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It was an unspoken agreement that the two were not to visit each other's personal homes.
Graham exclusively visited Arthur at his office, while Arthur avoided the apothecary with the hesitant suspicion of a dog to an unfamiliar hand.
(The less he thought of Graham's profession, the better.)
This rule had never been established, or even mentioned at all, and yet the two upheld it for nearly four months. Those months passed as most time does: unnoticed.
Graham attended Arthur's office for bi-daily chats, sometimes more, sometimes not. Despite Graham's insistence that they engage in some sort of intimate act upon each visit, Arthur did not care much for the idea of treating the chemist as a means to pleasure; soothed his guilt by abstaining for as many as three weeks at a time.
This matter of guilt was entirely illogical in Graham's eyes. As far as he could tell, Arthur using him like an object sounded like a good bit of fun for them both.
But the doctor was a stubborn sort of gentleman. Graham was made to settle for lingering touches and hushed, perverse words— satisfied himself in private to the thought of Arthur's flushed cheeks (and flushed cock), biding time whilst waiting for the real thing.
As of late, Arthur had managed to thwart any prompting of physical intimacy by focusing instead upon Graham's most recent and favored topic of conversation: leurocristine. A discovery of his own, made from but a simple periwinkle. Capable of inhibiting the multiplication of cells.
Unfortunately for Arthur, Graham was currently manipulating the alkaloid salt, which could easily be used to treat cancer, into one which caused it. This left an unsavory taste in his mouth. He only hoped that Graham's fancy would move on before the chemist found success.
~▪︎~
The clock ticked idly past the hour of eight, dusk gone in the favor of an early autumn night. It was silent for a long while before that, and a short bit after. Then came the sound of an iron knocker.
It was a strange thing to have someone come by unannounced at so late an hour. Especially for Arthur, who had taken no visitor since the postman earlier that week, and rarely offered himself up as host. He marked the page of his book with a ribbon. Quiet curiosity brought him to his feet.
As Arthur approached the door, he made sure to refasten his waistcoat as he went. It would not do to answer in his shirtsleeves alone. Really, intent as he was on permanent residence in London, it would have been practical enough to seek out a footman to handle this duty. Now that it was late and he was weary from a day's work, Arthur wished he had.
Opening the door, "Good evening, doctor," said a familiar voice.
Arthur blinked, handle still tucked against his palm. "Mister Hurst. This is a surprise," he said, meaning it. Pointing dumbly, "What are those for?"
On the stoop of his door stood Graham, who had not been seen out and about for the better part of five days. This was slightly unusual, and even if Arthur had yet to seek him out, he was not unhappy to see the chemist alive and well.
He was, however, perplexed. Specifically by the bouquet of flowers held between frail hands. They were nice enough, he supposed. Why they were necessary, Arthur could not hope to guess.
"I have come bearing a bribe," said Graham with gaiety. He was, of course, referring to the flowers.
"Oh...? And what for?"
Graham smiled, good eye bursting with mirth. He pressed the delicate arrangement into Arthur's arms, wrinkling the paper which wrapped them, and strode past as if entering his own home.
"It's been too long," Graham announced in lieu of answering the question.
He did not clarify whether he meant it had been too long since they met, or since they had sex. Arthur had a feeling it was the latter. He closed the door and followed Graham into the kitchen; began to prepare a vase for the flowers.
"Might I ask how you stumbled upon my house?" he asked idly, setting the wrapping aside. "And again for your reason why?"
"Right to business as always. Shame. Whatever happened to a bit of foreplay?"
Tinged pink, "Word choice, Mister Hurst. And you're doing it again."
Indeed, Graham was dancing around his answer. This was something Arthur had discussed with him many times, in some instances nearly pleading with the chemist to be more forthright.
"Right you are. First, do you like the flowers?"
"They're lovely."
"Excellent! I had hoped they might make you more amenable to my purpose."
Arthur sighed, and placed the bouquet into their new home. He put the crystal vase upon a window sill, bidding the sun prolong their shortened life. "Which is?"
"Do you recognize this?"
And Graham— question still unanswered— pulled from his pocket a vial of magenta fluid. The sight of it raised immediate suspicion, as there were few reasons Graham may have such a thing on his person.
"I do. At least, I believe so. It's your... 'love potion,' yes?"
Graham nodded. "More or less. I have made some adjustments to the formula. These changes aim to prolong symptoms beyond their original length, increasing the potency as well."
This was put in a manner so matter-of-fact that Arthur could not find it in himself to be surprised. A little exhausted, maybe. He put a hand to the bridge of his nose, feeling already that this could not end favorably.
"Please assure me that you aren't planning on selling such a thing. I can't even begin to imagine how I would treat it, let alone handle the aftermath. The last aphrodisiac you made caused quite the scandal between two of my patients."
Graciously, Graham hummed something which sounded like disagreement. "No, not unless someone comes to me in search of it. My purposes are more singular."
How lewdly his mouth formed this word! In some bizarre trick, the movement of Graham's lips put to mind the way a heart murmurs for the satiation of addiction. A familiar enough flutter beat in Arthur's chest, alleviated by a forced cough.
"I worry to hazard a guess," Arthur said, cheeks pink, "but I will be daring enough to say that I am not drinking that."
