Fic: Deprived, NC17, Arthur/Eames
Jan. 28th, 2011 05:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladyvaderTitle: Deprived
Author: LadyVader
Pairing/s: Arthur/Eames (Inception Fic)
Category: Slash – Gift fic
Summary: Arthur & Eames test a new formula of Yusuf’s. (Post Movie fic)
Rating: NC17
Warnings: D/s, DUBCON, sensory deprivation, smut and obviously SLASH.
Disclaimer: INCEPTION and its lovely molestable characters belong to Mr Nolan who Incepted me into borrowing them: You’ve no one to blame but yourself Chris!
Dedication: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
helenvalentine - reposted from the Inception Dream Exchange (AWESOME) http://community.livejournal.com/dream_exchange/ <- check it out!
Deprived:
Eames blinked.
Darkness, utter bloody complete darkness.
Eames sighed. He was going to sodding well kill Yusuf.
When he’d agreed to play guinea pig to help Yusuf better develop his sensory deprivation formula, he had assumed it’d be just another of many admittedly daft yet entertaining experiments, but with Saito’s umbrella of excellence and respectability poised over the project it had suddenly seemed slightly less silly.
Cobb and Ariadne had gone under first, returning with stories of a dream world where sound was muffled to the point where it seemed impossible to be afraid, everything seeming so swaddled, so safe around them and Yusuf had clapped and cheered whilst Saito began finalising his plans for the Saito Dream Research & Therapy centres – something, Eames had smirked, that would effortlessly feather both the man’s pockets and his reputation whilst still allowing for whatever further Extraction/Inception he might yet require, the team neatly absorbed as ‘Research Analysts’ and installed into fabulous, if slightly boring, offices and hotel suites.
“Arthur?” Eames called, raising his hand before his face, moving it inwards 'til his nose pressed neatly into his palm. He frowned. He’d rather assumed they would be following the same basic structure as before – a mild impediment to test in terms of how it might influence a mark (sorry, the patient) – but this was something else, something more... unnerving, somehow.
“ARTHUR?” he called again, swallowing and surprised at the sudden edge of uncertainty the word carried with it. Perhaps Yusuf had added something extra to their particular cocktail – something to make him feel vulnerable, isolated?
He extended an arm before and behind himself, twisting and taking small steps 'til he felt his fingertips brush brick and he stepped towards it with a relieved huff, placing his back to it with a sense of reassurance he decided to later deny.
“ARTHUR - YOU THERE?”
Something (was that movement?) sounded somewhere behind him – or near him.
He shook his head. It was far too easy to resort to childlike tendencies in the dreamscape and he’d given up being afraid of the dark at 7 years old – ok, 13 but still.
“Arthur – Arthur are you there? I hear movement but I can’t see.”
He waited, holding his breath briefly to better let the lack of sound wash over him.
“Arthur – I don’t know if you can hear me (god perhaps I’m blind and you’re deaf or something, I’ll BLOODY KILL Yusuf!) But there’s a wall behind me, its stretching at least a good few feet in either direction from me – if you can get to it, I’m HERE.”
Was that a soft step?
He held his breath again; let the burn of it ache deep in his lungs before he released it, a minute amount of terror bleeding into his frustration.
Eames exhaled shakily and cursed himself inwardly at the oddly fearful sound.
“ARTHUR,” he called again, “ARE YOU HERE?”
He wet his lips, the sound seemed obscene, slick, ridiculous in the void around him and he whispered quietly, “Please be here somewhere...” and a bare second later, a firm, warm palm to his chest pushed him tight against the wall.
“Arthur!?” he blurted in shock, his hands flying up defensively, only just pulling himself back from jabbing at weak spots, fingers pointed on one hand, fist clenched on the other as suddenly hands (Arthur’s?) gripped his wrists and pushed his arms back against his sides before releasing them.
“Arthur – really, darling, not that I don’t appreciate the hands-on treatment but –“
“Quiet.”
Arthur’s voice – steady, commanding and ridiculously sexy – just one of the many things Eames couldn’t help but adore him for, his mere presence at the moment ranking quite firmly with his finer attributes (his eyes, his mouth, his arse/thighs/crotch/legs in those suits he insisted on wearing no matter the occasion, his voice etc) so he pushed into the contact, smiling with relief.
