Title: Goodbye Dolly Author: Hope (angstslashhope, hope) Fandom: Torchwood Wordcount: ~2,000 Genre: PWP Rating: NC-17 Characters(s): Jack/Ianto Notes: for amand_r’s help_haiti bid. (You asked for "humour", and I must sheepishly admit that I'm not sure this fits the bill, but it's the closest I could manage right now. Hope it's OK!). TYVM to rexluscus for beta.
Summary: Hotel rooms have a way of aiding nostalgia.
I think Ianto likes his alarm clock. Even if he did go right back to sleep. (Although that's probably to ensure he gets woken the same way in a bit.) :-)
Like the end quite a bit, the knee-jerk realization that this isn't real - ouch but also touching, in that Jack still wants that connection, however many years in the future he is. Nicely done.
OMG WAIT WAIT, THE END. WAS IT ALL A WAS THAT NOT REAL?
Hope, once again you leave all the rest of us pornificators in the dust. Honest to god, woman. I know I said humpour, but that was only because I thought you were sick of writing porn.
It’s too bloody hot, though, especially with woollen blanket and Ianto’s body not used to sleeping clothed. He’s all soft and warm and somnolent, like a feverish child.
and
Jack moans open-mouthed praise in response, the sound startlingly close in the dampened acoustics of the room. He rubs his cheek against Ianto’s sandpapery jaw, the sound and sensation abrasive and sudden to his film-softened senses. His heart speeds to a gallop; he straightens his body enough to sit back firmly again, opening his eyes and guiding Ianto’s sleep-clumsy hand to his cock.
OH AND:
His heart leaps in his chest at the thought, and he shouldn’t be thrown that quickly into visceral imagination; the non-linear temporality of the film must have got to him. The motorcycle fantasy spins out into the exhilaration of a crash, or resurrecting in the prickle of a hedgerow, and then proceeding to war…
This is amazingly well spun, and it's detailed sex that's fraught with movement and sentiment, as if each body shift represents something different to represent.
I was sick of writing porn. But it's much easier to make myself write porn than make myself write something funny :D
Yeah, the ending... is the anti-funny, sorry. But I figured you could take it in different ways (just like Jack!), and I couldn't resist giving it just a little bit of plot... Anyway, woot!
Ah, Hope. You are the pronificient mistress of us all. Just-awoken sex, in all its slightly sweaty and morning-breath glory, is a very special favorite of mine; to get both the realistic and truly loving detail so right -- the pungency and the hotness -- is a real gift. As always, the rhythm and the sound of this just work, and then you underscore it with sharply placed visuals; this time, it's the recurring motif of the pyjamas that does it. Gorgeous.
And how much do I love it that Jack was watching Lawrence of Arabia??
The heavy curtains are no match for the smoggy morning light, tinting the room now with an oily brightness that makes the blue cotton of Ianto’s disheveled pyjamas look like aged paper. Jack breathes the moment in for a little while longer, then rolls out of the bed and leaves the room.
Lovely and nommable! Favourite part -- that you likened the jammies to aged paper preceeding that ending. It's like Jack is going through a future-verson of the old photo box.
Well I'm not laughing, but this was quite brilliant. You really do write sex so well, capturing every little detail. Gosh how bittersweet at the end, that gave it a real Philip K Dick twist.
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Hope, once again you leave all the rest of us pornificators in the dust. Honest to god, woman. I know I said humpour, but that was only because I thought you were sick of writing porn.
It’s too bloody hot, though, especially with woollen blanket and Ianto’s body not used to sleeping clothed. He’s all soft and warm and somnolent, like a feverish child.
and
Jack moans open-mouthed praise in response, the sound startlingly close in the dampened acoustics of the room. He rubs his cheek against Ianto’s sandpapery jaw, the sound and sensation abrasive and sudden to his film-softened senses. His heart speeds to a gallop; he straightens his body enough to sit back firmly again, opening his eyes and guiding Ianto’s sleep-clumsy hand to his cock.
OH AND:
His heart leaps in his chest at the thought, and he shouldn’t be thrown that quickly into visceral imagination; the non-linear temporality of the film must have got to him. The motorcycle fantasy spins out into the exhilaration of a crash, or resurrecting in the prickle of a hedgerow, and then proceeding to war…
This is amazingly well spun, and it's detailed sex that's fraught with movement and sentiment, as if each body shift represents something different to represent.
Thank you so much. MONEY WELL SPENT!
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I was sick of writing porn. But it's much easier to make myself write porn than make myself write something funny :D
Yeah, the ending... is the anti-funny, sorry. But I figured you could take it in different ways
(just like Jack!), and I couldn't resist giving it just a little bit of plot... Anyway, woot!THANKS!
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And how much do I love it that Jack was watching Lawrence of Arabia??
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Jack/T.E. Lawrence totally happened.
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The heavy curtains are no match for the smoggy morning light, tinting the room now with an oily brightness that makes the blue cotton of Ianto’s disheveled pyjamas look like aged paper. Jack breathes the moment in for a little while longer, then rolls out of the bed and leaves the room.
And the end leaves me wondering...
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*shakes fist in your mysterious endings direction*
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Thank you :)
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WELL DONE!
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And for the record (because there is still a part of me that is an eternal optimist), I agree with nancybrown. They're having a dirty weekend.
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Thank you!!
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Seriously well done.
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Mmmm hmmmm
Dirty weekend away?
Yes?
Cause any other options are just a little bit disturbing.
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Thanks!
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So fucking hot!! :D :D :D
*applause, applause*
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