Under That Staid Exterior
Mar. 30th, 2011 09:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eternalsojournI have some stories on the go with actual plot and honest-to-god character exploration. This story is not one of those. This was written to scratch an itch to have Arthur top for once, and let him have a few filthy words. Until the very end, my working title for this was ToppyTalker!Arthur, which lacks finesse but was pretty accurate. Hopefully I will post something soon that isn't just straight up porn. That's the goal; but then, that was my previous goal and this happened, so there's that.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count:~5200 (Seriously, what?)
Warnings: Ridiculous dialogue and slightly uncomfortable sex? Arthur’s packin’ a bit of a beast, is what I’m sayin’.
Pairings or Characters: Arthur/Eames
Summary: Written in response to this prompt - Despite his staid exterior, Arthur has the filthiest mouth in bed (top!Arthur pls). Arthur and Eames have a bit of a routine in which they trade a few barbs, which inevitably leads to sex. Only this time Arthur decides he wants to rewrite the story a little.
Beta: The bulk of this fic has been beta’ed by the ever-lovely porn-prodigy![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
night_reveals . It will probably be apparent what point she beta’ed to; suffice to say, all the good bits are the ones she had a hand in.
Author’s Note: I hit a wall (read: personal problems) right at the peak of the momentum, and had troubles getting back to it. I just needed to finish this fic, so the ending is a little rushed after taking so long with everything else. On the up side, I found the solution for finishing porn when you’re not in a porn state of mind. It’s a simple mathematical equation: gin + tonic = porn. Take notes, kids. /bad influence
Also, sorry for repeated edits. C/p into LJ resulted in all kinds of random hyphenations. FML.
Under That Staid Exterior
“Eames, I am impressed.”
“Your condescension is, as always, appreciated, Arthur.”
---
Eames absently picks up his mug from the desk as he stares for the millionth time at a photo of Browning clipped to the folder in his hand. He takes a swig and makes a face; it’s ice cold so he puts it back down and shoves it away so he won’t accidentally pick it up again.
He hears footsteps and feels Arthur’s presence before heavy hands rest on Eames’s shoulders, pressing him into the rolling office chair.
Arthur bends down close, lips brushing Eames’s ear, although no one is around to hear and the only sound in the room is the low hum of the building’s heating system.
“That was cheeky.”
“What was, darling?” asks Eames, even though he knows exactly what Arthur’s referring to. And he’s aware from the closeness and from Arthur’s tone what Arthur is expecting of him, and he feels a spark of excitement at the prospect.
“Earlier. That’s all for their benefit, isn’t it? But they don’t know you like I do, Will,” Arthur’s voice is low, affectionate. “Do they?”
And if Eames didn’t know already where Arthur was going with this, the use of his name would have cleared all doubt.
Eames puts on an indignant expression, “Oh you mean earlier, when you were being a condescending tosser? That earlier? Really, Arthur, you could stand to be more specific about your topics of conversation.”
Eames feels Arthur’s smile against his ear, a taut pulling of skin against skin. “Specific? Okay. Specifically I’m referring to the incident in which you tactlessly threw my compliment in my face. So. Perhaps you need a lesson in being gracious.”
“And I suppose you think you’re the one to teach me, hm?”
“Perhaps,” Arthur straightens and Eames misses the warmth of breath on his ear. “But maybe a lesson in accepting compliments would only be treating the symptom.” Arthur drags a lazy, brazen hand across the expanse of Eames’s back as he walks around to sit against the edge of the desk in front of Eames, legs out-stretched and fingers wrapped around the lip of it. He tilts his head and levels a calculating stare at Eames’s face.
Eames, for his part maintains his amused and defiant expression, but he recognizes the telltale spark of heat deep in his gut. Only this time he sees something new. There’s a fierceness in Arthur’s gaze that is unmatched in any of Eames’s experiences with him. Eames feels he’s courting new territory here, and the thrill of improvisation grips him.
“You know what I think, love? I think you’re sore that I shot you down in front of the others.” Eames uses his feet to roll his chair closer, then gently rubs Arthur’s instep with his foot. “I think somewhere in that pretty little head of yours you think you have something to teach me, but deep down you’re just a spoiled little boy chucking your toys out of your pram when something doesn’t go as you plan.” The pleased glint in Arthur’s eye bodes well and Eames allows his smirk to broaden to a smile.
“Always the psychoanalyst,” Arthur shakes his head in disappointment. “We’re not talking about me. And what I think, darling, is that you won’t be so mouthy or half so clever when I slam you down and fuck you into next week, until you don’t remember what it’s like not to have my dick buried so far up your ass you’ll think you’ve been impaled.”
And doesn’t that just turn the spark of desire into a blazing inferno in Eames’s gut?
“That’s some big talk, coming from a man who had his ankles on my shoulders just two nights ago.”
Arthur unfolds his arms and stands, moving to walk away but appears to think better of it. He leans forward and brackets Eames with his arms in the chair, cheek brushing Eames’s temple. “That was two nights ago, before I knew how badly you needed the cheek fucked right out of you. So right now I’m going back to my hotel room. And if you have some sort of clever retort, you’ll have to just make it there.” Arthur picks up his briefcase and walks briskly out of the room.
Had Eames been feeling particularly bullheaded, he could quite easily have snuck in his reply in the time it took Arthur to walk out the door, but he and Arthur both know that isn’t really the point here. So he keeps his mouth shut and waits a few minutes after Arthur leaves to pack up his own things. He plans to stop for a bite to eat before heading to Arthur’s room; just because he’s planning on showing up doesn’t mean he can’t make Arthur wait a little.
---
Arthur stretches his arms above his head until his shoulders pop, then drops them as far behind as he can until the stretch is just shy of painful. He pulls his arm across the front of his body, feeling the pull at the back of his shoulder, and repeats for the other side. He enjoys the flex of his muscles and tautening of his skin; it reins his awareness back inwards to his body. He cracks his neck then drops his head back to stare at the ceiling with his hands clasped behind his head.
He could open his laptop and get some work done but he doesn’t want to start down that road because before long he’d be wrapped up in it, and he doesn’t feel like having to switch gears in a hurry.
He can wait as long as it takes and Eames won’t be overly long, he knows. Even if this is new territory, Eames has never turned him down yet and Arthur doesn’t think he’ll start now. But although he’s patient, Arthur can’t keep the low-level buzz out of his belly. Arthur’s mind supplies the image of Eames sitting in that rolling chair, looking up at him with those pornographic lips and a sharp glance that’s all edges. He pictures the bulk of him relaxed and languid but always ready to explode into action when necessary. Arthur reaches down to adjust himself, the slight swell already uncomfortable against the close fit of his trousers.