“Were you there the entire time, you cruel sod? I was beginning to think it had all gone horribly but not very surprisingly wrong, darling, but here you are – I’d say you were a sight for sore eyes but-“
“I said quiet,” Arthur repeated, quietly, his right hand pressing fingertips to Eames’ still moving lips; the other squeezing gently at the base of his throat and Eames swallowed, hard, the movement rippling under Arthur’s grip.
“I’ve often wondered what it would take to silence you.” Arthur said, his hands dropping away, leaving Eames oddly bereft, bewildered. “I was actually giving it rather serious thought when you, as per usual, saw fit to offer yourself to me along my choice of beverage this morning.”
Eames bit his lip, smothering a smile despite the darkness. Coffee, tea or me, darling? He remembered it vividly, from his own overblown wink to the long, disapproving gaze Arthur had favoured him with before seizing his mug back from Eames and stalking away to get his own ‘damn drink’.
“I thought about throwing my coffee in your face at first,” Arthur continued, tone low but conversational, unable to see Eames’ sudden frown, “but it seemed less conducive to silencing you and more likely to anger both Cobb and Saito, and I just didn’t feel like dealing with both of them if you had required treatment for burns, so I opted against it.”
Eames breathed shortly down his nose, a snide retort on the tip of his tongue but bit back as Arthur took one of his hands loosely by the wrist and lifted it to his own body, pressing just beneath the knot of his tie.
“Of course, I thought about just ramming my cock down your throat, as well, but then that would create its own issues, what with Saito’s over-interest in maintaining professional etiquette now that we’re supposedly above board.”
Eames stiffened entirely, his body almost refusing to move in time with his heartbeat, so focused was he on Arthur’s words, the hand dragging his slowly down his sternum – the other lifting to rest just the tips of his fingers against Eames' lips.
“It’s funny,” Arthur said, his tone soft enough that he might be merely speaking to himself, “I always pictured this happening when I could see your face – watch that obscene mouth take me deep,” Eames shivered as Arthur moved his hand over his torso, stroking his fingers over the taut lines of his waistcoat, the crisp collar, the sinuous silk of his tie drawing him down to rest on the cold metal and leather of his belt, “but now all I can think of, all I wanted listening to you calling out for me – all I want now is to hear you - muffled, wet and wanting, swallowing my dick.”
Eames groaned softly, suddenly aware it was the only sound to pass his lips since Arthur had ordered him silent, clearing his throat softly, speaking against the surprisingly rough pads at his mouth.
“Are you saying you want me because you can’t see me? Because I’ve had better offers, frankly.”
He heard the amusement in his voice and marvelled at it because mostly (down past the pounding arousal) he was very quietly dismayed, swallowing again as Arthur pressed an abruptly heavy hand to his shoulder.
“Now whatever made you think it was an offer, Mr Eames?” Arthur stepped up close, pressing their bodies together, aligning their now obviously matching erections and grinding before stepping back, leaving Eames panting and somehow cold, the palm on his shoulder pushing down steadily as Arthur said quietly, “Get down there and suck me.”
Eames was on his knees before he could help himself, hands shaking, jerking at Arthur’s belt and fly as though he’d never done this before (but he hadn’t, not to ARTHUR and this might be his only chance and he couldn’t even SEE him), pushing his face against the strained fabric as he struggled to work the belt free for better access to the zipper itself, moaning fitfully at the heat and feel of him, stilling at Arthur’s soft chuckle.
“Careful, this is DIOR – ripping out the zip would be a travesty.”
Eames slid the zip down, overly careful, smirking into the long, luscious line where Arthur’s cock lay trapped beneath the material. “It’s a dream,” he panted against the fabric, “I could rip it off you with my teeth – Christian need never know...”
Long fingers twisted in his hair, briefly painful even as the grip pushed Eames' face harder into the rigid line of Arthur’s arousal.
“Less facetious banter, more fellatio, Eames.” Arthur chided but Eames felt he could hear a smile in the words for all the point man's hair pulling.
