theotherright | come sail away IC inbox

Oh hey, and that puts him at a very practical height--

"Good. That- that's good." Though he sounds a little stunned, there's no doubt in Arthur's mind about what to do. The waistband of Crichton's bottoms is elasticated and soft, made of flannel or something like it; Arthur pulls them down, hands sliding over Crichton's hips. There's a protrusion that the waistband gets caught on and then pops over on its journey down, and his imagination does all sorts of things with that. His breathing is shallow.

Holy shit. Holy shit, he's really doing this. There's the gentle sound of fabric piling on the floor, and the welcome smell of Crichton, stronger now. He's halfway fascinated and halfway intimidated by the idea of what might be there if he tilted his head forward.

"Happy Christmas to me," he jokes mildly. It is a very stupid joke.

"Yeah..." Crichton answers, slightly unsteady after the waistband pops over his erection, "Yeah, it is."

He's still trapped in his briefs, not one for going commando if he can help it. So, if Arthur leans in he'll be met by a thin barrier of fabric still separating them.

"And to all a good night," Crichton chuckles. Stupid jokes are his favorite.

Ah yes, briefs. He can feel them under his fingers now as his hands return to Crichton's hips. Arthur gives them the same treatment as the pyjama pants, but more quickly now that he has his eyes -- for want of a better phrase -- on the prize.

He pauses, again not hesitating but rather holding his breath on the edge of a plunge into the deep end, a deep end that he'd like to swim in but which may or may not be full of monsters, and he's jumping any second now, here he goes--

"Right, I, I, I'm just going to--"

He goes for it. It's abrupt and ungraceful: one moment Arthur's hand is raised and his face is focused, and the next, his hand collides at low speeds with Crichton's dick and his fingers curl around it like he's holding a pull bar.

Arthur inhales quickly, and then kind of bluescreens a little. Holy jesus he's holding onto Crichton's penis.

Arthur isn't the only one holding his breath. Crichton can feel his toes curling around the edge of the diving board while he stares down into what feels like one of the highest dives of his life. (And he hasn't even smoked yet.)

His breath comes out in a startled mixture of a gasp and a moan the moment Arthur goes for it. Here they both are--in the deep water. Some part of him is still waiting to feel... disgusted? Unsure? He's neither. What he is, is extremely impatient for Arthur to do more than just hold on. He wants more. He could almost cry from the relief.

So, what better way to break the surface tension now, than with a patented terrible Crichton joke? "Looks like he's happy to meet you."

Well that gasp-moan is more than encouraging. Arthur feels his chest compress, a pleasant thrill going over his skin.

At the joke, he lets out a faint, almost disbelieving laugh, which turns quickly into a smirk as the instinct to tease takes over.

"Really."

Knowing how it will feel, and hoping to knock another noise like that out of his partner, he holds him just firmly enough to feel the foreskin slide over the harder core, and waggles his dick up and down as if shaking its hand.

"A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."

"Y-yes, really."

Crichton's knees wobble a moment before he locks them. His breath hitches hard as Arthur's hand slides over him and then he breaks into a thready giggle at the "handshake" he receives.

"I'm not going to give it a voice. That's taking it too far. But the pleasure is... all mine."

Don't mind him just putting a hand on either of Arthur's shoulders to support himself in case his knees decide not to stay locked.

"Holy crap... we're doing this." Well, someone had to say it out loud.

"Is it now?" This, with a circular movement of his thumb for good measure.

Arthur's shoulders twitch upwards as he braces himself to support Crichton; abruptly, the idea of rendering Crichton unable to stand by his own power is very big and very compelling. He has to swallow again, amazed and a little dizzied.

"Holy crap," he echoes, "now come here." And with one hand sliding round to the dimples on the small of Crichton's back, the other staying right where it is, he encourages Crichton forward a step or two so that he can lay a kiss on the warm skin of his belly. The smell of Crichton surrounds him now, surprisingly exciting.

Crichton lets out a full-throated groan as Arthur's thumb moves over him, his fingers digging into Arthur's shoulders.

"Yes, sir."

He moves in, eyes closing as he revels in the pleasure of it all. This closeness, the tender kiss that makes his belly jump and flutter, he almost can't believe it's real. Since when do good things like this happen to him?

He bows his head as if in prayer, and murmurs against the top of Arthur's head, "I really love you."

