But then, he's not usually working on fumes. Maybe a part of him knows he's safe. Maybe a part of him is too tired to care. He's probably drooling into Arthur's expensive pillowcases, one arm shoved under and his mouth open as he breathes. Old habits still die hard. The sun kisses the curtains and Eames squirms, tries to block his eyes further. There's an ache in his bladder, he should move. Slowly the realisation comes that the bed is unfamiliar. Slowly he starts to recognise the scent of someone else. )
Mwarthur? ( Eloquent. Oh, his mouth is dry. One eyelid cracks half open, blinking. ) Whatsit?
( Hopefully he's not requiring sense. Give him a minute. )
[ Seeing as both of them lived a paranoid life, it takes about a few inhales before Eames stirs, the slow, deep rise and fall of his lungs changing as sleep's veil lifts. Once he's more sure the other man has woken and not just temporarily, he slides a hand to his waist, glad to have him close.
The barely awake mumble of his name draws a quiet laugh out of him and he tips his chin up to meet the half-open gaze of Eames, mouth still quirked at the corners. ]
Nothing, just turned over. You can go back to sleep, if you want. [ As tempting as it is to roll him over and sling a leg over his hips, he can restrain himself for the sake of Eames' rest. Raising his eyebrows in bemusement—he's sure he looks like a mess—he takes in the other man's decidedly morning look. His hair's cropped short, so the spikes of it aren't in total disarray. There are pillow creases, though, still faintly impressed on his cheek, and his normally clear eyes are bleary from having just shaken awake. Combined with the soft stream of the sun, he's so handsome that his heart gives a small squeeze at the sight. ]
Flattery won't get you everywhere—[ A partial lie, because he would let Eames do nearly anything to him. ]—but, go on.
( The slur remains, accent a little thicker this early in the morning. He's always been quick to put walls up, to gather his defences to him, but for some reason they're lacking in the here and now. This is Eames when he's not pretending. No mask, no smoke and mirrors, no act. His mouth curls, he rubs his cheek against the pillow case and blinks again. )
You're smiling, can't go back to sleep if you're smiling.
( It's sweet. He likes the look of it. One hand wriggles free from wherever it's been trapped, reaches out to press against Arthur's cheek, thumb at the crease of that very dear smile. What a beautiful sight. He itches to do something about it. But -.
The open mouthed sleeping, the needing to piss. Eames groans, presses his face back into the pillow. )
Promise to still be smiling in five minutes? I need to get up. Don't squirrel away, I have a very important task. ( Kissing. But he rolls onto his back with a deeply dissatisfied noise, points one finger at Arthur. ) Stay there.
Among other things. [ Arthur grants, not divulging what those things may be. This might be the start of something more serious for them, but he's gotta keep some of his aloof mystery.
Especially if he's going to endure the earnest surprise and affection Eames sees fit to dole out. Or even just the fact he can tell the forger's let his guard relax. Both of them have, the normally high walls they've built around themselves being lowered, letting the other person climb over.
Giving him an eye roll in response to the comment about smiling, he's amused nonetheless. That humor softens, as Eames reaches over thumbing the corner of his mouth, and Arthur shifts to move his hand up, fingers gently circled around the other man's wrist. He misses the pocket of warmth when Eames takes it with him, rolling over in the first attempt to leave the bed—presumably to use the bathroom.
Letting out a laugh, he shakes his head at the order to stay where he is. ]
I'm not gonna squirrel away from my own comfortable bed, Eames. I'll be here, go get some water and take a piss.
[ True to his word, he'll be where he'd been left, having raked a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. Dark strands are long enough to fan across the pillow a bit, their natural wave making him look years younger. ]
( He doesn't take long, lumbering out of the bed with the dramatics Arthur's fairly used to by now. He uses the bathroom, drinks some water, scrubs some of the other man's toothpaste onto his teeth with a forefinger. He looks at himself speculatively in the mirror and briefly wishes he were younger or that he hadn't spent so fucking long travelling, but oh well, it can't be helped. When he comes back he's still in just his underpants, hair a little neater, and he climbs right back onto the bed and into Arthur's space like he belongs there. )
Hello.
( More awake, more enunciated. He cups Arthur's jaw with one hand and slings a leg over his waist, effectively pinning him down with only the sheets between them. It makes him smile, toothy, pleased. ) Darling, I'm going to kiss you now.
( He doesn't wait for confirmation. Arthur can surely stop him if he wants to. He just leans in, presses their mouths together, firm and intent. )
[ The white noise of Eames moving through the house is pleasant, enough to make him relax into the pillow, the picture of indolence when the forger returns. He remains in a lazy sprawl even as the bed dips, Eames' weight settling across his waist. His breath hitches, though, at how he's been pinned in, a lick of heat crawling up his spine.
While he knows he would want him in any iteration, he has always liked how much broader Eames is, how easy it was for him to use that to his advantage. The brightness of his grin sells it even more.
So, there is no protest as he's kissed, Eames' mouth plush and warm against his. Sighing through his nose, he skims his hands up the other man's arms, giving his biceps a squeeze, before settling them on his shoulders, as if to keep him where he was. Letting the first press of their mouths remain closed, sweet almost, the second—after pulling away just enough—is slightly less so, as he nips playfully at Eames' bottom lip.
In the space between, he murmurs: ] Good morning, Mr. Eames.
( Has he ever been this happy? This entirely satisfied with rising from the bed, an entire day ahead of him? He doesn't think so. Arthur is soft here, he's willing, playful in a way rarely seen. He used to try and figure out ways to catch snatches of it. What would he have done if he knew all it took was honestly and possibly some poor mangled flowers? )
Did I say you look ravishing this morning, Arthur? ( Something along those lines, but Eames can be roguish too and Arthur's kiss has certainly ignited something in him. He presses their mouths together with more of a hum, teasing his tongue along a sweet lower lip, pleased with himself as his fingers creep up to curl in loose hair. ) You should wear your hair down more often. It suits you. Although I fear I'd have to fight anyone who caught a glimpse, so maybe not.
You haven't. That mean you're gonna ravish me, then? [ He asks, tone completely cheeky before he's being kissed again. Eames hums against his mouth, the vibration echoing against his teeth, his tongue, and sparking along his ribs. There's a wet swipe along his bottom lip and he tips his chin enough to chase it, releasing a quiet shudder of breath as Eames' fingers slide through the unruly wave of his hair.