“No irrumatio then, darling?” he whispered, thumbing the sleek, swollen head as he pulled it free and stroked it firmly over his lips – trying to memorise the feeling of Arthur’s hot, throbbing flesh against his mouth before drawing just the flared crown past his lips on a low moan of appreciation, letting it sit just on the tip of his tongue, his hands dragging the restraining material around it to one side.
“Are you asking me to fuck your mouth, Mr Eames?” Arthur purred dulcetly before abruptly thrusting his cock directly into Eames' throat, pulling back before he could even choke in surprise. “Because I wasn’t aware I needed an invitation.”
Arthur had a hand at the crook of Eames' jaw, his thumb stroking circles at the hinge there and Eames knew a bolt of embarrassment as he felt his hips buck, picturing Arthur pushing his thickness all the way down into Eames’ throat, his open fly the only concession to his need, and he turned his face to nuzzle at the pulsing, thick cock before him, dragging his lips wetly against the length.
“God,” he muttered thickly, “Please, please...”
“Please what?” Arthur enquired, fingers stroking over Eames' brow and into his hair, trembling as Eames skated his teeth ever so gently over the veins mapping the flesh currently slipping back and forth over his tongue.
“Please – anything,” Eames panted, barely lifting his mouth from sucking to speak the words, blurred and needy against Arthur’s cock,
“Wanted you so long Arthur, please ANYTHING, anything you want- take it...I-”
Arthur sank himself to the hilt in Eames’ throat and Eames groaned, long and appreciative, eyes watering at the onslaught or Arthur’s weight and heat filling him as they both held, Arthur’s fingers cradling Eames' jaw and skull, tiny breaths inwards the only sign of life in him as Eames continued to moan, helpless, his hands lifting to push Arthur’s shirt upwards to rest on the quivering muscles of his taut belly.
Slowly, Arthur drew out, 'til just the head rested within the bow of Eames’ swollen lips, “Anything I want?” he mused, panting, letting Eames take a few necessary breaths before pushing deep again, setting Eames shuddering, nails raking Arthur’s stomach, hips jerking even as Arthur stilled once more, letting the searing bulk of his cock in Eames' throat rest just long enough for them to groan in unison at the sensation.
“Let’s see, then – sometimes when you’re badly dressed I think about burning your clothes and forcing you to follow me naked to my tailor – no not my tailor, because I’d need to fuck you there, need to leave my come trickling out of you when they try to take your in-seam measurement.”
He pulled back and fucked Eames' mouth with a few quick jabs, barely letting him get a grip with lips or tongue before rocking back and forth, Eames' hips echoing the motion even as he whined desperately, fingers digging into Arthur’s hipbones, trying to force him deep again.
“Or I could wait 'til the next time you offer yourself to me like a goddamn slut in front of the others – knock you to your knees and take you right there with my tie draping over your neck and you crying out darling every time I fuck into you.”
Eames heard something like a sob escape him and went to snatch a hand back from Arthur’s torso, desperate to just get some pressure of any kind on his trapped, aching, THROBBING cock but Arthur seized his wrist, holding his hands tight against his hips as he rocked in again, shoving Eames' head back hard against the wall and pushing down once more, Eames’ jaw open and aching, hips bucking in desperate approval, whining as Arthur circled his hips gently, pushing at the tight barrier of Eames' throat about him.
“Or maybe,” He panted, voice ragged, wrecked, raw and wonderful to Eames’ mind, “maybe I’ll suggest something normal, ridiculous and pedestrian and the others won’t have a clue that when I say ‘Dinner?’ what I mean is do you want to come back to my suite and let me fuck you open with my tongue and have you on your back in my bed, with your stupidly fucking beautiful face looking up at me and not able to tell ANYONE because I require subtlety from my relationships and you’ve been practically humping my leg since I first met you...”
He arched his back and pushed just the tiniest bit deeper and Eames had lost the last of his breath a few seconds back but Arthur was groaning, his hands crushing Eames’ wrist-bones, his cock twitching in Eames’ throat and... he was going to black out but that was ok because he could FEEL Arthur coming in him, his hips ramming back and forth again, choking him, filling him, come on his tongue and it was so good, so PERFECT because Eames was –
Awake.
He sucked in a breath he didn’t actually need as desperately as he felt, fingers tight on the arms of the lounger (if somewhat more luxurious than their prior models) and blinked.
