agoodyarn | Fluffy Stuff for ceaselesslabor

Fluffy Stuff for ceaselesslabor

There'd been some discussion before they made their choices.

One of their bargains with the House was of course to deal with the problem of Kayne and the Blackstone and all that that entailed. John had taken care of that, citing the fact that he could be careful in how he worded it to avoid any such problems that they might have to deal with.

The other had been simple enough: the body that John was using, to allow them to keep it when they went back to their world. Not to Arkham, perhaps. Arkham had quite a lot of trouble still left behind, though John assured Arthur that he could handle it. And New York held too many memories, though John did intend to look up and check on a few people there, given the time differences.

No, they'd decided to head back to England, as John explains they had decided. Back to England, where Arthur could start up a fresh private investigation office with John as his partner and the two of them would have an apartment just above together as-

"...do we want to say we got married in the States, Arthur?"

They're standing in their new apartment, only barely furnished, and there are- well, there are some decisions to be made.

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Every time he asks her that, she doesn't know what to say. What does she want? What she has. She wants to have it forever. She wants to have it in every way she can have it. She wants one thing, one person, to do everything with him, to experience a million, trillion wonderful moments, and she's already getting that but she'll also need to wait for the next second to get that one. Which is why her answer is to dive at him and kiss him into the pillows with an intensity that sounds almost like she's close to tears.

He wraps his arms around her as they kiss on the pillows, feeling like they're both somewhere exotic and beautiful on this silk sheets. His eyes close as he gives himself to this moment, this kiss.

"You never have an answer," he grumbles with a breathy laugh.

She crawls on top of him and kisses him again before her voice is in his mind.

I'm giving you an answer. I always do.

You, Arthur. It's always and forever you.

Then take what you want. I'm all yours, John.

Which he's more than happy about.

He slides his hands to her hips. "I love you," he murmurs into the kiss.

I love you, Arthur.

And she will take. She will kiss his cheeks and his jawline and his neck. She will nuzzle against his skin as she works her way down to his shoulder and breathe in the scent of him, them, sweat and cologne and soap and everything else. She will bury her face against the hollow of his throat and press a few careful kisses there, very conscious of his windpipe. Then she will rest against him and simply exist there, where he is real and filling her senses and perfect in his nakedness that is so much more than being without clothes.

Once she's taken in her fill there, she'll reach down between them to see what state he's in with her hand. She wants him inside of her in a different way now.

Will you still be hungry for dinner after all that? Teasing.

I prefer my dessert first.

Arthur can't help how he responds to her. Even now, even after endless nights and days together in the resort, he's aching and hard against her hand. He answers her with a soft hiss at her touch.

All the times in the Resort had only taught them how to make it better for the other, how to enjoy them better, please them more, love them to the heights of pleasure. She strokes him once more before shifting him onto his back and straddling him, her hips lowering slowly as gravity does the work of pressing him inside of her. He knows the little hitch in her breath when he's filled her completely, and she knows the way his hips shift as the liquid heat of her properly grips him.

She lets her hands settle on his chest as her hips begin to rock and a random thought crosses her mind and tugs a giggle out of her. She leans down to kiss him once she's done, but she doesn't stop moving.

The first thing I said about you was that you had the cold, calculated demeanor of someone not to fuck with. She presses another kiss to him. And now, all I see is warmth and passion... and someone I want to 'fuck' with all the time.

He goes with her gladly, admiring her in that dress, now a bit torn. It's beautiful. She's beautiful. And when he fills her up, when she's settled on him and rocking, he works his jaw with a soft sigh.

Her words, though, make him laugh. A genuine laugh that knocks him out of his head a little, which is actually how he likes it.

"John!" he protests against the kiss. "How long have you been thinking that?"

Her breath hitches as the laughter has him hitting a very good spot indeed before she kisses him again.

"Just now. It just-" she smiles, very fond, "as I looked down at you, your face, feeling you so perfect inside of me..." She peeks from under a slightly fluttering lid. "Not that I don't love it when you're... like that. I do. I love... all the facets of you." A few rocks before she adds- "Gorgeous. Like a diamond. Every one."