Arthur stands and clears away his sandwich wrapper and cup from the coffee shop around the corner, the faint scent of chai escaping through the holes in the lid. It’s as he’s standing in the kitchenette disposing of his trash that he hears footsteps in the hallway. He steps in absolute silence to the door. Even though he knows it’s probably Eames, they can never be too careful, so he keeps to one side and reaches to finger his glock tucked into his holster.
Three soft knocks are accompanied by a gruff voice, “It’s just me, Arthur, let me in.”
Arthur tucks his piece away and opens the door. A broadening crack of light cuts into the room from the hallway as Eames steps in. Arthur doesn’t give Eames time for his eyes to adjust to the light, just grabs his lapel with one hand and and shuts the door with the other. In a heartbeat he slams Eames into the wall, kissing him without finesse or care. His tongue is strong and insistent, and Eames presses back, battling for dominance.
Arthur has Eames pinned against the wall when Arthur hears a soft thud. He breaks the kiss to glance down and sees his own gun, a stark darkness against the neutral taupe of the carpet. It shouldn’t turn him on, being pickpocketed so easily, but Eames has a light touch when he wants it, and heavy when he doesn’t, and Arthur knows what both feel like on his skin.
It’s heavy, what he feels on his waist, and heavier still when Eames begins to push, the whole weight of him levering off the wall to knock Arthur off his balance. Arthur is caught a little off guard but rolls with it easily, stepping out of Eames’s way so his weight stumbles forward instead of directly into Arthur.
Using the momentum, Arthur shoves Eames towards the centre of the room and all but tackles him. He tucks his shoulder into Eames’s sternum and knocks them both to the ground with a startled mmph from Eames.
Eames’s hands reach up and grip Arthur’s head in an impossibly large and warm cage, and pulls him into a bruising kiss even as he tries to roll them over to gain the advantage. Arthur extends his knee out to the side to resist the roll, but returns the kiss with equal fervour.
Eames stops the struggle for a moment, quirking up a small smile against Arthur’s lips. “I’m sorry, did I keep you waiting?” He looks very slightly cross-eyed, switching between each of Arthur’s eyes at such proximity.
Arthur pulls back a little and returns the smirk. “It was a cheap way to pretend you have the upper hand, but don’t kid yourself,” Arthur’s gaze takes in every inch of Eames’s face, bold and possessive. “You want the same thing I do tonight. And what I want is for you to take what I give you.”
---
Eames feels a flood of raw desire, which must show in his expression if the satisfied look Arthur gives him is any indication. He lifts his head off the ground to press his lips against Arthur’s once more.
Arthur grants the kiss, licking deep and exploratory before pressing against Eames’s chest with one hand and levering himself to a stand. Eames rises as if connected to him by a rope and Arthur tugs at the hem of Eames’s shirt and pulls it roughly upwards; Eames is grateful for the undone top buttons which leave enough room for it to go over his head. Arthur’s hands roam freely, squeezing at his shoulders and biceps, firmly palming his waist and stomach.
Eames finds himself being pushed backwards across the room, and trusts Arthur not to bump him into anything while he works at Arthur’s buttons. When his calves hit the bed he doesn’t sit yet, instead finishing his work of disrobing Arthur’s top half and tasting Arthur’s kisses, a hint of tea and exotic spices. A pleased little hum escapes him.
With a sharp nip to Eames’s lower lip, Arthur grins at him, “See how much nicer things can go when you learn your manners?”
Eames hasn’t lost the urge to retort, indeed he has any number of tart responses to such a comment from Arthur. But his desire is overriding anything else and this new side of Arthur is intriguing. Eames can play along; it’s what he does best. So he says, “I was brought up in England, love. I understand manners and can be well-behaved, I just usually choose not to. So, how would you like me, darling?”
Arthur pushes him down to lay him on the bed, legs dangling off the side and Arthur propped up on one arm above him. Arthur nips down Eames’s jaw and tugs on his earlobe with his teeth, tongue flicking out with a tiny wet smack that Eames only hears for its proximity to his ear.
Arthur hums, pleased. “I think I like you like this.”
Eames thinks he likes this, too, though he doesn’t say anything, just slides his hands down Arthur’s body to palm his arse and pull him a little tighter to feel Arthur’s erection pressing into his hip. Eames doesn’t even know how Arthur can stand it, he must be squashed horrendously in the confines of those trousers.
As if reading his mind, Arthur lifts off and undoes his fly, pushing his trousers down just enough for a bit of breathing space, then resumes pressing his brief-clad cock against him. Eames works his hand down between them and curls his fingers around the stiff column underneath soft cotton.
Arthur bites into Eames’s neck, sucking a mark hard enough that Eames knows there’ll be no hiding it from anyone tomorrow.
“You’re going to take it, aren’t you baby,” Arthur whispers. “You’re going to take me and feel the ache when you go about your day. When you’re working for Browning your mind will drift back to me filling you up.”
Eames knows Arthur isn’t bragging. Eames has bottomed before, but not with Arthur, which means he hasn’t bottomed in months. And on top of that, Arthur is, well. Arthur would have him feeling it even if Eames wasn’t out of practice.
But Eames is no stranger to pain; he has a higher threshold than most -- dreamshare has had that effect on all of them. So he says, “Yeah, love. I’ll take it. Make me feel it.”
Arthur begins to work his way down, stopping to lick Eames’s nipple into a hard nub, then worrying it lightly with his teeth. Eames shuts his eyes and becomes three bright focal points of contact: his nipple, Arthur’s heavy hand on his ribs, and Arthur’s hardness pressing into his thigh.
He arches up into Arthur’s mouth and sucks in a long breath. His nipples have always been a bit sensitive, and with Arthur turning his considerable focus on teasing Eames’s nerve endings, he feels like his skin is crackling with electricity. It’s almost too much with Arthur’s teeth gripping and tongue flicking back and forth but before Eames can decide if he needs it to stop Arthur is continuing downwards. Eames sighs and flops back down to the bed.
Arthur’s smiles up at him, wolfish, teeth straight and shining and Eames wonders how he never noticed how predatory Arthur looks when he grins. He places a wet licking kiss on Eames’s stomach, then climbs off.
“Up there, Eames. I want you stretched out properly so I have access to every bit of you.” He indicates the head of the bed and leans over on one knee to make room for Eames to shift himself. “And take these off,” he says, gathering a handful of Eames’s pant leg. “You should be naked for me. Hmmm,” Arthur gives him an intrigued, considering look. “Maybe someday I’ll have you wait for me, naked, slicked and ready for me to just come in and fuck you. I think I’d like that, knowing you’re fingering your ass in here while I’m out there in the world.” As he speaks he shifts around to remove his own clothes but he hardly takes his eyes of Eames.
