Chapter 10 horse of a different colour
This is a horse of an entirely different colour!
The room was huge but the warm air flowing around them made it feel small. The Doctor was giving off a nervous vibe and John suspected this was what was closing the area in, this man had some sort of control over his surroundings if his temper was anything to go by earlier.
Display cases filled the room with Ianto flitting from one to the next like a hummingbird amongst bright flowers. His chirps of interest and delight made him seem even younger than the man's body he had returned to. John wondered if fragments of the child remained.
The fitted dark brown trousers were a stark contrast to the suits he had seen him in before and the white shirt that billowed open at the neck with the loose sleeves rolled to his elbow lent a pirate like image to John's fertile mind. The naked feet connecting that beauty with the floor really played on John's foot fetish and he wondered if Jack still liked to suck toes too.
John watched Ianto with a practiced eye and found his mouth watering at the images young Jones called up of them both naked, Ianto and Jack naked or maybe all three of them writhing in a snake pit of lust. The memory of his chest against his cheek with Ianto's chest hair tickling his skin was still making John's face tingle.
Ianto's shoulders were broader than first impressions and the brief images of the naked body he had wrestled with in the med-bay showed there to be taut muscular flesh that had the potential to be mean and unforgiving. John wondered if Jack and Ianto wrestled naked, not just sexually but as two men like the ancient Greeks. He was definitely toned as though a fighter, not a tea-boy. No wonder Jack had been desperate to keep this little Gem hidden under his pinstriped suit of armour.
Scars had enticed John's fingers during the growth cycle and John had recognised blade, bullet and even fire memory in the flesh he had briefly stroked while the boy became the man in his arms. Definite hidden talents and secrets that maybe even Jack had yet to unravel to a completed prose.
No wonder he had challenged John in the lift, even with a gun to his temple. John wondered what might have happened if he hadn't used the rest of the team as bargaining chips that night. Would Ianto have left like he finally did or would John have seen this sooner? Did Jack school him in how to be this discrete, down play this animalistic fever and cover his now obvious strength with gentle speech and silent movements?
John had a sudden thought that stopped his breath in his throat. Did Jack train him at all or was he still being blinded by a masquerade? Was John privy to these fragmented moments of beauty, as the man had not yet fully recovered his adult mind? Who was this Ianto Jones that had changed Jack so quickly? Who was dominant now?
Ianto crouched to look closer at a display case and his trousers shifted to cup his butt with his feet turned up as he balanced on his toes in such a way that a low moan escaped John's lips before he could stop himself.
Ianto loved looking at things, perhaps it was his archival soul but all of these weapons on display were making him excited. His fingers itched to test the weight of the sword he was currently eyeballing and the Doctor's nervous throat clearing brought him back to reality.
"That cut my hand off ya know!" he said conversationally in the same manner as he had earlier exclaimed that the Tardis wanted them to see one of "her" rooms.
To learn that the Tardis had things the Doctor did not approve of was strange and Ianto was again reminded that this was a living creature; a sentient being Jack had once called her. He supposed it is not that far of a stretch to agree that there would be things she and he disagreed on and investigating this weapons room was worth the discomfort the Doctor was trying to shrug off.
To also realise that she was whispering to Ianto was some sort of revelation to the Doctor who seemed not to be included in their silent conversations.
Another blade caught his eye, long and tapered with a gilded handle, he felt an itch in the palm of his hand as the Tardis whispered gentle encouragement to explore it further. The metal had a bluish tint to it and the writing along the blade was unfamiliar but something tickled the back of his mind like an old song where you can't remember all the lyrics but recognise the chorus. Finally giving in to impulse, which Jack always encouraged, Ianto snatched the blade from the velvet bed and swung it in an arc around his body.
Wow. Lovely. Ianto sighed to himself as he extended his arm and felt his fingertips melt into the gold handle. Allowing his wrist to loosen and twist he sighed with remembered fragmented images of friends and sparing partners long gone in Canary Warf's fall. Their blood still stained his hands in his dreams as he had fought to save Lisa.
Heavy and dense yet finely folded and balanced to the perfect hand that now held it. The hum of the blade revealed its pleasure in Ianto's discovery of it. Finally a new master that sung its almost forgotten melody.
Ianto grinned with glee as he stepped back into the main floor and began to swing for real. He knew what this was, had seen one before at Torchwood One but not to this workmanship. Having trained extensively with the T1 sword he was ecstatic to find one that finally matched his height and strength.
The loss of the T1 blade because it had caught and melted into a Dalek while he was cutting a path for himself, Lisa and those who knew enough to follow Agent Jones was still heavy in his heart but this one … oh this one was a beauty. Surpassing the inferior reddish hued T1 blade this is a horse of an entirely different colour!
John felt the air stop moving then swirl around them in a new rhythm as the Tardis altered to accommodate her little chick. The room shifted until a large matted area was lit with Ianto twisting in the middle. Ianto was oblivious to the changes, as his eyes never left the blade's tip as he swung, dipped and moved. It began to glow a brilliant blue at the tip as it sung. Like a sparkler, it left a resonant glow seconds behind its physical presence and Ianto's body appeared tattooed by the blue glowing lines curling around him.
Like a delicate dancer, fluid and graceful, he moved. Ianto swung, his hips moving and his shoulders undulating with the weight they distributed through the air. He concentrated on his breathing and tried to clear his mind of annoying thoughts until only the chime-like singing of the blade was heard.
John did not remember stepping forward or falling to a knee as he watched. He knew his mouth has dry so he must be panting and if his pants were any tighter he may have a medical problem. By the Gods, he was beautiful. The doctor's hand found his shoulder and squeezed, calming his rapid heartbeat.
The tempo changed, the hum became a siren song and Ianto's eyes closed as he lent to the music.
Ianto's feet suddenly left the ground and he began to swing as a counterweight, his body began a slow swinging arc through the air as the blade sung. Both man and metal were now airborne as they danced through the air and his lean body bent and twisted in an un-natural way that made John moan and the Doctor move quickly toward the spinning light show.
The blade nicked the Doctor's box tie and several pieces flew into the whirlwind to dance about Ianto's feet as he spin in an airborne display of grace.
Movement. Colour. Ianto stopped. The blade grew silent and the tip tickled the Doctor's nose. Ianto's feet touched down with feather light taps and he met the gaze of the time lord.
"Beautiful, you're a bladesinger" the Doctor breathed, leaning past the blade to look deeper into the young man's eyes that shone as electric blue as the blade in his command.