theotherright | come sail away IC inbox

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, Arthur's not about to stop, not when Crichton is losing his entire mind under Arthur's attentions. Not when he's calling Arthur's name like that. He sucks hard at Crichton's head, hot-cheeked and thinking up his next move, his approach not unlike tackling a puzzle whose goal is to draw out as many of those loose, wanting moans as possible. For just a moment, then, he pulls his mouth away-- but only to spit on his hand and put it to work at the base of Crichton's cock.

(At which point he notices that he's drooling way more than he realised, and also that his shoulder's kind of sore from holding him up, and also that Crichton's pubic hair feels weird with spit in it-- okay no no no he's in the moment he's in the moment.)

Crichton slides back between his lips again, and he'll feel another brush of teeth, restrained and exploratory, delivered alongside a lapping tongue. The ace in the hole, if you will, while Arthur's hand pumps out of rhythm with his mouth.

Maybe he should be going more gently, maybe someone with more experience would use an expert touch to draw this out longer; who knows. But Arthur's virtues have never included patience, and he wants to experience every bit of this, and he wants it all now. He wants to know everything he's been missing out on all these years.

Edited (natural 1 said i should include that last paragraph while i still can) 2023-04-16 20:19 (UTC)

Arthur should be more careful what he wishes for, because he's about to get it all right now.

Teeth, tongue, hands... Crichton's got no defense for this. And, apparently, no resistance either. [Thanks nat 1]

"Oh, s-shit!" he gasps, realizing just how close that last pump got him to climax. Before he can string together enough words to constitute a warning, he's shooting off like a Fourth of July fireworks display that's been delayed three years for drought conditions--making up for the lost time with a big bang.

Oh, it's a magnificent display. His back arches up until his ass is threatening to lift off the bed, while his hands scrabble wildly for something to hold onto, catching on Arthur's back and holding tight. A howling moan erupts from his throat, loud enough that the neighbors will have no doubt what's up. As for poor Arthur... sure hope he likes the taste of salt because he's getting a big helping of it.

Well! That's possibly a new record for Arthur for the shortest time between fucking around and finding out.

"Gmnmfn--"

God that's loud -- god that's sudden -- and god, that's a lot. Arthur freezes in surprise -- not sure if he's supposed to- to- swallow? to spit? it's not unpleasant but there is a lot of it -- until the next moment, when he instinctually tries to breathe and he starts to choke and splutter all over again. Crichton's Fourth of July display overspills from his mouth, and comes out of his nose, and he jerks back, up onto his knees.

He's coughing, and he's laughing, in a blend of triumph and embarrassment and delight, and once he's breathing again he licks his lips exaggeratedly, grinning in Crichton's general direction. Well how about that!

Not even the fog of bliss can keep Crichton down when he hears Arthur start to choke. No. Uh uh. No way. He is not letting his boyfriend die like this, God help them.

He sits up and reaches out saying, "Whoa, Arthur. I'm sorry... I..." Wait. Arthur's laughing. (Which means he's breathing, whew.) Crichton lets out a relieved chuff of air and lets himself fall back on his elbows, starting to laugh himself--until he sees Arthur lick his lips like that.

Oh.

Damn that's hot.

Before he really even knows what he's doing, he's sitting up and leaning in, putting a hand to the back of Arthur's head and drawing him in for a sloppy, salty kiss. How about that, indeed?

The creak of bedsprings warns him that Crichton is incoming. Arthur makes a noise as he's kissed, short and hungry, and pushes his tongue into Crichton's mouth. God, he's almost feeding Crichton -- feeding him his own -- jesus christ. There are electric currents running over Arthur's skin. Another briefer sound escapes his throat, and he shifts at the waist for the small relief it gives, and lifts his hands to the sides of Crichton's face.

Crichton eats it all up hungry for the taste of Arthur underneath his own musk, hungry for more of those sounds. He's surprising himself, finding that despite his orgasm he's still got a lot of energy left to expend. Hell, give him long enough even his dick might catch a second wind. But he's less concerned about his own body at the moment, and more interested in running his fingers wildly over Arthur's back, not breaking from the kiss, but letting Arthur drive that with his tongue while Crichton's attention goes to the way Arthur's hips shift.

