The Latent Effects of Aisor Bma
Title: The Latent Effects of Aisor Bma
Fandom: Hitchhiker’s Guide
Pairing: Arthur/Ford
Rating: R - It’s smut but not to graphic
Additional Note: My first smut for the fandom, my fourth piece of smut ever written. I don’t know how good I am at sex scenes. Hopefully better than I feel about it. Also, the characters might be slightly more OCC than my last two whihc is slightly frightening. Oh, and there is Towel!Bondage. You have been warned.
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’s entry on Alpha Zeta Alpha Nine parties is rather outdated, and talks at great length on the proper etiquette required when approaching the royal family, all of whom had died of food poisoning some two millennium earlier after having been served a bad batch of Gin O’Tonic (a very odd Zelbanin drink that includes, among other things, the heart of a virgin whale). Since then the whole planet has fallen into a state of anarchy, which soon gave way to the Bohemian ideas such as getting drunk and having sex with anything that moves. Needless to say, Alpha Zeta Alpha Nine is now known for their parties. The Guide has yet to include this fact in their updated version, however, because any researcher they send out to the planet either returns in a week having forgotten all about the fact that he was suppose to be working or (more commonly) simply does not return at all.
If the editors at the Guide ever managed to get an entry out of their employees, it might mention the fact that if one plans on attending an Alpha Zeta Alpha Nine party one should come dressed appropriately. In this case appropriately would be to the bright colors, feathers, glitter, and generally anything one might consider gaudy and seizure inducing when introduced in great numbers. It might also mention that your chances of getting laid at one such party are at least tripled, and so most of the guests at such events tend to be cheerful, outgoing and very, very horny.
All expect for one individual that is, who looked quite out of place among the swamp of colors, feathers, and tentacles. This man, who happen to be from a newly destroyed planet called Earth and quite unfamiliar with the lifestyle of those outside England much less his solar system, was standing next to the bar in that way one stands at a party when they’re trying to act causal while at the same time looking for the clearest path to an exit. He wasn’t dressed in the exotic and gaudy manner but instead was wearing what appeared to be a rather dull, ratty night robe. He was also attempting to hold a conversation with one of the resident beings of Alpha Zeta Alpha Nine and was failing miserably to say the least. The conversation went a bit like this:
“So,” Arthur yelled over the noise of what sounded to him like a bunch of glass eggs being broken and scrapped down a chalkboard but in Alpha Zeta Alpha Nine terms was rather like Techno music which was fitting, as Arthur had always thought that Techno music from earth had always sounded a bit like someone dragging eggshells down a chalkboard with set of drums being stomped on in the background. “Do you have these sort of get-togethers a lot?”
The alien, which appeared to be a floating ball of tentacles that smelled like freshly squeezed limes, made a gurgle sound and reached over to wrap one of it’s long, hot-to-the touch extremities around Arthur’s arm. For lack of more manly synonyms, Arthur squealed like a little girl.
“Actually,” Arthur said in a voice still about two octaves higher than normal. He tried brushing the tentacle away and, to his relief, the alien backed off. “I’m here with someone. Umm… Ford? Ford?” Arthur scanned the crowd for his friend, who was doing something that looked rather obscene along side a creature with four arms and a couple of tails. The creature, whatever it was, gave Arthur a nasty look when he ran over and grabbed its newly found and rather attractive dance partner by the arm. Unfortunately, Ford didn’t seem to notice the alien’s distaste, mainly because he was too busy falling into Arthur’s arms.
“Arthur!” Ford said as if the two hadn’t seen each other in ages. He then attempted to give what would have been a hug had he not been drunk past the point of having most any muscle control. The result being that the only thing keeping Ford from falling flat on the floor was the fact that he managed to fall on Arthur first.
“How nice to see you!” Ford said, though it sounded a lot more like “Ow nuff tus’ee ewe!” with his face buried in Arthur’s robe. The other man didn’t answer as he was to busy trying to pull Ford to his feet, but Ford seemed rather reluctant to stand on his own again and was in fact much more comfortable being half draped over his friend. “Where have you been all night?”
“Over by the bar,” Arthur said, who would have been much more comfortable without Ford’s arms being wrapped over him but, as usual, had little say in the matter. “I want to leave, Ford. You’re drunk-” Ford snorted or yawned. It was hard to tell since the sound was muffled against Arthur’s shoulder. Either way, he was most definitely drunk and had he been sober would have made a comment about earthling’s annoying habit of pointing out the painfully obvious.
“-And I think that tentacle thing just hit on me,” Arthur added, looking over his shoulder at the bar where the giant floating citrus smelling creature was still floating.
“That ‘tentacle thing’ is a local,” Ford said, taking a deep breath and propping his chin up on Arthur’s shoulder. He squinted his eyes as if trying to get a good look at something then gave up and closed them again. “And they’ll have sex with anything. It isn’t a compliment.”
Arthur tried to straight himself out as to look properly muffed by this comment. Seeing as Ford was supporting half his weight on Arthur, this didn’t work out to well.
“Well, I don’t think that’s the point,” Arthur said, trying to sound put off even if he couldn’t look it. “I would just rather not be propositioned by-“
“You know what you need!” Ford jerked away from Arthur in a swift in sudden movement that left the other man swaying in place. Ford clapped him on the back, grabbed hold of his robe, and started to drag him through the crowd and back to the bar. “You need to lighten up. Here, have a drink, Arthur.”
A glass of pink, frothy looking beverage was pushed under his nose. Arthur took a breath and nearly chocked.
“It smells like ladies perfume!” Arthur declared, pushing the drink back towards Ford. “I’m not drinking that!”
“What?” Ford asked, staring down into the pink, bubbly liquid. He sniffed it a few times, and then looked back up at Arthur with an accusing eyebrow raise. “Just because it’s not tea?”
This time Arthur was able to ruffle himself up a bit. “I drink a lot more than just tea,” He claimed, but Ford was hardly listening. Instead he was forcing the glass into Arthur’s hand while Arthur himself was busy protesting.
“Come on, drink up! Live a little! There’s an entire galaxy out there you’ve never tastes before.” “And there is probably a damn good reason for that, Ford.”
Ford sighed. “Come on Arthur,” He said, giving a damn good impression of being completely sincere in his plea. “Just try a little. It’s not going to hurt you.”