It's the first time in a long while since anyone's seen him this unpolished. And he lets Eames take this version of him in, the one stripped bare of his layers. Wants him to understand this is why he takes great pains to don the armor of his criticisms, his practicality, his suits. What's happening right now—it's an exchange, because he's getting to see the other man without his capricious air or measured calculation. Instead, his eyes are full of naked honesty and wonder, as if he's been presented a gift. ]
I'd get mistaken for jailbait a lot more often if I did. Obviously, you'd be defending my innocence. [ Arthur flashes him a teasing grin, slipping his hands further, fingertips brushing along the forger's shoulder blades. Slowly, he drags them back, cupping either side of Eames' neck, thumbs lightly resting at the hinge of his jaw as he tugs him in for another kiss. This one starts open, slowly pressing in for more as he licks into his mouth with a soft groan. ]
( Sly, amused. A comment tossed out before he gets more with the programme, slotting their mouths together so that he can kiss the other man to the point of dizziness. It's sweet, hungry, but unhurried. The blanket remains between them, but there's very little room for propriety, not when Eames is siding is tongue between teeth like a well-versed thief, not when he rolls his hips down against Arthur's own, laughing at the little gasp in response. It echoes a second later though, his own body a warm thrum of energy, lips sliding away so he can kiss along the pale line of Arthur's throat. )
I don't think I'd be very well behaved if I'd seen you like this earlier, Arthur. ( Like a confession against his ear, the lobe taken between teeth to briefly tease. ) Actually, I think you'd have had to shoot me a few times, and even then -.
[ Or relieving him of it, indeed. Something he has no complaints about, especially as Eames follows that with a hungry kiss, indulgent. He's always been good with his mouth, both in and out of the bedroom, and he's putting those skills to work here, the slide of his tongue practiced and as light as his fingers could be. With very little effort, he's drawn a gasp from him, the teasing friction caught between them enough to have him arching up. Arthur wriggles a bit underneath him, only satisfied when he mirrors the roll of Eames' hips, the clothed press of their cocks and the kiss enough to make him light-headed. ]
No, I know you wouldn't have behaved. [ The knowing amusement is palpable, even around the hitch in his breath as he feels those lips on his neck. And moments later, the nip against his ear, words pressing into the skin with an enticing humidity. ] Why do you think I was such a bastard to you all the time? Otherwise, I would've had to break something important.
[ Mouth quirked softly at the corners, he brushes his thumbs along Eames' cheeks, impossibly fond. ]
Not your face though, because you are infuriatingly handsome. [ Perhaps emphasis on the infuriating part. Of course, in his true streak of romance: ] Now get off me so I can blow you.
( His laugh rocks through them both, shakes the mattress as he presses his face in the curve of Arthur's throat simply so he can't do something horridly embarrassing like propose marriage then and there. )
Somehow that is the most appealing come on I've ever heard, Arthur, and I'm worried it might mean something about me.
( The pointman's approach has always tickled him. He's a stickler for things, doesn't like unnecessary frills when things can be clean, streamlined, and obvious. To hear it here, like that, does something. Eames stops to at least kiss him the once, indulgently sweet, before he's rolling off of him, one arm curved under the back of his skull and the other settling palm down on his own belly, fingertips under the waistband of his underwear and his eyelashes fluttering dramatically. ) You know I'd never deny you anything. ( Honeyed, and playful. ) And I certainly can't say I've never thought about it. Any time that mouth of yours gets particularly foul -. Well.
[ Arthur grins at the gust of air against his neck as Eames bends with a laugh, genuine joy breaking free from them both. They spend so much of their lives playing roles that he feels near-weightless right now without any pretense hovering over his head. It fills his lungs, buoying the space around his heart. ]
I think it means you're a horny pervert, Eames. [ He teases as the two of them move, with the forger rolling off of him to lay on his back. Sitting up, he shifts onto his knees, tossing the other man an unserious eye roll at the dramatic flutter of his lashes. What a ham. ] Hopefully that's only been thinking, because I'd be worried about your dick getting chafed.
[ Most of the time, he's professional, keeping his foul mouth to a minimum. But, Eames has seen him under duress and at his most hostile, which tends to loosen the filter.
Situating himself between Eames' legs, he takes a few moments to really look, dark eyes dragging over the broadness of his shoulders and chest, the aged-faded lines of tattoos, the soft trail of hair on his belly that disappears into the waistband of his underwear. Momentarily satisfied, he drags his palms up Eames' well-muscled thighs, giving them a squeeze before he slides up to settle one hand on his hip. The other pries the forger's hand off his stomach, tilting it back enough for him to lean in and suck a couple of the relaxed digits into his mouth. Humming, he traces the swirls of those fingertips with his tongue, finally letting go after a few moments.
A preview, if you will.
Releasing his hand, he then turns his attention to his half-hard cock, tipping down to lightly brush his lips along the front. Hooking his fingers into the elastic band, he yanks the cloth down just enough to expose his erection, licking a long stripe up the length of it. Concentrated, he does this a few more times until the swell is easier to take in his mouth. When he does, it's only the head, tongue pressed to the frenulum just under it, and he sighs out a moan. ]
( Oh, he's absolutely done more than think about it, the leer he gives Arthur is testament to that. There have been many unfortunate nights he's spent with his hand on his cock imagining the darkly determined look Arthur gets with his on a gun, so. It shifts to a different feeling entirely when his fingers get pulled into the wet heat of a mouth, his eyes narrowing in strange focus, chest all seized up with the breath hitched behind his ribcage. He makes a noise in response, small and guttural, a desperate hiccup of it. It gives him away entirely. It makes his feelings on the matter obvious. Though that's nothing when compared to the low humming moan Eames gives when there's a pretty pink tongue on his cock, his fingers fisting in the sheets. )
Shit.
( Low, breathless, still with an adrenaline fuelled laugh. This feels entirely too much like a long con won, a fight prevailed against. It feels like a game he's come first place in. )
Ah, Arthur, you're out to kill me. A sight like that? ( His other hand moving to push hair from his forehead, thumb stroking along his skin. ) Look at you.
( Look at him indeed. Eames can barely keep his gaze anywhere but. )
[ The thing about Eames' focus is that it's hard to keep, sometimes. Oh, he rarely has to worry about his concentration drifting when they're working a job; they'd moved past that sort of thing years ago. But, the forger is a purveyor of people, constantly cataloguing the body language and tone of others around him. There's normally a piece of his attention dedicated to that, even if he's in conversation with him. Arthur had hated it, at first, thinking that he wasn't paying any mind to his words. He's learned differently, since then.
To be regarded with the full weight of Eames' gaze, though, without a single part of him idly thinking of something else—it's completely heady. Piercing, in some ways, like the other man can see straight through him. Despite how he slides his mouth further onto Eames' cock, a rosy flush crawls up his neck and cheeks, both from the attention and from the unmistakable throb of affection he can hear in his compliments.
