The thought of Arthur lying awake in the dead of night, deep in imagination with his cock at hand sent a frisson of desire through him so hot the chill in the air felt merciful. Erron remembered all too well the weight and shape of it in his own hand in the twilight hours of a day spent staving off thoughts of Arthur in the shadows cast by the campfire; nothing but brief hints and suggestions of something he decided right then and there that he wanted bad enough to keep close. He remembered Arthur tasting like triumph and dumb luck both on the palm of his hand.

His hair stung something fierce at the root where Arthur clenched his fist just that little bit tighter and Erron let out a moan he really ought to have been embarrassed by, but Arthur devoured it like a man starving and he could relate. Erron kissed him 'til his lungs screamed louder than the sound of his own blood in his ears and there were stars bursting behind closed eyes; kissed him 'til he couldn't rightly remember whatever became of his hands just to find they'd gone and gotten themselves tangled up in Arthur's hair.

Even still, he couldn't keep from nipping just to keep Arthur a hair's breadth from him a little while longer, waited until Arthur's lower lip tugged itself free of its own accord.

It took him a long time to catch his breath enough to sound as smug as he did: "What now, handsome?"