Goosefat Bill has been teaching him archery.
Fact is, you don't need a bow too often in the middle of a place like London. Most common or garden assassins use a knife or whatever (Arthur's fairly sure he's never met the sneaky poisoner sort - they tend to be a bit pricey for his old neck of the woods) and the closest anyone ever really gets to hunting is setting the cat on the rats. And yeah, he shot a few targets at George's, but 1) he wasn't exactly breaking any records, and 2) it's not like the targets moved. Or were more than twenty feet away. Or had so much as a gentle breeze wafting by them to knock an arrow off course.
So, Bill's been teaching him archery. It's been an experience. And Arthur's got to admit the day Bill suggested it, he thought he'd got something else in mind.
The thing is, that wasn't the first time they'd met. Bill's resistance crap had taken him to London more than once and, more than once, he'd found himself in Arthur's general vicinity. More specifically, he'd found himself eating a bowl of something they thought of half-ironically as stew while he sat at one of the establishment's tables, mostly ignoring the girls. Given what the establishment's primary source of income was, and the fact that income wasn't from the fucking stew, Arthur found this moderately suspicious.
The first few times, he just watched him. He seemed to know he was being watched but he didn't let that stop him sitting there, eating his stew, washing it down with ale, then nodding off propped up in a corner - Arthur had to admit he was impressed he managed to sleep with how rowdy the place sometimes got after dark, and then just before dawn he slipped back out into the streets. He was quiet, polite when he did speak, didn't cause trouble, and Arthur had a feeling something just wasn't quite right.
"You can't sleep there," he told him, the next time he came in, and kicked the leg of his chair to make the point. Bill's stew spilled from his spoon onto the table. Bloody stuff would probably stain, but Arthur had a feeling it'd seen worse in its day.
Bill - not that he knew his name, not that he'd ever asked - looked up at him calmly. "It's never been a problem before," he replied.
"Well, it is now." Arthur leaned on the table, getting closer, maybe what most of their customers would've thought of as threateningly, but Bill didn't look threatened. "Either you spend the night with one of the girls and pay them what they're due or you sling your hook. You understand?"
Bill had another spoonful of stew. He nodded. "I understand," he said, and Arthur stepped back. And later, when he'd usually nod off, Bill hired one of the girls, paid her right, and had her take him to her room. In the morning, right before dawn, he slipped out into the streets. And when Arthur asked the girl in question, "So, what did he want?" she just shrugged at him and yawned and said, "He just went to sleep."
It was the same thing the next time Bill came in, and the same the time after that - the girls (different ones, nobody could accuse him of playing favourites) reported all he'd done was lean his sword up by the bed (turned out that wasn't a euphemism), took off his coat and boots, blew out the lamp and slept for the best part of six hours. It took all types, yeah, Arthur had come to understand that over the years, but somehow he didn't think sleeping next to a fully-clothed prostitute was doing much for the bloke sexually.
"Look," Arthur said, the next time Bill came in, as he sat himself down at his table. He didn't even have a usual table, at least no more than he had a usual girl, except he always sat with his back to the wall. "No one believes you come here for the stew."
"Is that what this is?" Bill replied. He let a chunk of some sort of meat - Arthur had never quite been brave enough to ask cook what it was or where it came from - drop off his spoon into the bowl with a pointed splash.
"Ha ha." Arthur crossed his arms on the tabletop and slouched forward in what might have been meant to be menacing, except he had a feeling it wasn't going to menace Bill. The bastard seemed unflappable; he'd slept through fights more than once, after he'd cracked one eye open to see what the fuss was. "Cook's flattered but it's overpriced slop and you know it."
Bill had another mouthful of the stew in question. He chewed slowly, with a mock-thoughtful look on his face that was maybe mocking Arthur and maybe mocking the stew and maybe mocking life in general, and Arthur honestly couldn't say which it was. Then he put the spoon back down.
"You're right," he said. "I don't come here for the stew."
"Then why the fuck do you come here?"
Bill shrugged. "Would you believe it's for the company?" he asked.
"Yeah, not for a second." Arthur leaned closer. His voice dropped. "The girls say all you do is sleep. This is a damn expensive boarding house if that's all you want to do. We'll recommend one if you like. Or the gutter's free."
Bill smiled wryly. "I paid the girls extra so they wouldn't talk," he said. "Maybe I should ask for my money back."
"And maybe you should stop playing games." Arthur spread his hands on the table, leaning closer. "What, you don't like women?"
