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The hand over his heart, a steadying touch that places Crichton reassuringly in space above him, is exactly what Arthur wanted, though god forbid he use his words and ask for it. He untenses a little.

"Don't worry, I ^ah," he says. Yes, he did squeak when Crichton kissed the head of his cock. That information will never leave this room.

If Crichton liked seeing the thing twitch, he'll love when it stands a little straighter and fuller, already wordlessly awarding him a good grade in blowjob.

Arthur falls back into the bed again so that he can put a hand over one eye, expelling the rest of his sentence as a puff of air, hyperaware of the neighbouring rooms and ready to stifle himself if he makes any sound louder than that squeak. And he makes himself stay there, for now at least.

He's not sure what to say! This is a big development!

"You, you have the lips of a flautist." Okay, you know what, silence is always a valid option.

That information will never leave this room, but it's never going to leave Crichton's brain, either. He could listen to that squeak on repeat and never get tired of it. Nor will he ever get tired of watching how Arthur reacts to this. He no longer has any doubt that they are compatible, despite how long it's taken them to get this far.

"Oh yeah?" he answers, the warmth of laughter in his tone. "Here's hoping I can finish strong with a high C." Don't worry Arthur, he can turn anything into an innuendo.

That's enough talking. Time for more than just a kiss. Now that Arthur's collapsed back onto the bed, Crichton's hand on his chest stays in place, resting, not pressing down. His other hand wraps around Arthur's shaft to help guide him to Crichton's waiting mouth. Time to blow baby blow.

Maybe it's Crichton's sheer talent for innuendo, or maybe it's all this zig-zagging between anxiety and pleasure, but Arthur is rendered incapable of reply. Instead he whimpers involuntarily as he's grasped by Crichton's hand; and when it's followed by his mouth, warm and living and wet, Arthur starts up a quiet o-o-oh my god, oh my god, prayed directly into his own palm.

His knees bend further, hips twitching up despite his efforts. And yet the rest of him feels frozen, ignoring his commands entirely, as if it's paralysed itself in sleep and left him wide awake and helpless. At the back of his mind, crawling forwards, are thoughts of his soft belly and chest and throat, pinned and pointed to the ceiling like a frog asking to be dissected. How little fight he could put up, lying here.

But he makes a fist, and attempts to drag those thoughts back into the dark, and to focus only on the much nicer things happening around his lower half.

Edited 2023-05-16 20:57 (UTC)

Crichton is enjoying the hell out of listening to that. He really thought this might feel awkward but the soft yet hard texture and even the slightly salty taste of Arthur is anything but unpleasant. Jesus christ, he really actually does like sucking dick. Who the fuck knew?

At first, it all seems fine. Arthur's hips twitch on impulse and Crichton takes the bending of his knees for a good sigh. But he's watching closely, aware of the stiffness in places that shouldn't be stiff right now. It's about the moment when he sees Arthur making that fist that he decides to pull back and check-in.

He strokes at Arthur's chest gently and asks, "Still good up there?"

The thing is that, despite Arthur's sense of safety circling the drain, Crichton's mouth does feel good, so it's a confused sort of mnh that comes out of him when that mouth pulls away. He hesitates in answering, unwilling to admit defeat, but sensing that now of all times is not the time to pretend to be fine.

"I-- well, I..."

Then there are footsteps and laughing voices in the corridor, moving past their room, normal for a Christmas morning and not particularly loud. Arthur is back up on his elbows like a jack-in-the-box. Rapidly: "Well actually--"

He slows it down, and brings it back down an octave while he's at it. Decides to answer with the truth. Pre-emptively attempts to defuse that truth with an unconvincing laugh.

"I-- no, no knock on your ability, but brilliantly enough I keep thinking how easily I could be stabbed. I - suppose you could say I'm incredibly bad at setting the mood."

He says it as if it's a joke. It would be a better joke if his various scars didn't stand out in quite such livid pink against his pale torso.

"Arthur," Crichton says gently. "I get it. It's not easy to just turn that fear off." Arthur has to remember how he reacted when it felt like his hands were being tied, right?

Crichton's fingers stroke the hairs on Arthur's chest, pointedly avoiding those scars that still stand out so prominently.

"Why don't we go back to the original plan? Think you might be relaxed enough by now to give smoking a try?"

Arthur remembers it vividly, and it's the foremost reason why his judgement is staying internal instead of getting projected like crazy onto Crichton. "It's not," he says, and lets out a longer breath than he realised he was holding. Crichton understands. Of course he understands; he gets Arthur so well that it's uncanny, sometimes. "It's not."

He's slowly relaxing again, though, both at Crichton's touch and at his willingness to just... pause this.

"Thank you," he says, not sure how to phrase what he's thankful for, but hoping Crichton will understand that, too.

The fact that he's calming down aside, that question, coming right after he has to tap out of sex because of his over-tuned sense of danger, surprises a laugh out of Arthur. If that was Crichton's plan, then it worked perfectly. "I-- yes, why not? Only..."

He pushes himself upright, not sure if or how to finish that sentence; it comes out as: "Let me hold onto you, a moment."

"Thank you for trusting me this much," Crichton answers. Not just with his body, but with his fears too.

That laugh is like sweet music. It breaks the tension in Crichton so he can relax and briefly nuzzle his nose against the inside of Arthur's thigh. They'll get there. They have all night.

"Sure. Let me come up." Crichton has to take his hand back for just a minute so he can reposition and wriggle up alongside Arthur, resting his chin on his lover's chest. "Better?"

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oh my god i thought i replied to thissss

aaaa it's okay it happens!

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