Warning: Contains slash

Pairing: Ford/Arthur

Words: 823

Disclaimer: Is it really necessary to point out that I am not Douglas Adams? Is that what people really need? (I'm not even English and I don't even look like a Douglas.)

I wrote part one of this fic almost two years ago... and a lot of this part as well, and then couldn't figure out how to finish it. Way to go me. But hey, I finally managed to bang this out, didn't I? (Hur hur, bang. Welcome to the Big Bang Burger Bar... Hey radioverse kids, someone needs to write that whydoncha.)

Midnight Show, part two

As soon as the universe had settled comfortably back, it reconsidered and decided that it would have a better view if it sat forward instead. But either way, it was destined to remain unsatisfied for a while.

While Arthur Dent was making absolutely sure that he enjoyed kissing (and being kissed by) one Ford Prefect, in a field with a towel on a small blue-green planet called Earth, he was able to ignore something sharp digging into one of the arms he was using to hold Ford very tightly to him. When they paused for air, however, he was forced to take notice with an equally sharp "Ouch!"

"Mmm?" Ford asked lazily, rather disappointed at the interruption.

"There's something jabbing me…"

He smirked. "Yes, that does happen."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Are you secretly a teenager with a drinking problem and just haven't told me yet? It's something – ow, stop moving around, that's making it worse! I'll get it." He freed one arm (the other stayed wrapped around Ford, even though Ford clearly had no intention of going anywhere his hands couldn't) and tugged the offending object from Ford's jacket pocket, which had gotten twisted around in all the excitement. "It's an envelope!"

"Envelope?"

"Yes, it was the corner of it that was poking me."

"Ah."

Feeling this syllable was sufficient acknowledgement of the discovery, Ford was puzzled when Arthur didn't drop it and return to what they had been doing.

"Ford," said Arthur with equal an measure of puzzlement, "it has my name on it."

"Oh," Ford replied, in a tone that seemed to say something more like, Oh, right, that envelope. "That's just my, er, research. You wouldn't find it very interesting, I think."

"Why does it have my name on it in your handwriting, then?"

"Well…"

Arthur smiled, apparently enjoying this rare moment uncertainty from Ford. "It's addressed to me, I want to see what it is."

Ford sighed and gave up, turning his attention to nuzzling Arthur's neck.

"If you like."

There was a pause, during which he thought for a moment that he may have avoided further (and, since it was Arthur, potentially awkward) distraction from much more enjoyable activities, but then he head him fumble with the envelope's unsealed flap and a selection of photographs hit the towel.

"Ford," Arthur gasped. This was mostly because of the nature of the photographs, but also partly due to the fact that Ford's teeth had just grazed very, very lightly over the skin of his neck. "These are… These are of me! Naked! In the shower! And… and… How the hell did you get these?!"

Ford hummed against his neck, almost, but not quite, sheepish. "I bought a camera and took them."

"You what?"

"You would rather I had someone else take them for me?" He propped himself up on his elbows with a smirk (and a silent I'll see you later to everything above Arthur's ribcage, and thank Zarquon for gravity and completely unsupported lower body weight). "I snuck into the bathroom a few times with a camera. You're the one who never locks the door."

"I beg your pardon," Arthur replied, blinking both indignantly and very fast. "I lock the door every time I'm in the bathroom!"

Ford's grin widened. "Perhaps, but when was the last time you checked to see if it actually works?"

"Bu— I— Not as often as you have, obviously!"

"Oh come on, don't be so uptight."

"Uptight? Ford, this is a terrible invasion of privacy!"

With his cheeks rapidly acquiring the color of a very bad sunburn, Arthur was beginning to feel more and more like a man who was sober whilst lying in a strange field, and realizing that a good (if odd) male friend was pressing meaningfully against him from the waist down with an amused-but-hungry look. It was not a particularly enjoyable transformation, and even some of the more sensible parts of his brain were sorry to see it happen.

"I refuse," he further ventured to add, "to be tricked into a date with you, dragged out to the middle of nowhere, invited to sit on a towel, suddenly kissed, and accept that you've been taking inappropriate pictures of me without my consent. There's only so much a person can take in one evening."

Ford sighed. "I'm… sorry you feel that way, Arthur."

"You should be!" Arthur replied emphatically, not to mention frantically. "I was— We were— This is completely—"

"Arthur," Ford interrupted calmly. "Bear with me for a moment. I have a contingency plan for this sort of thing."

"You…" Arthur blinked up at him. Plans were good. He liked it when there were plans, when things had been mapped out and had a bare minimum of at least some sort of certainty. "What is it?"

With a winning, not to mention alarming smile, Ford stopped propping himself up on his elbows and let gravity do the rest.