Content: Arthur/TMWTPF, NSFW, Oral sex, Fingering, Guilt

"So when you think about fucking me, do I have a cock or a pussy?"

"W-what?" Arthur’s head snaps over to where the man with the painted face is lounging in his mother’s chair.

"C'mon. I know you think about it."

Arthur struggles to his feet and rushes to turn the television up just enough to drown out their voices. Then he sits down in front of it, legs crossed, and looks at the man with the painted face watching him from his throne-like perch.

"Why are you asking me?"

"I wanna know. You're thinking about me so I deserve to know. It's only fair."

Arthur runs a hand through his hair. He takes a long drag of his cigarette and sighs out a shaky cloud of smoke. There’s no reason he should answer this question. He shouldn’t answer this question.

"Both," he answers.

"Both at once?"

"No - that would be good, too - but you only have one or the other when I imagine it."

The man with the painted face stares at him, dark eyes glistening. There‘s an uncomfortable pause between them, stretching out just long enough to make Arthur squirm. "So what's it like when I have a cock?" the man with the painted face finally asks.

Arthur turns to look at the opening into the hallway, thinking guiltily about his sleeping mother. When he begins he speaks so lowly that he can’t hear himself over the sound of the television droning behind him. "I'm on my knees and - and you're deep in my throat. As deep as you can go. My nose is pressed against the skin here," he points to the patch of soft skin just beneath his belly. "The smell of you is the only air I can breathe. You hold me by the hair and I feel hot inside every time I swallow around you."

There's more he could say. How specific and vivid his fantasy has grown over months - over years. the shape of his own hands gripping scarlet trousers. The single finger he's slid into one belt loop and the way the sharp red line around his skin makes it look like it's been severed. The thick line of drool running down his chin onto the floor and how each drop catches the light before it falls. The soft struggle of stifled breaths in a quiet room.

"And when I have a pussy?"

Arthur steals another glance at the dark hallway before closing his eyes and letting his mind shift. "My fingers are inside of you. We're as close as we can get to each other. Maybe even closer. Where our skin touches it's like you're melting into me. I don't really move, I just feel how hot you are. How tight. You like it. you're saying the same things to me that you do when you've got your hand in my stomach, or when you dig your fingers between my ribs and hold onto me like a cage. For you it's like - like you're holding me in a brand new way."

Again, the intricacies of the fantasy are too overwhelming to describe. Skin sliding over skin and clawed fingers digging indents into his back. How he's buried his face into the man with the painted face's neck and it's dark and warm and the world has been carved down into what he can feel and what he can hear. The intimacy of it is so intense it's painful.

When Arthur opens his eyes all he can see is an open grin; jagged teeth hugged by red.

“Which one’s your favorite?,” the man with the painted face asks in his lilted voice, “Which one gets you hard?”

Arthur shakes his head. “I don’t want you to have anything down there. I think the way you are is best.”

“Aw. That’s so sweet.”

The way the man with the painted face looks at him makes Arthur know he wants him to come closer. So he stands and stubs his cigarette out in the ashtray on the coffee table before crossing the room to the chair, to the man waiting atop it. Arthur leans over him, gripping the back of the chair for support, and they breathe each other in for a moment before they kiss. Arthur can feel a smile under his lips and then a hand cupping his soft cock through his trousers. He flinches and pulls the hand away. But as their kiss grows hungrier and a hot tongue slides over his teeth the hand is back again, warm and insistent. This time, Arthur lets it happen.