"I did not expect you to."
"Very good."
"Because I am drinking it."
And whatever Arthur intended to say next (for he did intend something, as his mouth fell agape) came out in an unintelligible sputter.
Again, he firmly believed that nothing good could possibly come of consuming an aphrodisiac. Especially not in a man so provocative as Graham, who certainly needed no such thing in the first place.
Already Arthur had felt out of his depth when the chemist slipped a devouring tongue between his lips. The thought of adding a base, animal urge to spur him on was almost frightening. Brief flashes of fantasy— impolite and shamefully tempting— twisted Arthur's throat as one tightens a screw. He swallowed deeply.
"Wouldn't you rather discuss vinca compounds? I'm sure you've made some discoveries since we last-"
"Come now, doctor, don’t try to distract me with tired topics. This is a matter of business." Arthur gave him a look, so Graham amended his statement. "And pleasure, of course."
"Of course. But- really. Must you? Why do you need such an elixir at all?"
"Ah! Excellent question." Graham was smiling— still smiling, rather. "Because I am an inventor, and a chemist. My thirst for knowledge is boundless, as you know. A better question would be how I could go on without it!"
Were Arthur in the office (where he was more comfortable, and more used to handling Graham's unique attitude) he may have made a comment about how this made no sense. How Graham's thirst for knowledge was rivaled only by his hunger for physical intimacy. For touch, and for heat.
Arthur did not mind this about his friend. Still, it was a source of turmoil in his own thoughts, which struggled to grasp the morality of sex outside of a romantic relationship. And their relationship certainly was not romantic.
Again, he did not think less of Graham for his provocativeness; only of himself.
(If Arthur let himself ponder this guilt— did not dismiss the notion before it permeated— he might realize that he subconsciously viewed Graham as a man more innocent than reality beheld.
But the chemist was just so small, and had all the vigor of a youth Arthur was adamant to deny himself. How could he defile a man so vibrant, even if said man begged him to do so?)
"...Won't you give in?" came the sweetest murmur.
Graham had approached the spot where Arthur stood and was smoothing out the front of his shirt, though it was immaculate already. The touch of his nimble fingers made Arthur's breath leave him in a shaky rush.
He did so enjoy those hands upon him.
"It just- it does not seem responsible. What if the effects are... unsavory?"
This was a valid enough concern for an untested elixir; Graham nodded in genuine understanding.
"That is precisely why I've come to you, my dear doctor. See, I've sampled my own works before to poor outcomes. Sickness, usually. Sometimes worse. But you are a valued and skilled practitioner..." His hand trailed from Arthur's chest to his navel, palm flat against his belly. In a lowered voice, "I trust you to take care of me. Whether the potion works or not."
Despite knowing the answer, "And if it does?"
"I do hope you'll bed me, if you're so inclined."
He was. But Arthur did not admit this out loud, nor did he admit so to himself. Instead, "Mister Hurst, I must insist again that this is not a wise thing to do. If even you are unsure of what the adverse effects may be, surely this is not a safe endeavor."
"No need to worry yourself, doctor. I'm taking it either way."
Graham's hands were caressing and cold. They were always cold. They were also ever-present, running against the fabric of his shirt like breath upon a window. Arthur knew that the chemist was serious; would drink the elixir unsupervised and without hesitation. It was a good enough excuse to tell himself that he could not refuse.
"...I have conditions."
A delighted hum. "Then you best speak them whilst I am lucid enough to understand."
But it was hard to think. Roaming hands, roaming thoughts.
Arthur was swayed to demand that Graham redirect attention to his words instead of his body, but could not bring himself to push the smaller away. Arthur gulped instead, alleviating the uncertainty of what to do with his hands by placing one on Graham's shoulder, and the other on his hip.
"First, I will not hurt you. No matter what, I won't do it."
This was a constant topic of debate between them. Graham wanted to be handled roughly, and Arthur wanted him to be safe. As a doctor, friend, and morally upstanding individual, he refused ever to raise a firm hand. And he would not. Especially not now.
"I will not let you hurt yourself."
Another point of conflict. Graham was often overzealous in his attempts to achieve the sensations of pain in which he relished; prepared himself roughly (or not at all), bit the flesh of his arms, denied himself breath. Although Arthur understood that Graham somehow enjoyed these sensations, he could not in good conscience allow the chemist to carry them out.
To this point, Graham did complain a bit. Mostly playful, he made a single gripe, rolled his eyes, and finally made a gesture as if crossing his heart in promise.
"And-" Arthur looked down at Graham, stomach weary, "and I will not penetrate you."
"What?! But that's the entire point!"
The sound of Graham upset, voice pitched outside his normal range, was inherently grating. Although Arthur had foreseen this protest and attempted to steel himself, it was still difficult to stand his ground with Graham so close, hands insisting upon the doctor's abdomen.
"It's not safe. I-I can't know what sort of state you'll be in. There's just no way for you to consent if you aren't-"
"This is me consenting," Graham cut in. "Right now. Hell, doctor. The things I would let you do to me-"
On some level, Arthur knew 'things' Graham alluded to. They did not have to be spoken.
He spoke them anyway.
"You needn't even ask! Perhaps I would even enjoy if you didn't. You could force me down right here on the floor; take my head in your hands and-"
"Mister Hurst."
