Five Weeks
Jan. 8th, 2012 12:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eternalsojournI wrote this thing in what amounted to an online porn party, where ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chaostheorem, night_reveals and I all wrote our individual fics for asunder's Facial Fest over at dreamwidth. I must say, writing porn is better in a party environment.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1286
Warnings: None
Summary: Cobb is a cockblocker, Arthur is gets a faceful, and Eames gets a little more than that.
Beta:night_reveals
Eames is always a bit in awe when Arthur lets go, when he’s rutting mindlessly onto Eames’s leg and sucking and slurping on Eames’s cock like it’s a melting popsicle on the hottest day of summer. Today he’s so gone, he’s actually mewling, though Eames can hardly blame him.
Five weeks locked up in a stifling, tired old motel room with Cobb, waiting for their opening with the mark and Cobb was everywhere. Like a cockblocking ninja, he’d pop up at exactly the wrong moment out of absolutely bloody nowhere. Eames was about ready to slit Cobb’s throat in his sleep.
Now Cobb is out and though he’s meant to be gone for a good couple of hours, this needs to be fast. But it’s not. They’re riding the edge here, too greedy for each other to rush things but altogether too horny to last long anyway. And it’s brought them to this point, both sweaty and gasping, Arthur’s skull under both of Eames’s hands, Arthur’s hard prick pressed into Eames’s shin — which can’t be all that comfortable but Arthur doesn’t seem able to stop — and Eames’s own cock the recipient of possibly the most enthusiastic, un-artful blowjob Arthur’s ever given him.
Which is why Eames, who appears to have just a modicum more control than Arthur has at the moment, gently guides Arthur’s head, settles him down, and watches his lips wrap in an obscene circle as Eames slides his cock in and out.
“Just relax a second, let me —” but Eames can’t say much more that’s coherent because Arthur’s curling his tongue around Eames’s shaft and clamping on and it’s so hot and tight and Arthur looks so...
“Oh fuck, ‘m gonna...” Eames grunts and Arthur pops off. Eames should ask. He wants to ask. They should have decided this sooner, but it’s too late and he has to... he has to...
Eames groans and jacks himself firmly, furiously, eyes glued to Arthur’s face, wanting nothing more than to make a mess of it, and Arthur, holy fuck, Arthur is blissful, waiting. And as much as Eames wants to slam his eyes shut — he’s so hard and it’s been so long — he has to watch even as his body shudders in tense, hard jerks and ropes of thick white come streak Arthur’s cheeks, across the bridge of his nose, up his temple and into his hair.
Arthur’s mouth is open and he’s craning for it, moving his head to take the last weak spurts and licking at his bottom lip to taste a drip there. Without thinking, Eames helpfully reaches down and scoops up a long streak from Arthur’s chin and pushes his finger into Arthur’s mouth. Arthur closes his mouth around it. This is one of Eames’s favourite things about Arthur: no matter how angry or irritated, he sucks like his body doesn’t know how not to. So Eames pushes his finger in before pulling it out and falling to his knees to pull Arthur into a kiss, long and deep.
Though he’s never done such a thing, nor even had the inclination, Eames finds himself moving to lick and suck his own come off Arthur’s face, eliciting such a wanton moan from Arthur that Eames suddenly remembers that Arthur hasn’t even come yet. Eames drips a mouthful of thick, slightly bitter seed into Arthur’s waiting mouth, then licks in, feeling Arthur’s tongue all slick with come and spit caressing his own.
Arthur breaks the kiss, swallowing down the rest and says, “on your knees.”
The bed is kind of lumpy and the bedspread a hideous pattern in brown, green and cream but Eames doesn’t fucking care. Arthur has his dick tucked up in the crease of Eames’s arse and he’s impatiently rubbing himself off that way until Eames can properly get into position and toss the small bottle of lube over his shoulder to Arthur.
Eames is aware of time ticking away. He expects the door to open at any time and they should stop. But it’s been too long and Arthur’s been right there, sleeping too close, working too close, stretching too close, breathing too close and now he’s slicking himself up, working the excess into Eames with his fingers. Eames needs this, even after he’s come, he needs it.
“Do it, push it in,” he says and the words have barely left his lips before Arthur does, sinking in hard and long. Arthur spreads Eames’s cheeks, pulls right out and pushes back in, not even needing his hands to aim straight in. And then he begins fucking, tugging on Eames’s hips and it makes Eames’s knees slip on the comforter, but it doesn’t matter; all he has to do is stay there because Arthur’s got him.