The brush of his fingers along his brow sees Arthur tilting towards it, just a bit, much like a cat does to a beloved owner. Pulling his mouth off (and not at all minding the thread of saliva that remains connected momentarily), he curls his hand around him in a loose fist, slowly stroking. ]
If I do kill you, metaphorically, how soon can you get it up again? Because I think I really need to sit on your dick. [ He'd imagined being content with blowing him to completion, really, but as he starts to swallow him down again, he feels his whole gut clench in arousal, thinking of how good it would feel to have Eames stretch him open. Just as the thought slides across his mind, he leans lower, giving a low groan as the head of his cock brushes the back of his throat. His hands slip upwards, palms dragging down the forger's torso and curving to the angle of his hips. ]
( A delirious little curse, accent thick. He has to close his eyes at that, focus narrowing down to the warmth of a mouth and not whatever cock-torturing-image Arthur's taken to portraying. Already he feels it too much, arousal aching, body flushed. Has he ever been this quick to fall so deep? He doesn't think so. )
I think if you don't let me fuck you I'll have to do something drastic. And you know me, - h-ha - I've never done things by halves. ( The thought alone has his cock jumping against Arthur's tongue, his hand pushing deeper into lush, dark hair. He doesn't apply pressure, he's not really interested in turning this into anything more than it is, delicious heat and a spark burning along the shape of his spine. He likes testing the waters, likes letting it develop naturally. How soon -? ) You know I've been watching your arse since the day we met, don't you? It inspires great things, fuck, you feel good, it makes a man defy both logic and law. I'd assassinate the president if you told me that's how I'd get my hands on it, so you can damn well believe I'll get it fucking up.
( He laughs again, a little delirious, a little delighted. )
Arthur, darling. I'll do whatever you ask of me.
( He grins, cupping Arthur's cheek where he can feel the swell of himself. )
[ While neither of them are particularly easy to provoke into unraveling, Eames has always been more mouthy. Still, there's a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth when the other man curses, his eyes fluttering shut from sensation and the effect of his lobbed words.
Slowly, he bobs his head, letting Eames talk, the combined filth and warmth nudging his arousal higher. It makes him hot all over; the careful weight of the hand in his hair, the control he currently has over the stutter in Eames' breath, the way he seems patently unable to shut up, everything spilling from his mouth like he's let the dam walls down.
It, perhaps, has the desired effect. Perhaps, because Arthur has no idea if he meant for his talking to make him horny as hell, but it's working. Each new obscene sentence streaks down his spine, pools directly between his legs where his own cock is pressing insistently against the front of his boxer-briefs.
His eyes drift shut as the other man's palm cradles along his cheek, feeling both so cared for and turned on that he's a bit overwhelmed. With one last motion, he sinks all the way down on Eames, the tip of his nose brushing against the coarse curls between his thick thighs. Swallowing, his own hips give an aborted hitch before he pulls off, cupping his own hand over the other's to nuzzle against. ]
When was the last time I didn't notice something, Eames. [ Arthur raises an eyebrow at him, voice a bit raw. Uncurling, he shimmies out of his underwear, tossing the garment somewhere over the bed. Flush high on his cheeks and sprawling down his chest, he swings a leg over Eames' hips, shifting backwards enough to let his erection settle along his cleft.
Reaching forward, he cups his face in both his hands, an open and impossibly fond look on his expression. ]
You don't have to go to great lengths to prove yourself anymore, idiot. I've already let you in my home. I meant it, when I said I tried to get you out from under my skin and couldn't. [ And by Christ did he try. ] God or whatever fucking deity is out there help me, but it's always been you, for me.
For a moment that's all Eames can think about. It isn't something he'd legitimately considered he might get, beyond frustrated pining or petty little fantasies. They started off too like oil and water for anything real, and when the adrenaline switched to affection he still hadn't really let himself hope. That was for fools and children, and he was neither. But maybe he should have let himself consider that he might, because then he could have prepared for how earth-shatteringly good it is to get there. )
I still would.
( Prove himself, assassinate a president, fight entire armies.
Arthur's hands on his face are warm, and Eames smiles at him in a way that is oddly sweet, hands on his waist and a thumb stroking over the notch of his hip bone. He wants to bite him there later, wants to sink his teeth in and leave a mark. He wants to take his time and he wants to rush. It's a terrible conundrum. )
Arthur --. ( A little rough around the edges, mirrored hand sliding up to skate along his ribs, squeeze a pec. Then he becomes more himself, more teasing, more playful. ) - Tell me you have lube in your very nice house, darling. ( A thumb skating over a pert nipple, the edge of his nail scraping tauntingly. ) Otherwise I'm going to have to wander the streets looking for it.
[ He scoffs quietly—not out of disbelief, but more out of amusement. Of course Eames would still do something off the rails to prove himself. Of course. Hadn't he said as much before? That he doesn't do anything by halves? A trait both of them shared, for better or worse.
Stroking his thumbs across the forger's cheeks, relishing the rasps of stubble, he drinks in the softer look. Positively soaks up how Eames is looking at him as though he's both hung the moon and that he wants to consume him somehow. Arthur can only hope he's reflecting something similar back, because as Eames' big hands settle on his waist, a hunger flares low in his belly. It's spurred on as clever fingers trace the curve of his ribs and give his chest a squeeze, nipples perking at how the teasing brush draws a shiver from him.
Very slightly, he arches into the sensation, sliding his own hands away from Eames' face to skim along the breadth of his shoulders and then down to his pecs. ]
Of course I have lube—[ He starts, with a small laugh, before he transfers some of his weight to reach over to the nightstand. With the open and close of a drawer, he re-settles into his previous spot, bottle of lube in hand. ]—I might be a masochist sometimes, but I don't fuck myself dry.
[ And he'll just let that image percolate. As a follow up, he'll hold the bottle out for Eames to take. ] Here, since you asked. Wanna feel you stretch me out.
You once told me to go fuck myself with a hairbrush, so who knows what you're into?
( It was a prop, and Eames had been dressed like a beautiful woman then, leaning into Arthur's space all fluttering eyelashes and badly cinched bathrobe, taunting him because back in those days it was the only way he could get his attention. Now though, now there's something better at hand, and Eames takes the bottle of lube and folds it in a broad palm to warm it, head ducking upwards to catch the pointman's mouth in his. This kiss is slow, languid, the kind of kiss that gives away all of his earlier yearning. He kisses Arthur like he wants to steal the heart from him, like the use of tongue and teeth and lips might do it. He kisses Arthur until he's breathless, one hand against the hurried rise and fall of his ribcage.
When they pull away he laughs, and it's a delighted thing. It takes some shifting then. He holds Arthur close to his body, propping himself up against the headboard with a hum, the bottle cap loud when he opens it. Even then he still lets the lube sit on his fingers for a moment, grin sweetly mischievous, voice gone sly. )
Don't worry, darling. I know my fingers are big. I'll be careful.
( And he is. He drags his lips gently against a sharp jawline, arm curling around Arthur's waist so he can slide those slick fingers between his asscheeks, lube slippery. One, for now, light and teasing, pressing in slowly against the tight ring of muscle while Eames hums out a singular sound. )
[ The hairbrush comment sees him huffing a laugh, shaking his head a bit. That'd been so long ago, when the two of them had been at odds more often than not.
