Title: Forever Young
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Ianto Jones/Tenth Doctor
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Rating: PG-13
Table: 1, 50scenes
Prompt: 44, Youth
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the Tenth Doctor or Jack Harkness. Please do not sue.

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The Doctor made a face, putting down the magazine he'd been looking at. It seemed that everything in this society seemed to focus on youth and beauty, he told himself, scowling at the model's face smiling up at him from the magazine cover. What would the people around him think if they knew more about him and the culture he came from?

What would they think if they knew his true age? That he was remarkably well-preserved for a man who was nearly a thousand years old? A wry smile crossed his handsome features at the idea; if he told anyone what his true age was, as well as where he came from, he'd find himself in a padded cell before the day was out.

Passing by a mirror mounted on the wall of the market he'd been strolling through, he paused to look at his reflection. He really didn't look bad for his age, he thought, raising a self-conscious hand to smooth down the fringe of hair that always seemed to hang over his eyes. There wasn't much that he could really do about his appearance; he normally didn't look at himself much, if he could help it.

But really .... it wasn't so bad. He turned his face to the side, smoothing his hair down a bit more. The only thing he'd really change were the freckles, if he had his way about it, he thought idly. They were all over his face, those little sun kisses that seemed to multiply whenever he was outside for any length of time.

Still, they didn't look too horrid. He realized with a start that there were people walking past and giving him odd looks; it must look a bit strange for a man to be standing in front of a mirror staring at himself. Clearing his throat, the Doctor turned and headed for the front of the market, heading out towards the sidewalk and turning in the direction of Ianto's apartment.

He wasn't even sure if Ianto was home, but if he was, then he could count on being able to spend a few hours there -- and maybe even the night. He'd already had a few nights there, though not in the capacity that he wanted. He ached to get closer to Ianto, to pour out his feelings to the young man. But thus far, he hadn't been able to gather enough courage to do it.

The Doctor shoved his hands into his pockets, walking with his head down, hardly looking at the sidewalk, the bright day, or the people around him. He was lost in thought, wondering just what Ianto would think if he were to walk in, sit down, and tell the young Welshman point-blank that he'd fallen in love and wanted to spend his life -- all of his lives -- with him. What would his most likely reaction be?

Shock? Most likely. Disgust? That was a possibility, too. Laughter? And add a third one to the list, the Doctor thought, kicking at a stone that appeared out of nowhere as he stepped off the sidewalk. He continued on across the street, chewing at his lower lip, narrowly avoiding a woman who was striding along the pavement in the opposite direction.

After all, what did he have to offer Ianto? He was nearly a thousand years old. He had no home in the world that Ianto existed in -- or anywhere else, either, he reminded himself, small hands clenching in his pockets. He was a nomad, a traveler, the last of his kind. He wasn't secure, wasn't stable, wasn't what any sane person would want in a relationship.

And he was lonely. That was the crux of it. He wanted someone to take away that loneliness.

No. Not someone. Ianto. He wanted Ianto.

Ianto had a life here, he told himself, his footsteps slowing as he neared Ianto's apartment building. He had friends, family, his job at Torchwood. And in the past, he'd had Jack -- a relationship that, even now, Ianto might not be completely over yet. He didnt't want to compete with Jack. The Doctor knew all too well what Jack's particular charms were. After all, he'd fallen victim them to them himself, in the not-too-distant past.

And what did he have? He had .... the Tardis. A lifetime -- no, several lifetimes -- of experiences behind him, and little to show for it. Not much to offer a young man who had his entire life ahead of him. A very young man, the Doctor told himself, frowning. A very beautiful young man. A young man who he wanted more than anything.

Youth counted for so much in this world, he reflected, stopping and looking up at the building. He could focus on the living-room window of Ianto's apartment, and his hearts quickened, wondering if Ianto was indeed there. Maybe even looking down on him at this moment. Looking down and possibly feeling his own heartbeat quicken with hidden desire that he might not even guess at yet.

That was fanciful thinking, wasn't it? He sighed, heading for the lobby door. Ianto probably didn't think of him as anything more than a friend, someone he could talk with and nothing else. It was all the Doctor had allowed himself to be, thus far. He'd kept his desires in check, so well that he didn't think Ianto even guessed at his inner emotions.

Ianto had so much that he probably took for granted -- youth and beauty being at the head of that list for most people. But not for him; no, he loved much more more about the Welsh boy than just his physical attributes. He loved Ianto's soft laughter, the sparkle of intelligence in his eyes, his fierce dedication to his beliefs, and to the people he was close to. He loved Ianto's soul, the light that burned deep within him.

Oh, to hell with the philosophizing. He just loved Ianto, loved everything he was. That was the long and short of it.

