m_findlow

Title: Hands off
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Ianto
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 686 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for sincere's prompt "Any, any, fabric so luxurious you just have to touch" at fic_promptly
Summary: Ianto indulges in some guilty pleasures

He'd stopped coming in here about a year ago, but since he was out on a morning full of odd errands, there didn't seem any harm in popping his head in, just for a few minutes. He was nearly done anyway.

The first thing that always caught his attention was the smell of furniture vanish. It took a lot of polish to maintain the stunning mahogany shelves, counters and coat stands in a place like this. It made it smell posh. And it was.

'Good morning, sir.'

Ah yes, that was one of the reasons he'd loved coming here. If you looked the part, they treated you like royalty.

He smiled politely.

'Can I help you with anything in particular, sir. Perhaps a fitting is in order?'

'Just browsing today, thank you.'

'Very good, sir. Do call out if you require anything. We have some lovely new items just in.'

He perused the shelves. It was a heavenly array of shirts and pants and jackets, all of which would ultimately be tailored to meet the wearer's exact measurements. That was the difference between the high street and the bespoke tailor.

The items were all elegant, beautifully cut and made, mostly by hand. It wasn't that he couldn't afford such items,Torchwood's danger pay more than compensated. It was the fact that he had a tendency to go through suits and shirts like no tomorrow. Torchwood was a messy business at the best of times, and he'd reached the point where he simply couldn't justify condemning such fine articles to a quick and painful death.

He was about to walk despondently out of the shop when the rack caught his eye. He stopped for a closer inspection. The ties were simply the most exquisite things he'd ever seen. They looked like they were made of a shimmering liquid, rather than fabric. The sign indicated that they were an exclusive import of the finest Chinese silk in the world, and that if you wished to inspect them, the shop attendant could be made available. The price tag was equally stunning. One hundred and twenty pounds for a tie was outrageous, no matter how well you were remunerated.

They were simply beautiful, and all he wanted to do was to reach out and feel it for himself, despite the strict warning.

He remembers Jack's words. They repeated over and over in his head like a naughty mantra, encouraging him to indulge in this small guilty pleasure.

'You're only in trouble if you get caught.'

Once upon a time he wouldn't have dreamed of tempting fate in this way. He supposed that Torchwood had put a lot of things into perspective for him. And Jack had become a terrible influence on him, in all the ways that were not necessarily good.

He debated with himself for a moment longer. He really wanted to know what it felt like. What was the worst that could happen?

He reached out and fingered the glorious silk. It really was everything the sign had promised. He imagined how fabulous he'd feel wearing it, and how even more fabulous it would be to have Jack's hands tied together with it. Forget the fact that it should have been cared for like it was made of gold, there were other much better uses for it, other than just looking pretty. And Jack would look so pretty wearing that and nothing else.

'Oi!'

Ianto jumped. He'd been so trapped in pleasurable thoughts that he hadn't seen the shopkeeper approaching his position. He mentally cursed himself. A weevil wouldn't have given him fair warning. Then again, he probably wouldn't be fantasising about Jack, naked and restrained in the world's finest silk, if he knew weevils were lurking about.

'Can't you read the sign? It says no touching!' Gone was the earlier sophisticated cadence, replaced with good old fashioned Welsh irritation.

Ianto blushed a shade of deep vermillion, more embarrassed at the dreamy look probably spread all over his face than the actual act of defiance itself.

'That's okay, I'll take it.'

Problem solved. That was how you rolled at Torchwood.