[RP] Little angels hang above my head and read me like an open book...

Jan 07, 2010 22:37

[[Locked to no_daylight]]Shortly after a rather disastrous conversation with J, and a somewhat less disastrous exchange on the journals with Winter, a freshly showered and shaven Ianto is at a Chicago hotel, looking for a certain Glaysa-Labolas demon ( Read more... )

rp: winter, [beyond the rift]

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no_daylight January 8 2010, 05:21:14 UTC
And out of one of the lounge chairs rises one Glaysa-Labolas, who approaches his faun with an expression which would look perfectly pleasant and acquaintancely to anyone unaccustomed to Winter's particular brand of warmth.

"Ianto," he greets him, reaching out to clasp Ianto's hand. And there it is: the slight nudge, close and comfortable as a nudge against the shoulders, informing the swell of pain in Ianto that it's not needed here any more and it can show itself to the door. "I'm sorry I'm the only one here to greet you. Anna is wintering in Greece."

A gentle smile engages in a brief flirtation with his expression.

"She calls it a holiday. To me it seems like a production. Come on; we can let you hang up your coat."

He gives the slightest pull toward the elevators before letting Ianto's hand slip away, perfectly casual again at least in the eyes of the general public.

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twdenmother January 9 2010, 03:14:41 UTC
The moment Winter takes his hand, Ianto, predictably, feels better. It's enough to make him wonder why he waited this long, why he kept away... But he knows why. Because there were things to do, because Torchwood needed him, or he needed to think they did, because obviously he was gaining some sort of masochistic pleasure out of being self-sacrificing beyond all reason.

Maybe because he knows Winter's quite close to luring him away, and given Torchwood's history with the Organization, given a terrified boy afraid of being used as a weapon, if he left, it would likely have to be for good.

He's not sure he can handle that, but as his conversation with J made quite clear, he's not sure he can stay, either.

But now he's here, and this is truth in cliché -- he's somewhat surprised to discover that he really does feel as if a great weight's been lifted off his shoulders. He neatly sets that observation in the part of his mind labeled 'things too inane to say aloud', and focuses instead on the suggestion of a smile, the quiet warmth that ( ... )

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no_daylight January 9 2010, 03:53:31 UTC
"She keeps threatening to take me home with her," he says. "So that her family can fatten me up. All I can imagine is being buried up to my neck and made into foie gras ( ... )

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twdenmother January 9 2010, 06:44:44 UTC
"I'd rather we skip the cannibalism jokes, if it's all the same," Ianto says, and Winter might detect a brief spike of extreme discomfort. "I've seen the real thing." And he came closer than he ever wants to think about to being a set of neatly-wrapped body parts in a freezer, though for now he thinks he'll leave that part out.

Still, he forces down the bile that's threatening to rise into his throat, and even leans into the caress a little. It's such a simple thing, touch. So easy to overlook, to the point where you might not even notice that you're starving for it until something brings it to your attention. As it is, that brief contact is more than enough to take Ianto's mind off nearly having been eaten. He closes his eyes for a moment and just feels, a faint smile hovering at the corners of his lips.

This is right, being here with Winter, being touched in a way that doesn't bring Jack to mind. This is different and perfect and his. There's no one to gossip about it, no Owen to make snide remarks. Just them ( ... )

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no_daylight January 9 2010, 07:21:55 UTC
Winter turns back from hanging up the coat, an arched eyebrow accompanying the faintest echo of that smile. "If you're not careful, Ianto, I'll put on Licence to Kill after this. See if I can instill some proper appreciation."

He slips into the rhythm of moving around Ianto with what seems to be innate ease, not yet implying that he's doing anything which could be termed servicing him, but... quietly being of service with no indication that it's anything other than natural. There's no gesture toward subservience, only consideration. A brief brush of hand-to-hand contact and he's neatly relieved Ianto of the thermos before he needs to set it down, he's locked the door, and he lays out a hand in a direction which could indicate the overstuffed leather sofa or the bedroom.

"Shall we?"

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twdenmother January 10 2010, 04:25:33 UTC
"Oh no," Ianto murmurs. "I'm being threatened with Bond." Not that Timothy Dalton is his favourite, mind, and he's more or less obligated to question the sanity of anyone who holds Dalton above Sir Sean Connery, but he's at least an enjoyable Bond. And really, even bad Bond films are enjoyable for the sheer ridiculousness: Ianto has quite a few things to say about Moonraker, for instance, but he'll still happily watch it.

"If you do that, I'll just counter with From Russia, With Love," he points out. No, not Goldfinger. That's too obvious, and the one everyone suggests when talking about Connery's Bond.

As for the very quiet, very efficient way Winter moves around him -- Ianto sees that subtext, and it is quite appreciated. However, there are only so many times he can say 'thank you' in the span of a few minutes before it becomes ridiculous ( ... )

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no_daylight January 10 2010, 05:07:10 UTC
Winter steps into that kiss as though it's the most natural thing in the world along with smalltalk and breathing. One hand moves up to smooth out the lapel of Ianto's suitjacket, mussed (though almost imperceptibly) by wearing and removing the coat, and he drinks in the interplay of emotion moving (almost as typical) beneath the surface ( ... )

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twdenmother January 17 2010, 05:14:53 UTC
"We could," Ianto says, "but now that I've kissed you and had a rather drastic paradigm shift take place, I really think I'd rather sit down."

And with a soft smile and a squeeze of Winter's hand, he makes his way to the sofa. The warmth registers, even if he's not in quite the right state to process it. It gets filed away for later reference, and Ianto sits, folding his legs underneath him (but not with his hooves on the sofa -- God forbid).

