Twenty-Three And A Half
Title: Twenty-Three And A Half
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG
Notes/Summary: In which Ianto contemplates astronomy. Written for the July 31 prompt at horizonssing.
"And summer isn't a time. It's a place as well. Summer is a moving creature and likes to go south for the winter."
- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay
Ianto stood on the Barrage walkway, watched the reflection of the moon in the water, and hugged his jacket closer. The days were shortening, and while the weather wasn’t cooling off just yet, there were already little rumblings of Calan Awst and Gathering Day parties. Different things were showing up at farmers markets. Summer wasn’t gone, but the first strains of autumn were making themselves heard.
When he’d been a boy, the seasons formed a ring. They happened one after another, distinct, like table settings. He’d taken a certain pleasure in knowing the calendar dates by heart. Now was summer and now was autumn, he would think, as if they were a countries he could jump in and out of whenever he wanted to just by knowing the borders.
Now that he thought of the planet in a concrete way, though, he’d come to understand the seasons as a gradual shift in angles and positioning. Calan Awst was a slow drifting of sunlight related to a twenty-three and a half degree angle. It was less tidy than four sets of forks and knives and cups, but it struck him as far more elegant.
“You cold?” Jack asked, and wrapped an arm around him without waiting for an answer.
Ianto leaned into him and reached up to take his hand. “Not yet. Just thinking.”
“About?”
“Axial tilt,” he admitted.
Jack laughed warm and soft and kissed the side of Ianto’s head.
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG
Notes/Summary: In which Ianto contemplates astronomy. Written for the July 31 prompt at horizonssing.
"And summer isn't a time. It's a place as well. Summer is a moving creature and likes to go south for the winter."
- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay
Ianto stood on the Barrage walkway, watched the reflection of the moon in the water, and hugged his jacket closer. The days were shortening, and while the weather wasn’t cooling off just yet, there were already little rumblings of Calan Awst and Gathering Day parties. Different things were showing up at farmers markets. Summer wasn’t gone, but the first strains of autumn were making themselves heard.
When he’d been a boy, the seasons formed a ring. They happened one after another, distinct, like table settings. He’d taken a certain pleasure in knowing the calendar dates by heart. Now was summer and now was autumn, he would think, as if they were a countries he could jump in and out of whenever he wanted to just by knowing the borders.
Now that he thought of the planet in a concrete way, though, he’d come to understand the seasons as a gradual shift in angles and positioning. Calan Awst was a slow drifting of sunlight related to a twenty-three and a half degree angle. It was less tidy than four sets of forks and knives and cups, but it struck him as far more elegant.
“You cold?” Jack asked, and wrapped an arm around him without waiting for an answer.
Ianto leaned into him and reached up to take his hand. “Not yet. Just thinking.”
“About?”
“Axial tilt,” he admitted.
Jack laughed warm and soft and kissed the side of Ianto’s head.