Arthur could feel his defense weakening. Or, to be more precise, collapsing in much the same way the nation of Kilika had several thousand years earlier when the king announced that his subjects could no longer partake in any sort of sexual act that didn’t involve himself (the riots against the government are still considered by many to be some of the most violent and bloody in the Galaxy’s history. Especially those lead by the then wife to the King, Queen Hurlito the Third). “Fine,” He grumbled in a way meant to show how utterly put off by this entire idea he was even as he took the drink from Ford’s hand. “But just this one, and then we’re leaving.”
“Agreed!” Ford cheered, wearing a smile that had been known to make certain species go into hiding and certainly didn’t help with the queasy feeling in Arthur’s stomach.
Arthur started down into the liquid, just to make sure there was nothing living in it (something that had happened to him quite a few times in recent months). It reminded him vaguely of that time one of his girlfriends in college had dragged him to a store in which the clerk’s sole job seemed to be sneaking up next to you and spraying cheap, bad smelling perfume right in your face. Then they would ask you if you liked it, and you were expected to answer yes, smile, and then move on to the next young lady holding a bottle of similarly scented fragrance.
Arthur screwed up his noise and titled back the glass.
“That,” Arthur commented after swallowing half the glass. “Was actually quite good.”
Ford smile upped a few notches, which was a very frightening thing indeed and made the dink in Arthur’s stomach turn in the same way it might if there had been a hungry lion in front of him as oppose to Ford. “Of course it is,” Ford said. “It was Aisor Bma!”
“What?” Arthur asked, taking a smaller sip of what tasted a lot like warm, slightly less than sweet berry ice cream mixed with a honey flavored liquor.
“Never mind.” Ford grabbed Arthur by the sleeve again and began dragging him back onto the dance floor. “Let’s dance.”
“I don’t really-“ Arthur protested, but it was a lost cause as Ford pulled them onto the dance floor and, really, Arthur didn’t feel like protesting that much anyway. He drowned the rest of his drink and resigned himself to a dance.
The Guide has this to say on the subject of Aisor Bma:
Aisor Bma is an alcoholic drink made on the seventh moon of Alpha Zeta Alpha Nine. It is prized by many to be one of the most potent aphrodisiacs in existence without ‘slow and painful death’ needing to be listed as one of the side effects. In fact, the drink is so effective and fast acting that it said that even a Vogan under its intoxicating influence will become a rather froody guy. Of course, since Aisor Bma is usually only offered to people the other party finds attractive, no Vogan has actually ever had any, but that is another matter entirely.
Aisor Bma is made of over two hundred different types of fruits, which have to be hand peeled, mashed, placed in a bottle, thrown in the river of Setidora and then retrieved exactly two hundred years and nine minutes later. Since this task tends to take some amount of time, there are strict laws regarding the exportation of Aisor Bma. So strict are these laws that the sale of the drink is limited to that of Alpha Zeta Alpha Nine and three of its moons.
Needless to say, Alpha Zeta Alpha Nine is a very popular party spot.
“Ford?” Arthur asked in a voice that could only be described as desperate, and a little whiney. He waited a second, got no reply, and tried again. “Ford?”
Ford looked up from the place on Arthur’s neck he’d been kissing. “Yes?” He said, very annoyed with the fact that Arthur was bothering him when he was clearly getting to one of the best parts. “Where are we?”
Ford straightened himself up and took a look around. The two men were in a spaceship of some kind. Either that or someone had decorated their couch to look exactly like navigation controls. Ford hadn’t much thought about were exactly the two were when he had dragged Arthur inside the nearest empty place he could find, only that he really, really hoped it had a bed. “We’re in a ship,” He said after a second. “Ah,” Arthur said, blinking a few times to try and clear away a pleasant hazy that seemed to have settled over him. “And what, exactly, are we doing in a ship?”
Ford thought about this for a few more seconds. “This,” He answered and began kissing Arthur again. The few thoughts Arthur had managed to collect scattered as he was pressed up against a nearby wall. If he had been able to properly think he might have wondered exactly what ‘This’ was, but at the moment was a little to distracted by Ford’s tongue in his mouth doing things with Arthur’s tongue he was quite sure were illegal. Whatever ‘This’ was, it felt quite nice and Arthur didn’t see any reason for it to stop. While Arthur was busy not thinking, Ford hand managed to slip his hands under the other man’s shirt, dragging their bodies close enough together that both were having a bit of trouble breathing. At this point, however, breathing was really taking a backseat to lots of other things, such as Ford’s hands slowly working their way downwards, or the little sighs Arthur couldn’t seem to stop making and the way Ford’s kissing got more despite in reply.
“Arthur,” Ford’s voice sounded dry as he tore his lips away from Arthur’s mouth and started to nibble his way down his jaw, and the other man could feel Ford’s heart (or whatever the Betelgeuse equivalent was) beating near the surface of his chest and almost in time with the erratic, blood pumping sound ringing through his own ears and Ford’s skin felt unusually slick as he fingers played with the elastic band of his trousers and- “Arthur?”
“Mmm…” Arthur managed, which was actually quite good considering the circumstances. The throaty sigh turned into a displeased moan when Ford tore his mouth away from Arthur’s neck, and back far enough away that Arthur could no longer feel the other man’s hearts beat through his skin.
“Bed,” Ford replied, getting a good grip on Arthur’s waist before he started to lead him off the wall and deeper in the space ship. Unfortunately, this meant Ford had to actually figure out what kind of ship they were on and where the beds might be. This also gave Arthur’s mind a little to push some of the fog away and try and figure out what the hell was going on and what Ford meant by ‘bed’.
Luckily for Ford Arthur wasn’t exactly the quickest sentinel being in existence, and he managed to find the main chamber of the spaceship before the effects of the alcohol becoming a fleeting memory.
The bedroom was quite large, and quite frightening looking. Frightening enough that any lucid thinking being would have turned around and walked (or whatever the equivalent may be) away. In the middle was a bed at least twice the size of a normal Queen sized bed set up on what appeared to be a torture rack. The walls, at least those parts that didn’t have holes apparently created by a very angry creature with giant fists, were covered in strange looking medals and awards that could easily double as weapons, among other things.
Unfortunately for Ford, this was about all Arthur needed to clear his head. “Ford?” He repeated in a slightly higher, much more panicked voice.
Ford turned around, wrapping his arms tightly around Arthur and nuzzling his neck as he gentle pushed the other man towards the bed. “Mmm?”
“Umm… What’s going on?”
“Mmhmm,” Ford agreed, not bothering to listen to Arthur when there were so much better things to be doing. For instances, pushing him back onto the mattress and ravishing him, to name only a few.