"You'll make me quote poetry while I'm inside you," he mutters, reaching up to grip the top of her dress and pull it down, flicking his tongue against her soft skin. His toes curl as she sets the slow pace, but he could stay like this forever.

"John," he moans, shaping her name against his lips. "Don't - don't stop."

"You quoted plenty of poetry," and she has no intention of stopping. Quite the contrary. She starts kissing at his neck and jaw, "while I was inside you." A low, evil little chuckle interrupted by a sound of want as he happens to hit that just-right spot that shoves her closer to the edge and begins slightly different rhythm. "And you liked when I made you come... murmuring Frost in your ear... at Swan Lake. I remember."

He cries out in frustration, in love and want, remembering that exact moment...and every moment like it. I just - just like when you're inside of me, he tells her, too far gone for words now. Especially when she moves like that. Especially when Arthur can feel her enveloping him in so many ways, heat boiling inside of him.

Which is when Arthur will feel the tentacles, their origin point somewhere on her back, behind her, slipping past his legs and finally, between them, already slick. He'll feel it start to slide in on the next thrust up into her and she moans his name as she sways on top of him.

I'm always inside of you, Arthur. We are forever entwined.

He cries out, pushing up hard into her as he feels those tentacles enter him.

"And we are fortunate that no one can hear us," he adds, his fingers going to her hair to pull her in for another kiss. He's close, far too close, but he will push himself as far as he can.

She cries out in chorus, chasing after her pleasure, eager to make sure that they lose themselves together.

This is only for you, Arthur. Now, here, always. Only for you.

He has no more words, no more thoughts. She pulls them all out of him with each kiss, each movement of her hips. His fingers tighten in her hair, grip her mercilessly, and his peak drowns him completely as he loses himself completely surrounded by her.

They drown together, a great burst of growth among the flowers, their scent blooming bright in their little home within home. She rides him through it, down until they're both breathing more evenly and she can lay against him. She leaves him inside for a long moment before gently shifting her legs so she's just laying against him, and the tentacle inside of him slips out just as carefully so as not to overstimulate him.

But most importantly, her head stays rested over his heart, hearing it beat, soothed endlessly by that sound.

He drapes an arm over her, gently brushing against her back, trailing along her spine. "I love you," he mutters. Unnecessarily, but he likes the sound of it in their nest. "Our wedding night was like that," he decides. "And every night after."

She chuckles, dark and satisfied and happy, and turns to press a kiss against his chest.

"I love you too, Arthur."

And she sighs joyfully. "I remember, back at the resort. Someone asked me when the honeymoon period would be over." She laughs again, smothering it against him. "I told them that we did the hard part and the fighting first."

"There is no honeymoon period," he murmurs against her. "There's only this. And us. It helps that neither one of us gets sore." Unless they want to be.

He sits up, surveying their room now with new eyes. The flowers, the plants, the scent of the blossoms - it's still perfect. He gets out of bed with a stretch, then turns to drop a kiss to her cheek. "I'm hungry," he explains for his exit.

She stretches on the bed, and her features shift between John and 'Joan' a few times before she settles on Joan again for the moment.

"Should I make dinner? Or did we want to go out?"

He walks to the closet with a whistle. "Let's go out. Business meeting or - or husband and wife?" he wonders.

She settles her head on her hand, watching him idly, thoughtful as she considers it.

"Husband and wife had a lovely walk earlier. Perhaps we should talk business for a while. Consider our cases. Write some letters, I think you said."

Well, before he was drowning himself in his 'wife's body and both of them were drunk on one another.

"Yes. To the papers," he remembers. "Make some friends."

But since it's a business meeting, he chooses a less formal outfit, tossing it on the bed.

She shifts then into he, cleaning himself off in the meantime and doing the same for Arthur.

"We have to announce ourselves in a news story?"

That's new.

"...and I'm not sure how we make 'friends' professionally, exactly. Is there a place to find other investigators to talk?"

Fluffy Stuff for ceaselesslabor

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