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Title: Better in theory
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack, Ianto
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 500 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for Challenge 448 - Silk sheets at [livejournal.com profile] slashthedrabble
Summary: It was a nice idea, but...

It wasn't that Ianto had completely quashed Jack's idea of getting silk sheets for their bed, only that they seemed an extravagance.

It turned out that they were not only an extravagance, but also totally impractical.

He'd ordered them himself, never quite trusting Jack to get things right on his own. He was certainly a capable person, but when it came to domestic trivialities, he seemed to miss the fine details, usually ordering things in the wrong size or quantity, posting them to the wrong address, or adding fourteen other things to the end of the order that they really didn't need. It was the very reason he didn't let Jack near their online stationery orders. Jack and stationery was like letting a kid loose in a candy store. What the hell was he supposed to do with five thousand multicolored paperclips, anyway?

Having said that, he had let Jack at least pick the colour. Perhaps a dangerous decision, since the painting debacle that had left his house with walls in every ungodly hue imaginable, but he trusted that Jack had learned his lesson, being forced to repaint them all white. Admittedly, the light golden colour he chose was quite nice; understated, and would match well with their existing duvet and pillowcases. Boeshane gold, he described it. Typical Jack. He had to ascribe meaning to everything.

The first problem he noticed was how hot they were. It might have been great in the bitterly cold winter months, but making love underneath them was like making love in a sauna. Jack was adept at getting him all hot and sweaty as it was, but the sheets added a whole new level of discomfort, causing him to slip and slide against Jack's own sweat-soaked body.

That was another thing. The sheets were slippery as all get out. They never stayed where they were meant to, which meant that Ianto often didn't stay where he was meant to either, tumbling out of bed along with them.

Then of course came the washing. After even one night of energetic activities, the sheets were stained with their sweat, and other things Ianto didn't like to spend too much time thinking about. He'd read up on the correct care of silk, only to discover that it required an inordinate amount of hand washing and hand squeezing. They didn't like being ironed or tumble dried, meaning his house looked like a Chinese laundry, sheets hanging in whatever spare space he could find, since outdoors was a bust on account of persistent rain.  

He couldn't deny that they felt nice against his skin, but the impracticalities of maintaining them left him wanting. Jack was going to have to give him a day off every week just for that.

Perhaps if he'd been single or without such an active sex life, and a whole lot of spare time on his hands for washing them, they might have been perfect. Instead, he decided they should stick to plain old cotton.

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