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Arthur can’t see the way his wife’s expression twists, for just a moment, before it smooths back out, but John can.  John sees the tightness around Bella’s eyes, as they roam over Arthur’s bared torso.  It had hurt to pull their shirt off, pulling and twisting at the hastily bandaged wound on their shoulder, where they’d been grazed by one of the Butcher’s shotgun blasts.  The fabric dragging over their raw wrists hurt as well, or at least it hurt John, so he could only presume Arthur felt it as well.  Judging from his hitching breaths it had, but John supposed that could also be from any other number of older injuries that had been aggravated.  And oh, they have so many.

“Oh, darling, let me take care of you,” Bella murmurs, cupping Arthur’s face in her hands, staring directly into their eyes.  It sounds like a vow, like a promise.

John quite likes the way it sounds.

*

Bella is as careful as she can be, to not let anything show in her face, though strangely, she’s not sure if Arthur is really seeing her.  He startles so easily at her touch, like he can’t see the way she carefully telegraphs her every move, warning him before she brushes fingers against his skin.  It makes no sense, because his eyes are still tracking her movements, and yet his head lags behind, almost like he’s turning in response to hearing her… or in response to something else.   She finds herself torn between watching those eyes and trying to avoid them.  Those eyes that are… wrong.  There is something wrong with them, and she can tell.  Those are not her husband’s eyes.

She doesn’t know what to do with this information.  She cannot deal with it yet, because despite the strangeness this is undoubtedly Arthur in front of her, and ultimately that is what matters the most.

Arthur.  Her Arthur.  (Not that he was ever fully hers, and not that she was ever fully his, but they’d both pretended it was fine, and for a long time it was.)  But he is changed.  He is gaunt, and looks half starved to death, bones jutting too visibly under his skin.  His skin which is littered with scars.  So many.

It’s been… years since she was last intimate with her husband, but she knows that these are all very recent.

“Shhh,” she soothes, as she changes the dressings on what is clearly a gunshot wound in his shoulder.  Thankfully it seems the wound is clean and was decently bandaged the first time.  There’s another wound, not nearly as well tended to a little lower on his bicep, near his shoulder.  Oddly when she touches this one he doesn’t react nearly as much.  His left hand clenches briefly, which draws her attention down to his wrists again.

“I need to take a look at those too,” she says, nodding at his wrists which are rubbed totally raw.  Ropes, perhaps? She wonders idly.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Arthur replies absently, as though something is distracting him, or perhaps it took him a moment to parse what she meant.  She can’t help but notice that his head is not turned to look at her, though those eyes are continuing to watch her.  He finally looks more directly at her, though it’s still slightly off, and smiles crookedly.  “I offer myself up to your tender mercies.”

Bella returns his smile, and lifts his right hand to press her lips against his palm.  “I would never be anything less than gentle with you, my dear,” she promises with utmost solemnity.  Her lips quirk into a smirk as she releases his right hand in favor of taking the left.  “Unless you ask me very nicely that is.” 

Arthur’s face goes beet red, and his hand twitches violently in hers.  “Bella… I- uh.”

“Oh, calm down, Arthur,” she says with a laugh, “I would never ravish someone without properly tending to their wounds first.”

“I wasn’t aware ravishing was on the table,” he mutters, voice barely audible.

Bella pauses in her inspection of his left forearm, touching his cheek, letting her fingers trail along the pockmarked scarring under his right eye.  “It’s on the table if you want it to be,” she murmurs softly, leaning closer to rest her forehead against his.

Arthur gulps, and when he speaks his voice has gone husky.  “I wasn’t sure if… I-I didn’t know if you would, if we would-”

“Daniel told me that you two had a little chat,” Bella interrupts wryly; regretting, yet again, that she had never confided certain things to Arthur directly.  “I know he said some unkind things to you, and I want to apologize for the things I said when I was young, pregnant, and scared about the future.”

“You don’t need to apologize, I’m the one who-”

“None of that,” she says firmly, stopping him with a finger to his lips.  “I wasn’t in love with you, but I do love you.  I have never been under any illusions of us being… oh, I don’t know, romantic the way people always talk about romance working.”  She shrugs.  “That was just never us.  Not that you aren’t charming, darling, but you know what I mean, right?”

“I do,” he says softly, cautiously reaching up to grasp her hand where it still lingered near his lips.

(His left hand, Bella notes, does not stir from where it rests on his thigh.)

She presses a kiss to each of his cheeks, hovering for a moment, letting their lips almost brush together, waiting to see if she had read his reactions wrong.

With a noise almost like a sob Arthur closes the distance between them, and their first true kiss in years is tinged with a desperation that Bella can practically taste.

She hums, pleased, as Arthur’s hands bury themselves in her hair, and she leans into the kiss, deepening it.  Arthur suddenly hisses and freezes.

“Oh, your wrists!” She remembers too late, pulling back to gently extricate herself from Arthur’s arms.  “Arthur, I’m so sorry, I forgot for a moment.”

“So did I,” he replies, the self-deprecation in his voice at odds with something else.  Some other emotion she can’t quite identify.  She gets the strangest sense that he is talking about forgetting something else as well.

"Well," she says, leaning close and letting her breath tickle his neck, "let's get these bandaged up and go from there."

*

It is like some sort of exquisite torture to submit himself to Bella's deliberately gently ministrations.  Arthur doesn't need to be able to see her face to know she is greatly enjoying winding him up.  Bella is taking her time, unnecessarily ghosting her hand across his thighs, lightly brushing her fingertips against his bare chest and arms as she reaches across him to pick up and set down things from her first aid kit, leaning in too close whenever she speaks.  The tension is an unexpected, but not unwelcome, distraction from the pain.  And it is indeed painful, as his wife does insist on thoroughly inspecting and cleaning his poor raw wrists.

Not that Arthur isn't accustomed to pain, but John's discomfort is somehow more distressing than feeling pain himself, and John is not accustomed to anyone else touching him… them.   Arthur can feel his entire left arm jerk when Bella does something that must have startled John because-

Oh! John exclaims softly, sounding surprised and a little on edge, but not hurt.  Which is good, because Arthur's thoughts have gone hazy with desire, and he's been struggling for the past however-many-long minutes it's been since Bella offered to look at his injuries to come up with any clever ways to speak to John without Bella catching on.

