ianto jones

there is a distinct aura of SADISM within the sound of metal clashing against concrete and glass shattering as it hits a ground so unforgiving. he really should have stepped out of the way of the descending cat that fateful day. 

at the sight of his archives in such disarray, the young torchwood agent finds he must stop and suppress the ire that creeps beneath his skin, the ice that trickles within his veins. no, he will not hurt THE CREATURE, despite the purposeful and casual way she tortures him with her existence. 

but, he’s come prepared this time. 

❝ OI! ❞ his voice echoes against the bare walls of the archives, booming and deep in it’s timbre, ❝ down! ❞ 

perhaps the etiquette is to give the animal a moment, to provide a chance for orders to be followed. but, ianto jones can only hold back his rage so much. and so, without warning, his arm lifts and his finger squeezes the trigger.

a note about my portrayal of ianto: it is heavily based on his characterisation in the BIG FINISH PRODUCTIONS audio dramas

i take all of their audios as canon and will reference them within my writing when it’s called for. if you have any questions about his development within the audios or anything i talk about that you don’t know about, please feel free to ask me!

it’s been TEN THOUSAND YEARS [ and i have such a crick in my neck ] 

anyway. i’m back after a long hiatus and no one i follow is really active anymore. so how do we find new blogs these days??

specifically doctor who rpers because i’m finally caught up with the show and would like ianto to interact with doctor who people pls

also do we even use mun faceclaims anymore???

                            it slipped out. 

TRULY, he does love this man in front of him. and, by god, he’s loved him for a long time now. he screams it in his mind, over and over. he murmurs it under his breath when ianto can’t hear. it’s real and it’s true, but saying it is a fear he doesn’t think he’ll ever get over. making it real like that? a  t a n g i b l e  concept to be plucked from the air and held by his tongue? a love that will be struck down by death and leave him lonely once more…

but ianto looks so BEAUTIFUL in this light - this harsh white light of an enclosed bathroom that should make anyone look their worst yet makes that man glow like the ANGEL he is. 

and his thoughts don’t filter; they  s p i l l  from his lips in a way he can’t take back. and though his heart pounds within it’s cage, he keeps that steady smile across his lips and prays to a god he doesn’t believe in that his eyes don’t betray the fear that comes with saying those words. to say them can’t be thought of as a mistake. loving IANTO JONES could never be a mistake.

                          “ can’t it be a bit of both? ” jack suggests coolly. he takes a step towards him, somehow even more endeared by the toothbrush hung from his mouth. 

the captain’s arms  s n a k e  around ianto’s waist from behind, lowering his chin against his shoulder with a smile. he nuzzles the skin of his neck for a moment, peppering small kisses into the soft space made just for HIM, arms tightening their grip lovingly. 

                          “ maybe this place has made me soft, ” he takes a breath, finding ianto’s gaze in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. “ but it’s nothing i haven’t thought before we arrived. ”

arms encircle him from behind, and there is an inherent way in which his body leans back into the other man. he pulls the toothbrush from his lips, setting it aside while meticulously ensuring no toothpaste remains on his skin. only then does he meet the gaze of the man whose just confessed feelings of LOVE. never had ianto jones thought this day would come.

and it is not as though ianto is oblivious to the way jack feels for him, but he knows the weight of past loves lost that sits heavy upon jack’s heart. one day the immortal man will be forced to leave him behind, as well. how could he not? the heart of jack harkness deserves to be protected, just as that of any mortal human being.

he would never blame jack for choices he has to make due to something he has no control over

but, there are moments where what surges between the two men can only be described as love, it is UNSPOKEN, and yet louder than anything ianto has ever heard. the nights where he stirs and finds jack’s soft gaze upon him in the night. the way jack’s thumb brushes lightly against his thigh as they drive through the city and his hand finds ianto’s leg, a smile dancing across the most inviting of lips. the intimate moments where jack takes time to appreciate every inch of his body, refusing to let ianto leave his grasp until they are forced to vacate the bed.

no, he thinks he’s always known what jack has chosen now to express.

❝ i think you just have a fetish for welsh accents, ❞ a flicker of a smirk tugs at his lips, eyes unwavering as he watches jack through the mirror. his boyfriend has made no secret of the way the heightened accent of his stepford-husband persona has a certain effect on him. he teases all the same before he finds himself turning within jack’s arms to face him without a barrier between them. 