"I could pretend to struggle, and you might put me in place with a swift hand, or perhaps by thrusting into my mouth-"
"Graham."
"Ah. Right. Well, my point stands."
Arthur was not sure what the point was anymore. He was too distracted by the graphic images such descriptions imposed. Wet mouth, wet eyes.
With a slight tremor to his fingers, Arthur gently took Graham by the wrists and removed the chemist's hands from his front. He could not stand the dance of them any longer.
"Those are my conditions," Arthur said.
"I do not accept."
Such a plain refusal did something odd to Arthur's stomach. A sort of churning, as if some hitherto unknown force was shifting deep inside. He was not prepared for a rejection so stark as that, and was left unsure what to do with it.
A handful of responses, all dull, all inadequate, lingered atop his tongue. Graham spoke before he grasped one.
"You agreed to take care of me."
"I agreed to keep you safe." Graham's expression was so earnestly bewildered that Arthur's stomach gave another odd pang. Again, "I won't hurt you."
"Then you will simply have to prepare me well."
A raised brow, accusatory, from Arthur to Graham.
They had only engaged in penetrative intercourse twice before; once on that first night, and again one week after. Since then, Graham had greatly enjoyed sinking to his knees whenever Arthur least expected him too, then having the doctor bring him off in a large hand.
On both instances, Graham had not allowed Arthur the full opportunity to stretch him to satisfaction. It was obviously for the purpose of that little bit of pain Graham craved and Arthur denied. It was also the main reason Arthur had become hesitant to allow Graham such an intimate act.
At his expression of obvious doubt, "I mean it," said Graham. "You have my word."
"You said that last time."
"True, but this time I mean it."
Arthur frowned. His usually rigid moral code did have a tendency to flex beneath the impossible weight of Graham's will. It was difficult to deny the man anything. Even now those wide, beseeching eyes reflected an incongruous innocence.
He sighed. Arthur felt he was doing that a lot. Already, both of them knew that he was going to concede in the end. From the moment Graham walked into the house, he was guaranteed his demands.
It was going to be a mess. Arthur fully understood that Graham would likely lose his senses the very moment the elixir took effect; would fail to heed to any boundaries, clawing for any scrap of pleasure he could find.
"You swear...?"
A spark in his eye. Graham knew he had won. Smiling now, "Solemnly."
"Alright. I- alright." Arthur's palm covered the lower third of his face, poorly shielding his flushed cheekbones. "But only if you feel it is explicitly necessary."
"Excellent!" Graham snatched up the vial from where it had been serving as an ominous reminder upon the counter. It was almost nostalgic to see how the liquid swirled. That elixir— a very similar one, rather— was the very thing which caused their paths to intertwine.
Arthur was not an overly sentimental man, but was still glad for their friendship, and by extension glad for the vial. He enjoyed Graham's presence and all the resultant headaches, despite it all.
"Where is the bedroom?"
Another flip of his belly. A bed! They had never shared one— only leather chairs, laps, and knees on carpeted floors. The thought was more intimate than he anticipated.
"Wait. Let me gather a few things first."
In all fairness, Graham was shockingly patient as Arthur shuffled about. He watched with an odd smile as the doctor gathered a handful of tea towels, a chilled pitcher of water, an apple, a small loaf of bread, and a wide-rimmed bowl (presumably in the case of Graham making himself sick).
Once his arms were loaded high, Arthur stiffly led the way to the second floor of his home.
In simple terms, his accommodations were modest— especially for a man of his occupation— but well suited to his character. Practical but comfortable. Warm tones and plainly patterned wallpaper, the occasional framed picture upon the wall.
Graham, as he always did, paid intimate attention to each and every detail of this new environment, following Arthur's footfalls in silence. It was keenly exposing to have eyes (a singular eye, were he to be exact) combing over his home with such scrutiny. Arthur was almost compelled to ask what Graham gained from his observations. Instead, arms full, he nudged open the bedroom door with the toe of his shoe and stepped inside.
Tea towels hung over the chair, pitcher and bowl on the bedside table, fruit and bread by the fire.
Arthur set each item down diligently. The towels could be soaked in case of fever, water and food for exhaustion, the bowl for sickness. Arthur was more prepared for the idea that Graham's elixir would fail than succeed. It was far easier to play the doctor than the escort.
"Should I undress?"
The question took an innocent tone, but with all the underlying slyness of an alleycat stalking through the narrow streets. Arthur shivered, and turned from the fireplace (lit, burning dim from neglect) to see Graham drifting nearer. "You're nervous," the chemist observed.
He was, and he wasn't. Arthur was not so uncomfortable with the proposition of sex as he was with the mystery of such a bizarre circumstance.
There was still the possibility that Graham would become unwell, or that he would become wilder and harder to tame than ever. Already the chemist's small stature cast shadows over men thrice his size. Unbidden, he would surely be... formidable. But that was under the assumption that the elixir functioned as was intended.
(It would. Arthur knew that it would— that the chemist did not fail at anything.)
Graham was holding the small vial in a small hand. The anticipatory smile which graced his lips was overt, pointed at the corners, shameless as ever.
In his own bedchamber, it was quite the sight. Crimson climbed Arthur's cheeks.
