Diplomatic (Season 2, during "Sleeper")

"Scratches all over the paint, rear windscreen needs to be replaced—general explosion related damage. Standard." Ianto held up the CB radio he'd chased Jack into his office with, his expression deadly. "But this—do you have any idea what happens to gaffer's tape when exposed to high heat?"

"End of the world situation! It was the only way to contact—" Jack stepped back behind his desk as Ianto advanced on him; he was more nervous than he'd care to admit, and more turned on than Ianto probably would have approved of. The radio was tossed onto a pile of paperwork with an audible thump, and Ianto had him cornered. Jack panicked. "You said I was bad in bed!"

"What?" Ianto stopped. There was still a chair between them. His eyes narrowed. "What?" Realising that this was his only shot to get out of this with all limbs intact, Jack straightened up and crossed his arms. He frowned and hoped he looked convincing.

"You agreed with Gwen that my manners in bed were… 'atrocious' is the word I think she used." He leaned back against the wall, trying to look more serious and less like he'd just been trapped there. "If anybody is going to be annoyed, I think I've got a decent case—of kissing and telling and of slander, no less. It's been a while, sure, but I don't recall you ever complaining about my manners before."

There it was, that faint blush inching its way up from that starched collar. Jack gave himself a mental pat on the back then took a step forward, causing Ianto to step back. Still, Jack was quicker, less discombobulated, and managed to wrap one arm around Ianto's shoulders before any escapes could be made. He kept it friendly, because while Ianto might be receptive to the idea of being more than friendly again, he'd also made it clear to Jack that they weren't back where they had been and that an effort would have to be made this time around.

"Here's what I propose." Jack laid his free hand on Ianto's chest because, hey, he was going to be good but not that good. "I'll get some of that industrial adhesive remover and clean off the goo myself. Tomorrow, scouts honour." Ianto's heart was speeding up, and Jack bit back a grin, his palm rubbing slow little circles. "You can call and make an appointment to get the SUV done at that nice garage instead of slaving away at it yourself, and I'll even tell Owen that he has to clear all the gear out first. All you've got to do is invite me over to your place for a nice dinner sometime soon, and I'd call that even. How 'bout it?" The tips of Ianto's ears were pink, which Jack knew was a very promising sign.

"All right." The words came out a bit husky, they both noticed it, and Ianto cleared his throat before continuing. "All right. If it's all cleaned up tomorrow we're even." There was a very pregnant pause, but Jack had more than enough time to wait it out. He smiled, a little smugly, and Ianto sighed. "Tomorrow night, and I'll cook steaks."

It was official. Jack had reasoned Ianto Jones out of a homicidal cleaning rage and into a date; he could talk anybody into or out of anything. He was the king. A diplomatic genius. He was just—

Then they both heard the shouting, and it all went to hell. Again.