FIC: Oslo in Summer
Couple of housekeeping items first, peeps. First, thanks to whatever lovely person nominated my Gwen fic for a Children of Time award. I really appreciate it! And second, thought I would give an update on the stuff I've been writing. Have been churning out the TARDIS Big Bang fic this weekend, inspired by kel-reiley finishing her opus. If I reach a certain word count, my reward is to go read her story! Also currently working on my fic for LGBT Fest (finally have the format that I want), the last bit of "Dr. Harkness & Nurse Jones," timestamp meme's for misswinterhill, flowright, olga_f, and idamus. And the plotbunny homage to "Notorious" (actually about 1/3 of the way through on that) that was suggested by rexluscus and kel-reiley. And an Owen story that I just felt like. They will get done! As proof, here's the fic I promised verasteine for beta-ing the LGBT one.
Title: Oslo in Summer
Author: blue_fjords
Rating: PG
Characters: Jack/Ianto
Words: ~1000
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Continuation of Bruges in Spring. Ianto is still feeling the effects of alien drugs; Jack gets him into the Hub.
A/N: This is to thank my wonderful beta, verasteine, for agreeing to beta another story for me! Thanks! The idea of Ianto having traveled through parts of Europe before joining Torchwood is inspired by rm and kalichan’s Ianto backstory from IHNIIHBT. The park in Oslo is Vigeland Park. The poem Ianto recites and paraphrases from is “The Walrus and the Carpenter” from Lewis Carroll’s Through the Looking Glass. Whew! Long note.
Jack’s arms hold him upright as the earth moves under his feet. Ianto glances up dazedly. The sky is, in fact, not coming tumbling down. It is growing smaller, though. He cranes his neck, leaning his head against Jack’s shoulder. He can see the moon from here. It’s shining sulkily. He points this out to Jack, blotting the moon with his thumb.
“The moon says we’ve got no business to be here, after the day is done,” he slurs into Jack’s neck.
“Good thing we’re going underground, then,” Jack replies, and Ianto smiles. Sweet logic, like water on a parched throat. He pats Jack’s arm approvingly.
The lift grinds to a halt, and Jack helps him down. Ianto peers around the Hub, but there are no writhing bodies in the corners, no gasps and moans to complement the soundtrack of the Hub’s constant whirring. Jack notices his quizzical expression and answers, “You’re coming down off your high.”
Is he now? Ianto puzzles, though his puzzler is sore and battered from Jack’s story. He was high up above, where things are high. But now he is underground, where things are low. So yes, he is no longer high. Score another one for logic.
He wants to talk to Jack, about logic and forever and living underground, sharing the words back and forth like a bottle of fine whiskey, but he wants to do it alone. His brow furrows. Well, not alone, as Jack would be there, but he wants Jack to himself right now. He always has to share; it grows tiring from time to time. He addresses the aliens swarming into the empty spaces of the Hub, flowing around gadgets, diving through the monitors, leaping up from the Med Bay, “It’s very rude of you to come and spoil the fun,” he admonishes.
Jack clears his throat, and Ianto turns to him. The smile Jack is wearing is affectionate, though concerned, not the usual smile Ianto has claimed for himself, putting it in his pocket and taking it out whenever he needs it. “How about we go a little further underground?” Jack suggests, and Ianto nods happily.
Jack hops down the ladder first, gracefully, like Errol Flynn in a pirate movie Ianto saw with his da at the Electro. Ianto wants to be Errol Flynn, too, and he swings from rung to rung, somehow winding up collapsed on the bed with Jack beneath him. Jack chuckles, and Ianto places his ear to Jack’s chest, hand over his heart, letting the vibrations travel up into him. They’re like bees with their buzzing hum, each vibration moving through Ianto then floating off into the air, back to the hive.
“Jack? I think I’m still high,” he mumbles, and nuzzles at Jack’s neck. He decides he likes that word. “Jack? I like nuzzle, but you can have snuggle and Gwen can have cuddle.”
Jack barks a laugh. If he were a dog, Jack would be - well, a mutt. But a very handsome mutt. Ianto reaches out a finger, and rubs it across Jack’s teeth. He would need sharper teeth if he were a dog, though Ianto likes how Jack’s teeth feel now, as he rolls Ianto onto his back and settles between his legs, teeth nibbling on his earlobe.