Once Eames is ready and positioned at the head of the bed, pillows propping him up so he’s semi-reclined, Arthur hovers over Eames once more, cock heavy and dangling on Eames’s own. Arthur licks into his mouth, not even really a kiss because he doesn’t use his lips, just expects Eames’s tongue and Eames provides it. For a moment they just stay like that, tongue tips playing in the air before Arthur takes his back and moves down to settle himself between Eames’s legs.
“Open them wide for me, Will. Mm, you look good like this.”
Eames has never heard Arthur talk so bloody much, nor has he found himself so completely without words for such a length of time. But it’s delicious watching Arthur wear this persona like he wears his suits.
Arthur ducks down to lick up the length of Eames’s cock, a thick wet stripe that’s a maddeningly light pressure on Eames’s burning skin.
“Lube,” Arthur says simply, and Eames reaches an embarrassingly eager and frantic arm out to the bedside table where Arthur has helpfully placed a full bottle of slick. God bless the perks of fucking your Point Man. Arthur flashes a knowing smile up at him before giving his sac a loving little sucking kiss and popping open the bottle. He squeezes a ridiculously generous amount onto his fingers, pulling the bottle up and away from his hand like he’s pouring a fucking cocktail. But Eames knows he’ll be grateful for Arthur’s liberal use of the liquid before the night is through.
With one hand massaging his hole, Arthur uses his other hand to raise Eames’s tumescent cock to his lips and sucks him down without ceremony. And fuck the heat of his mouth is exactly what Eames needed and he lets out an “uh” that sounds almost startled. Arthur’s finger starts to press in, slippery wet and far too narrow.
“More, Arthur. Please,” Eames says and if he sounds desperate and begging he doesn’t care any more.
Arthur pulls his mouth off and Eames’s cock falls to his belly with a wet slap. “A greedy little thing, aren’t you? We’ll get there soon enough. Soon you’ll be thinking back on one finger with wistful nostalgia.”
And isn’t that just like Arthur to be so fucking eloquent, even at a time like this? But he’s not a cruel man, at least not to Eames, so without Eames having to ask twice a second finger joins the first, sinking deep. At the same time Arthur picks up Eames’s cock again and sets that talented mouth to work. Eames spreads his legs even wider, eager to provide the access Arthur needs.
Arthur is methodical and efficient with this, as with everything, so once Eames is loose enough to make the slick slide of two fingers easy, Arthur adds a third. The stretch is good, not quite uncomfortable. Eames doesn't often bring his own arse into his sexual proceedings so even Arthur's slender fingers feel like they’re filling him, testing his edges. Arthur is patient and stills his hand, turning his focus to the other hand jacking Eames's cock up into his mouth. With several fluttering twirls of his tongue around the tip, followed by Arthur drawing Eames's foreskin all the way back and suckling the sensitive unsheathed head of it, Eames shivers and closes his eyes. For once he’s content to just feel the sensations and momentarily abandon his usual burning need to watch Arthur's every movement and gesture.
But when Arthur pulls off once more, Eames look back down. And isn't that a pretty picture? Lips reddened and spit-shiny, face flushed and hair a bit mussed. Eames would think of him as adorable if it weren't for the words coming out of his mouth, which instead cause a resurgence of trepidation in his gut.
"You're so hot inside, so smooth. I think you'll need four before you're ready, though. Think you can take four, Will?" Then he shakes his head, "No, don't answer. Of course you can. Look at you just opening right up for me," and Arthur does look down as he gives his hand a twist. He's lightly stroking Eames's prostate, and the slightly heightened sensitivity there causes pulses of pleasure through Eames's whole body at every pass.
Eames doesn't reply, doesn't need to now that Arthur is running the show. He just pushes his hips down minutely into Arthur's hand in silent acquiescence.
Arthur takes the hand that had controlled the blow job and brings it down, staring intently at the place where he's entering Eames. Eames can't see what Arthur sees but the look on Arthur's face is stunning: pleased and confident.
When that fourth finger slides in the stretch is almost too much and Eames's first instinct is to resist, to clamp down. Arthur sees this and bends down to kiss this inside of Eames's thigh, murmuring, "shhhhh". Eames exhales, long and deliberately slow, concentrating on releasing the muscles trying to grip Arthur's fingers. And god, it's four fingers; Eames has taken four fingers before, but the thought that Arthur has both hands employed is oddly arousing and Eames's cock twitches slightly, heading back towards full hardness where it had flagged a little during this change of focus.
"That's it, fuck. That's beautiful," Arthur gives another wet kiss to Eames's leg and pulses his fingers in and out a few times before gently extracting them and crawling his way up Eames's body, strong and silent with a hunter’s grace.
Eames lets his hands roam all over Arthur’s lithe body, running his palms up those muscled arms and around to Arthur's back. Arthur claims another kiss, this time with a desperate hunger and a barely vocalized noise from deep inside. Eames pulls him down, trying to fuse their bodies together as their tongues tangle, wet and soft.
Arthur reaches one hand down to lift Eames's thigh, holding it against his own ribs and Eames's feels the insistent nudge of that thick cock poking at his hole. He tenses, not certain that he's quite ready. Arthur doesn't register that he's noticed, but he kisses down Eames's jaw and blindly reaches for the bottle of lube.
Standing up on his knees, Arthur drizzles more liquid all over his fingers and some directly on his dick for good measure before rubbing it all in with an overhand grip. It's a beautiful show and Eames is an appreciative audience. Arthur's impressive, not freakishly large but fat and long and well-proportioned, and his lean frame does nothing to offset the effect. He's fully hard, trim dark hair framing that pale hand jacking up and down, pinky slipping over the tip once or twice. Eames licks his lips at the sight.
Arthur leans forward once more, using one hand to guide himself in. The press of it feels blunt and solid, as if there's no way it's fitting in. Eames savours this moment, kisses Arthur's shoulder, feels Arthur's breath against his neck, and relishes the knowledge that this is the first time, that Arthur's claiming a space he hasn't before.
And then it's past that ring of muscle, the head popped in and it's big, fuck. Eames consciously relaxes again, taking deep steady breaths.
Arthur pulls back to look at Eames's face and says, “That’s it, Will, let me in. Just like that.” Arthur glances down to see where they join as he speaks.
"Bear down on me, baby,” Arthur hums a little sigh. “There we go, that’s it," he says as his cock pushes its way deeper. Eames suddenly has the strange impression of being penetrated by both Arthur's prick and his words. For the first time in his life, Eames takes a simple pleasure in obeying instructions, wanting to do as Arthur asks because it makes him look like this, brings out this man he’s never seen before.
