Fic: Racing The Moonlight
Title: Racing The Moonlight
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Jack, Ianto.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1521
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: On a moonlit night, two strange and beautiful creatures race each other over hills and valleys, enjoying the freedom of being something other than human.
Written For: Challenge 306: Moon at fan_flashworks.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
A/N: Okay, I have no idea where this came from. My brain is a mystery.
Moonlit nights are the best, when the world is a patchwork quilt of black and silver, and the air is fresh and clear beneath a blanket of stars. On nights like that, if the Rift is quiet and they’re free to indulge themselves as they please, Jack and Ianto might get into the SUV and drive far out into the countryside, escaping Cardiff’s ever-present air pollution.
They find a spot to park, well away from human habitation, where the only eyes that might see them are those of the night-time creatures, the foxes, badgers, deer, owls and their prey. There they shed their clothing and the constraints of their human forms, and they run, fleet as the wind, over hills and valleys, across shallow streams that shine like quicksilver in the dark, and through shadowed woodland, dodging light-footed amongst the trees.
How they came to be this way, they don’t rightly know, but they don’t question it either. Why should they? Torchwood is a world of mystery, and besides, it feels too good to run like this, wild and free.
They’re always careful to steer clear of campsites, villages, and scattered farms, just in case someone sees them and panics. They don’t want to cause harm to anyone, and if someone were to see them it’s doubtful they’d be believed, but they’d rather not take the risk of being chased, maybe even captured. Nothing they know of can physically hurt them, their immortality persists even in this form, but being penned in would be worse than any physical injury.
They’re not horses, or deer, or antelope of any description, although they bear similarities to all those creatures. In truth they have no idea what they are, or if there are any others like them somewhere out in the universe. They have long, slender, but incredibly strong legs, each tipped with a gleaming, ivory-coloured hoof, enabling them to run surefooted and tirelessly across the roughest terrain for hours on end.
They have sleek, deep chested bodies housing great hearts and powerful lungs, muscular hindquarters, and tails like gossamer that stream out behind them in the wind. They have proudly arching necks and long, moon-pale manes as fine as their tails, while their heads are small, delicate, but perfectly proportioned with narrow muzzles and large, golden eyes that can see as well in complete darkness as they can in full sunlight.
They have horns too, but not like a unicorn. Each has a pair of short, ivory spirals sprouting from the tops of their heads, between large, soft, mobile ears that flare out, enabling them to capture the faintest of sounds, before tapering to a point and ending in a tuft of silver-tipped black fur. Their legs and muzzles are black too, gradually shading to a light, dappled silvery grey over the rest of their bodies.
Their hearing is excellent, and their sense of smell at least as good as a dog’s, allowing them to easily sense and avoid any potential dangers. Despite their rapid healing they have no desire to be attacked, or worse, killed and mounted as a trophy, and they don’t want to deal with photographs of strange creatures drawing curious people to the area. If that happens, they’ll have to forego their moonlit playtime, at least until interest wanes and the hills and valleys are theirs once more. That would be unbearable.
Tonight, the moon is full and riding high in a sky across which scattered streamers of cloud still blow. There was a storm in the early evening, thunder and lightning, and a brief but heavy downpour, but all that remains now is a strong, blustery wind, the kind that never fails to stir their blood. It was a huge relief to strip off their clothes, toss them into the SUV, and transform before racing each other across the valley floor, leaping a rushing, rain-swollen steam, and bounding up the steep slope at the far side to balance on the crest of a narrow ridge. They’re as surefooted as mountain goats and have no fear of slipping, their cloven hooves gripping to any surface like the two sides of a piece of Velcro coming together. Only sheer cliffs are beyond their ability to scale, but there aren’t so many of those in this part of the Brecon Beacons anyway.
Jack tosses his head and snorts, his breath making twin streamers of vapour in the chilly air. “Race you!”
He doesn’t speak aloud; the words form in Ianto’s head, crystal clear, although he’s never entirely sure whether they’re in English or some language unique to their current form. In the end it doesn’t matter; they communicate telepathically, can understand each other completely, which is more than can be said of them in their human forms. People are so good at misunderstanding each other that it’s a wonder the human race has managed to evolve as far as it has. Here and now there’s no misunderstanding possible, not while they can touch mind to mind.
“Race? Didn’t we already do that? As I recall, you cheated.” Because Jack, in whatever form, always cheats; it’s just the way he is. Ianto nuzzles behind Jack’s ear, breathing deeply of his lover’s unique scent, warm and musky and rich. He nips lightly at the crest of Jack’s neck, just behind his horns, teasing and playful.
“So what? Doesn’t mean we can’t race again.” Jack turns his head, dark muzzle pointing down into the next valley where there’s a small copse, hardly more than a cluster of trees and bushes bordering a stream. Ianto can clearly see the water glinting in the distance, moonlight reflecting off its surface. “First to the trees wins,” Jack challenges. “I’ll even give you a head start.”
“Such a generous offer. You just want to stare at my rump,” Ianto accuses good-naturedly.
