It was far from the stuff fairytales were made of. There weren't any knights in shining armour or damsels in distress, no skipping through meadows of barley or hand in hand strolls along the beach. Replaced, instead, by role-plays and whips, and quickies in fields.

They avoided all of those clich├ęs, replacing declarations of loves with gasped curses and moans of ecstasy, candlelit dinners swapped for forgotten take aways on the coffee table as they devoured each other on the sofa, and serious team investigations turned into innuendo fuelled flirt-fests.

Yes, they successfully avoided all of the stereotypes of two people hopelessly and sickeningly in love, yet some how, when Ianto curled his hand around the kettle handle and poured the boiling liquid into mugs, the steam hitting his face, he realised that whilst doing so, they had only proceeded to create their own.

There may not have been 'I love you' but there were certainly 'I need you', 'I want you', 'You're beautiful'. Maybe they hadn't conformed to the modern day 'dating rules', playing footsie under the table and feeding each other spoonfuls of dessert, but they made up for that by licking plenty of cream of each other's stomachs, and indulging in their endless fetishes.

Sure, they had their own little routines that they easily slipped in to, like Cinderella in to her glass slipper, but Ianto was pretty certain he could put up with that if it meant he got to share a bed with his Captain.