"Wait. Not yet," he rushed to say when Graham popped the vial's clasp. "Remove your- sorry. Would you please remove your waistcoat first? And it would be best for you to take to the bed before drinking. Just in case you feel faint."
Whether Graham complied out of agreement with Arthur's logic or for want to undress, he did so readily. After resealing the vial and setting it aside, he quickly popped the buttons of his waistcoat and shirtsleeves. Then, he shucked his trousers before Arthur had a chance to mentally prepare, and clambered atop the bed.
"...oh. Right. Well- that's good too."
It didn't take long for Graham to make himself comfortable, shifting so that his back was cradled by pillows, shirt hanging open to reveal the stark ridges of his ribs. Again, Arthur's throat jumped. Improper was one word which sprang to mind. Tantalizing was another.
How often had he pictured this? Not once. At least, not to Arthur's recollection. Now that seemed impossible. How would this image ever leave his head; how, when Graham was looking up at him with such brazen amusement, would he ever think of anything else?
"I've missed your face," Graham murmured into the charged air.
"You saw me but one week ago."
"Ah, but not like this... your eyes grow dark— did you know?— when you finally allow desire. And I quite like how your cheeks color for even the slightest thing. You're been far too composed lately."
The thought then occurred to Arthur that the chemist may enjoy his company more than he knew. It was all too easy to assume that Graham found pleasure elsewhere when Arthur did not provide it; some stranger more inclined to fulfill his darker desires. The concept of Graham wanting him amplified that swimming feeling in his gut.
"I..."
I don't want to sully you.
"It's alright. I understand that a proper gentleman cannot always be at my beck and call."
"Right." Arthur felt the overwhelming need to say more. To stay away. But Graham's pull was magnetic, and it was much as if the bed were approaching him rather than the other way around. "You know that I do enjoy our time though, yes?"
The corners of Graham's mouth pulled wider. Arthur hoped he could divine the weight of such a statement, even if the words fell flat upon his tongue.
"I would have you no other way."
With that, Graham snatched up the vial from the bedside table. He uncapped it with little fanfare and lifted the glass, gazing at Arthur over the lip with a coy expression.
"Ready?" he asked.
Certainly not. But Arthur gulped and nodded, questioning as he did, "Are you still sure this is necessary?"
His answer came in the tilt of the vial and a grimace on Graham's face, assumingly from an unsavory flavor. Arthur vaguely recalled the previous elixir having a strong ammonia scent, and was relieved all over that he was not the one drinking it.
For a moment, it was silent. Then Graham lurched, and Arthur did too, grabbing the bowl for fear that the chemist was going to vomit.
Rushing to the beside, Arthur ran a soothing hand along Graham's back. Panic must have made him a bit delusional, as for a moment Arthur believed that he should have stopped Graham from taking it; believed that he actually would have been able to, if only he fought a little harder.
Luckily, Graham's sudden convulsion passed without sickness. He was still hunched over, so Arthur slowly set aside the bowl in favor of examining the slight form before him. With two hands, gentle and hesitant, Arthur cupped either of Graham's cheeks and bid the chemist look at him.
He only had a brief second to fuss over how his face was twisted in discomfort before Graham grumbled, "...Disgusting."
Arthur released him. "Good God, you scared me! Please don't do that."
"No really, it was disgusting. Like drinking bleach... or piss. You must remind me to rework that— perhaps something minty? Citrus?"
He spoke in a tone which encouraged Arthur to provide input of his own, but the doctor could not be bothered to have an opinion. He was too busy rubbing his temple, mumbling something to the effect of 'not being able to handle this.'
"I'm alright, everything's fine," Graham assured with amusement. His smile wobbled a little. "Nothing to worry about, just..."
As if experiencing a fit of vertigo, he swayed dangerously. Arthur put a hand on his shoulder despite the nagging suspicion that he was being played a fool. "Graham?"
But now it was the chemist's turn to hold his head in his hands, pale fingers covering his eyes. Arthur asked after him again to no response.
"Lay back. Let me look at you," he urged.
Surprisingly, Graham heeded to this. Without protest or hesitation, he fell back across the mattress, shoulders tense despite the rest of his body appearing entirely limp. Arthur pressed the back of his palm to Graham's forehead. It was warm, but not burning; he leaned down to look more closely at Graham's face; glazed eyes, flushed cheeks, labored breath. It dawned on him that the symptoms of fever and lust were very similar.
"Are you feeling ill? Can you speak?"
But the chemist only stared, functioning eye blown wide into a deep, dark lake. Arthur brushed a bit of hair from his forehead, swallowing nervously when Graham's breath stuttered and he shivered in full.
"Mmm," he hummed. Then, very intelligently, "...'s warm."
Arthur was about to check his forehead again when Graham adjusted himself, stretching and writhing back into the sheets as if attempting to sink through the surface. The flush on his cheeks spread down his neck and into the dip of his collarbone. Arthur's eyes trailed lower, and any concerns of the elixir failing fled with his breath.
Atop the sheets— white, wrinkled already from the sprawl of Graham's body— frail legs parted to reveal a hard line beneath fabric of Graham's drawers. It contextualized the flush of his skin with nervous certainty.
"Oh..."