❝ jack-- ❞ he starts, an almost shaking breath taken in before he continues. eyes drift to a bedroom that isn’t theirs, and once again he fears that PLAYING HOUSE has coloured the way jack sees him. but, more than he is insecure-- he trusts jack. with everything he has and everything he is. ❝ i love you. ❞ 

a pause, hands finding home upon jack’s hips. 

❝ you know, owen, i can’t really tell if you’re expecting an apology for that, or if this is your way of giving me a compliment. ❞ it is with a quirked brow that he looks up from the mugs he’d been filling, finding the gaze of OWEN HARPER. a silent beat passes before ianto takes a breath, and his attention is turned back to the drinks he’d been preparing. 

he knows to what the medic refers. only minutes ago, the young welshman had excused himself from the conference room after filling the team in on everything he knows about the doctor-- hoping for some kind of clue as to jack’s whereabouts.

but, as all things do, the information had come with A PRICE.

never had ianto opened up to the others about his time at torchwood one. of course, they’d known he’d been an agent of the london based branch, and they’d known he survived the invasion of both dalek and cyberman, alike.

now they know everything. they know only TWENTY-SEVEN had walked away that day. they know that ianto had been the right hand man of yvonne hartman. they know he had been the highest ranking agent when canary wharf fell, and that he had access-- could still get tosh access, to information only one other knew. 

and they know that there is more to ianto jones than anyone could have expected. 

yes. i am aware it’s been over a year since i was active on tumblr. but! @cxptained @riftborne​ and i are still going strong !! i suddenly got tumblr muse back and am forcing them back with me so hello!

guilt touches youthful features at the sound of GWEN COOPER’S shriek from across the hub. and yet, lips quirk into an impish expression he’s unable to suppress even when the sound of approaching footfall promises an impending scolding.  

❝ did you enjoy your lunch, then? ❞ his voice does not betray his part in what he’s sure had been a surprise his coworker may never forgive him for: a microwave she’d once condemned to the depths of hell for the fact that’d it been re-programmed to shout upon the timer’s ending rather than beep as all others do. 

her voice is soft and distant, stirring him from a dream he can’t quite remember as he wakes. and though the early morning light glows a gentle shade of gold, it is harsh on eyes still heavy with sleep. but, he knows that tone; knows he is needed. a slow breath fills his lungs as he pushes himself up, gaze drifting to where REGINA SCOTT stands before a window open to a city beginning to liven below their room. it was their bubble of solace in the aftermath of hell. 

the curves of her body are accentuated by the sun’s rays hitting her skin in the most perfect of ways. her silhouette outshines any work of art the welshman has ever laid his eyes upon. a compliment unlike any other considering the way the eiffel tower near glitters in the distance. 

she is unlike anything he’s ever seen.

❝ i know-- ❞ his hands are soft as they find her hips, fingers gripping lightly and pulling her body against his own. with her feet bare, she stands far shorter than he, and so he must stoop to press his lips to her temple. 

a sharp breath is sucked in, head turning to meet the gaze of JACK HARKNESS. and he cannot keep the imploring out of his eyes, searching for any sign that the other man could be speaking his truth. of course, why would the immortal man be lying? why say something such as this without meaning it? 

and yet there is doubt that settles heavy on the heart of IANTO JONES.

it is not the other man he doubts-- but himself. for so long, he’s known his own feelings for jack bordered on love. no, no that isn’t quite true, is it? they’d crossed that line some time ago. but, ianto is nothing more than a human being from south wales. jack traveled the stars, once, and has lived numerous lifetimes; he’d only crossed the channel once is his short twenty-five years of life. who is he to feel the love of THE MOST IMPORTANT MAN IN THE UNIVERSE?

❝ oh? ❞ he attempts to keep a casualness to that deep, welsh tone as an eyebrow quirks and he turns fully, looking to jack from where he stands at the bathroom sink with a toothbrush in hand, awaiting the winter-mint of his toothpaste. ❝ and what’s brought this on? ❞ 

a smile touches his lips as his head dips and his nightly routine is continued. 

❝ you sure it isn’t just this domestic life playin’ with your mind? ❞ for a moment he wonders if jack truly would prefer this life over the one they lead beneath the streets of cardiff, at TORCHWOOD. the mundane repetition to each day has ianto clinging to his sanity by the skin of his teeth. but, jack? he’s thriving. as much as ianto craves to hear those words from the man he most certainly loves, he wants it to be real. 

