Torchwood Fic: And he's feeling so alive
Well, this came out of nowhere again. I hope you'll enjoy it, it shows Ianto from a - "different" - side.
And he's feeling so alive
Ianto remembers the grimacing faces of the people around him. Their features torn into an ugly mask of emotions. Emotions which are out of control.
He remembers the muscles of his own face hurting from the unfamiliar strain. The tears streaming down his cheeks, dropping from his chin, staining his neat shirt. Worse than that, his running nose, the disgusting noise when he tried to sniff the snot back up.
Jack's voice sounding furious, trembling, high-pitched and just - ridiculous - when he gave the unbelievable order.
And the threat.
Ianto scoffs.
He didn't even have the guts to go through with it.
And now what?
Now he's standing here, alone, staring at his tidy apartment full of tidy clothes, everything in order, everything so organised.
This is ridiculous!
He's just lost the person he loves and all he can think about is how ALIVE he has felt.
Why?
Why did the worst hours he's had since Canary Wharf make him feel alive for the first time in a long while?
Those emotions, they felt so real.
Jack.
His brutal honesty, the raw emotions, his struggle for control.
This was it. This was the real thing.
Ianto blinks and notices that he's still standing in the open doorway to his apartment. His body is aching from countless bruises and he stinks of blood, sweat and dirt. His first instinct is to get undressed, throw the dirty, damaged clothes away, and take a shower but he realises that this would be a step back.
A step back from feeling something, from feeling real.
So instead he slowly walks into the living room and sits down on the couch, not giving a shit about the grime on his clothes.
More than that, he raises his feet and puts them on the coffee table with his shoes still on.
Ianto closes his eyes, rests his head on the back of the couch and stays like this for a couple of minutes. Lisa's face flashes up before is inner eye and he flinches slightly. Tears begin to build up in his eyes until they slowly run down his cheeks, retracing the path they have already left earlier that day.
Lisa.
Ianto sees her at work, the first time they've laid eyes on each other. Their first date. Their first kiss. The first time they shagged. The life they've created together and which surrounds him now like a memento in his apartment. The plans they've had and then: Canary Wharf. How he'd rescued her, kept her alive, made plans to get into Torchwood and finally: How he'd met Jack for the first time.
Jack.
Jack.
Jack!!
In a sudden movement he raises his right foot and forcefully kicks the coffee table away. It crashes into the television set and the glassplate bursts into hundreds of razorsharp shards. He walks over and picks one of them up. Ianto cocks his head and curiously watches how blood is slowly emanating from the cut in his palm.
He lets his hand drop to his side and he can feel the blood running down his palm, along the length of his fingers until it gathers at the tip of his middle finger.
He raises his hand again and brings it down fast so that the blood draws a crimson line on the carpet. He does it again. And again. And again.
He balls his hand into a fist to draw more blood from the cut, he runs his hot, sticky, wet hand through his hair, over his face.
Ianto loosens the knot of his tie and jerks the silken material from his neck as if it was a poisonous snake.
He grabs the front of his shirt with both hands and rips it open, buttons flying off in all directions. Then he bends over and hastily fumbles with the buckle of his belt.
Ianto loses his balance and slumps back onto the couch but he doesn't even notice. All he can see is Jack's face.
Jack's ugly, emotional, terrible, wonderful, handsome face.
Ianto manages to undo his trowsers and his shaking, blood-stained hand dives forcefully into his briefs to grab his painfully throbbing erection.
It only takes a few forceful strokes until Ianto comes with a cry of despair and relief.
After a few shaky breaths he's able to raise his hand. He stares at the disgusting mixture of blood and cum that's covering it and his vision blurs until all he can see is Jack's face.
And he's feeling so alive.
And he's feeling so alive
Ianto remembers the grimacing faces of the people around him. Their features torn into an ugly mask of emotions. Emotions which are out of control.
He remembers the muscles of his own face hurting from the unfamiliar strain. The tears streaming down his cheeks, dropping from his chin, staining his neat shirt. Worse than that, his running nose, the disgusting noise when he tried to sniff the snot back up.
Jack's voice sounding furious, trembling, high-pitched and just - ridiculous - when he gave the unbelievable order.
And the threat.
Ianto scoffs.
He didn't even have the guts to go through with it.
And now what?
Now he's standing here, alone, staring at his tidy apartment full of tidy clothes, everything in order, everything so organised.
This is ridiculous!
He's just lost the person he loves and all he can think about is how ALIVE he has felt.
Why?
Why did the worst hours he's had since Canary Wharf make him feel alive for the first time in a long while?
Those emotions, they felt so real.
Jack.
His brutal honesty, the raw emotions, his struggle for control.
This was it. This was the real thing.
Ianto blinks and notices that he's still standing in the open doorway to his apartment. His body is aching from countless bruises and he stinks of blood, sweat and dirt. His first instinct is to get undressed, throw the dirty, damaged clothes away, and take a shower but he realises that this would be a step back.
A step back from feeling something, from feeling real.
So instead he slowly walks into the living room and sits down on the couch, not giving a shit about the grime on his clothes.
More than that, he raises his feet and puts them on the coffee table with his shoes still on.
Ianto closes his eyes, rests his head on the back of the couch and stays like this for a couple of minutes. Lisa's face flashes up before is inner eye and he flinches slightly. Tears begin to build up in his eyes until they slowly run down his cheeks, retracing the path they have already left earlier that day.
Lisa.
Ianto sees her at work, the first time they've laid eyes on each other. Their first date. Their first kiss. The first time they shagged. The life they've created together and which surrounds him now like a memento in his apartment. The plans they've had and then: Canary Wharf. How he'd rescued her, kept her alive, made plans to get into Torchwood and finally: How he'd met Jack for the first time.
Jack.
Jack.
Jack!!
In a sudden movement he raises his right foot and forcefully kicks the coffee table away. It crashes into the television set and the glassplate bursts into hundreds of razorsharp shards. He walks over and picks one of them up. Ianto cocks his head and curiously watches how blood is slowly emanating from the cut in his palm.
He lets his hand drop to his side and he can feel the blood running down his palm, along the length of his fingers until it gathers at the tip of his middle finger.
He raises his hand again and brings it down fast so that the blood draws a crimson line on the carpet. He does it again. And again. And again.
He balls his hand into a fist to draw more blood from the cut, he runs his hot, sticky, wet hand through his hair, over his face.
Ianto loosens the knot of his tie and jerks the silken material from his neck as if it was a poisonous snake.
He grabs the front of his shirt with both hands and rips it open, buttons flying off in all directions. Then he bends over and hastily fumbles with the buckle of his belt.
Ianto loses his balance and slumps back onto the couch but he doesn't even notice. All he can see is Jack's face.
Jack's ugly, emotional, terrible, wonderful, handsome face.
Ianto manages to undo his trowsers and his shaking, blood-stained hand dives forcefully into his briefs to grab his painfully throbbing erection.
It only takes a few forceful strokes until Ianto comes with a cry of despair and relief.
After a few shaky breaths he's able to raise his hand. He stares at the disgusting mixture of blood and cum that's covering it and his vision blurs until all he can see is Jack's face.
And he's feeling so alive.