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inkk-tv · 21 days ago

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[ ꜰᴏᴏᴛʙᴀʟʟ ᴘᴜʙ ɢᴏʟꜰ : ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ]

He can hear it in her voice, wants to hear more of it. “Yeah?” “You know,” Lucy’s got this smile on her face, something a little coy, teasing even. “If this wasn’t for a video, and we were on a night out, I’d probably take you to the bathroom to snog.”

in which: Arthur strggles with the will to move on.

5k words [ part two ] [ masterlist ] [ unseen (coming soon... ]

[warnings: excessive drinking, sexual innuendos and sexually explicit content]

Arthur doesn’t think he’s been this gone since uni, when he lost all his muscle mass after quitting boxing and pints were one two pound each. The walk between one beer garden to the next is nowhere near as sobering as it felt at age nineteen with worn down trainers scratching against the pavement.

It’s got him dizzy, that light headed floaty feeling that only arrives after at least six standards and a distinct lack of food.

Starting the day hungover did him no favours, he’d vomited up all the food (and the first two drinks) he’d consumed at pub number two. Somehow, he’s still gone. Probably the empty stomach and all of one glass of water’s contribution.

Pub seven came with another beer garden and the fresh air helped immensely. So does the pot plant at the end of the table- an emergency puke spot that’s a better alternative than the astro turf. Arthur doesn’t quite manage to snag the seat on the end and he’s not close enough to chundering to ask for it but if worse comes to worst, he can lean past Lucy to puke.

She'd probably kill him if he vomited on her. Infact, Lucy’s staring at him like she knows he’s thinking about it.

“You’re so gone.” A smile cracks her lips as she talks, leaning in a little closer to inspect his face and the semi-vacant look in his eyes.

Arthur feels his cheeks flare up in a blush. He’s not a prude or a soy-boy by any means, but it’s been a while since he’s had a girl that was as pretty as Lucy in such close proximity. His last few nights out have been soured by everyone’s attempts to get Chris to chat up a girl, which leaves a bitter taste in his mouth at the reminder of how painfully straight his best mate is. Then again, it is Arthur’s fault for going and ending up completely head over heels for straight man, an experience he became well acquainted with in his uni days.

Fancying Chris was an old hat for him, Arthurs had the better half of a decade to get acquainted with the misery of it. Devastatingly enough, his type is painfully cookie cutter. Blonde, around five-five or five-six, athletic and able to dish it out as good as they can take it.

So he’d always sort of strayed away from Lucy Bell. She’s the right shade of pretty that scares him off, not keen to make a fool of himself by making it obvious how fit he thinks she is. That’s gone out the window today.

“George is gonna take me home to sleep on his couch.” he offers, holding his phone for her to see the open text thread. “He’s worried I’m going to choke on my own vomit.”

“He’s so good.” Lucy goes to grab his phone, and Arthur hands it over easily.

Her fingers are a little clumsy with it, but she manages to open the imessage widgets and send George a game of connect four.

She does that a lot, Arthur’s noticed, the little games on her phone. He’d watched her do the wordle in the park while they waited for the production team to finish getting sorted. The evidence of their naughts and crosses games are littered up the insides for their arms- her left and his right. Now she’s started up another one with George.

Arthur wonders if she knows chess. He doesn’t ask though. “If you lose, George is gonna think I've fallen off.”

“One connect four loss won’t kill you.” She says, rolling her eyes.

“Hurt my pride maybe.”

Lucy tuts, like he’s given the wrong answer. “Well don’t worry, I never let George win. Even when we’re drunk.”

“Is connect four a normal thing for you when you’re drunk?”

She shrugs. “Gotta get the boys interested somehow.”

“Don’t think you need connect four for that, Luce.”

He must have gotten it right that time, because, although still looking down at his phone screen, some semblance of a smile appears. Smothered by the way she bites at her bottom lip to contain it but most definitely there. “Flattery gets you everywhere, Arthur.”