Clearly, they've come a ways since, because as Eames kisses him, he goes into it with a sense of greed. Lets the other man build the kiss with his lips and tongue and the occasional sting of teeth. Arthur loses himself in it, focuses only on how much he wants this, how he can feel something like desperation in each swipe of their tongues. But, it isn't the kind spurred on by dire circumstances or adrenaline, it's a bone-deep need, a spiral of yearning finally being allowed to peek out. By the time Eames pulls away, he's dizzy, flushed a rosy pink to the tips of his ears, and his mouth feels swollen, bruised. Joy blooms behind his ribs as steadily as desire settles in his hips when Eames laughs, the sound completely unfettered.
Loose-limbed, he allows himself to be maneuvered while the forger sits up, one broad hand at the small of his back to keep him close, steady. Lightly, his cock drags against the other man's belly, the friction enough to make him shiver from the sensitivity. ]
You don't have to be that careful, I'm not made of glass. [ Caution should perhaps be observed, since the last time he'd slid a dildo in was a number of weeks ago. Maybe even months. He's just so primed that the slippery push of a single finger feels incredible—Eames' hands really are bigger and broader than his. Something he knew and fantasized about frequently, because despite their thickness, Eames has very dexterous fingers. And he wants so badly to have them rocking in and out of him that one simply isn't enough to scratch the itch.
Head tilted back to give Eames space to kiss his neck, he drops his weight some, hips canted towards the intrusion. ]
Fuck, Eames, give me another. [ Arthur presses his palms to the forger's chest, uses that as leverage to fuck himself slowly on that digit. ] Thought about this before, you know. All because you couldn't stop playing with those stupid poker chips.
[ A habit he'd caught him doing on a job about a year or two into them knowing each other. ]
( An old-fashioned cluck of his tongue, Eames' teasing voice directed to the hollow of Arthur's throat as he drags his teeth lightly against his skin. They've known each other for long enough, worked together years now, so of course it feels as though his brain has to pick up like a spark on the command. He draws the first finger out so two can drag along the furled puckered muscle, teasing once, twice, a third time before he does as he's asked and pushes them both in, leaning back to let his dark gaze settle on Arthur's flushing face. )
I knew you were watching. That's why I did it. ( Simultaneously a nervous tic and a vying for attention, his grin sharp as he eases those fingers deeper, higher, stretching them as deep as he can before switching to shallow thrusts. His free hand settles against Arthur's waist, fingertips kneading much like a cat might, thumb over the sharp edge of his hip bone to hold him steady when he fucks his touch back into him. ) You always looked so hungry, Arthur. Do you know how many times I thought about just bending you over the nearest desk and showing you what they could do, mm?
( It is not quite time wasted. He thinks they needed to meander. He was an obnoxious twat in the beginning, mystified by beauty. Now he's spent the hours getting to know Arthur better, he's put in the energy in trying to prove it. It's worked out. He'd wait a century either way, especially for the noise Arthur makes when he gets his fingers deep enough, stroking. )
Christ. ( A little breathless himself. ) If I'd known how nicely you clung to my touch I don't think I'd have ever done any work. Arthur, sweetheart. You're so lovely. Is it good?
This may surprise you, but my patience doesn't run forever. [ Though he very much doubts that will shock him. Eames has seen him lose his temper before. Or seen him get fed up enough.
What's under his skin now, though, is a different burn. And Eames expertly stokes it, the light callouses of his fingertips dragging just right across his hole. Reflexively, he tries to follow the touch, breath stuttering when two fingers finally sink in. It's just to the first knuckle for a few moments before Eames slides them deeper, spreading them up on the inside. Greedy for it, Arthur clenches down, a low moan working its way out of him at the pressure. ]
Fuck, of course you were. Can't believe you thought me a cocktease.
[ Taking the hint from the hand on his waist, he tries to stay mostly still, only giving small shifts of his hips as those thick digits work him open. ] Probably as many times as I wanted to shove you into a chair and ride you raw.
[ An instinct he'd been annoyed by, in the beginning. Gradually, the irritation over it had faded, especially as Eames had shown his competence and strange brand of loyalty. By the time Arthur had felt like he could trust him implicitly, the hunger the forger mentions had grown and he'd been less shy about showing it on his face.
All those thoughts get driven out of his head when Eames' fingertips stroke against his prostate, making his cock jerk, a clear spurt of precome dripping onto the forger's stomach. Arthur's chin tips down, a sound like a whine getting caught in his throat as he grinds his hips down. ]
Stop fishing for compliments, you asshole, of course it's good. [ Gathering some of his wits back, he catches Eames' gaze, a fresh blush crawling across his face when he sees how enraptured those grey-blue eyes are, the obvious interest in his slightly parted lips. Unable to help himself, he leans in for a kiss, biting at that plush lower lip. ] Give me another so I can fit your ridiculous dick.
( Smug. Wherever or not his ridiculous dick needs it, he's always had a healthy sense of confidence and he likes this too much to give entirely. Arthur's all sharp teeth and sweet desire and he looks good like this, flushed with a pretty sheen of sweat building at his temples, across his shoulders, down his toned stomach. The forger watches a droplet form, fall, and thinks that next time he'll follow it with his tongue. For now the hand on his hip slides higher, once more thumbing over a pert nipple with a propriety kind of leer alighting Eames' face. He's hard himself, every little twitch of Arthur's body has his cock pressed against an inner thigh, hot and heavy and very much present. But it doesn't quite matter. At least not to him.
He's too busy trying to crack a man wide open. )
I was hoping you'd curse in bed. ( Delivered sweetly as the third finger is added to the play. This time he wastes no time in finding Arthur's prostate again, crooking his fingers deep and dragging them against the bundle of nerves as he does so. ) Though maybe we should worry I might develop some kind of Pavlovian response to it.
( Pop a stiffy the next time Arthur decides to ream him out in the middle of a firefight. His voice goes sly, gaze dragging down the length of Arthur's squirming body as he twists his wrist, starts shallowly fucking him with his fingers, the sound lube an interesting accompaniment. )
All I'll be thinking about is how pretty your cock looks when it wants something.
Four? Yeah, okay. [ Maybe that's overkill. It doesn't matter much, because the idea is thrilling enough. As Eames skims his thumb across a peaked nipple, he arches into the bare contact, hips hitching. The look the forger is leveling at him right now, on anyone else, would earn them a right hook. On Eames, though, it makes him feel hot all over, possessed in a way he wouldn't have thought he'd enjoy. ]
Like my filthy mouth, do you? [ His breathing goes a little funny on that last syllable, the feel of three fingers stretching his rim enough to add a delicious kind of burn. Each press eases it as well as adds to it, Eames' clever fingertips stroking his prostate without mercy. Letting out a long, loud moan, he shifts his hips, trying to get more of that friction and enjoying the secondary sensation of Eames' trapped cock dragging on the inside of his thigh. Sliding his hands up, he clings to the forger's shoulders, blunt nails digging in when Eames turns his wrist, lube making a slick sound as he fucks his fingers in and out. Arthur pushes up on his knees just a bit to help, hips dropping down with every push inwards. ] Fuck, fuck, like that.