Ianto smiles rather dopily. “Jack? I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to tell you about anything you want.”
The non sequitur flies out of his mouth and lands, like a butterfly, on the tip of Jack’s nose. Ianto can see him hesitate, and the butterfly takes off.
“Tell me about one moment,” he says finally, and Ianto glows with the joy of the storyteller, the trust Jack places in him to give him what he wants.
“I’ll tell you about the first time I knew I wanted to meet you,” Ianto answers, proud to hit upon a moment that is all about Jack, though not, because Jack wasn’t there. It’s confusing to think about, so he doesn’t and just begins to speak.
“It was in Oslo, in the summer,” he begins, and Jack’s body is warm all along him, Jack’s legs between his own, Jack’s elbows propping himself up on either side of his chest, Jack’s breath tickling his chin. “It was warm then, too,” he adds, and Jack ghosts a laugh across his face.
“I heard a man playing a song on his guitar outside the Radhus, and it was floaty, like bees. So I gave him a couple of kroner and asked him where to find the most beautiful place in Oslo,” he continues, watching Jack’s eyes. They’re dark blue in the dim light of the underground and Ianto wants to go chasing the shadows in them, shoo them out and dance with sparkles of light in Jack’s eyes.
“He sent me to this park, full of sculptures,” his voice trails off, remembering the bodies, beautiful and ugly, young and old, made of stone or bronze but so full of life, just purely them and nothing else. How can he explain it to Jack? He reaches a hand up and traces Jack’s face, framing him there in a memory.
“I wanted to touch forever,” he whispers, and Jack’s smile is sad again, shadows mocking him from the depths of Jack’s lovely blue eyes. Ianto struggles with his thoughts.
“It’s not sad because, see, I did get to meet you. You’re those statues. Or am I not making sense again?” He wrinkles his brow, and Jack smiles again, the Ianto-smile, and leans down to kiss him. He smiles happily into the kiss, tongue chasing all the contours of Jack’s lips and teeth and tongue, and Jack chuckles again, the sound falling into Ianto’s mouth, down his throat, to take root and blossom in his chest.
“You really aren’t afraid of the winter, are you?” Jack murmurs, settling more fully on Ianto’s body, easing off his elbows and snuggling his head under Ianto’s chin. Ianto brings his hand around to rest on the small of Jack’s back.
“No, I’m really not,” Ianto answers. “Go to sleep, Jack. Let’s not choose to leave the oyster-bed.”
He can feel Jack’s laugh through his body as his eyes close. He dreams of warmth and moments that last forever.
Title: Oslo in Summer
Author: blue_fjords
Rating: PG
Characters: Jack/Ianto
Words: ~1000
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Continuation of Bruges in Spring. Ianto is still feeling the effects of alien drugs; Jack gets him into the Hub.
A/N: This is to thank my wonderful beta, verasteine, for agreeing to beta another story for me! Thanks! The idea of Ianto having traveled through parts of Europe before joining Torchwood is inspired by rm and kalichan’s Ianto backstory from IHNIIHBT. The park in Oslo is Vigeland Park. The poem Ianto recites and paraphrases from is “The Walrus and the Carpenter” from Lewis Carroll’s Through the Looking Glass. Whew! Long note.
Jack’s arms hold him upright as the earth moves under his feet. Ianto glances up dazedly. The sky is, in fact, not coming tumbling down. It is growing smaller, though. He cranes his neck, leaning his head against Jack’s shoulder. He can see the moon from here. It’s shining sulkily. He points this out to Jack, blotting the moon with his thumb.
“The moon says we’ve got no business to be here, after the day is done,” he slurs into Jack’s neck.
“Good thing we’re going underground, then,” Jack replies, and Ianto smiles. Sweet logic, like water on a parched throat. He pats Jack’s arm approvingly.
The lift grinds to a halt, and Jack helps him down. Ianto peers around the Hub, but there are no writhing bodies in the corners, no gasps and moans to complement the soundtrack of the Hub’s constant whirring. Jack notices his quizzical expression and answers, “You’re coming down off your high.”
Is he now? Ianto puzzles, though his puzzler is sore and battered from Jack’s story. He was high up above, where things are high. But now he is underground, where things are low. So yes, he is no longer high. Score another one for logic.
