This story was inspired by the truly ludicrous amount of sex in series one of Torchwood, to the point where I just stopped watching it. (Series two was good, though.) One can only imagine the chaos that would result were some poor bureaucrat sent to check up on them...
"Well, the paperwork all seems to be in order, Captain Harkness- oh dear god what are those two doing? And is that a reanimated corpse they have with them?"
There were a lot of faults Richard Schechter, of the government's Internal Audit Commission, could find with Torchwood: gross wastage of taxpayer money; higher employee turnover than the Prime Minister's office; illegal housing of large – not to mention technically extinct – animals. However, one thing struck him from the moment he entered the headquarters: they never stopped fucking. It was worse than the Home Office Christmas party.
Richard had been drilled to accept limited displays of workplace affection: such things improved productivity and kept the wage slaves happy. However, he was fairly sure that even in a place where 'workplace professionalism' meant 'using a condom', this didn't include shagging your medic against a desk and gleefully blaming alien pheromones. He was absolutely damn certain that, when an alarm went off in the middle of said shagging, the correct response was not, 'Think the apocalypse can wait until we've come?'
The final straw came when he was charged by a velociraptor – not actually that startling when you worked in Whitehall – and Jack Harkness flung him aside. And landed on top of him. And gave him a frighteningly lecherous grin and made an off-colour comment about dinosaurs.
Oh, their funding was being downgraded.