#title is lifted from the lyrics from Daydream by the Aces

[brightburner]

you hate the nights without me (baby, I hate 'em too)

Arthur Campbell x f!MC (Dakota Blue) | Body Count (IF) | rating: explicit (minors dni) | post-canon, established relationships, mildly-less-mean-arthur, smut, idiot in love (guess which one)

***

Overwhelming.

That was the most eloquent word Dakota could associate with the way her senses both tunneled and flared, bright and consuming when Arthur kissed her like this. Hard, fast, movements edging towards frantic. His hands tugged at her hair, her clothes—pulling and pressing as if he wanted to be everywhere all at once. The kisses were more like bites, punctuated by the running of his tongue over her own or across her lips.

Messy.

He kissed her like he was trying to tell her something— something she simply was not comprehending and in his frustration he kept telling her harder and with more urgency.

Possessive.

Like a child afraid someone was about to take away their favorite toy.

But god if it doesn’t feel good. The wanting, the desperation, the way he pressed her into the bed, hands underneath her blouse, shoving it up towards her chin and barring her skin to the cold air. He bites the center of her chest, drags his tongue over the swelling of her breast as his fingers hook at the base of her bra and pulls. She gasps when his teeth graze over one tightened nipple, licking it into his mouth while his thumb seeks out her other.

The attentions are brief, because this isn’t about her. Not really. It’s about him. Him and this silent statement, this hidden message that Arthur seems certain he can more easily fuck into her than just speak.

There is a strange vulnerability to being completely naked while he is still mostly dressed. His shirt is untucked and unbuttoned, hanging open around his pale chest, and she parts her thighs, sets them against his hips as he works open his belt.

And there it is and oh, she still has no idea what he wishes to make her understand but the way he’s telling it with every roll of his hips makes her more and more certain she doesn’t care.

He presses in as deep as he can, deep enough that she whimpers and lifts her hips in a vain attempt to give him more space. There isn’t anymore to give. He’s claimed it all, every inch of her clutching and pressing against him. If he could cum just from that, she’s certain he would, but instead he thrusts into her, shallow but hard. The ache of it blending with the good until her nerves are humming, bursting with sensation.

And instead of wanting him to slow down, instead of wanting him to look at her, to say something, to stop hiding his face into her neck and shuddering as if at any moment he might fall apart she just—holds unto him. Arms sliding up beneath his and clutching at his back, nails drawing dully across his shoulders.

She locks her legs around his waist, heels digging into the backs of his thighs and beneath him she bucks forward into him. Urges him on without a word.

Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’tstopdon’tstop.

She has him. All of him. And yet she still wants—

The thought breaks apart with a whimper as she feels the prickling sensation building at her center, each impact of his hips driving it on. Feeding it.

Dakota is dully aware that she is speaking—gasping out those two words, a quiet desperate litany. Arthur doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t stop either. His breaths heavy, punctuated by a low groan when she lifts her hips again in an eager roll.

And now it is her trying to speak without words. Mouthing silently against his shoulder, biting and worrying the skin between her teeth—take it. Her body. Her soul. The very heart, beating rapid as a rabbit caught in a snare within her chest.

I’m not leaving. I’m never leaving, you idiot. You infuriating bastard. My infuriating bastard.

And somewhere in there she feels him cum, his movements less controlled as he pace faltered and then picked up. Riding out his own release inside the warm clutch of her walls while her own still teeters, not quite there yet at the beginning. She isn’t disappointed, she wouldn’t let herself be disappointed, dragging a hand between her legs and drawing her own wetness up to swirl around her clit. Arthur was slowing, but the full stretch of him is still there and is still more than enough to have her tingling, then spasming, pleasure prickling out across her thighs and up the base of her spine.

It felt good. Cumming with him still locked inside her, feeling the solid fullness of him as her walls clamped and pulled at him. It always did.

She felt hazy, heavy and sleepy. Body still thrumming with aftershocks of warmth. Arthur sat up, eyes falling to where they were still connected as a quiet, “Fuck.” fell from his lips.

“S’alright.” She mumbles, “Safe day.”

And then she smiles, “Besides, you’re good for child support, right?”

He doesn’t laugh, only gives her a withering look that has her laughing. He moves his weight off of her, collapsing on the other side of the bed with a huff. Arthur rubs his palm over his eyes, squeezes and releases, coming back into his senses as if he had just woken up. Dakota can’t repress a yawn, the heavy contented feeling in her limbs making a nap seem like a wonderful idea.

If only she could get her thoughts to quiet, still turning over the sudden intensity of the intimacy. Trying to remember how it even started. And at the end, Arthur didn’t even seem contented, a furrow still present in his brow and an almost… defeated air to his heavy sigh.

Oh. Right.

“You’ll see… by the second night I’m gone, you’re never gonna want me hogging up the covers again. I’ll be lucky you don’t make me sleep on the couch.”

Arthur hums gruffly.

That was it. The class reunion. Dakota had been going through the old photos in her things, including the one of her senior prom and of her then-boyfriend— blond, bright and earnestly grinning. With a thrice broken nose, he would have almost resembled Griffin. Dakota had “aww’d” at the image and gotten halfway through a sweet story of the evening and how she should look him up on Facebook before she noted that instead of ignoring her, Arthur seemed to be listening intently. Too intently.

She had dropped the subject, but the storm cloud whirling around his head thundered gloomily as the day of her departure to the States approached.

And that was about when things had flared up, intense and frequent. Or at least more frequent than what you’d expect from two twenty-somethings, Dakota supposed.

“Or—“ Dakota added, sidling in closer, turning unto her stomach to fold her arms over his middle and lean her chin there. She attempted to appear sufficiently irresistible.

“—you could come with me.”

“What? As your boyfriend?” Arthur said with a scoff.

“No, as my butler.” she said flatly.

She had not offered before. She had expected his answer would be a resounding negative. Spend a weekend stuck in an old high school gymnasium surrounded by strangers who would ooo and awe at his accent? Forcing polite smiles, drinking cheap booze and eating even cheaper and stranger hors d’oeuvres, brought forth like an eldritch terror from the mind of bored Californian housewives?

In short. Hell. Hell is what she was describing.

But it was a hell that included the possibility of Dakota meeting up with her high school sweetheart. Her first love and her first heartbreak.

To her surprise, Arthur seemed genuinely conflicted.

“Or," He began, "You could not go.”

“But I want to go.”

High school had been high school, but it was her middle school made friends she wanted to see most. Dakota would take whatever chance she could to see the girls from those days. Distance and schedule kept them from meeting and she was already aflutter with daydreams of their planned “sleepover” in joined hotel rooms. Movies and popcorn and nail-painting— even if they had all favored only black in school.

Arthur frowned at her reply.

“I could call off more time from work. Extend my ticket. Take a whole week even… we could have the rest of the time to ourselves. Go to the beach, hit up some vineyards. It could be fun.”

Dakota pressed a lazy kiss into his stomach, the act making him jolt and give a faint sound of protest. Ticklish baby.

“… maybe. No promises.” Arthur said, the smallest concession. The tiniest crack. Dakota hid her grin by nipping and then kissing his chest and this time instead of protesting, his fingers carded through her hair and clutched at the base of her neck. His thumb rubbed mindlessly into her nape and Dakota moaned, feeling boneless and relaxed once more.

“But I’ll miss you,” She whispers, childish and pouting. He doesn’t respond, but his fingers curl a fraction tighter.