Yay and congrats on your followers! Prompt: F/1 “If you’re going to do something, now would be a good time.”

antennapedia:

The hire car sped away from them, fishtailing in the sheets of water that covered the tarmac. Malcolm stood in the middle of the road holding up two fingers for as long as it was visible. Then he joined Clara in the bus stop and wiped rain from his face. Neat, freshly painted, with glass intact. Why was there a stop here? A sign named the roads that intersected here, and Malcolm presumed there was some not entirely insane reason why one would wait for a bus here. But there was nothing that looked like a village he was willing to walk for.

“When’s the next?” he said.

“Not running today. It’s Sunday.”

“Oh, fuck me.”

“Sorry,” Clara said. “I really shouldn’t have said that to your colleague.”

Malcolm shook his head. “If you hadn’t said it, darling, I’d have punched him in the nose. And we’d be in the same right mess anyway.”

Clara shook her head and scrunched up her nose. Malcolm found this expression adorable, but adorable was not helpful right now. Adorable was not a jacket against the ball-shrinking cold of this ice cave of a bus stop. In the middle of sod-all nowhere.

“Fuck,” he said, addressing the universe.

“If you’re going to do something, now would be a good time.”

“Keep your garters on, darling, I’ve got this one.”

Phone out, nice strong signal, thank Christ, and he stabbed at the entry by a name he knew he could rely on. He had a conversation that went longer than he liked, but the formalities must be observed, the gods of friendship appeased. His second bottle of single malt was going to have to be sacrificed to earn this rescue, but he could pull it off. Good.

Phone back into his pocket, triumphantly. “Rescue is arranged,” he said to Clara.

“Your accent went about as Weegie as an accent could get.”

“Old friend from my days as a journalist. He’ll be by soon as he can.”

“How soon is that?”

Malcolm shrugged. “Hour? Two? Depends on whether he has to sober up first.”

“Great.”

“Come here, love. Let’s stay warm.”

Feet up on the bench, swiveled around. Clara fit neatly between his knees, bitty wee thing that she was. Malcolme unbuttoned his coat and tucked it around her. Next time he’d buy one three sizes too large, so he could wrap it all the way round.

Clara leaned back against him. “I almost wish I hadn’t told him off. We could be warm and dry right now.”

“But in a train with that fuck.”

“Sounds like a good tradeoff to me.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you’d spent any time with the twat.”

“Warm. Dry.”

“Darling, I am happier to be sitting here on a bench with you, in a fucking deluge, than I would have been in first class getting blown by one waiter while another tips coke into my nose, knowing Ollie hadn’t been told off proper for what he said.”

Clara snorted in his arms. Something about his language did something to her. Malcolm was grateful for that, mysterious as it was. He kissed the back of her neck. Cool, damp skin, smelling faintly of the soap from the inn that morning. He remembered that shower fondly. So did his cock. Now was not the time for that, however. Keep her warm, keep her safe in his arms, and later they could enthusiastically re-enact the morning.