Arthur is propped up on one arm and with his lube-slick hand he pets Eames's leaking cock, drawing his thumb up the underside before curling his fingers around it and slowly jerking. He's not fucking into Eames yet; he's just slowly pressing in, millimeter by millimeter until he's buried hilt-deep and stays there. It's as full as Eames has ever felt and he wonders why they haven't done this before now.
When Arthur starts to pull out slightly, Eames feels the loss immediately and tries to follow, a small longing hum inadvertently escaping his lips.
Arthur smiles, and with his voice low and rough says, "God, you’re so fucking pretty taking it like this." He presses Eames's hip down to restrain him and withdraws halfway, then presses in again, not quite as slow as before. He removes his hand from Eames's cock to run one finger around the point of penetration.
“Look at you stretched around my cock. So accommodating," Arthur murmurs. And Eames shouldn't feel pleased, it's ridiculous, but some small part of him is proud of himself, proud that he did this. He made Arthur into this filthy, uncensored man that he's certain few people have seen.
Satisfied that Eames is acclimated to the intrusion, Arthur begins to thrust, a nice easy pace that takes over all of Eames’s senses; his whole body falls into the rhythm of it.
“You like this, don’t you,” Arthur says. “Didn’t even know how bad you wanted me to push you until you toppled, didn’t know how much you needed me?” Eames just hums his agreement on a long exhale and Arthur continues, “I want you sore, I want that ache to pervade you. I want to take you aside in the middle of the day and have you suck me, swallow my come while you jerk yourself off.” Arthur is getting increasingly breathless and gradually quickens his pace, matching the speed with firm jacks of his hand.
”Tilt,” he orders, and grips Eames’s thigh to lift him to a better angle.
“Tell me. Tell me how much you love this. Tell me what you want,” Arthur says, a faint hint of pleading entering his voice. And with the new angle, Arthur is perfect, and oh god the pressure is intense.
“Yes, please just fuck me,” Eames doesn’t even really hear himself speak, just babbles words from nowhere that come tumbling from his mouth. “I need it, Arthur, please. Fuck.”
And it’s as if all sensation has gathered into one blinding point right at Eames’s centre, every nerve ending focused on enveloping Arthur’s pounding prick. Arthur must feel it too because he has no more words, no more rhythm, just ragged breaths, a deep furrowed frown and that relentless, artless shove that has Eames creeping further up the bed with each repetition. His hand drops back to the bed, both arms supporting him as he thrusts.
Eames’s painfully hard cock is dribbling onto his belly and although all his focus is on that unyielding intrusion dragging across his prostate, his hand drifts to stroke himself in reflex. Arthur sees but doesn’t help, just stares at Eames jerking his own erection with undisguised lust. Eames is surprised to find how much it turns him on to be able to put on a show for Arthur. And now, staring at Arthur’s face stripped bare of pretense, the frantic pace and burning friction igniting every nerve ending that matters, Eames gets lost. He slams his head back against the pillows and with a strangled cry, spurts hard all the way up to the underside of his chin.
And the driving doesn’t stop. Arthur is breathing hard and ragged and waits only a breath after Eames is spent before grabbing Eames's ankles and propping them onto his shoulders. He grips into the flesh at Eames’s upper thighs, using them as leverage as he pumps hard and fast, eyes flicking between the place where they join and Eames’s face.
Eames is tender now, raw but it’s good, oh god, so worth it to see Arthur like this. Eames has no more sense of time, sated and boneless beneath Arthur as he is, but it must be a minute or two later and Arthur lets out an extended groan that’s almost a shout and Eames can feel that fat dick twitching inside of him, can sense the hot spill way up inside and Arthur was right, Eames doesn’t remember a time when Arthur wasn’t stretching him to his limit. It’s right and it’s good and he doesn’t want Arthur to pull out when he’s done.
When Arthur finally shudders off the last of his climax, he drops forward, keeping his weight on one elbow and tiredly kisses at Eames’s jaw and neck. He begins to slide out and Eames grips him with his legs, pressing Arthur in again. Arthur huffs out an exhausted laugh, too tired to fight. He flops forward, letting his entire weight rest on Eames and Eames likes it for a moment.
But Arthur is heavier than one might expect, so Eames shifts to roll Arthur off of him, causing the softening cock to slip out of him, and Eames feels a twinge of disappointment at its loss, feels his ring of muscle grasping at the air. Arthur settles on his side facing Eames and trails lazy fingers down his front, stopping to ruffle at his chest hairs before finding their way down, all the way to his raw and tired hole. With the gentlest of touches, he strokes and dips in slightly, smearing his come around and it feels... nice, actually. Not enough to spark his interest again, but soothing.
“I like you like this,” Arthur mumbles into his shoulder, but his fingers are stilling their movement and his eyes are closing inexorably. Eames lifts Arthur’s hand gently from its caresses and holds it in his own, shifting onto his side to look at Arthur. It’s mere seconds later that Arthur is breathing the breath of the truly knackered, and Eames allows himself a moment to just look.
With a last press of gentle lips against Arthur’s, causing Arthur to murmur something unintelligible, Eames carefully extracts himself, reaches to grab a rough hotel tissue and does a half-arsed job of wiping his own come off his body. He then fumbles for his mobile from his trousers, and sets an alarm for far too early. Both of them will be wanting a shower first thing, and Eames plans on leaving enough time for recreation if Arthur is up for it. Then he settles himself back in, brushing a ghost of a touch across Arthur’s cheekbone before turning over and letting sleep take him.
----
At the sound of beeping, Eames reaches out to grab his phone, ready to hurl it across the room. But he hears a groan from behind him and last night comes rushing back. With it comes a complete awareness of his body, all its sore spots, and Eames smiles slightly, eyes closed. He shuts off the alarm with a sleepy sniff and flops back down. A long lean arm drops over him and he laughs. That’s new.
“Fuck. What time is it? Are we late?” Arthur asks. And Eames would really have expected Arthur to sound more upset or panicked about the prospect, but he sounds like he’s merely asking for information.
“No, I set the alarm so we’d have time to shower.”
“Mm. Good. See? I knew you could have manners, Eames.”
“Oh, are you back to being a condescending tosser, then Arthur?”
Arthur reaches under his own head in what looks like a stretch, but before Eames can prepare, he’s being thumped in the head with a pillow.
“And you’re back to being a cheeky fucker. So we’re back to square one. Get up. You can take the first shower,” Arthur is almost laughing, but even this soon after waking up his acerbic bite is perfectly intact.
“I thought we could shower together,” Eames replies, and Arthur opens one eye to look at him.
“You thought wrong. Between a shower with you and another 20 minutes in this soft warm, bed... we’ll, it’s no contest, Eames.”