Flirting is a bad idea. They’re both fairly drunk and the last time he’d been this drunk and tried to flirt with a girl, was Ibeza when he told the story of getting a hard on from a surfboard and having a wank in the ocean. Lucy still has a somewhat respectable opinion of him, no need to go and drag it through the mud.

But at the same time, he can’t not flirt with her.

There’s an opportunity presenting itself here, something in her words. He can hear it plain as day, she fancies him too. Arthur’s gotten better at picking it over the years, what it means when a girl sits close enough to press their legs together, fiddles with his fingers or asks to compare hand sizes. (Flo, his flatmate at the time, had to explain that last one to him after he’d left some poor girl at a club, not realising she was interested in him at all)

He can hear it in her voice, wants to hear more of it. “Yeah?”

“You know,” Lucy’s got this smile on her face, something a little coy, teasing even. “If this wasn’t for a video, and we were on a night out, I’d probably take you to the bathroom to snog.”

He sits up a little straighter, the way he always does when a compliment is lobbed at him, brain playing catch up to make his posture better, his jaw a little tighter, presenting the best version of himself. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She repeats with a smile, looking him over. “But I get the vibe you’re not that kind of guy.”

“I can be.” Arthur says, feeling the need to assure her that he would, if she showed up on future nights out and asked. “Depends on the person.”

Lucy purses her lips. “Waiting on someone special, are you?”

He can’t help but glance back to where Chris is stood, chattering to the camera and his production team.

“Ah.” Lucy lets out, nodding her head a little as she connects the dots. “It’s Chris isn’t it?”

“It’s not- I mean, I’m not hung up on him or anything,” he scrambles to defend himself, because he's never really had to explain it to anyone else besides his older sister, and he’s never had to lay it out drunk before. “But I feel bad sometimes, talking to people at some bar or club when I still kind of fancy my best mate.”

“I don’t blame you. He’s easy to fancy.”

And Arhtur’s learnt to spot it, so he hears the way she says it. The same way she’d been speaking to him. Only this time, she wasn’t talking about him.

“No,” Arthur looks at her for a moment, as she squints at the screen to read whatever text has pinged though amidst the game she seems heavily invested in. Something that feels like disbelief hammers about in his chest. “Surely not.”

Lucy glances up to give him a flat look. “You are literally the last person who can judge me.”

“You’ve got a better chance than me.” He offers, because yeah, she does. Lucy’s proper fit, she’s funny and she’s smart. If she went up to Chris on any given day and asked him out for coffee, there’s no doubt in Arthur’s mind he’d say yes. “At least he likes women.”

She bites at the inside of her cheek as another message pings though, Arthur’s phone buzzing silently. “I put too much effort into getting over him to backtrack now.”

“See, I saved your pride.” She says with a smile, sliding his phone across the table to display the connect four game, a little crown spinning around on the screen.

He sort of wants to say something else.

Encourage her to go for it. But part of him is selfish, wants to keep her to himself. Maybe if he does that mindset she’s built will rub off on him and Arthur can claim some of it for himself.

Arthur doesn’t want to backtrack.

It’s in her eyes when she looks at Chris, the resignation, the decision to get over it. He wonders if there’s truth to it, if this really was a night out, and Lucy had spent an hour drawing naughts and crosses up the inside of his arm, that she truly would snog him in the bathroom. If he’d take her up on the offer.

He could fancy her, if they got talking one day.

Maybe at one of George’s house parties. She used to go to those.

Or at a club. Arthur could imagine her there. She’s the kind of girl that would have guys scrambling to prove themselves, peacocking about and buying her drinks to win her favour, wanting nothing more than to take her to a club bathroom, push her up against the wall and lick into her mouth.

Maybe she’d let them push her to her knees, like she’d done to him an hour ago. Maybe she’d go home with them and let them kiss her into the mattress. He’s seen comments about it, when she features in videos, what people on the internet thinks happens behind closed doors or how they reckon they would pull her.

Arthur doesn’t think that sort of thing suits her though.

Lucy’s the kind of girl that should be treated right.

If it was him, he’d ask for her number, maybe kiss her goodbye before leaving- so she knew he meant it. Bring her flowers before the first date, hold her hand and buy her coffee in the morning. Arthur would work for it, work for her.