Arthur looked about, suddenly unsure what to do. Graham's instructions had been clear, but vague. 'Bed him.' Now? Like this? He hadn't anticipated the effects being so... immediate.
Arthur shook his head, looking at the pale spread of Graham's belly as if the answer may be etched upon it. Everything about this felt wrong, even with Graham's explicit consent. If Arthur had felt as if he were taking advantage before...
Graham whimpered a weak, quiet moan. It was so unlike the bold (and Arthur suspected sometimes exaggerated) sounds he usually made, that it was almost startling. Then, when he opened his eyes and looked up at Arthur with an expression that was even weaker, almost shy, he was certain this must be a dream.
"Are you-?"
The chemist reached out and grasped at the bottom hem of Arthur's waistcoat. He tugged once or twice, and then looked at the fabric despairingly when it did not simply fall away. "Take it off," he begged with slurred speech.
Arthur could not even process his surprise at the chemist speaking, overwhelmed instead by the manner in which he spoke it! That is, desperately. A plea in place of an assured command. The strangeness of it made Arthur's mouth fall open. He took Graham's hand in his own and nearly jumped from his skin when the contact excited a louder but equally needy moan.
The room was beginning to feel very warm. Graham ground his hips against nothing, desperate for friction he would not find. He made an attempt to pull Arthur closer. His palms were damp with sweat.
Again, Arthur was struck silent by the wanting frown of Graham's lips; could only watch in awed bewilderment as the chemist pleaded wordlessly for touch.
Apparently, he denied the young man for too long. With a growing sense of horror, Arthur watched as a sheen of tears blinked into existence, fogging the inharmonious colors of Graham's wide eyes.
"Oh, Graham! No, no it's alright," he said urgently, coming closer in an instant.
If Graham were capable of scheming in such a state, Arthur may have then supposed that glassy piteousness to be a trap. Suddenly, arms wrapped haphazardly around his neck and Arthur stumbled forward, finding his upper half looming over Graham's.
"Off," the man insisted again.
Arthur's body burned with an unfamiliar embarrassment at the even more unfamiliar need in Graham's voice. With clumsy hands, he undid the buttons of his waistcoat the best he could without detaching Graham from his body. Once he was done, he shed the garment and let it fall to the ground.
Little sounds and meaningless whispers were by then falling from Graham's lips. His skin was damp with sweat, legs trembling as he continued to claw for any small bit of touch.
Arthur felt a lurch of guilt along with the confusing arousal, feeling suddenly as if he should be doing more. Much more.
Graham clung to his shoulders as Arthur nervously began to divest him of his remaining clothing. (Again, a very strange turn of events! He never undressed the smaller man; tended to just look up and find him suddenly bare.)
Once fully undressed, Graham released Arthur to palm feverishly at his erection, shuddering against the bed and sounding startlingly pained. His eyes glistened with a thick coat of unshed tears. Apparently, he failed to alleviate whatever distress creased his brow, as Graham stopped suddenly and returned clinging to the front of Arthur's shirt.
"It's alright." Arthur's voice sounded far away, even to himself. There was roaring static between his ears. His mouth, dry, struggled to form words. "I will keep my promise. I will..."
...Will what? Fuck him? When Arthur had reluctantly agreed to that, it was under the impression that Graham would be some sort of unstoppable whirlwind of lust; that the smaller man would drag Arthur by the neck to the nearest flat surface and ride him stupid. That would have been normal. Well, normal enough.
But this did not happen. No, instead of the incredible force of nature he recognized Graham to be, here lay before him a man. A desperate, needy man. Like this, Arthur's fears of accidentally hurting the chemist (small as he was, thin and unfittingly fragile; a raging fire who had dodged hurricanes and oceans alike) came back with a vengeance. Hell, he had never even been on top of the man.
Arthur blinked, stomach in knots. Graham in his bed, under his care, under his... body. Arthur's head spun as it hit him all at once; he would have to actually act upon his own instincts instead of contentedly following Graham's.
After a painful moment of conflicting fears and desires, Arthur carefully (very carefully!) climbed onto the bed.
"Is this okay?" he whispered hoarsely. When Graham did not respond— only made a lewd sound and spread his legs for Arthur to settle between— he felt ridiculous for asking. "...okay."
It was obvious that he needed to do something, but Arthur was momentarily stunned by a new appreciation for Graham's usual audacity. How the chemist managed to both make a choice and carry it out was beyond him.
Touch seemed safe. Gentle touch even safer. Feeling as if he wanted to be of assistance and was entirely helpless to do so, Arthur sat between Graham's legs, gently running his hands from ribs to hips, from belly to the shaking tops of Graham's thighs.
Everywhere, the skin was hot. Arthur's hands grew sweaty fast, and he told himself it was for the heat and not anxiety.
Incoherently, Graham was trying to phase his head through his pillow and into the mattress beneath, pleading for something Arthur could certainly guess, but not pick apart from such scrambled sounds. It didn't really matter, though. He knew what Graham wanted, and was still set on providing it.
With a deep breath, Arthur attempted to steel his nerves. It was difficult when his hands did not feel like his own, and his eyes were gorging themselves on a poisonous feast. But as Graham once told him, he was a doctor; doctor's were good with their hands.