[ It's not quite enough to get him all the way off, but it adds gasoline to the flame. With an equally sly smirk: ] Only how pretty my cock is, Mr. Eames? A bit shallow of you.
The rest of you, too. I'm ready to provide a list if you want it, but it is quite detailed. We might get off track. ( Unlikely, but he's enjoying this teasing. ) And I don't know about you, but with how well you're taking my fingers, I want to see how beautifully you take the rest of me too.
( He's hot, an inferno burning under the skin. Eames feels it licking up his fingers, along his shoulders where Arthur is holding on to him, the heat from his body a well-tended fire. He's sweating himself, can sense it along his hairline, like his body is honed with anticipation. Maybe it is, maybe it's always been. Maybe the two of them have forever been hurtling down this road, too fast, too wild for anything but the eventual collide. He likes it either way.
Likes too, the way Arthur's cock jumps when he finally drags his fingertips up the flushed length, smile showing a hint of a canine as he drags that calloused thumb over the slick flushed head. He holds Arthur's gaze when he lifts it away again, tongue darting out to lick at the lingering precome. Then he makes his expression innocent, sweet, dragging his fingers almost all the way out so only the tips are holding him open. )
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Date: 2025-09-06 02:38 pm (UTC)But then, he's not usually working on fumes. Maybe a part of him knows he's safe. Maybe a part of him is too tired to care. He's probably drooling into Arthur's expensive pillowcases, one arm shoved under and his mouth open as he breathes. Old habits still die hard. The sun kisses the curtains and Eames squirms, tries to block his eyes further. There's an ache in his bladder, he should move. Slowly the realisation comes that the bed is unfamiliar. Slowly he starts to recognise the scent of someone else. )
Mwarthur? ( Eloquent. Oh, his mouth is dry. One eyelid cracks half open, blinking. ) Whatsit?
( Hopefully he's not requiring sense. Give him a minute. )
Y'look good.
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Date: 2025-09-06 03:17 pm (UTC)The barely awake mumble of his name draws a quiet laugh out of him and he tips his chin up to meet the half-open gaze of Eames, mouth still quirked at the corners. ]
Nothing, just turned over. You can go back to sleep, if you want. [ As tempting as it is to roll him over and sling a leg over his hips, he can restrain himself for the sake of Eames' rest. Raising his eyebrows in bemusement—he's sure he looks like a mess—he takes in the other man's decidedly morning look. His hair's cropped short, so the spikes of it aren't in total disarray. There are pillow creases, though, still faintly impressed on his cheek, and his normally clear eyes are bleary from having just shaken awake. Combined with the soft stream of the sun, he's so handsome that his heart gives a small squeeze at the sight. ]
Flattery won't get you everywhere—[ A partial lie, because he would let Eames do nearly anything to him. ]—but, go on.
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Date: 2025-09-06 03:40 pm (UTC)( The slur remains, accent a little thicker this early in the morning. He's always been quick to put walls up, to gather his defences to him, but for some reason they're lacking in the here and now. This is Eames when he's not pretending. No mask, no smoke and mirrors, no act. His mouth curls, he rubs his cheek against the pillow case and blinks again. )
You're smiling, can't go back to sleep if you're smiling.
( It's sweet. He likes the look of it. One hand wriggles free from wherever it's been trapped, reaches out to press against Arthur's cheek, thumb at the crease of that very dear smile. What a beautiful sight. He itches to do something about it. But -.
The open mouthed sleeping, the needing to piss. Eames groans, presses his face back into the pillow. )
Promise to still be smiling in five minutes? I need to get up. Don't squirrel away, I have a very important task. ( Kissing. But he rolls onto his back with a deeply dissatisfied noise, points one finger at Arthur. ) Stay there.
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Date: 2025-09-06 04:03 pm (UTC)Especially if he's going to endure the earnest surprise and affection Eames sees fit to dole out. Or even just the fact he can tell the forger's let his guard relax. Both of them have, the normally high walls they've built around themselves being lowered, letting the other person climb over.
Giving him an eye roll in response to the comment about smiling, he's amused nonetheless. That humor softens, as Eames reaches over thumbing the corner of his mouth, and Arthur shifts to move his hand up, fingers gently circled around the other man's wrist. He misses the pocket of warmth when Eames takes it with him, rolling over in the first attempt to leave the bed—presumably to use the bathroom.
Letting out a laugh, he shakes his head at the order to stay where he is. ]
I'm not gonna squirrel away from my own comfortable bed, Eames. I'll be here, go get some water and take a piss.
[ True to his word, he'll be where he'd been left, having raked a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. Dark strands are long enough to fan across the pillow a bit, their natural wave making him look years younger. ]
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Date: 2025-09-06 04:16 pm (UTC)Hello.
( More awake, more enunciated. He cups Arthur's jaw with one hand and slings a leg over his waist, effectively pinning him down with only the sheets between them. It makes him smile, toothy, pleased. ) Darling, I'm going to kiss you now.
( He doesn't wait for confirmation. Arthur can surely stop him if he wants to. He just leans in, presses their mouths together, firm and intent. )
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Date: 2025-09-06 04:58 pm (UTC)While he knows he would want him in any iteration, he has always liked how much broader Eames is, how easy it was for him to use that to his advantage. The brightness of his grin sells it even more.
So, there is no protest as he's kissed, Eames' mouth plush and warm against his. Sighing through his nose, he skims his hands up the other man's arms, giving his biceps a squeeze, before settling them on his shoulders, as if to keep him where he was. Letting the first press of their mouths remain closed, sweet almost, the second—after pulling away just enough—is slightly less so, as he nips playfully at Eames' bottom lip.
In the space between, he murmurs: ] Good morning, Mr. Eames.
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Date: 2025-09-07 12:43 pm (UTC)( Has he ever been this happy? This entirely satisfied with rising from the bed, an entire day ahead of him? He doesn't think so. Arthur is soft here, he's willing, playful in a way rarely seen. He used to try and figure out ways to catch snatches of it. What would he have done if he knew all it took was honestly and possibly some poor mangled flowers? )
Did I say you look ravishing this morning, Arthur? ( Something along those lines, but Eames can be roguish too and Arthur's kiss has certainly ignited something in him. He presses their mouths together with more of a hum, teasing his tongue along a sweet lower lip, pleased with himself as his fingers creep up to curl in loose hair. ) You should wear your hair down more often. It suits you. Although I fear I'd have to fight anyone who caught a glimpse, so maybe not.
