[Torchwood: Miracle Day] "Rustic Angel" (PG-13)
Author's Note: Written for 
fic_promptly's any, any, artlessly sexual Jack Harkness/Angelo Colasanto, set during the time of the extended flashback in "Immortal Sins".
"Can anyone tell... just by looking at me?" Angelo had asked, hesitating, clearly wanting to know if he could pass muster with the judgmental types, the ones who would consign him to hell just for having a heart that beat to a particular rhythm of which they did not approve. Jack had told him a half truth that no one could tell, the half had meant that unless someone had the right eyes to see, they wouldn't know what manner of dancing partners he preferred. However, he could not entirely avoid the lie: Angelo had the kind of look that Renaissance painters craved for some sensuous young cowherd in a pastoral scene, or that his friend Bill Hogarth would have loved to use for some still innocent young man in a dive on the waterfront. Or even a likable young highwayman: he had ridden with a few like that, during a run in the Eighteenth century. Even Michaelangelo would likely have considered Angelo as a model for a faun posing with his Bacchus or one of the wingless male angels that framed the panels in the Sistine Chapel ceiling: sensual, sexual, yes, but with an earthiness, an awkward innocence, an artlessness that made their coupling all the more delightful.
"No, no one can tell," Jack said, reassuring him, giving him a comforting fib. Not a lie, but not a whole truth either. He knew some people would look at Angelo and suspect where his heart ran, but others, the more innocent or naive or simply ignorant, would suspect nothing or very little. They would look on him and think him a pretty-faced young man, attractive, mostly harmless aside from the rustic air about him. Perhaps they would look a bit more kindly on him, if they realized he had a protector. Or a handsome diversion, if Jack could redirect their attention away from Angelo.
No doubt, he might have to chase off a few rivals -- or at the least, make sure they meant well by Angelo before sending them off with his (Jack's) blessing; that rustic look, once tidied up and given a properly tailored suit of clothes would likely turn more than a few heads. He wouldn't have to worry about Angelo straying, though: the young man who laid his head on Jack's pillow had eyes only for him. And for the first time in a long time, perhaps the first time since Ianto, Jack found his heart had found a home with this young man newly arrived in this new world...
fic_promptly's any, any, artlessly sexual Jack Harkness/Angelo Colasanto, set during the time of the extended flashback in "Immortal Sins".
"Can anyone tell... just by looking at me?" Angelo had asked, hesitating, clearly wanting to know if he could pass muster with the judgmental types, the ones who would consign him to hell just for having a heart that beat to a particular rhythm of which they did not approve. Jack had told him a half truth that no one could tell, the half had meant that unless someone had the right eyes to see, they wouldn't know what manner of dancing partners he preferred. However, he could not entirely avoid the lie: Angelo had the kind of look that Renaissance painters craved for some sensuous young cowherd in a pastoral scene, or that his friend Bill Hogarth would have loved to use for some still innocent young man in a dive on the waterfront. Or even a likable young highwayman: he had ridden with a few like that, during a run in the Eighteenth century. Even Michaelangelo would likely have considered Angelo as a model for a faun posing with his Bacchus or one of the wingless male angels that framed the panels in the Sistine Chapel ceiling: sensual, sexual, yes, but with an earthiness, an awkward innocence, an artlessness that made their coupling all the more delightful.
"No, no one can tell," Jack said, reassuring him, giving him a comforting fib. Not a lie, but not a whole truth either. He knew some people would look at Angelo and suspect where his heart ran, but others, the more innocent or naive or simply ignorant, would suspect nothing or very little. They would look on him and think him a pretty-faced young man, attractive, mostly harmless aside from the rustic air about him. Perhaps they would look a bit more kindly on him, if they realized he had a protector. Or a handsome diversion, if Jack could redirect their attention away from Angelo.
No doubt, he might have to chase off a few rivals -- or at the least, make sure they meant well by Angelo before sending them off with his (Jack's) blessing; that rustic look, once tidied up and given a properly tailored suit of clothes would likely turn more than a few heads. He wouldn't have to worry about Angelo straying, though: the young man who laid his head on Jack's pillow had eyes only for him. And for the first time in a long time, perhaps the first time since Ianto, Jack found his heart had found a home with this young man newly arrived in this new world...