Crichton is mid-giggle when Arthur's mouth closes on him and it turns into a full-throated moan. His hips hitch forward and it's only by sheer force of will that he manages not to accidentally thrust himself back down Arthur's throat. (Look, it's been A WHILE.)

"Oh, oh God! Yes!" Arthur's tongue lavishing against his head like that is threatening to turn him into a puddle of goo right here on the bed. He's having not a single thought about how wrong or right this might be, because that would require having the capacity for thought at all beyond one giant word flashing in neon across his forebrain. MORE!

"Arthur! Don't stop!"