Fic: "The Row," Inception, Arthur/Saito, NC-17
The Row
Author:
beetle_comma_the
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Saito
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: Approx. 3300
Disclaimer: As far as I know, Inception belongs to Nolan.
Notes: Post Inception by one year. A sequel to Fucking Perfect, but can be read as a standalone.
Summary: Written for the
inception_kink prompt: ' Something totally mundane ruins their date night and they bicker about it all the way home. The arguing doesn't stop even as they get into the apartment and methodically start taking off their clothes. Then, sex. Just show me these two acting like an old married couple.' It went a little off the Reservation. Sorry.
“. . . and then you had the nerve to tip the little guttersnipe a hundred bucks!”
Jiro Saito sighs as Arthur Drassos lets them into their penthouse. As usual Jiro's the one to flip on the light switch. Arthur has a tendency to walk around their home in the dark. But he has yet to bang his shin or trip over furniture, as far as Jiro knows.
“And don’t you sigh like I’m being tiresome, either,” Arthur goes on, pausing to hang his dinner jacket on the coat-rack. When he turns to Jiro, he looks oddly naked. And rather pissed-off, as Americans like to say. “I have every right to be upset. Our waitress was flirting with you right in front of me, and not only did you not call her on it, but you fucking flirted back! How in the hell do you think that makes me feel?”
Jiro sighs again, removing and hanging up his own jacket. “Apparently it makes you quite angry.”
Arthur glares at him for several uncomfortable moments, then his shoulders sag and his face closes up.
“That’s it. I’m angry. Hole in one, sweetheart,” Arthur says, sounding weary and unhappy. Feeling weary and unhappy himself, but unwilling to let this . . . silliness fester between them, Jiro crosses the living room, stopping less than a foot away from Arthur, who doesn’t look at him. In fact, he crosses his arms obstinately and stares anywhere but at Jiro.
“Arthur, my love,” Jiro starts, taking Arthur’s elbows in his hands and pulling him closer. Angry though he is, Arthur doesn’t object when Jiro leans in and kisses his neck. “I made you angry, and I am sorry.”
Arthur laughs ruefully and shakes his head, taking a step back. “You don’t even know what to be sorry for. You’re just trying to keep the peace with a token apology. Isn’t that right?” Dark eyes search Jiro’s own and he tries on an ironic smile.
“Then perhaps you could tell me what I am sorry for?”
“Damnit, do not make me out to be the unreasonable one, here!” Arthur explodes, his cheeks a hectic red and his eyes shining. Jiro can feel the anger baking off him like heat . . . at least until Arthur looks away and crosses his arms again. With a near tangible rallying of will, he gets himself under his customary rigid control (control he rarely bothers with around Jiro anymore) and smiles mirthlessly. “You know what-never mind. This isn’t getting us anywhere. You don’t get it and I suppose I shouldn’t expect you to. I’m going to bed. I won’t wait up for you.”
Before Arthur can do more than pull away, Jiro’s caught him by one arm and pulled him close again. Arthur glares into his eyes, jaw clenched so tight a vein at his temple is visibly throbbing.
“Don’t you have a company to sink, or take over?”
Jiro shakes his head. “I have nothing to do that is more important than you,” he replies simply, and Arthur’s glare is replaced by a startled, vulnerable sort of gape. Ever the shrewd opportunist, Jiro pulls Arthur against him-angry, he may be, but he’s hard enough for Jiro to feel in those form fitting, tailored slacks-and kisses him lightly.
At first, Arthur doesn’t respond at all. Then he’s returning the kiss desperately, urgently, as his arms wind around Jiro’s neck. He tastes like dark chocolate and expensive champagne, and his body burns like a flame in Jiro’s arms.
“I don’t wanna be angry with you, Jiro,” Arthur whispers between kisses, his arms panic-tight. But Jiro doesn’t mind at all.
“Then don’t be.” He rests one hand on the curve of Arthur’s ass, and the other palms the back of Arthur’s neck, soothing away some of the tension there.
Arthur moans, and it sounds half-wanton and half-frustrated. “It’s not that easy, babe, and you know it. Or you should.” He’s the one to sigh, this time. When he pulls out of Jiro’s arms yet again, his gaze is searching, once more.
