a fool to believe (1/1)
title: a fool to believe
rating: r for imagery
pairing: jack/ianto
spoilers: none, technically; set in the three months between series 1 and 2
disclaimer: rtd and the beeb own pretty much everyone. i'll have to check, but they might even own me.
writer's note: also for the horizonssing day twenty-two challenge. feedback welcome.
summary: ianto stands on a rooftop.
I see that from these boys shall men of nothing
Stature by seedy shifting,
or lame the air with leaping from its heats;
There from their hearts the dogdayed pulse
Of love and light bursts in their throats.
O see the pulse of summer in the ice.
Excerpt from, "I See the Boys of Summer,"
by Dylan Thomas
He takes a deep gulp of air, warm and sweet, and tastes a lonely freedom.
Jack comes up here often, he knows, or used to. Standing on the ledge, the wind blowing his coat back, acting the hero that he never was, and never will - Ianto sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, wiping away the dried salt of nearly invisible tear tracks. This is the reason he came up here, isn’t it? To remember Jack, to draw the hurt out of himself until he can work - until he can breathe again?
Jack’s been gone not quite a month and already the abandonment is chafing, strangling. He’s gone, away, somewhere Ianto can’t follow and still he’s everywhere - under Ianto’s skin, if not physically present. The feeling nags at him, like Jack is a ghost in Ianto’s house, a voice lingering in the Hub, a feather of a touch as he passes a stranger on the street. It’s unbearable. It’s not what should be happening, not right now.
And maybe Ianto’s a romantic, but he thought about summertime in Cardiff, about Jack’s potential need for sunlight, about team holidays and bonding that didn’t include replacing a leader. And maybe Ianto’s an idiot, but he rather liked the thought of integrating into the team with the Captain at the head, being a part of something not because he had to be but because he was wanted. And maybe Ianto is a lost, lonely child in the scheme of the universe, but he had a feeling that Earth was important to the rest of the cosmos and a bitterly twisted idea that he was important to Jack.
He knows now how wrong he was.
In another life with another lover, Ianto wouldn’t be on a rooftop scrubbing away tears on a night like tonight. Warm and melting, he’d be dancing close in a club where people wouldn’t care, holding hands until his palms were sweaty, kissing until his head spun. If she were a girl, he’d grasp her by her hips, thumbs in her belt loops, and press her against the wall until her legs wrapped around him, feeling his hardness even through her clothing. If he were a boy, he’d manhandle him into the loo, have him against the door, quick and dirty and satisfying and all the things that Jack has taught him to be. This is Jack’s legacy. A Ianto who will take what he can get and ask no questions, a Ianto who will not love for fear of the loss. Even his fantasies have taken on Jack’s formula.
His heart is beating fast and the wind is blowing harder, bringing on the taste of a storm in the air. It’s dangerous for a lone man on a rooftop, but for a moment Ianto wishes that lightning will strike him, that there will be something for Jack to regret when - if - he finally comes home. This is his danger, this is his dare. This is the fire that Jack Harkness lit and forgot to put out.
Everyone here is lonely; Ianto does not deny that. Everyone misses Jack in his or her own way; Owen misses the authority, Gwen misses the way he looked at her, Tosh misses feeling like she’s trusted. Ianto just misses the man.
rating: r for imagery
pairing: jack/ianto
spoilers: none, technically; set in the three months between series 1 and 2
disclaimer: rtd and the beeb own pretty much everyone. i'll have to check, but they might even own me.
writer's note: also for the horizonssing day twenty-two challenge. feedback welcome.
summary: ianto stands on a rooftop.
I see that from these boys shall men of nothing
Stature by seedy shifting,
or lame the air with leaping from its heats;
There from their hearts the dogdayed pulse
Of love and light bursts in their throats.
O see the pulse of summer in the ice.
Excerpt from, "I See the Boys of Summer,"
by Dylan Thomas
He takes a deep gulp of air, warm and sweet, and tastes a lonely freedom.
Jack comes up here often, he knows, or used to. Standing on the ledge, the wind blowing his coat back, acting the hero that he never was, and never will - Ianto sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, wiping away the dried salt of nearly invisible tear tracks. This is the reason he came up here, isn’t it? To remember Jack, to draw the hurt out of himself until he can work - until he can breathe again?
Jack’s been gone not quite a month and already the abandonment is chafing, strangling. He’s gone, away, somewhere Ianto can’t follow and still he’s everywhere - under Ianto’s skin, if not physically present. The feeling nags at him, like Jack is a ghost in Ianto’s house, a voice lingering in the Hub, a feather of a touch as he passes a stranger on the street. It’s unbearable. It’s not what should be happening, not right now.
And maybe Ianto’s a romantic, but he thought about summertime in Cardiff, about Jack’s potential need for sunlight, about team holidays and bonding that didn’t include replacing a leader. And maybe Ianto’s an idiot, but he rather liked the thought of integrating into the team with the Captain at the head, being a part of something not because he had to be but because he was wanted. And maybe Ianto is a lost, lonely child in the scheme of the universe, but he had a feeling that Earth was important to the rest of the cosmos and a bitterly twisted idea that he was important to Jack.
He knows now how wrong he was.
In another life with another lover, Ianto wouldn’t be on a rooftop scrubbing away tears on a night like tonight. Warm and melting, he’d be dancing close in a club where people wouldn’t care, holding hands until his palms were sweaty, kissing until his head spun. If she were a girl, he’d grasp her by her hips, thumbs in her belt loops, and press her against the wall until her legs wrapped around him, feeling his hardness even through her clothing. If he were a boy, he’d manhandle him into the loo, have him against the door, quick and dirty and satisfying and all the things that Jack has taught him to be. This is Jack’s legacy. A Ianto who will take what he can get and ask no questions, a Ianto who will not love for fear of the loss. Even his fantasies have taken on Jack’s formula.
His heart is beating fast and the wind is blowing harder, bringing on the taste of a storm in the air. It’s dangerous for a lone man on a rooftop, but for a moment Ianto wishes that lightning will strike him, that there will be something for Jack to regret when - if - he finally comes home. This is his danger, this is his dare. This is the fire that Jack Harkness lit and forgot to put out.
Everyone here is lonely; Ianto does not deny that. Everyone misses Jack in his or her own way; Owen misses the authority, Gwen misses the way he looked at her, Tosh misses feeling like she’s trusted. Ianto just misses the man.