CURT'S THOUGHTS ABOUT ARTHUR-short fic. "4:37 a.m."
"4:37 a.m."
Arthur love...I'm still here at the club, still working my ass off, trying to close things up so I can come to you. I can't stop thinking about you, looking at my favorite picture of you that I always keep on the wall of my office. The one that reminds me of the utter abandon that creeps over your face when you're really feeling it. When you've got a handful of my blonde hair entwined in your fingers, pulling me towards you, struggling to breathe, and I'm on my knees before you, making your wish come true. The one you made all those years ago on the rooftop. Again and again. Tasting you like sweet wine. Frantically working my throat to coax those deep moans out of yours. The deep, low noises that make me shiver, the sounds that live in my bone marrow and rule me.
It seems strange to miss you so much when I know I'll see you in just a couple of hours, but even when we're not together, I feel your eyes burning right through me, the memory of your penetrating gaze forever living in my mind's eye. Fuck, as tired as I am, I get hard imagining the way you look at me when you are going to take me.
Like last night when you surprised me in the shower, cornering me and pushing me roughly up against the tiles, leaving imprints on my back. Pinning my arms up above my head with yours while you moved with me, covering my face with urgent kisses. Your eyes like velvety black pools pouring into my pale blue ones, speaking a thousand things too profound for words-a sort of secret language between us. Murmuring my name, making poetry out of that one syllable that so many others have spoken with abusive contempt in my sad life. Sad until now, when the mere feel of your arms wrapped around me in the enveloping steam is all I really need to touch the stars. You didn't care that I was wet, or that my hair was a dripping, tangled mass, or that my eyeliner was running down my face, and onto your silky lips. You still thought I was beautiful, and you made me feel that maybe...just maybe...I really am, too.
You've grown up to be such a beautiful man, Arthur. Fucking beautiful. So strong, inside and out, and someone I admire so damn much...worship, actually. You leave me amazed and breathless. I don't deserve the love of someone like you, nevertheless I will hold onto it for dear life. Like a drowning man grasps at a bit of floating driftwood. Your love-I would beg for it, whore for it, fucking kill for it. It has become my drug of choice-not that I could give it up if I tried. Not that I ever would try. Sigh.