bitchprince (
bitchprince) wrote2009-05-26 11:50 am
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Room 303, Tuesday Evening
After an exhausting day, there was little Arthur enjoyed more than getting to lounge about his thankfully not-an-alcove bed, which was just about as good as the one he had back in Camelot. He was already in his nightclothes by now, and he was fairly sure that whatever happened, he had a good night's sleep coming up on him.
If you didn't know him any better (and most people on the island didn't. Even many who thought they did) you could almost say he was completely back to normal, had put That Weekend out of his mind, and was continuing on as per usual.
You'd be wrong. So would Arthur, who made deluding himself into an art form when he felt like it.
He was just going to concentrate on the whole good night's sleep - have a hunting dog now - nice bed thing. That was about in keeping with his sanity. (That, and considering everything that Reno had put on his mind. It was always nice when life accommodated your denial with more responsibilities)
He wasn't yet aware that in a few short hours, he was going to be bustled out of his room by cranky rodents, no.
[[ door is cracked, post is open! -- and thread with Leto nws. sigh ]]
If you didn't know him any better (and most people on the island didn't. Even many who thought they did) you could almost say he was completely back to normal, had put That Weekend out of his mind, and was continuing on as per usual.
You'd be wrong. So would Arthur, who made deluding himself into an art form when he felt like it.
He was just going to concentrate on the whole good night's sleep - have a hunting dog now - nice bed thing. That was about in keeping with his sanity. (That, and considering everything that Reno had put on his mind. It was always nice when life accommodated your denial with more responsibilities)
He wasn't yet aware that in a few short hours, he was going to be bustled out of his room by cranky rodents, no.
[[ door is cracked, post is open! -- and thread with Leto nws. sigh ]]
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If Leto forgot it was him again? Well, there was always the cold-shock method. (He wasn't possessive. He just wasn't a replacable doll, either)
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He let go of Leto's prick to wipe off his mouth. He had... a considerable problem, at this point.
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Possibly knocking him against the door, but Arthur didn't notice nor care.
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He could come up with something himself, of course, but Arthur did have this preference for being in charge.
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"Figure something out," he said, finally, leaning his forehead against Leto's.
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If his foot hooked around Leto's ankle in the process, then so be it.
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Somehow, he didn't feel like being in charge any longer, and he closed his eyes against images in the dark.
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He was putting some faith in Leto's ability not to give a damn about his feelings, there.
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He continued for a while, noting the reaction, then slowly moved further down.
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He was just going to choose not to think about people who did give a damn about his feelings. His eyes flicked up at the ceiling, skimming past the clock. Eleven... something?
"I'll die another day, then," he spoke, mostly to himself, like a prayer he held every day (and he did, in his mind, somewhere) and then arched his back, making a little panting noise before that gave away to a short smattering of old Welsh.
If Leto even bothered to ask, he'd get no answers.
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His eyes flicked down to find the top of Leto's head, and he began to prop himself up to keep better tabs on... things.
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Arthur's mouth curled into something a little darker. He didn't say anything - his breath was coming too shallow and panting as it was, moments from incoherency - but once he was aware he had Leto's eyes he tilted his head ever so slightly, letting the hair fall over his forehead, and lifted an imperious eyebrow.
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Arthur was breathing heavily and it just wasn't-- he could feel something on the edge, sharp and good, staying out of his bloody reach. He opened his mouth to say something about it, but it came out as more of a wet moan and less of a complaint.
Oh well. It kept him distracted from the fact that several levels down, squirrels were gathering underneath their window.
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And the response Leto got meant he continued in the same way, although faster and with more intensity. His own emotions might have influenced that choice, too.
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