[ With Eames leaning into him, there's a delightful, complicated spark. His weight is just enough to make him feel enclosed, his mind quieting with the sensation. Under that is still a potent burn of desire, skittering along all his nerve endings from how closely they're pressed together. Bone-deep, though, there's a similar swell of emotion as Eames hum his acknowledgement, too overwhelmed for words. Arthur's smile softens as he tilts his cheek to Eames' hair, a hand affectionately petting down his neck and back.
His palm cups his shoulder as the forger sits back up, wanting to keep as much contact as possible. If Eames' gaze is a little watery—well, he isn't going to say anything. ]
Why would I—[ His words cut off with a hitch of breath, followed by a pornographic moan as Eames drives his cock in, hitting his prostate on every slide in. Whatever desire had lowered to a simmer in their interlude is ratcheted back up with dizzying precision, enough that he can't stop the overstimulated whine that escapes when a hand closes around his dick. ]
Fuck, just like that, you—[ He gasps, thighs and hole squeezing around Eames during a particularly hard thrust. ]—I don't need your hand.
[ Not that he's complaining, really, but he likes the thought of being able to come without the external help. That he can get release with just the internal stimulation and the frantic need thrumming in his pulse. ]
( There's a dark little rumble in his voice, a warm thrum of desire. He strokes Arthur once more, root to tip and then his hand falls away back to his hips, holding him there and still so he can only take Eames' cock. Skin slippery to the touch, Eames thick fingers flex and then resettle into marks that will linger still tomorrow. He snaps his hips sharply, burying himself deep enough to elicit a moan, his breath catching on the sound. )
Fuck, Arthur.
( It's the heat, he thinks. Arthur is so warm, so tight. He's sinful to the touch and pretty enough that Eames could cry from it if he weren't busy. Splayed across the sheets like a dream, pink and glistening. Eames loves him. )
Come for me, sweetheart. ( The steady tempo of their bodies making the words peak and dip like a song. He'll do this for however long it takes, enjoys the ache in his spine and the burn in his gut and Arthur, always Arthur. ) Come for me, Arthur. I really want you to.
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Date: 2026-02-21 06:31 pm (UTC)His palm cups his shoulder as the forger sits back up, wanting to keep as much contact as possible. If Eames' gaze is a little watery—well, he isn't going to say anything. ]
Why would I—[ His words cut off with a hitch of breath, followed by a pornographic moan as Eames drives his cock in, hitting his prostate on every slide in. Whatever desire had lowered to a simmer in their interlude is ratcheted back up with dizzying precision, enough that he can't stop the overstimulated whine that escapes when a hand closes around his dick. ]
Fuck, just like that, you—[ He gasps, thighs and hole squeezing around Eames during a particularly hard thrust. ]—I don't need your hand.
[ Not that he's complaining, really, but he likes the thought of being able to come without the external help. That he can get release with just the internal stimulation and the frantic need thrumming in his pulse. ]
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Date: 2026-02-22 02:38 pm (UTC)( There's a dark little rumble in his voice, a warm thrum of desire. He strokes Arthur once more, root to tip and then his hand falls away back to his hips, holding him there and still so he can only take Eames' cock. Skin slippery to the touch, Eames thick fingers flex and then resettle into marks that will linger still tomorrow. He snaps his hips sharply, burying himself deep enough to elicit a moan, his breath catching on the sound. )
Fuck, Arthur.
( It's the heat, he thinks. Arthur is so warm, so tight. He's sinful to the touch and pretty enough that Eames could cry from it if he weren't busy. Splayed across the sheets like a dream, pink and glistening. Eames loves him. )
Come for me, sweetheart. ( The steady tempo of their bodies making the words peak and dip like a song. He'll do this for however long it takes, enjoys the ache in his spine and the burn in his gut and Arthur, always Arthur. ) Come for me, Arthur. I really want you to.