czarina_kitty

Title: Plane Clothes Operation
Author: czarina_kitty
Word Count: 1877
Giftee: chamilet
Beta: blissfullyd
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Leave it to Jack to turn a simple undercover operation into a sex game.
Warnings: cross dressing, UST
Setting/Time: early series 2
A/N: Written for the Christmas Exchange at torchwood_fest. The request was for Jack and Ianto as flight attendants. Bantering over the beverage cart, etc.. This is…similar.

“You’re late,” Ianto says without looking up. He can sense Jack behind him; recognizes his scent even if it is overlaid with… something. “I had to board all these passengers by myself.”

“Sorry.” The voice is breathy, pitched higher, and not at all what Ianto is expecting. “It took longer to get dressed than I expected.”

Ianto looks down at his own clothing. Trousers and a polo shirt, polyester and ugly granted, but not particularly difficult to put on. His frown morphs into an expression of disbelief as he finally turns around. “What the hell are you wearing?”

“My uniform.”

“That look has not been considered a uniform since the 1970s.”

“This was your idea. You said we need to blend in.”

“Since when does you wearing a miniskirt and high heels count as blending in?” Ianto asks exasperated.

“Since I waxed my legs. Those trousers just don’t show off enough thigh. Besides, the heels make my arse look good, don’t you think?”

Leave it to Jack to turn a simple undercover operation into a sex game, Ianto thinks, but somehow he still cannot stop himself from asking, “You waxed your legs?”

“That’s not all I waxed,” Jack whispers, leaning in close enough for his breath to ghost over Ianto’s ear. “Care to find out where else?”

“Jack…”

“That’s Jaclyn. See? It says so on my nametag.”

“Of course it does. I should have known.” And I should have known not to let you get ready on your own. “Come on; work to do. This safety presentation won’t give itself.”

It’s barely thirty seconds into the pre-flight review when a London accented voice calls out, “Oi, Stewardess. What does a bloke have to do to get a drink around here?”

“Not referring to me as ‘stewardess’ would be a start,” Ianto replies. “And you’ll have to until we’re finished reviewing the emergency procedures to...”

“Look,” the man says, reasonably. “If anyone on this plane is too stupid to figure out how to buckle a seatbelt I say we let natural selection take its course.”

“Sir,” Ianto responds, wondering exactly why it is that Owen gets to play the part cranky passenger while he is stuck serving drinks and food all flight long. Playing to their strengths, he supposes. “I’m going to have to ask you to…Jack-lyn, where are you going? We haven’t even covered emergency floatation devices yet.”

“Well, the man does have a point,” Jack says, continuing to the back of the plane. “And I’ve got floatation devices covered,” he says with a wink and a not-so-subtle readjustment of his cleavage.

“I somehow doubt that amount of silicone is going to keep you above water,” Ianto mumbles to himself.

Wandering back to the flight attendants’ jump seats, Ianto stops to speak to a few passengers along the way. “Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to turn off your PDA,” Ianto says, leaning in to speak quietly to the pretty, Asian woman.

“Oh, sorry,” she says blushing. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Just until after take-off,” he tells her with a wink.

***

Jack sidles up to Ianto after the first round of drinks has been served. “Ever hear of the mile high club?” he asks, leading Ianto back towards the rear cabin restrooms.

“There is no way we are both fitting in that restroom, let alone doing anything else,” Ianto tells him.

“We just have to be creative,” Jack replies, dragging Ianto into the small room. He sits on the toilet seat lid, pulling Ianto onto his lap.

“See, plenty of room,” Jack whispers, working the buckle of Ianto’s belt.

“Shouldn’t we be the other way ‘round here? I mean, you are the one wearing the skirt.”

“Next time. Lift up a bit for me,” Jack says softly, guiding Ianto by the hips. Jack raises his own hips just enough to hike his skirt up around his waist. Jack slides his hands inside the waistband of Ianto’s trousers and Ianto sighs contentedly as Jack tugs his trousers and pants down to his knees.

“You’re wearing silk knickers,” Ianto notes, with a small shudder as Jack pulls him back onto his lap.

Jack chuckles. “Yeah. Like that, do you?”

Ianto leans back and rests his head on Jack’s shoulder, arching his back and sighing contentedly at the feel of Jack’s hands tracing over his arse and thighs. He moans when one finger brushes lightly over his hole and…

The insistent knock at the door startles them both. Ianto leaps to his feet and quickly moves to restore his clothing. He glances over his shoulder at Jack and with a smirk and a raised eyebrow says, “Work to do.”

Exiting the small compartment Ianto and Jack run immediately into Tosh, who is busy pressing buttons on the handheld scanner she is holding. “Oh, there you two are. Are you okay, Ianto? You look a little flushed.”

“He’s fine,” Jack assures her. “He just can’t wait to get out of that uniform. And neither can I. What have you got?”

“I’ve been running a scan on the in-flight entertainment and there is definitely a signal hidden there. Looks like invasion plans being broadcast to an orbiting ship, just as we thought. Something about the frequency of the broadcast makes it necessary to be up this high for it to be received properly. And I have confirmed the source is the…gentleman in seat D7.”