“There was no countdown?” he heard Arthur ask, tone modulated and slightly disapproving and he swallowed, feeling abruptly, horribly bereft.
Yusuf came into sight as Eames found it within himself to sit forward, nonchalantly (or so he hoped) running his hands over his face, attempting weariness to counter his sudden, crushing sensation of defeat.
“No, no countdown,” Yusuf agreed, showing Arthur some sort of cardiovascular graph on screen, “This was intended to dull your senses so that extractors, uh, or therapists could move about undetected, so it seemed better to not let you sense the coming end of the sequence.”
“It was too much.” Eames said, face utterly neutral, voice unfortunately lacking the husk that would make it feel as though Arthur really had been fucking his voice-box raw. “Pitch black in there mate, and I wouldn’t have said I felt at ease – if anything I felt more on guard.”
Arthur nodded. “It’s true, I felt more aggressive if anything – the darkness was too all-encompassing, freeing on some levels but not in the way you’d be needing. Your subjects might feel more inclined to attack rather than open themselves up.”
Yusuf scribbled madly away, ignoring his computer in favour of his already dog-eared notepad, a Garfield clipboard supporting his impassioned scrawling.
“Too dark,” he muttered, “Right – I suspected that might be the case, if you gentlemen will give me a day or so I’d like to run it again – with a few alterations of course.”
Eames nodded, smiling stiffly, and pushed himself to his feet.
“Well, then, if you’ve no further need of me...?” Yusuf waved him away, already waist deep in new calculations, so Eames turned, forcing himself to meet Arthur’s cool gaze.
“I’m off then. I’ll – uh, see you tomorrow.” Darling – it didn’t quite make it past his lips and he found himself wondering oddly if he could ever say it again now, turning numbly to pick up his jacket from where he’d left it crumpled on a chair.
“Dinner?” Arthur asked quietly.
Eames allowed himself to quiver and smother his grin before he chanced a look over his shoulder, meeting Arthur’s dark, steady gaze.
“Starving,” he confirmed and - teeth gleaming, predatory - Arthur smiled.
Fin.
N/B Yes I did TOTALLY steal the final dialogue from Sherlock but what can I say? Its just so SLASHY :P
Author: LadyVader
Pairing/s: Arthur/Eames (Inception Fic)
Category: Slash – Gift fic
Summary: Arthur & Eames test a new formula of Yusuf’s. (Post Movie fic)
Rating: NC17
Warnings: D/s, DUBCON, sensory deprivation, smut and obviously SLASH.
Disclaimer: INCEPTION and its lovely molestable characters belong to Mr Nolan who Incepted me into borrowing them: You’ve no one to blame but yourself Chris!
Dedication: For
helenvalentine - reposted from the Inception Dream Exchange (AWESOME) http://community.livejournal.com/dream_exchange/ <- check it out!Deprived:
Eames blinked.
Darkness, utter bloody complete darkness.
Eames sighed. He was going to sodding well kill Yusuf.
When he’d agreed to play guinea pig to help Yusuf better develop his sensory deprivation formula, he had assumed it’d be just another of many admittedly daft yet entertaining experiments, but with Saito’s umbrella of excellence and respectability poised over the project it had suddenly seemed slightly less silly.
Cobb and Ariadne had gone under first, returning with stories of a dream world where sound was muffled to the point where it seemed impossible to be afraid, everything seeming so swaddled, so safe around them and Yusuf had clapped and cheered whilst Saito began finalising his plans for the Saito Dream Research & Therapy centres – something, Eames had smirked, that would effortlessly feather both the man’s pockets and his reputation whilst still allowing for whatever further Extraction/Inception he might yet require, the team neatly absorbed as ‘Research Analysts’ and installed into fabulous, if slightly boring, offices and hotel suites.
“Arthur?” Eames called, raising his hand before his face, moving it inwards 'til his nose pressed neatly into his palm. He frowned. He’d rather assumed they would be following the same basic structure as before – a mild impediment to test in terms of how it might influence a mark (sorry, the patient) – but this was something else, something more... unnerving, somehow.
“ARTHUR?” he called again, swallowing and surprised at the sudden edge of uncertainty the word carried with it. Perhaps Yusuf had added something extra to their particular cocktail – something to make him feel vulnerable, isolated?
