. You must tell me your secret!'

He really wished someone would, just once.

But it was something that just had to be done and it would be done well, because Ianto never was one to do half work- even if he didn't enjoy it. So he took another deep breath and let the water run as he put on the pink, frilly apron that Gwen had given him as a prank Christmas present.

(Everyone had known what it was and had gathered around just to see Ianto's face as he unwrapped it, but the joke was on them when he politely thanked Gwen for it and said that pink really brought out his eyes. When he actually put it on the next day, wearing it as if it were nothing more than an extension of his three-piece suit , no one ha dared mocking him. Not even Owen. Ianto still thought fondly of that moment, regarding it as his finest hour. He hadn't stopped wearing it, just to remind everyone that he could even pull off a pink, frilly apron. And Jack seemed to have taken a liking to it. Especially if nothing else was worn, but that was an entirely different story.)

'Need a hand doing your dishes?' He suddenly heard Jack's voice form behind.

Ianto rolled his eyes. Leave it to Jack to make washing up sound sexual. 'Do not mock me with your tempting offers, Sir. I'm afraid I can accept neither.'

He looked back at Jack and saw him frown. 'Knowing you,' he explained, 'it might mean two things. The first –and this is the most plausible- is that it's a metaphor for having sex and however much I want it, I don't have the time. As you can probably gather from this monstrous pile of mugs.'

'And the second?' Jack asked, shoving his hands in his pocket, looking very pensive.

'The second is that you actually do mean that you want to help me out with the washing-up. A highly absurd notion, that will never happen and just the idea of it is enough to disappoint me to the brink of insanity, since you know how much I despise this.'

'Exactly. Which is why I offered to help,' Jack told him, raising his eyebrows. When he noticed Ianto didn't respond, he continued. 'See, it's a little bit of both. If I help you now, this whole thing will be over much quicker which means your good mood won't have been diminished and you'll be up for more sex. I might even try a new thing or two.'

Ianto coughed. 'I see. How strangely in-character for you, sir.'

'I was going to tell you to leave it, but then you'd have to do double as much afterwards and that would mean I definitely wouldn't have sex tomorrow night.' Jack walked up to him and picked up the tea-towel. 'It's a win-win situation. What do you say?'

'If by win-win you mean to say I win twice, you are absolutely right,' Ianto replied, even-faced, as he continued cleaning cutlery. 'Less work and the promise of sex two nights in a row. I feel a pay rise can't be far off, now.'

He yelped when the tea-towel hit his buttocks, making a cracking sound much like a whip. The thin material of his trousers did very little to soften the blow. There was a sharp intake of breath as his hand drifted down to rub the still-stinging skin there.

Jack flashed him a grin. 'That's what you get for being cheeky. And there's more where that came from.'

'I would have been disappointed if there weren't, sir,' Ianto replied with a wink and turned his attention back to the task at hand.

Maybe the washing-up isn't so bad after all, he thought with a smile.