Arthur hit the sheets with what Ford deemed a satisfying thump, though he no longer seemed nearly as interested in kissing Ford as he was in - say - stopping Ford from kissing him.
“I don’t think,” Arthur commented, keeping his hands against Ford’s chest in a small attempt to push the ginger haired man back. It obviously wasn’t working, because at the moment Ford had settled his legs on either side of Arthur’s thighs and was gently nudging the other man further onto the bed. “It’s very safe to be here.”
“Arthur?”
“Yes?”
“Shut up.” And he did. Mainly because Ford now had his tongue in his mouth.
Arthur still wasn’t entirely sure how good an idea this all was, but was finding it harder to complain now that Ford was kissing him properly again. In fact, it was rather hard to think at all. Back on Earth Arthur hadn’t exactly had girls lined up at his door. Indeed, it was a good month when he could get one to come within fifty feet of said door. Even when he could manage a date, none of them had ever kissed like Ford. Ford took his time, kissing him fiercely while also seeming to trace every inch of Arthur’s mouth, tangling their mouths and tongues and bodies together. It was quite difficult to protest anything when one was being kissed like that. This worked out well for Ford, who (a) was sick of listening to Arthur complain and found him much more enjoyable when being kissed and (b) was tying Arthur’s hands to the bedpost with a towel, which isn’t nearly as easy as it sounds and requires your partner to be properly distracted. The down side being that, sooner or later, they are going to figure it out.
“Ford?” Arthur choked, tearing himself away from Ford as his wrist were forced together. He tried wiggling his hands free only to find they were bound rather tightly behind him.
Ford looked at his work and smiled. “Perfect,” He said, patting the lumpy knot holidng Arthur in place. It had taken him plenty of practice to hone his skills at binding with towels, although now he could claim to be one of the few hitchhikers’ who towel doubles as rope in the bedroom, which was a very handy skill indeed.
Arthur tried to wiggle again, and only succeeded in pushing himself up against Ford, who was seated on his lap wearing the smile of a cat that had just caught quite a few canaries.
“Ford?” Arthur whined again, looking up into his friend’s eyes. Ford just continued smiling. “Calm down, Arthur,” He said, running a finger down Arthur’s cheek, stopping to trace his bottom lip and causing a tremble to pass through the man beneath him. “You need to relax.”
Arthur would have brought up what the result had been last time Ford had told him to relax (mainly him being tied to a bed in the middle of a very frightening looking ship) but found at that moment his mouth a little to dry to do much more than a hoarse whimper.
Ford leaned back down, taking the same lip into his mouth. He kneaded it between his teeth, taking a few gentle nips and following each by rolling the bruised lip around and needing the soft, sensitive flesh. Arthur’s head fell back against the wall, his breathing picking back up as he closed his eyes and simply concentrated on the feeling of Ford’s tongue and hands, and chest pressed against his. He was supposed to be protesting something, wasn’t he?
“Ford,” Arthur moaned. What he planned to say next was something about how dangerously stupid this was and how he never asked to be dragged along on these adventures and crazy schemes, anyway. Of course, to the rest of the world it sounded a whole lot more like begging, especially with the added, “Pleeeeaaaase?” His breath was coming out in pants, but Ford refused to get rushed. After a few more nibbles he let go of the now swollen lip with a pop. He smiled the sort of smile that usually made Arthur flinch and worry that Ford was going for his neck, only in this case he actually did. He spread a few kisses over his jaw before biting the sensitive flesh the neck and shoulder, sending a jolt through Arthur which was followed by a orgasmic sigh as Ford began licking and caressing the tiny, red bump. His hands stop tracing nonsensical patterns against Arthur’s chest and began stroking downward in earnest, which earned Ford a whole new variety of pleas and whimpers.
For his part, Arthur didn’t think he could take much more of this. “Ford?” He called out once he managed to save up enough breath in between moans.
The call sounded desperate enough that Ford looked up from his work and actually blinked at the sight. Arthur’s hand was still lying against the wall, his hair messed up and sticking out at the most random angles. Twisted behind him were his, his fingernails dug into the towel as if he was trying to hold on and not nearly bound in place. His lips were still swollen from earlier and shimmering with sweat and spit. He managed to open his eyes part way to meet Ford’s, the pupils darker than Ford could remember ever seeing them.
“Please?”
Ford kissed him.
Harder than he could remember kissing anyone before. Or maybe he had, and this was just different. He pressed himself to Arthur, trying to get their mouths to fit together exactly right, small moans coming from the back of his throat and being swallowed up again. And Arthur was kissing him back with just enough passion, fighting Ford over the kiss and not just drunkenly returning it.
Somewhere in the background of his mind, Ford could hear cloth ripping.
After a few seconds Ford had to pull away from Arthur, gasping for air and unfurling his hands from the other man’s shirt where they had been clenched. He’d worry about that later. Besides, Arthur needed new clothes, he reasoned.
There was very little playing around this time. Ford sat up, removing his shirt as fast as he could and getting to work on both sets of pants, which were off in seconds. Arthur was keeping those pants. Thank God for pants without all those complicated zippers and buttons and what not. If the Earth hadn’t blown up, Ford would have kissed the maker of those pants.
Instead we went back to kissing Arthur, placing a few dotted kisses around the other man’s thighs. Arthur moaned and pushed up into air, nonsensical gibberish coming out of his mouth as he tried to get his point across.
Ford stood up, earning himself another displeased moan. “Just a second,” He said, placing a rather chaste kiss on Arthur’s forehead. He looked over the side of the bed, making a grab for his satchel or, more exactly, a small vile in his satchel. If there was one thing (other than a variety of really odd sexual positions) he’d managed to learn in his history class, it was to always be prepared. He squeezed the scentless gel onto his fingers, waiting for it to warm to the touch before returning back to Arthur.
Ford sprawled his body onto of the other man, placing a few kisses under Arthur’s jaw line. “I need you,” He said in-between one of these. “To,” Another kiss. “Relax for me”. Arthur gave a small nod. Ford nuzzled deeper into the crook of Arthur’s neck, running his tongue gentle over the beating pulse as his slackened fingers traced around Arthur’s hole, dragging a mix of a sigh and chocked scream from the Earthman as he slowly pushed entered him.
“Ford!”
