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In which a party can't end soon enough.
His mouth presses against yours — searching, wanting, hungry. Your mind buzzes with champagne as Arthur's tongue brushes over your lips. You cup his jaw and draw him in, closing the door to his apartment behind yourself with your foot.
In the way his hips cant against yours and how he leans into you it's painfully obvious how starved he is. How long he'd been waiting; dreaming about this. About you. His frame curls against yours, he's warm.
You revealed just a smidge too much in that breathtaking dress, he couldn't help himself. Your skin glistened with the thinnest sheen of sweat, all because that stupid event room had the worst air conditioning imaginable. You'd just gotten lucky with the chilly autumn air that did a decent job at combating the heat inside.
How a place that looked so fancy missed one of the most bare necessities is still beyond Arthur, but he won't complain. You did, after all, accompany him back home. That's more than enough of a reward for the trouble.
Besides — you looked positively ravishing like that.
"Never goin' to one of 'em dumb parties..." Arthur's breathless, his words are hot against the skin of your neck. His dialogue bleeds into a wanton kiss to your jugular, you tingle all over. "...ever again."
You laugh airily as he hoists you up against himself, wrap your arms around his neck. His legs are numb from all that standing around at Dutch's idiotic party and the alcohol, but the will to carry you to his bedroom is something he can always muster.
Arthur kicks off his shoes as he stumbles down the hallway, you work at his tie, which proves to be a difficult task for a wine-addled brain.
He laughs against your collarbone at your attempts, but keeps to himself otherwise. You appreciate that.
"I quite liked seeing you all riled up like that." You answer in response to his prior statement, looking down at him with a wicked smile as he kicks the bedroom door open. You card your hands through the hair at the nape of his neck. That's always guaranteed to leave him at your mercy for a good few seconds. "You're so pretty when you blush."
Arthur sets you on the bed, makes quick work of discarding your heels before he crawls up to you again. He feels like his body was made to fit between your thighs. And it's those little discoveries that made him fall for you so deeply and helplessly. God, if you knew how tightly you had him wrapped around your little finger — Arthur can't decide if he desperately wants to know what you'd do or if he's terrified.
So he decides it's a detail best left unsaid. Unlike the commentary he's planning to make about your attire at the party, which rolls off his tongue before he can even think his words through.
"Not my fault that dress fits you so." He presses a kiss to your jaw. "Damn." One to your neck. "Well." One to your collarbone, long, languid and ravenous. His kisses can send even the most lucid of thoughts into a frenzy.
He's kind enough to help you undo his tie, thank goodness. You slip it away from his neck, let it glide through your hand as you look at it. Arthur stops to glance at you in a way that's questioning, but you shake your head as you discard the tie.
Not tonight. He's proven his patience, and so have you, there's no need to restrain anything or anyone.
Arthur shrugs off the black suit that hugged his shoulders so perfectly. You can't be bothered to wait, and make quick work of the white shirt underneath as well. What a masterpiece he is.
"I'm impressed." You tell him with a chuckle as you smooth your hands down his naked chest. Arthur hums, both to question what you mean and because he can't hold back a sound of appreciation at your touch. It's been a week, but he needs this. Needs you. Not that you're any different, but that won't stop you from poking fun at him. It's about as enjoyable as the term itself implies, after all. "That you managed to hold out until we got to your place."
"Real funny." He teases riggt back, fumbling with the zipper of your dress. "Like you weren't the one with your hand on my thigh in the taxi."
Touché.
The dress is finally, finally off. Arthur undoes your bra with practiced ease next, and you wrap your legs around his hips.
"Well, I stand by what I said — a blush looks good on you." You tell him as he kisses the top of your breasts. You grind against him, bodily and boldly now. A stuttered breath leaves his lungs at that, you sigh in pleasure. "And the best part is it's so easy to get you flust—"
He smashes his lips against yours, he tastes like the liquor you'd been too reluctant to order. It's perfect, leaves your mind fuzzy and chest warm as his tongue traces over your lower lip.
"Jus' shut up." He drawls into the kiss, sliding one hand down your side. You grin against his lips, catching the lower one between your teeth.
Arthur's breath stutters, but his hand is unwavering as it reaches your naked waist.
"You'll have to make me."
By god, his smile could make the angels sing and he'd never know it. Arthur's more than glad to take you up on your challenge: his hand slides under your panties, his lips find that spot just below your ear that makes you squirm.
"A'right." He purrs, watching you bite your lip as his fingers dip lower, lower. "Let's see if I can make y'scream instead."
[Dinner and Diatribes by Hozier started playing while I was studying for chemistry, so...here we are.]
