Given that he was in no particular rush, Niki found it perfectly reasonably to be travelling at thirty miles per hour down the abandoned country lane. After all, the young Austrian had only had his license for a few months he wasn't about to lose it over something as petty as breaking the speed limit.

However the Mini behind him, which he spied through his rear view mirror, seemed to have other ideas about the Highway Code and the idiot driver was rapidly closing the gap between them. Scowling at the flash of blond he could make out quite clearly now, given that the car was right on his tail, Niki's eyes flicked to the speedometer on his dashboard. He was still pushing a steady thirty.

Well he wasn't about to break the law for some impatient asshole, no matter how close the two cars got. The wannabe racer was clearly trying to overtake Niki now; a feat made impossible by the windy tarmac and all of the blind corners the road threw at the pair of them. Clearly using a scare tactic, Mr Mini was now apparently trying to shunt Niki and goad him into pulling over which was not something the stubborn Austrian was prepared to do: this was war, now.

Only it went too far when – be it on purpose or by accident – Mr Mini clipped the bumper of Niki's car, causing both of them to spin out, soundtracked by a litany of German cusses on the Austrian's part. When the squealing of rubber burning against hot tarmac finally halted, Niki slammed his fist against his steering wheel letting out a sharp staccato of the car horn.

"Scheiße!" he hissed as he threw the car door open to confront Mr Mini, a few choice words coming to mind, though he soon felt the wind leave his sails as the man in question turned out to be tall, well-built and – though Niki would never admit it, even under torture– rather good looking. Still, he fisted his hands, scowling up at the blond. "Hey, asshole, what the hell are you playing at?"

The blond in question had been going through a range of emotions in response to the situation: at first he had been frustrated by the Renault that had refused to move over, then appreciative as he raked his gaze up and down the rather attractive brunet driver, now however he was a little taken aback by the brash and thickly accented words being lobbed his way. True to form though he managed to keep an easy, shit-eating grin plastered across his face. "No need to be so formal, please, call me James. And you are..?"

"Very pissed at you right now and about five seconds from knocking that smirk off your face!" Niki snapped back, folding his arms across his chest. "Can't you see that the speed limit is thirty through here?"

"Bah, those limits are more of a suggestion if you ask me," James responded lightly with a shrug and a chuckle, "Besides, you were the one who was driving like an old man."

"I didn't ask you! And why would I drive faster than that; it increases to percentage of risk so that accidents like this don't happen," Niki huffed, only to be met with a light laugh from the Englishman.

"And how's that working out for you right now? Listen, I do feel bad about all this," he pushed on despite the disbelieving snort he got in response, "So how about I make it up to you – dinner tomorrow night?"

"You have got to be kidding me. What makes you think that I want to spend another second with you?" Niki shot back, reaching into his, now dented, car to grab a pen and paper to scribble down some details. "This is my insurance stuff, so I expect you to get back to me as soon as possible."

As the brunet drove away – still only driving the limit – James sighed and watched him go, miffed about missing out on dinner with such a firecracker. The grin quickly resurfaced however as he glanced down at the paper he'd been given by the Austrian and the note scrawled underneath the numbers and address and such:

It better be some place expensive. Pick me up at 8.

-Niki