The key in the lock registers in Eames’s brain, but for a moment it’s just a random noise lacking any connection to rational thought. But the door opens and Eames turns his head to see Cobb, looking aghast and affronted, hand still on the doorknob.
“Fuck off, Dom,” Arthur says, and doesn’t even pause in his thrusts. “An hour, give us an hour,” he says and when Eames’s knees slip out from under him, Arthur just follows him down, fucking him into the bed.
“I —” Cobb begins, then simply turns and walks out, not bothering to relock the door.
Eames huffs a laugh in disbelief. Arthur, for all his composure these past weeks, must have been suffering every bit as much as Eames. But he barely forms the thought because right now Arthur’s weight and frantic driving hips keep Eames from focusing too much on anything but the feel of Arthur, the sound of him, the smell of him.
It’s not long before Arthur comes, a grunt that sounds angry and relieved at once. He stays there for a minute, panting heavily before withdrawing and spreading Eames open to watch it drip. Eames doesn’t mind. He likes post-orgasm Arthur, the way he can’t be bothered to talk and is so matter of fact about simply doing what he feels like doing, be it cuddling, or crawling away to sprawl untouched, or playing with Eames’s lax body. This time he pushes his cock back in and Eames rather likes it. It’s not exactly sexual at this point, not about need, and frankly, he’d be quite happy for Arthur to stay in there while they both fall asleep.
But Arthur does pull out again and flops to the side, staring up at the ceiling.
“You’re not regretting how you handled that Cobb incident, are you?” Eames asks.
Arthur laughs. “No, I think the next time we’re on an extended job, he’ll make sure he’s either in a different room or gives us some privacy every once in a while. Say what you will about Cobb: he’s oblivious most of the time, but he does learn.”
Eames would concede the point but he honestly can’t be fucked to carry on that line of conversation. Instead he says, “we still have the better part of an hour, thanks to your foresight. Up for another round?”
Arthur just smiles, rolls in and starts idly playing with Eames’s softened cock. “How about we just start here and see how it goes?”
This is nice, this slower pace. But Eames kind of thinks he owes Cobb for blocking them so long; seeing Arthur so utterly wanton wasn’t half worth the wait. Not that Eames will be telling Arthur that, of course. And certainly not Cobb.
As a matter of fact, he makes a mental note to subtly keep his ass in Cobb’s way for the duration of this job.
***End***
chaostheorem, night_reveals and I all wrote our individual fics for asunder's Facial Fest over at dreamwidth. I must say, writing porn is better in a party environment.Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1286
Warnings: None
Summary: Cobb is a cockblocker, Arthur is gets a faceful, and Eames gets a little more than that.
Beta:
night_revealsFive Weeks
Eames is always a bit in awe when Arthur lets go, when he’s rutting mindlessly onto Eames’s leg and sucking and slurping on Eames’s cock like it’s a melting popsicle on the hottest day of summer. Today he’s so gone, he’s actually mewling, though Eames can hardly blame him.
Five weeks locked up in a stifling, tired old motel room with Cobb, waiting for their opening with the mark and Cobb was everywhere. Like a cockblocking ninja, he’d pop up at exactly the wrong moment out of absolutely bloody nowhere. Eames was about ready to slit Cobb’s throat in his sleep.
Now Cobb is out and though he’s meant to be gone for a good couple of hours, this needs to be fast. But it’s not. They’re riding the edge here, too greedy for each other to rush things but altogether too horny to last long anyway. And it’s brought them to this point, both sweaty and gasping, Arthur’s skull under both of Eames’s hands, Arthur’s hard prick pressed into Eames’s shin — which can’t be all that comfortable but Arthur doesn’t seem able to stop — and Eames’s own cock the recipient of possibly the most enthusiastic, un-artful blowjob Arthur’s ever given him.
Which is why Eames, who appears to have just a modicum more control than Arthur has at the moment, gently guides Arthur’s head, settles him down, and watches his lips wrap in an obscene circle as Eames slides his cock in and out.
“Just relax a second, let me —” but Eames can’t say much more that’s coherent because Arthur’s curling his tongue around Eames’s shaft and clamping on and it’s so hot and tight and Arthur looks so...
“Oh fuck, ‘m gonna...” Eames grunts and Arthur pops off. Eames should ask. He wants to ask. They should have decided this sooner, but it’s too late and he has to... he has to...
Eames groans and jacks himself firmly, furiously, eyes glued to Arthur’s face, wanting nothing more than to make a mess of it, and Arthur, holy fuck, Arthur is blissful, waiting. And as much as Eames wants to slam his eyes shut — he’s so hard and it’s been so long — he has to watch even as his body shudders in tense, hard jerks and ropes of thick white come streak Arthur’s cheeks, across the bridge of his nose, up his temple and into his hair.
