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The Forms of Things Unknown/Torchwood Fanfic: Vortices
Yesterday there was discussion here of favourite DMC roles and Tone Hobart was mentioned as well as a possible Dr Who/The Forms of Things Unknown cross-over and then ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
glennagirl posted another beautiful photo of DMC here resulting in the following slash ficlet of a PG-13ish nature.
Disclaimer: Don't own any of the characters or their universes and no money is being made!
(Also posted on mfu_yumdaily.)
Excerpt:
Tone’s foot was in the air, his weight moving his body towards the centre of the time-tilter, his device that had failed. No, the time-tilter worked; I failed. Failed to perfect it in time, failed to understand the complexities of the situation, of the woman’s guilt, of my own intent. Time to capitulate, to undo…
Vortices
Tone’s foot was in the air, his weight moving his body towards the centre of the time-tilter, his device that had failed. No, the time-tilter worked; I failed. Failed to perfect it in time, failed to understand the complexities of the situation, of the woman’s guilt, of my own intent. Time to capitulate, to undo…
“Don’t!”
It was a command. Despair cringed away from it. Tone thought to obey, but his foot was already descending.
The arm around his waist was strong. Tone wasn’t moving forward any more, wasn’t moving and yet there was a sense of vertigo. Not in him, but around him somehow, waiting to be felt. Different from when he used the time-tilter before. Maybe it’s been damaged. Another failure. Tone closed his eyes, words coming of their own accord. "As when with the daring, last look of despairing, fix’d on futurity…" The arm was strong. Tone felt it holding him despite the whirlwinds around him. Temporal whirlwinds. He knew that’s what they were. The machine’s off kilter, out of tilt. My time-tilter’s out of tilt. An odd smile curved his lips. There was humour in it after all. The muscles of the forearm pressed against Tone’s stomach, strong fingers spread over his lower back, grasping, holding him firmly. Against the whirlwinds, against…a chest. Tone could feel the breath rhythmically swelling the chest against his back, the fingers gripping him tightly against the pull of the vortices.
I would have obeyed, he apologised to the possessor of the arm, the hand. But my foot was in the air. It was… “Too late,” Tone whispered.
“Not a concept I believe in,” a voice by his ear replied. There was a hint of humour in the voice, as if it didn’t take things too seriously.
“Perhaps I take things too seriously,“ Tone murmured. The arm tightened around his waist, pulling him closer against the broad chest. Your arm is serious, Tone thought and let his muscles relax. His body slumped forward. Another arm clamped across his shoulders, bringing his head back. His temple brushed against a jaw.
“The tilter’s malfunctioning. Why didn’t it malfunction and let me stay dead the first time?” Tone lamented into the whirlpools tugging at him.
“I asked myself the same question long ago. There was a good reason for me. There is a good reason for you.“ The voice was definite, not offering an opinion. Tone found himself believing it. “I…” The voice paused.
Interest flickered through Tone’s mind. He lifted his head away from the supportive shoulder, turned towards the voice and opened his eyes. “You…?” Tone asked. The whirlwinds were abating. A grey, diffuse light revealed the profile of a large, handsome face.
“I’ve…” There was another pause, not from uncertainty, but for careful selection of the next words. “Commandeered your journey. Your destination was wrong,” the voice concluded.
“So where am I going now?” Tone asked, finding he had an inclination to continue travelling.
The head turned and Tone looked into an almost grim pair of eyes. “With me,” the voice stated.
Tone considered the words and the look. He raised his hand, let it move along the arm still securely wound about his waist. The tightness around the eyes regarding Tone lessened as Tone’s fingertips glided back to the wrist and crept under the sleeve, coming to rest on the vein pulsing there. “Yes,” Tone affirmed, enunciating the word slowly, watching the eyes of the man with the strong arm around his waist, feeling the vein beneath his fingertips thump more slowly.
The winds were swirling away, ruffling their hair as they departed. The colourless light was growing stronger. Tone glanced away from the face, saw grey mountains rising in the pale distance. They seemed insignificant. Tone looked back to the man whose eyes had not shifted from his face. There was significance.
“Jack,” the man said. Tone nodded slightly as though he had known all along. He tilted his chin upwards and Jack leaned forward to seal the agreement.
