gaycrackships:

Andrew Scott and Tom Hiddleston

“Oddly good weather, isn’t it,” Andrew says to the man in the tweed jacket, the one who just has to be the contact to whom Andrew is required to pass on pertinent information about the mission.  The right man is supposed to reply that it’s “far too sunny for anyone’s good,” and Andrew is hoping that he hasn’t made a huge mistake in picking this man out of tens of others also wearing bloody tweed jackets.  

The man looks up and gives Andrew a tiny smile, but his eyebrows pull together in the middle and he looks confused.  ”It is better than of late,” he admits in a friendly manner, and damn it all Andrew has chosen the wrong one.  Bollocks.

He racks his brain for a quick escape route.  ”Quite right.”  And then, after a beat, “I believe I should -“

The man doesn’t seem to have heard him.  ”Tom Hiddleston,” he says, sticking out an hand and grinning.  Andrew sighs internally and takes it.

The wrong man’s hand is warm and smoothly worn, and for a second Andrew doesn’t really care that he’s bungled up the mission completely.