That groan only sharpens Arthur's focus even further. As for the title that follows it-- he huffs out a slight breath, because, well, hmm, yes, oh boy, he could sure get used to that.

And as for the words that follow that: if Crichton was trying to melt Arthur emotionally as well as physically, then he succeeded. There's a pressure welling inside Arthur's chest that threatens to burst not into tears, but into irrepressable joy. And it-- god, it's like an alarm bell that they're on the edge of a disaster. But he pushes that down. He pushes it way back down.

"Heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee." He says it low in his throat, between more kisses; he diverts from Crichton's dick for the moment to run long fingers over the rest of him, mapping all the places that till now have been hidden. "Crichton... god."

Arthur:

"So good I got you quoting Shakespeare, h-huh?" Yeah, he knows Shakespeare. He's a man of culture sometimes.

"Mmmm, yeah..." This attention is everything. Fingers combing over him, 'looking' with such care, it makes him feel so utterly wanted.

"Check out the caboose while you're at it~ It's award-winning, you know."

Arthur isn't necessarily surprised to find that someone else educated knows Shakespeare, but given that Crichton is from a fuckoff number of years in the future and who knows what still gets taught then, he is quietly delighted. "Shakespeare is only to set the mood. Just wait until I start to quote Chaucer."

Strong words. Let's see if he can back them up!

Speaking of backing up: Arthur's hands slide behind Crichton, like two adventurers scaling the mountain of his arse. "Ah yes," with a straight face that's definitely trying to turn into a smirk, "I would like to get in on the joke at last."

...oh wow.

Oh, that is-- that is a really nice arse.

Don't mind if he spends some extra time and attention mapping this bit, while he kisses down Crichton's side to mouth at his hip. There's the slightest graze of teeth there, to see if it draws forth any more really good noises.

Edited 2023-03-02 16:03 (UTC)

"Now, that's romantic," Crichton teases. He's not familiar with Chaucer other than in passing but when isn't having poetry quoted to you from your boyfriend romantic as hell?

"Play your cards right and maybe you'll get in on a lot more." He can't believe he just said that with a straight face and Arthur can't even see it. Although it comes with an audible gulp right after because... maybe he's actually serious about that. Terrifying. And exhilarating.

The nerves recede, however, as Arthur's fingers caress the mounds of his ass and he can see the way that smirk is trying to break free on his lover's face. That's right; he told no lies. He's got the finest cake in town and it's all for you, Arthur, baby.

"Like what you s-see--mmmm!" he starts to quip, but it's interrupted when that graze of teeth drags a moan straight up from his dick. Oh, hello. He loves that.

Arthur doesn't know how literal that innuendo was, and at this point he's too afraid to ask.

If he weren't already sitting down, he feels like Crichton's moan would take him out at the knees. He laughs under his breath, and then says into Crichton's skin, in a voice that's had the bottom fall out of it: "Well. You've doomed yourself to a lot more of that."

How about more nibbling, and a thumbnail drawn carefully up the inside of Crichton's thigh, followed by lighter fingertips, something Arthur can hardly comprehend himself doing despite the evidence right in front of him. He knows in broad strokes what this is leading to, but he's so much more compelled by every moment, movement and sound leading up to it, and it keeps fading out of view, like something huge under the water.

...not to spoil the mood, but: "Did, er... did- did we lock the door?"

"Oh, no~" Crichton says with mock alarm, "what a terrible fate." Arthur better do more of that is what he really means.

Crichton is starting to lean heavier on Arthur now because his own knees are threatening not to hold. He's gotten plenty well-acquainted with his own hand over the last couple years, sure, but that's no substitute for the erotic joy of fingernails grazing over the soft skin of his thighs, or the heat of breath blowing over him or, GOD, the nibble of teeth and lips. Arthur has turned him into a whimpering mess so quickly he can barely believe it himself.

"You forget," he answers breathlessly, "I'm as paranoid as you are. Yeah, it's locked." There's no one here to stop them. No one to barge in and ruin this moment.

"Arthur..." he puts so much need into just those two syllables. "Keep going, please...?"

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."

"F-frell," he whimpers as Arthur's teeth graze him. He's so ready to crumble that he really can't argue with switching up the positions.

"Yes, sir." Guess what? He noticed you liked that. He noticed he liked it too.

