David Llewellyn

“Ianto Jones was at his station behind the run-down Tourist Information Centre that served at a front to the clandestine goings on in Torchwood. His bare feet were on his desk, his tie slumped like a crestfallen snake next to an open pizza box, the top two buttons of his shirt undone.

"Taking it easy, I see?" said Jack, stepping out through the security door that led into the Hub itself. "Well at least someone has the right idea. Whatcha doing there, Sport?"

"Sport?" said Ianto. "Not sure I like 'Sport' as a term of endearment. 'Sexy is good, if unimaginative. 'Pumpkin' is a bit much, but 'Sport'? No. You'll have to think of another one.

"Okay, Tiger Pants. Whatcha doing?"

Ianto laughed.

"I..." he said, pausing to swallow a mouthful of pizza, "am having a James Bondathon."

"A what?"

"A James Bondathon. I'm watching my favourite James Bond films in chronological order."

"You're a Bond fan?"

"Oh yes. He's the archetypal male fantasy, isn't he? The man all women want to have, and all men want to be."

"Are you sure it's not the other way around?”
― David Llewellyn, Trace Memory

“Penny for your thoughts,' asked Gwen.
'Cheapskate,' said Ianto. 'Never heard of inflation? Thoughts are a bit pricier than that these days.'
'OK,' said Gwen. 'A pint down the local tomorrow for your thoughts.'
Ianto smiled. 'That's more like it.”
― David Llewellyn, Trace Memory