All part of the service.
Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood.
Summary: Late at night Ianto provides more than coffee.
Author's notes: This is first attempt at this fandom.
Double drabble. Australian spelling. Unbetaed.
Comments: Are welcome at firstname.lastname@example.org
Sex is good. Serving more than just the physical it takes away the
pain and heals all manner of wounds until the time when they can be
recalled again to wreak havoc on men's souls.
When I first joined Torchwood 3 I had thought that Jack did not
sleep. It was a mistake of course. He sleeps, perhaps not as well as
the rest of us, but after he fucks me his body stills and his eyes
I watch him as he rests, wondering as I clean up after both of us
if he has found what he needs, if my efforts have been enough.
"Thank you, Ianto," he says as I finish up, flashing me one of his
killer smiles and reaching out to me.
I am flattered by the simple gesture, ridiculously so under the
circumstances, but I know better than to let it show. For someone
like Jack, who has had sex with dozens of different species over many
thousands of years, sex with the current Torchwood receptionist is a
means to an end, and no more.
I cover his hand briefly, returning his smile and then let him go.
"All part of the service, sir."
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