He extended an arm before and behind himself, twisting and taking small steps 'til he felt his fingertips brush brick and he stepped towards it with a relieved huff, placing his back to it with a sense of reassurance he decided to later deny.
“ARTHUR - YOU THERE?”
Something (was that movement?) sounded somewhere behind him – or near him.
He shook his head. It was far too easy to resort to childlike tendencies in the dreamscape and he’d given up being afraid of the dark at 7 years old – ok, 13 but still.
“Arthur – Arthur are you there? I hear movement but I can’t see.”
He waited, holding his breath briefly to better let the lack of sound wash over him.
“Arthur – I don’t know if you can hear me (god perhaps I’m blind and you’re deaf or something, I’ll BLOODY KILL Yusuf!) But there’s a wall behind me, its stretching at least a good few feet in either direction from me – if you can get to it, I’m HERE.”
Was that a soft step?
He held his breath again; let the burn of it ache deep in his lungs before he released it, a minute amount of terror bleeding into his frustration.
Eames exhaled shakily and cursed himself inwardly at the oddly fearful sound.
“ARTHUR,” he called again, “ARE YOU HERE?”
He wet his lips, the sound seemed obscene, slick, ridiculous in the void around him and he whispered quietly, “Please be here somewhere...” and a bare second later, a firm, warm palm to his chest pushed him tight against the wall.
“Arthur!?” he blurted in shock, his hands flying up defensively, only just pulling himself back from jabbing at weak spots, fingers pointed on one hand, fist clenched on the other as suddenly hands (Arthur’s?) gripped his wrists and pushed his arms back against his sides before releasing them.
“Arthur – really, darling, not that I don’t appreciate the hands-on treatment but –“
“Quiet.”
Arthur’s voice – steady, commanding and ridiculously sexy – just one of the many things Eames couldn’t help but adore him for, his mere presence at the moment ranking quite firmly with his finer attributes (his eyes, his mouth, his arse/thighs/crotch/legs in those suits he insisted on wearing no matter the occasion, his voice etc) so he pushed into the contact, smiling with relief.
“Were you there the entire time, you cruel sod? I was beginning to think it had all gone horribly but not very surprisingly wrong, darling, but here you are – I’d say you were a sight for sore eyes but-“
“I said quiet,” Arthur repeated, quietly, his right hand pressing fingertips to Eames’ still moving lips; the other squeezing gently at the base of his throat and Eames swallowed, hard, the movement rippling under Arthur’s grip.
“I’ve often wondered what it would take to silence you.” Arthur said, his hands dropping away, leaving Eames oddly bereft, bewildered. “I was actually giving it rather serious thought when you, as per usual, saw fit to offer yourself to me along my choice of beverage this morning.”
Eames bit his lip, smothering a smile despite the darkness. Coffee, tea or me, darling? He remembered it vividly, from his own overblown wink to the long, disapproving gaze Arthur had favoured him with before seizing his mug back from Eames and stalking away to get his own ‘damn drink’.
“I thought about throwing my coffee in your face at first,” Arthur continued, tone low but conversational, unable to see Eames’ sudden frown, “but it seemed less conducive to silencing you and more likely to anger both Cobb and Saito, and I just didn’t feel like dealing with both of them if you had required treatment for burns, so I opted against it.”
Eames breathed shortly down his nose, a snide retort on the tip of his tongue but bit back as Arthur took one of his hands loosely by the wrist and lifted it to his own body, pressing just beneath the knot of his tie.
“Of course, I thought about just ramming my cock down your throat, as well, but then that would create its own issues, what with Saito’s over-interest in maintaining professional etiquette now that we’re supposedly above board.”
Eames stiffened entirely, his body almost refusing to move in time with his heartbeat, so focused was he on Arthur’s words, the hand dragging his slowly down his sternum – the other lifting to rest just the tips of his fingers against Eames' lips.
“It’s funny,” Arthur said, his tone soft enough that he might be merely speaking to himself, “I always pictured this happening when I could see your face – watch that obscene mouth take me deep,” Eames shivered as Arthur moved his hand over his torso, stroking his fingers over the taut lines of his waistcoat, the crisp collar, the sinuous silk of his tie drawing him down to rest on the cold metal and leather of his belt, “but now all I can think of, all I wanted listening to you calling out for me – all I want now is to hear you - muffled, wet and wanting, swallowing my dick.”