Bill shrugged again, though he did it as much with the expression on his face somehow as he did with the rest of him. "Not especially, no," he said.
Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Boys, then? We don't do that here."
"Men," Bill corrected. "You don't do that here, either." He stretched hugely, arms above his head, probably just to make the point that Arthur wasn't intimidating him at all, then settled his hands on the table. He looked Arthur up and down, obviously, obvious on purpose. "Unless you're offering?"
"I didn't think so." He tapped the rim of his bowl with his forefinger. "Can I finish my stew now?"
Arthur made a face. He sat back on his seat and nodded tersely and when Bill resumed his careful stew-eating, watching him over his spoon, he couldn't help but think he'd just been bamboozled out of whatever the fuck his point had been. He left him there, and threw out two drunks, kept an eye on the girls, and watched the fella pay one and wander off into her room. He still didn't know what the fuck he was doing there.
"Look," Arthur said, the next time he came in, and sat himself down at the table again. "If you're not here for the stew and you're not here for the ladies, why the fuck are you here?"
Bill put his spoon down. He had a mouthful of mediocre ale to wash it down with, then he said, "Why does it matter? I'm paying what you ask and I'm not causing trouble."
Arthur frowned. "The girls could make twice as much in a night as they do with you, you know," he said. "Please don't think you're doing anyone any favours."
"Then I'll pay them more."
"That's not the point."
"That's exactly the point you just made."
Arthur scowled. "Fuck off," he said, and ran both hands over his hair as he sat back heavily. Bill looked amused. For his part, Arthur didn't feel much like that.
He eyed him over the table. Whoever the fuck he was, he was too damn clever for his own good. He had an infuriating not-quite-smirk like he'd got one over him, and while Arthur had got more or less used to that over the years - raised by prostitutes, living in a brothel, getting your arse tanned down the kung fu place five times a week, you got a lot of it - but there was something different about this one. It was the same thing that'd had Arthur's hand down the front of his trousers as soon as he'd been back in his room with the door closed the last time the sod had been there, while he'd probably been asleep with one of the girls. He'd got a look, like he was interested but not desperate.
"You can sleep in my room," Arthur said.
Bill's eyebrows rose. "Will you be in it?" he asked.
"I'll be out here, keeping this lot in line."
"That's a shame."
"Yeah, I'm sure it is."
Arthur gave him a hard look, one that he meant to say, no funny business, right? And Bill just smiled at him blithely over his stew. Arthur left him there. He asked one of the girls to take the smarmy arse to his room later on. And when he went there, later, almost dawn, Bill was sitting on his bed, putting his boots on. He looked up, calm as ever, but his hand was on the hilt of a knife - he was up to no good, but Arthur couldn't work out for the life of him what Bill's specific brand of no good was.
"Thanks for the bed," Bill said, as he finished fastening his boots. "Not quite the boudoir look some of the other rooms have got, but beggars can't be choosers." He produced a number of coins from the purse at his waist and shuffled them into a stack, and he put that stack on the table by the bed. "For your trouble."
"I didn't ask you to pay me."
"No, you didn't."
"It's not that kind of arrangement."
"I didn't say it was."
"You're not paying for my services."
Bill chuckled. He got closer and pressed one hand to Arthur's chest. He leaned in by his ear. "If I'd paid for your services," he said, "I'd have expected you to be in the bed with me." Then he slipped out into the corridor and left Arthur standing there alone. He closed the door. He punched the fucking door. Then he lay down on the bed that Bill had just vacated and he shoved his trousers down around his thighs, he wrapped one hand around his cock and fuck if he wasn't looking at that neat little stack of coins on the table when he came.
"Your room again?" Bill asked, the next time he was there. He'd caught Arthur's wrist as he was passing his table, bare fingers against his bare skin, and Arthur tensed as he looked down at him. He had that look on his face like he'd won something, or at least like he was in the process of it, and Arthur nodded tightly.
"Yeah," he said. "My room again." Then he twisted his wrist out of Bill's admittedly loose grip and continued off where he'd been going.
Later on, after an evening of Bill's eyes on him from across the room, Bill didn't need a guide to find his way to Arthur's room. He drained the rest of his ale and then made his way away; the girls by the doorway that led that way gave Arthur a look and he nodded to tell them it was fine, he'd got permission, he wasn't just some fucking snoop. And he'd meant to just let him go, but not even ten minutes later, he followed.