Then he stalks toward off toward the hall that leads to their bedroom. Halfway there, he stops, glances back at Jiro, and raises one straight, dark brow. Then he’s walking again unbuttoning his vest as he goes, his unspoken invitation to Jiro hanging about in the air like a question.
Yes . . . oh, yes, is Jiro’s answer, and he follows Arthur down the hall, unbuttoning his own vest, and shirt as he goes.
When he gets to their bedroom, the lights are, of course, out. He closes the door and feels for the switch to turn them on, but a hand covers his own.
“Leave ‘em off,” Arthur commands gruffly. Then his hands are on Jiro’s chest, his lips on Jiro’s lips, kissing away any reply Jiro might have had. He still tastes like chocolate and champagne, and his tongue presses relentlessly into Jiro’s mouth.
Jiro rests his hands on Arthur’s trim waist, then slips them back down to the tempting, muscular curve of Arthur’s ass to grip and squeeze. To possess. The response he gets is a low moan and the aggressive, inviting press of hardness pushed against his thigh.
Then Arthur’s breaking the kiss and his hands are sliding down Jiro’s chest, his thighs, stopping at mid-calf. Arthur’s nuzzles Jiro’s erection like an affection starved cat, his breath hot and humid even through Jiro’s own tailored slacks. Then he’s unbuckling Jiro’s belt, and unbuttoning and unzipping Jiro’s fly. Those long, talented fingers waist no time with taking Jiro out of his boxers, choosing instead to yank them down. The friction this causes makes Jiro moan, long and hungrily.
“You like that?” Arthur murmurs, sounding smug and amused. Then he licks Jiro’s cock like it’s a lollipop, pausing to suck hard at the tip. “Tell me you love this.”
“Yes. . . .”
Another hard suck, then Arthur’s taking Jiro practically down his throat for a few fantastic moments before pulling off completely, resting his face against Jiro’s abdomen.
“I want to see you,” Jiro chokes out, cupping Arthur’s face in his hand and brushing slightly swollen lips with his thumb. Thus, he feels the gust of cooler air when Arthur snorts. “I want very much to see you, Arthur.”
“Yeah? Well, tough rocks, sweetheart. We do this with the lights out.” Then his lips are wrapped around Jiro’s cock again. As it slides between them, Arthur let’s his teeth scrape oh-so-delicately down the length, chuckling low in his throat when Jiro shivers, swears in Japanese, and nearly comes. A fact that he tells Arthur in a tight, strained voice.
Arthur makes a sound around Jiro's cock that’s both approving and annoyed in equal measures. Whatever it is, Jiro nearly comes again. Then Arthur’s bracing himself on Jiro’s thighs and standing up. Expecting another kiss, Jiro turns his face down. What he gets is the top of Arthur’s head, a mouthful of gelled hair, and a hickey sucked onto his neck just below his ear . . . where even the collar of a starched shirt wouldn’t hide it.
“Get undressed and lay down. I’ll get myself ready,” Arthur says tersely, moving away in the darkness. There’re two hollow chocks as he toes his shoes off, then the whisper of fine fabric as it slithers off of flesh and onto the floor-no doubt all done with Arthur’s customary grace and economy of movement. Jiro wants very much to see this. To have visual proof that his lover is here with him. He almost reaches for the light again, but doesn’t. He’s angered Arthur enough already this evening, without trying.
Shrugging carelessly out of his own clothes-Arthur is the one who picks up their discarded suits and remembers to have those suits dry-cleaned-Jiro slowly, carefully makes his way to the bed. He sits quietly, scooting back just enough to lay down flat on his back, right arm pillowing his head. While he strokes himself, he can hear rooting around in their bathroom and the brief sound of the faucet running: Arthur’s getting a wet washcloth ready for afterwards.
He always thinks of things like that-always plans ahead for them both.
(“I like taking care of you, Saito-san,” Arthur’s been known to say, quite wryly-often when doing something that Jiro’s house staff usually does, such as take out their dry-cleaning, make their bed, or even cook. And he more than does those things, he does them well. Neatly and efficiently, the way he steals. The way he kills. “I like doing little things for you. Lord knows you can get the big things for yourself.”)
Jiro’s cock is standing at attention, at this point, and he continues stroking it lazily, doing for himself one of the "little" things Arthur usually does for him. It feels good, but somehow not as good. And if he’s being honest, no touch he’s ever had has felt as good as Arthur’s. . . .