Eames groaned softly, suddenly aware it was the only sound to pass his lips since Arthur had ordered him silent, clearing his throat softly, speaking against the surprisingly rough pads at his mouth.
“Are you saying you want me because you can’t see me? Because I’ve had better offers, frankly.”
He heard the amusement in his voice and marvelled at it because mostly (down past the pounding arousal) he was very quietly dismayed, swallowing again as Arthur pressed an abruptly heavy hand to his shoulder.
“Now whatever made you think it was an offer, Mr Eames?” Arthur stepped up close, pressing their bodies together, aligning their now obviously matching erections and grinding before stepping back, leaving Eames panting and somehow cold, the palm on his shoulder pushing down steadily as Arthur said quietly, “Get down there and suck me.”
Eames was on his knees before he could help himself, hands shaking, jerking at Arthur’s belt and fly as though he’d never done this before (but he hadn’t, not to ARTHUR and this might be his only chance and he couldn’t even SEE him), pushing his face against the strained fabric as he struggled to work the belt free for better access to the zipper itself, moaning fitfully at the heat and feel of him, stilling at Arthur’s soft chuckle.
“Careful, this is DIOR – ripping out the zip would be a travesty.”
Eames slid the zip down, overly careful, smirking into the long, luscious line where Arthur’s cock lay trapped beneath the material. “It’s a dream,” he panted against the fabric, “I could rip it off you with my teeth – Christian need never know...”
Long fingers twisted in his hair, briefly painful even as the grip pushed Eames' face harder into the rigid line of Arthur’s arousal.
“Less facetious banter, more fellatio, Eames.” Arthur chided but Eames felt he could hear a smile in the words for all the point man's hair pulling.
“No irrumatio then, darling?” he whispered, thumbing the sleek, swollen head as he pulled it free and stroked it firmly over his lips – trying to memorise the feeling of Arthur’s hot, throbbing flesh against his mouth before drawing just the flared crown past his lips on a low moan of appreciation, letting it sit just on the tip of his tongue, his hands dragging the restraining material around it to one side.
“Are you asking me to fuck your mouth, Mr Eames?” Arthur purred dulcetly before abruptly thrusting his cock directly into Eames' throat, pulling back before he could even choke in surprise. “Because I wasn’t aware I needed an invitation.”
Arthur had a hand at the crook of Eames' jaw, his thumb stroking circles at the hinge there and Eames knew a bolt of embarrassment as he felt his hips buck, picturing Arthur pushing his thickness all the way down into Eames’ throat, his open fly the only concession to his need, and he turned his face to nuzzle at the pulsing, thick cock before him, dragging his lips wetly against the length.
“God,” he muttered thickly, “Please, please...”
“Please what?” Arthur enquired, fingers stroking over Eames' brow and into his hair, trembling as Eames skated his teeth ever so gently over the veins mapping the flesh currently slipping back and forth over his tongue.
“Please – anything,” Eames panted, barely lifting his mouth from sucking to speak the words, blurred and needy against Arthur’s cock,
“Wanted you so long Arthur, please ANYTHING, anything you want- take it...I-”
Arthur sank himself to the hilt in Eames’ throat and Eames groaned, long and appreciative, eyes watering at the onslaught or Arthur’s weight and heat filling him as they both held, Arthur’s fingers cradling Eames' jaw and skull, tiny breaths inwards the only sign of life in him as Eames continued to moan, helpless, his hands lifting to push Arthur’s shirt upwards to rest on the quivering muscles of his taut belly.
Slowly, Arthur drew out, 'til just the head rested within the bow of Eames’ swollen lips, “Anything I want?” he mused, panting, letting Eames take a few necessary breaths before pushing deep again, setting Eames shuddering, nails raking Arthur’s stomach, hips jerking even as Arthur stilled once more, letting the searing bulk of his cock in Eames' throat rest just long enough for them to groan in unison at the sensation.
“Let’s see, then – sometimes when you’re badly dressed I think about burning your clothes and forcing you to follow me naked to my tailor – no not my tailor, because I’d need to fuck you there, need to leave my come trickling out of you when they try to take your in-seam measurement.”
