"It's a special series of knocks," Jack replied, thinking of one of his colleagues at the Time Agency who had managed to knock incorrectly and got sucked into the black void of the great beyond. "Not to mention the rhythm and where one has to hit their hand for that matter. Quite complicated."
It had been Jack's 'fucking moron' voice, but Ianto had deserved it. It was onething for Jack to wander about without a coat. He wouldn't die from the elements or from a cold -- and even then Jack always toted the greatcoat around. Ianto, on the other hand, was a bit more fragile where cold was concerned. Jack chuckled as Ianto slid against himself and Jack rearranged the coat to give his lover the optimum amount of warmth.
"We've stayed out for half the night, you realse," Jack pointed out, leaning back and propping himself up on his elbows. "And yes, Mister Jones, it is indeed your turn."