In public John's affections run toward cool, detached. A hand on a shoulder, a idle touch here and there that might seem like it means something but which he plays off like nothing. Like the kind of thing he'd do with anyone, some meaningless gesture.

Here, now, there's no mistaking the heat of his skin. Ianto's fingers are light over his chest, his teeth tease at his neck and John is dimly glad he's on his back already because he doesn't think he'd be able to hold himself up under the assault. He feels breathless and he doesn't know why, because Ianto is barely doing that much but somehow it's still enough to make him feel crazy. The slow, teasing burn of them moving together. He fumbles to skim a hand down, rubs it up and down Ianto's side in a weirdly gentle, sweet sort of gesture as he rocks up against him again. Something that contrasts with the heavy rise and fall of his chest, the intensity of his frown as he holds Ianto into his neck.

"Please," he whispers, and John doesn't know what he's pleading for -- anything, anything in truth. Anything Ianto would give him.