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Torchwood Fic: "Viceroy, Centurion"
star trek xi; finally gold
cirrocumulus wrote in cirro_media
Title: Viceroy, Centurion
Fandom, Pairing: Torchwood, Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG
Word Count: 500
Summary: (Love.)

Ianto realized it on a still morning. He had been buttoning Jack's shirt for him, cozy in the silence. When the top button was in place he looked up at Jack's face and the effect was like holding two mirrors to each other: an infinite reflection of the same sentiment.

The night after the disaster, Jack had disappeared into his room under the office, leaving Ianto there with something insubstantial in his hands—a notebook, maybe. Ianto deliberated, called forward by instinct but knowing also that things were different—two people dead and one frozen, so Ianto chewed his lip a bit and tried to estimate the integrity of his own iconic image.

The office got impatient with him, tried to push him out with its shadows. After some moments Ianto did follow, walking carefully over to the hole in the floor (knowing there was a room underneath always made him feel like the floor was about to collapse into it) where he knelt at its edge and peered in. Jack took no notice of his presence from where he was lying on his side in bed. Ianto sighed and climbed down from the edge, making no noise in walking cautiously over to the cot and sitting; Jack didn't look at Ianto, pretending the lights were out.

Everything that was in Jack's mind was already in Ianto's mind; he knew that from looking. The fabric of Jack's shirt was wrinkled where it stretched over his shoulder and Ianto touched the folds gently. No reaction, which was all the reaction Ianto needed: he removed his hand only to tug off his shoes but lay down next to Jack in all the rest of his clothes. He was touching Jack nearly, but mostly by heat. Jack turned into the pillows a little, away from Ianto but going nowhere. The overbearing silence of the room pressed Ianto into the bed and filled his head, replacing all his thoughts with a throbbing emptiness like the lethargy of an illness. But he strained to retain awareness of Jack's body in front of him, his warmth and tangible despondence, because he knew that despite the exhaustion and the prying hands of sleep it was most important for him to think of Jack.

And in the morning it felt like something had been proved.

Jack's office was hollow like the morning, and Ianto hardly dared to move for fear of shattering the air. He felt Jack approach him, observing the room as if it had changed overnight somehow.

Jack placed his fingers on Ianto's throat and Ianto still jogged at the feeling, reacting instinctively to the sudden and slight pressures on all the sources of life to his head, heart beating out an ignorant warning. He anticipated the plan and turned so Jack could kiss him, heavy and tired; Jack placed his hands along Ianto's back as if he were afraid Ianto might flow away and for a moment Ianto felt like he knew who Jack was.

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Beyond words how brilliant this is

Jack placed his hands along Ianto's back as if he were afraid Ianto might flow away and for a moment Ianto felt like he knew who Jack was.
That part was just lovely!
I really enjoyed this - nice work! :)

Amazingly beautiful and fragile, yep, that's the word I'm looking for

Very beautifully written! I loved the very last sentence, it's very moving. Thank you!

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