Fic: Thirty Minutes
I WANT TO DO MY ICON TO RTD
I TAKE BACK EVERYTHING NICE I EVER SAID ABOUT HIM
YOU DO NOT WIN WITH NO MORE FANS EVER, RTD. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU!
You'd better bring him back. He said "I love you."
*cries*
ETA: I was so excited to download tonight's ep but now I just feel nauseous. Like I don't know if I can stand to watch the next episode. Why does this always happen to me? Even when it's goddamn canon. Even when it's the central relationship of the show, why do all the best gay relationships get sunk so violently and thoroughly? This is as bad as Sirius. As bad as Tara. And as pointless as both. I can't even think about it, I'm still crying. James Moran is on my shit list (okay, he's usually a very cool and chatty guy and apparently he's retreated from the internet because of the negative backlash, so I feel bad pointing fingers at him - RTD is mainly to blame for the basic structure and major decisions of this series, and Moran's writing is actually very good) along with RTD, who has been there for a long time and might have earned back a few points with Day One, but he's just lost them again. Forever. Even if Ianto magically returns to life, it's like if Donna magically regains her memory. It's not enough, RTD. Your fuckups are eternal.
Oh hell. I wrote this in my homework notebook this afternoon when I was meant to be doing Spanish. It hurts to read now, but I was so excited because it's the first thing I've written in months. I was in such high spirits about it, too.
I'm gonna go keep crying in a corner.
Title: Thirty Minutes
Author: ravenclaw42
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Day Three mini-AU: Rhys hadn't started making the beans yet.
Author's Notes: You know every fangirl in the world wanted this to happen instead of Rhys' bean-cooking cockblock. And in light of Day Four...
---------
Thirty Minutes
---------
"Rhys," Jack called. "Do you mind taking the car down to those shops by the wharf? We need some discs for these things. Should take twenty minutes," he added with a glance at Ianto, who mouthed "thirty." "Thirty," Jack amended.
Rhys turned around, all innocent helpfulness. "You sure you don't want some food first? I was just about to put on some beans and toast."
"It can wait half an hour," said Jack. "World's ending, remember? Work comes first."
"Right," Rhys grumbled, pulling a dish towel off his shoulder and flopping it down on what passed for a counter. "Savin' the world on an empty stomach. Will do. What d'you need, then?" He walked over to the workstations, looking expectantly for a list.
Jack hastily scribbled one down, stood up and slapped Rhys on the back as he handed him the slip of paper. "Good man," he said, a little too quickly.
Rhys raised an eyebrow and said, "All right, I'm gone. I'll double-time it if you're in such a rush."
"Not that big a rush," Ianto interjected, a clean mask of sincerity. "Don't get pulled over for speeding, that's the last thing we need."
Rhys saluted them and turned towards the exit.
The moment he was out the door, Ianto stood and grabbed Jack by the collar, pushing him back into his chair and smothering anything he was about to say with a rough kiss, clacking teeth and bruising lips. Jack opened up to him instantly, hot, rough slide of tongue in Ianto's mouth, knees falling wide to let Ianto press along the wholeness of Jack's regrown body. Ianto remembered the small lumps at one end of the long black body bag. He pushed into Jack harder, not aroused yet but desperate for contact. The chair rolled back a few inches with a hissing scrape of loose concrete. Ianto's hands in Jack's hair could still feel the granules of concrete that hadn't come out with a quick scrub in the sink. Jack kissing him, not gentle, alive now. Alive forever.
Jack's hands gripped convulsively at Ianto's hips, spread up his back under his suit, warm spots seeping through his shirt; pulled back and up and curled around Ianto's neck, head, fingers in his hair. Ianto let out a breathy moan. Jack held Ianto's head firmly between broad, warm hands and pulled them apart.
"A little fast for half an hour," Jack said between short pants, suggestive grin playing at the corner of his mouth.
Ianto clapped a hand over Jack's mouth without thinking. The edges of his vision were blurry and he felt lightheaded. Jack raised an eyebrow at him and rolled his hips lazily upward in the chair, reminding Ianto of exactly what they were there for. Jack was hard already. Of course he was.
"I want you to want this, Jack," Ianto said.
He didn't realize what he was saying until it was out. It just seemed like there was so little time left to say it. And he couldn't stop himself now; he had to explain what he meant. He needed Jack to understand.
"Not because the world's endin' and you want to, you know, get off with someone because you've had a shitty day and there might not be a tomorrow. I mean. That's what this is. But I want you to want me."