“Relax, Arthur,” Ford coed, slowly pulling in and out. He waited until Arthur stopped fighting him, and his breathing had become more normal. “You okay?” Arthur nodded. Ford kissed him, and inserted a second finger. Arthur bit down on his lip to stop himself from scream. His body thrust into Ford’s fingers, a sort of hazy pain exploding behind his eyelids as Ford kept his easy tempo of in, out, in. The ginger haired man kissed Arthur again, gentle coaxing his bottom lip from under his teeth. “Tell me where,” He muttered against the other man’s lips.
Arthur tried to open his eyes and ask what Ford meant, when a flash of pleasure shot through him, causing his muscles to spasm as he arched off the bed. “There!” He cried, gasping for air as a clam Ford brushed against that spot again. “God, Ford, there!”
Ford hummed against Arthur’s jugular, pulling out his fingers despite Arthur’s breathy protest. He planted another kiss on bound man’s lips, lifting himself to his knees and positioning himself above Arthur. “Ford,” Arthur whispered, pulling again at the towel wrapped around his wrist. Ford placed his hands over Arthur’s, threading their fingers together and bracing himself against the wall. Ford brought their lips together, not in a kiss so much as a violent smashing as he pushed into Arthur, managing to stifle the man’s scream and his own groan. He stayed completely, almost eerily still for a while, waiting for Arthur to stop shaking.
“Slowly,” He whispered to himself, placing a kiss on the man’s forehead. “Slowly.” Arthur wasn’t helping his patience when he started lifting his hips. Ford took another deep breath and pulled nearly all the way out.
“Ford?”
“Hush.” Ford closed his eyes, thrusting back in. This time, he hit that spot, causing Arthur to jolt around him and push their bodies closer together.
“Ford!” The earthman whined, “Ford, please…”
Ford buried his head in Arthur’s skin, taking another deep breath as he started a painfully slow pattern. Arthur’s voice played in his ear, little needy breaths followed by a few unintelligible words and Ford’s name. He pulled one of his hands away from the bedpost, his hand trailing down to grab Arthur’s cock. “God, Ford!”
Ford made something of an agreeing sound, his hand and hips picking up speed as he slowly teetered at the edge of consciousness. The taste of skin, the sounds of breathing and his name repeated again and again, the feeling of Arthur contracting around him, and the feel of his cock pulsing and- “GodFordOhpleasyesgodAHHH!” Arthur arched into his hand one more time, contracting around Ford as he came. Ford let out a low moan, placing his hands back against the wall to try and steady his now frantic rhythm. Seconds later, with something the bablefish only managed to translate as: “Fuck!” Ford’s own orgasm swept through his body.
Arthur groaned, nudging at the weight on top of him as Ford tried to even out his breathing. “Ford,” He whined, pushing at the man with his shoulder. “Do you think you could… um… untie me?” Ford pushed himself up to straddle Arthur’s hips, looking down at the pale English man with a wicked smile on his lips. “What?” He asked, brushing his fingers into Arthur’s messy brown hair. “You don’t want to go again?”
Arthur, who had never dealt with a Betelgeusian after sex and therefore had no idea how energetic (and in Ford’s case playful), blushed. Also, it didn’t help that his brain had just got up with that night’s activities only to come to a screaming halt when it realized exactly what activities its body had been up to while it was passed out. “I think,” Arthur said, twisting his arms to try and loosen the towel around his wrist, which now had carpet burn marks around them. “I would much rather be untied.” “And I think,” Declared Ford, his smile becoming even more mischievous “That you would much rather-“ At that moment the sound of the front hatch opening distracted Ford from his after sex banter, which he always thought he was quite good at. The noise was further accompanied by a low, but very dangerous sounding, roar.
“We have to go.” Ford reach open, yanking at his towel until Arthur was free, which would have been much more relieving to Arthur if he couldn’t hear very loud, heavy footsteps approaching and if Ford hadn’t hopped out of the bed suddenly with what seemed to be a new found passion for getting dressed. “What’s going on?” Arthur said, rubbing his wrist and looking around in a confused manner.
“Get dressed Arthur,” Ford said, throwing his towel around his neck as he pulled on his pants.
“Are we going to die?”
“No.”
“We’re going to die, aren’t we?”
“I said no!”
“You always say that.”
“Get dressed Arthur!”
The guide has this to say about Saponians:
Saponians are very big, purple creatures from a small moon in the Sirius A star system. They are usually around seven feet tall, weigh around a thousand pounds, and covered in fur. One would think that all that mass would prevent them from moving, but why they are rather slow creatures, they can get around when need calls. It helps that under the hundred or so pounds of fur, they’re all muscle.
Saponians are not, by nature, extremely unpleasant creatures. However, they are extremely territorial. If a hitchhiker managed to catch a ride with them, they will most likely treat said hitchhiker to a good meal and light music. If, however, you have recently invaded a Saponian’s privacy without their permission and the option is available, it is suggested you run. Quickly.
Arthur took a deep breath. Then another. Then a few more. Then he said a small prayer that his sides would stop splitting. Then he took another deep breath.
Finally, he spoke. “Is he gone?”
Ford, who was in only slightly better condition then Arthur (both physically and in that he was wearing pants) looked around the corner. “I think so.”
“The shooting stopped.”
“That’s a plus.”
Ford took a step out of the alleyway they were hiding in. “Well, that was fun,” He said, and started down the street.
It took Arthur nearly half a minute to recover from the shook. “What do you mean that was fun? We almost got killed Ford! Is that your idea of FUN?”
Ford shrugged. “But we’re alive,” He pointed out.
“Well, yes. But I don’t think that’s the point.”
Ford paused, biting his lower lip as he tried to figure out what Arthur meant by this. Sometimes, Ford wondered how earthlings ever managed to make it past lunch time each day using their logic. “Well then, what is the point? We snuck in a space ship, had sex, got caught, ran away, got shot at a few times, and managed to survive. All in all I’d say it was a fairly good experience.” There are some sounds a bablefish simply cannot translate, such as the sound of human blathering. “U… I… Wh… Is that ALL!”
Ford shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong. It was fairly good sex.”
Arthur shook his head, hoping the blush spreading through his cheeks would be mistake for rage, or at the very least the effects of being chased through a spaceship and down three blocks. “I…. I don’t mean that par… Ford, where are you going?”
Ford had started walking back down the street again, figuring that whenever Arthur was done raving he would follow. “Back to the party.”
”I don’t want to go back to the party!” Arthur protested, slipping his pants on before running to catch up with Ford. “It because of that party that all this happened to me in the first place!“ “I won’t stay long,” Ford promise. “Just need to pick up some more of that drink.”