For a few moments, as everyone else settles around the table, he entertains the idea of it, going out with Lucy Bell. She would be fun to waste time with, Arthur can envision her curled up on his couch watching a nature documentary, her head in his lap or back to his chest. Maybe she’d go to the theater with him, or to see the new exhibitions at the museum.

The two of them could have fun, be good together.

He stews on it while Cal dishes out shot glasses to them all, smells his own with caution. One more would finish him- It would probably finish off any of the English team. Lucy’s a little more giggly than she had been earlier in the day, and the little nose scrunch of displeasure she does has been appearing much more frequently. She’s getting cuter by the minute.

There’s only two fake shots in the mix and luckily he’s been handed one. Maybe it’s because Cal can see how gone Arthur is already and is preemptively slowing down his alcohol intake. But skipping one shot probably won’t make all that much of a difference when they’ve still got two pubs to go.

It takes his brain a few seconds to catch up with the fact he’s supposed to trick the other team and cringes at the ‘burn’ of it a smidge too late. Becky knows him well enough to spot it and they come out of the challenge three-nil, to Germany.

The penalty is a choice between three points or three shots and Chris speaks for all three of them when he decides, as captain, that they’ll take the points.

Harry takes Lucy inside with the aim to get some for the six of them. Arthur watches them go, she’s wearing these heels, chunky platform style ones with delicate little silver buckles that are just high enough that he’s worried she might tumble. She’s steady though. He wonders if a few more standards will change that, if by the time they’re all ready to head home, she’s gonna be the one needing piggy backs instead of handing them out.

His phone pings with a text. It’s from George, asking how he’s drunk enough to misspell every word in his texts but still win connect four. It’s accompanied by a rematch.

Georgie Poo [connect four]

Arthur 2 Idon’t think i can wein Luce har my phone

Georgie Poo luce? as in Lucy Bell?

Arthur 2 Yeah< Shes prety gon too Still betterr off than me rn< Cna we take her home too?<

Georgie Poo you don’t mean my house right? she hates it. too dirty. and Alex is here. they don't get on.

Arthur 2 No nono< Liek ehr flat.< Don’t want her onthe tube alone.<

Georgie Poo how noble of you, king Arthur.

He almost tells George to fuck off but it might not come across right over text and if George does actually fuck off, then Arthur will have no one sober to keep him sane and offer advice when he inevitably considers doing something stupid, like asking Lucy Bell to snog in the bathroom.

Admittedly, Arthur does give the game of connect four a go as Chris settles down next to him, more so that he doesn’t stare and inspect every aspect of him that somehow managed to pull Arthur and apparently Lucy Bell at some point.

“Look at these biceps man…” Chris murmurs, pushing up the sleeve of Arthur’s jersey. His hands are softer than they used to be- the change in focus at the gym evident though less calluses and crack on his palms.

He licks a thick stripe up the skin of Arthur’s arm. “Oh my god.”

It doesn't get much of a reaction, Chris’ been licking him all afternoon. All their lives. Arthur, for a while, used to think it was a them thing. That it was just something about him that made Chris want to sink his teeth into or run his tongue over to taste. He knows better nowadays of course, and if he didn’t the accumulating tally marks on Lucy’s arm would be telling.

“Such little fat on there.” He pinches and pulls at the skin of Arthur’s arm. Picking the next box in connect four is a little harder, hearing the praise, knowing Chris’ eyes are on him and only him.

The bite comes half a second later, and it’s enough to actually get Arthur pulling away. “Oh my god.”

Nowadays, the biting is so common that it doesn’t even make Arthur’s stomach flutter anymore. And when it’s time to leave the pub, and Chris hauls him up, arms looped under his and braced on his chest, murmuring about how good Arthur smells, he realises he is far too drunk to unpack it.

So many compliments had been lobed at him in the last few hours. They swirl around his head in a dizzying storm. It’s got him stumbling.