Lost in thought, the next sound Jiro hears is right by the bed, digging around in his night table. It’s uncanny how quietly Arthur moves. Even now, but for the warm brush of skin, Arthur’s silent as he climbs astride Jiro’s hips.
“You still hard for me?” he asks, even as Jiro’s cock nudges behind his balls.
“Always.”
Arthur grunts, and a minute later there’s a soft, stuttered inhalation and the nearly inaudible sound of flesh penetrating flesh.
Jiro groans, picturing his lover, his Arthur, fingering himself in preparation for Jiro’s cock. Just watching this is more than enough to make Jiro come, and he finds himself rather glad that the lights are out.
Only for a moment, though. More than anything, he wants to see the way Arthur bites his lip as he prepares himself . . . the beautiful arch of his back . . . the quiver of the muscles in his thighs as he bears down on his fingers . . . oh, Jiro wants. . . .
“Watashi no utsukushi-sa, watashi wa anata o mite mimashou, watashi no koi.”
“Nashi.” Another stuttered inhalation, and the slight, slick, obscene squelching sound of Arthur’s fingers working inside himself. “No, Jiro. Now shut up about it.”
Then Arthur’s positioning himself above Jiro, who tries to slide tender, worshipful hands up Arthur’s lean thighs. But his hands get smacked away. Moments later, Arthur’s got hold of Jiro’s cock and is guiding himself down onto it . . . slowly at first, till the initial ring of muscle is breached and the tip of Jiro’s cock is inside him. Then he sits hard and fast, causing Jiro to gasp and reflexively thrust up into Arthur’s tight, slick, clutching-fluttery heat.
A strange, high keening noise fills the darkness, both pained and yearning and, unable to help himself, Jiro bucks up again, trying to get as deep as he can go in a single thrust.
Arthur makes another strange sound, this one startlingly close to a whimper.
Before he can think better of it-he tries, even when he’d rather not, to respect Arthur’s wishes-Jiro’s ignoring the demands of his libido and contorting himself toward where he’s pretty sure his bedside lamp is. His hand finds the switch without fumbling, and in less than a second a soft yellow glow banishes the darkness. He blinks and looks at Arthur, whose face is caught in an expression of surprise and pain. Then he’s looking away, swiping at the wetness on his cheeks and in his eyes. But it’s too late. Jiro’s seen, and with seeing comes understanding.
He catches Arthur’s hands even though Arthur dodges him. He’s fully aware that if Arthur didn’t want his touch, his own hands would likely have been broken in three places already.
“I have behaved dishonorably, and in doing so, I’ve hurt you,” he says, and Arthur smiles limply. He eases himself off Jiro’s cock and frees his hands, placing one at the small of his back and the other on Jiro’s chest, using it to balance himself.
“More like I hurt me, Jiro. You figure I’d know by now: Big dick plus big rush equals big ow. I swear, I’m fucking retar-“
Jiro shakes his head once. “I am sorry, Arthur-chan. I humbly beg your pardon.”
Arthur rolls his eyes and stretches his spine till it cracks. Then he starts to stroke his own wilting erection. “Look, it’s not a problem. Just gimme a minute to-“
“Listen to me, Arthur.” Jiro looks steadily into eyes are still wet with tears. When Arthur’s quick to look away, Jiro's sudden understanding is confirmed. “I am sorry.”
Arthur stiffens, then risks a look at Jiro, his eyes startled, wary, and more vulnerable than Jiro’s ever seen them. So he says it again, and this time, Arthur takes a deep shuddering breath.
“What’re you sorry for, Jiro? For pissing me off?” Arthur snorts. “Whatever. It happened, it’s over.”
Jiro frowns, and knows that if he says the wrong thing, it will only hurt Arthur more, because yes, Arthur is hurt. Has been since the restaurant.
Maybe since before then. After all, how often over the past eight months has Arthur called Jiro a “shameless flirt” in a way that’s meant to be a jest, but is belied by the tight, unhappy smile that accompanies it? How long has Jiro been . . . dishonoring the man he claims to love?
Since the beginning, perhaps.