Arthur’s mouth is open and he’s craning for it, moving his head to take the last weak spurts and licking at his bottom lip to taste a drip there. Without thinking, Eames helpfully reaches down and scoops up a long streak from Arthur’s chin and pushes his finger into Arthur’s mouth. Arthur closes his mouth around it. This is one of Eames’s favourite things about Arthur: no matter how angry or irritated, he sucks like his body doesn’t know how not to. So Eames pushes his finger in before pulling it out and falling to his knees to pull Arthur into a kiss, long and deep.
Though he’s never done such a thing, nor even had the inclination, Eames finds himself moving to lick and suck his own come off Arthur’s face, eliciting such a wanton moan from Arthur that Eames suddenly remembers that Arthur hasn’t even come yet. Eames drips a mouthful of thick, slightly bitter seed into Arthur’s waiting mouth, then licks in, feeling Arthur’s tongue all slick with come and spit caressing his own.
Arthur breaks the kiss, swallowing down the rest and says, “on your knees.”
The bed is kind of lumpy and the bedspread a hideous pattern in brown, green and cream but Eames doesn’t fucking care. Arthur has his dick tucked up in the crease of Eames’s arse and he’s impatiently rubbing himself off that way until Eames can properly get into position and toss the small bottle of lube over his shoulder to Arthur.
Eames is aware of time ticking away. He expects the door to open at any time and they should stop. But it’s been too long and Arthur’s been right there, sleeping too close, working too close, stretching too close, breathing too close and now he’s slicking himself up, working the excess into Eames with his fingers. Eames needs this, even after he’s come, he needs it.
“Do it, push it in,” he says and the words have barely left his lips before Arthur does, sinking in hard and long. Arthur spreads Eames’s cheeks, pulls right out and pushes back in, not even needing his hands to aim straight in. And then he begins fucking, tugging on Eames’s hips and it makes Eames’s knees slip on the comforter, but it doesn’t matter; all he has to do is stay there because Arthur’s got him.
The key in the lock registers in Eames’s brain, but for a moment it’s just a random noise lacking any connection to rational thought. But the door opens and Eames turns his head to see Cobb, looking aghast and affronted, hand still on the doorknob.
“Fuck off, Dom,” Arthur says, and doesn’t even pause in his thrusts. “An hour, give us an hour,” he says and when Eames’s knees slip out from under him, Arthur just follows him down, fucking him into the bed.
“I —” Cobb begins, then simply turns and walks out, not bothering to relock the door.
Eames huffs a laugh in disbelief. Arthur, for all his composure these past weeks, must have been suffering every bit as much as Eames. But he barely forms the thought because right now Arthur’s weight and frantic driving hips keep Eames from focusing too much on anything but the feel of Arthur, the sound of him, the smell of him.
It’s not long before Arthur comes, a grunt that sounds angry and relieved at once. He stays there for a minute, panting heavily before withdrawing and spreading Eames open to watch it drip. Eames doesn’t mind. He likes post-orgasm Arthur, the way he can’t be bothered to talk and is so matter of fact about simply doing what he feels like doing, be it cuddling, or crawling away to sprawl untouched, or playing with Eames’s lax body. This time he pushes his cock back in and Eames rather likes it. It’s not exactly sexual at this point, not about need, and frankly, he’d be quite happy for Arthur to stay in there while they both fall asleep.
But Arthur does pull out again and flops to the side, staring up at the ceiling.
“You’re not regretting how you handled that Cobb incident, are you?” Eames asks.
Arthur laughs. “No, I think the next time we’re on an extended job, he’ll make sure he’s either in a different room or gives us some privacy every once in a while. Say what you will about Cobb: he’s oblivious most of the time, but he does learn.”
Eames would concede the point but he honestly can’t be fucked to carry on that line of conversation. Instead he says, “we still have the better part of an hour, thanks to your foresight. Up for another round?”
Arthur just smiles, rolls in and starts idly playing with Eames’s softened cock. “How about we just start here and see how it goes?”
This is nice, this slower pace. But Eames kind of thinks he owes Cobb for blocking them so long; seeing Arthur so utterly wanton wasn’t half worth the wait. Not that Eames will be telling Arthur that, of course. And certainly not Cobb.
As a matter of fact, he makes a mental note to subtly keep his ass in Cobb’s way for the duration of this job.
***End***