He’s not lying when he walks out of a store, a hundred and twenty quid poorer with a pair of shoes in hand that aren’t even for him and says, “Financially and emotionally, I’m in ruins.”

But he’s on camera and there’s not a whole lot of time to pour his guts out on the pavement, cry about how he feels guilty for wanting to ask out a girl he’s only just met and still being hung up on his best mate.

Looking at her, feeling his stomach flutter when she laughs, it’s different to checking out a girl at some club. This is Lucy, she’s not just some chick, she’s so intricately woven into the lives of his friends, and how she’s not managed to end up in his before, is a mystery.

It seems that everyone knows her.

He knows she’s Geroge’s gym buddy, and that she works in the fellas offices with more than half of the UK Youtube scene. Evidently she’s got some kind of friendship with Chris- he talks about her fondly, with nicknames and stories- and they must have spent enough time for her to get hung up on him for a while.

“Do you fancy her?” Becky’s question sort of throws him, not just because of the implication, but more so because he hadn’t even realised she’d appeared at his side.

He blinks a few times, slinging his arm over her shoulder, more on instinct than anything. “What?”

“Lucy, Do you fancy her?” Becky asks, slurring a little with a smirk on her face, like she already knows the answer already. “She thinks you’re ‘well fit’.”

She makes air quotations when she says it, and Arthur wonders where she possibly would have heard Lucy say that. Unless she’s kidding. “Is that a direct quote?”

“Oh yeah. When you were opening up a new overdraft to buy Harold shoes, he asked for one word to describe you.”

“Well-fit is two words.”

“She said it’s hyphenated.”

Yeah, that seems pretty on brand for what he knows of Lucy Bell.

The question is dropped though when Becky stumbles over her next word and he lays into her for it, sending the pair of them spiraling into laughter as she continues to butcher it.

Further ahead, he can see Chris and Stephen in some sort of playful scrap. Today’s been a good day for Chris.

It’s been an iffy few months, some days where he seems like he’s on top of the world, others where he doesn't leave or let anyone in his flat. Arthur’s been worried about him, most of their friends have been. He’s moving in with Gorge and Arthur Hill in a few months, the three of them flat hunting every other week. Everyone agrees that it will be good for him, to get out of the home he shared with Shannon.

He doesn’t talk about it; the break up. Everyone’s walking around it like broken glass, the remnants of Chris’ love life splintered and shattered on the floor. Nobody even knows why it happened. He’s not said anything to Harry, Will or Arthur- just avoids the elephant in the room.

For some odd reason, he seems okay with the jokes, but any serious talk, he shuts down quickly.

There’s a group of them that’s pretty dedicated to keeping his spirits up. Arthur has been ending up at pubs and bars most weekends with Chris, George and Arthur Hill. Will and Lucy make efforts to check in with him at the office- even his production manager Jess gives them updates, although they are admittedly becoming less frequent now that it’s been a good six months. Even Harry drops by his flat once a week or so.

Things might be different if he wasn’t so weird about the whole thing. Six years was a long time, but being so shut down about it all, even after half a year, was worrying.At least he doesn’t seem hung up on it.

Arthur wants to move on.

He doesn't want to be holding out hope for the same guy. Not for a seventh year in a row. Analysing every little comment and action amounts to nothing everytime a hinge notification appears on Chris' lock screen.

He'd tried it himself, for a few weeks. It was too weird, to read a comprehensive list of character traits and decide if he could like them a few dates down the line. None of them ever felt right. With chat that was a little too dry or an over-fascination with the title 'youtuber'. Tinder hadn't worked out for him in uni, so why Arthur thought Hinge would now, he's not entirely sure.

Meeting someone organically has always been better for him, at a bar or in some club. The problem was that Chris' latest ventures as a single man meant he actually went out with them all. Nights that used to end with a girls number in his phone or his legs tangled in someone else's sheets now conclude with an uber home to someone's flat- whoever's closest- and passing out on the couch.

It's hard to chat someone up when Chris is sitting at the same table, a physical benchmark of all Arthur's preferences that he can't help but compare them to.