At the first touch to his erection, Graham made a sound which spoke of some wounded creature. It was enough for Arthur to flinch, but not to stop. The way Graham's hips bucked wildly into his hand served as reassurance enough.
By all accounts, it was neither a romantic nor tender affair. It was messy and desperate, room filling with lewd sounds which drove Arthur near insane. The movement of his hand around Graham was slick with precome, leaking almost constantly as the chemist struggled and moaned.
When he spent, Arthur was caught off guard. The climax was quicker than normal— more violent than normal. Graham's voice cracked as he came, spilling from his alongside an undignified trickle of spit. The sheets, soiled now, twisted beneath his hands.
The relieved breath which filled Arthur's lungs felt like the first he had taken in too many moments, glad to have succeeded in this simple task, and glad that it was over. Even as his own arousal sat heavy as a stiff discomfort between his legs, Arthur would have been more than amenable to leave Graham in a state of satisfaction; to slink away and ashamedly bring himself to completion behind a locked bathroom door, or to sit down and clench his jaw until the damned thing went away on its own.
He would have been, that is. But Graham was still fully erect— begged inarticulately for more, more, more.
"Oh god," Arthur rasped to the darkened room. "Uhm..."
He gulped. Then, taking the only logical step he could conceive, Arthur began again to work the length of Graham's erection in the tight alcove of his palm, squeezing occasionally at the base as Graham had dictated during their first intimate meeting. His glasses slid from their perch, sitting precariously near the tip of his nose. Breath, hot and labored, fogged the lenses.
Amongst the noxious swirl of conflicting thoughts and desires, Arthur felt in the back of his mind an overwhelming need to look away— avert his eyes from so intimate a display— as to spare Graham the vulnerability of his gaze.
But he could not. Arthur, eyes wide and helplessly enraptured by the chemist's squirming form, watched on with the utmost focus; how sweat shone on the steep protrusions of bone beneath reddened skin; how lips, weathered by teeth, parted for the escape of pleased whines.
It was less jarring when Graham reached another feverish climax. Arthur had almost seen it coming, what with how his hips had begun to buck messily into his grip. Arthur was attacked by a mortified shock for how his own cock twitched wantonly within the confines of his trousers.
He was at an impasse. Hands stone still against Graham's hips, Arthur thought vacantly of all the immoral implications of fulfilling his promise to bring things further. Even if Graham had consented explicitly (twice, if not more) there was still a nagging sense of uncertainty that resulted from the chemist's newfound lack of agency. But Arthur... well. He was not certain that he would be able to carry on this way. Seeing Graham spread beneath him, covered in spend and sweat, panting syllables which parodied Arthur's name-
"M-more," Graham begged tearfully, repeating that one of the few words which remained in his vocabulary. "Please."
This was going to be the death of him, Arthur silently bemoaned. He looked up at the ceiling as if casting a prayer in repentance for what he was about to do. Then, feeling distinctly as if he were falling victim to some base instinct beyond the will of man, he sat back on his heels to undo the clasp of his belt.
In an almost pavlovian response to the sound of a buckle being undone, Graham canted his hips and made a poor attempt of wrapping his thin legs around Arthur's waist. He failed— Arthur was too far; Graham's legs too short— so he looked up at the doctor with agonized malaise.
Unable to bear the emotional burden of distressing such an otherwise willful man, Arthur leaned down to press a quick kiss against Graham's lips. It was intended to be a distraction. A brief action to pull Graham from his turmoil. Instead, Arthur found himself caught up in how such soft pleading felt as it rumbled against his lips.
His erection twitched traitorously in his unbuttoned trousers. Arthur, thoughtless to all but the warmth of Graham's tongue, palmed at the fabric in an attempt to alleviate the discomfort. With one arm braced near the side of Graham's splayed hair and the other working between his legs, he found their bodies very, very close.
"This is madness," Arthur whispered. It sounded like an apology, either to Graham or some higher power he was presently disappointing. Then Arthur sat up, tried not to think too closely on the matter, and ran his fingers through the semen pooled in the concave dip of Graham's belly.
"This is what you wanted, right?" he pleaded to know, reaching lower still. Graham, who had made a mournful sound at the loss of Arthur's lips, parted his legs readily, panting and red from head to toe. "This is what you still want?"
Threads of milky white slipped from his fingertips as Arthur awaited a response he was not certain would come. Indeed, Graham seemed lost beyond what Arthur thought possible, limbs slick with sweat and chin with spit.
Arthur often saw Graham from above— stood an entire head taller— but not like this. Never like this. Graham in his lap, Graham on his mind. Never frowning, never... desperate. Always a mischievous grin and confident voice in times when certainly had no home.
Arthur gulped, wishing for some of that confidence now. His heart raced, afraid anew of hurting the chemist in so delicate a situation as this— one during which it was his duty to protect and to provide what Graham was begging for.
A heedy moan erupted into the air at the first press of Arthur's fingers. He swallowed back an embarrassing noise of his own, slowly working his index finger through that tight ring of muscle.
"Sorry," Arthur whispered, even as his own erection throbbed and Graham's wept profusely. Evidently, the intrusion was not unwelcome.