Finally, Jiro lets out a breath. “I am sorry for . . . dishonoring you by not firmly refusing the waitress’s advances. I merely thought it amusing that she should display her . . . interest when clearly I am already spoken for. When my love was sitting at the table with me.” He catches the hand stroking Arthur’s cock once more. Squeezes it gently, till Arthur meets his gaze again. “I did not realize that my actions were hurting you. And I dismissed your feelings quite out of hand, hurting you further. For that I am sorry. Watashi wa, gomen watashi no aidesu.”
Arthur stares into his eyes long and hard. “Is it that you’re getting tired of me?”
“Never.”
A small, sad smile. “Don’t forget-I’m a Pointman. I’ve researched you six days to Sunday. You’ve never so much as had a one-night stand with another man. You’ve had a wife, multiple mistresses, girlfriends out the yin-yang. But a boyfriend?” Arthur shakes his head. “You have to admit I’m a complete anomaly. A novelty that . . . maybe one day you’ll get tired of.”
Jiro sits up and pulls Arthur into his arms, sighing as Arthur comes hesitantly, and remains stiff in his embrace. “You are not a novelty to me,” he whispers on Arthur’s temple, kissing it softly. “You are not an anomaly, either, as I have always been attracted to beauty, intelligence, and strength. I have never found those things as present in anyone as I have found them to be in you. How could I possibly grow tired of them, or of you?”
Arthur’s face is warm and wet on Jiro’s shoulder. “How can you be sure you won’t?”
Smiling a little, Jiro pulls back and looks Arthur in the eyes. “How can you be sure that you will not grow tired of me?”
A flash of annoyance crosses across Arthur’s face, there and gone before Jiro can be sure he saw it. “Because I just won’t. You’re . . . not perfect, but you’re the perfect guy for me. Even if there were someone more perfect, I wouldn’t want him. He wouldn’t be you.” He grimaces, but it turns into an unwilling grin. “There. You’ve turned me into a woman. Fucking spectacular. Now I can be your pretty little girlfriend.”
Chuckling, Jiro kisses Arthur’s lips. He still tastes a little like champagne and, more strongly, of Jiro. “You are my love, my lover, and my confidant. You are my best friend.”
“And you’re a sweet-talker, did you know that?” Arthur smiles a little, and he doesn’t sound as unhappy as he had two minutes ago. There’s no hesitation this time, when Jiro lays them down, settling comfortably between Arthur’s legs. He takes a deep breath and returns Arthur’s smile. Since Arthur came into his life, Jiro’s done more smiling than he had in his whole life prior.
“I will not . . . flirt shamelessly anymore.”
Arthur’s smile wanes a little. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Jiro, just . . . please try not to do it in front of me. It kinda fucks with my head, and, well, it’s already fucked up enough, in there.”
“I understand I have been disrespectful, Arthur-chan. Trust me: It will not happen again, whether you are present or not.” Jiro promises grimly. “Were you my wife, I would not have behaved so.”
Now that smile is back, turning into the wry grin Jiro so loves. “Baby, if I was your wife, that slutty bitch’d be in the dirt, by now. Six feet of it.” Arthur murmurs, his lips twitching. But Jiro gets the feeling he’s only half-joking. “I’ve done worse things for less reason.”
Jiro kisses Arthur’s sternum. “Competent help is at a premium, my love. No killing waitresses,” he says firmly.
“I know, I know. I was just kidding.” Half-kidding, if that suddenly fierce look in his eyes is anything to go by. A distraction is in order. So Jiro leans down to apply careful teeth to Arthur’s right nipple. This never fails to render Arthur mostly speechless, and now is no exception. Arthur’s hands-the hands of a soldier, of a killer-cup Jiro’s face, one sliding around to the back of his head. Long, strong legs wrap around Jiro’s waist and draw him closer.
“Wanna pick up where we left off, Saito-san?”
“That would be most agreeable.” Jiro reapplies his teeth where the reapplying is good, nipping a bit more sharply than before. Arthur gasps and moans, his erection (which has made a valiant come-back) bobs, and paints Jiro’s stomach with pre-come. “This time I will, of course, prepare you properly.”
“Of course,” Arthur says, sounding bemused. He frees one arm to feel around their bed for the tube of lubricant. When he finds it, he grins again. “A-ha!”
Getting to his knees, Jiro takes the black tube-Secret Sin is the brand name-and flips the cap open. He squirts a generous amount on two fingers, letting it warm while Arthur stares at him with naked hunger.