“But it’s such a nice rump.” Shifting, Jack stretches out his neck so he can nip at Ianto’s muscular rear. Just because they’re in different physical forms doesn’t mean their natural inclinations have changed; they’re still just as strongly attracted to each other.
“Should’ve known you just want sex.”
“Are you trying to tell me you don’t?”
It’s Ianto’s turn to snort; he can’t roll his eyes as effectively in this form, but he can still be disparaging when the situation calls for it. “Of course I’m not; don’t be ridiculous.”
Sometimes they change back to human form, rolling around in a patch of long, soft grass and making love, flattening the stems, leaving the imprint of their bodies on them like some bizarre crop circle, but thanks to the storm the weather’s too chilly for that tonight, the ground too damp, and their alternate forms pose no problems in that respect anyway. Jack has always been innovative.
“Then what’s the problem?” Jack cocks his head to the side, an oddly human gesture for a four-legged creature, and regards Ianto quizzically. The moonlight snags on his horns, making them appear to be glowing with an ethereal inner light, and Ianto can’t be sure whether or not it’s deliberate. Jack is such a show-off, but that’s allowed; he’s beautiful in either form.
“Who said there was a problem?”
Without waiting for a reply, Ianto spins on his hind hooves and leaps away down the slope, bounding effortlessly from one foothold, or hoofhold, to the next, like there are springs in his legs. There’s a startled huff from the ridgetop and he knows Jack wasn’t expecting him to do that, but then he can sense his lover not far behind him, keeping the distance between them and copying his every leap. Follow-my-leader down the steep slope and out across the open floor of the valley, speeding up on the level ground, running for the sheer joy of it, two strange and beautiful creatures, shimmering like ghostly mirages in the moonlight.
In a couple of hours they’ll have to head back the way they came, their sense of direction unerringly guiding them back to where the SUV waits for them, hidden behind concealing bushes. They need to be back in human form again before dawn lightens the horizon, not because they can’t exist beneath the light of the sun but because it’s safer; they’d be more visible in daylight, less able to blend in with their surroundings.
Nights are far too short at this time of year, but they’ll make the most of what time they have, not knowing how long it will be before they’ll next have the opportunity to run wild beneath the light of the moon. They cherish these nights of freedom, always aware that their strange ability to take this swift and graceful form could wear off as suddenly and inexplicably as it came.
They hope it never will, but they can’t be sure, so they do their best not to take it for granted. If someday they should find themselves permanently human again, at least they’ll have the memories of these nights to sustain them, and perhaps they’ll live like this again in their dreams, free as the wind, racing each other and the moonlight.
The End
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Jack, Ianto.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1521
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: On a moonlit night, two strange and beautiful creatures race each other over hills and valleys, enjoying the freedom of being something other than human.
Written For: Challenge 306: Moon at fan_flashworks.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
A/N: Okay, I have no idea where this came from. My brain is a mystery.
Moonlit nights are the best, when the world is a patchwork quilt of black and silver, and the air is fresh and clear beneath a blanket of stars. On nights like that, if the Rift is quiet and they’re free to indulge themselves as they please, Jack and Ianto might get into the SUV and drive far out into the countryside, escaping Cardiff’s ever-present air pollution.
They find a spot to park, well away from human habitation, where the only eyes that might see them are those of the night-time creatures, the foxes, badgers, deer, owls and their prey. There they shed their clothing and the constraints of their human forms, and they run, fleet as the wind, over hills and valleys, across shallow streams that shine like quicksilver in the dark, and through shadowed woodland, dodging light-footed amongst the trees.
How they came to be this way, they don’t rightly know, but they don’t question it either. Why should they? Torchwood is a world of mystery, and besides, it feels too good to run like this, wild and free.
They’re always careful to steer clear of campsites, villages, and scattered farms, just in case someone sees them and panics. They don’t want to cause harm to anyone, and if someone were to see them it’s doubtful they’d be believed, but they’d rather not take the risk of being chased, maybe even captured. Nothing they know of can physically hurt them, their immortality persists even in this form, but being penned in would be worse than any physical injury.
They’re not horses, or deer, or antelope of any description, although they bear similarities to all those creatures. In truth they have no idea what they are, or if there are any others like them somewhere out in the universe. They have long, slender, but incredibly strong legs, each tipped with a gleaming, ivory-coloured hoof, enabling them to run surefooted and tirelessly across the roughest terrain for hours on end.
They have sleek, deep chested bodies housing great hearts and powerful lungs, muscular hindquarters, and tails like gossamer that stream out behind them in the wind. They have proudly arching necks and long, moon-pale manes as fine as their tails, while their heads are small, delicate, but perfectly proportioned with narrow muzzles and large, golden eyes that can see as well in complete darkness as they can in full sunlight.
They have horns too, but not like a unicorn. Each has a pair of short, ivory spirals sprouting from the tops of their heads, between large, soft, mobile ears that flare out, enabling them to capture the faintest of sounds, before tapering to a point and ending in a tuft of silver-tipped black fur. Their legs and muzzles are black too, gradually shading to a light, dappled silvery grey over the rest of their bodies.