"My love, what has happened to you?" Bella murmurs, whisper soft, her voice so sad and full of compassion and worry for him, that Arthur forgets to wonder what she had done to make John react like that.

John sounds choked, she's holding my-our hand, touching our pinky.

"Oh," Arthur says dumbly, brain short-circuiting.  He has the brief crazy thought that it's a good thing he can't see her, or else she'd have pulled a full confession out of him already.

(He has the even crazier thought that it's fortunate the King in Yellow had only ever attempted to manipulate Arthur with pain, if only the god had realized how completely undone Arthur could be made by applying a little affection, he wouldn't have had to bother with cultists, or the Dreamlands, or the manipulation, or the pits, or the broken bones...  Arthur would've been his so easily.)

Oh, John echoes softly, and Arthur can hear the sound of lips against flesh, and, oh fuck, they're going to have to have a talk about this later, but-

But then Bella's arms are around him, and Bella's lips are brushing his, and Bella's legs are wrapping around his waist, and (when did she end up in his lap?) Bella's fingers are combing through his hair, and Bella's forehead is resting against his and both of them are breathing heavy now, and-

"I want," she breathes, "to make you feel good.  We can talk in the morning, just, right now, let me take care of you, let me make you feel good.  Okay?"

"Okay," he breathes back, and he almost thinks he hears John say it too.

He whimpers this time when she kisses him, he can't stop himself, and John makes some sort of a noise as well, but Arthur does not have the brain capacity to deal with that at the moment, the most thought he can spare is hoping John will forgive him.  John's not yelling at him or in any way telling him to stop, and Arthur can't exactly ask for his - what?  permission? consent? - with Bella in the room, so he has to just hope that John is alright with this happening.

And if Arthur thought his mind was short-circuiting before, it all grinds to a total halt when he even begins to contemplate explaining John to Bella.  He cannot even consider mentioning John in the context of asking Bella if she minds that John is… present.

Nope, all of that is far too much for Arthur tonight, just Bella alone is enough to do him in, and he eventually gives up on thinking at all.  Bella is right, it can wait until morning.

*

Arthur Lester is a disaster, a mess, damaged, injured, scarred, traumatized, pathetic as he whimpers again and Bella Saltzman-Lester has never been more attracted to him.

Petra is never going to let her live this down.  Her cousin has always been fond of commenting that Bella has a thing for quote unquote pathetic men, but one look at Arthur's current state (well, not his current current state) and Petra will be insufferably smug about how very very correct she is.

Arthur is beautiful, and wounded, and Bella wants nothing more than to keep him close, and keep him safe (and keep him in her bed) until the last traces of pain have disappeared from his body.  His mind will not be so quick to heal, but if she could, she would keep him until that healed too.

He obediently waits as she breaks off their kiss to hastily strip down to just her slip.  She knows this safe house is secure, but she can't fully let herself be at ease, just in case, and so she keeps her slip on, letting it bunch up around her hips as she straddles Arthur's lap again.

(She knows that something is wrong with Arthur's eyes, she knows, in her bones, that he is not truly seeing her, but someone or something is.  And yet, she doesn't feel any malicious intent from whatever it is.  If anything she feels as if the watcher is beholding her with a sense of… wonderment almost.  Instead of seeming like a voyeur, whatever it is seems hesitant, but curious.

If she was a betting woman she'd wager that it had control of Arthur's left hand as well.  But even these thoughts lack enough weight to deter her.)

They've been working up towards this all evening, and after all the teasing Bella suddenly finds she has no interest in waiting any longer.

"May I?" she says against Arthur's mouth, resting her hands on his belt.

"Please," he gasps, and that's all the encouragement she needs.

His belt is subsequently removed and tossed to the side before he can even offer to help her.  She makes quick work of unfastening his trousers and then he's trembling too hard to do anything but let her tug his cock free.

She lines herself up, one hand around his length, the other grabbing his good shoulder to brace herself, and pauses just long enough to speak, forehead against his again, lips brushing against the side of his mouth.

"I'm going ride you until you come, and then I'm going to keep going until I get off too," she promises, "and you're going to be good for me, aren't you, Arthur?"

"Yes, ma'am," he moans helplessly (pathetically) and it'd been a long time since he'd begged for her, and somehow she had forgotten the heady thrill of knowing she had this man totally at her mercy.

"You're going to let me wring every last drop of pleasure from you and then some until I'm satisfied as well," Bella vows.  "You're going to cry for me, break for me, oh-so-prettily.  That's what you want too, isn't it, Arthur?"

"Yes, yes," he agrees, voice already close to a sob.

"Good boy," she praises, and then sinks down.

*

There is something furtive, and secretive, and desperate about the humans not even waiting to fully undress before they begin fucking.  It's almost poetic.  But there is also something incredibly frustrating about it as well, because now John cannot see what they're doing.

Arthur is already beyond reason, and John can scarcely even imagine what he is experiencing; he only knows the tiny fraction of pleasure that makes their toes curl and travels in a wave down their arm.  He only knows that he feels too warm and yet they are shivering, as if feverish.  He can only try to make sense of how Arthur is panting and gasping, and wonder at how his whimpers now are surely not in response to pain or fear.  No, he seems to be rather enjoying himself, unless John has a much poorer understanding of the man and human nature than he'd thought.

It is startling how badly John wants to know what Arthur is feeling.  Startling how he could feel like his non-existent breath was being stolen away simply by Bella staring into their eyes and promising them such things as to remind John very thoroughly that he is not human, and that he has always felt a distinct ownership of Arthur.  He wonders how Bella would react if she could've heard the way he'd growled, instinctually, (not at all on purpose, it had just happened) when she'd spoken of Arthur breaking for her.

John found he was at odds with himself in the strangest way.  On one hand he did not want to share Arthur with this woman, even though he had never known Arthur in this way, never touched him with pleasure in mind, they'd never had long enough to rest for the thought to more than idly pass through John's mind.