“You are beautiful,” Jiro says softly, and for a moment, Arthur’s eyes go shiny again. Then he’s blinking and blushing.
“Ah, go on.” But he’s smiling big and bright, his dimples out in force. Jiro’s breath catches briefly, and his heart beats faster.
“And you are the only one I want.”
Arthur searches his eyes once more, then that bright, boyish smile turns into something sultry and heated. He crooks his finger at Jiro and draws one leg up to his chest, giving Jiro a perfect, tantalizing view of the only place he ever wants to be anymore.
“Like what you see?” Arthur’s fingering himself again, and just watching him is every bit as mind-blowing as Jiro had imagined. More so.
“I do.” Jiro’s finishes coating his cock with lubricant then replaces Arthur’s fingers with his own. Arthur hisses and moans, his back arching, his lower lip caught between his teeth. He is . . . perfect. “I like it very much.”
“Well.” Arthur quirks an eyebrow and clenches meaningfully around Jiro’s fingers. “Show, don’t tell.”
Jiro is more than happy to oblige.
Author:
beetle_comma_the
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Saito
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: Approx. 3300
Disclaimer: As far as I know, Inception belongs to Nolan.
Notes: Post Inception by one year. A sequel to Fucking Perfect, but can be read as a standalone.
Summary: Written for the
inception_kink prompt: ' Something totally mundane ruins their date night and they bicker about it all the way home. The arguing doesn't stop even as they get into the apartment and methodically start taking off their clothes. Then, sex. Just show me these two acting like an old married couple.' It went a little off the Reservation. Sorry.
“. . . and then you had the nerve to tip the little guttersnipe a hundred bucks!”
Jiro Saito sighs as Arthur Drassos lets them into their penthouse. As usual Jiro's the one to flip on the light switch. Arthur has a tendency to walk around their home in the dark. But he has yet to bang his shin or trip over furniture, as far as Jiro knows.
“And don’t you sigh like I’m being tiresome, either,” Arthur goes on, pausing to hang his dinner jacket on the coat-rack. When he turns to Jiro, he looks oddly naked. And rather pissed-off, as Americans like to say. “I have every right to be upset. Our waitress was flirting with you right in front of me, and not only did you not call her on it, but you fucking flirted back! How in the hell do you think that makes me feel?”
Jiro sighs again, removing and hanging up his own jacket. “Apparently it makes you quite angry.”
Arthur glares at him for several uncomfortable moments, then his shoulders sag and his face closes up.
“That’s it. I’m angry. Hole in one, sweetheart,” Arthur says, sounding weary and unhappy. Feeling weary and unhappy himself, but unwilling to let this . . . silliness fester between them, Jiro crosses the living room, stopping less than a foot away from Arthur, who doesn’t look at him. In fact, he crosses his arms obstinately and stares anywhere but at Jiro.
“Arthur, my love,” Jiro starts, taking Arthur’s elbows in his hands and pulling him closer. Angry though he is, Arthur doesn’t object when Jiro leans in and kisses his neck. “I made you angry, and I am sorry.”
Arthur laughs ruefully and shakes his head, taking a step back. “You don’t even know what to be sorry for. You’re just trying to keep the peace with a token apology. Isn’t that right?” Dark eyes search Jiro’s own and he tries on an ironic smile.
“Then perhaps you could tell me what I am sorry for?”
“Damnit, do not make me out to be the unreasonable one, here!” Arthur explodes, his cheeks a hectic red and his eyes shining. Jiro can feel the anger baking off him like heat . . . at least until Arthur looks away and crosses his arms again. With a near tangible rallying of will, he gets himself under his customary rigid control (control he rarely bothers with around Jiro anymore) and smiles mirthlessly. “You know what-never mind. This isn’t getting us anywhere. You don’t get it and I suppose I shouldn’t expect you to. I’m going to bed. I won’t wait up for you.”
Before Arthur can do more than pull away, Jiro’s caught him by one arm and pulled him close again. Arthur glares into his eyes, jaw clenched so tight a vein at his temple is visibly throbbing.
“Don’t you have a company to sink, or take over?”
Jiro shakes his head. “I have nothing to do that is more important than you,” he replies simply, and Arthur’s glare is replaced by a startled, vulnerable sort of gape. Ever the shrewd opportunist, Jiro pulls Arthur against him-angry, he may be, but he’s hard enough for Jiro to feel in those form fitting, tailored slacks-and kisses him lightly.
