What Cannot Be Expressed
"Music speaks what cannot be expressed, soothes the mind and gives it rest, heals the heart and makes it whole, flows from heaven to the soul."
This is a new series of one-shots based upon songs that inspire me in my life. I have always found music to be one of the great truth-tellers in my life, the one thing which allows me to express who I truly am, and so I felt it was the ideal medium through which to explore the truth of Torchwood. These one-shots will be likely to revolve predominantly around Ianto Jones, and his relationships with Jack and the other characters.
I will try and update at least once a week, but it depends entirely on whether I find a song that inspires me. If I go too long without updating, give me a shake and I'll put the iPod on shuffle.
The rating will probably change depending on what mood I'm in, but I'm rating it overall "T" just to be safe.
Disclaimer: If Torchwood was mine, characters would be properly developed before they are killed off. As you can see, I do not own Torchwood.
Title: The Beauty Underneath
Characters/Pairings: Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness, Jack/Ianto
Warnings: Heavily implied M/M relationship.
Summary: Ianto Jones was a beautiful man...a man whose beauty was defined by his inner ugliness.
A/N: This is a song from "The Phantom of the Opera" sequel, "Love Never Dies". It is copyrighted to Andrew Lloyd Webber. I do, however, own the CD and have tickets for the show in April.
(From the Musical "Love Never Dies" by Andrew Lloyd Webber)
"Do you find yourself beguiled by the dangerous and wild, do you feed off the need for the beauty underneath?"
Ianto Jones was a beautiful man.
Jack had seen this the very first moment he saw him; hair matted with crimson, dark jacket and jeans hugging tightly to the contours of his body, smirking in that way that said "yes, me, look at me, I'm the one you want."
And then, all those days with that suited Adonis hovering in the corners of his peripheral vision; Jack hadn't been able to help himself staring at the sheer gorgeousness of the young man. The way Ianto held himself, the upright posture and the strict tightness in his shoulders, the way those slim finger smoothed unconsciously, nervously over the silken material of his tie, excited Jack's sensibilities. When the flash of charcoal-material caught in the corner of his eye, Jack's first (and, let's be honest, only logical) reaction was to turn and stare at that beauty before him.
It was a sophisticated kind of beauty – one which Jack soon learned could be stripped away to find the rough-hewn beauty underneath.
For, beneath his cool exterior, Ianto held a passion that very few people got to see; a deep seated loyalty and an ability to love that verged on obsession. As shiny as a crystal on the outside, the young Welshman was as jagged and unrefined as broken glass within himself, glinting dangerously in the light of Jack's eyes.
Stripped of his suits and his butler character-model, Ianto's rough edges refracted the glare of the Captain's gaze, dancing in a rainbow of shining colour and brightness, transforming that cool glow into an awe-inspiring sight. On those nights when Jack held him tight, moved with him and against him, the lights and colours blinded him and yet urged him on, keen to discover the fiery core from which those flames were born.
It was a beauty that was ugly almost in its intensity, and yet more brilliant for its conviction.
The suit, the tie, the coffee; traditional beauty, the beauty of the chiselled jaw and the Mills and Boon novel; was all very well and good in Jack's eyes. It sparked the interest, turned the eye in the direction, whetted the appetite of lust and desire.
But that naked fury, that harsh, chaotic ugliness that hovered tentatively beneath the surface, ready to break free, was something altogether different. It was what kept Jack clinging to him as the fire in their bellies cooled, curled inwards towards him and clenching him tight against his chest, eager to meld with him and absorb some of that fire.
It was a beauty that danced on the tip of Jack's senses, that made him listen to heartbeat and hear a symphony, made him want to feel, and taste, and map every single inch of Ianto's body and mind.
And deep down, Jack acknowledged a painful truth.
Had Ianto merely been the sum of his exterior parts, that beautiful young man in the charcoal suit, then Jack would have taken what he could and run. Because he was, inherently, a bastard; he was rough and unrefined, a man built to deflect and withstand, whose smooth edge had been eroded steadily away by the sands of time. Ianto Jones could so easily have been just another shiny new toy, beautiful to behold and beautiful to touch, but discarded oh-so-easily after the sharp edges of Jack Harknesss had scratched the paintwork.
But Ianto Jones was something different – he was quiet, yet loud, discreet, yet extrovert, a man of logical reasoning who was simultaneously driven by a selfish passion. Ianto was a man of beauty whose beauty derived from his inner ugliness; it was what made him intriguing and all-consuming.
Ianto's jagged edges deflected the spears of Jack's own exterior; they fought against one another before slotting together, simultaneously hating and loving. They clung to one another, unable to let go. And as Jack's gaze followed Ianto around the room he could almost feel the searing heat of those edges against his own skin, his nerve-endings on fire as he relished the feeling of connection and interaction that he had not let himself feel for a long time.
Oh yes, Ianto Jones was a beautiful man.
Constructive Criticism is always welcomed, and I always use your words and advice to improve my work. I believe you can never stop bettering yourself!
Thank you for reading!