Fandom: Hitchhiker’s Guide
Pairing: Arthur/Ford
Rating: R - It’s smut but not to graphic
Additional Note: My first smut for the fandom, my fourth piece of smut ever written. I don’t know how good I am at sex scenes. Hopefully better than I feel about it. Also, the characters might be slightly more OCC than my last two whihc is slightly frightening. Oh, and there is Towel!Bondage. You have been warned.
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’s entry on Alpha Zeta Alpha Nine parties is rather outdated, and talks at great length on the proper etiquette required when approaching the royal family, all of whom had died of food poisoning some two millennium earlier after having been served a bad batch of Gin O’Tonic (a very odd Zelbanin drink that includes, among other things, the heart of a virgin whale). Since then the whole planet has fallen into a state of anarchy, which soon gave way to the Bohemian ideas such as getting drunk and having sex with anything that moves. Needless to say, Alpha Zeta Alpha Nine is now known for their parties. The Guide has yet to include this fact in their updated version, however, because any researcher they send out to the planet either returns in a week having forgotten all about the fact that he was suppose to be working or (more commonly) simply does not return at all.
If the editors at the Guide ever managed to get an entry out of their employees, it might mention the fact that if one plans on attending an Alpha Zeta Alpha Nine party one should come dressed appropriately. In this case appropriately would be to the bright colors, feathers, glitter, and generally anything one might consider gaudy and seizure inducing when introduced in great numbers. It might also mention that your chances of getting laid at one such party are at least tripled, and so most of the guests at such events tend to be cheerful, outgoing and very, very horny.
All expect for one individual that is, who looked quite out of place among the swamp of colors, feathers, and tentacles. This man, who happen to be from a newly destroyed planet called Earth and quite unfamiliar with the lifestyle of those outside England much less his solar system, was standing next to the bar in that way one stands at a party when they’re trying to act causal while at the same time looking for the clearest path to an exit. He wasn’t dressed in the exotic and gaudy manner but instead was wearing what appeared to be a rather dull, ratty night robe. He was also attempting to hold a conversation with one of the resident beings of Alpha Zeta Alpha Nine and was failing miserably to say the least. The conversation went a bit like this:
“So,” Arthur yelled over the noise of what sounded to him like a bunch of glass eggs being broken and scrapped down a chalkboard but in Alpha Zeta Alpha Nine terms was rather like Techno music which was fitting, as Arthur had always thought that Techno music from earth had always sounded a bit like someone dragging eggshells down a chalkboard with set of drums being stomped on in the background. “Do you have these sort of get-togethers a lot?”
The alien, which appeared to be a floating ball of tentacles that smelled like freshly squeezed limes, made a gurgle sound and reached over to wrap one of it’s long, hot-to-the touch extremities around Arthur’s arm. For lack of more manly synonyms, Arthur squealed like a little girl.
“Actually,” Arthur said in a voice still about two octaves higher than normal. He tried brushing the tentacle away and, to his relief, the alien backed off. “I’m here with someone. Umm… Ford? Ford?” Arthur scanned the crowd for his friend, who was doing something that looked rather obscene along side a creature with four arms and a couple of tails. The creature, whatever it was, gave Arthur a nasty look when he ran over and grabbed its newly found and rather attractive dance partner by the arm. Unfortunately, Ford didn’t seem to notice the alien’s distaste, mainly because he was too busy falling into Arthur’s arms.
“Arthur!” Ford said as if the two hadn’t seen each other in ages. He then attempted to give what would have been a hug had he not been drunk past the point of having most any muscle control. The result being that the only thing keeping Ford from falling flat on the floor was the fact that he managed to fall on Arthur first.
“How nice to see you!” Ford said, though it sounded a lot more like “Ow nuff tus’ee ewe!” with his face buried in Arthur’s robe. The other man didn’t answer as he was to busy trying to pull Ford to his feet, but Ford seemed rather reluctant to stand on his own again and was in fact much more comfortable being half draped over his friend. “Where have you been all night?”
“Over by the bar,” Arthur said, who would have been much more comfortable without Ford’s arms being wrapped over him but, as usual, had little say in the matter. “I want to leave, Ford. You’re drunk-” Ford snorted or yawned. It was hard to tell since the sound was muffled against Arthur’s shoulder. Either way, he was most definitely drunk and had he been sober would have made a comment about earthling’s annoying habit of pointing out the painfully obvious.
“-And I think that tentacle thing just hit on me,” Arthur added, looking over his shoulder at the bar where the giant floating citrus smelling creature was still floating.
“That ‘tentacle thing’ is a local,” Ford said, taking a deep breath and propping his chin up on Arthur’s shoulder. He squinted his eyes as if trying to get a good look at something then gave up and closed them again. “And they’ll have sex with anything. It isn’t a compliment.”
Arthur tried to straight himself out as to look properly muffed by this comment. Seeing as Ford was supporting half his weight on Arthur, this didn’t work out to well.
“Well, I don’t think that’s the point,” Arthur said, trying to sound put off even if he couldn’t look it. “I would just rather not be propositioned by-“
“You know what you need!” Ford jerked away from Arthur in a swift in sudden movement that left the other man swaying in place. Ford clapped him on the back, grabbed hold of his robe, and started to drag him through the crowd and back to the bar. “You need to lighten up. Here, have a drink, Arthur.”
A glass of pink, frothy looking beverage was pushed under his nose. Arthur took a breath and nearly chocked.
“It smells like ladies perfume!” Arthur declared, pushing the drink back towards Ford. “I’m not drinking that!”
“What?” Ford asked, staring down into the pink, bubbly liquid. He sniffed it a few times, and then looked back up at Arthur with an accusing eyebrow raise. “Just because it’s not tea?”
This time Arthur was able to ruffle himself up a bit. “I drink a lot more than just tea,” He claimed, but Ford was hardly listening. Instead he was forcing the glass into Arthur’s hand while Arthur himself was busy protesting.
“Come on, drink up! Live a little! There’s an entire galaxy out there you’ve never tastes before.” “And there is probably a damn good reason for that, Ford.”
Ford sighed. “Come on Arthur,” He said, giving a damn good impression of being completely sincere in his plea. “Just try a little. It’s not going to hurt you.”
