John's simmering anger and Ianto's frustration mingle together in his head until he can no longer tell heads nor tail of either of them and he lets go of the other man's wrist at last with the heave of a sigh.

"God damn it, John," Ianto replies, not without some feeling. "They're made of leather, not latex. I'm only going to end up hurting you more, fumbling around with them on. I'm not so delicate you need to keep me in tissue wrapping. You said it felt better."