Malcolm doesn't do things in a sensible order.
“If those utter wrong-way screwheaded spanner-wanking toolsheds think that getting in on repealing the fucking Human Rights Act is going to help them in the next election I am going to disabuse them of the fucking notion by disabusing them of their fucking heads! Where the fucking fuck is my phone?”
Clara closed her eyes, breathed, then opened them again. “I’m going to need you to put on some underwear before you say anything else.”
Malcolm looked down, at what Clara was looking at: his prick, at half-mast because before he’d started they’d been engaged in a little idle morning fondling. His eyes widened, and then he reached down and gave himself a luxurious stroke. “My best feature, darling.”
“Your only feature.”
Malcolm shot her a friendly pair of fingers and Clara grinned.
He said, “My phone.”
“In the pocket of last night’s trousers. You took them off in rather a hurry.”
“Fuck, yeah, right, I remember now. Somebody wanted to get her lips around my–”
“Shut up and get to your morning eviscerations. I have a class to go teach.”
182 words; reading time 1 min.
tags: s:traveling, genre:crossover, p:malcolm/clara, f:the-thick-of-it, f:doctor-who, c:clara-oswald, c:malcolm-tucker, genre:romance, banter