Arthur laughs just as breathlessly at Crichton's answer -- at both the paranoid pair of them, really. Maybe also a little in relief. And at the fact that, well. No excuses -- and no need to hold back, then.

And the way Crichton says his name is fucking intoxicating.

"O-okay," he says, hoarsely, since that's the most intelligent reply he can come up with in the moment. He bares his teeth against Crichton's thigh, presses fingernails into his skin, sucks in a breath and tries to deal with the things he wants to do to this man.

Well, first he wants a more advantageous position. He tilts his face up -- flushed and awed -- more for Crichton's benefit than for his own. "Lie down down on the bed," he says, summoning his most authoritative voice. "On your back."