Title: Head Over Heels (and aching)
Pairing: Jack/Ianto. Jack’s POV.
Summary: As a prisoner of The Master I had three kinds of days: the really bad days, the even worse days and that almost good day when I suddenly realize I am absolutely in love with Ianto Jones.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood or Doctor Who. No profit made with this fanfiction. Title extracted from “Head Over Heels (in this life)” a song by Switchfoot, not mine.
NA: Thanks to my husband for being my first-reader and for showing me a whole new way of seeing my own fanfic. Thanks to lowease for being my severe but charming beta-reader.
This is a gift for my friend laura_guerin. I know you asked for something completely different, my dear, but that’s all I could do. I hope it works for you.
Head Over Heels (and aching)
As a prisoner of The Master, I had three kinds of days: the really bad days, the even worse days and that particular one, bordering a good day, when I talked way too much (not an uncommon occurrence at that year) (you know, Tish is a good listener, even though she hardly says anything) and in a wave of babbling I suddenly realized I am absolutely in love with Ianto Jones.
I had quite a few reasons to come back to Cardiff, really – like Gwen and Tosh and Owen and the fact that I can meet the Doctor again and possibly again and again and again through eternity. Sure, the Doctor is the Doctor, but my team – Ianto – just lives once. And it’s been a while since the last time I have found myself absolutely in love, like a movie or a 40’s song, or at least with someone close and possible and even interested (in his case, more like absolutely in love with me as well).
Of course, Ianto being close and possible and at least interested (or absolutely in love, for that matter) didn’t make it easy. More like even more difficult, as in damned-nightmare-with-daleks difficult. Try to take Ianto Jones to your bed and wait months and months until he takes you to your bed, in his own terms. Try to ask him on a date and see yourself trapped in his inescapable chain of evenings spent going from work to bed – no scales –, not once going to restaurants or theatres. Try to talk to him about feelings and get the best kisses and sex almost too good to be true, but get nothing about the fucking feelings. Maybe you could make him show some sort of cute jealousy over simple innocent things, but never a single demonstration when it really mattered. And if you try too hard, what you get is a frown or a face at the simplest mention of the word love. Even in a harmless sentence like “I love your coffee” that absolutely does not hide an “almost as I love you, beautiful”, I swear. Oh, well.
(His hands on mine; sweat seems to melt them both in one piece, almost as the deepness of his eyes over mine, blue choking against my soul whilst our noses touch and – please – his body claims mine as his belonging. With our chests pressed together I can feel his heart over mine, fast as hell, the blue of his eyes darkening as the room lightens into what I reckon as the morning sun.
At this moment I don’t want to get lost, I don’t want to forget. I want Ianto and with him I want the whole lot – the pain and the immortality and the universe and the morning sun. Ianto is it all because it all is Ianto, love and pain, our past and future beloveds and everything we lost and will lose. Our hearts and moans beating together with pleasant feelings and wounded thoughts. I come hard and I care deeply, I come because I care and that’s okay if I care too much or if I love too much, even if we could never say a word about this.
He comes inside me with his eyes closed, but they have the most beautiful eyelashes in the world and I accept the loneliness of not seeing them go out of focus while looking (in)to me anymore. I don’t know if it’s due to this entire acceptance or to his head resting beside mine on his pillow or even due to his breathing, happy and tough, but at this exact moment I feel like I couldn’t ever feel loneliness again.)
I had to learn him all over again: his body, his mind, his soul. Not that I’d forget – not even for a second – and sometimes I fear (I hope) I’m incapable of forgetting loved people at all, but he has changed a little, and I know I’m at least a little distorted too. We (re)discover each other every day and, now I recognize I’m (absolutely) in love, I’m much more careful and aware of this process.
He has new scars and seems to be constantly worried about falling for me and letting all his boundaries go. I’m a bit afraid of handcuffs and am constantly distracted, wondering how (and if) he lived the forgotten year, thinking everything about an Ianto I’d never meet and about this Ianto I’m meeting again. Was he still stubborn as the devil himself, still pretty, jealous, lovely, insecure, systematic, loyal, liar, hot? Was he himself without me? Could I be myself without him? His body, his mind, his soul.
For someone like me, falling in love is dangerous – a mistake, neighboring a nightmare. I’m still afraid, but I’ve never been known for my self-preservation – I try this every time and I fail enormously every time. All I can (all I want to) do is let it go. Absolutely.