Here's a scene I just wrote from a fic I'm working on. I haven't gotten this far in it yet (no where near, actually), but the scene just came to me (Ianto standing there with the fag) and I had to write it down. And now I'm posting it because I feel like it and I'm rather fond of it. There are oblique references in the text, but the icon is acually a hint too, to the setting (Now it's obvious).
Jack woke up to an empty bed, (sheets tucked up around his shoulders, the rumpled fabric over the mattress indicating where Ianto had lain beside him, already cold) and a gibbous moon staring down at him through the window. The moonlight cast shadows of the furniture and nameless things seemed to move in them.
He got up and crossed the room to stand naked in the window, looking down at the empty streets. He saw a movement at the end of the road and, after watching for a moment as it moved slowly away, turned away, picking up pants and shirt of the floor (probably his, only ones there) and pulling them on. He grabbed his coat off the chair before he left, closing and locking the door carefully behind him.
He found Ianto standing near the edge of the cliff that fell away to the breakers, gazing out over the ocean. The wet, tangled grasses came up nearly to his knees and he was huddled into himself, against the cold sea breeze. He cradled a cigarette in his hand and as Jack watched, he took a deep drag from it, seeming to seek warmth and comfort in it's trailing smoke.
He looked incredibly pale under the moonlight, hair and suit almost black against the white of his skin. Ghost-like, drowned, and Jack tried to quell the morbid thought. He blinked and the image was gone, and there was Ianto, still ghostly, but oh-so-beautiful, lone figure against the desolate heath and endless dark ocean.
After a few more moments of watching, Jack approached Ianto, quiet, but careful to make just enough noise so that the Welshman would know someone was coming. Ianto stiffened, his fingers tightening around the cigarette, and Jack paused a few feet away. Without turning his head, Ianto reached back slowly with his left hand, until his fingers brushed against the familiar fabric of Jack coat and he relaxed, letting out a measured breath before taking another drag from the cigarette. Jack stepped closer, Ianto's hand still curled around the edge of his coat, and wrapped his arms around him from behind, resting his chin on the other man's shoulder. Ianto's body relaxed into the embrace, leaning back against him.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?"
"That doesn't make it right."
Oh gods, the formatting. Copying from Notepad's going to be a fucking nightmare isn't it, unless I find a better way to do this. Because there's no way I'm abandoning notepad, I like it too much (fixedsys FTW!).
I love writing in notebooks with my fountain pens, but for some reason, I just write much better on the computer *sigh*.
I also love the night. I've wished for as long as I can remember that I could be nocturnal. I still hope that someday I'll be able to do it, at least for a little while. Oh well, sleepy tiem nao.