Arthur could feel his defense weakening. Or, to be more precise, collapsing in much the same way the nation of Kilika had several thousand years earlier when the king announced that his subjects could no longer partake in any sort of sexual act that didn’t involve himself (the riots against the government are still considered by many to be some of the most violent and bloody in the Galaxy’s history. Especially those lead by the then wife to the King, Queen Hurlito the Third). “Fine,” He grumbled in a way meant to show how utterly put off by this entire idea he was even as he took the drink from Ford’s hand. “But just this one, and then we’re leaving.”
“Agreed!” Ford cheered, wearing a smile that had been known to make certain species go into hiding and certainly didn’t help with the queasy feeling in Arthur’s stomach.
Arthur started down into the liquid, just to make sure there was nothing living in it (something that had happened to him quite a few times in recent months). It reminded him vaguely of that time one of his girlfriends in college had dragged him to a store in which the clerk’s sole job seemed to be sneaking up next to you and spraying cheap, bad smelling perfume right in your face. Then they would ask you if you liked it, and you were expected to answer yes, smile, and then move on to the next young lady holding a bottle of similarly scented fragrance.
Arthur screwed up his noise and titled back the glass.
“That,” Arthur commented after swallowing half the glass. “Was actually quite good.”
Ford smile upped a few notches, which was a very frightening thing indeed and made the dink in Arthur’s stomach turn in the same way it might if there had been a hungry lion in front of him as oppose to Ford. “Of course it is,” Ford said. “It was Aisor Bma!”
“What?” Arthur asked, taking a smaller sip of what tasted a lot like warm, slightly less than sweet berry ice cream mixed with a honey flavored liquor.
“Never mind.” Ford grabbed Arthur by the sleeve again and began dragging him back onto the dance floor. “Let’s dance.”
“I don’t really-“ Arthur protested, but it was a lost cause as Ford pulled them onto the dance floor and, really, Arthur didn’t feel like protesting that much anyway. He drowned the rest of his drink and resigned himself to a dance.
The Guide has this to say on the subject of Aisor Bma:
Aisor Bma is an alcoholic drink made on the seventh moon of Alpha Zeta Alpha Nine. It is prized by many to be one of the most potent aphrodisiacs in existence without ‘slow and painful death’ needing to be listed as one of the side effects. In fact, the drink is so effective and fast acting that it said that even a Vogan under its intoxicating influence will become a rather froody guy. Of course, since Aisor Bma is usually only offered to people the other party finds attractive, no Vogan has actually ever had any, but that is another matter entirely.
Aisor Bma is made of over two hundred different types of fruits, which have to be hand peeled, mashed, placed in a bottle, thrown in the river of Setidora and then retrieved exactly two hundred years and nine minutes later. Since this task tends to take some amount of time, there are strict laws regarding the exportation of Aisor Bma. So strict are these laws that the sale of the drink is limited to that of Alpha Zeta Alpha Nine and three of its moons.
Needless to say, Alpha Zeta Alpha Nine is a very popular party spot.
“Ford?” Arthur asked in a voice that could only be described as desperate, and a little whiney. He waited a second, got no reply, and tried again. “Ford?”
Ford looked up from the place on Arthur’s neck he’d been kissing. “Yes?” He said, very annoyed with the fact that Arthur was bothering him when he was clearly getting to one of the best parts. “Where are we?”
Ford straightened himself up and took a look around. The two men were in a spaceship of some kind. Either that or someone had decorated their couch to look exactly like navigation controls. Ford hadn’t much thought about were exactly the two were when he had dragged Arthur inside the nearest empty place he could find, only that he really, really hoped it had a bed. “We’re in a ship,” He said after a second. “Ah,” Arthur said, blinking a few times to try and clear away a pleasant hazy that seemed to have settled over him. “And what, exactly, are we doing in a ship?”
Ford thought about this for a few more seconds. “This,” He answered and began kissing Arthur again. The few thoughts Arthur had managed to collect scattered as he was pressed up against a nearby wall. If he had been able to properly think he might have wondered exactly what ‘This’ was, but at the moment was a little to distracted by Ford’s tongue in his mouth doing things with Arthur’s tongue he was quite sure were illegal. Whatever ‘This’ was, it felt quite nice and Arthur didn’t see any reason for it to stop. While Arthur was busy not thinking, Ford hand managed to slip his hands under the other man’s shirt, dragging their bodies close enough together that both were having a bit of trouble breathing. At this point, however, breathing was really taking a backseat to lots of other things, such as Ford’s hands slowly working their way downwards, or the little sighs Arthur couldn’t seem to stop making and the way Ford’s kissing got more despite in reply.
“Arthur,” Ford’s voice sounded dry as he tore his lips away from Arthur’s mouth and started to nibble his way down his jaw, and the other man could feel Ford’s heart (or whatever the Betelgeuse equivalent was) beating near the surface of his chest and almost in time with the erratic, blood pumping sound ringing through his own ears and Ford’s skin felt unusually slick as he fingers played with the elastic band of his trousers and- “Arthur?”
“Mmm…” Arthur managed, which was actually quite good considering the circumstances. The throaty sigh turned into a displeased moan when Ford tore his mouth away from Arthur’s neck, and back far enough away that Arthur could no longer feel the other man’s hearts beat through his skin.
“Bed,” Ford replied, getting a good grip on Arthur’s waist before he started to lead him off the wall and deeper in the space ship. Unfortunately, this meant Ford had to actually figure out what kind of ship they were on and where the beds might be. This also gave Arthur’s mind a little to push some of the fog away and try and figure out what the hell was going on and what Ford meant by ‘bed’.
Luckily for Ford Arthur wasn’t exactly the quickest sentinel being in existence, and he managed to find the main chamber of the spaceship before the effects of the alcohol becoming a fleeting memory.
The bedroom was quite large, and quite frightening looking. Frightening enough that any lucid thinking being would have turned around and walked (or whatever the equivalent may be) away. In the middle was a bed at least twice the size of a normal Queen sized bed set up on what appeared to be a torture rack. The walls, at least those parts that didn’t have holes apparently created by a very angry creature with giant fists, were covered in strange looking medals and awards that could easily double as weapons, among other things.
Unfortunately for Ford, this was about all Arthur needed to clear his head. “Ford?” He repeated in a slightly higher, much more panicked voice.
Ford turned around, wrapping his arms tightly around Arthur and nuzzling his neck as he gentle pushed the other man towards the bed. “Mmm?”
“Umm… What’s going on?”
“Mmhmm,” Ford agreed, not bothering to listen to Arthur when there were so much better things to be doing. For instances, pushing him back onto the mattress and ravishing him, to name only a few.
