by Jane Davitt

"How many people have you slept with?"

Ianto's voice is idly curious, but Jack picks up on the tension beneath the words. Hard not to when his hand's cupping Ianto's ass, clenched, bracing for a verbal slap.

The answer's contained in the question, but Jack's not cruel enough to be truthful.

"Until I met you? One too few."

"You're a poet now, is that it?"

" 'There once was a man called Ianto…"

"Good luck rhyming my name," Ianto says smugly as Jack trails off.

For Jack, it rhymes perfectly with 'cariad' but he shares a kiss, not the thought.

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