Eames bites into Arthur’s shoulder hard before rolling out of bed. He stands up and heads to the bathroom, making sure to stretch high to the ceiling on the way, feeling the pull in his back muscles. He can feel Arthur’s eyes on him, and begins counting the seconds until Arthur follows.
---End---
Rating: NC-17
Word Count:~5200 (Seriously, what?)
Warnings: Ridiculous dialogue and slightly uncomfortable sex? Arthur’s packin’ a bit of a beast, is what I’m sayin’.
Pairings or Characters: Arthur/Eames
Summary: Written in response to this prompt - Despite his staid exterior, Arthur has the filthiest mouth in bed (top!Arthur pls). Arthur and Eames have a bit of a routine in which they trade a few barbs, which inevitably leads to sex. Only this time Arthur decides he wants to rewrite the story a little.
Beta: The bulk of this fic has been beta’ed by the ever-lovely porn-prodigy
night_reveals . It will probably be apparent what point she beta’ed to; suffice to say, all the good bits are the ones she had a hand in.Author’s Note: I hit a wall (read: personal problems) right at the peak of the momentum, and had troubles getting back to it. I just needed to finish this fic, so the ending is a little rushed after taking so long with everything else. On the up side, I found the solution for finishing porn when you’re not in a porn state of mind. It’s a simple mathematical equation: gin + tonic = porn. Take notes, kids. /bad influence
Also, sorry for repeated edits. C/p into LJ resulted in all kinds of random hyphenations. FML.
Under That Staid Exterior
“Eames, I am impressed.”
“Your condescension is, as always, appreciated, Arthur.”
---
Eames absently picks up his mug from the desk as he stares for the millionth time at a photo of Browning clipped to the folder in his hand. He takes a swig and makes a face; it’s ice cold so he puts it back down and shoves it away so he won’t accidentally pick it up again.
He hears footsteps and feels Arthur’s presence before heavy hands rest on Eames’s shoulders, pressing him into the rolling office chair.
Arthur bends down close, lips brushing Eames’s ear, although no one is around to hear and the only sound in the room is the low hum of the building’s heating system.
“That was cheeky.”
“What was, darling?” asks Eames, even though he knows exactly what Arthur’s referring to. And he’s aware from the closeness and from Arthur’s tone what Arthur is expecting of him, and he feels a spark of excitement at the prospect.
“Earlier. That’s all for their benefit, isn’t it? But they don’t know you like I do, Will,” Arthur’s voice is low, affectionate. “Do they?”
And if Eames didn’t know already where Arthur was going with this, the use of his name would have cleared all doubt.
Eames puts on an indignant expression, “Oh you mean earlier, when you were being a condescending tosser? That earlier? Really, Arthur, you could stand to be more specific about your topics of conversation.”
Eames feels Arthur’s smile against his ear, a taut pulling of skin against skin. “Specific? Okay. Specifically I’m referring to the incident in which you tactlessly threw my compliment in my face. So. Perhaps you need a lesson in being gracious.”
“And I suppose you think you’re the one to teach me, hm?”
“Perhaps,” Arthur straightens and Eames misses the warmth of breath on his ear. “But maybe a lesson in accepting compliments would only be treating the symptom.” Arthur drags a lazy, brazen hand across the expanse of Eames’s back as he walks around to sit against the edge of the desk in front of Eames, legs out-stretched and fingers wrapped around the lip of it. He tilts his head and levels a calculating stare at Eames’s face.
Eames, for his part maintains his amused and defiant expression, but he recognizes the telltale spark of heat deep in his gut. Only this time he sees something new. There’s a fierceness in Arthur’s gaze that is unmatched in any of Eames’s experiences with him. Eames feels he’s courting new territory here, and the thrill of improvisation grips him.
“You know what I think, love? I think you’re sore that I shot you down in front of the others.” Eames uses his feet to roll his chair closer, then gently rubs Arthur’s instep with his foot. “I think somewhere in that pretty little head of yours you think you have something to teach me, but deep down you’re just a spoiled little boy chucking your toys out of your pram when something doesn’t go as you plan.” The pleased glint in Arthur’s eye bodes well and Eames allows his smirk to broaden to a smile.
“Always the psychoanalyst,” Arthur shakes his head in disappointment. “We’re not talking about me. And what I think, darling, is that you won’t be so mouthy or half so clever when I slam you down and fuck you into next week, until you don’t remember what it’s like not to have my dick buried so far up your ass you’ll think you’ve been impaled.”
And doesn’t that just turn the spark of desire into a blazing inferno in Eames’s gut?
“That’s some big talk, coming from a man who had his ankles on my shoulders just two nights ago.”
Arthur unfolds his arms and stands, moving to walk away but appears to think better of it. He leans forward and brackets Eames with his arms in the chair, cheek brushing Eames’s temple. “That was two nights ago, before I knew how badly you needed the cheek fucked right out of you. So right now I’m going back to my hotel room. And if you have some sort of clever retort, you’ll have to just make it there.” Arthur picks up his briefcase and walks briskly out of the room.
Had Eames been feeling particularly bullheaded, he could quite easily have snuck in his reply in the time it took Arthur to walk out the door, but he and Arthur both know that isn’t really the point here. So he keeps his mouth shut and waits a few minutes after Arthur leaves to pack up his own things. He plans to stop for a bite to eat before heading to Arthur’s room; just because he’s planning on showing up doesn’t mean he can’t make Arthur wait a little.
---
Arthur stretches his arms above his head until his shoulders pop, then drops them as far behind as he can until the stretch is just shy of painful. He pulls his arm across the front of his body, feeling the pull at the back of his shoulder, and repeats for the other side. He enjoys the flex of his muscles and tautening of his skin; it reins his awareness back inwards to his body. He cracks his neck then drops his head back to stare at the ceiling with his hands clasped behind his head.
He could open his laptop and get some work done but he doesn’t want to start down that road because before long he’d be wrapped up in it, and he doesn’t feel like having to switch gears in a hurry.
He can wait as long as it takes and Eames won’t be overly long, he knows. Even if this is new territory, Eames has never turned him down yet and Arthur doesn’t think he’ll start now. But although he’s patient, Arthur can’t keep the low-level buzz out of his belly. Arthur’s mind supplies the image of Eames sitting in that rolling chair, looking up at him with those pornographic lips and a sharp glance that’s all edges. He pictures the bulk of him relaxed and languid but always ready to explode into action when necessary. Arthur reaches down to adjust himself, the slight swell already uncomfortable against the close fit of his trousers.
Arthur stands and clears away his sandwich wrapper and cup from the coffee shop around the corner, the faint scent of chai escaping through the holes in the lid. It’s as he’s standing in the kitchenette disposing of his trash that he hears footsteps in the hallway. He steps in absolute silence to the door. Even though he knows it’s probably Eames, they can never be too careful, so he keeps to one side and reaches to finger his glock tucked into his holster.