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Date: 2025-09-07 03:08 pm (UTC)It's the first time in a long while since anyone's seen him this unpolished. And he lets Eames take this version of him in, the one stripped bare of his layers. Wants him to understand this is why he takes great pains to don the armor of his criticisms, his practicality, his suits. What's happening right now—it's an exchange, because he's getting to see the other man without his capricious air or measured calculation. Instead, his eyes are full of naked honesty and wonder, as if he's been presented a gift. ]
I'd get mistaken for jailbait a lot more often if I did. Obviously, you'd be defending my innocence. [ Arthur flashes him a teasing grin, slipping his hands further, fingertips brushing along the forger's shoulder blades. Slowly, he drags them back, cupping either side of Eames' neck, thumbs lightly resting at the hinge of his jaw as he tugs him in for another kiss. This one starts open, slowly pressing in for more as he licks into his mouth with a soft groan. ]
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Date: 2025-09-08 04:09 pm (UTC)( Sly, amused. A comment tossed out before he gets more with the programme, slotting their mouths together so that he can kiss the other man to the point of dizziness. It's sweet, hungry, but unhurried. The blanket remains between them, but there's very little room for propriety, not when Eames is siding is tongue between teeth like a well-versed thief, not when he rolls his hips down against Arthur's own, laughing at the little gasp in response. It echoes a second later though, his own body a warm thrum of energy, lips sliding away so he can kiss along the pale line of Arthur's throat. )
I don't think I'd be very well behaved if I'd seen you like this earlier, Arthur. ( Like a confession against his ear, the lobe taken between teeth to briefly tease. ) Actually, I think you'd have had to shoot me a few times, and even then -.
( A low laugh, leaning back to catch his eye. )
You know I find beautiful things hard to resist.
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Date: 2025-09-08 05:05 pm (UTC)No, I know you wouldn't have behaved. [ The knowing amusement is palpable, even around the hitch in his breath as he feels those lips on his neck. And moments later, the nip against his ear, words pressing into the skin with an enticing humidity. ] Why do you think I was such a bastard to you all the time? Otherwise, I would've had to break something important.
[ Mouth quirked softly at the corners, he brushes his thumbs along Eames' cheeks, impossibly fond. ]
Not your face though, because you are infuriatingly handsome. [ Perhaps emphasis on the infuriating part. Of course, in his true streak of romance: ] Now get off me so I can blow you.
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Date: 2025-09-08 07:58 pm (UTC)Somehow that is the most appealing come on I've ever heard, Arthur, and I'm worried it might mean something about me.
( The pointman's approach has always tickled him. He's a stickler for things, doesn't like unnecessary frills when things can be clean, streamlined, and obvious. To hear it here, like that, does something. Eames stops to at least kiss him the once, indulgently sweet, before he's rolling off of him, one arm curved under the back of his skull and the other settling palm down on his own belly, fingertips under the waistband of his underwear and his eyelashes fluttering dramatically. ) You know I'd never deny you anything. ( Honeyed, and playful. ) And I certainly can't say I've never thought about it. Any time that mouth of yours gets particularly foul -. Well.
( A quirk of his mouth. )
Come here then, show me what you've got.
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Date: 2025-09-08 08:41 pm (UTC)I think it means you're a horny pervert, Eames. [ He teases as the two of them move, with the forger rolling off of him to lay on his back. Sitting up, he shifts onto his knees, tossing the other man an unserious eye roll at the dramatic flutter of his lashes. What a ham. ] Hopefully that's only been thinking, because I'd be worried about your dick getting chafed.
[ Most of the time, he's professional, keeping his foul mouth to a minimum. But, Eames has seen him under duress and at his most hostile, which tends to loosen the filter.
Situating himself between Eames' legs, he takes a few moments to really look, dark eyes dragging over the broadness of his shoulders and chest, the aged-faded lines of tattoos, the soft trail of hair on his belly that disappears into the waistband of his underwear. Momentarily satisfied, he drags his palms up Eames' well-muscled thighs, giving them a squeeze before he slides up to settle one hand on his hip. The other pries the forger's hand off his stomach, tilting it back enough for him to lean in and suck a couple of the relaxed digits into his mouth. Humming, he traces the swirls of those fingertips with his tongue, finally letting go after a few moments.
A preview, if you will.
Releasing his hand, he then turns his attention to his half-hard cock, tipping down to lightly brush his lips along the front. Hooking his fingers into the elastic band, he yanks the cloth down just enough to expose his erection, licking a long stripe up the length of it. Concentrated, he does this a few more times until the swell is easier to take in his mouth. When he does, it's only the head, tongue pressed to the frenulum just under it, and he sighs out a moan. ]
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Date: 2025-09-10 05:06 pm (UTC)Shit.
( Low, breathless, still with an adrenaline fuelled laugh. This feels entirely too much like a long con won, a fight prevailed against. It feels like a game he's come first place in. )
Ah, Arthur, you're out to kill me. A sight like that? ( His other hand moving to push hair from his forehead, thumb stroking along his skin. ) Look at you.
( Look at him indeed. Eames can barely keep his gaze anywhere but. )
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Date: 2025-09-10 05:43 pm (UTC)To be regarded with the full weight of Eames' gaze, though, without a single part of him idly thinking of something else—it's completely heady. Piercing, in some ways, like the other man can see straight through him. Despite how he slides his mouth further onto Eames' cock, a rosy flush crawls up his neck and cheeks, both from the attention and from the unmistakable throb of affection he can hear in his compliments.
The brush of his fingers along his brow sees Arthur tilting towards it, just a bit, much like a cat does to a beloved owner. Pulling his mouth off (and not at all minding the thread of saliva that remains connected momentarily), he curls his hand around him in a loose fist, slowly stroking. ]
If I do kill you, metaphorically, how soon can you get it up again? Because I think I really need to sit on your dick. [ He'd imagined being content with blowing him to completion, really, but as he starts to swallow him down again, he feels his whole gut clench in arousal, thinking of how good it would feel to have Eames stretch him open. Just as the thought slides across his mind, he leans lower, giving a low groan as the head of his cock brushes the back of his throat. His hands slip upwards, palms dragging down the forger's torso and curving to the angle of his hips. ]
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Date: 2025-09-10 06:01 pm (UTC)( A delirious little curse, accent thick. He has to close his eyes at that, focus narrowing down to the warmth of a mouth and not whatever cock-torturing-image Arthur's taken to portraying. Already he feels it too much, arousal aching, body flushed. Has he ever been this quick to fall so deep? He doesn't think so. )
I think if you don't let me fuck you I'll have to do something drastic. And you know me, - h-ha - I've never done things by halves. ( The thought alone has his cock jumping against Arthur's tongue, his hand pushing deeper into lush, dark hair. He doesn't apply pressure, he's not really interested in turning this into anything more than it is, delicious heat and a spark burning along the shape of his spine. He likes testing the waters, likes letting it develop naturally. How soon -? ) You know I've been watching your arse since the day we met, don't you? It inspires great things, fuck, you feel good, it makes a man defy both logic and law. I'd assassinate the president if you told me that's how I'd get my hands on it, so you can damn well believe I'll get it fucking up.