But on the other hand… what Bella Saltzman-Lester is promising them is nigh irresistible, and he finds himself wishing she knew he was there, and was actually saying it to both of them.  He hasn't ever ever ever wished for someone to take control away from him.  Since he has come into existence (and yes, John is counting what time he can remember from being the King as well) he has always needed control.  Since being cast into the Dark World he has very very rarely had any, but that didn't change the desire for it, that didn't change the terror of being unable to act.  But now a piece of him, perhaps the part most closely entwined with Arthur (that would explain why it was so contrary to his nature) wishes Bella would so sweetly use him like she was using Arthur for her own pleasure as well.

There are a thousand and more cruel ways he might have used this moment against Arthur in the past, but he would never dream of doing that now.  Not when Arthur's eyes are filling with tears and too soon, John knows it's too soon, he's gasping as he comes, a broken apology on his lips that Bella silences with a kiss, and then, even though Arthur is most decidedly spent, Bella doesn't stop.

"Shhh, love, it's alright," she soothes, her movements slowing to a gentle rocking, but still, she does not stop.  "I've got you, baby, it'll be okay."

And Arthur buries his face against her neck (and now John can't see anything) and sobs and shudders, but John knows that as helpless as he is in this moment, it is a willing helplessness.  There is no fight left in Arthur Lester, he has given himself over.  Surrendered totally and completely.

It's strangely beautiful.

And if John is alight with envy, though he's not sure which one of them is sparking this jealousy, Arthur never needs to find out.

Arthur doesn't need to know that John wishes he was the one being held captive on the edge of this terrible pleasure, and he certainly doesn't need to know the things John would be willing to do, if only he could be the one touching Arthur like this, holding him like this, kissing him, fucking him-

No.  Arthur absolutely does not need to know how desire and envy and frustration and sorrow and possessiveness and love are at war inside of him.  He doesn't need to ever find out how much John would give if he could have his mind settled and these thoughts erased by someone the way Bella has so clearly shut off Arthur's usually busy mind.

John can feel that much, in the nebulous place where their souls are entangled.  He can feel that Arthur needs this.

Oh, how he wishes he could give this to Arthur himself.

He's drawn out of his near melancholy by Bella groaning, her grip shifting, and judging by Arthur's slight wheeze, John gathers that she might have squeezed her legs tighter around Arthur's waist.

"Fuck," she pronounces softly, and she sounds oddly frustrated.

That's enough to draw Arthur out of his daze, though he's still whimpering with every exhale, "...Bella?"

"Can you keep going for me a little while longer, baby?" Bella asks, tilting his face up.  And now John can see her again.  Her breath is ragged as well, her cheeks gorgeously flushed, her bottom lip looks like she was just biting it, her eyes are slightly glossy, and her dark curls are tumbling loosely around her face, the light behind her creating a halo of sorts.

She is absolutely stunning, and there is something pleading in her eyes, tucked carefully behind her confident demeanor, and John knows he's witnessing something he shouldn't.

"Please," she adds, her voice cracking a little.

John sucks in an unsteady breath, which Arthur notices, and reacts to with a questioning hum, which Bella in turn misinterprets.

"I was getting there, but I lost it again," she explains with a slightly exasperated laugh.

John isn't sure what she means, but Arthur seems to instantly understand.

"Here, let me," he starts to insist, shifting on the edge of the bed where he's been sitting this entire time.

Bella stops him.  "No, no, I want to keep going like this."

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice more than a little hoarse, and John desperately wishes he could ask Arthur to explain what was happening.

"Do you think…" she starts to ask, a trembling vulnerability in her voice that scorches any lingering jealousy John was feeling to ash.  "How much longer until you're-"

Arthur tugs her face to his one-handed.  (John can't seem to unclench his fist from where it's twisted up in the silken material of her slip, right along the top of her thigh.)  He kisses her firmly, his breathing no less ragged as he pulls away.  "Let me make you feel good, Bella," he whispers, echoing back what she'd said to him earlier.

John's fingers twitch against her thigh, he wishes he knew what to do, how to help.  He doesn't know if it's just Arthur's urges permeating through their bond, causing him to feel this way, but fuck if he doesn't want to make Bella feel good too.

Arthur, he finally murmurs, understanding now that this is about reciprocating, about returning the favor.

Arthur's breath catches, and he turns his head, mouth finding Bella's neck.  Bella's moan sounds as beautiful as any song John has ever heard.

Tell me what to do, how to help, John continues, like when we play piano, don't think about it, just act, use our arm.  He swallows, hard, though he has no throat with which to do so.  I'll try to stay out of your way.

Arthur doesn't answer, which is fine, John wasn't expecting him to respond out loud, but his arm also feels… very… his.  No impulses being sent to it via Arthur's brain.  He balls his hand up in Bella's slip again; it feels wrong to touch her without permission.

Arthur is kissing Bella on the lips again, (hardly keeping his eyes open long enough for John to see anything) and he's panting into her open mouth, and John is going to go mad listening to the needy little sounds she keeps making.

"Almost," Arthur grunts, and John listens to them grind against each other for a while longer.  And he lets go, lets himself drift, in case Arthur changes his mind and wants to use John's arm.  Floating in this hazy half-awareness it oddly becomes easier to sense Arthur.  He knows the moment Arthur starts to grow hard again, as if the changes in the man's breathing didn't make it obvious enough.

Bella gasps suddenly, and now John feels the impulse to move his arm, and they both wrap their arms tight around her waist, and she's bracing herself against them, and squirming, and Arthur moans and-

"Fuck," Bella sobs.

Arthur hums - a surprisingly patient, soothing sound.  When he speaks his voice is rough, the words more panted out than spoken.  "Should I…?"

"Keep going, please," she begs, and then she starts grinding down harder.  John can feel it, as he has to adjust his foot, dig his toes into the plush rug so they can keep their balance.

Arthur starts to shake, and John can feel a flush of tingling pleasure wash through them all the way to the tips of their fingers and toes.  

Suddenly, the conundrum becomes clear.  Arthur is close again, but Bella isn't.  John has no idea if any of this is normal, but being limited to the minimal sensation he has from only Arthur's left arm and foot, he is struck with overwhelming compassion for Bella's plight.

Arthur, let me help, he says again, please.

Arthur startles slightly, which has the intended effect of jarring him enough that he is no longer on the verge of orgasm.  John doesn't know how he can tell, but he can.  Just like he can tell that Arthur is overstimulated and sensitive and aching, but that it's not bad.  He doesn't seem to simply be enduring it for Bella's sake, he is actually enjoying it.