Three soft knocks are accompanied by a gruff voice, “It’s just me, Arthur, let me in.”
Arthur tucks his piece away and opens the door. A broadening crack of light cuts into the room from the hallway as Eames steps in. Arthur doesn’t give Eames time for his eyes to adjust to the light, just grabs his lapel with one hand and and shuts the door with the other. In a heartbeat he slams Eames into the wall, kissing him without finesse or care. His tongue is strong and insistent, and Eames presses back, battling for dominance.
Arthur has Eames pinned against the wall when Arthur hears a soft thud. He breaks the kiss to glance down and sees his own gun, a stark darkness against the neutral taupe of the carpet. It shouldn’t turn him on, being pickpocketed so easily, but Eames has a light touch when he wants it, and heavy when he doesn’t, and Arthur knows what both feel like on his skin.
It’s heavy, what he feels on his waist, and heavier still when Eames begins to push, the whole weight of him levering off the wall to knock Arthur off his balance. Arthur is caught a little off guard but rolls with it easily, stepping out of Eames’s way so his weight stumbles forward instead of directly into Arthur.
Using the momentum, Arthur shoves Eames towards the centre of the room and all but tackles him. He tucks his shoulder into Eames’s sternum and knocks them both to the ground with a startled mmph from Eames.
Eames’s hands reach up and grip Arthur’s head in an impossibly large and warm cage, and pulls him into a bruising kiss even as he tries to roll them over to gain the advantage. Arthur extends his knee out to the side to resist the roll, but returns the kiss with equal fervour.
Eames stops the struggle for a moment, quirking up a small smile against Arthur’s lips. “I’m sorry, did I keep you waiting?” He looks very slightly cross-eyed, switching between each of Arthur’s eyes at such proximity.
Arthur pulls back a little and returns the smirk. “It was a cheap way to pretend you have the upper hand, but don’t kid yourself,” Arthur’s gaze takes in every inch of Eames’s face, bold and possessive. “You want the same thing I do tonight. And what I want is for you to take what I give you.”
---
Eames feels a flood of raw desire, which must show in his expression if the satisfied look Arthur gives him is any indication. He lifts his head off the ground to press his lips against Arthur’s once more.
Arthur grants the kiss, licking deep and exploratory before pressing against Eames’s chest with one hand and levering himself to a stand. Eames rises as if connected to him by a rope and Arthur tugs at the hem of Eames’s shirt and pulls it roughly upwards; Eames is grateful for the undone top buttons which leave enough room for it to go over his head. Arthur’s hands roam freely, squeezing at his shoulders and biceps, firmly palming his waist and stomach.
Eames finds himself being pushed backwards across the room, and trusts Arthur not to bump him into anything while he works at Arthur’s buttons. When his calves hit the bed he doesn’t sit yet, instead finishing his work of disrobing Arthur’s top half and tasting Arthur’s kisses, a hint of tea and exotic spices. A pleased little hum escapes him.
With a sharp nip to Eames’s lower lip, Arthur grins at him, “See how much nicer things can go when you learn your manners?”
Eames hasn’t lost the urge to retort, indeed he has any number of tart responses to such a comment from Arthur. But his desire is overriding anything else and this new side of Arthur is intriguing. Eames can play along; it’s what he does best. So he says, “I was brought up in England, love. I understand manners and can be well-behaved, I just usually choose not to. So, how would you like me, darling?”
Arthur pushes him down to lay him on the bed, legs dangling off the side and Arthur propped up on one arm above him. Arthur nips down Eames’s jaw and tugs on his earlobe with his teeth, tongue flicking out with a tiny wet smack that Eames only hears for its proximity to his ear.
Arthur hums, pleased. “I think I like you like this.”
Eames thinks he likes this, too, though he doesn’t say anything, just slides his hands down Arthur’s body to palm his arse and pull him a little tighter to feel Arthur’s erection pressing into his hip. Eames doesn’t even know how Arthur can stand it, he must be squashed horrendously in the confines of those trousers.
As if reading his mind, Arthur lifts off and undoes his fly, pushing his trousers down just enough for a bit of breathing space, then resumes pressing his brief-clad cock against him. Eames works his hand down between them and curls his fingers around the stiff column underneath soft cotton.
Arthur bites into Eames’s neck, sucking a mark hard enough that Eames knows there’ll be no hiding it from anyone tomorrow.
“You’re going to take it, aren’t you baby,” Arthur whispers. “You’re going to take me and feel the ache when you go about your day. When you’re working for Browning your mind will drift back to me filling you up.”
Eames knows Arthur isn’t bragging. Eames has bottomed before, but not with Arthur, which means he hasn’t bottomed in months. And on top of that, Arthur is, well. Arthur would have him feeling it even if Eames wasn’t out of practice.
But Eames is no stranger to pain; he has a higher threshold than most -- dreamshare has had that effect on all of them. So he says, “Yeah, love. I’ll take it. Make me feel it.”
Arthur begins to work his way down, stopping to lick Eames’s nipple into a hard nub, then worrying it lightly with his teeth. Eames shuts his eyes and becomes three bright focal points of contact: his nipple, Arthur’s heavy hand on his ribs, and Arthur’s hardness pressing into his thigh.
He arches up into Arthur’s mouth and sucks in a long breath. His nipples have always been a bit sensitive, and with Arthur turning his considerable focus on teasing Eames’s nerve endings, he feels like his skin is crackling with electricity. It’s almost too much with Arthur’s teeth gripping and tongue flicking back and forth but before Eames can decide if he needs it to stop Arthur is continuing downwards. Eames sighs and flops back down to the bed.
Arthur’s smiles up at him, wolfish, teeth straight and shining and Eames wonders how he never noticed how predatory Arthur looks when he grins. He places a wet licking kiss on Eames’s stomach, then climbs off.
“Up there, Eames. I want you stretched out properly so I have access to every bit of you.” He indicates the head of the bed and leans over on one knee to make room for Eames to shift himself. “And take these off,” he says, gathering a handful of Eames’s pant leg. “You should be naked for me. Hmmm,” Arthur gives him an intrigued, considering look. “Maybe someday I’ll have you wait for me, naked, slicked and ready for me to just come in and fuck you. I think I’d like that, knowing you’re fingering your ass in here while I’m out there in the world.” As he speaks he shifts around to remove his own clothes but he hardly takes his eyes of Eames.