In a matter of ten or so minutes one finger became two, and then three. Arthur's arousal ebbed and flowed around a keen sense of fascination. There was something to be said of being allowed his own pace— the chance to prepare Graham thoroughly and painlessly— even if he did miss the often impertinent input of the chemist.
This was not to say Graham was silent, of course. He hadn't been nearly since this whole debacle began. On the contrary, Arthur wondered how his throat did not tire from such long periods of meaningless babble. It was impossible to understand, but so very clear in meaning.
His fingers crooked just so, locating Graham's prostate with professional ease. That was the one thing Arthur could really be confident in when it came to sex. Anatomy, plain and simple. The bundle of nerves and how his fingertips rubbed against it seemed to instill in Graham something of a frenzy. Those cloudy eyes— one a stormy blue and the other so dark he could get lost there— brimmed with overwhelmed tears. Arthur wanted to keep stalling, stretching and massaging, lying to himself by saying that this would be enough. That it could ever be enough.
A stream of tears escaped Graham's eyes with an almost frightening keen, and Arthur was apologizing again.
"It's okay," he promised. "I'm right here."
Freeing himself from his trousers entirely was a humiliating relief. Arthur almost found himself panting as his erection was finally, finally granted respite from such uncomfortable restraint.
Determined to grant Graham similar relief, Arthur grabbed himself with unsteady hands— jolted at the sensation of being touched, pent up as he was— and slicked his cock with the same spend he had used to lubricate Graham. With nothing more to delay him but his own reservations, Arthur made to line up... and paused.
Graham was slight. He was narrow in shoulder, narrower in hip, and (although he was always this way) appeared suddenly more fragile than ever. Spread out like a baroque masterpiece— skin white against the deep, burgundy sheets; cast in tenebristic shadow from the fire burning low— Arthur could not help the nagging feeling that he was defiling something sacred. Like touching a sculpture in a museum. Like taking a bite from an apple... swallowing the thing whole.
"Please, please." Graham's cheeks were scarlet. His eyes, glistening now, were bright with a primal desperation. Had he ever begged before tonight? Certainly not like this.
Unable to think of anything else, "I'm right here," Arthur repeated. "I-I've got you."
Easing into Graham's body was as overwhelming as it was inevitable. And yet, the sensations were somehow less jarring than on previous occasions. Usually, Arthur was caught off guard by the speed at which Graham sank down upon him (quickly. always quickly.) and alarmed at how resistant that small body was to accommodate him all.
But this was different. This time, Arthur was in control of the pace. Graham was thoroughly stretched and prepared. The overwhelming concern that he would accidently impose harm upon the chemist fizzled into a background noise whilst Arthur watched, utterly entranced, as he sank inch by inch into Graham's body.
"Mmm..."
Once their hips were flush and Arthur felt each breath as if it were his first and last, he paused to Graham a moment to adjust.
(To give himself a moment. To stare down at the chemist in a stupified daze, wondering again and again how his life had cumulated in such an odd collection of events to bring him here— having somehow attained the favor of such a strange, remarkable man.)
The tearstains on Graham's cheeks, which had since started to dry, damped again at Arthur's lack of urgency. Graham's complaints came in sounds, pitiful ones, rather than words; the desperate gleam in his eyes, the flush across his cheeks, the tremor of his legs.
Arthur, ever gentle, leaned over the smaller man with great care to press a quick kiss to his lips. Then, because he could not be satisfied by that alone, another to the temple, to the cheekbone, and a final to Graham's hairline. When Arthur pulled back— winced at the wracking strike of pleasure from their bodies joined— he tasted salt.
"I'm going to move now." His voice wavered. There was a small rumble to it that made him wish to clear his throat. "Please, please tell me if y-you want me to stop. Just- something. Anything."
Graham's response was little more than a vague plea for 'more,' followed by a series of far less comprehensible murmurs. It was a little charming. Arthur may have been more inclined to find it so were it not for the distracting heat engulfing him; the sporadic flexing of Graham's entrance, and the moans which punctuated it.
Arthur's first thrust was slightly unsteady.
It was a remarkably different feeling than when Graham rode him from above, surprising Arthur to a momentary, shuddering halt. It wasn't until the third or fourth thrust that he found a rhythm which agreed with them both. Slow, steady, and deep.
For something he had never dictated before, setting pace felt only natural once it was said and done. In a short time, any concentration on the matter fell second to shocks of pleasure buzzing like a gramophone left to spin.
Arthur's heavy breaths were lost of Graham's tenfold. A snipped shout alerted him to the fact that the chemist had come again— then, not even two minutes later, again.
The sounds of slapping skin grew sticky with fluid shared between their bodies. Arthur would later marvel at how it was possible for Graham to have spilt so much in so little time. Now, he instead choked on an unmannerly swear and became otherwise overcome by the pooling warmth in his own belly.
Thin, shaking ankles hooked around Arthur's waist. The hands which had been tangled in his sheets rose, seeking contact, comfort, or something unnamed existing between the two. Graham grabbed at his shoulders, his arms, his chest. Arthur shivered as clumsy fingers (how strange it was for Graham to be clumsy) ran against his skin.
Arthur could soon handle no more. Unable to be certain whether Graham would be content to have him come inside, he hastily pulled out, grabbing his erection by the base just as he spilt. The warmth of it splattered across Graham's belly, lost in an instant to the preexisting mess pooled upon pale skin.