He pulled back and fucked Eames' mouth with a few quick jabs, barely letting him get a grip with lips or tongue before rocking back and forth, Eames' hips echoing the motion even as he whined desperately, fingers digging into Arthur’s hipbones, trying to force him deep again.
“Or I could wait 'til the next time you offer yourself to me like a goddamn slut in front of the others – knock you to your knees and take you right there with my tie draping over your neck and you crying out darling every time I fuck into you.”
Eames heard something like a sob escape him and went to snatch a hand back from Arthur’s torso, desperate to just get some pressure of any kind on his trapped, aching, THROBBING cock but Arthur seized his wrist, holding his hands tight against his hips as he rocked in again, shoving Eames' head back hard against the wall and pushing down once more, Eames’ jaw open and aching, hips bucking in desperate approval, whining as Arthur circled his hips gently, pushing at the tight barrier of Eames' throat about him.
“Or maybe,” He panted, voice ragged, wrecked, raw and wonderful to Eames’ mind, “maybe I’ll suggest something normal, ridiculous and pedestrian and the others won’t have a clue that when I say ‘Dinner?’ what I mean is do you want to come back to my suite and let me fuck you open with my tongue and have you on your back in my bed, with your stupidly fucking beautiful face looking up at me and not able to tell ANYONE because I require subtlety from my relationships and you’ve been practically humping my leg since I first met you...”
He arched his back and pushed just the tiniest bit deeper and Eames had lost the last of his breath a few seconds back but Arthur was groaning, his hands crushing Eames’ wrist-bones, his cock twitching in Eames’ throat and... he was going to black out but that was ok because he could FEEL Arthur coming in him, his hips ramming back and forth again, choking him, filling him, come on his tongue and it was so good, so PERFECT because Eames was –
Awake.
He sucked in a breath he didn’t actually need as desperately as he felt, fingers tight on the arms of the lounger (if somewhat more luxurious than their prior models) and blinked.
“There was no countdown?” he heard Arthur ask, tone modulated and slightly disapproving and he swallowed, feeling abruptly, horribly bereft.
Yusuf came into sight as Eames found it within himself to sit forward, nonchalantly (or so he hoped) running his hands over his face, attempting weariness to counter his sudden, crushing sensation of defeat.
“No, no countdown,” Yusuf agreed, showing Arthur some sort of cardiovascular graph on screen, “This was intended to dull your senses so that extractors, uh, or therapists could move about undetected, so it seemed better to not let you sense the coming end of the sequence.”
“It was too much.” Eames said, face utterly neutral, voice unfortunately lacking the husk that would make it feel as though Arthur really had been fucking his voice-box raw. “Pitch black in there mate, and I wouldn’t have said I felt at ease – if anything I felt more on guard.”
Arthur nodded. “It’s true, I felt more aggressive if anything – the darkness was too all-encompassing, freeing on some levels but not in the way you’d be needing. Your subjects might feel more inclined to attack rather than open themselves up.”
Yusuf scribbled madly away, ignoring his computer in favour of his already dog-eared notepad, a Garfield clipboard supporting his impassioned scrawling.
“Too dark,” he muttered, “Right – I suspected that might be the case, if you gentlemen will give me a day or so I’d like to run it again – with a few alterations of course.”
Eames nodded, smiling stiffly, and pushed himself to his feet.
“Well, then, if you’ve no further need of me...?” Yusuf waved him away, already waist deep in new calculations, so Eames turned, forcing himself to meet Arthur’s cool gaze.
“I’m off then. I’ll – uh, see you tomorrow.” Darling – it didn’t quite make it past his lips and he found himself wondering oddly if he could ever say it again now, turning numbly to pick up his jacket from where he’d left it crumpled on a chair.
“Dinner?” Arthur asked quietly.
Eames allowed himself to quiver and smother his grin before he chanced a look over his shoulder, meeting Arthur’s dark, steady gaze.
“Starving,” he confirmed and - teeth gleaming, predatory - Arthur smiled.
Fin.
N/B Yes I did TOTALLY steal the final dialogue from Sherlock but what can I say? Its just so SLASHY :P