“Good work. I think another round of drinks is in order, then. Toshiko, tell Owen to be ready. Ianto, let’s find out if our new friend is as allergic to sodium as the rest of the Geoducians are.”

“Gwen’s running the data through the mainframe and should have a new message ready to broadcast once you shut the first one down. The standard ‘we know who you are’ should do nicely,” Tosh says, already focused on her PDA as she heads back to her seat.

“Right,” Ianto says, pushing the drink cart into the aisle. “Let’s get this done so we can serve the meal. It should be peaceful after that. Maybe we can make another attempt at joining the mile high club?”

“I like the way you think, Ianto Jones.”

Half-way up the aisle, Jack hisses across to Ianto, “Hey, this guy just propositioned me.”

“I’m not surprised,” Ianto replies, trying to pretend that Jack has not just drawn the attention of everyone within earshot. “Your arse does look good in that skirt.”

“Ianto,” Jack whines.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Jaclyn, did you want me to defend your honor?”

“No. I wanted to know if we could take him home with us.”

Ianto stops for a moment to pat the back of the woman to whom he’d just handed coffee as she chokes “No,” he says firmly to Jack, once she is out of immediate danger of aspirating her beverage.

“It could be fun. Besides, he’s got a good idea.”

“What’s that?” Ianto asks in what he thinks of as his indulgent tone.

“Sex on the beach. Think about it: you, me…”

“Sand in uncomfortable places,” Ianto finishes dryly. “It’s a drink. Vodka, peach schnapps, cranberry juice, and orange juice.”

“How do you know that?”

“You forget, I know everything.”

Ianto pulls level with row D and looks across at the man in seat 7. He looks human on first glance, but the green tint around the edges of the eyes give him away. Ianto passes a cup of salt water across and has already turned his back when the man starts convulsing.

“Is there a doctor on the plane?” someone yells.

Owen takes his cue, hopping out of his seat and heading straight for the alien. He uses his ‘don’t argue with me’ tone to announce, “Out of my way, I’m a doctor.”

Owen makes a show of examining his patient, muttering curses and medical jargon not quite under his breath. By the time the alien slumps forward in Owen’s arms, knocked out by a sedative force down his throat, and is pushed back into his seat to ‘sleep it off’, Owen has located and removed the transmitter that had been hidden in the slime glands of the Geoducian’s mouth. Tossing the small, sticky item to Tosh and heading back to his seat, Owen calls out, “I’ll be needing another drink now, stewardess.”

“Got it,” Tosh yells. “Oh, this is a very clever little…”

“Can you disable it?” Jack asks.

“Done,” Tosh tells him. “I’ll have the new signal broadcasting in a….There.” Tosh beams.

“Good work, everyone,” Jack says before turning to address the cabin full of confused passengers. “Everything is under control, nothing to worry about. We’ll be serving your in-flight meal momentarily.”

Standing at the back of the plane and watching as the passengers slowly drift off to sleep, Ianto leans against Jack. “The chicken á la retcon was popular.”

“Yep. Although I thought the macaroni and retcon looked better,” Jack replies, leaning down to nip at Ianto’s earlobe. “I do believe you and I have some unfinished business to attend to.”

Ianto makes a throaty noise and grinds his arse back into Jack. He turns to smile at Jack, but stops short after one step. “Jack, I thought you served the meals for the cockpit crew.”

“I did. Remember? I told you, the navigator is hot.”

“Then why are the meals I put aside for them still here? You know, the ones without the special ingredient.”

“The special…? Oh. Oops.”

“Oops? Jack, if you gave the cockpit crew retcon and they fall asleep, this plane will crash. With all of us on board.” Owen and Tosh appear in the small back area, drawn by the shouting and agitated tone of the usually sedate Ianto.

“Hey,” Owen says. “Keep it down. Everyone out there may be asleep, but I really don’t want to have to retcon them all again if they wake up.”

“Relax,” Jack adds. “I’ll land the plane.”

“Do you even know how to land a plane?” Ianto asks incredulously.

“What? You think the title Captain is just an affectation?”

“Yes,” Ianto, Owen, and Toshiko all reply in unison.

“I’ve flown spaceships, how hard can this be?”

“Right,” says Owen, taking control of the situation. “Tosh, you and Ianto go with our illustrious Captain. If the three of you together can’t figure out how to fly this thing and land safely no one can. I’ll babysit this lot. At least none of them are going to be aware enough to panic.”

“I’ve already got us linked into the Hub computer and Gwen is working on planting a plausible cover story,” Tosh says to Ianto as they head for the cockpit. “We’re live with air traffic control and emergency services on the ground. I just wish I’d spent more time playing flight simulator video games…”

***

“Oh Captain, My Captain, our fearful trip is done,” Ianto says to himself once the plane is safely on the ground.

“The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,” Jack continues, flashing his trademark grin.

“Um, guys?” Tosh asks. “You do know the Captain was dead in that poem, right?”

“Seems fitting,” Ianto says evenly, “seeing as how I’m going to kill him as soon as my feet hit the tarmac.”