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[theotherright]

Cabin 127. No calls, we text like men on our disney cruise phones.

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[ss_buttcrack]

"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?"

[theotherright]

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."

[ss_buttcrack]

"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?"