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janto_recsTitle: On Atlas' Shoulders
Author:![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sarcasticchick
Genre: Romance/Drama/Angst/Episode-based
Rating: PG13
Summary: What cost victory? Missing scene from Meat, so there be spoilers!
Status: Oneshot
Length: ~3000
Warnings: Spoilers
Comment or Excerpt: I liked to read about Ianto's POV and his feelings about the stuff that happened in the episode. Very powerful writing.
Author:
sarcasticchick Genre: Romance/Drama/Angst/Episode-based
Rating: PG13
Summary: What cost victory? Missing scene from Meat, so there be spoilers!
Status: Oneshot
Length: ~3000
Warnings: Spoilers
Comment or Excerpt: I liked to read about Ianto's POV and his feelings about the stuff that happened in the episode. Very powerful writing.
The whisky swirled real, however, the growing concerned frown stretching Jack's lips leading Ianto to believe he'd hesitated just long enough to invite questions. Questions, and quite possibly demands, all summing equal to purposefully directed thought and that was what he most wished to bury beneath lists and routine. Feed Myfanwy. Take out the rubbish. Run vinegar through the coffee machine, followed by no less than three baths of clean water. Wash the mugs. Complete the paperwork. Requisition new disposable aprons for Owen; the green had been a lovely, most obnoxious shade against his pale skin. Or perhaps pink next time. Run a hack on the national CCTV footage to erase Torchwood SUV movement through the city. Laundry, he mustn't forget to take his great coat to the launderette.
"Ianto."
His name spoken so clearly, so neatly veiled with webs of threat, or maybe it was concern. Ianto couldn't tell, never could with Jack, who always spoke in tone upon tone of complex foreign experience breathed in a whispered kiss of sound. It was simple and low, yet Ianto knew the volumes Jack intended and expected him to understand. Their conversations were always like this, meaning buried within innuendo and awareness, a constant judgment of cataloged fact balanced by assumed human nature. Jack pretended he understood, and Ianto replied in equal farce. They danced around everything and rarely spoke of anything, though sometimes, sometimes the words meant what they were defined as, blunt shards of self laid bare for the brief glimpse into who they truly were. \Who they were beneath suits and waistcoats and modern briefs.
Creatures of habit, creatures of pain, creatures of love and tortured life.
"Ianto."
His name spoken so clearly, so neatly veiled with webs of threat, or maybe it was concern. Ianto couldn't tell, never could with Jack, who always spoke in tone upon tone of complex foreign experience breathed in a whispered kiss of sound. It was simple and low, yet Ianto knew the volumes Jack intended and expected him to understand. Their conversations were always like this, meaning buried within innuendo and awareness, a constant judgment of cataloged fact balanced by assumed human nature. Jack pretended he understood, and Ianto replied in equal farce. They danced around everything and rarely spoke of anything, though sometimes, sometimes the words meant what they were defined as, blunt shards of self laid bare for the brief glimpse into who they truly were. \Who they were beneath suits and waistcoats and modern briefs.
Creatures of habit, creatures of pain, creatures of love and tortured life.