Ianto took a shaky breath, not meeting Jack's eyes. They'd narrowed. His voice saying "I hate the word couple" rang in Ianto's ears. Jack's breath was hot against Ianto's palm and Ianto wanted to just stop, take his hand away and shut Jack up in the usual way, uncomplicated by all of this. It would be good. So bloody good. And then they could save the world and Ianto could go home and not be able to look at himself in the mirror, and sleep alone, and not know what to tell his sister who loved him, she really did, and it would be okay.
Except that it wouldn't be okay. And Jack was looking at him strangely now.
"I know," said Ianto, "that I'm going to die. And you'll bury me. It's as inevitable for me as it is for you. But I could have forty years or four hours, I don't know and neither do you. So I wish you wouldn't -- anticipate it. Tosh and Owen died and it wasn't your fault. Stop taking it out on me. I'm not asking for -- I dunno, love. Commitment like it's forever is bollocks. There is no forever. But you could commit to now. I'm... I'm right in front of you, Jack." Ianto could barely add, "Just. See me, please. It's me, wanting you. Be here with me. Just for now."
He let his hand drop and stood up, turning his back to Jack and taking a few steps away. He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't, which surprised him a little bit. He might be sick, though. The sweat on his forehead had gone cold. Hands shaking, tongue dry, Ianto pressed his hands to his face and remembered to breathe.
Then the rolling chair creaked and Jack's arms were around him, breath then mouth on his neck, jaw, Jack's deft fingers opening his suit jacket, Jack's voice in his ear saying, "Twenty minutes now."
Ianto turned in Jack's arms and kissed him harder than before, trying to crush his words away. He'd take this, just this, even if Jack didn't mean it. He wished he hadn't -- but Jack pulled away, meeting Ianto's eyes with his own half-lidded, more regret than lust, and Ianto knew that Jack was really seeing him. And Jack gave a little nod, putting a hand to Ianto's temple and trailing his fingertips back through Ianto's hair.
Ianto kissed him again, imagining a quiet clock ticking in the back of his mind, and dragged Jack towards the sofa in the middle of the room.
--------
Rhys dragged the rusting door open just in time to get flashed by Jack Harkness's bits for the second time in as many days, and he realized immediately that he'd been had.
"Oh, work comes first my arse," he said so loudly that it echoed down from the distant pipework in the roof.
Ianto stood up from the sofa, blessedly clothed and making a fumbling attempt at a half-Windsor and not noticing that the tie was backwards. "Er," he said at Rhys, blue eyes wide, hair sticking up. "Yeah. I've got to -- I'll just be a minute," he managed, and fled towards the tiny cubicle that passed for a loo, having forgotten his shoes.
Rhys turned a wary eye back to Jack, who was now trouser-clad and sitting calmly at his workstation, shirt on but unbuttoned. "Thanks for the errand run, Rhys," he said. "We do actually need those." He held out his hand expectantly.
Rhys walked up to the desk and dropped the plastic bag of supplies on top of the computer, ignoring Jack's hand. "You," he said, "are a bloody menace."
"It was Ianto's idea," said Jack, eyes sparkling.
"OI," came Ianto's voice from the half-open cubicle door. He emerged with damp hair trained back into place and a properly tucked in shirt. He padded barefoot back to the sofa to pull on socks and shoes.
"I don't need to clean that now, do I?" Rhys complained. "It was new!"
"Needed christening," said Jack, earning him a death glare from Ianto. Jack popped a disc into his laptop and began innocently typing away.
"See if I make you any beans," said Rhys, heading back towards the kitchen area to pick up where he left off.
Ianto tugged the last knot in his laces tight and smoothed down the sleeves of his shirt. He sat for a moment, listening to Rhys and Jack take potshots at each other, nearly matching each other in shamelessness. He didn't know if he'd accomplished anything, but the words had been said now. They couldn't be taken back. And Ianto found to his dull relief that he was happier that way. As long as he knew that Jack looked at him and actually saw him, saw Ianto, saw this moment, not some echo of past lovers in Ianto's face or a future obscured by mortality.
Ianto closed his eyes for a moment, simply breathing. Then he opened them, stood up, and went back to work.
------
GOD WHY DID I WRITE THAT, IT'S LIKE I WAS PSYCHIC OR SOMETHING, WHYYYYYYYYYYYY. T_T
I really don't feel well. I have to go to sleep, get away from this. Dammit, fandoms, why do you always have to crush my soul? WHY DO WE ALWAYS HURT THE ONES WE LOVE?
brb, crying.