Their hearing is excellent, and their sense of smell at least as good as a dog’s, allowing them to easily sense and avoid any potential dangers. Despite their rapid healing they have no desire to be attacked, or worse, killed and mounted as a trophy, and they don’t want to deal with photographs of strange creatures drawing curious people to the area. If that happens, they’ll have to forego their moonlit playtime, at least until interest wanes and the hills and valleys are theirs once more. That would be unbearable.
Tonight, the moon is full and riding high in a sky across which scattered streamers of cloud still blow. There was a storm in the early evening, thunder and lightning, and a brief but heavy downpour, but all that remains now is a strong, blustery wind, the kind that never fails to stir their blood. It was a huge relief to strip off their clothes, toss them into the SUV, and transform before racing each other across the valley floor, leaping a rushing, rain-swollen steam, and bounding up the steep slope at the far side to balance on the crest of a narrow ridge. They’re as surefooted as mountain goats and have no fear of slipping, their cloven hooves gripping to any surface like the two sides of a piece of Velcro coming together. Only sheer cliffs are beyond their ability to scale, but there aren’t so many of those in this part of the Brecon Beacons anyway.
Jack tosses his head and snorts, his breath making twin streamers of vapour in the chilly air. “Race you!”
He doesn’t speak aloud; the words form in Ianto’s head, crystal clear, although he’s never entirely sure whether they’re in English or some language unique to their current form. In the end it doesn’t matter; they communicate telepathically, can understand each other completely, which is more than can be said of them in their human forms. People are so good at misunderstanding each other that it’s a wonder the human race has managed to evolve as far as it has. Here and now there’s no misunderstanding possible, not while they can touch mind to mind.
“Race? Didn’t we already do that? As I recall, you cheated.” Because Jack, in whatever form, always cheats; it’s just the way he is. Ianto nuzzles behind Jack’s ear, breathing deeply of his lover’s unique scent, warm and musky and rich. He nips lightly at the crest of Jack’s neck, just behind his horns, teasing and playful.
“So what? Doesn’t mean we can’t race again.” Jack turns his head, dark muzzle pointing down into the next valley where there’s a small copse, hardly more than a cluster of trees and bushes bordering a stream. Ianto can clearly see the water glinting in the distance, moonlight reflecting off its surface. “First to the trees wins,” Jack challenges. “I’ll even give you a head start.”
“Such a generous offer. You just want to stare at my rump,” Ianto accuses good-naturedly.
“But it’s such a nice rump.” Shifting, Jack stretches out his neck so he can nip at Ianto’s muscular rear. Just because they’re in different physical forms doesn’t mean their natural inclinations have changed; they’re still just as strongly attracted to each other.
“Should’ve known you just want sex.”
“Are you trying to tell me you don’t?”
It’s Ianto’s turn to snort; he can’t roll his eyes as effectively in this form, but he can still be disparaging when the situation calls for it. “Of course I’m not; don’t be ridiculous.”
Sometimes they change back to human form, rolling around in a patch of long, soft grass and making love, flattening the stems, leaving the imprint of their bodies on them like some bizarre crop circle, but thanks to the storm the weather’s too chilly for that tonight, the ground too damp, and their alternate forms pose no problems in that respect anyway. Jack has always been innovative.
“Then what’s the problem?” Jack cocks his head to the side, an oddly human gesture for a four-legged creature, and regards Ianto quizzically. The moonlight snags on his horns, making them appear to be glowing with an ethereal inner light, and Ianto can’t be sure whether or not it’s deliberate. Jack is such a show-off, but that’s allowed; he’s beautiful in either form.
“Who said there was a problem?”
Without waiting for a reply, Ianto spins on his hind hooves and leaps away down the slope, bounding effortlessly from one foothold, or hoofhold, to the next, like there are springs in his legs. There’s a startled huff from the ridgetop and he knows Jack wasn’t expecting him to do that, but then he can sense his lover not far behind him, keeping the distance between them and copying his every leap. Follow-my-leader down the steep slope and out across the open floor of the valley, speeding up on the level ground, running for the sheer joy of it, two strange and beautiful creatures, shimmering like ghostly mirages in the moonlight.
In a couple of hours they’ll have to head back the way they came, their sense of direction unerringly guiding them back to where the SUV waits for them, hidden behind concealing bushes. They need to be back in human form again before dawn lightens the horizon, not because they can’t exist beneath the light of the sun but because it’s safer; they’d be more visible in daylight, less able to blend in with their surroundings.
Nights are far too short at this time of year, but they’ll make the most of what time they have, not knowing how long it will be before they’ll next have the opportunity to run wild beneath the light of the moon. They cherish these nights of freedom, always aware that their strange ability to take this swift and graceful form could wear off as suddenly and inexplicably as it came.
They hope it never will, but they can’t be sure, so they do their best not to take it for granted. If someday they should find themselves permanently human again, at least they’ll have the memories of these nights to sustain them, and perhaps they’ll live like this again in their dreams, free as the wind, racing each other and the moonlight.
The End