It all happened so fast. Valerian, as inexperienced as he was, wasn't afraid to shy away from the opportunity when it presented itself, but that didn't at all mean he knew what to do once Arthur took the opportunity. Arthur leaned forward, forcing Valerian forward on the bed, which made it all the more difficult to keep his glass of brandy (fortunately not too full) from slipping right out of his hand. It was made worse—(or better? This was decidedly better)—when Arthur's hand crept up his thigh and his mouth pressed against his own, eliciting a moan from the back of his throat.
He was suddenly all too aware of the sensations in his body—the tinging in his fingertips, the constricting of his chest where the fabric of his shirt was pulled by Arthur's balled fist, the feeling of Arthur's tongue against his own, and the straining of his trousers as he tries to reposition himself. One hand went to tangle in Arthur's hair, the easiest place to reach since Arthur's position had forced him on him knees so he wouldn't fall against him with the shifting of the mattress, but the glass—damn the glass, it was still in his hand.
Carefully (or as carefully as he could, given the distractions) Valerian began lean into Arthur, over his lap, not breaking the kiss but opening one eye so he could watch as his outstretched arm tried to put the glass down next to Arthur. It missed. It clattered to the ground, but somehow didn't break; and although Arthur had told him not to make a mess, somehow he didn't care. Now with another hand free, he brought it to Arthur's chest and began playing with the buttons.
He knew what he wanted—just not exactly how to get there.
He was suddenly all too aware of the sensations in his body—the tinging in his fingertips, the constricting of his chest where the fabric of his shirt was pulled by Arthur's balled fist, the feeling of Arthur's tongue against his own, and the straining of his trousers as he tries to reposition himself. One hand went to tangle in Arthur's hair, the easiest place to reach since Arthur's position had forced him on him knees so he wouldn't fall against him with the shifting of the mattress, but the glass—damn the glass, it was still in his hand.
Carefully (or as carefully as he could, given the distractions) Valerian began lean into Arthur, over his lap, not breaking the kiss but opening one eye so he could watch as his outstretched arm tried to put the glass down next to Arthur. It missed. It clattered to the ground, but somehow didn't break; and although Arthur had told him not to make a mess, somehow he didn't care. Now with another hand free, he brought it to Arthur's chest and began playing with the buttons.
He knew what he wanted—just not exactly how to get there.