Masochist, John thinks fondly.

"Bella," Arthur breathes between frantic kisses, "tell uh-me what to do," another longer kiss, "how can I help?"

She lifts up onto her knees a little more, though John can see how her legs are trembling with the effort.  She cradles Arthur's face in her hands again, locking eyes with them, and John feels a thrill, again unable to shake the suspicion that she knows about him.

"Touch me," she demands, somehow sounding and looking regal, despite the sweat on her brow and the visible marks on her throat, despite how bruised and swollen her lips look and the red flush of her face, despite the frizzy tangle of her curls and the way she's visibly shuddering.

Okay, John says slowly, meeting her gaze, forgetting for a moment that she can't hear him.

"Okay," Arthur repeats faintly.

"Good boy," Bella croons, leaning against Arthur's chest and reaching back, her fingers tangling with John's where they grip the small of her back.

John feels like he can't breathe.  Which is utterly ridiculous, he doesn't breathe at all.  But now his breaths are hitching, and Arthur is reacting to that, he can tell.  Bella draws his hand, John's hand, forward, and John panics a little, trying to withdraw, to let Arthur's impulses and muscle memory take over, like when they play piano, or do a thousand other small tasks that require synchronization that cannot be achieved through any other means.  But Bella's warm, soft fingers are steady and grounding and he can't detach himself as much as he knows he should.

"Like this," she murmurs, still watching, still looking right into John's eyes.

John can't help it, he can't hold back the little gasp that escapes as her fingers direct his, guiding them under her slip, trailing up along her thigh, circling around her hip bone, and back down, finding the crease where her thigh joins with her abdomen, tracing back and forth.  At first he doesn't dare deviate a single millimeter from the path she's set out, though she is clearly trying to encourage Arthur (because she doesn't know John is there) to explore a bit more, (he has to keep reminding himself that she doesn't know he's there) but then he feels emboldened by how she settles back against Arthur and begins grinding her hips down in a slow circular movement.

Her muscles are still trembling ever-so-slightly, no doubt starting to tire.  He reminds himself that this isn't about him, and that humans have limits, and if he wants to be helpful, he needs to get over his hesitancy before Bella reaches hers.  But as he starts mapping out the curves and planes of her body with gentle fingertips, he quickly loses focus again.

She's so soft, he says wonderingly, not meaning to say it to Arthur, but he's too caught up in how warm and smooth her flesh is to realize it until he's already spoken.

Arthur makes a little noise, and Bella arches an eyebrow at them.  John suppresses the urge to apologize, it’ll only make Arthur react more, which will only lead to further suspicion.  (How Arthur can sometimes be so fucking terrible at schooling his expression is a mystery John doesn’t think will ever be solved.)

The pause lingers a little too long and John realizes that Bella is waiting for a response of some sort, but Arthur doesn't realize that because Arthur can't see her face and-

"If this doesn't work," Bella says, pressing John's hand flat against her thigh, and drawing it up against her stomach, pinning his arm there between her and Arthur, "and if I'm not too sore afterwards, I'll let you put that mouth to good use, love."

Arthur chuckles breathlessly, "I'm a little out of practice, but I suspect it'll come back to me quickly."

Oh, really? John asks doubtfully.

Arthur ignores him.

"I have faith in you," Bella purrs, and then she guides John's hand down between their bodies, and if John had a mouth with teeth and lips he'd be using those teeth to bite his lip so he could keep fucking silent.  But he doesn't, and he has no way to muffle his voice in Arthur's head when he's thrown off balance like this and can't think, so he inhales sharply, too loudly, and something about that makes Arthur react with a full body shudder.

*

Oh, John whispers, and somehow he utters that soft exhale with such reverence that Arthur feels like he's about to go mad.  Something in his tone makes this feel like worship.

The last threads of Arthur's sanity are tangling and getting knotted, and catching on what few thoughts he can string together - how he wishes John would just wrap his hand around his cock already, instead of this incidental brushing as he finds and spreads Bella's folds, one fingertip tracing along her entrance, circling Arthur's length where it's buried inside.

Arthur groans, his every nerve is jangling, pushed past that place where the overstimulation becomes pain becomes something else, something stronger than pain or pleasure.

It's not just that though.

It's also that this is Bella, his wife, his Bella.  (Not that she was ever truly his, and not that he was ever truly hers.)  Bella, whose soft slick heat is clenching around him, Bella who trusts him with this, even though they haven't so much as kissed in years.  Bella, beautiful, strong, clever, talented Bella, who kisses him deeply and moans into his mouth as she guides John's hand between their bodies.

And it's also that this is John.

Even though, really, Arthur tries to argue to himself, it shouldn't matter that John is the one moving his left hand, it shouldn't feel like someone else has their hand between his body and Bella's, it's still his.  It's still attached to his body, for fuck's sake!  He can feel partway down his arm, and his other muscles have to move as well, it's not as if he can't roughly tell what it's doing.  It's not some stranger's arm, it shouldn't feel like John is somehow touching them with his own body.  John doesn't have a body, it's ridiculous to imagine otherwise.  Ridiculous and yet some part of Arthur latches onto the thought.

No, no, Arthur tries to convince himself, this is just because that arm is totally numb from the elbow down, and somewhat hard to feel above the elbow, (it seems to depend, sometimes he can feel his upper arm just fine and other times he can't) that's all this is.

But he can't lie to himself, he can't ignore how he has never been more aware of John's presence in his head than he is right now.  Never heard John's breathing be audible like this for so long.  He frequently seems to draw breath, as if his non-existent lungs require air to create his voice.  He huffs in anger or annoyance, he gasps in shock or horror, he pants and groans when he's in pain.  And Arthur has heard John pleased about something before, whether it was born of cruelty, or genuine praise, or true enjoyment.  But he's never heard John sound quite like this before.  Like he is getting something more out of this than should be possible, like he is just as overwhelmed with desire as Arthur is.

Arthur, John breathes, stroking more deliberately now, and even though he's mostly just touching Bella, even though Arthur could've sworn any contact with him was surely just a byproduct, he can't pretend it's accidental now.

