Fic: All The Painted Masks
Title: All The Painted Masks
Author: phaetonschariot
Pairing: Ianto/Lisa
Rating: PG
Warnings: Interracial relationship
Summary: Some challenges are bigger than others; none are bigger than meeting the in-laws.
Extended author's notes: Clickie.
Breathe.
Ianto stares at his fingers in the mirror, distancing himself from the moment so that it seems a marvel the way they move, curling the fabric around on itself, sliding it through with a drawn out shiiiiiick. He doesn't need the mirror, he knows the feel of the tie in his hands and the costume he wears to work every day is easy to pull on now, but his heart is thudding now and his mouth is dry.
He half-sees half-hears half-feels the bathroom door swinging wider and Lisa leans against the frame, head resting on the wood as she watches him. "You look like you're going to a funeral. Probably your own."
"I'm not good at parents." He wonders if maybe he looks too formal, if there are Implications about their daughter bringing him a white boy in a suit that he doesn't know about. Maybe he should have dressed down a little. For reassurance, he glances across to how Lisa is dressed, classy and elegant in dark red. He's being stupid. It's a set of variables he doesn't know how to navigate, and he's tripping himself up on that, and all he has to do is throw them away and get by on what he's used to and hope that this situation is universal to all families.
She comes over, then, straightening his tie for him even though it doesn't need it, and he gives her fingers the same over-contemplation he'd given his own. Perhaps in a different way, though - the way her fingers move remind him of so many things, now, and they'd be lovely even without that, but the intimacy makes it... more. "They'll love you," she declares, and he believes her because she's speaking in that tone of voice. She could tell him anything and he'd believe her, anything at all. She handles the truths and he handles the promises and they know who each other are. That's just how they fit together. She speaks, he acts. She makes goals, he figures out how to get them there. "I already told them you were Welsh and they still want to meet you, after all."
He makes his expression mock-injured, hamming, and she laughs and leans forward to press a kiss to his lips. He can taste the gloss on hers, raspberries to match her dress.
Lisa tucks his tie under his jacket for him, smoothing it down his chest, and he wonders how they'd look to other people. A couple of young urban professionals, with her fussing over him, and he sort of likes that, that the truth of them is locked down somewhere inside where nobody else can get at it. "Come on," she says. "Just a few hours of torturous interrogation, then you can come back to mine for a shag."
"Do your parents know you're a sex fiend?" He picks his coat up from where it's hanging off the bedroom door as they head out, draping it over his arm.
She flutters her eyelashes at him. "I'm saving it for marriage, I'll have you know."
"Oh, of course," he agrees; nods. "A decision that I respect fully and completely." The sway of her hips leads him down, through his building to his hard-won parking space that sometimes neighbours try to steal. Secretly he's keyed more than one of them, but surely anyone would, given the provocation. Car parks are like gold in London.
She's swinging into the passenger side almost as soon as the doors are unlocked, arranging herself neatly while he fusses around with seatbelts and the shifting of his trousers when they cling to the seat as he centres himself and fits the keys into the ignition. He pauses, then, gazing across at her for a moment. "Lee?"
"Yeah babe?"
Nothing, really, only absurd thoughts he can't quite pin down about what an awful idea this is. He's going to say something wrong, he knows; whatever tests they have for him he's going to fail. Looking at her, though, he feels the anxiety settle a little. It would go just like she'd said. "I love you," he tells her instead, and she smiles at him fondly.
"Just drive, daft boy. You promised we'd be there on time."
He nods, takes a breath as he turns the key in the ignition and listens to the engine rumble into life below them. Yes, he had promised. And he always keeps his promises.
Author: phaetonschariot
Pairing: Ianto/Lisa
Rating: PG
Warnings: Interracial relationship
Summary: Some challenges are bigger than others; none are bigger than meeting the in-laws.
Extended author's notes: Clickie.
Breathe.
Ianto stares at his fingers in the mirror, distancing himself from the moment so that it seems a marvel the way they move, curling the fabric around on itself, sliding it through with a drawn out shiiiiiick. He doesn't need the mirror, he knows the feel of the tie in his hands and the costume he wears to work every day is easy to pull on now, but his heart is thudding now and his mouth is dry.
He half-sees half-hears half-feels the bathroom door swinging wider and Lisa leans against the frame, head resting on the wood as she watches him. "You look like you're going to a funeral. Probably your own."
"I'm not good at parents." He wonders if maybe he looks too formal, if there are Implications about their daughter bringing him a white boy in a suit that he doesn't know about. Maybe he should have dressed down a little. For reassurance, he glances across to how Lisa is dressed, classy and elegant in dark red. He's being stupid. It's a set of variables he doesn't know how to navigate, and he's tripping himself up on that, and all he has to do is throw them away and get by on what he's used to and hope that this situation is universal to all families.
She comes over, then, straightening his tie for him even though it doesn't need it, and he gives her fingers the same over-contemplation he'd given his own. Perhaps in a different way, though - the way her fingers move remind him of so many things, now, and they'd be lovely even without that, but the intimacy makes it... more. "They'll love you," she declares, and he believes her because she's speaking in that tone of voice. She could tell him anything and he'd believe her, anything at all. She handles the truths and he handles the promises and they know who each other are. That's just how they fit together. She speaks, he acts. She makes goals, he figures out how to get them there. "I already told them you were Welsh and they still want to meet you, after all."
He makes his expression mock-injured, hamming, and she laughs and leans forward to press a kiss to his lips. He can taste the gloss on hers, raspberries to match her dress.
Lisa tucks his tie under his jacket for him, smoothing it down his chest, and he wonders how they'd look to other people. A couple of young urban professionals, with her fussing over him, and he sort of likes that, that the truth of them is locked down somewhere inside where nobody else can get at it. "Come on," she says. "Just a few hours of torturous interrogation, then you can come back to mine for a shag."
"Do your parents know you're a sex fiend?" He picks his coat up from where it's hanging off the bedroom door as they head out, draping it over his arm.
She flutters her eyelashes at him. "I'm saving it for marriage, I'll have you know."
"Oh, of course," he agrees; nods. "A decision that I respect fully and completely." The sway of her hips leads him down, through his building to his hard-won parking space that sometimes neighbours try to steal. Secretly he's keyed more than one of them, but surely anyone would, given the provocation. Car parks are like gold in London.
She's swinging into the passenger side almost as soon as the doors are unlocked, arranging herself neatly while he fusses around with seatbelts and the shifting of his trousers when they cling to the seat as he centres himself and fits the keys into the ignition. He pauses, then, gazing across at her for a moment. "Lee?"
"Yeah babe?"
Nothing, really, only absurd thoughts he can't quite pin down about what an awful idea this is. He's going to say something wrong, he knows; whatever tests they have for him he's going to fail. Looking at her, though, he feels the anxiety settle a little. It would go just like she'd said. "I love you," he tells her instead, and she smiles at him fondly.
"Just drive, daft boy. You promised we'd be there on time."
He nods, takes a breath as he turns the key in the ignition and listens to the engine rumble into life below them. Yes, he had promised. And he always keeps his promises.