Forgive him for taking a while to get there. Arthur finds, and has always found, the idea that someone might want to have sex with him to be faintly baffling: an unknown country that he's tried and failed repeatedly to map. It's not that he hasn't thought about it; but, left to his own devices, he could be happy with the intimacy they already have for quite some time--
Oh okay wow Crichton's really going for it. Arthur is suddenly very aware of the both of them, their bodies and the places where they're touching; and not in an unpleasant way, despite the distant ring of ex-Catholic alarm bells. His eyelids go down for a moment, and his head goes up; his hand comes up as well, fingers scaling Crichton's back to cup the base of his neck.
The fact of Crichton not just being loving, but also honest-to-god desiring him as a husband and wife would, smacks him sideways a bit, and he breathes off-beat and stammers like someone who just had a strong drink. Their desperate movements and the feel of Crichton under his hands that November morning are far from forgotten.
"Oh," he's saying again, in the vague, slightly wandering voice that communicates complete '!!!', "yes, I," as if observing and reporting on his own reaction, "I think I might." And here he's agreeing to something utterly enormous, but grasping the scope of an action before attempting it has never been something that came naturally to him.
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Oh okay wow Crichton's really going for it. Arthur is suddenly very aware of the both of them, their bodies and the places where they're touching; and not in an unpleasant way, despite the distant ring of ex-Catholic alarm bells. His eyelids go down for a moment, and his head goes up; his hand comes up as well, fingers scaling Crichton's back to cup the base of his neck.
The fact of Crichton not just being loving, but also honest-to-god desiring him as a husband and wife would, smacks him sideways a bit, and he breathes off-beat and stammers like someone who just had a strong drink. Their desperate movements and the feel of Crichton under his hands that November morning are far from forgotten.
"Oh," he's saying again, in the vague, slightly wandering voice that communicates complete '!!!', "yes, I," as if observing and reporting on his own reaction, "I think I might." And here he's agreeing to something utterly enormous, but grasping the scope of an action before attempting it has never been something that came naturally to him.