                          ianto jones was the man of many masks. jack is one of the only men privy to that information - and he knows it. but today the captain’s own mask, the one that not a soul on earth except ianto jones has even noticed let alone let slip, is crumbling. that resolve that keeps him standing tall at every turn, every difficult decision, every LOSS…. it fading fast. 

too many months it’s been since he’s felt ianto’s touch against his skin. since he felt the warmth of his body against his own. since he got LOST in ianto’s scent -  his fabric conditioner, his shampoo, the coffee, the dust of the archives… jack’s own shower gel. 

“then i’ll have to be better at pretending.” jack whispers, eyes squeezing tight shut as foreheads remain pressed together.

                         and  s u d d e n l y  his breaths are shaking and coming here was the worst idea because progress he had made of getting over the death of the man that’s standing in front of him is all but back to square one. the way he feels in his arms, right here and large and life is more PAINFUL than jack could have imagined. 

fingers curl around expensive material, digging into the freshly pressed fabric with no remorse. and before long jack harkness is clinging to his welshman. he’s going to give himself away. ianto is a smart man. he’s going to know something’s right but god… he can’t pull himself together now. 

                         he doesn’t want to.

                                                                             why can’t he just be SELFISH?

shaking breaths are long and deep and they rattle through his chest and tightened eyes relax enough and shoulders slump. is this defeat he will admit?

               the knowledge that THIS is the last time he may see this man…

 feel this man…

                         “I don’t forget you, Ianto Jones…”

                                                                            not I won’t

                                                                                                       but I don’t

A Promise.

                             oh, he shouldn’t be here.

                                                                                      he REALLY shouldn’t be here….

and yet he couldn’t stop the way that legs carry him towards the building that houses so many memories. that houses the best portion of his life. that houses the dead.

                                                  25th January 2009. Cardiff.

a meaningless date in reality. it’s not a marker for much of anything IMPORTANT. no aliens were fought that day - no civilisations saved. but no date of this time could be meaningless. not to jack.

because right now. on January 25th of 2009 his team are still alive.

                            torchwood three lives on.

it was in a fit of despair that he found himself here. a break down of GRAND proportions. it’s been months since it happened… since he lost ianto jones. but months didn’t make it easier. they didn’t calm the grief that rages inside his heart. and in a moment of lapse, with his voice hoarse from shouting and his cheeks soaked with tears, jack found himself punching in dates and co-ordinates.

                                                25th January 2009. Cardiff.

while grief can be blamed for the decision to travel… only STUPIDITY could be blamed for bringing himself inside. he shouldn’t be here. the real jack is working. this jack has no clue where he even is right now. he could walk around the corner at any moment. it could disrupt time and tear a hole in the vortex.

but jack doesn’t CARE today. and if he had any sense of guilt for his actions it was soon abolished by the appearance of his welshman.

                            beautiful ianto jones. kind ianto jones. intelligent ianto jones.

the LOVE OF HIS LIFE, ianto jones.

“everything’s fine.” jack says instantly. too quickly. too nervously. he’s going to give himself away if he’s not careful. but how can he concentrate on anything ELSE than the man standing before him and how ALIVE he looks. 

                            oh, god…

                                                         “i just… erm, I just, well…”

                                                                                                                   floundering. 

“kiss me.”

there is a SCREAMING from within: something isn’t right, and the pause that follows jack’s request may not be long-- perhaps imperceptible by any other, but he can be sure the man with whom he shares his bed near-nightly will not be oblivious to his HESITATION. hands full, eyes of a crystal-like blue flit over the other man, their leader and his partner of sorts [ you can use the word  ‘ b o y f r i e n d ‘  ianto jones, the permission had been granted as you walked away from serenity plaza hand-in-hand ], at once he notices the change from seemingly one minute to the next. how is this the same jack that had, only minutes ago, exited the room with a cheerful pep in his step, despite the phone call awaiting him at his destination? the sadness that swims within those eyes of an UNMATCHED BLUE nearly undoes him right then and there. and so he doesn’t question any further, instead setting aside what occupies his hands-- well, setting them down upon the floor, really, as the barren hall in which they’ve found themselves provides no proper storage space. it takes only a few long strides to CLOSE THE SPACE that separates the two men, both hands finding themselves cradling the face of jack harkness as lips take those of the man he so wholeheartedly loves in a kiss that lingers. it is deep and slow and telling. it is the kiss he’d twice recognised the young welshman by in mishaps past, the same kiss ianto knows both men have found comfort in TIME AND TIME AGAIN.