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From a Little Spark May Burst a Flame

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They should have set off for the next antiques centre fifteen bloody minutes ago, but Paul was still messing about - checking out his reflection in the rear view mirror of their classic motor. David glanced to his right, watching the auctioneer preening himself, making sure his moustache was on-point for the cameras - quite literally.

"Hey - I've noticed something about you, Laidlaw," Harper accused him.

"What?" Scottish tones replied.

"You waited until I shaved my beard off and then grew one of your own! Stealing my style like a common thief," he laughed.

"I didn't want there to be too much friction if you decided to kiss me," Paul raised his eyebrows. Had they both had their beards at the same time, kisses between them would have been as rough as sandpaper. This notion most clearly hadn't occurred to David, who spluttered in disbelief at the sheer thought of it.

"In case I--"

"--Or in case," Laidlaw interrupted, one teasing finger under Harper's chin, drawing him closer, like the moth to the flame. "I decided to kiss you," his eyes, behind the spectacles, were fixed on David's lips, a tiny pink tongue nervously running across them now. "Having said that... There's nothing wrong with a few sparks here and there... now, is there?"