Summary: You take Arthur for a night out after having saved up some money. A little bite of trouble and some hurt ensues. Fluff and a speck of angst.
A/N: This was something I basically accidentally wrote when I was doing drunk Arthur headcanons. I wanted to explore Arthur in a drunken state more, so this ensued. I honestly feel like it's one of the weakest things I've written, but it is what it is.
Warnings: Some physical tussle, an attempt at unwanted advances, and childhood abuse mentioned (not as bad in the fic as it sounds but you can decide that).
Originally posted by missis-gingersnap
"Alright, honey. Come on."
"One more," he slurred, then hiccuped, wrapping his arms around you tighter as you tried to get up from the both you both were sitting in, pulling you down clumsily back into his lap. He began to leave sloppy kisses on your cheek, and you turned and returned one on his lips, then sighed.
"Arthur, you've had at least four large drinks. You weigh what, ninety pounds?" Arthur was giving you a sheepish, 'no idea what you're talking about' look, feigning innocence. "How are you not dead right now?"
Arthur only let out a small groan in response and buried his head in your neck. You were pretty sure he didn't even know where he was right now. He pressed himself into your further, and you felt him harden against your thigh.
"I just want to curl up for a little while," he mumbled into your skin, his soft lips grazing the curve of your shoulder.
"Well, if we go home, you can do that right away," you muttered to him softly, smirking as you stroked his hair through his curls reassuringly.
"Mmmok," he mumbled almost incoherently, then lifted his head up. The bags under his eyes seemed heavier than usual. He had a zoned out, goofy look on his face, but you could tell how tired he was. It was one in the morning, and you were starting to wonder why you thought bringing him out on a bar date had been a good idea. You had had an amazing night, not being able to keep your hands off one another, both of you cackling so hard tears had fallen from your eyes, but now you had to figure out how to get this helpless man home safely and into bed.
"Come on, love," you cooed gently, and lifted his face up, wiping his curls out of his face. "Let's go home." You had to start somewhere.
You took his arms off of you and finally managed to lift yourself off of his lap and out of the booth. You had expected him to follow, but Arthur only continued to sit there, staring into space, head tilted downward slightly. Your heart squeezed at how boyish and helpless he looked. Had he even ever been drunk before? Did he even know what was going on with his body?
"Baby," you muttered, then cupped his face up to look at you. "You have to get up."
Arthur looked back at you through glazed eyes, then started to stumble in the most clumsy way out of the booth. He made his way half outside of it, then collapsed on the ground. You quickly rushed to hold him up by his arms. He was so light that it felt like lifting up a young boy. His arms were awkwardly lifted upward with your arms underneath them. He looked up at you.
"Oops," he said meekly, then let out another hiccup.
You huffed and wrapped an arm around his waist, gratitude for how light he was flooding you as you thought about how rough this night would be if he was a man of normal weight. You felt his ribs through his clothes as you lifted him up. He swayed back and forth for a moment, looking lost. You put your hand on the small of his back as a way of getting him to start moving forward, but all he did was look over his shoulder at you.