( He laughs again, a little delirious, a little delighted. )
Arthur, darling. I'll do whatever you ask of me.
( He grins, cupping Arthur's cheek where he can feel the swell of himself. )
Let me, won't you?
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Date: 2025-09-10 06:59 pm (UTC)Slowly, he bobs his head, letting Eames talk, the combined filth and warmth nudging his arousal higher. It makes him hot all over; the careful weight of the hand in his hair, the control he currently has over the stutter in Eames' breath, the way he seems patently unable to shut up, everything spilling from his mouth like he's let the dam walls down.
It, perhaps, has the desired effect. Perhaps, because Arthur has no idea if he meant for his talking to make him horny as hell, but it's working. Each new obscene sentence streaks down his spine, pools directly between his legs where his own cock is pressing insistently against the front of his boxer-briefs.
His eyes drift shut as the other man's palm cradles along his cheek, feeling both so cared for and turned on that he's a bit overwhelmed. With one last motion, he sinks all the way down on Eames, the tip of his nose brushing against the coarse curls between his thick thighs. Swallowing, his own hips give an aborted hitch before he pulls off, cupping his own hand over the other's to nuzzle against. ]
When was the last time I didn't notice something, Eames. [ Arthur raises an eyebrow at him, voice a bit raw. Uncurling, he shimmies out of his underwear, tossing the garment somewhere over the bed. Flush high on his cheeks and sprawling down his chest, he swings a leg over Eames' hips, shifting backwards enough to let his erection settle along his cleft.
Reaching forward, he cups his face in both his hands, an open and impossibly fond look on his expression. ]
You don't have to go to great lengths to prove yourself anymore, idiot. I've already let you in my home. I meant it, when I said I tried to get you out from under my skin and couldn't. [ And by Christ did he try. ] God or whatever fucking deity is out there help me, but it's always been you, for me.
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Date: 2025-09-11 02:13 pm (UTC)Arthur is naked.
For a moment that's all Eames can think about. It isn't something he'd legitimately considered he might get, beyond frustrated pining or petty little fantasies. They started off too like oil and water for anything real, and when the adrenaline switched to affection he still hadn't really let himself hope. That was for fools and children, and he was neither. But maybe he should have let himself consider that he might, because then he could have prepared for how earth-shatteringly good it is to get there. )
I still would.
( Prove himself, assassinate a president, fight entire armies.
Arthur's hands on his face are warm, and Eames smiles at him in a way that is oddly sweet, hands on his waist and a thumb stroking over the notch of his hip bone. He wants to bite him there later, wants to sink his teeth in and leave a mark. He wants to take his time and he wants to rush. It's a terrible conundrum. )
Arthur --. ( A little rough around the edges, mirrored hand sliding up to skate along his ribs, squeeze a pec. Then he becomes more himself, more teasing, more playful. ) - Tell me you have lube in your very nice house, darling. ( A thumb skating over a pert nipple, the edge of his nail scraping tauntingly. ) Otherwise I'm going to have to wander the streets looking for it.
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Date: 2025-09-11 03:37 pm (UTC)Stroking his thumbs across the forger's cheeks, relishing the rasps of stubble, he drinks in the softer look. Positively soaks up how Eames is looking at him as though he's both hung the moon and that he wants to consume him somehow. Arthur can only hope he's reflecting something similar back, because as Eames' big hands settle on his waist, a hunger flares low in his belly. It's spurred on as clever fingers trace the curve of his ribs and give his chest a squeeze, nipples perking at how the teasing brush draws a shiver from him.
Very slightly, he arches into the sensation, sliding his own hands away from Eames' face to skim along the breadth of his shoulders and then down to his pecs. ]
Of course I have lube—[ He starts, with a small laugh, before he transfers some of his weight to reach over to the nightstand. With the open and close of a drawer, he re-settles into his previous spot, bottle of lube in hand. ]—I might be a masochist sometimes, but I don't fuck myself dry.
[ And he'll just let that image percolate. As a follow up, he'll hold the bottle out for Eames to take. ] Here, since you asked. Wanna feel you stretch me out.
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Date: 2025-09-12 04:33 pm (UTC)( It was a prop, and Eames had been dressed like a beautiful woman then, leaning into Arthur's space all fluttering eyelashes and badly cinched bathrobe, taunting him because back in those days it was the only way he could get his attention. Now though, now there's something better at hand, and Eames takes the bottle of lube and folds it in a broad palm to warm it, head ducking upwards to catch the pointman's mouth in his. This kiss is slow, languid, the kind of kiss that gives away all of his earlier yearning. He kisses Arthur like he wants to steal the heart from him, like the use of tongue and teeth and lips might do it. He kisses Arthur until he's breathless, one hand against the hurried rise and fall of his ribcage.
When they pull away he laughs, and it's a delighted thing. It takes some shifting then. He holds Arthur close to his body, propping himself up against the headboard with a hum, the bottle cap loud when he opens it. Even then he still lets the lube sit on his fingers for a moment, grin sweetly mischievous, voice gone sly. )
Don't worry, darling. I know my fingers are big. I'll be careful.
( And he is. He drags his lips gently against a sharp jawline, arm curling around Arthur's waist so he can slide those slick fingers between his asscheeks, lube slippery. One, for now, light and teasing, pressing in slowly against the tight ring of muscle while Eames hums out a singular sound. )
Easy, I've got you.
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Date: 2025-09-12 07:07 pm (UTC)Clearly, they've come a ways since, because as Eames kisses him, he goes into it with a sense of greed. Lets the other man build the kiss with his lips and tongue and the occasional sting of teeth. Arthur loses himself in it, focuses only on how much he wants this, how he can feel something like desperation in each swipe of their tongues. But, it isn't the kind spurred on by dire circumstances or adrenaline, it's a bone-deep need, a spiral of yearning finally being allowed to peek out. By the time Eames pulls away, he's dizzy, flushed a rosy pink to the tips of his ears, and his mouth feels swollen, bruised. Joy blooms behind his ribs as steadily as desire settles in his hips when Eames laughs, the sound completely unfettered.
Loose-limbed, he allows himself to be maneuvered while the forger sits up, one broad hand at the small of his back to keep him close, steady. Lightly, his cock drags against the other man's belly, the friction enough to make him shiver from the sensitivity. ]
You don't have to be that careful, I'm not made of glass. [ Caution should perhaps be observed, since the last time he'd slid a dildo in was a number of weeks ago. Maybe even months. He's just so primed that the slippery push of a single finger feels incredible—Eames' hands really are bigger and broader than his. Something he knew and fantasized about frequently, because despite their thickness, Eames has very dexterous fingers. And he wants so badly to have them rocking in and out of him that one simply isn't enough to scratch the itch.