Once Eames is ready and positioned at the head of the bed, pillows propping him up so he’s semi-reclined, Arthur hovers over Eames once more, cock heavy and dangling on Eames’s own. Arthur licks into his mouth, not even really a kiss because he doesn’t use his lips, just expects Eames’s tongue and Eames provides it. For a moment they just stay like that, tongue tips playing in the air before Arthur takes his back and moves down to settle himself between Eames’s legs.
“Open them wide for me, Will. Mm, you look good like this.”
Eames has never heard Arthur talk so bloody much, nor has he found himself so completely without words for such a length of time. But it’s delicious watching Arthur wear this persona like he wears his suits.
Arthur ducks down to lick up the length of Eames’s cock, a thick wet stripe that’s a maddeningly light pressure on Eames’s burning skin.
“Lube,” Arthur says simply, and Eames reaches an embarrassingly eager and frantic arm out to the bedside table where Arthur has helpfully placed a full bottle of slick. God bless the perks of fucking your Point Man. Arthur flashes a knowing smile up at him before giving his sac a loving little sucking kiss and popping open the bottle. He squeezes a ridiculously generous amount onto his fingers, pulling the bottle up and away from his hand like he’s pouring a fucking cocktail. But Eames knows he’ll be grateful for Arthur’s liberal use of the liquid before the night is through.
With one hand massaging his hole, Arthur uses his other hand to raise Eames’s tumescent cock to his lips and sucks him down without ceremony. And fuck the heat of his mouth is exactly what Eames needed and he lets out an “uh” that sounds almost startled. Arthur’s finger starts to press in, slippery wet and far too narrow.
“More, Arthur. Please,” Eames says and if he sounds desperate and begging he doesn’t care any more.
Arthur pulls his mouth off and Eames’s cock falls to his belly with a wet slap. “A greedy little thing, aren’t you? We’ll get there soon enough. Soon you’ll be thinking back on one finger with wistful nostalgia.”
And isn’t that just like Arthur to be so fucking eloquent, even at a time like this? But he’s not a cruel man, at least not to Eames, so without Eames having to ask twice a second finger joins the first, sinking deep. At the same time Arthur picks up Eames’s cock again and sets that talented mouth to work. Eames spreads his legs even wider, eager to provide the access Arthur needs.
Arthur is methodical and efficient with this, as with everything, so once Eames is loose enough to make the slick slide of two fingers easy, Arthur adds a third. The stretch is good, not quite uncomfortable. Eames doesn't often bring his own arse into his sexual proceedings so even Arthur's slender fingers feel like they’re filling him, testing his edges. Arthur is patient and stills his hand, turning his focus to the other hand jacking Eames's cock up into his mouth. With several fluttering twirls of his tongue around the tip, followed by Arthur drawing Eames's foreskin all the way back and suckling the sensitive unsheathed head of it, Eames shivers and closes his eyes. For once he’s content to just feel the sensations and momentarily abandon his usual burning need to watch Arthur's every movement and gesture.
But when Arthur pulls off once more, Eames look back down. And isn't that a pretty picture? Lips reddened and spit-shiny, face flushed and hair a bit mussed. Eames would think of him as adorable if it weren't for the words coming out of his mouth, which instead cause a resurgence of trepidation in his gut.
"You're so hot inside, so smooth. I think you'll need four before you're ready, though. Think you can take four, Will?" Then he shakes his head, "No, don't answer. Of course you can. Look at you just opening right up for me," and Arthur does look down as he gives his hand a twist. He's lightly stroking Eames's prostate, and the slightly heightened sensitivity there causes pulses of pleasure through Eames's whole body at every pass.
Eames doesn't reply, doesn't need to now that Arthur is running the show. He just pushes his hips down minutely into Arthur's hand in silent acquiescence.
Arthur takes the hand that had controlled the blow job and brings it down, staring intently at the place where he's entering Eames. Eames can't see what Arthur sees but the look on Arthur's face is stunning: pleased and confident.
When that fourth finger slides in the stretch is almost too much and Eames's first instinct is to resist, to clamp down. Arthur sees this and bends down to kiss this inside of Eames's thigh, murmuring, "shhhhh". Eames exhales, long and deliberately slow, concentrating on releasing the muscles trying to grip Arthur's fingers. And god, it's four fingers; Eames has taken four fingers before, but the thought that Arthur has both hands employed is oddly arousing and Eames's cock twitches slightly, heading back towards full hardness where it had flagged a little during this change of focus.
"That's it, fuck. That's beautiful," Arthur gives another wet kiss to Eames's leg and pulses his fingers in and out a few times before gently extracting them and crawling his way up Eames's body, strong and silent with a hunter’s grace.
Eames lets his hands roam all over Arthur’s lithe body, running his palms up those muscled arms and around to Arthur's back. Arthur claims another kiss, this time with a desperate hunger and a barely vocalized noise from deep inside. Eames pulls him down, trying to fuse their bodies together as their tongues tangle, wet and soft.
Arthur reaches one hand down to lift Eames's thigh, holding it against his own ribs and Eames's feels the insistent nudge of that thick cock poking at his hole. He tenses, not certain that he's quite ready. Arthur doesn't register that he's noticed, but he kisses down Eames's jaw and blindly reaches for the bottle of lube.
Standing up on his knees, Arthur drizzles more liquid all over his fingers and some directly on his dick for good measure before rubbing it all in with an overhand grip. It's a beautiful show and Eames is an appreciative audience. Arthur's impressive, not freakishly large but fat and long and well-proportioned, and his lean frame does nothing to offset the effect. He's fully hard, trim dark hair framing that pale hand jacking up and down, pinky slipping over the tip once or twice. Eames licks his lips at the sight.
Arthur leans forward once more, using one hand to guide himself in. The press of it feels blunt and solid, as if there's no way it's fitting in. Eames savours this moment, kisses Arthur's shoulder, feels Arthur's breath against his neck, and relishes the knowledge that this is the first time, that Arthur's claiming a space he hasn't before.
And then it's past that ring of muscle, the head popped in and it's big, fuck. Eames consciously relaxes again, taking deep steady breaths.
Arthur pulls back to look at Eames's face and says, “That’s it, Will, let me in. Just like that.” Arthur glances down to see where they join as he speaks.
"Bear down on me, baby,” Arthur hums a little sigh. “There we go, that’s it," he says as his cock pushes its way deeper. Eames suddenly has the strange impression of being penetrated by both Arthur's prick and his words. For the first time in his life, Eames takes a simple pleasure in obeying instructions, wanting to do as Arthur asks because it makes him look like this, brings out this man he’s never seen before.
Arthur is propped up on one arm and with his lube-slick hand he pets Eames's leaking cock, drawing his thumb up the underside before curling his fingers around it and slowly jerking. He's not fucking into Eames yet; he's just slowly pressing in, millimeter by millimeter until he's buried hilt-deep and stays there. It's as full as Eames has ever felt and he wonders why they haven't done this before now.
