Warning: Contains slash
Pairing: Ford/Arthur
Words: 429
Disclaimer: I am still not Douglas Adams.
Thank you, TheRimmerConnection, for looking this one over too. :)
Yellow, Version Deux
"Look at them," Ford whispered, so Arthur looked.
A great number of stars looked back down at him from the black expanse of sky. For a moment, even though he was only lying in his very ordinary, very familiar back garden, Arthur felt certain that he was going to fall up into them. He was very glad that Ford was curled around him, preventing this from happening, and decided to say so.
"I'm very glad," Arthur said, "that you're here stopping me falling into the sky." He paused to consider what he'd just said, decided to blame the silliness of it on the wine, and giggled. "'Course, if you weren't here telling me too, I probably wouldn't have looked."
"That's the trouble with you," replied Ford with undeniable fondness. "You should look at the stars more often, since they're going to all the trouble of shining for you. I've seen better, of course, but as night skies go this isn't bad. But, hey…" He sighed, leaning into the crook of Arthur's neck and breathing against his skin. "They're even better to see up close. Bright and warm—" he snuggled even closer, moving a little more than just a simple embrace would call for "—and beautiful."
Arthur smiled drowsily. He liked it when Ford talked about the stars, partly for the poetry and partly because it generally led to some very nice, very tender sex. When Ford talked about space ships or his home – those two things were somehow linked in those sorts of ramblings, though Arthur couldn't for the life of him figure out why – the sex was frantic, almost desperate, and still nice in its own way but somehow a little more wearying. There were many other different ways it could be, but for some reason those stood out.
"Look at them," Ford told him again. "All that old, yellow light shining down."
"I think that's mostly the kitchen light, actually…"
"Shh. It's the stars if I say it's the stars."
Arthur giggled again, and it was such an undignified sound that he really would have to remember to blame the wine later.
"Want to show you the stars," Ford murmured, now breathing the words against Arthur's lips. "Come with me to see them?"
As Arthur answered yes Ford felt guilty for not mentioning that he also meant this literally, but it wasn't the right time to tell him that yet. So the stranded hitchhiker from a planet somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse made sure to be very tender as an apology for the omission.