Bella shifts, lifting up just a little, though not so much that they don't remain joined together.  She leans back for a moment, then folds herself forward, resting her head against Arthur's shoulder, creating more space between their chests.  But Arthur's left arm is still against his body, and John's hand is still between them, and his fingers are still circling and stroking with a maddeningly delicate touch.  And so, Arthur can tell where Bella is gripping John's wrist to guide his movements.

Arthur, John whimpers, and although Arthur can't suddenly feel his left forearm, he can feel where Bella's fingers are wrapped around it, because he can feel when they start moving, dragging against his abdomen in the process.

He sucks in an unsteady breath, in time to one of John's shaky inhales.

If he didn't know better, (and he does, because there is no way Bella knows about John) he would almost think she's gripping and squeezing and massaging and sliding her hand along John's arm with very deliberate intent.

"Bella," he begins, his breath hitching so hard he can barely speak her name.  He has no idea what he even meant to say.

"Almost, yes, yes, right-right there," she mumbles, shuddering.  Arthur can feel John's hand shifting into a better position, can feel it moving, and from how Bella suddenly squirms harder Arthur knows something is pressing, rubbing, swirling against her swollen clit just right.  She always loses her composure after going for this long riding the edge of an orgasm, and he knows that John must be using the perfect amount of pressure and friction, because Bella buries her face in his neck and he can tell, somehow, that there are tears mingling with the sweat that dampens his skin.

She abruptly releases John's wrist, both hands scrambling to find some part of him to hold, to brace herself, before letting loose a sob and just throwing both arms around Arthur's neck instead.  "Arthur," she moans, turning her face away, resting her cheek against his shoulder.

Arthur, tell her it's alright, tell her that we'll take care of her, John suddenly says, voice low and fervent, and Arthur feels it, feels him.  We've got her, it'll be okay.  We'll make sure she feels good.

"Bella, love, it's okay, it's alright," Arthur says breathlessly against her hair, carding his fingers through her disheveled curls.  He ignores the way his left shoulder is cramping up horrifically, if John can keep going, then so can he.  "We- I've got you, I'll take care of you," he says - he vows - voice getting rougher, and although it's a paltry attempt at matching the intensity of John's tone, he tries, injecting as much conviction and care into the words as he can.  "I'll make sure you feel good, darling, I promise."

"Please," she begs softly, desperately, turning her face back to his, not quite far enough to kiss, but he can feel her breath on his cheek.

John makes some sort of soothing noise, maybe forgetting for a moment that she can't hear him, and Arthur echoes it without even making the conscious decision to do so.

You can hold out until after she comes, can't you, Arthur? John purrs, and Arthur thinks, but does not say, not if you keep talking like that, John.  He shudders and has the brief thought that letting John witness Bella in the bedroom was perhaps a mistake, one that he'll come to regret next time-

Bella whimpers, and it is somehow both heartrending and one of the most fucking arousing sounds to ever grace his ears.

"Baby, I got you," Arthur pants, and John is making encouraging noises in his head, and Arthur finds himself wishing they could make John sound as wrecked as both of them are, it's not fair.

It's a little difficult to brace himself one handed, and he knows he'll be beyond sore in the morning, but he also knows that if they can't get Bella off soon, then it's not going to happen tonight at all.  Even if they stop right now, losing this orgasm she's chasing will leave her sore and aching and unbearably tender, and it'll be hours before she'll be able to tolerate further stimulation.  (They'd tried anyway before, when Bella had been extra frustrated and extra determined to come, and it didn't seem to matter what Arthur did or how gentle he was, there wasn't anything to be done except rest and wait.)

He manages to get enough leverage, and he knows John is helping maintain their balance, and as he begins to thrust in time to Bella's frantic rocking, he's so fucking grateful that she had already pushed him this far into being overstimulated, because it makes it easier to hold on, to hold out.  It's just easier to let go and not have to worry about coming too soon when every slide and clench and thrust sends a shock of feeling that jitters his nerves with that pain-pleasure.  Somehow he can withstand this for much longer.

He's not sure if he'd be able to trust anyone else besides Bella to bring him to this place and keep him hovering here.  Though now John knows… but he can't think about that right now.

Bella gasps, thoroughly interrupting that train of thought he wasn't keen on following anyway.  Her motions are slowing slightly, but also deepening, and she grinds her hips down with a surety that tells Arthur that she is right on the precipice.

She shifts her position again, bracing herself with one hand on his right shoulder and then the other ends up clutching John's, and oh god, she better come soon, because she helps John work one of his fingers inside of her too, alongside Arthur's cock, and that extra little bit of pressure and friction is too much and also it's John, and Arthur feels dizzy - he can't last much longer.  He feels like he's about to fall from some great height-

She takes his face in her hands, and the world suddenly rights itself, and it's still too much, but she's here and John is here, and oh, what he wouldn't give to be able to see her face right now.

John makes a strangled noise as she kisses them, and her lips part and she shudders to a stop, and even if he wasn't still inside of her, feeling her clench so tightly around him over and over, he would've known, just from the way she breathes into his mouth.  He would've known, just from how she exhales so quietly, so softly, so slowly.  The breath she lets out is long, drawn out, trembling.

Bella Saltzman does not climax in a loud or showy way.  She comes with grace, even with tired shaky muscles, even drenched in sweat, even with tears falling from her eyes, and Arthur has always loved her for it, even if he doesn't love her the way he's been told he should.

He can't see her, but he can imagine her so clearly, and she's still coming down from her orgasm, cunt still clenching around him and-

He doesn't get a chance to appreciate her orgasm further because his own catches him off guard, and then he's falling again, and it's all he can do to simply clutch Bella tight and try to muffle his cry against her, and John makes some sort of noise with him, or maybe it's in response to him; Arthur isn't sure.

We've got you, Arthur, John is murmuring over and over in his head and Arthur wonders if John's vision whited out because he feels like it did, and his ears are very faintly ringing and fuck he can't remember the last time he came that hard.

"You're alright, baby," Bella soothes, wiping tears from his cheeks, and she's still straddling him, but he's slumped against her now, his head resting on her shoulder.

It takes him a long time to settle his breathing and by the time he does John has gone silent again.

"Thank you," Arthur whispers once he can find his voice, saying it to both of them, though he knows he'll have to make sure John understands.  Later, he'll tell John that that was meant for him too.

