Work Text:
It was hard to get snowed into the Torchwood Three hub. For one thing, it didn't often snow in Cardiff, and for another, Ianto did too good a job of keeping the boardwalk outside Reception clean. So it was unlikely they'd actually get stuck. But sometimes the weather made it too difficult to drive anywhere, and they would use the lull to catch up on long-neglected paperwork. They'd start to get antsy before too long (except for Tosh) so there were plenty of breaks for Ianto's special hot chocolate and bakery-fresh biscuits, and if Jack was in a particularly expansive mood, he'd spike the mugs with a drop of his good brandy.
Sitting around the boardroom, Jack would tell them stories, like the one about the night he'd spent with those two adorable boys on an Arcturian space station. It had started out so well, an enthusiastic three-way, but the station had experienced power loss and the grav drive went out. None of them had wanted to stop -- three perfectly healthy men, after all -- but seriously, had they ever had sex in zero-g? It was a far nicer concept than it was a reality, and the night had turned into something of a comic disaster. Fun, but still, you know, kind of a disaster, material for the Intergalactic Annals of All-Time Bad Sex. And his favorite shirt had never been quite the same.
Jack would finish the story (or one like it) with a smile as he sipped his chocolate and took a bite from his second (okay, third) biscuit. His team would grin and giggle and snort and blush, respectively (Gwen, Tosh, Owen and Ianto) and shake their heads at another of Captain Jack's tall tales. Jack would just smile to himself -- if only they knew.
~end~