Sometimes it's worse, when he goes to Chris' flat and there’s a ripped off club-band on the kitchen counter. Or when he shows up to filming and the ink stain of a club stamp on the back of his hand. To know that Chris is going out, looking for someone to be his other half in places Arthur isn't. It's as much of an answer to his affections as Arthur would get.

He wonders if it pricks at Lucy the same way. The club stamps Chris never cares to wash off, telling of his night, lingering when she sees him in the office.

The thought sticks in his mind as they finish off the last pint of the afternoon, sending Chris off as their champion of drunk keepy-uppies and watching Stephen stack it and effectively eat pavement.

Lucy leans into him as she laughs warm and solid against his side, a steady presence that reminds him of what he could have.

She’d made it clear she was interested, Left the ball in his court.

At the next pub, whenlucy heads inside to find herself another glass of water, Arthur makes vague excuses of needing a piss and follows her inside to the bar.

She’s leant up against it, one foot planted on the ground and the other crossed over it, tapping against the wooden floorboard. There’s a cup of water in her hand, a pink and white striped straw poking between her lips as she drinks it down. She smiles around it as he joins her at the bar.

“You know that thing you said about snogging?”

Lucy turns to look at him. “Hmm?”

“Would you?” Arthur swallows thickly. He might be about to make a fool of himself but it’s worth the risk. “Or was that just banter.”

“I would.”

Arthur can feel the blush rising on his cheeks and there’s a smile pulling at Lucy’s lips as she glances once out the door then back towards the bathroom sign.

Her hand is a little cold in his, from the half drunk glass he abandons on the bar. Arthur’s nerves are spiking but he goes, follows as she pushes the door to the women’s bathroom open to peek inside before turning and pulling him in by the hand.

He’s done this sort of thing before, in clubs, bars- once at the uni library- but never on a shoot. Then again, he’s never met someone quite like Lucy Bell.

She’s a vision, pretty blonde hair and dark green eyes blinking up at him as a blush blooms on her cheeks. Arthur finds the soft curve of her waist, hidden by the baggy jersey and pulls her in close, backing himself into the door. He’s a little stunned and very drunk but Lucy’s lips are so soft.

When he licks against them, she still tastes a little bit like the last pint they’d downed. She presses onto him, slides one hand up to cup his jaw and scratch at his stubble in a way that leaves his skin tingly, the other one settling against his chest.

Everything about it feels right. Lucy fits against him perfectly, and he can almost imagine doing this in his kitchen. Cooking something together and stealing kisses, snogging while it sits in the oven then again on the couch when they’re supposed to be watching a movie. He wants to kiss her into the mattress and fuck her propper, then maybe make her a cup of tea afterwards and hear about her day.

Lucy Bell isn’t the kind of girl you’re okay with only having once, and as she snogs him into the bathroom door, runs her tongue against the points of his canines, Arthur knows there’s no getting past her. Not now that he knows what he’d be missing. Pressed right up against him, a leg slotted between his as she presses as close as possible. Arthur kind of wants to turn her around, press her into the door, but he likes the way they’re stood a bit more, where he can hold her close by the hips, palm low at the skin of her thigh, just under her skirt hem.

She breaks the kiss to huff a breath or two and Arthur ducks his head to mouth along her jaw. A trail of kisses down her throat that stings with the taste of rose that must have dribbled off her lips a few pubs ago.

“Arthur,” She gasps out when he finds a spot along the hollow of her collarbone and nips at it. “I don’t have concealer on me.”

He’s lived with enough beauty influencers to know what she’s saying. Don’t leave marks. He presses one more kiss there that’s probably a little soft for what they’re doing. “Sorry.”

Then her lips are back on his and she bites at his bottom lip, slips her tongue past too.

It’s only when he tugs her that last half a step closer and feels the pressure of her against him, that Arthur realises he’s got a problem.

This time, he breaks the kiss, letting his head thunk back against the door. Lucy nips at his jaw and he’s forgotten how good it feels to be taken, wanted and desired. Feels too good.

“Luce,” Arthrur murmurs. “We gotta take a breather, or else this is gonna get away from me.”