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no_daylight January 17 2010, 05:57:38 UTC
Winter settles in beside him, at a perfectly comfortable distance, and tilts his head, leaning back against the back of the chair. While Casablanca is audible enough to watch, from here, his attention is still on Ianto, and the minutes and degrees by which he's still feeling out his emotional state.

"You, I think are a lot stronger than you believe yourself to be," he says, after a moment's thought. It's accompanied by the subtle raise of an eyebrow, lest Ianto think this conversation is due to dance unbearably into sensitive territory all at once. "Even if that strength does sometimes manifest as avoiding me over the journals for months on end."

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twdenmother January 17 2010, 07:00:08 UTC
Ianto leans back into the sofa, not so much tilting his head as just letting it fall against the back of his sofa. There's a retort on the tip of his tongue, a mild-voiced assertion that it's not precisely avoiding if he's just been busy setting up a dolphin tank and wallowing in misery and all those other things he does so well.

The retort never makes it out. Instead, what he says is, "...I wouldn't call that a sign of strength. But the sentiment's appreciated, I suppose. And I am sorry."

There's a long pause. "I feel as though I should grovel, though my grovelling experience is..." he starts to say nonexistent, then remembers his attempts to get Jack to hire him, "...limited."

The raised eyebrow that accompanies that statement might imply that he's not quite serious. Of course, this being Ianto, it instead gives off the sort of deliberate ambiguity meant to cover the fact that he is and isn't, at the same time.

Not that he really expects Winter to be fooled, but certain habits die hard.

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no_daylight January 17 2010, 07:15:11 UTC
Winter watches, feeling reaction on the inside of his chest. "The Reverend Eikerenkoetter said it before Lennon did," he offers. "'Let me tell you; it doesn't matter. It's whatever gets you through the night.'"

What, precisely, he's referring to... that's left up to implication.

He lets his arm fall across the back of the chair, fingers brushing Ianto's temple, caressing back into the hair.

"I wouldn't want you to grovel." The fingers move down, tracing behind the ear, a warm line even against warm skin. "...it doesn't quite run to my tastes," he adds harmonizing the same nods, the same notes that they're being liminally serious - joking because sincerity is a bit too dense and heavy, being sincere because flippancy isn't enough for them, not here.

Down to the joint of the jaw, the cleanshaven jawline.

"Anna, on the other hand..."

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twdenmother January 17 2010, 08:42:09 UTC
And it's the easiest thing in the world for Ianto to tilt his head, to move into the caress with an uneasy mix of careful restraint and the desperation that comes from going too long without touch.

( J's hands on his shoulders, he remembers, and it shouldn't have hurt as much as it did when he let go.)

"I'll be sure to practise for her, then," Ianto murmurs. "I'd hate for her to think I was doing a poor job of it."

He turns his head and brushes a kiss across Winter's hand, the faintest pressure of lips against skin, and then he's closing his eyes against a swell of emotion in his chest that he can't quite identify; perhaps it's an overwhelming need to let go of something, or to reach for something else, or both, only for one dizzy and overwhelming moment, he's unsure what he's supposed to reach for, and what he wants to let go of. He doesn't bother trying to throttle it down for once, just stays as he is, eyes closed, waiting for it to subside enough for him to speak again.

"I have missed you both," he says, and it seems hopelessly ( ... )

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no_daylight January 17 2010, 18:35:35 UTC
Winter catches Ianto as he leans in, the soft heel of his palm supporting the cheekbone, his thumb running over and over Ianto's eyebrow.

"We're here for you no matter what," he says. "As long as we can be." Winter won't promise forever, because he knows too well that politics in Chicago change the rules with alarming frequency. Even Leona is only willing to take on so much risk for two of her kids and a single point of contact, and he can't fault her for that. They're all part of something so much larger. "But if you're asking for reassurance..."

That, he can do.

His hand shifts, the palm sliding over ad behind Ianto's ear to cradle the back of his neck, fingers tracing lines against tension.

"I have faith in Ms. Sandric," he says. It's more than trust, that - I have faith. "She's protected us from terrible things. She's guided us through. I've never met a rakshasa with more a sense of family ( ... )

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twdenmother January 19 2010, 06:27:33 UTC
And that's enough for Ianto. Winter believes in her (and she did make quite a bit of sense, when last they spoke), and just the fact that they're here...

"I'm sorry," he says. "I just... One learns not to trust easily, in my line of work." He feels, again, vaguely ashamed for having doubted Winter at all.

And that's what decides him.

"I won't keep avoiding the two of you," he says. "I really don't think I can. Just give me a few days to get everything sorted, and I'll... I can't promise anything more than seeing you more often, but I'll find a way to do that, at least."

Even if he has to leave Torchwood to do it.

It's at this point that he notices that his tail's wagging -- has been wagging, in fact, for as long as Winter's been touching him -- and is making just the faintest of sounds as it brushes against the back of the sofa.

Really, though, in comparison to the rest of this conversation, it's only mildly mortifying.

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no_daylight January 23 2010, 22:40:31 UTC
Don't worry. Winter is far too polite to remark on the tail, especially now that it seems they're making progress. Regardless of how charming he finds it.

"I understand," he says - there is, at least, some commonality in their lines of work. "And that's all that I'd ask."

He leans in to kiss Ianto's forehead, brushing back the hair again, neither touching nor making specific effort to avoid the small horns. When his pulls back his head is still near the crook of Ianto's neck, making them a comfortable shared presence.

"Now let's get away from business, shall we?" he says. "Did you want to talk?"

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