-rave
I TAKE BACK EVERYTHING NICE I EVER SAID ABOUT HIM
YOU DO NOT WIN WITH NO MORE FANS EVER, RTD. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU!
You'd better bring him back. He said "I love you."
*cries*
ETA: I was so excited to download tonight's ep but now I just feel nauseous. Like I don't know if I can stand to watch the next episode. Why does this always happen to me? Even when it's goddamn canon. Even when it's the central relationship of the show, why do all the best gay relationships get sunk so violently and thoroughly? This is as bad as Sirius. As bad as Tara. And as pointless as both. I can't even think about it, I'm still crying. James Moran is on my shit list (okay, he's usually a very cool and chatty guy and apparently he's retreated from the internet because of the negative backlash, so I feel bad pointing fingers at him - RTD is mainly to blame for the basic structure and major decisions of this series, and Moran's writing is actually very good) along with RTD, who has been there for a long time and might have earned back a few points with Day One, but he's just lost them again. Forever. Even if Ianto magically returns to life, it's like if Donna magically regains her memory. It's not enough, RTD. Your fuckups are eternal.
Oh hell. I wrote this in my homework notebook this afternoon when I was meant to be doing Spanish. It hurts to read now, but I was so excited because it's the first thing I've written in months. I was in such high spirits about it, too.
I'm gonna go keep crying in a corner.
Title: Thirty Minutes
Author: ravenclaw42
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Day Three mini-AU: Rhys hadn't started making the beans yet.
Author's Notes: You know every fangirl in the world wanted this to happen instead of Rhys' bean-cooking cockblock. And in light of Day Four...
---------
Thirty Minutes
---------
"Rhys," Jack called. "Do you mind taking the car down to those shops by the wharf? We need some discs for these things. Should take twenty minutes," he added with a glance at Ianto, who mouthed "thirty." "Thirty," Jack amended.
Rhys turned around, all innocent helpfulness. "You sure you don't want some food first? I was just about to put on some beans and toast."
"It can wait half an hour," said Jack. "World's ending, remember? Work comes first."
"Right," Rhys grumbled, pulling a dish towel off his shoulder and flopping it down on what passed for a counter. "Savin' the world on an empty stomach. Will do. What d'you need, then?" He walked over to the workstations, looking expectantly for a list.
Jack hastily scribbled one down, stood up and slapped Rhys on the back as he handed him the slip of paper. "Good man," he said, a little too quickly.
Rhys raised an eyebrow and said, "All right, I'm gone. I'll double-time it if you're in such a rush."
"Not that big a rush," Ianto interjected, a clean mask of sincerity. "Don't get pulled over for speeding, that's the last thing we need."
Rhys saluted them and turned towards the exit.
The moment he was out the door, Ianto stood and grabbed Jack by the collar, pushing him back into his chair and smothering anything he was about to say with a rough kiss, clacking teeth and bruising lips. Jack opened up to him instantly, hot, rough slide of tongue in Ianto's mouth, knees falling wide to let Ianto press along the wholeness of Jack's regrown body. Ianto remembered the small lumps at one end of the long black body bag. He pushed into Jack harder, not aroused yet but desperate for contact. The chair rolled back a few inches with a hissing scrape of loose concrete. Ianto's hands in Jack's hair could still feel the granules of concrete that hadn't come out with a quick scrub in the sink. Jack kissing him, not gentle, alive now. Alive forever.
Jack's hands gripped convulsively at Ianto's hips, spread up his back under his suit, warm spots seeping through his shirt; pulled back and up and curled around Ianto's neck, head, fingers in his hair. Ianto let out a breathy moan. Jack held Ianto's head firmly between broad, warm hands and pulled them apart.
"A little fast for half an hour," Jack said between short pants, suggestive grin playing at the corner of his mouth.
Ianto clapped a hand over Jack's mouth without thinking. The edges of his vision were blurry and he felt lightheaded. Jack raised an eyebrow at him and rolled his hips lazily upward in the chair, reminding Ianto of exactly what they were there for. Jack was hard already. Of course he was.
"I want you to want this, Jack," Ianto said.
He didn't realize what he was saying until it was out. It just seemed like there was so little time left to say it. And he couldn't stop himself now; he had to explain what he meant. He needed Jack to understand.
"Not because the world's endin' and you want to, you know, get off with someone because you've had a shitty day and there might not be a tomorrow. I mean. That's what this is. But I want you to want me."
