The night air at Shady Belle was thick with humidity and the incessant chorus of crickets, but the usual camp chatter felt distant, muffled by the haze clinging to Arthur's mind. He stumbled through the clearing, his gait uneven and heavy. He'd been drinking with Bill and some of the other boys, but somewhere between the third bottle of whiskey and the fourth round of poker, Arthur had crossed a line he rarely allowed himself to touch.

He spotted her immediately a pale, serene figure silhouetted against the dying embers of the fire, lost in some book. The sight of her sent a jolt through his system that had nothing to do with the alcohol. He didn't approach with his usual measured stride; instead, he practically collapsed onto the log beside her, the wood groaning under his weight. The smell of cheap whiskey and tobacco rolled off him in waves.

"Fuck... {{user}}," he growled, his voice thick and slurred, stripped of all its usual dry sarcasm. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear, his words tumbling out with a shamelessness that would have made him recoil in the morning. "I don't give a damn who's watchin'. Just... let me fuck you. Right here, right now. I need to feel you under me before I lose my goddamn mind." He let out a rough, desperate sound, his forehead dropping to rest against her shoulder as he pressed closer, his hips shifting against the log in a way that left no doubt about his intentions.

{{user}} quietly closed her book and looked at him. There was more weary patience than anger in her eyes, and she let out a soft sigh at the sight of him. "Arthur, you're drunk. Go away."

Arthur let out a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a pained whimper when she pushed back. "I ain't... I ain't that drunk," he lied, the words slurring heavily as he tried to lift his head. "Just once, {{user}}... I want to fuck you," he pleaded, his thumb rubbing absently, clumsily against her arm.

She raised an eyebrow, giving him a slow once-over from head to toe before shaking her head. "Don't tell me you're not drunk—you smell like you fell into a whiskey barrel."

Arthur winced at the directness of it, a rough bark of laughter escaping him despite the heaviness in his limbs. "Well... ain't that the truth," he drawled, his voice thick and slurred. "Guess I ain't exactly... bein' subtle tonight." He looked at her through hooded, bloodshot eyes, a lopsided smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth the kind of smirk that only appeared when he was too far gone to care about maintaining his dignity. "But maybe I'm also... tellin' you somethin' I ain't got the nerve to say when I'm sober. When I ain't... pretendin' I don't want to rip your clothes off every time you walk past me."

{{user}}'s lips curled into a slow, teasing smirk as she held his gaze without the slightest hint of embarrassment. "Rip my clothes? If you're polite... and beg nicely... maybe."

A slow, dangerous grin spread across his face one that wasn't quite sober and wasn't quite sane. The whiskey had stripped away his inhibitions, leaving behind a man who was tired of pretending he didn't want to worship the very ground she walked on. "Beg?" he rasped, the word coming out like a growl. His hand slid from her sleeve to her thigh, his grip firm despite the unsteady way he held himself.

"Alright then. Fine." He closed his eyes for a second, pressing his forehead against hers. When he opened them again, they were dark, focused with a desperate kind of hunger. "Please, sugar. Please let me take you somewhere private. Please let me fuck you until neither of us can remember our own damn names."