Through the Narrow Gate
Title: Through the Narrow Gate
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG-13, mostly just for implied nudity and flirty talk.
Notes/Summary: Jack and Ianto talk monasticism in bed. References to TW 1x13 - "End of Days. Title from a book by Karen Armstrong. Written for the July 6 prompt at horizonssing.
How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd.
- Alexander Pope
“All I’m saying is that I’ve never met a Vestal virgin who was virginal by modern standards,” Jack said as he reached over the edge of the bed for his bottle of water.
Ianto raised an eyebrow and gave Jack a bemused look. “Well, seeing as the Temple of Vesta was disbanded in the Fourth Century, I’m going to go out on a limb and say that your sample size probably isn’t what it could be.”
“This from a man with a book about lesbian nuns.”
“And Cave in the Snow and The Cloister Walk and a half-dozen other books about monasticism,” Ianto pointed out. “And if you’d actually look at the one about lesbian nuns, you’d find that it’s about as pornographic as my grocery list.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault you’re insufficiently inventive with your groceries.” Jack gulped down a mouthful of water and shook his head. “And as for the monks and nuns thing, you’re not even Catholic. Why the interest?”
Ianto leaned back to rest on his pillows with hands behind his head. “I don’t know. I think because from the outside it seems peaceful. The idea that someone can renounce the world and all the difficulties of an ordinary life and give himself over to a vocation can be strangely attractive.”
“And then Karen Armstrong talks you out of it?” Jack asked before rolling onto his side to toy with the light fur on Ianto’s belly.
“Pretty much, yes,” Ianto replied, cracking a smile. “And also because sometimes, when I think about it, it’s not so different from Torchwood.”
It was Jack’s turn to cock a brow. “Meaning?”
“Meaning I’ve seen where you sleep.”
Jack chuckled uneasily. Ianto made light of it, but the comparison was apt. He and his team gave up their lives, literally and figuratively, to tend the Rift. They were nameless and faceless, hidden away from the world and forgotten, even in death. There was a reason he’d chosen the name Rhea Silva for a password. A Vestal virgin herself, raped by War, mother of Romulus and Remus. Two boys raised by a Wolf.
“Still,” Ianto said, breaking Jack’s reverie. “I’m pleased to say that any vow of chastity I’m ever likely to take in the name of Torchwood is pretty much wrecked at this point. And silence, come to think of it. Though obedience is negotiable, I think.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Maybe. If you’re good,” Ianto teased and shifted to face Jack. “Though I suspect you’ll accuse me of topping from the bottom.”
“That’s certainly just cause for a spanking,” Jack purred, and put all thoughts of Rome out of his mind.
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG-13, mostly just for implied nudity and flirty talk.
Notes/Summary: Jack and Ianto talk monasticism in bed. References to TW 1x13 - "End of Days. Title from a book by Karen Armstrong. Written for the July 6 prompt at horizonssing.
How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd.
- Alexander Pope
“All I’m saying is that I’ve never met a Vestal virgin who was virginal by modern standards,” Jack said as he reached over the edge of the bed for his bottle of water.
Ianto raised an eyebrow and gave Jack a bemused look. “Well, seeing as the Temple of Vesta was disbanded in the Fourth Century, I’m going to go out on a limb and say that your sample size probably isn’t what it could be.”
“This from a man with a book about lesbian nuns.”
“And Cave in the Snow and The Cloister Walk and a half-dozen other books about monasticism,” Ianto pointed out. “And if you’d actually look at the one about lesbian nuns, you’d find that it’s about as pornographic as my grocery list.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault you’re insufficiently inventive with your groceries.” Jack gulped down a mouthful of water and shook his head. “And as for the monks and nuns thing, you’re not even Catholic. Why the interest?”
Ianto leaned back to rest on his pillows with hands behind his head. “I don’t know. I think because from the outside it seems peaceful. The idea that someone can renounce the world and all the difficulties of an ordinary life and give himself over to a vocation can be strangely attractive.”
“And then Karen Armstrong talks you out of it?” Jack asked before rolling onto his side to toy with the light fur on Ianto’s belly.
“Pretty much, yes,” Ianto replied, cracking a smile. “And also because sometimes, when I think about it, it’s not so different from Torchwood.”
It was Jack’s turn to cock a brow. “Meaning?”
“Meaning I’ve seen where you sleep.”
Jack chuckled uneasily. Ianto made light of it, but the comparison was apt. He and his team gave up their lives, literally and figuratively, to tend the Rift. They were nameless and faceless, hidden away from the world and forgotten, even in death. There was a reason he’d chosen the name Rhea Silva for a password. A Vestal virgin herself, raped by War, mother of Romulus and Remus. Two boys raised by a Wolf.
“Still,” Ianto said, breaking Jack’s reverie. “I’m pleased to say that any vow of chastity I’m ever likely to take in the name of Torchwood is pretty much wrecked at this point. And silence, come to think of it. Though obedience is negotiable, I think.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Maybe. If you’re good,” Ianto teased and shifted to face Jack. “Though I suspect you’ll accuse me of topping from the bottom.”
“That’s certainly just cause for a spanking,” Jack purred, and put all thoughts of Rome out of his mind.