Ianto took a shaky breath, not meeting Jack's eyes. They'd narrowed. His voice saying "I hate the word couple" rang in Ianto's ears. Jack's breath was hot against Ianto's palm and Ianto wanted to just stop, take his hand away and shut Jack up in the usual way, uncomplicated by all of this. It would be good. So bloody good. And then they could save the world and Ianto could go home and not be able to look at himself in the mirror, and sleep alone, and not know what to tell his sister who loved him, she really did, and it would be okay.
Except that it wouldn't be okay. And Jack was looking at him strangely now.
"I know," said Ianto, "that I'm going to die. And you'll bury me. It's as inevitable for me as it is for you. But I could have forty years or four hours, I don't know and neither do you. So I wish you wouldn't -- anticipate it. Tosh and Owen died and it wasn't your fault. Stop taking it out on me. I'm not asking for -- I dunno, love. Commitment like it's forever is bollocks. There is no forever. But you could commit to now. I'm... I'm right in front of you, Jack." Ianto could barely add, "Just. See me, please. It's me, wanting you. Be here with me. Just for now."
He let his hand drop and stood up, turning his back to Jack and taking a few steps away. He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't, which surprised him a little bit. He might be sick, though. The sweat on his forehead had gone cold. Hands shaking, tongue dry, Ianto pressed his hands to his face and remembered to breathe.
Then the rolling chair creaked and Jack's arms were around him, breath then mouth on his neck, jaw, Jack's deft fingers opening his suit jacket, Jack's voice in his ear saying, "Twenty minutes now."
Ianto turned in Jack's arms and kissed him harder than before, trying to crush his words away. He'd take this, just this, even if Jack didn't mean it. He wished he hadn't -- but Jack pulled away, meeting Ianto's eyes with his own half-lidded, more regret than lust, and Ianto knew that Jack was really seeing him. And Jack gave a little nod, putting a hand to Ianto's temple and trailing his fingertips back through Ianto's hair.
Ianto kissed him again, imagining a quiet clock ticking in the back of his mind, and dragged Jack towards the sofa in the middle of the room.
--------
Rhys dragged the rusting door open just in time to get flashed by Jack Harkness's bits for the second time in as many days, and he realized immediately that he'd been had.
"Oh, work comes first my arse," he said so loudly that it echoed down from the distant pipework in the roof.
Ianto stood up from the sofa, blessedly clothed and making a fumbling attempt at a half-Windsor and not noticing that the tie was backwards. "Er," he said at Rhys, blue eyes wide, hair sticking up. "Yeah. I've got to -- I'll just be a minute," he managed, and fled towards the tiny cubicle that passed for a loo, having forgotten his shoes.
Rhys turned a wary eye back to Jack, who was now trouser-clad and sitting calmly at his workstation, shirt on but unbuttoned. "Thanks for the errand run, Rhys," he said. "We do actually need those." He held out his hand expectantly.
Rhys walked up to the desk and dropped the plastic bag of supplies on top of the computer, ignoring Jack's hand. "You," he said, "are a bloody menace."
"It was Ianto's idea," said Jack, eyes sparkling.
"OI," came Ianto's voice from the half-open cubicle door. He emerged with damp hair trained back into place and a properly tucked in shirt. He padded barefoot back to the sofa to pull on socks and shoes.
"I don't need to clean that now, do I?" Rhys complained. "It was new!"
"Needed christening," said Jack, earning him a death glare from Ianto. Jack popped a disc into his laptop and began innocently typing away.
"See if I make you any beans," said Rhys, heading back towards the kitchen area to pick up where he left off.
Ianto tugged the last knot in his laces tight and smoothed down the sleeves of his shirt. He sat for a moment, listening to Rhys and Jack take potshots at each other, nearly matching each other in shamelessness. He didn't know if he'd accomplished anything, but the words had been said now. They couldn't be taken back. And Ianto found to his dull relief that he was happier that way. As long as he knew that Jack looked at him and actually saw him, saw Ianto, saw this moment, not some echo of past lovers in Ianto's face or a future obscured by mortality.
Ianto closed his eyes for a moment, simply breathing. Then he opened them, stood up, and went back to work.
------
GOD WHY DID I WRITE THAT, IT'S LIKE I WAS PSYCHIC OR SOMETHING, WHYYYYYYYYYYYY. T_T
I really don't feel well. I have to go to sleep, get away from this. Dammit, fandoms, why do you always have to crush my soul? WHY DO WE ALWAYS HURT THE ONES WE LOVE?
brb, crying.
-rave