Disclaimer: Legalese. Legalese. Legalese. And an emphatic lack of ownership.

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Both Toshiko and Gwen frequently came to work in heels. Suzie had, too, before…well, before she'd gone mad. But, while Ianto would never classify them as "sensible," they were, at the very least, stable. Something that wouldn't get caught in the grating around the Hub. Something you could wear while fleeing great tentacle creatures.

Well, something they could wear while fleeing tentacle creatures. Ianto was positive that if he tried to run in heels, his ankle would snap like a twig.

In under three strides.

But these shoes, the one's Gwen had sauntered in with today, were emphatically not running shoes.

Ianto knew nothing of shoes, even if the girls liked to think of him as their token "gay" mate. He didn't know what these were called, what style they were. And while he was sure the color had a lovely name like sun-glinted malachite, they just looked green to him. But the heel was high and so thin it looked fragile. The only word his mind could provide was stiletto.

He tried to scoff. He tried to think of a sarcastic but witty barb to throw at her about hunting aliens in shoes like that. He tried to think of something to say about the uneven flooring in their base.

After a few minutes, he realized he wasn't coming up with anything coherent, so he tried to pretend he hadn't noticed them.

He noticed Jack's eyes wandering. And Owen's. He wanted to cuff Jack around the ear. He wanted even more to call their doctor out on it, in the same humiliating way he knew Owen would if he caught him staring at Gwen's shoes.

It bothered him, more than a little, that he was distracted by something so stupid. They were only bloody shoes—no reason at all he should be so affected. It wasn't as if she'd come prancing into the Hub in lingerie.

He turned back to his work and pretended not to notice that he'd read the D'arnkren report five times.

Before long, his eyes were drawn back to the delicate slope of the…well, he was just going to keep on calling it a stiletto, because he couldn't think of another word for them. And he wasn't sure he understood how that thin little buckle kept the damn things on. It was some sort of baffling feminine sorcery.

Ianto trailed his gaze upwards. Her legs looked impossibly long now. He wondered how high the…spikes?…on the shoes were. They had to be at least the extra five inches she'd need to be his height. If he stood next to her, would they be eye to eye? Or would she be taller? Would he have to look up at her through his lashes?

And, Christ, why was that thought so erotic?

Her smooth, bare legs just went on for miles but the best part of these ridiculous, insensible shoes—on any woman—was how lovely they made the derrière look. Gwen was no exception.

The sudden desire to touch her made his hands itch.

Ianto turned away, back to the D'arnkren report, and cursed himself for a pervert and a fool. He was certainly not going to be that bloke—the one pathetic, hapless wanker in the office making eyes and rude gestures at the women. Especially considering he was already that bloke when it came to Jack.

It was a shame, really, that he was…seeing? Dating?…a man. Not that Jack wasn't fantastic. He was, but if he had a girlfriend, he could just go buy her the bloody shoes and satisfy every filthy thought that had crossed his mind since Gwen entered this morning.

It was even more of a shame he couldn't see Jack in shoes like that.

Ianto paused and inched closer to his keyboard, wondering if he could convince his lover to wear women's shoes. Considering some of Jack's more…adventurous requests, he reckoned the odds were in his favor.

He stole another glance at Gwen's lovely, sexy, impractical shoes and then looked over at Jack, who wasn't even trying not to drool over them. His long, efficient fingers typed stilettos for men and hit enter.

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A/N: God, that was cheesy. The word was "stiletto."