Bill was sitting on the bed still taking his boots off when he got there and he looked up, saw it was him, and then went back to his boots again.
"It's my night off," Arthur said, before Bill could say anything witty.
"So we're sharing the bed?" Bill said. He glanced up, one eyebrow quirked, then looked away again. "I don't know if I should pay more for that or less."
Arthur snorted. "Don't start getting ideas," he said. But then, once he'd sat down on the chair across the room to take his own boots off, he frowned and looked at him again. It was a bad idea, but he was full of bad fucking ideas, and his pulse thumped in his veins and his balls tightened in his trousers. "But, look, call it curiosity or whatever, but...if you were paying, what would you want?"
Bill looked at him. It was a hell of a look - Arthur hadn't been sure anything could surprise him, but apparently that had. He rubbed his mouth with one hand as he eyed him, like he was trying to work out if Arthur had some kind of unexpected angle that he just couldn't see, then he set both hands down on his thighs. He took a breath. He straightened his back.
"First?" he said. "I'd want to watch. Trousers round your knees, hand around your cock. You can learn a lot about a man from the way he does himself."
Arthur made a face he was fairly sure described his skepticism exactly. "Yeah, you want to learn about me," he said. But his hands were already at the waist of his trousers. His heartbeat was already quickening. A lift of his hips and a shove with his hands and his trousers were down around his knees and he spread his thighs as best he could while he watched Bill's eyes moving down him. He tucked his shirt out of the way underneath his arms and he rested his arms on the arms of the sort of spindly high-backed chair, and fuck, fuck, he watched Bill's own hand tighten on his thighs and watched Bill take a breath through his bared teeth, and he couldn't help the way his cock responded. It filled up quickly without him even touching, then he wrapped one hand around it.
"Not joining me?" he said, as he started to stroke. He waved his other hand at the growing bulge in the crotch of Bill's trousers. "I'll be honest: that doesn't look comfortable."
Bill made a noise - half snort, half chuckle, all amused - and dragged his gaze up to Arthur's face. "I thought I wasn't paying for your services," he said.
"Maybe I changed my mind."
"Maybe you're teasing me."
"Does this look like teasing?" He grabbed his balls with one hand and gave a shake that made his erection jiggle, which he supposed might have looked a bit like teasing, except the expression on Bill's face didn't say he thought that. Especially not when Arthur eased back his foreskin and dabbed his forefinger against the slit; it came away in a string of precome that made Bill take an unsteady breath. Then he undid his trousers and he pushed them down, too.
Arthur didn't know what the fuck he was doing. Physically, yeah, he knew what he was doing - he was sitting bare-arsed on the chair in his room with his dick in his hand while some bloke whose name he'd never even bothered asking was sitting there on the edge of his bed in the same state of semi-undress. Said nameless bloke - though he supposed he must have a name, even if he didn't know it - was shorter than him and narrower through the shoulders, older if the lines around his eyes and the grey in his hair were anything to go by, but he wasn't even close to out of shape. When he pushed his shirt up, his torso underneath had a wiry look to it, like maybe he didn't have a lot of time to stop and eat but the money he spent there said he wasn't short of cash. And fuck, maybe he was shorter and narrower than Arthur was, but his cock was longer and thicker, not much but enough so he was sure they both noticed. Arthur licked his lips as he looked at it, imagining them around it. He felt his face flush almost as hot as his cock. Then he grabbed his balls with his free hand and started to stroke with the other. Bill, not six feet away, did the same.
It was over quickly. Turned out neither of them had much stamina for it, at least not that night - they fisted their cocks like men possessed, watching each other, breath getting harsh, chests heaving, Arthur's shirt falling down over and over until he paused just long enough to take it off and then Bill came, groaning, over his hand and over the floorboards, spurting in streaks so fucking long they almost hit Arthur's partially untied boots. Arthur was just second after, angling for the floor because it was already a fucking mess, and he emptied himself there with a great fucking heave that felt like he'd strained every bloody muscle in his body. He took a shaky breath, ran his fingers through his hair as he let his cock bob there, starting to soften, and grimaced as he realised he'd probably just rubbed something unpleasant in it. Bill laughed and tossed him a handkerchief. Arthur smiled in spite of himself, and in spite of Bill, and in spite of the jizz in his fucking hair, and wiped it off.
"So, it's your night off," Bill said.
Arthur shrugged. He held up the handkerchief.