Still struggling for each breath, Arthur leaned in and captured Graham in a final kiss; took up the chemist's roaming hands in his own and— in an action which was rather bold by his standards— pinned them above his head. It was all for the purpose of deepening the kiss. For licking the sweat from Graham's lips. For feeding all he could not put to words directly into the chemist's wanting mouth.
I don't understand you. I want to be near you. I want you to want me.
Arthur did not release Graham's wrists until the younger stopped trembling.
Having reached his first and only climax of the night— he was settled on this and would not change his mind— Arthur intended to ensure that Graham was satisfied by seeing if the chemist might come one more time. When he sat up to begin this endeavour, however, Arthur found that Graham had already reached another orgasm at some point during this kiss and was (thank God!) finally softening.
He heaved a sigh of relief. It was over. He had survived, Graham had survived, and all it had taken was quite literally every ounce of mental fortitude he could muster.
With the remnants of a bone-deep pleasure still itching beneath his skin, Arthur made to stand and retrieved the towels he had brought up from the kitchen.
Graham (he would have certainly protested being left alone otherwise) was thoroughly exhausted. Whatever rampant and painful desperation the elixir had instilled seemed to have worn off enough, and Arthur wagered that the toll it had upon Graham's body was not insignificant. Knowing this, he was not too surprised when he returned to find the chemist already asleep.
The spend on Graham's belly cleaned easily with the swipe of a towel. His body swallowed on instinct when Arthur dotingly pressed a glass of water against his lips. And, after he was lifted from the bed by gentle arms, Graham remained unconscious for the duration of a warm, quiet bath.
The night outside the shade-drawn window was cold. The warm glow of the fire wandered and waned against the walls, casting strange shadows throughout the room.
As the hour grew late, Graham slept soundly tucked away beneath a clean, green blanket. Arthur, glasses perched atop his head, fell asleep in a plush chair beside him.
~▪︎~
"How many times did I come, exactly?"
"God, I-I don't remember— four? Five? A lot! Certainly more than you should have been able."
The next day found them in the parlor of Arthur's home, well rested and clumsily navigating the implications of waking up together. Graham threw up twice (and did not seem to care), donned yesterday's clothes, chugged four glasses of water in quick succession, and then promptly set about interrogating Arthur on every detail of the night.
Arthur, evidently more affected by their circumstance, was hiding an exasperated blush behind his hands.
"Do you have a notepad? I ought to be writing this down."
Arthur eyes him from between his fingers. Half serious, "I'm not sure I want record of this existing."
"Oh, don't be shy! Come now, I know how you love your record keeping."
"Alright, alright."
Arthur rose, returning in a moment's time with a pen and notepad. Graham took them eagerly and began to scrawl out his findings in no particular pattern or order. Once he had recorded that which they already discussed, he glanced up. In his good eye gleamed an excitement Arthur had been unfamiliar with before they met.
"How would you describe my behavior?"
Arthur shivered. "...Different?" And when Graham only continued to look at him expectantly, "From what I expected, I mean. You were very... needy."
"Did I beg?"
Arthur silently bemoaned his blood pressure, feeling very warm as he shook his head. "Not coherently. But you were quite loud."
"Very interesting. And did that turn you on?"
"Graham."
The chemist clicked his tongue.
Their conversation continued on in much the same manner as this; questions Arthur was embarrassed to answer, yet Graham was delighted to ask. Such questions only occasionally pertained to the side effects of the elixir.
Morning neared noon. Really, the two ought to have parted hours ago to prepare their shops for operation, but Arthur did not want to seem dismissive, nor did he really want to dismiss Graham at all.
Thankfully, he did not have to, for Graham soon asked, "Are you opening your practice today?"
"Oh, yes. I have a few appointments. The first is not for another hour or so."
"It's just as well." Graham rose from his seat and stretched dramatically. His body gave the appearance of one long line, much like a cat grown loose for a sunbeam. "I'd best be getting home. We will have to do this again, of course."
Arthur stood as well by polite compulsion, though regarded Graham skeptically. "Must we?"
"More or less. I would prefer to be sober next time."
That gave Arthur pause. He took a moment to process the words, and then nodded.
"I would prefer that too."
Graham smiled in that way he always did— like he had just told a joke and now awaited an audience's laughter. "I bet you were a picture above me, listening to my cries and moans. I wish I could remember your face."
Probably, it was similar to the one Arthur wore now. That is, flustered, exasperated, and utterly enamored. He exhaled a sort of weary laugh, knowing he should be used to Graham talking like that by now.
"I'm just glad that you are all right. But really, please stop doing these things; it's bad for the heart."
Airily, "My heart feels wonderful."
"Yes, I meant mine."
Their goodbyes were brief.
Graham was beyond such menial pleasantries as 'thank you for coming,' and yet said so anyway, winking afterward to emphasize his double meaning. Arthur, of course, chose to ignore the euphemism.
Once his door clicked shut, Arthur's home felt suddenly large. Larger than any cramped townhome ought to.
He got ready for work that day by washing the feeling of Graham's skin from his hands. As the water disappeared down the drain, Arthur examined his reflection in the mirror.
Try as he might, he could not find whatever it was that made Graham smile.