When he comes up for air, finally, he husks, "Your turn now. I want a taste of you."

Well that statement has Arthur almost seeing stars. He hasn't-- is it because it's been so long, or because of the wrongness about him that Bash pointed out, that it's taken him until now to really want Crichton's mouth around him? Now, though, the idea makes his breathing stutter, and anything other than this moment and that promise is dashed clean out of his head.

"Yes- I, I- r-right." Unfortunately he's so very in the moment that the obvious next step of 'take your trousers off' doesn't immediately occur to him.

His breath rushes out in a heavy whoosh of released tension. Arthur said yes! Arthur wants him to... oh...wow, he's just remembering how this going to be a first for him too. There's a tiny blip of "Can I do this?" that crosses his mind but from the bleachers comes a resounding "Yes!"

One more kiss, on the lips, then another on his chin, and then the breastbone, Crichton's already way ahead of Arthur. "Lay down for me, let's get the rest of your clothes off." Crichton's already reaching for the waistband. Let him see what he's working with here.

"Right-- right." Thank goodness Crichton has the presence of mind to tell Arthur what to do or this might take forever.

As he lies down -- carefully, elbows-first, skin burning wherever Crichton's lips touch it -- he starts to think again, and his nervousness peaks at a level somewhere between 'giant deer-eating spider' and 'breathe out and squeeze into that tunnel'. Which is ridiculous -- he trusts Crichton, he feels safe with Crichton, he's been vulnerable with Crichton a hundred times before. He closes his eyes (old habit) and breathes, and the nerves are crowded out by excitement, each pushing against the other as if he's trying to have every reaction at once.

The breathing turns into a shallow gasp as he's freed from his trousers. Now there's only a loose pair of boxers between him and the room, and they do nothing to hide the fact that he's nearly all the way to hard. The fly of the boxers is parting where his cock pushes against it, a little flushed skin visible.

If only he could play this off the way Crichton did. His mind seizes on something said earlier, and he pipes "Hello," before realising that Crichton refused to give his dick a voice, and that he sure as hell isn't going to either. Mortified, all he can do to save himself is backtrack, in a rush: "I-- I, I don't have any suitable joke f-for the occasion." Can they please pretend that didn't happen?

Crichton's feasting his eyes on that little peek of skin through the boxer slit while dragging Arthur's trousers the rest of the way down. His face is hovering close enough that his hot breath will blow across Arthur when he laughs.

"God, you're so frelling cute. You know that?" There's a world of affection in his voice as he says it. He loves his poor, nervous, adorable boyfriend. Loves him to pieces. He's going to show him just how much.

"All I wanna hear from you is how much you like this." He hooks his thumb in Arthur's boxers and yanks them down. No more hiding, you're all his now.

Well if you're going to breathe directly onto Arthur's dick then Arthur's going to get distracted again, realising just how close Crichton's face is to that part of him and experiencing another wave of duelling 'oh god???' and 'oh god yes'. His cock twitches, up and down, and he forgets to lift his feet to help get his trousers off.

"Er- so- I, er, so I have heard," he says. Usually he'd scoff if anybody else tried it, since it's a clear display of both delusion and bad taste, but somehow whenever Crichton calls him cute it makes him feel buoyant. And that on top of everything else... he is, he realises abruptly, happy. Happy to be here, happy to be doing this. Well blow him down.

But at the same time, lying nude and prone on his back like this makes him feel exposed, vulnerable in a way he's not a fan of. And so, at the same moment that Crichton is pulling off his boxers, he's pushing himself back up onto his elbows, lifting his feet to let the underwear past and putting them back down flat on the bed, and reminding himself that the door is locked. It's fine. He tries to force his muscles to relax, which isn't really how that works.

"That, that I can do." He wants this to happen and he is not going to fuck it up for both of them by getting nervous, god damn it. Arthur moves his feet further apart, the spreading of his legs almost shy, urging Crichton to move in on him. He adds: "Please."

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can't believe the dice did me like this

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brief internalised aphobia warning

brief internalised aphobia warning

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oh my god i thought i replied to thissss

aaaa it's okay it happens!

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