Arthur hit the sheets with what Ford deemed a satisfying thump, though he no longer seemed nearly as interested in kissing Ford as he was in - say - stopping Ford from kissing him.
“I don’t think,” Arthur commented, keeping his hands against Ford’s chest in a small attempt to push the ginger haired man back. It obviously wasn’t working, because at the moment Ford had settled his legs on either side of Arthur’s thighs and was gently nudging the other man further onto the bed. “It’s very safe to be here.”
“Arthur?”
“Yes?”
“Shut up.” And he did. Mainly because Ford now had his tongue in his mouth.
Arthur still wasn’t entirely sure how good an idea this all was, but was finding it harder to complain now that Ford was kissing him properly again. In fact, it was rather hard to think at all. Back on Earth Arthur hadn’t exactly had girls lined up at his door. Indeed, it was a good month when he could get one to come within fifty feet of said door. Even when he could manage a date, none of them had ever kissed like Ford. Ford took his time, kissing him fiercely while also seeming to trace every inch of Arthur’s mouth, tangling their mouths and tongues and bodies together. It was quite difficult to protest anything when one was being kissed like that. This worked out well for Ford, who (a) was sick of listening to Arthur complain and found him much more enjoyable when being kissed and (b) was tying Arthur’s hands to the bedpost with a towel, which isn’t nearly as easy as it sounds and requires your partner to be properly distracted. The down side being that, sooner or later, they are going to figure it out.
“Ford?” Arthur choked, tearing himself away from Ford as his wrist were forced together. He tried wiggling his hands free only to find they were bound rather tightly behind him.
Ford looked at his work and smiled. “Perfect,” He said, patting the lumpy knot holidng Arthur in place. It had taken him plenty of practice to hone his skills at binding with towels, although now he could claim to be one of the few hitchhikers’ who towel doubles as rope in the bedroom, which was a very handy skill indeed.
Arthur tried to wiggle again, and only succeeded in pushing himself up against Ford, who was seated on his lap wearing the smile of a cat that had just caught quite a few canaries.
“Ford?” Arthur whined again, looking up into his friend’s eyes. Ford just continued smiling. “Calm down, Arthur,” He said, running a finger down Arthur’s cheek, stopping to trace his bottom lip and causing a tremble to pass through the man beneath him. “You need to relax.”
Arthur would have brought up what the result had been last time Ford had told him to relax (mainly him being tied to a bed in the middle of a very frightening looking ship) but found at that moment his mouth a little to dry to do much more than a hoarse whimper.
Ford leaned back down, taking the same lip into his mouth. He kneaded it between his teeth, taking a few gentle nips and following each by rolling the bruised lip around and needing the soft, sensitive flesh. Arthur’s head fell back against the wall, his breathing picking back up as he closed his eyes and simply concentrated on the feeling of Ford’s tongue and hands, and chest pressed against his. He was supposed to be protesting something, wasn’t he?
“Ford,” Arthur moaned. What he planned to say next was something about how dangerously stupid this was and how he never asked to be dragged along on these adventures and crazy schemes, anyway. Of course, to the rest of the world it sounded a whole lot more like begging, especially with the added, “Pleeeeaaaase?” His breath was coming out in pants, but Ford refused to get rushed. After a few more nibbles he let go of the now swollen lip with a pop. He smiled the sort of smile that usually made Arthur flinch and worry that Ford was going for his neck, only in this case he actually did. He spread a few kisses over his jaw before biting the sensitive flesh the neck and shoulder, sending a jolt through Arthur which was followed by a orgasmic sigh as Ford began licking and caressing the tiny, red bump. His hands stop tracing nonsensical patterns against Arthur’s chest and began stroking downward in earnest, which earned Ford a whole new variety of pleas and whimpers.
For his part, Arthur didn’t think he could take much more of this. “Ford?” He called out once he managed to save up enough breath in between moans.
The call sounded desperate enough that Ford looked up from his work and actually blinked at the sight. Arthur’s hand was still lying against the wall, his hair messed up and sticking out at the most random angles. Twisted behind him were his, his fingernails dug into the towel as if he was trying to hold on and not nearly bound in place. His lips were still swollen from earlier and shimmering with sweat and spit. He managed to open his eyes part way to meet Ford’s, the pupils darker than Ford could remember ever seeing them.
“Please?”
Ford kissed him.
Harder than he could remember kissing anyone before. Or maybe he had, and this was just different. He pressed himself to Arthur, trying to get their mouths to fit together exactly right, small moans coming from the back of his throat and being swallowed up again. And Arthur was kissing him back with just enough passion, fighting Ford over the kiss and not just drunkenly returning it.
Somewhere in the background of his mind, Ford could hear cloth ripping.
After a few seconds Ford had to pull away from Arthur, gasping for air and unfurling his hands from the other man’s shirt where they had been clenched. He’d worry about that later. Besides, Arthur needed new clothes, he reasoned.
There was very little playing around this time. Ford sat up, removing his shirt as fast as he could and getting to work on both sets of pants, which were off in seconds. Arthur was keeping those pants. Thank God for pants without all those complicated zippers and buttons and what not. If the Earth hadn’t blown up, Ford would have kissed the maker of those pants.
Instead we went back to kissing Arthur, placing a few dotted kisses around the other man’s thighs. Arthur moaned and pushed up into air, nonsensical gibberish coming out of his mouth as he tried to get his point across.
Ford stood up, earning himself another displeased moan. “Just a second,” He said, placing a rather chaste kiss on Arthur’s forehead. He looked over the side of the bed, making a grab for his satchel or, more exactly, a small vile in his satchel. If there was one thing (other than a variety of really odd sexual positions) he’d managed to learn in his history class, it was to always be prepared. He squeezed the scentless gel onto his fingers, waiting for it to warm to the touch before returning back to Arthur.
Ford sprawled his body onto of the other man, placing a few kisses under Arthur’s jaw line. “I need you,” He said in-between one of these. “To,” Another kiss. “Relax for me”. Arthur gave a small nod. Ford nuzzled deeper into the crook of Arthur’s neck, running his tongue gentle over the beating pulse as his slackened fingers traced around Arthur’s hole, dragging a mix of a sigh and chocked scream from the Earthman as he slowly pushed entered him.
“Ford!”