*******
(Quote: The Bridge of Sighs by Thomas Hood)
*******
The continuation may be found here.
glennagirl posted another beautiful photo of DMC here resulting in the following slash ficlet of a PG-13ish nature.Disclaimer: Don't own any of the characters or their universes and no money is being made!
(Also posted on mfu_yumdaily.)
Excerpt:
Tone’s foot was in the air, his weight moving his body towards the centre of the time-tilter, his device that had failed. No, the time-tilter worked; I failed. Failed to perfect it in time, failed to understand the complexities of the situation, of the woman’s guilt, of my own intent. Time to capitulate, to undo…
Tone’s foot was in the air, his weight moving his body towards the centre of the time-tilter, his device that had failed. No, the time-tilter worked; I failed. Failed to perfect it in time, failed to understand the complexities of the situation, of the woman’s guilt, of my own intent. Time to capitulate, to undo…
“Don’t!”
It was a command. Despair cringed away from it. Tone thought to obey, but his foot was already descending.
The arm around his waist was strong. Tone wasn’t moving forward any more, wasn’t moving and yet there was a sense of vertigo. Not in him, but around him somehow, waiting to be felt. Different from when he used the time-tilter before. Maybe it’s been damaged. Another failure. Tone closed his eyes, words coming of their own accord. "As when with the daring, last look of despairing, fix’d on futurity…" The arm was strong. Tone felt it holding him despite the whirlwinds around him. Temporal whirlwinds. He knew that’s what they were. The machine’s off kilter, out of tilt. My time-tilter’s out of tilt. An odd smile curved his lips. There was humour in it after all. The muscles of the forearm pressed against Tone’s stomach, strong fingers spread over his lower back, grasping, holding him firmly. Against the whirlwinds, against…a chest. Tone could feel the breath rhythmically swelling the chest against his back, the fingers gripping him tightly against the pull of the vortices.
I would have obeyed, he apologised to the possessor of the arm, the hand. But my foot was in the air. It was… “Too late,” Tone whispered.
“Not a concept I believe in,” a voice by his ear replied. There was a hint of humour in the voice, as if it didn’t take things too seriously.
“Perhaps I take things too seriously,“ Tone murmured. The arm tightened around his waist, pulling him closer against the broad chest. Your arm is serious, Tone thought and let his muscles relax. His body slumped forward. Another arm clamped across his shoulders, bringing his head back. His temple brushed against a jaw.
“The tilter’s malfunctioning. Why didn’t it malfunction and let me stay dead the first time?” Tone lamented into the whirlpools tugging at him.
“I asked myself the same question long ago. There was a good reason for me. There is a good reason for you.“ The voice was definite, not offering an opinion. Tone found himself believing it. “I…” The voice paused.
Interest flickered through Tone’s mind. He lifted his head away from the supportive shoulder, turned towards the voice and opened his eyes. “You…?” Tone asked. The whirlwinds were abating. A grey, diffuse light revealed the profile of a large, handsome face.
“I’ve…” There was another pause, not from uncertainty, but for careful selection of the next words. “Commandeered your journey. Your destination was wrong,” the voice concluded.
“So where am I going now?” Tone asked, finding he had an inclination to continue travelling.
The head turned and Tone looked into an almost grim pair of eyes. “With me,” the voice stated.
Tone considered the words and the look. He raised his hand, let it move along the arm still securely wound about his waist. The tightness around the eyes regarding Tone lessened as Tone’s fingertips glided back to the wrist and crept under the sleeve, coming to rest on the vein pulsing there. “Yes,” Tone affirmed, enunciating the word slowly, watching the eyes of the man with the strong arm around his waist, feeling the vein beneath his fingertips thump more slowly.
The winds were swirling away, ruffling their hair as they departed. The colourless light was growing stronger. Tone glanced away from the face, saw grey mountains rising in the pale distance. They seemed insignificant. Tone looked back to the man whose eyes had not shifted from his face. There was significance.
“Jack,” the man said. Tone nodded slightly as though he had known all along. He tilted his chin upwards and Jack leaned forward to seal the agreement.
*******
(Quote: The Bridge of Sighs by Thomas Hood)
*******
The continuation may be found here.