"
‘Don’t lose track of your own life,’ Jack told her. ‘You mustn’t let it drift away. Torchwood can consume everything. Everyone…’
His voice trailed off. He’d seen Ianto, their receptionist, walking up the spiral staircase. Ianto was about her age, maybe a few years younger, and not bad looking, she decided. She hadn’t worked him out yet. He seemed happy to do the more mundane work in Torchwood – the fetch and-carry stuff, whether that was a Tesco bag full of shopping or body bag full of Weevil.
He was headed for the coffee machine, and smiled in recognition as he spotted them leaning against the balcony rail. ‘Sorry, didn’t see you there.’ He waggled a freshly rinsed coffee pot at them. ‘I was about to get fresh.’
Jack smiled at this comment. He shrugged off his coat, and draped it over the rail. ‘Ianto, you’ve anticipated my need for something warm and wet.’
Ianto rolled his eyes theatrically. ‘Very amusing, sir. I should have guessed that, whatever I say, you’ll always want to top me.’
‘You wish,’ Jack told him.
"
—Torchwood novel - Another Life (Peter Anghelides)
"Jack was slumped down in his office chair, his back to Ianto, exactly as he’d left him the previous night. Maybe he’d fallen asleep working there. With his head on his chest, the back of Jack’s neck showed above his blue shirt collar. His greatcoat was neatly folded on top of a table beside a towering pile of pamphlets, printouts, scuffed old books, and a few leathery old apples. Jack’s RAF cap still hung from a makeshift wall hook, its gold oak leaf motif faintly catching the lamp’s light. Ianto had once made the mistake of asking if the hat was fancy dress, and Jack had teased him for a whole week about men in uniform. He’d eventually let Ianto try it on (further gentle mockery), but explained with what sounded like considerable pride that he’d had it custom-made by Tranter the Hatter in Jermyn Street, St James. It had been no more than a moment’s Googling for Ianto to discover that this was more teasing – Tranter’s had never reopened after a V1 had razed the business to the ground in 1944.
Ianto blinked in surprise. A hand was beckoning him, waggling its fingers. He worked out a fraction of a second later that it wasn’t an alien claw, it was Jack’s arm, the shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, waving him into the room. ‘Excellent timing,’ said Jack. There was no sound of tiredness in his voice, but he stretched both arms wide, shrugged his shoulders, as though starting to get the stiffness out. Even from the doorway, Ianto heard him breathe in deeply through his nose. ‘That’s a new blend, isn’t it? What magic have you worked with those beans, Ianto?’ Another deep inhalation. ‘Same old aftershave, though."
"
‘I’m so hungry,’ Ianto’s voice shivered. ‘But maybe I’ll freeze to death first.’
‘Oh yeah. Tosh wants to analyse your invisible clothes,’ agreed Owen. He indicated the empty slab to Jack. ‘He had to take them off anyway, ’cause they were covered in tiger shit.’
‘Wait a minute…’ Jack cocked a saucy eyebrow. ‘Am I hearing this correctly? Ianto is sitting there… naked?’
‘Like, but unlike, one of my recurring nightmares,’ said Ianto’s voice in a plaintive tone.
Jack stared at the ceiling and laughed aloud. ‘Oh, that is such an unfair advantage in naked hide-and-seek…’ He trailed off as he realised Owen and Toshiko were both looking at him. ‘What?’
Owen shook his head sorrowfully. ‘So don’t want to know,’ he told Jack.
"
—Owen, Tosh, Jack and an invisible Ianto in Torchwood novel Pack Animals (Peter Anghelides)
"
Ianto looked at Owen sheepishly. ‘I didn’t think anyone was in this early. I thought I’d better wake you before…’ He trailed off and looked over his shoulder. From elsewhere, in the R&R area, came the distinctive sound of Jack whooping with delight to the sound-effect noises of a handgun.
‘Yeah, right. Sorry,’ Owen muttered.
Ianto gave him his serious look. ‘You don’t want to get addicted to this, do you?’
‘Don’t you start,’ mumbled Owen. ‘You’re as bad as Tosh. No, I was… um… testing some new software for her.’
‘I understand,’ Ianto nodded solemnly. ‘Are those breasts part of the test, then?’
Owen looked down at his hands. Instead of seeing the blue data gloves, he could see Glendower Broadsword’s deerskin gloves. Second Reality had logged him out, but Toshiko’s 3-D rendering software and projectors were still active. And so Owen still sported a magnificent pair of tits. Ianto’s smile looked like it might split his face in half.
‘All right, yeah,’ Owen warned. Ianto had obviously rumbled that he’d not been working hard all night. Perhaps he could brazen his way out of this. ‘So what? I met someone online who was interested in cybersex.’
Ianto’s smile evaporated in an instant, and a fleeting look of panic flashed over his features. This was a more extreme reaction than Owen had anticipated, but it was pleasing nonetheless to wipe that smirk off his face.
"
—Torchwood novel - Another Life (Peter Anghelides)