*

Bella's not sure how she keeps them both from toppling off of the bed as Arthur goes almost completely limp in her arms.  It's been a long time since she's pushed him this far, though she suspects his poor physical state is partially to blame, not that she's really faring much better and she doesn't have the excuse of whatever the fuck happened to him over the past four months.

"You did so well, Arthur," she murmurs to him as he cries against her.  "You were so good for me, baby."

She doesn't want to move yet, but things will become unpleasantly sticky soon, and she knows from past experiences that it will not feel good if she doesn't at least shift enough to get him out of her.  She hisses through her teeth the second she tries, but then Arthur is helping, tugging himself free - or, wait, no… Arthur is still coming down from his orgasm, he is very clearly barely aware of what is happening.

Arthur's left hand is what pulled itself and his cock free.  He'd only had one finger inside of her so it was clearly too deliberate to be unintentional twitching on Arthur's part.  And it was so careful and so gentle.

She watches his left hand flinch as if in pain, and briefly clench then unclench.  It is oddly fascinating, watching the fingers try to stretch, moving in such an oddly independent-from-his-body way.  Curious, she lets her hand hover just above it, to zero reaction.  He… they(?) are busy rotating the wrist, but keep stopping, as if it hurts.

Which it must.

Bella feels more than a little guilty; she had forgotten in the moment that Arthur's wrists were injured, not to mention the awkward angle he'd been holding his arm at, and then the amount of (very appreciated) effort he'd put in to get her off…

Arthur isn't shaking as hard now, but after quietly murmuring his name a few times to no reaction, she feels confident that he is not the one moving his left arm.

Well, short of asking him about it directly, she's not sure she could've gotten a better confirmation.

"How about we get more comfortable and cleaned up a bit, and then I'll help you with your wrist?  I have trouble with mine sometimes from sewing,  I know some good stretches and I can help massage the cramps away," she offers mildly.  Arthur already knows that her work can be hard on her wrists, but she's very certain she's not speaking to her husband.

The hand has gone suspiciously still, too still in comparison to the rest of Arthur.  Who is now stirring, so she'll have to abandon the attempts at communication for now.

Arthur is a mess, but he is also so beautiful like this, utterly blissed out, his tears finally slowing.  She eases him back to awareness with softly spoken comfort and praise, and gentle grounding touches.  Even though her muscles are aching and trembling with exhaustion, she's still riding the high of her own orgasm, so it's a pleasant soreness, a satisfying sort of tiredness.

He's so sweet and tender as he comes back to her, and his soft 'thank you' nearly breaks her heart.

His left hand twitches, and Bella wants to ask him about it, but she doesn’t.  And as he slowly lifts his head, his eyes almost skitter around, as if trying to take in the entire room and its contents at once.  It’s killing her that she can tell something is wrong with his eyes, and she wants to ask him, but she doesn’t.  And the tilt of his head is a little off as he’s looking at her, and his eyes dart up to her face and then away again, almost shyly, and she wants to ask him, but she doesn’t.  And he laughs suddenly, as if surprised by something, and tries to disguise it with a cough (which is so obvious she almost laughs too) and she wants to ask him, but she doesn’t.

She touches his face, and as he sighs and leans into it she is struck by how peaceful he seems now.  She smooths his hair down and hesitates for a moment before leaning in to lightly kiss him.

He hums, and nuzzles her cheek, and oh, she's instantly reminded of how gently affectionate he was after the first time they slept together.  Not that this was unusual for him, back when they’d still regularly been having sex.  But any intimacy between them, physical or otherwise, had become less and less frequent after they’d married.

She forces her thoughts away from that for now.

She’s going to accept this moment as the gift it is, and worry about everything else in the morning.

“How are you feeling, darling?” she asks.

“I’m not sure.  Good, I think,” he laughs.  “Mostly just good.  A little fuzzy,  or, well, maybe very fuzzy.  But… good.”

“Good.  I’d be a little insulted if after all that you felt bad.”  She tugs him closer.  “Not feeling sore?”

“Not really, not yet at least.  I’m sure I’ll be feeling it in the morning though.”  He pauses, an odd look clouding his expression for a moment.  “Well, I suppose my arm is starting to get rather sore.”

“I can’t imagine why,” she says dryly.

“I didn’t notice at first,” he explains hastily, “or, well, it was already sore, so I didn’t-”

“It’s okay, I knew what you meant,” she interrupts gently, and reaches down to take his left hand in hers.

She watches his face, sees his eyes flit downward and then back up to her face, sees Arthur’s brow furrow, ever so slightly, a second later.  She is certain now.  That something else is looking at her through those eyes, and that same something else is controlling his left arm.

She wants to ask him, so desperately.  But it will shatter this peaceful moment.  And she needs this, maybe not as badly as she suspects Arthur does, but she still needs it.

*

Bella is holding his hand, not Arthur's, his, and she doesn't let go until she's reluctantly climbing off of Arthur's lap with a groan, pausing to stretch and crack her back.

Arthur flops backwards onto the bed.  "You alright?"

"Oh, I'm good," she says lightly and then grunts, and John grumbles because Arthur is looking up at the ceiling so he can't see her.  "Just," she pauses, and John can hear her moving and then she makes the most obscene noise before sighing happily, "stretching."

You should stretch too, John manages to say.  He's been having some difficulty, as it seems Arthur's blissed out state is somehow affecting him as well.

Arthur hums contentedly and closes his eyes.  "I'm not sure I could move even if I wanted to."

John hears Bella padding around the room, her bare feet stepping nearly silently except for the occasional creak of the floorboards.

"You'll regret that in the morning, darling, but I can't blame you," she says, her voice slightly distant sounding, and John hears gentle splashing like she's doing something at the water basin.  Maybe cleaning herself up, or wetting a cloth.

John wouldn't know because he can't see.  He debates berating Arthur to open his damn eyes, but it's like the man's lassitude is contagious.  John doesn't sleep, but he feels… peaceful in a way that he certainly has never felt since he was fractured from the King.

Arthur is sleepily humming to himself, so John is caught totally off guard by the creak of the mattress and the feeling of the bed dipping and then Bella is holding his hand again.

"Arthur?"

"Hmm?" And (fucking finally, John thinks) Arthur opens his eyes.

