Cathryn (formerly catslash) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
remindmeofthe) wrote2008-03-18 11:10 pm
remindmeofthe) wrote2008-03-18 11:10 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Torchwood drabble. Bet you thought you'd escaped, didn't you? Owen in the recent past 'verse, which needs a shorter name if I'm going to keep messing around in it before I try actually writing substantial pieces of it. If I do try to pull it into a real fic, I have no idea how much of the stuff from the drabbles I'll use; a lot of this is just getting a feel for things.
Actual slash in this one! I wrote it by hand, which is an absolute bastard to do. I have a page and a half of scribbling and rewritings and numbers and equations. It fucking better be a hundred words. I refuse to check in a word count program because if I managed to count wrong all eleventeen times I will cry.
Sense of touch is the only one of the five Owen's lacking. So he can't feel Ianto's lips crashing onto his with desperate force, but he can taste it. Can taste Ianto, coffee and salt and lingering traces of blood courtesy of those cannibals Owen's invested countless ounces of tequila in trying to forget.
The taste is gone almost before it's there, though, Ianto jerking back and staring. "You're cold."
Fuck. "Wouldn't kill you lot to turn the heat up down here," Owen tries.
Ianto steps back, giving him a long, unreadable look, then nods once. "I'll see to it."
Actual slash in this one! I wrote it by hand, which is an absolute bastard to do. I have a page and a half of scribbling and rewritings and numbers and equations. It fucking better be a hundred words. I refuse to check in a word count program because if I managed to count wrong all eleventeen times I will cry.
Sense of touch is the only one of the five Owen's lacking. So he can't feel Ianto's lips crashing onto his with desperate force, but he can taste it. Can taste Ianto, coffee and salt and lingering traces of blood courtesy of those cannibals Owen's invested countless ounces of tequila in trying to forget.
The taste is gone almost before it's there, though, Ianto jerking back and staring. "You're cold."
Fuck. "Wouldn't kill you lot to turn the heat up down here," Owen tries.
Ianto steps back, giving him a long, unreadable look, then nods once. "I'll see to it."