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Wishlist 2010

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Ficlet(s)

This story is No. 2 in the series "Wishlists". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: Twenty-four gifts for twenty-four people giving me twenty-four prompts. Ficlet collection. Part II. - Now Up: To The Ground! verse Christmas fluff.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Multiple Crossings > General > Ficlet Collections - Other(Moderator)FaithUnbreakableFR152440,119311735,44330 Nov 1024 Dec 10Yes

king of clubs and hearts - BtVS/TW

Warnings: Erm… does one need to warn of plotless flirting?

Prompt: romanaorfred asked for BtVS/TW, Buffy/Jack, After Sunnydale, Buffy joins Torchwood.

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king of clubs and hearts

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She’s short and blonde and pretty and feisty and stubborn and strong and wears her jeans like they were made for her. She’s possibly a bit too loud, most certainly deadly and absolutely badass enough to bring down an alien empire or two on a long weekend.

And she’s all Jack’s.

Well, technically the Watchers’ Council still has dibs on her in times of apocalypse but since, as far as Jack knows after a hundred and forty years stuck in linear time, demon and alien apocalypses have yet to ever happen at the same time, so he figures he’s golden.

And Torchwood Three has a new Specialist.

One who can keep up with him.

And she laughs about his macabre jokes, which is almost too good to be true.

So Ianto can just stop pouting about her ‘Americanism’ and lack of decorum.

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“What are we doing down here?” she asks, trailing a hand over the array of guns he’s spread out on a long table at one end of the shooting range in the Hub’s subbasement.

“We’re teaching you how to shoot,” he says, smile maybe a tiny bit lecherous.

It’s quite possible that Ianto is standing in the gallery up above, watching them and Jack always cranks up the charm when the Welshman is around. It’s juvenile, but the sex he gets out of it is very much worth that.

“Are we?” she asks, coyly, game as always. He’s been flirting with her for five days and he has yet to stump or annoy her visibly. Personally, Jack has nothing at all against her Americanism.

“Yes,” he confirms as he slips an arm around her waist, bends over her shoulder to guide her hand to the first gun, a tiny green marvel of alien tech. “This one,” he tells her, in full teacher mode. Well, dirty teacher mode, “This one is a very special little thing. Packs a punch like you wouldn’t believe, but has almost no recoil.”

He curls her fingers around the grip, helps her raise and aim, shows her the trigger, still leaning into her. She’s warm and soft in all the right places and she doesn’t squirm and move away like Gwen did. She, unlike most other people of this age, understands that Jack never means anything, unless it’s a bullet to your head.

Sometimes he thinks Ianto gets it, but then he clings and tries to hold on to Jack and the moment passes. Jack feels sorry for that, for hurting Ianto, but his habits are older than all of his team taken together and they won’t break now.

She fires and the beam of greenish blue light goes wide, barely scratching the edge of the paper target he put up. “Whoops,” she says, and it sounds bubblier than she probably ever was.

He laughs. “We’ll try that again, alright?”

She nods, pouts, looks up at him by leaning her head back into his shoulder. “Different gun, maybe?”

He hands her another one, Earth made, physical projectiles. His hands find her hips to correct her stance and then they slide down her arms until he cups her deceptively fragile wrists, showing her a two-handed grip.

This time, she hits the target. In the elbow. He corrects her grip, helps her sight down the gun, his breath on her face. He feels Ianto’s gaze boring into his back and knows for sure they are being watched.

If he were a better man, he would stop flirting. If he were a better man, he would set Ianto free. But he loves him enough to be selfish and keeps his hands right where they are while Buffy keeps being a crap shot.

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They’ve been down here almost two hours and Jack feels his ears ringing from the constant bang, followed by more, smaller ba-ba-bangs as he bullets go wild and ricochet off the walls at the other end of the range.

It’s almost eerie, how she manages to hit anything but bull’s eye.

“You know,” she says conversationally as he puts down the latest failed project (shiny red, the size of his forearm). “I can keep this up forever.”

He jerks around to face her, a bit wide-eyed, maybe. “What?”

She smirks and it makes her looks very, very dangerous in a cute sort of way. “The missing,” she lets him know.

He looks at her, at the almost unharmed targets behind her and the chipped walls behind those, then back at her. “You were playing me,” he realizes, about two hours too late.

Really, in hindsight it’s kind of obvious. He’s seen her handle weapons, all kinds of them. Just never firearms.

“Just like you were playing me,” she shoots back without missing a beat, running a single finger up his arm and neck, trailing down his jaw to his chin and then tapping it once, with a grin. Just to make sure he knows exactly how it was that he played her.

Then she casually picks up the very first gun one-handed and aims blindly down the range, firing five times. All five targets have their heads burned away by a blast of energy. She doesn’t even blink.

He smirks. “You, my dear, are a terrible, terrible tease.”

She shakes her head as she puts the gun down and steps impossibly closer still. There is no wave of malcontent from the gallery, so Ianto must have left. Jack is glad, if only for his lover. Buffy looks up at him, suddenly serious. “I sank an entire town and battled the armies of hell, Jack, literally. I did everything anyone’s ever asked of me and now I’m living my life.”

He raises one eyebrow at her, expression unimpressed, even as his hands land on her hips again. “How does that connect to you being a tease?” he wants to know.

She tilts her head to one side. “It doesn’t. Because I’m not teasing. My life, Jack,” she reiterates and then stands on tip-toes to press a quick peck to his lips before slipping out of his grasp.

She repeats again, “My life,” and then, just to prove she’s as smart as he thinks she is, she adds, “You should stop intentionally hurting Ianto. We can’t help who we love and I’m pretty sure you love him, too.”

He shrugs and then looks away, uncomfortably. He hates her a bit for being able to make him squirm. “I love many things.”

People, he doesn’t say.

“I like this one,” she says, picking up one of the guns he explained to her, tucking it into her waistband without so much as a by-your-leave. Then she turns and walks away, hips swaying a bit more than strictly necessary, leaving Jack to admire the view.

He adds ‘unpredictable’ and ‘dangerous’ to the ever growing list of adjectives he associates with her and then, after a minute, he follows.

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