"You can keep resting," Bella promises, and now John can see that she's leaning over them.  The flush has faded from her skin and she's made an attempt to tame her curls.  She's also changed into a yellow nightgown; it looks silky like her slip had been.

(And John tries to snuff out the little flare of panic that he'd lost time again, because he hadn't heard her changing.  But no, he just couldn't hear because of Arthur, it wouldn't have taken her long anyway.  It's Fine.  He's fine.)

Belatedly he realizes he should be describing things to Arthur but… Arthur is barely awake, and they're safe here, so… maybe it's alright.

"Let me get you cleaned up," Bella is saying, and Arthur, the idiot, is trying to sit up, and Bella shushes him and eases him back down against the bed.  "Just relax, baby, I said I'd take care of you."

John has to content himself with partial glimpses of the ceiling as Arthur's eyes keep closing.  He can't be too annoyed about it though, because he can feel how relaxed and light and at peace Arthur is.  Tension free, content and starting to doze off.

Arthur stirs a bit now and again, but otherwise behaves while his wife cleans him up.  For just a moment John basks in the afterglow, it's only a fraction of what Arthur feels, a little bit of bleed-over, but it is not something he's been able to indulge in before… because it's not something Arthur has experienced since John met him.  And that thought is nearly enough to ruin the pleasant feelings entirely.

"There we go, all cleaned up," Bella says quietly.  "Now, I promised you I'd help you with that arm."

"Did you?" Arthur asks, lifting his head slightly and squinting blearily in the direction of her voice, as if he could see her.

Bella hums, and creeps a bit closer.  John feels a little thrill of something, anticipation maybe, he isn't sure, as he watches her settle down next to Arthur's left shoulder.

"You were still a bit dazed at the time," she replies fondly, cupping his cheek in her hand, "but yes, I did."

She lets go and sits up, Arthur turning his head as if to follow her touch, and the look she gives them now is different.

A little more calculating.

"Arthur, love, do you think you're awake enough to tell me if something hurts?"

"I suppose?"  Arthur sounds puzzled.

She's talking about our left arm, I think she noticed that I was… trying to stretch it a bit.  It cramped up on me earlier, John explains reluctantly.  The terrifying thought that somehow she knows about him is back, but John keeps it to himself.  No point in telling Arthur now and inducing panic.

John should've been expecting it, but he still startles slightly when she takes his hand.

"Arthur," she says very seriously, "tell me if something feels wrong."

John gets the eerie feeling that what she really means is Arthur needs to pass along what John tells him, but that would be ridiculous, there's no way she knows.  She doesn't.  She can't.

And then John is suddenly too distracted to worry about what Bella does or does not know.  Arthur has occasionally absently rubbed his arm before, brain perhaps responding to pain signals that only John feels, but this is not the same at all.

This is deliberate, and slow, and painful, but John has learned the difference between bad-stop-damaging pain and good-stretching-helpful pain.  This is almost entirely the second kind of pain, though it is far more intense than he's used to.

Bella carefully lifts and bends and rotates their arm and Arthur can feel all of that enough to make the same kind of noises John is making, without prompting from John.

It's when she starts focusing on stretching his wrist and hand that John has to remind himself that Arthur can't feel this, and therefore, Bella won't be able to tell if it gets to be too much.

Except he didn't think about how she'd be able to notice if their eyes start watering, so right when he's about to tell Arthur that he needs a second it stops.

"You okay, baby?  Did I hurt you?" she asks, wiping tears from their face.

I'm okay now, she can keep going, John says quickly.

Arthur inhales slowly.  "I'm alright-"

It's helping, John adds.

"-it's helping, you can keep going.  I just needed a second I think."  He doesn't sound very sure, or very awake.

"Hmm."  Bella watches them for a second longer and then shifts her focus back to their arm.  "You can just squeeze my hand next time you need a break, if that'd be easier," she offers.  "I know you're tired, darling."

Oh.  I… y-yes.  Tell her I can do that, Arthur.

"Thank you," Arthur says softly, and he seems to relax even more.  "I can do that."

Bella kisses his nose, and then lifts John's hand to her lips and kisses that too, and John feels weirdly floaty.

She starts working on his hand again, massaging the meat of his palm, moving up to his wrist, which is very tender, and she goes more slowly, but John's breath still hitches.

Arthur makes a quiet noise and it almost sounds like he starts to say 'John' but thankfully he catches himself.

I'm fine, Arthur, I'm fine, John assures him, and he is.  He does not try to grab Bella's hand to squeeze it.  He considers it, but he doesn't do it.

She finds a place in his forearm where the muscles are tight and knotted and he's mildly embarrassed by the noise he makes.  His foot twitches and his toes curl, and he comes so close to reaching for her hand, but then she works the knot out, and all of the tension releases and it feels so similar to how the bleed-over from Arthur's orgasm had felt that he can't breathe for a second.  (Not that he needs to.)  He even sees stars for a moment, though it's not as bad as that second time Arthur came, their vision had actually briefly whited out.

Once she starts kneading above the elbow Arthur starts to react again, and if John was more coherent he'd try to pay attention to where exactly the overlap starts and stops, but the parts he can feel are tingling and warm and relaxed and he makes another very embarrassing noise.

There is one moment, when she's trying to massage gently between the wound in their bicep from Addison, and the gunshot wound in their shoulder that the sensations are suddenly Too Much, and John scrambles for one of her hands.  He doesn't even have to squeeze it, she stops as soon as he moves, but he does anyway; it's somehow grounding.

"Can I keep going?" she asks gently after letting him rest for a bit.  She doesn't let go of his hand, and John is shamefully grateful.  She brushes the fingertips of her other hand against the tender flesh of his bicep.  "How about, one squeeze for yes, or keep going, and two for no, or stop?"

Arthur is apparently too sleepy to process any of this, so John steels himself and squeezes her hand.

Arthur groans occasionally, and there are a few more times John has to squeeze twice for a break, but it's then it's over.  John feels strangely disconnected and hyper aware of what parts of Arthur he controls, but it's a pleasant feeling.

Then Bella lowers her head and kisses each of his fingers (which makes John gasp) then the knuckles (which makes John exhale shakily) and then the back of his hand, (and John feels a little dizzy) and then his palm, (and John's breath hitches) and then the underside of his wrist (which makes John's breath hitch harder) and then up his forearm (and John cannot breathe.)