He flops backward on the bed, shucking away any last loose pieces of clothes still clinging to him. His cock is standing straight up, so Arthur shouldn't have much trouble finding it again.

"I'm all yours, baby."

"Good."

Arthur is starting to feel like keeping his trousers on wasn't a tactically sound decision. They're getting a little tight. Crichton probably deserves some kind of achievement award for that.

When he locates Crichton's cock again, he doesn't wait for long enough to second-guess, but puts the head into his mouth, hint of teeth and all. One hand is holding it steady; the other is in Crichton's thigh, both gripping and leaning. This is something that Arthur is quite interested in experiencing firsthand, and he assumes Crichton himself will have no complaints.

He'll collect his trophy later. When he's not experiencing the most pleasurable sensation of falling up into cloud nine.

"Oh, GOD!" he cries as the heat of Arthur's mouth envelops his head. "YES! Please!"

No complaints here. It is a good thing Arthur is leaning on him to remind him not to try bucking directly up into that wet heat, otherwise, he'd be doing just that.

Oh jeez, how thick are the hotel walls?

Despite that sudden concern, Arthur isn't about to stop. Not when Crichton is so clearly loving what he's doing. Another win for impulse eating! He makes a noise in response to Crichton's cry, a mnn that's half surprise and half entertainment, and that no doubt translates to a fun vibration in his mouth.

This is... predictably different from his past experience, in the same way a key is very different from a keyhole, but he's nothing if not adaptable. And he's grabbed by the sudden urge to take the whole thing at once, see just how far he can go--

At which, well, he gets the singular experience of a dick hitting the back of his throat with some velocity, and then he has to pull off to splutter and breathe. His gag reflex is strong but even it can get taken by surprise. Beginner's luck does not extend to deep throating.

Edited 2023-03-19 21:09 (UTC)

Crichton can't help it, when Arthur goes for gold and tries to take him down all at once only to end up fighting his gag reflex for his trouble, Crichton lets off a breathy but very genuinely amused giggle. Here's the thing... that was frelling hot. Funny and sexy at the same time is such a goddamn turn-on for him. He probably should say that so Arthur doesn't die of embarrassment in the meantime.

"Arthur," he lifts his head so he can see to reach for his lover's (yes, lover!) hand. "I know I'm laughing, but I need you to know it's because that was one of the hottest things you've ever done. You're so cute and sexy at the same time. How the hell do you pull that off?"

"Natural talent," mutters Arthur, his face tomato red. With any luck, he can roll with the embarrassment. Crichton's hand finding his own makes that easier. This, uh, this was never going to be a terribly dignified operation.

It's a strange thing, though. When he and Bella had sex, it always felt like something he was pushing himself toward: enjoying some moments, but mostly, whenever they slowed down, hoping vaguely that they'd stop. With Crichton, though, he feels pulled back in as if magnetised. Lots to unpack there, probably, but he's not wasting time doing that right now.

Arthur licks his lips involuntarily. Jesus, he can taste Crichton on them, and it's making him want to try again. His hand goes back to Crichton's hip, stroking up the slight rise of the bone, then into the hair that crowns the spot between his legs, moving down.

"But you're hardly innocent of being sexy," he murmurs, fascinated. "If I didn't know your stance on them, I'd almost think you had cast a spell on me."

"Oh yeah?" His voice is full of teasing challenge. "What are you gonna do about it? Arrest me?"

Oh, frell, that last line, has Crichton turning ruby red himself. A spell? Goddamn, he loves his poetic boyfriend. His cock bobs in obvious appreciation.

"Uh uh, if anyone's doing the charming here, it's you. Snake charming, specifically~"

Arthur laughs at the stupid, stupid joke, giddy in a way that has nothing to do with airway blockage, and with a "shhh" he goes in for seconds.

He doesn't attempt to deep-throat this time, instead taking his chance to get familiar with the head: rolling his tongue, and going almost obsessively to the very tip where saltiness collects. Arthur breathes out hard. He had, full disclosure, been worried that doing this to Crichton would feel... god, he doesn't know. Feminine. Incorrect. But now that he's here, now that they're both here, it's -- well, it's -- it's good.

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!"

oh and a warning for nsfw for the sake of any readers huh

>:] nsfw read at your own risk now baby

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