When Arthur starts to pull out slightly, Eames feels the loss immediately and tries to follow, a small longing hum inadvertently escaping his lips.
Arthur smiles, and with his voice low and rough says, "God, you’re so fucking pretty taking it like this." He presses Eames's hip down to restrain him and withdraws halfway, then presses in again, not quite as slow as before. He removes his hand from Eames's cock to run one finger around the point of penetration.
“Look at you stretched around my cock. So accommodating," Arthur murmurs. And Eames shouldn't feel pleased, it's ridiculous, but some small part of him is proud of himself, proud that he did this. He made Arthur into this filthy, uncensored man that he's certain few people have seen.
Satisfied that Eames is acclimated to the intrusion, Arthur begins to thrust, a nice easy pace that takes over all of Eames’s senses; his whole body falls into the rhythm of it.
“You like this, don’t you,” Arthur says. “Didn’t even know how bad you wanted me to push you until you toppled, didn’t know how much you needed me?” Eames just hums his agreement on a long exhale and Arthur continues, “I want you sore, I want that ache to pervade you. I want to take you aside in the middle of the day and have you suck me, swallow my come while you jerk yourself off.” Arthur is getting increasingly breathless and gradually quickens his pace, matching the speed with firm jacks of his hand.
”Tilt,” he orders, and grips Eames’s thigh to lift him to a better angle.
“Tell me. Tell me how much you love this. Tell me what you want,” Arthur says, a faint hint of pleading entering his voice. And with the new angle, Arthur is perfect, and oh god the pressure is intense.
“Yes, please just fuck me,” Eames doesn’t even really hear himself speak, just babbles words from nowhere that come tumbling from his mouth. “I need it, Arthur, please. Fuck.”
And it’s as if all sensation has gathered into one blinding point right at Eames’s centre, every nerve ending focused on enveloping Arthur’s pounding prick. Arthur must feel it too because he has no more words, no more rhythm, just ragged breaths, a deep furrowed frown and that relentless, artless shove that has Eames creeping further up the bed with each repetition. His hand drops back to the bed, both arms supporting him as he thrusts.
Eames’s painfully hard cock is dribbling onto his belly and although all his focus is on that unyielding intrusion dragging across his prostate, his hand drifts to stroke himself in reflex. Arthur sees but doesn’t help, just stares at Eames jerking his own erection with undisguised lust. Eames is surprised to find how much it turns him on to be able to put on a show for Arthur. And now, staring at Arthur’s face stripped bare of pretense, the frantic pace and burning friction igniting every nerve ending that matters, Eames gets lost. He slams his head back against the pillows and with a strangled cry, spurts hard all the way up to the underside of his chin.
And the driving doesn’t stop. Arthur is breathing hard and ragged and waits only a breath after Eames is spent before grabbing Eames's ankles and propping them onto his shoulders. He grips into the flesh at Eames’s upper thighs, using them as leverage as he pumps hard and fast, eyes flicking between the place where they join and Eames’s face.
Eames is tender now, raw but it’s good, oh god, so worth it to see Arthur like this. Eames has no more sense of time, sated and boneless beneath Arthur as he is, but it must be a minute or two later and Arthur lets out an extended groan that’s almost a shout and Eames can feel that fat dick twitching inside of him, can sense the hot spill way up inside and Arthur was right, Eames doesn’t remember a time when Arthur wasn’t stretching him to his limit. It’s right and it’s good and he doesn’t want Arthur to pull out when he’s done.
When Arthur finally shudders off the last of his climax, he drops forward, keeping his weight on one elbow and tiredly kisses at Eames’s jaw and neck. He begins to slide out and Eames grips him with his legs, pressing Arthur in again. Arthur huffs out an exhausted laugh, too tired to fight. He flops forward, letting his entire weight rest on Eames and Eames likes it for a moment.
But Arthur is heavier than one might expect, so Eames shifts to roll Arthur off of him, causing the softening cock to slip out of him, and Eames feels a twinge of disappointment at its loss, feels his ring of muscle grasping at the air. Arthur settles on his side facing Eames and trails lazy fingers down his front, stopping to ruffle at his chest hairs before finding their way down, all the way to his raw and tired hole. With the gentlest of touches, he strokes and dips in slightly, smearing his come around and it feels... nice, actually. Not enough to spark his interest again, but soothing.
“I like you like this,” Arthur mumbles into his shoulder, but his fingers are stilling their movement and his eyes are closing inexorably. Eames lifts Arthur’s hand gently from its caresses and holds it in his own, shifting onto his side to look at Arthur. It’s mere seconds later that Arthur is breathing the breath of the truly knackered, and Eames allows himself a moment to just look.
With a last press of gentle lips against Arthur’s, causing Arthur to murmur something unintelligible, Eames carefully extracts himself, reaches to grab a rough hotel tissue and does a half-arsed job of wiping his own come off his body. He then fumbles for his mobile from his trousers, and sets an alarm for far too early. Both of them will be wanting a shower first thing, and Eames plans on leaving enough time for recreation if Arthur is up for it. Then he settles himself back in, brushing a ghost of a touch across Arthur’s cheekbone before turning over and letting sleep take him.
----
At the sound of beeping, Eames reaches out to grab his phone, ready to hurl it across the room. But he hears a groan from behind him and last night comes rushing back. With it comes a complete awareness of his body, all its sore spots, and Eames smiles slightly, eyes closed. He shuts off the alarm with a sleepy sniff and flops back down. A long lean arm drops over him and he laughs. That’s new.
“Fuck. What time is it? Are we late?” Arthur asks. And Eames would really have expected Arthur to sound more upset or panicked about the prospect, but he sounds like he’s merely asking for information.
“No, I set the alarm so we’d have time to shower.”
“Mm. Good. See? I knew you could have manners, Eames.”
“Oh, are you back to being a condescending tosser, then Arthur?”
Arthur reaches under his own head in what looks like a stretch, but before Eames can prepare, he’s being thumped in the head with a pillow.
“And you’re back to being a cheeky fucker. So we’re back to square one. Get up. You can take the first shower,” Arthur is almost laughing, but even this soon after waking up his acerbic bite is perfectly intact.
“I thought we could shower together,” Eames replies, and Arthur opens one eye to look at him.
“You thought wrong. Between a shower with you and another 20 minutes in this soft warm, bed... we’ll, it’s no contest, Eames.”
Eames bites into Arthur’s shoulder hard before rolling out of bed. He stands up and heads to the bathroom, making sure to stretch high to the ceiling on the way, feeling the pull in his back muscles. He can feel Arthur’s eyes on him, and begins counting the seconds until Arthur follows.
---End---
