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Arthur suckled gently on the fingers in his mouth, moaning around them softly. His mind felt fuzzy and quiet, but not empty.
He'd been struggling with that feeling of emptiness, ever since he and John separated. The entity had taken up so much space in his head, that most of the time now Arthur didn't know how to fill the void left behind. It bothered, and nagged at him, but he knew the best cure for that feeling was time. And getting used to his partner being there, but outside of him.
This little ritual they've put together helped immensely. It made it so much easier for Arthur to ground himself, the serenity that washed over him every time was both overwhelming and calming. John's soft breaths and rustling of papers faded into background noise, and allowed Arthur to just simply be.
The position wasn't the most comfortable, but a part of that was the point. He liked it. Oh, sure, John made certain that he had a pillow beneath his knees every time, that he took breaks when his body began to stiffen too much, or when the background pain because too upfront. But in itself, kneeling on the ground felt right, in part in the slight discomfort it caused. In the way it pushed against his body's boundaries, just slightly.
It really was unfair, too, how easily John could make him go down. Once his hand traveled from his temple, to his lips, to his mouth… it was over. He was gone.
They would often do it this way; since Arthur never regained his sight, doing all the paperwork fell onto John's shoulders. John would sit at their stupidly high, stupidly ornate desk, and do the hard work. At first he was often confused, and needed guidance, so Arthur would need to be more present. In recent times however, he'd become almost entirely independent, in that regard at least. Arthur, on the other hand, would sit below the desk. Either sat in a comfortable position (if his body was being especially mean to him), or, as he'd found he much preferred, he'd kneel, with his head pressed against John's thigh.
There, was a spot where Arthur could hide and simply rest. His nights were still often plagued by nightmares, so he couldn't quite catch respite there. This, it was a truly lovely alternative.
Arthur relaxed his mouth further, and just let the digits rest inside. He sighed in contentment. There was no better place on Earth.
Time passed him by, but he was unbothered. All that mattered to him was the slight weight on his tongue and the warm support of the legs he leaned on. The pain in his knees was starting to knock on the glass surface of his bliss, but it was yet unbroken. Soon, though, he would have to do something about it. He knew John hated it when he pushed himself too far.
As if he'd read his mind, John stirred. This was also a part of a system they'd discussed and revised heavily. It was important nothing changed drastically in Arthur's surroundings. These were the moments he felt most fragile, if he ever dared use that word for himself. So, to bring him out gradually and not yet entirely, John first would stop what he was doing and relax in his chair. Soon, a second hand would make its appearance, this time in Arthur's hair, stroking it gently.
All of it was so soft, so careful. Sometimes this treatment, even the idea of it, grated on Arthur, who needed the push-and-pull he knew John would also happily indulge in. But for this, just for this, he could allow himself a bit of gentleness.
(Who was he kidding, John would force him to accept it, even if he refused to. He had, in fact, done so. Multiple times. Until Arthur broke through and managed to find a bit of kindness for himself.)
Then, the fingers in his mouth would retreat, slowly. Arthur never minded, and neither did John, so the saliva-slick digits would simply hold his face, thumbs often stroking his cheekbones. That was when John would check in, whispering, to not break the fragility of the moment. Making sure Arthur was holding up alright.
This time, with a heavy heart, Arthur had to reluctantly let him know about his increasing pain levels. He did so also softly, his mouth and throat getting used to speaking again. "I think we should stop, for now."
"Alright, Arthur," John replied, still taking care to speak tenderly. The lack of rush and urgency is his tone helped Arthur step down from the clouds softly, instead of the disasters they'd sometimes inadvertently caused. John was reaching out a hand to him, making sure he didn't stumble on his way down. Making sure he'd be there to catch him, should he still manage to do so.
Both of John's hands found their way to his face, holding him and patting him rhythmically. He blinked a few times, his eyes still insistent on needing that particular maintenance.
Feeling more present in his body, he finally felt aware enough to try to move. His joints protested, some absurdly loud cracks could be heard in his knees as he tried straightening them out. John felt confident enough now to move his chair (and, tragically, himself) out of the way. Arthur moved out from under the desk, and slowly stretched out all his limbs, bent them again, and repeated that process a few times. When he felt like he might not fall apart, he tried pushing himself upward, but his knees protested. He tumbled back onto the floor, letting out a breathless laugh. "Ah, look at me. An old man."
"You're not that old," John grumbled, but with such fondness, that the tone could be forgiven. "Would you like me to help?"
"No, ah, thank you. It's alright, I got this."
This exchange was also familiar. John had a tendency to be a little… overprotective. In these circumstances, it'd often manifest in his overbearing care, in trying too hard to help, to be of use. It was much harder to bear at first, when they'd still butt heads often, when they'd still get caught up in their own stubbornness. It still overwhelmed him sometimes, but it was much, much easier to simply talk to John about it now. They'd had similar conversations hundreds of times. This was where their shared stubbornness aided them — it never let them give up on each other.
Arthur did his stretches a few more times, and only after deciding that his chances of getting vertical were slightly higher than before, did he try to get up again. This time however, he did succeed, and as a reward, he was instantly crushed to John's warm body. He giggled, as always feeling both more light, and grounded. He easily wrapped his arms around John's back in reciprocation.
He didn't stay vertical for long, though, as very soon John sat back down in their big, fancy chair, dragging Arthur with him, into his lap. He yelped, startled, but was still pliable enough, that he didn't have it in him to complain. He accepted his fate and wiggled a bit, trying to get comfortable. Finally, they sat in a way that would let Arthur stretch his legs, should they scream at him to do so. His back was against John's chest, John's arms around his middle, and their legs tangled together.
Arthur smiled, and leaned his head onto John's shoulder.
This was truly what warmth felt like.