He made his way up the stairs and along the hallway that Ianto's apartment was on, stopping in front of the young man's door. He raised his hand to knock, then paused in midair. What would he do if Ianto wasn't here? Go back to the market, try to find some place to sit and watch the world go by? Or back to the Tardis, to sit and brood? Neither choice sounded very appealing.

He'd just have to wait and see if Ianto was there. He cleared his throat softly, wishing he had a mirror so he could check his appearance and make sure that he looked all right. There it was again -- that peculiar obsession with appearance, he thought, mentally admonishing himself. He shouldn't care what he looked like. After all, t didn't really matter, did it?

The Time Lord raised his hand again, meaning to rap his knuckles on the door a few times. Instead, he reeled back into the middle of the hallway when the door unexpectedly opened, and he was face-to-face with the object of his thoughts. Ianto stood there smiling at him, looking .... was it just his imagination, or did the Welsh boy look a bit, well, shy?

"I was looking out of the window and saw you on the pavement," Ianto murmured, his voice soft, a slight flush coloring his cheeks. "I thought you might be here to see me -- I didn't suppose you could know anyone else who lived in the neighborhood. Forgive me if I'm wrong, but I was hoping you were here to see me. I could use the company."

He stepped back so that the Doctor could walk into the apartment, closing the door after him and following the Doctor into the living room. The Time Lord sat down on the couch, swallowing hard and trying to get comfortable. Now that he was here, every word, every phrase that had been running through his mind had disappeared. He was at a complete loss for words.

Ianto sat down as well, turning towards him and tilting his head to the side, looking inquisitive. "Is something wrong? You look as if you have quite a lot on your mind." His grey-blue eyes searched the Doctor's dark ones, their gazes meeting and locking. Neither looked away; they were caught up in each other, unable to break the eye contact.

"I was ...." The Doctor swallowed again; suddenly, the words were pouring out and he couldn't stop them. "I was thinking about you. About me. About the fact that I have nothing to offer you. I don't belong in your world, Ianto. But I want to. I'd do anything, anything at all, to be able to fit into your world. Your world and your heart."

He stopped as abruptly as he'd started. Where had those words come from? And what was more -- what would Ianto's reaction to them be? It wasn't exactly the way he'd wanted to tell the Welsh boy about his feelings, but there it was, out in the open. After all these weeks of waiting, pining away, wanting Ianto so badly he could taste his desire, it was finally voiced.

Ianto leaned forward to place a hand on the Doctor's cheek, stroking the soft skin, his thumb tracing the outline of the Time Lord's heart-shaped upper lip. "You do," he whispered, moving closer to the Doctor and placing soft, gentle lips on his. The kiss was light, tender, searching; it was almost as though Ianto was asking if what he was doing was wanted.

The Doctor gasped when Ianto raised his head, his eyes large and dark as they met the young man's gaze. Was this really happening? Had Ianto actually .... kissed him? He raised a hand to his lips; yes, he could still feel the tingle of that kiss against his mouth, soft and hot and searing and melting and -- there were no words to describe how that kiss had felt.

"You're so much younger than me," he protested, his voice sounding weak to his own ears. "I'm old and worn out and .... I've seen so much, more than I've ever wanted to see. I'm older than you, Ianto, centuries older. I've spent several lifetimes looking for something I thought I could never have. And now that I've found it -- I'm afraid to reach for it."

"You don't have to be afraid." Ianto's voice was soft, almost a caress against the Doctor's skin. "You don't ever have to be afraid again. Not with me. Never with me."

"But I have nothing to offer you." He couldn't stop himself from voicing all the reasons that he shouldn't be with Ianto, all the things that were against the two of them. "I don't have a home. No safety, no security. I can't even tell you how long I'll be here, in this time, before I have to go. And I can't always take you with me. I can't give you anything, Ianto."

"You have more to offer me than you think," Ianto said softly, murmuring against the softness of the Doctor's mouth. "Yourself. That's all I need, or want. You. Just you. I don't want anything else."

"You want me?" The Doctor couldn't have been more surprised if Ianto had suddenly announced that he was becoming a voodoo priest and performing ritualistic sacrifices in Zimbabwe. "You .... want me?" he asked again, his mind almost unable to connect Ianto's words with the sudden surge in his hearts, the joy that was seeping into his consciousness.

"More than anything," the young man whispered, lowering his lips to the Doctor's mouth again, this time kissing the Time Lord even more possessively -- and passionately -- than before.

"I .... want you, too." The Doctor couldn't get another word out before Ianto's lips claimed his again, cutting off all speech and pulling him into a maelstrom of pure sensation.

Those were the last words he spoke for quite a while.

***