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janto_recs2008-05-08 08:21 pm
xbeax.livejournal.com) wrote in janto_recs2008-05-08 08:21 pm
He Who has the floor wins by unmikely
Title: He who has the floor wins
Author:![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
unmikely
Genre: Humor, General
Rating: PG
Summary: Jack can be very disruptive in meetings.
Status: Complete
Length: Oneshot
Warnings: None
Comment or Excerpt from fic: LOL. I can soo see this happening at a meeting. xD Ianto is such a neat freak and Jack is so horny all the time. I giggled, seriously. And the ending omfg xD
________________________________________
"...which brings us to stationary supply orders..."
Ianto flicks his tongue against his thumb in order to better nudge over to the next page of his papers. Jack swallows dryly and becomes determined. Desperate times call for desperate measures and as long as the archivist is sitting there being sex personified, Jack is a desperate man. He takes his coffee-damp finger and reaches it towards Ianto's wrist. A perfectly starched three quarters of an inch of light gray shirtsleeve extends past Ianto's jacket and brushes the base of his hand. Pressing firmly, Jack leaves a neat fingerprint stain in medium roast blend on the top of Ianto’s wrist, on the near inch of light fabric.
"...electronically filed...filed...fi..."
Author:
unmikelyGenre: Humor, General
Rating: PG
Summary: Jack can be very disruptive in meetings.
Status: Complete
Length: Oneshot
Warnings: None
Comment or Excerpt from fic: LOL. I can soo see this happening at a meeting. xD Ianto is such a neat freak and Jack is so horny all the time. I giggled, seriously. And the ending omfg xD
________________________________________
"...which brings us to stationary supply orders..."
Ianto flicks his tongue against his thumb in order to better nudge over to the next page of his papers. Jack swallows dryly and becomes determined. Desperate times call for desperate measures and as long as the archivist is sitting there being sex personified, Jack is a desperate man. He takes his coffee-damp finger and reaches it towards Ianto's wrist. A perfectly starched three quarters of an inch of light gray shirtsleeve extends past Ianto's jacket and brushes the base of his hand. Pressing firmly, Jack leaves a neat fingerprint stain in medium roast blend on the top of Ianto’s wrist, on the near inch of light fabric.
"...electronically filed...filed...fi..."
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