thatsamilkshake | Room 407: Early Monday Afternoon

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Room 407: Early Monday Afternoon

Arthur's room had been empty, and Francine hadn't been especially surprised by that after getting through the entire crazy graduation ceremony more or less intact had left them hoping, then this morning had brought...this morning. Still, she was hoping the knock on the door to Merlin's would produce something besides silence. "They're not here either," she said, shifting the stack of covered dishes in her arms.

[OOC: Le room modded with permission, for the girl and then (eventually) the rest of the Clustre du Fucque. Warning for ... general Wrongness and some degree of NWS.]

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Unaware of anyone hidden in the closet, Arthur exhaled shallowly. And let his forehead fall against Merlin's, shutting his eyes for a second.

He hummed his assent, gripping the boy's hips tightly.

"Hey," Merlin replied quietly, bringing his hands up to run through Arthur's now insanely messy hair. They only caught twice! "Tell me--what you want."

Francine, ever slow on the uptake, was just getting to the point of hearing things that weren't happening inside her own skull. Which given proximity was mostly Chewie's under-breath bitching. She glared, which did no good at all in the almost complete darkness, then essayed a tiny, tiny Shh! while feeling around for Katchoo's arm.

Oh, fine, she could have the arm; Katchoo was going to just take the hand attached to the other arm and clamp it over her mouth -- whether to keep from swearing out loud or just laughing, she had no idea. Today had been ridiculous enough that it could go either way.

Though the way her shoulders were starting to shake it might be trending latter-ward.

There had been a lot of talking today.

Arthur kissed him, instead, nudging his legs apart with his knee. Proximity was a good thing: right here right now, something that wasn't some semblance of a desperate hell or purgatory or whatever the hell you called this place when you were better with poetry than Arthur was.

He let his knuckles graze along the skin just under Merlin's shirt. That was an answer, right?

A little bit of one. If you thought of it that way.

"Okay," Merlin replied, tugging up on Arthur's shirt before they could get back to kissing.

Francine frowned, unable to hear very much going on outside. Okay? Come on, say something else so I can tell if you guys are eating dinner or talking about trying again or... I don't know, maybe LEAVING so we can sneak out of here?

Yeah, this was not really giving them very much to go by, was it? But judging from the lack of talking, Katchoo was assuming there were other, more important things going on.

. . . important according to whose standards? Well, that was the question.

"Oh, geez, they better not be . . ."

They... better well were, actually.

Arthur's shirt? Winding up somewhere near Francine's dinner. Sorry, Francie.

He kissed Merlin a third time with more desperation, and then clawed at his shirt, trying to get it and the bloody neckerchief off in one go. Without letting him away from the door too much.

It was a difficult situation that involved a few thumps.

Merlin made a quiet noise as he bumped the door again, trying to struggle out of the shirt. "Calm down, calm down."

"Better not be what?" Francine leaned a bit forward, trying to peek through the crack between the doors.

Because that was a good idea.

"Francie!" Katchoo hissed.

Oh god, there was bumping. Probably not just literally, either.

"Whaddyathinkyou'redoin'?!?"

"Fine," Arthur grunted, and calmed a little bit.

Or a lot, to the point where Merlin could tend to his shirt while Arthur unzipped his trousers. Sadly for the sanity of anyone hidden in that closet, he wasn't exactly in a mood to go slow. Everything was a little ragged around the edges.

He was slipping his hand into Merlin's trousers already.

"Arthur." No where near an admonishment there. That was a rather encouraging sigh, actually.

It was physically impossibly to say aksjdghaskljdhaskljdhasljjkdfashkdgfskkjf and besides it would certainly have attracted unwanted attention, but Francine was certainly thinking it. She gripped Katchoo's arm tighter and tried really hard to pull away from the doors.

Really really hard.

But... train wreck! Deer! Headlights! Superglue on her eyeballs!

"Francie. Can't feel fingers," Katchoo growled through her teeth.

She couldn't see, either, not having been inclined to look, but -- artist. Visual imagination. Not to mention fairly, er, well-read in certain areas.

It wasn't hard -- pun not intended -- to figure out.

We'd leave what Arthur was doing with his hand next to Katchoo's visual imagination; the rest of him was busy nipping at Merlin's throat.

"Trousers off," he growled, "Now."

Cliche, perhaps, but with a voice that was even deeper than growlier than Katchoo's, highly effective.

"Okay," Merlin replied with a little too much bliss involved. He was still a teenage boy, after all. So down went those trousers around his ankles.

SHDKSJDHKLSJDHSKLDJHSKLDJHSDKLJHSKLJDHSKLJDHKSJ.

"Chewie help meeeee..." Francine hissed through her teeth. She managed to close her eyes at least, but she could really use a yank back from the doors.

Edited 2010-05-04 17:44 (UTC)

A yank Katchoo was more than happy to provide, since it was a quieter way of venting her own mental keysmash than . . . Verbalizing the keysmash.

STOP HELPING HER IMAGINATION, ARTHUR. MERLIN. GEEZ.

It was her own fault for being a filthy-minded cupboard-loiterer. Honestly now. Had she gone to the Jeff Murdock School of Snooping Around?

Not that Arthur was, er, invested in the answer to that.

He was a little busy sinking to his knees, thank you very much.

(Although the only thing he did right the moment he got there was lean his forehead into Merlin's thigh. Sorry, Katchoo's Imagination, you'd have to wait a few ticks)

And it was hardly Merlin's fault that people were lurking in his room. Perverts.

He sighed again, running fingers through Arthur's hair. "Hey."

Arthur's face tilted ever-so-slightly into the touch, and his eyes blinked back open, blues seeking gold.

"Hey," he murmured, the urgency of the moment stilling for a long, tiny swatch of time.

Edited 2010-05-04 18:28 (UTC)

In the dark, Francine slumped back against the closet wall and buried her face in her hands. Someday this was going to be funny and not this awful mix of horrifying and sad, right?

Look at it this way, Francine: at least you were both clothed and not, say, naked and hiding in a bathroom with no towels.

And it was funny. Just, yes, a little sad too. And uncomfortable. Katchoo groped her completely not-dirty this time way over to where Francine was sitting and put an arm around her.

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