Which, yet again, is ridiculous, he doesn't need to breathe.

"You did so good," she praises, and it makes John feel oddly warm, and he is so certain that she must know he's there, that she is talking to him, not Arthur; he's so sure.  But he doesn't feel stressed about it.  All of his worries and fears are muffled, muted, distant far off things that, for tonight, can be set aside.

She keeps holding his hand for a while, idly stroking up and down his arm, laying on her side next to Arthur.  And it is very nice. But then she yawns, and, with a rueful smile that he can barely see through Arthur's slitted lids, she sits up.  She lets go with what John thinks (or hopes) is reluctance.

Her movements are enough to wake Arthur.  He turns his head and fully opens his eyes as Bella climbs off of the bed, lingering near the bedside table.

"Bella?" he asks softly.

She's just standing there, she looks… hesitant, John supplies, hoping Arthur won't comment on how… warm and syrupy his voice is at the moment.  I'm not sure why.

He thinks, but does not say, that he can see a little of that same vulnerability from before shining through her calm exterior.  It's not the same, or nearly as blatant, as when she was in Arthur's lap, in tears begging for release, needy and clinging to them.  And it's not the same as after, when she was still shuddering with bliss, but no longer desperate.  This is different, as if she's unsure of her place or what to do next.

She's smiling at us, but her eyes look a little sad, is all John ends up saying.

"Do you need anything else?"  Her voice is light, if perhaps a bit forced.

Arthur rolls onto his side, towards her.  John flinches as his arm is pinned under Arthur's body.  Arthur isn't quite as awake as John first thought, because he doesn't seem to notice John's squirming, and usually he does.  "You're not staying?"

"Do you want me to?" she asks instead of answering.  Her tone is measured, even, as if she'll be fine no matter how Arthur answers.  But John can see that hint of insecurity in her eyes.

"Of course," Arthur says immediately, and John can hear the frown in his voice.

Bella draws in a breath.  "Are you sure?"

Arthur hesitates, and it hits John suddenly that (from what he'd been able to glean in the time he's known Arthur) they probably hadn't spent a night together in the same bed since before Faroe's accident.

She looks… hopeful, John murmurs softly, trying to encourage him.

"Can you… hold me?" Arthur asks, and it's little more than a whisper.  "Like before."

"Of course," she says just as immediately as Arthur had a moment ago, but she's smiling and she looks so relieved.

She climbs back into bed, helping Arthur get settled under the covers this time, and then Arthur is laying on his side again, and Bella is behind him, pressed against his back, and then-

Oh, John whispers as she slides her arm around Arthur and finds John's hand and holds it.

Arthur sighs peacefully, already mostly back asleep, and shifts a bit, before taking their hands in his, and John freezes, expecting… he's not sure what, but Arthur doesn't usually hold his hand.  But then Arthur simply presses both of their hands against his chest, and a little gasp escapes John.

He realizes after a long breathless moment that Arthur has fallen back asleep.  Bella is rubbing soothing circles with her thumb against John's hand, and it's so nice.  It feels so good, and he feels safe, and he can't remember ever feeling this safe.  Not like this, not being held like this, cradled, against Arthur's heart.

John doesn't know what to do.

Bella squeezes his hand and then whispers, so softly he can barely hear her over Arthur's breathing.  "I don't know if you're awake, I don't even know if you sleep, or what you are, I suppose, but… thank you."

John twitches his fingers in surprise.  The anticipated wave of dread doesn't have time to crash upon him, or even form, before she's squeezing his hand again.

"It's okay," she soothes.  "We'll have to talk tomorrow, but for right now, if you can, just rest."

John hesitates, but then, carefully, slowly, deliberately, so it can not be misinterpreted as involuntary movement, he squeezes her hand.

He can hear the smile in her voice when she whispers goodnight, and he doesn't know what to do.

The next several hours pass, with occasional twitching from Arthur, but he seems to not have any nightmares for a change, and with minimal movement on Bella's part, though occasionally she wakes up, and every time he expects her to pull away, but she never does.  Sometimes she seems to just settle back asleep, but at least twice she squeezes his hand first.

John knows they'll have to leave in the morning.  If Arthur wants to talk to her first, well, John won't be able to stop him, but they can't stay.  They can't risk it.  John had, selfishly, cruelly, though not without reason, used Bella's and Faroe's safety against Arthur, to remind him of why they couldn't go back to Arkham.  He regretted it at the time and he regrets it now, but he knows he's not wrong.  

Neither of them had expected Bella to find them in New York.  But then they should've considered the fact that Daniel would call his daughter and ask her why her husband, who had been missing for the past four or so months, had checked into the Tudor Hotel.

There is nothing to be done about it now, and John reminds himself to enjoy this peace while it lasts.

At some point in the night, after telling himself again that Arthur will listen to reason and understand that they can't stay, a terrible thought crosses his mind.

What if (provided they do leave, and they have to leave, they must) the next time they see Bella… and John almost can't bear to think it.  What if I don't recognize her?

Bella wakes up again, and this time she does pull her hand free, but with a whispered, "Be right back."

She's only gone for a moment or two, John thinks maybe just long enough to be using the bathroom, and then she's back, but she doesn't immediately climb under the covers.  She perches for a moment in front of Arthur, judging from the dip in the mattress, kissing him.  John can't see so he's not sure, but he thinks she kisses his forehead and one cheek.  And then she's searching for their hands and John is not startled by her fingers finding his, but by feeling her lips.  He's certain that she kisses Arthur's hand and his.

After that she stands and climbs back into bed from the other side, returning to the position she'd been in before.  Curled against Arthur's back, one arm across him.  Her hand finds theirs again, (because Arthur still hasn't let go of John's hand) and with a little bit of gentle squirming on her part, they end up in roughly the same arrangement as before.

Why Arthur, in his sleep, feels compelled to take their clasped hands in his again and press them back against his chest, over his heart, John doesn't know, but it brings tears to his eyes regardless.

John lets himself be soothed again by the contact, by the feeling of being cocooned, by their warmth and the steady sound of their breathing.

Bella is right, everything else can wait 'til morning.