He wants to talk to Jack, about logic and forever and living underground, sharing the words back and forth like a bottle of fine whiskey, but he wants to do it alone. His brow furrows. Well, not alone, as Jack would be there, but he wants Jack to himself right now. He always has to share; it grows tiring from time to time. He addresses the aliens swarming into the empty spaces of the Hub, flowing around gadgets, diving through the monitors, leaping up from the Med Bay, “It’s very rude of you to come and spoil the fun,” he admonishes.
Jack clears his throat, and Ianto turns to him. The smile Jack is wearing is affectionate, though concerned, not the usual smile Ianto has claimed for himself, putting it in his pocket and taking it out whenever he needs it. “How about we go a little further underground?” Jack suggests, and Ianto nods happily.
Jack hops down the ladder first, gracefully, like Errol Flynn in a pirate movie Ianto saw with his da at the Electro. Ianto wants to be Errol Flynn, too, and he swings from rung to rung, somehow winding up collapsed on the bed with Jack beneath him. Jack chuckles, and Ianto places his ear to Jack’s chest, hand over his heart, letting the vibrations travel up into him. They’re like bees with their buzzing hum, each vibration moving through Ianto then floating off into the air, back to the hive.
“Jack? I think I’m still high,” he mumbles, and nuzzles at Jack’s neck. He decides he likes that word. “Jack? I like nuzzle, but you can have snuggle and Gwen can have cuddle.”
Jack barks a laugh. If he were a dog, Jack would be - well, a mutt. But a very handsome mutt. Ianto reaches out a finger, and rubs it across Jack’s teeth. He would need sharper teeth if he were a dog, though Ianto likes how Jack’s teeth feel now, as he rolls Ianto onto his back and settles between his legs, teeth nibbling on his earlobe.
Ianto smiles rather dopily. “Jack? I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to tell you about anything you want.”
The non sequitur flies out of his mouth and lands, like a butterfly, on the tip of Jack’s nose. Ianto can see him hesitate, and the butterfly takes off.
“Tell me about one moment,” he says finally, and Ianto glows with the joy of the storyteller, the trust Jack places in him to give him what he wants.
“I’ll tell you about the first time I knew I wanted to meet you,” Ianto answers, proud to hit upon a moment that is all about Jack, though not, because Jack wasn’t there. It’s confusing to think about, so he doesn’t and just begins to speak.
“It was in Oslo, in the summer,” he begins, and Jack’s body is warm all along him, Jack’s legs between his own, Jack’s elbows propping himself up on either side of his chest, Jack’s breath tickling his chin. “It was warm then, too,” he adds, and Jack ghosts a laugh across his face.
“I heard a man playing a song on his guitar outside the Radhus, and it was floaty, like bees. So I gave him a couple of kroner and asked him where to find the most beautiful place in Oslo,” he continues, watching Jack’s eyes. They’re dark blue in the dim light of the underground and Ianto wants to go chasing the shadows in them, shoo them out and dance with sparkles of light in Jack’s eyes.
“He sent me to this park, full of sculptures,” his voice trails off, remembering the bodies, beautiful and ugly, young and old, made of stone or bronze but so full of life, just purely them and nothing else. How can he explain it to Jack? He reaches a hand up and traces Jack’s face, framing him there in a memory.
“I wanted to touch forever,” he whispers, and Jack’s smile is sad again, shadows mocking him from the depths of Jack’s lovely blue eyes. Ianto struggles with his thoughts.
“It’s not sad because, see, I did get to meet you. You’re those statues. Or am I not making sense again?” He wrinkles his brow, and Jack smiles again, the Ianto-smile, and leans down to kiss him. He smiles happily into the kiss, tongue chasing all the contours of Jack’s lips and teeth and tongue, and Jack chuckles again, the sound falling into Ianto’s mouth, down his throat, to take root and blossom in his chest.
“You really aren’t afraid of the winter, are you?” Jack murmurs, settling more fully on Ianto’s body, easing off his elbows and snuggling his head under Ianto’s chin. Ianto brings his hand around to rest on the small of Jack’s back.
“No, I’m really not,” Ianto answers. “Go to sleep, Jack. Let’s not choose to leave the oyster-bed.”
He can feel Jack’s laugh through his body as his eyes close. He dreams of warmth and moments that last forever.