His first.  The phrasing, however accurate, brought a gentle blush to Arthur's face that he couldn't explain.  He was nearly thirty, a man in every respect of the word, with a job and a house and a lover - and still, the thought of sharing a first of his with Malachi made butterflies flutter in his stomach.

Sure, this first in particular was murder.  But what did specifics like that mean, when the true sentiment was so much more than that?

"I'm not sure," he mused, pushing his glasses higher on his bruised nose.  "Nervous, I suppose, but also... excited."

The blush darkened.  "There's really no one else I would rather be doing this with than you, Malachi."  Ugh.  This was more humiliating than declaring his love for the man.

Clearing his throat, Arthur lifted his throat and blinked once or twice, trying to think more about how he was feeling.  It was not something he was accustomed to doing.

"I feel... sort of like I want to hurry up, rush through dinner, but also I want to make the moments leading up to it last forever.  Like I need to memorize every detail before it happens, because I know afterwards, they will be the most difficult to recall."  He smiled sheepishly, glancing at Malachi from the corner of his eye.  "How was it for you, your first time?  Much different?"