Jack preens a little, smirking. "Of course I do." He always looks hot in the coat, everybody knows that. The smirk fades, though, when Ianto grips his cock, his mouth opening again because that sensation, combined with the feeling of Ianto deep inside him, takes his breath away. Once he's found some measure of control again, he starts to move: little rolls of his hips at first, graduating into lifting up and sinking back down again, hot gaze locked onto his Ianto because, really, this is perfect.