I Don't Think That Means What You Think It Means

The advertisement would have to wait, as would the next illustration for Marissa's book, and the samples he'd promised to send to a perspective customer.

The kind of customer you want when you're angling for work!

Ianto bit down on Jack’s lip as his finger pushed inside him groaning heavily.

‘Ouch!’ Jack laughed his lip bleeping slightly.

I know, I know, I should stop reading this fic, but it makes me laugh.

After quickly dispatching the rouge Weevil to a cell (after a fight; it really was rouge) and watching Gwen leave for a second time, Jack returned to the kitchenette to find it empty and tidy; Ianto had cleared all the mugs and rubbish and turned off the coffee machine.

That Weevil is really red-faced at being caught, and I don't blame it one bit.

Jack had always found the space scary in a good way; it saved getting overly attached to something he'd get overly attached to, although this had come to be his home, he lived, worked and loved here.

[and then]

The backbone of the Torchwood 3 team, making sure everything ran smoothly, all the archiving, filing, feeding (of both the team and the animals) and generally taking care of everyone, which went largely unnoticed, how easily the Welshman had blended himself into the background, working like a perfectly oiled machine.

[ETA: and then!]

Jack smiled knowingly, he'd heard Ianto listening to that song before, it was in his c.d. collection, one Jack clearly remembered listening to while he and Ianto were having sex after the cannibals.