"I'm not sure I need that kind of souvenir," Bill told him. "Keep it." So Arthur tossed it onto the table by the bed, then he started pulling his boots off.
"You're actually staying here?"
"I told you, it's my night off."
Then he stripped himself naked and he got into bed. Bill kept his long woolly underwear on, but he did take his shirt off. Then Arthur blew the lamp out, and they settled down to sleep. And, when Bill rose to leave, Arthur woke and watched him dress; he had scars here and there, and callused fingers, but he didn't look like any London villain that he'd ever met. He still wasn't sure what the fuck he was, except for bloody cheeky: Bill winked at him as he left a stack of coins on the dresser, just one more than he'd put there the time before. Somehow, Arthur found that fucking hilarious.
"Your night off again?" Bill asked, the next time he turned up, as Arthur joined him at the table.
"Yeah, maybe," Arthur replied. "You have something in mind?"
Bill smiled, fucking lascivious about it, and maybe Arthur rolled his eyes but the fact was, a couple of hours later, they walked into his room together. A couple of minutes after that, Bill had Arthur's cock in his mouth. They hadn't even bothered to undress that much; Arthur's trousers were down around his ankles and Bill's were round his thighs as he knelt between Arthur's. And Arthur could see him, thanks to the fucking ludicrous angle he was slumped at in the chair - he could see Bill's lips around the tip as he teased him with his tongue, see Bill's hands gripping his bare thighs, pushing them wide as he took him in deeper. He could see his own shaft slick with spit and when Bill pulled back, the head was thick and flushed and shiny, bobbing slightly when Bill nudged it with his nose. Then Bill looked up at him, cheeks flushed, eyes dark, and took him back into his mouth. Arthur groaned out loud.
Frankly, it didn't last long that time, either. Arthur wasn't totally sure he'd ever had a blowjob from anyone who'd enjoyed it even half as much as Bill seemed to - he'd seen some enthusiasm, yeah, but he suspected half that enthusiasm had been for getting it done as quick as possible. Bill...yeah, it didn't last long, but half of that was because he kept making all these fucking sounds around him, and when he pulled back every now and then to lick him, lean in close and mouth at his balls, whatever, Arthur could see Bill's dick standing up hard between his thighs. Arthur just gripped the chair arms with both hands till he wasn't sure he wasn't going to break them, at least till Bill started bobbing his head, taking him deeper, taking him really fucking deep, then he got one hand to the back of his head and Bill didn't mind it when he started guiding him, pushing him down, almost fucking his throat - Bill just groaned around him, and Arthur came like that, in a rush, catching himself totally off guard. Bill swallowed. And when he sat back, eventually, letting Arthur's cock slip from his mouth, Arthur saw he'd come all over the floor. Fuck, he wasn't sure if Bill had even touched himself.
They went to bed after, Arthur naked and Bill in his long underwear though it was summer by then so fuck knew what he was wearing long underwear for. Bill kept pulling the sheet up and Arthur kept pushing it back down and when Bill finally got out of bed just before dawn, as he was getting dressed, he looked down at Arthur lying there bare as the day he was born, one hand tucked up underneath his head. He'd never been particularly self-conscious, but every now and then the way Bill looked at him made him feel something not completely different from that. Even if he knew why Bill's lips looked quite that pink.
"Next time, you're going to fuck me," Bill said, then he let a stack of shiny coins shuffle from one hand to the other, clinking together rather pointedly. He put them on the table and he left and honestly, once the door was closed, it took Arthur about forty seconds to get hard just thinking about what he'd said.
Arthur had been asking around about their mysterious customer for months by then, and no one had very much to say at all. Some people thought he was a smuggler. Some thought he was one of those high-priced poisony assassins Arthur wasn't sure anyone in that part of London could afford. Some thought he was a nobleman going incognito. Arthur had no fucking clue. Then again, of course, he'd never actually asked him who he was - he'd only ever asked him what he was doing there. It wasn't the stew. It wasn't the girls. And Arthur wasn't fool enough to think that he kept coming back for him.
The next time, Bill didn't stop for the stew; he came in off the street and as he made his way through into the back, he caught Arthur's eye. He excused himself. He followed him. At least for the night, he didn't really give a fuck who he was.
Bill stripped naked, so Arthur did, too. Bill fished in his bag and came back with oil in a small jar; Arthur looked at him, arms crossed over his chest like seriously? you're standing in a brothel and Bill just shrugged and got onto the bed, on his hands and knees.
