Author's Note: Yup, as promised, here's Jack, who doesn't know what to make of Ianto. Isn't he just adorable when he's thinking with his genitals?

JACK

What was I supposed to think? Hot guy dressed like he was advertising, and watching me like he was trying to look interested. Like I can't tell the difference between real desire and feigned attraction after all these years. I knew the moment it shifted, too. He reached out and mentioned the cut on my neck, and his breathing changed. I was tempted, so tempted, to find out why he was there, what he was offering, but he knew what a Weevil was, and that made him a potential threat. I had to know more before I did anything. "Jones. Ianto Jones," he'd said. I wondered if he knew that he'd given me the key to his entire life with just his name. I slung the Weevil over my shoulder, thanked him, and as I walked away I heard him call out, "Anytime. By the way, love the coat."

Great line, huh? I didn't turn around for another look because I didn't want him to see my grin. It wasn't the kind of line anyone plans, which meant he was looking for an excuse to say one more thing before I was out of range. It meant that he was interested in me. Hot, interested, and impulsive, which was just about perfect. So when I got back to the Hub I did a little research and promptly came to the conclusion that I wanted nothing at all to do with Mr. Ianto Jones. Torchwood One, and a Canary Wharf survivor? Not many survivors, and even fewer healthy enough to go after a Weevil with a tree branch. No chance our encounter was coincidence, so I suspected he wanted a job, though I couldn't imagine why, after all he'd seen. I smirked when I looked at his personnel file. 'Able but not exceptional'. Clever of Yvonne to hire him for research and archives; a brilliant mind with access to that kind of information would be dangerous. Still, not a mess I wanted to get involved in, so I put Jones, his tight jeans, and his exquisite arse out of my mind.

Mr. Jones was waiting for me outside the tourist office the next morning, wearing a different outfit in the same style and offering a cup of coffee. Best coffee I'd ever had, actually, and I felt my resolve wavering. No, I told myself, there was no way I was going give in just because he showed up with coffee precisely as I was heading out for my much-needed caffeine fix. It was an excellent strategy, for sure, but I wasn't going to fall for it. I recited his CV to him, including the name of his girlfriend. I'd known she died at the Battle, but I wanted to know if he'd admit it. He did.

I tried to leave him behind a few times, but Jones was a tenacious bastard, and he kept stopping me, stepping in front of me and trying to present his case. He was clearly desperate, even offering to work for free, and I was almost tempted to hire him just to find out what was so important to him, but I held back. I told him there was no place for him, and as I walked away he complimented my coat again. And again, I smiled to myself. Whatever it was that had him wanting into Torchwood Three, he was clearly intrigued by me on a personal level. It was a damn shame that I didn't intend to do anything about it. Have I already mentioned how good he looked in those jeans? Amazing.

Dark. Raining. And I really didn't want to be out on a Rift call, but the others were busy with various things, so there I was. And there was Ianto Jones stepping calmly into the road in front of me. I hit the brakes. What the hell? Had I not been clear enough? Was he as unbalanced as the other survivors? I was wet, tired, and angry, and was just about to ram him with the SUV when he mentioned the pterodactyl.

By the time we got to the warehouse my coat was soaked and heavy, so I stripped it off and tossed it by the door. When we first went in for a look, the thing swooped down at us, and we dodged right back out the door. He commented on my aftershave, and I admit I preened a little. I didn't mean to mention '51st century pheromones', but I was distracted, busy thinking about what it meant that Ianto Jones could smell them. The thing most people don't understand about my pheromones is that they can't make someone want me; a person who truly isn't interested won't even notice them. That he did, and enough to comment on it, meant that he wanted me. And I was attracted to him too, in that wet suit that clung to him in all the right places. If the jeans had been enough to make my mouth water, this suit made it go dry. Mind-numbing.

Job to do, I told myself, think about the pretty one later. I promised myself a bit of personal time later in the evening to fantasize and got my mind back on the target. He begged for a job again, and I had to admit we worked well together. Very well, in fact. It didn't even occur to me to wonder why he had dark chocolate, or how he knew the pterodactyl would be interested in it. In hindsight, there were a lot of things I didn't notice which, looking back, was surely his plan. Then I was up in the air, and the creature shook me off, and I fell into Ianto's arms, knocking him to the ground. I flipped us out of the way of the falling dinosaur, laughing harder than I had in a long time. He felt so good there, on top of me. I wanted so badly to kiss him. No– I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted him to follow through on the silent offer he'd made when he reached for me that first night in the park, but he didn't. He pulled away from me with an awkward, "I should go."

Had I finally scared him off? Suddenly, I couldn't bear the thought of Ianto Jones walking away from me. I told myself that it was because I admired his resourcefulness and determination, but looking back it was because I had felt his erection against my hip and mine against his thigh, and I wanted more. I offered him a job. And I complimented his suit. I hadn't planned to say it; I was just looking for one more thing to say to him before he was out of range.