The aphrodisiac turned touch into fire. Every brush of Arthur's fingertips against Noel's skin was a brand, every whisper of breath a gale. The drug had wormed its way into his bloodstream, liquefying his will and heightening every sensation until even the rustle of sheets against his thighs felt like a thousand tiny shocks.
His hips began to move of their own accord, thrusting into Arthur's fist with a desperate, mindless rhythm. He fisted the sheets so tightly his knuckles went white, his chest heaving with ragged, broken breaths.
"Please..." he begged, but the word was a slurry of need and denial. He didn't know what he was begging for. Stop? Don't stop? Make it stop? Make it never stop?