Head tilted back to give Eames space to kiss his neck, he drops his weight some, hips canted towards the intrusion. ]
Fuck, Eames, give me another. [ Arthur presses his palms to the forger's chest, uses that as leverage to fuck himself slowly on that digit. ] Thought about this before, you know. All because you couldn't stop playing with those stupid poker chips.
[ A habit he'd caught him doing on a job about a year or two into them knowing each other. ]
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Date: 2025-09-13 02:14 pm (UTC)( An old-fashioned cluck of his tongue, Eames' teasing voice directed to the hollow of Arthur's throat as he drags his teeth lightly against his skin. They've known each other for long enough, worked together years now, so of course it feels as though his brain has to pick up like a spark on the command. He draws the first finger out so two can drag along the furled puckered muscle, teasing once, twice, a third time before he does as he's asked and pushes them both in, leaning back to let his dark gaze settle on Arthur's flushing face. )
I knew you were watching. That's why I did it. ( Simultaneously a nervous tic and a vying for attention, his grin sharp as he eases those fingers deeper, higher, stretching them as deep as he can before switching to shallow thrusts. His free hand settles against Arthur's waist, fingertips kneading much like a cat might, thumb over the sharp edge of his hip bone to hold him steady when he fucks his touch back into him. ) You always looked so hungry, Arthur. Do you know how many times I thought about just bending you over the nearest desk and showing you what they could do, mm?
( It is not quite time wasted. He thinks they needed to meander. He was an obnoxious twat in the beginning, mystified by beauty. Now he's spent the hours getting to know Arthur better, he's put in the energy in trying to prove it. It's worked out. He'd wait a century either way, especially for the noise Arthur makes when he gets his fingers deep enough, stroking. )
Christ. ( A little breathless himself. ) If I'd known how nicely you clung to my touch I don't think I'd have ever done any work. Arthur, sweetheart. You're so lovely. Is it good?
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Date: 2025-09-13 03:35 pm (UTC)What's under his skin now, though, is a different burn. And Eames expertly stokes it, the light callouses of his fingertips dragging just right across his hole. Reflexively, he tries to follow the touch, breath stuttering when two fingers finally sink in. It's just to the first knuckle for a few moments before Eames slides them deeper, spreading them up on the inside. Greedy for it, Arthur clenches down, a low moan working its way out of him at the pressure. ]
Fuck, of course you were. Can't believe you thought me a cocktease.
[ Taking the hint from the hand on his waist, he tries to stay mostly still, only giving small shifts of his hips as those thick digits work him open. ] Probably as many times as I wanted to shove you into a chair and ride you raw.
[ An instinct he'd been annoyed by, in the beginning. Gradually, the irritation over it had faded, especially as Eames had shown his competence and strange brand of loyalty. By the time Arthur had felt like he could trust him implicitly, the hunger the forger mentions had grown and he'd been less shy about showing it on his face.
All those thoughts get driven out of his head when Eames' fingertips stroke against his prostate, making his cock jerk, a clear spurt of precome dripping onto the forger's stomach. Arthur's chin tips down, a sound like a whine getting caught in his throat as he grinds his hips down. ]
Stop fishing for compliments, you asshole, of course it's good. [ Gathering some of his wits back, he catches Eames' gaze, a fresh blush crawling across his face when he sees how enraptured those grey-blue eyes are, the obvious interest in his slightly parted lips. Unable to help himself, he leans in for a kiss, biting at that plush lower lip. ] Give me another so I can fit your ridiculous dick.
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Date: 2025-09-13 04:30 pm (UTC)( Smug. Wherever or not his ridiculous dick needs it, he's always had a healthy sense of confidence and he likes this too much to give entirely. Arthur's all sharp teeth and sweet desire and he looks good like this, flushed with a pretty sheen of sweat building at his temples, across his shoulders, down his toned stomach. The forger watches a droplet form, fall, and thinks that next time he'll follow it with his tongue. For now the hand on his hip slides higher, once more thumbing over a pert nipple with a propriety kind of leer alighting Eames' face. He's hard himself, every little twitch of Arthur's body has his cock pressed against an inner thigh, hot and heavy and very much present. But it doesn't quite matter. At least not to him.
He's too busy trying to crack a man wide open. )
I was hoping you'd curse in bed. ( Delivered sweetly as the third finger is added to the play. This time he wastes no time in finding Arthur's prostate again, crooking his fingers deep and dragging them against the bundle of nerves as he does so. ) Though maybe we should worry I might develop some kind of Pavlovian response to it.
( Pop a stiffy the next time Arthur decides to ream him out in the middle of a firefight. His voice goes sly, gaze dragging down the length of Arthur's squirming body as he twists his wrist, starts shallowly fucking him with his fingers, the sound lube an interesting accompaniment. )
All I'll be thinking about is how pretty your cock looks when it wants something.
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Date: 2025-09-14 05:37 am (UTC)Like my filthy mouth, do you? [ His breathing goes a little funny on that last syllable, the feel of three fingers stretching his rim enough to add a delicious kind of burn. Each press eases it as well as adds to it, Eames' clever fingertips stroking his prostate without mercy. Letting out a long, loud moan, he shifts his hips, trying to get more of that friction and enjoying the secondary sensation of Eames' trapped cock dragging on the inside of his thigh. Sliding his hands up, he clings to the forger's shoulders, blunt nails digging in when Eames turns his wrist, lube making a slick sound as he fucks his fingers in and out. Arthur pushes up on his knees just a bit to help, hips dropping down with every push inwards. ] Fuck, fuck, like that.
[ It's not quite enough to get him all the way off, but it adds gasoline to the flame. With an equally sly smirk: ] Only how pretty my cock is, Mr. Eames? A bit shallow of you.
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Date: 2025-09-14 03:16 pm (UTC)( He's hot, an inferno burning under the skin. Eames feels it licking up his fingers, along his shoulders where Arthur is holding on to him, the heat from his body a well-tended fire. He's sweating himself, can sense it along his hairline, like his body is honed with anticipation. Maybe it is, maybe it's always been. Maybe the two of them have forever been hurtling down this road, too fast, too wild for anything but the eventual collide. He likes it either way.
Likes too, the way Arthur's cock jumps when he finally drags his fingertips up the flushed length, smile showing a hint of a canine as he drags that calloused thumb over the slick flushed head. He holds Arthur's gaze when he lifts it away again, tongue darting out to lick at the lingering precome. Then he makes his expression innocent, sweet, dragging his fingers almost all the way out so only the tips are holding him open. )
What? You already had a taste. Fair's fair.
( And then, offhand. )
Do we need protection, Arthur?
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