"So, have you done this before?" Bill asked, surprisingly lacking self-consciousness for a man who was face down and arse up on someone else's bed.
"I hear there's a first time for everything," Arthur replied, and he shuffled up behind him. He uncorked the jar and got some oil on his fingers, and then he spread Bill's cheeks. "Don't worry, I'm a quick learner," he said, then he rubbed his oily fingers against Bill's hole. He felt it tense and then relax as he circled its tight rim. He felt his own cock stiffen in response.
"Oh, I'm not worried," Bill said. "You seem to have got the hang of it." Then he shuffled his knees out a fraction wider and arched his back a bit. And yeah, so he wasn't some pretty young thing, it wasn't some grand romance and they'd run off together in some big happy ever after, but Arthur was at least moderately certain that he'd never met anyone who'd wanted his cock as much as Bill did in that specific moment. Maybe he wasn't begging for it, but that arch to his back said he wasn't not.
He slicked himself up and he pressed the tip against Bill's hole. Fuck, his heart was beating a mile a minute and he could see Bill's hands gripping two handfuls of his bed sheets and how both his thighs tensed and flexed as he waited. He thought about teasing him, making him wait, just rubbing his dick there for a bit between his cheeks, but he wasn't sure he had it in him so whatever, fuck that. He pushed forward. First try, he slipped out of place and skidded up against Bill's back; Bill chuckled tightly and Arthur rolled his eyes. Second try, he slipped down instead of up, and when Bill chuckled again Arthur reached down and gave his balls a squeeze; Bill groaned, but otherwise it seemed to shut him up. Third try, though, he started pushing in. Third try, he felt Bill's hole start to open up around him as he got the head in, then pushed deeper. He watched him take him, watched his hole stretch around him, shiny from the oil in the lamplight, taut when he rubbed there with his thumb and made him take a sharp breath in. He kept going, and going, slowly, till his hips were flush with Bill's arse and that was it: he was in him as deep as he could go.
"So, how does that feel?" Bill asked him, once he'd gone still, with his hands up at Bill's waist.
"It feels fucking fantastic," Arthur replied. "Do you always talk this much when you're fucking?"
"When my mouth's not otherwise engaged, yes."
Arthur laughed, halfway to breathless, and gave his hips a rock against him. Bill groaned and pushed back and fuck if that wasn't all Arthur needed to spur him on. He fucked him after that, hands gripping at his waist, in long, deep thrusts, toes curled into the goddamn sheets. He fucked him, his back flexing, skin too hot in the summer heat though he wasn't kidding himself that was the only thing that made him sweat. And Bill got one hand to the headboard to brace himself and leaned down against one shoulder; Arthur knew what he was doing when he wrapped one hand around his cock and started stroking as he pushed back against him, his hole tightening, all his muscles taut.
Bill came first. He was utterly shameless about it, fucking himself on Arthur's cock as he stroked himself until he groaned against the mattress and came on Arthur's sheets. Arthur grimaced - he didn't look forward to sleeping in someone else's fucking wet spot and it wasn't like he'd be parading naked through the place to find a nicely laundered sheet - but frankly, he'd got other things on his mind, like the way Bill's hole clenched around his cock and then relaxed and then clenched again, almost fucking fluttering through his orgasm. Arthur bit his lip and held on but fuck if that wasn't enough to make him come, too, shoving deep and emptying there. He maybe hadn't meant to come in him - he supposed it might've been polite to ask about it first - but he did it anyway, not like he could stop it.
"That's disgusting," Bill said, still face down against the bed so he had to push up a bit and repeat himself so Arthur could hear him. Except he didn't sound like he gave a single fuck about the fact Arthur had just come inside him. He sounded amused, if anything.
"Yeah, well, you'll cope," Arthur replied. "I still have your hankie. You can wipe yourself off on that."
Bill snickered into the mattress. Arthur rubbed the dimples in Bill's lower back with both his thumbs. And, for a couple of minutes, three or four or five, as Arthur's cock went soft in him, neither of them seemed to think about moving. They caught their breath and Bill told him some cock and bull story about how if they left it too long they'd get stuck together and have to fuck again to get themselves apart. Arthur wasn't sure he'd've minded, when he thought about it, but they did eventually pull apart and he didn't even make him wipe himself off on the hankie. He got him a cloth, then they both got into bed naked. Apparently, for once, the woolly underwear was left on the floor.