“Relax, Arthur,” Ford coed, slowly pulling in and out. He waited until Arthur stopped fighting him, and his breathing had become more normal. “You okay?” Arthur nodded. Ford kissed him, and inserted a second finger. Arthur bit down on his lip to stop himself from scream. His body thrust into Ford’s fingers, a sort of hazy pain exploding behind his eyelids as Ford kept his easy tempo of in, out, in. The ginger haired man kissed Arthur again, gentle coaxing his bottom lip from under his teeth. “Tell me where,” He muttered against the other man’s lips.
Arthur tried to open his eyes and ask what Ford meant, when a flash of pleasure shot through him, causing his muscles to spasm as he arched off the bed. “There!” He cried, gasping for air as a clam Ford brushed against that spot again. “God, Ford, there!”
Ford hummed against Arthur’s jugular, pulling out his fingers despite Arthur’s breathy protest. He planted another kiss on bound man’s lips, lifting himself to his knees and positioning himself above Arthur. “Ford,” Arthur whispered, pulling again at the towel wrapped around his wrist. Ford placed his hands over Arthur’s, threading their fingers together and bracing himself against the wall. Ford brought their lips together, not in a kiss so much as a violent smashing as he pushed into Arthur, managing to stifle the man’s scream and his own groan. He stayed completely, almost eerily still for a while, waiting for Arthur to stop shaking.
“Slowly,” He whispered to himself, placing a kiss on the man’s forehead. “Slowly.” Arthur wasn’t helping his patience when he started lifting his hips. Ford took another deep breath and pulled nearly all the way out.
“Ford?”
“Hush.” Ford closed his eyes, thrusting back in. This time, he hit that spot, causing Arthur to jolt around him and push their bodies closer together.
“Ford!” The earthman whined, “Ford, please…”
Ford buried his head in Arthur’s skin, taking another deep breath as he started a painfully slow pattern. Arthur’s voice played in his ear, little needy breaths followed by a few unintelligible words and Ford’s name. He pulled one of his hands away from the bedpost, his hand trailing down to grab Arthur’s cock. “God, Ford!”
Ford made something of an agreeing sound, his hand and hips picking up speed as he slowly teetered at the edge of consciousness. The taste of skin, the sounds of breathing and his name repeated again and again, the feeling of Arthur contracting around him, and the feel of his cock pulsing and- “GodFordOhpleasyesgodAHHH!” Arthur arched into his hand one more time, contracting around Ford as he came. Ford let out a low moan, placing his hands back against the wall to try and steady his now frantic rhythm. Seconds later, with something the bablefish only managed to translate as: “Fuck!” Ford’s own orgasm swept through his body.
Arthur groaned, nudging at the weight on top of him as Ford tried to even out his breathing. “Ford,” He whined, pushing at the man with his shoulder. “Do you think you could… um… untie me?” Ford pushed himself up to straddle Arthur’s hips, looking down at the pale English man with a wicked smile on his lips. “What?” He asked, brushing his fingers into Arthur’s messy brown hair. “You don’t want to go again?”
Arthur, who had never dealt with a Betelgeusian after sex and therefore had no idea how energetic (and in Ford’s case playful), blushed. Also, it didn’t help that his brain had just got up with that night’s activities only to come to a screaming halt when it realized exactly what activities its body had been up to while it was passed out. “I think,” Arthur said, twisting his arms to try and loosen the towel around his wrist, which now had carpet burn marks around them. “I would much rather be untied.” “And I think,” Declared Ford, his smile becoming even more mischievous “That you would much rather-“ At that moment the sound of the front hatch opening distracted Ford from his after sex banter, which he always thought he was quite good at. The noise was further accompanied by a low, but very dangerous sounding, roar.
“We have to go.” Ford reach open, yanking at his towel until Arthur was free, which would have been much more relieving to Arthur if he couldn’t hear very loud, heavy footsteps approaching and if Ford hadn’t hopped out of the bed suddenly with what seemed to be a new found passion for getting dressed. “What’s going on?” Arthur said, rubbing his wrist and looking around in a confused manner.
“Get dressed Arthur,” Ford said, throwing his towel around his neck as he pulled on his pants.
“Are we going to die?”
“No.”
“We’re going to die, aren’t we?”
“I said no!”
“You always say that.”
“Get dressed Arthur!”
The guide has this to say about Saponians:
Saponians are very big, purple creatures from a small moon in the Sirius A star system. They are usually around seven feet tall, weigh around a thousand pounds, and covered in fur. One would think that all that mass would prevent them from moving, but why they are rather slow creatures, they can get around when need calls. It helps that under the hundred or so pounds of fur, they’re all muscle.
Saponians are not, by nature, extremely unpleasant creatures. However, they are extremely territorial. If a hitchhiker managed to catch a ride with them, they will most likely treat said hitchhiker to a good meal and light music. If, however, you have recently invaded a Saponian’s privacy without their permission and the option is available, it is suggested you run. Quickly.
Arthur took a deep breath. Then another. Then a few more. Then he said a small prayer that his sides would stop splitting. Then he took another deep breath.
Finally, he spoke. “Is he gone?”
Ford, who was in only slightly better condition then Arthur (both physically and in that he was wearing pants) looked around the corner. “I think so.”
“The shooting stopped.”
“That’s a plus.”
Ford took a step out of the alleyway they were hiding in. “Well, that was fun,” He said, and started down the street.
It took Arthur nearly half a minute to recover from the shook. “What do you mean that was fun? We almost got killed Ford! Is that your idea of FUN?”
Ford shrugged. “But we’re alive,” He pointed out.
“Well, yes. But I don’t think that’s the point.”
Ford paused, biting his lower lip as he tried to figure out what Arthur meant by this. Sometimes, Ford wondered how earthlings ever managed to make it past lunch time each day using their logic. “Well then, what is the point? We snuck in a space ship, had sex, got caught, ran away, got shot at a few times, and managed to survive. All in all I’d say it was a fairly good experience.” There are some sounds a bablefish simply cannot translate, such as the sound of human blathering. “U… I… Wh… Is that ALL!”
Ford shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong. It was fairly good sex.”
Arthur shook his head, hoping the blush spreading through his cheeks would be mistake for rage, or at the very least the effects of being chased through a spaceship and down three blocks. “I…. I don’t mean that par… Ford, where are you going?”
Ford had started walking back down the street again, figuring that whenever Arthur was done raving he would follow. “Back to the party.”
”I don’t want to go back to the party!” Arthur protested, slipping his pants on before running to catch up with Ford. “It because of that party that all this happened to me in the first place!“ “I won’t stay long,” Ford promise. “Just need to pick up some more of that drink.”