Hitchhiker's Guide: A Ford/Arthur Snippet
Some of you may recognise the dialogue. It's probably safe to blame carmarthen. You know, for everything.
This is for sandradelete, who is adored muchly. There may or may not be schmoop behind the cut tag.
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Ford looked at Arthur with something approaching worry in his eyes. Arthur took a moment to reflect on the difference between approaching worry - with a nice leisurely detour to enjoy the scenery at amusement, say - and actually reaching it. He took another moment to clamp down on his rising hysteria, then gave that up as a dead loss to focus on what Ford was saying.
"You've gone mad, haven't you?" Ford was saying. Arthur decided focusing probably hadn't been worth the effort. "It's okay, I'm good with mad people. Do you remember the time Zaphod thought he was being stalked by a hyper-intelligent towel?" Ford nodded as he spoke, amusement and worry relegated to a distant second and third by his obvious pride at his caretaking abilities. "I looked after him while you were still making comments about towel-kwando."
"Ford," Arthur said, "he was being stalked by a hyper-intelligent towel." And they had been very funny comments about towel-kwando. It wasn't his fault he was trapped on a bloody spacecraft with- Yes. Well.
"But he didn't know that, did he? He spent weeks pointing and gibbering at your tea-towel," said Ford, carefully neglecting to mention the thread they'd tied to one corner of Arthur's towel and twitched whenever Zaphod had started to calm down, "when all the time it was Trillian's flannel that was out to get him."
In retrospect, Arthur shouldn't have let himself relax enough to smile at the memory. Retrospection, however, was difficult when he found himself pinned to the wall by a frowning Ford Prefect.
"Now," Ford said levelly, "what's this about me not caring about you?" Ford's kisses were never longer than was needed to make his point. This must, Arthur would have thought had he been paying attention to anything but the pressure of Ford's tongue against his own, have been a very detailed point. "You're here, aren't you?"
Arthur noticed the way Ford's lips thinned slightly when he was scared. He wondered if the frown lines around the Betelgeusean's eyes always took this long to smooth out after Ford's expression slipped from angry to hurt. He nodded, feeling Ford's grip on his arms slacken enough to break free and slip his hands round Ford's waist.
Arthur's kisses tended to ramble on rather.
"Yes," he said. "I'm here."
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QED
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This is for sandradelete, who is adored muchly. There may or may not be schmoop behind the cut tag.
===
Ford looked at Arthur with something approaching worry in his eyes. Arthur took a moment to reflect on the difference between approaching worry - with a nice leisurely detour to enjoy the scenery at amusement, say - and actually reaching it. He took another moment to clamp down on his rising hysteria, then gave that up as a dead loss to focus on what Ford was saying.
"You've gone mad, haven't you?" Ford was saying. Arthur decided focusing probably hadn't been worth the effort. "It's okay, I'm good with mad people. Do you remember the time Zaphod thought he was being stalked by a hyper-intelligent towel?" Ford nodded as he spoke, amusement and worry relegated to a distant second and third by his obvious pride at his caretaking abilities. "I looked after him while you were still making comments about towel-kwando."
"Ford," Arthur said, "he was being stalked by a hyper-intelligent towel." And they had been very funny comments about towel-kwando. It wasn't his fault he was trapped on a bloody spacecraft with- Yes. Well.
"But he didn't know that, did he? He spent weeks pointing and gibbering at your tea-towel," said Ford, carefully neglecting to mention the thread they'd tied to one corner of Arthur's towel and twitched whenever Zaphod had started to calm down, "when all the time it was Trillian's flannel that was out to get him."
In retrospect, Arthur shouldn't have let himself relax enough to smile at the memory. Retrospection, however, was difficult when he found himself pinned to the wall by a frowning Ford Prefect.
"Now," Ford said levelly, "what's this about me not caring about you?" Ford's kisses were never longer than was needed to make his point. This must, Arthur would have thought had he been paying attention to anything but the pressure of Ford's tongue against his own, have been a very detailed point. "You're here, aren't you?"
Arthur noticed the way Ford's lips thinned slightly when he was scared. He wondered if the frown lines around the Betelgeusean's eyes always took this long to smooth out after Ford's expression slipped from angry to hurt. He nodded, feeling Ford's grip on his arms slacken enough to break free and slip his hands round Ford's waist.
Arthur's kisses tended to ramble on rather.
"Yes," he said. "I'm here."
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QED
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