A/N: This didn't turn out exactly how I planned, but I also don't hate it, and that's always a pleasant bonus with my writing. Oh, and I adore Jack/Ianto ... poor, pretty Ianto. Enjoy!
Sleeping Beauty.
Forever; eternally, everlasting, without end.
Jack Harkness would live forever.
When time has no meaning, when you know that you will always exist, when you lose lover after lover until it hurts too much to ever love again, you reach a breaking point.
Eventually, you close yourself off, you lock your heart away beneath cool calculation and unyielding apathy – and no one, no one can break through that exterior. You won't let them.
You won't let them, that is, until they take you by surprise, until they creep up behind you and wriggle beneath your skin, forcing their way through the cracks in the icy wall that encases your steadily thumping heart.
Jack Harkness had built a towering wall of stone around his heart, but that had not been enough. It had splintered when that man - the man - had touched him; the pieces had fallen away, leaving him open, exposed, and vulnerable.
It was a shock - feeling again - and it hurt, but it felt good too. Like he had been awakened, revived.
One man had broken through; one man had made him love again, made him love like he had never imagined he could love, like he had never loved before. This love was pure, and bright, it was hopeful, strong, passionate, and unique.
It was his. It was theirs.
And now, the one he loved, the one he cherished above all others, was dead.
He should have known better than to let this happen, then to allow himself to feel this way, he should have known so much better.
Ianto lay before him, cold, unmoving; dead.
The lifeless shell did not twitch, or shift, or stir - it just lay there, as if frozen in sleep.
Tears burst from beneath Jack's eyelids, slithering viciously down his pale, blanched cheeks. The acidic fluid carved paths of torment down his once beautiful face, his face that was now eternally marred with this drenching grief, this devouring anguish that left his insides writhing and screaming in utter agony, shuddering and bleeding.
Jack looked at Ianto's face through his damp, itchy eyes, tracing along his lover's features with a disbelieving, desperate gaze.
His eyes trailed along the still man's smooth facial structure, his milky, porcelain skin that begged to be caressed. Jack's eyes lingered on the man's thin, provocative lips, the lips that had met his own dozens of times, but also, the lips that had met his own not nearly enough. He traced over the supple, beautiful skin. He tore his gaze away then, sliding his eyes along Ianto's nose. He loved that nose, the way it protruded from his face, the way it sniffed or twitched.
When he was finished his inspection, drinking in each feature with a vigorous desperation, he sighed.
Ianto was beautiful there, still and calm. It was as if he was just sleeping, just closing his eyes for a few quick minutes, to catch up on some lost sleep.
Maybe he was. It was a blind, false hope, but a hope he naively clung to.
Jack leant forward, his arms which cradled Ianto trembling violently. He pressed his own lips against the still man's, moving his warm, vigorous mouth against the cold, pliable lips that belonged to the one he held.
He was desperate, his actions frantic. He needed this; he needed this man, needed Ianto.
What would he do without him? How would he survive?
These were questions that he was unprepared to answer, unwilling to have to face.
He placed his mouth on Ianto's – sleeping Ianto's.
Because that's what he was doing, Ianto was sleeping. Just sleeping. He wasn't anything else, he wasn't dead. He was just caught in a deep sleep, unable to escape, and Jack would save him.
Jack loved him, and his love would wake the man he craved.
Just like sleeping beauty. The kiss of true love – it would break this taunting curse.
Jack's eyes roamed across Ianto's form, and then, as he watched his lover, that's when he decided, Ianto was sleeping beauty. He had to be, because he was incredibly beautiful, incredibly perfect – and this couldn't happen to someone so perfect, someone he needed so much.
Jack withdrew his lips then, waiting silently, remaining perfectly still, not daring to move, or speak, or breathe. He just waited.
He didn't know how long for, he couldn't know.
It could have been a mere instant - a second or two - or it could have been years, decades, centuries.
It didn't really matter, time didn't matter – only Ianto did, nothing else.
The tears didn't stop gushing down his face, and Ianto did not move.
He wasn't coming back to life.
Jack couldn't save him, and he would never be able to.
There was nothing, absolutely nothing he could do.
And that horrific realization raced through his body, stealing away any last glimpse of brightness, any faint glimmer of hope, or love, or need.
There was nothing, nothing to live for anymore.
But live he would.
Forever.
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