"Funny way of showing it," Ianto mutters, tucking the gun back into nonexistence. His back is getting a little toasty, and he leans one shoulder next to the door, letting that side get some heat. The fire licks and crackles across the ceiling, raining down embers and charred fragments. "Are you imagining hard enough?" he suggests, drier than the stiflingly hot air. "Shall I try? I'll try," he decides, not waiting for an answer.

He shoulders Johnny aside and grasps the doorknob, twisting and pulling. It teases, pulling out a fraction of centimeter before pulling it flush again in a decidedly sinister tug of war. "You've just got to think lovely thoughts, Johnny," he confides, strain in his voice. He braces one foot against the door frame. "Y'know, picnics. Summer." The door gives again, a little more, and he wedges the toe of his shoe into the crack, then his fingers and hand, shifting to push it open from the other direction until he has it braced open with one leg and both arms.

"Come on then," he grits through his teeth, nodding to the segmented open space between his legs that leads to what will eventually be an inviting and not-on-fire room.