Maybe it’s selfish, or dickish, to drag her close for one little grind against the tightened fabric of his shorts, but there’s a little hitch to her breath that makes something stupid like pride bloom in his chest.

“Yeah,” She says in nothing more than a whisper. “We are supposed to be doing something else right now.”

There’s no reason to be whispering, considering they’re alone in a room and the world outside is more than noisy enough to smother any noise coming from the bathroom. But keeping quiet, it lets Arthur believe that for a while, the world is just the two of them. Him and Lucy.

“Okay. Game plan. Thirty more seconds,” He interrupts himself to press another kiss against her lips. “Then you go back out. I'll sort myself out, then I'll join you.”

“‘Sort yourself out?’” She repeats with a teasing smile, leaning in to kiss at his jaw again. Then whispers against his skin, right by his ear “Arthur are you going to wank in the pub toilet?”

It wracks a shiver down his spine and Arthur has to tighten his grip on her hips to stop his hands wondering.

“No.” He replies, a little petulant, even though he’s not really sure how he’s going to dispel the semi that’s only getting worse.

She looks like she wants to ask another question, maybe tease him a little more but there's a shine to her lips- red and kiss bitten- and today, rather uncharacteristically, Arthur is an impatient man.

It’s a struggle to rein himself in, stick to the allotted thirty second time he’d set himself that they almost definitely go over, but there are people expecting them, and at least one more drink to down.

So Arthur detaches himself from her, sticks a kiss on her cheek that’s definitely too tender to come from the bloke she snogged in the pub bathroom, and watches her slip out the door. Eyes drifting over the skin, just under her skirt that swishes with each step, and the little crescent indents from his fingernails, dug into her skin. It’s possessive, the feeling that curls in his chest, even if he has no right to feel that, no reason for his stupid monkey brain to lay claim over her.

Arthur’s not sure how long he stands there before readjusting himself in his shorts and walking over to the sink, splashing some cold water on his face. He looks like he’s chundered.

But it’s not like another red card would make much of a difference, they're so far behind in the points it’s ridiculous. Although, Arthur isn’t all that saddened by the loss of a domino's pizza; he’s gained a lot more from today.

Even if he only does get to have Lucy Bell once, in a questionably clean pub bathroom, she's offered him something a bit more special than a snog.

Perspective.

Arthur’s not backtracking anymore, he’s not going to read into it when Chris goes for the fake lean-in and says, for the cameras, that they’d shag. He doesn’t have to be over Chris, but the willingness to move past it, that's what's important. It’s all out in the open with Lucy, she knows, and he guesses, that he sort of knows too. She’d fancied Chris, at some point. When that was, isn’t all too clear but evidently, it was sometime recently, If she was scared of backtracking at least.

Maybe they could be good for eachother, him and Lucy.

Thankfully he wore the black corduroy shorts today, initially it had been in case he spilt a drink on them but he’s learning that they do wonders to hide the outline of his dick. Arthur clicks the lock open on the door, prepared to go and pretend he’s a lot more sober than he is and definitely not half hard from snogging a girl, only to be met with a very unimpressed look. “Arthur Television.”

For a mortifying moment, he thinks Becky is here to scold him, for snogging a drunk Lucy and having the gaul to consider wanking about it. Thankfully, he’s been in the bathroom a lot longer than he realised.

“Get your arse out of there, or I’m going to piss myself. Use the mens next time, you dirty bastard." She all but shoves him out of the way, and hurries inside, leaving Arthur a blushing and apologetic mess in front of the two other women queuing up to use the bathroom.

Everyone’s outside and it doesn’t seem like anyone’s really missed them; he’s not sure if that’s worse or better than being caught.

He feels like he’s spotted a checkmate in three, having to bite his tongue and play it cool, not let anything slip. Lest someone find out how ecstatic he is.

[ part two ] [ masterlist ] [ unseen, coming soon... ]

ink note: let it be known, Lucy and Arthur's ship name is 'Bell-evision' and George is the one who coins it a few chapters down the line.

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