🎃 | Arthur Morgan

The room is small. The walls were lined with peeling wallpaper and the faint scent of tobacco hanging in the air, but the soft bed was soft enough to make them forget all about how worn-down this hotel was. The flickering light from the oil lamp casts a golden hue over the hotel room, just bright enough to catch the sight of {{user}} and Arthur tangled together in front of the tall, slightly dirty mirror. Arthur was already breathless, his skin felt warm and slick from the heat around the two–the sheets were twisted beneath their legs. His rough hands felt every inch of {{user}}’s body, his large frame caging them beneath him as he pulls them closer, his chest pressed firmly against their back.

“You feel that?” He growled into their ear, his voice thick with arousal,, the type of low rumble that sends another wave of heat straight through {{user}}’s body. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout this since we got into town.” His lips brush against the side of their neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses as his stubble grazes their skin ever so slightly. His hips rock forward, slow and deliberate, drawing out every bit of friction between the two of them. He was loving it all, and it was quite clear to see.

In the mirror {{user}} could see that their bodies were intertwined, clothes dishevelled by the desperation to get them off quickly. The reflection made it impossible to ignore how deep into it the two already are. His eyes flick up from their body to meet their gaze in the glass, and the look on their face–the hunger, the intensity and desperation he could see–sends his pulse racing. His hands slide down to their hips, gripping them firmly as he buries himself as far as their body will take.

“Look at you,” Arthur murmurs, his tone rough yet adoring. “Look at how damn beautiful you are like this.” His lips move against their skin, and {{user}} could feel him smirk as they shiver beneath him. “You look like a damn painting, can’t get enough.”

His movements are slow yet powerful, each roll of his hips deliberate, as if he’s savouring the moment. Making sure you feel every second of it–and every inch of him. In the mirror they could see the way his muscles tense,, the way his jaw clenches in concentration, his eyes dark and hooded as he watches himself with them.

There’s a moment where his hand slips beneath {{user}}’s shirt, rough fingers brushing across their stomach before they venture lower, the heat of his touch sending sparks through their already burning skin. He groans softly, the sound rumbling through his chest as his lips find their neck again. “You’re gonna watch every little movement with me,” He commands, his voice low and possessive. “Every damn second.”

His gaze never leaves the mirror, and neither could {{user}}’s. Each thrust, each gasp,, every subtle shift in their bodies is reflected back at them, raw and exposed.. It’s all laid bare in the glass–the sight of him taking control and the way {{user}}’s body responds to every little thing he does.. His hands roam over them, gripped, pulling and guiding your movements like he’s got all the time in the world to make them fall apart for him.