"If you want to be tripping over your own underwear that's your call," Ianto grinds out, arching back to reach for the hem of his thermal and undershirt in turn. "I'd much prefer to be able to move, if it's all the same to you." All the better to be able to crawl around and have his way with him, in Ianto's mind at least.

Fisting his hands in the fabric, he tugs both shirts up and over his head in one go, tossing them aside with the rest of their clothes on the floor. He'll sort it out later, for now he wants this. Skin against skin, John in his arms and at his full attention. He reaches for the other man, once the offending fabric is gone. This is what he wanted, after all. This is what the both had wanted.