At first, Arthur doesn’t respond at all. Then he’s returning the kiss desperately, urgently, as his arms wind around Jiro’s neck. He tastes like dark chocolate and expensive champagne, and his body burns like a flame in Jiro’s arms.
“I don’t wanna be angry with you, Jiro,” Arthur whispers between kisses, his arms panic-tight. But Jiro doesn’t mind at all.
“Then don’t be.” He rests one hand on the curve of Arthur’s ass, and the other palms the back of Arthur’s neck, soothing away some of the tension there.
Arthur moans, and it sounds half-wanton and half-frustrated. “It’s not that easy, babe, and you know it. Or you should.” He’s the one to sigh, this time. When he pulls out of Jiro’s arms yet again, his gaze is searching, once more.
Then he stalks toward off toward the hall that leads to their bedroom. Halfway there, he stops, glances back at Jiro, and raises one straight, dark brow. Then he’s walking again unbuttoning his vest as he goes, his unspoken invitation to Jiro hanging about in the air like a question.
Yes . . . oh, yes, is Jiro’s answer, and he follows Arthur down the hall, unbuttoning his own vest, and shirt as he goes.
When he gets to their bedroom, the lights are, of course, out. He closes the door and feels for the switch to turn them on, but a hand covers his own.
“Leave ‘em off,” Arthur commands gruffly. Then his hands are on Jiro’s chest, his lips on Jiro’s lips, kissing away any reply Jiro might have had. He still tastes like chocolate and champagne, and his tongue presses relentlessly into Jiro’s mouth.
Jiro rests his hands on Arthur’s trim waist, then slips them back down to the tempting, muscular curve of Arthur’s ass to grip and squeeze. To possess. The response he gets is a low moan and the aggressive, inviting press of hardness pushed against his thigh.
Then Arthur’s breaking the kiss and his hands are sliding down Jiro’s chest, his thighs, stopping at mid-calf. Arthur’s nuzzles Jiro’s erection like an affection starved cat, his breath hot and humid even through Jiro’s own tailored slacks. Then he’s unbuckling Jiro’s belt, and unbuttoning and unzipping Jiro’s fly. Those long, talented fingers waist no time with taking Jiro out of his boxers, choosing instead to yank them down. The friction this causes makes Jiro moan, long and hungrily.
“You like that?” Arthur murmurs, sounding smug and amused. Then he licks Jiro’s cock like it’s a lollipop, pausing to suck hard at the tip. “Tell me you love this.”
“Yes. . . .”
Another hard suck, then Arthur’s taking Jiro practically down his throat for a few fantastic moments before pulling off completely, resting his face against Jiro’s abdomen.
“I want to see you,” Jiro chokes out, cupping Arthur’s face in his hand and brushing slightly swollen lips with his thumb. Thus, he feels the gust of cooler air when Arthur snorts. “I want very much to see you, Arthur.”
“Yeah? Well, tough rocks, sweetheart. We do this with the lights out.” Then his lips are wrapped around Jiro’s cock again. As it slides between them, Arthur let’s his teeth scrape oh-so-delicately down the length, chuckling low in his throat when Jiro shivers, swears in Japanese, and nearly comes. A fact that he tells Arthur in a tight, strained voice.
Arthur makes a sound around Jiro's cock that’s both approving and annoyed in equal measures. Whatever it is, Jiro nearly comes again. Then Arthur’s bracing himself on Jiro’s thighs and standing up. Expecting another kiss, Jiro turns his face down. What he gets is the top of Arthur’s head, a mouthful of gelled hair, and a hickey sucked onto his neck just below his ear . . . where even the collar of a starched shirt wouldn’t hide it.
“Get undressed and lay down. I’ll get myself ready,” Arthur says tersely, moving away in the darkness. There’re two hollow chocks as he toes his shoes off, then the whisper of fine fabric as it slithers off of flesh and onto the floor-no doubt all done with Arthur’s customary grace and economy of movement. Jiro wants very much to see this. To have visual proof that his lover is here with him. He almost reaches for the light again, but doesn’t. He’s angered Arthur enough already this evening, without trying.