In the morning, when Bill left the bed to dress and leave, Arthur watched him do it. He'd've liked to've asked him to stay, he thought - he didn't know the bloke from Adam, but that didn't mean he wanted him to leave. Not right then, when there was a good half hour before dawn and so many things they could've done.
"Next time--" Bill said, shuffling the coins, but Arthur cut him off.
"Next time, you fuck me," he said, though his chest felt sort of strange and his hole clenched tight as he said it. And he expected some sort of witty retort, but all Bill did was put the coins down on the table and then nod his head, strangely solemn.
"Next time," Bill said, then he left the room.
Of course, next time, Bill had been bleeding down his arm and dripping blood onto the floor. Next time, the Blacklegs were looking for him, and Arthur understood why he'd kept coming there and not some cheap-arse boarding house down the road where stew wouldn't've cost three times the going rate. He'd been coming there because the Blacklegs turned a blind eye, and he'd needed a blind eye turning. And so it turned out his name was Goosefat Bill, and he was wanted for something-or-other, and Arthur didn't hesitate: he gave him up. Maybe he didn't like doing it, but he didn't even question that he would.
And now, in the castle now he's king, Goosefat Bill is teaching him archery.
The day it started, he stayed behind after a council meeting, if you could call what they were a council; the others wandered off to do their jobs, or not do them, and Bill stayed behind with his feet up on the snazzy round table, watching him.
"I've got a proposition for you," Bill said, and Arthur thought he knew what he was talking about because yeah, so they hadn't talked about it, but it wasn't like they were different men now, not really - Bill had to know he was the bloke he'd been fucking in that shady London brothel.
"Yeah?" Arthur said. "I'm a king now. How much will you pay?"
And Bill laughed out loud. "Not that kind of proposition," he said. "Your young friend Blue keeps skipping his archery classes. Persuade him to come and I'll teach you, too."
Arthur was so fucking surprised that he agreed. And he has to admit it did at least keep Blue a bit closer to the straight and narrow.
The practiced in the courtyard at first, shooting targets like he'd done at George's; Blue was better than him the little so-and-so, and kept on crowing about it with a grin on his face so big that Arthur couldn't hold a grudge. Then, a week or so later, they started shooting from the battlements down into the courtyard, trying to hit targets from up there instead. A few days shooting targets in a field outside the castle next, in the wind, then the rain, fucking up until Blue was cursing a blue streak and Arthur almost punched Bill in his big smug face. Then they shot pheasants and took them back to the kitchens - it was more like hunting than setting cats on rats, at least.
But, through it all, it felt like Bill was standing just a bit too close to him. It felt like he couldn't fucking breathe, like maybe Blue's martial education wasn't the only thing Bill had on his mind. Sometimes he stood up close behind him to adjust his stance, or adjust his grip, and Arthur looked at him sharply. If it hadn't been for Blue, he might've kissed him then and there, or at least kneed him in the groin.
He's had enough now, though. That's it. So he leaves his room and he walks barefoot and shirtless down the corridor - it doesn't matter who sees him, he thinks, because somehow it turns out it's his castle. And he knows which door it is - technically Bill has lands of his own now Vortigern's gone and he's had his official royal pardon, has a house of his own, but just like Bedivere he's staying in the castle. He slips into Bill's room, except it's less slipping and more barging in. He's not subtle. He's had enough of subtle these last four weeks that Bill's been teaching him to shoot.
Bill's sitting on the bed, legs stretched out, leaning back against the headboard. Here's a book on his lap that he closes with a snap. "Your highness," he says. "What can I do for you?"
So Arthur goes to the bed. He lets a stack of shiny coins shuffle from one hand to the other, clinking on the way, then he puts them down on the table.
"Enough?" Arthur says.
Bill laughs. "Enough," he replies, then he drags Arthur down on top of him.
Goosefat Bill - Sir William, now - might be a smug, stubborn bastard, but there's a thing or two that Arthur thinks he might still want from him. Goosefat Bill - Sir William, whatever - might still hold something of a grudge for turning him in, but it's not like he wouldn't've done the same so what the hell, they'll get past that. And maybe he didn't keep on coming back there just for him, but Arthur knows theirs wasn't the only establishment in London protected from the Blacklegs. He doesn't doubt Bill knows that, too.
"So, what now?" Bill asks, as he lies there underneath him.
"I've got a few ideas," Arthur replies. "Pick up where we left off?"
And, for once in his life, Bill doesn't say a word. He lets the fucking indecent smile on his face do all the talking for him.