Shrugging carelessly out of his own clothes-Arthur is the one who picks up their discarded suits and remembers to have those suits dry-cleaned-Jiro slowly, carefully makes his way to the bed. He sits quietly, scooting back just enough to lay down flat on his back, right arm pillowing his head. While he strokes himself, he can hear rooting around in their bathroom and the brief sound of the faucet running: Arthur’s getting a wet washcloth ready for afterwards.
He always thinks of things like that-always plans ahead for them both.
(“I like taking care of you, Saito-san,” Arthur’s been known to say, quite wryly-often when doing something that Jiro’s house staff usually does, such as take out their dry-cleaning, make their bed, or even cook. And he more than does those things, he does them well. Neatly and efficiently, the way he steals. The way he kills. “I like doing little things for you. Lord knows you can get the big things for yourself.”)
Jiro’s cock is standing at attention, at this point, and he continues stroking it lazily, doing for himself one of the "little" things Arthur usually does for him. It feels good, but somehow not as good. And if he’s being honest, no touch he’s ever had has felt as good as Arthur’s. . . .
Lost in thought, the next sound Jiro hears is right by the bed, digging around in his night table. It’s uncanny how quietly Arthur moves. Even now, but for the warm brush of skin, Arthur’s silent as he climbs astride Jiro’s hips.
“You still hard for me?” he asks, even as Jiro’s cock nudges behind his balls.
“Always.”
Arthur grunts, and a minute later there’s a soft, stuttered inhalation and the nearly inaudible sound of flesh penetrating flesh.
Jiro groans, picturing his lover, his Arthur, fingering himself in preparation for Jiro’s cock. Just watching this is more than enough to make Jiro come, and he finds himself rather glad that the lights are out.
Only for a moment, though. More than anything, he wants to see the way Arthur bites his lip as he prepares himself . . . the beautiful arch of his back . . . the quiver of the muscles in his thighs as he bears down on his fingers . . . oh, Jiro wants. . . .
“Watashi no utsukushi-sa, watashi wa anata o mite mimashou, watashi no koi.”
“Nashi.” Another stuttered inhalation, and the slight, slick, obscene squelching sound of Arthur’s fingers working inside himself. “No, Jiro. Now shut up about it.”
Then Arthur’s positioning himself above Jiro, who tries to slide tender, worshipful hands up Arthur’s lean thighs. But his hands get smacked away. Moments later, Arthur’s got hold of Jiro’s cock and is guiding himself down onto it . . . slowly at first, till the initial ring of muscle is breached and the tip of Jiro’s cock is inside him. Then he sits hard and fast, causing Jiro to gasp and reflexively thrust up into Arthur’s tight, slick, clutching-fluttery heat.
A strange, high keening noise fills the darkness, both pained and yearning and, unable to help himself, Jiro bucks up again, trying to get as deep as he can go in a single thrust.
Arthur makes another strange sound, this one startlingly close to a whimper.
Before he can think better of it-he tries, even when he’d rather not, to respect Arthur’s wishes-Jiro’s ignoring the demands of his libido and contorting himself toward where he’s pretty sure his bedside lamp is. His hand finds the switch without fumbling, and in less than a second a soft yellow glow banishes the darkness. He blinks and looks at Arthur, whose face is caught in an expression of surprise and pain. Then he’s looking away, swiping at the wetness on his cheeks and in his eyes. But it’s too late. Jiro’s seen, and with seeing comes understanding.
He catches Arthur’s hands even though Arthur dodges him. He’s fully aware that if Arthur didn’t want his touch, his own hands would likely have been broken in three places already.
“I have behaved dishonorably, and in doing so, I’ve hurt you,” he says, and Arthur smiles limply. He eases himself off Jiro’s cock and frees his hands, placing one at the small of his back and the other on Jiro’s chest, using it to balance himself.
“More like I hurt me, Jiro. You figure I’d know by now: Big dick plus big rush equals big ow. I swear, I’m fucking retar-“
Jiro shakes his head once. “I am sorry, Arthur-chan. I humbly beg your pardon.”
Arthur rolls his eyes and stretches his spine till it cracks. Then he starts to stroke his own wilting erection. “Look, it’s not a problem. Just gimme a minute to-“
“Listen to me, Arthur.” Jiro looks steadily into eyes are still wet with tears. When Arthur’s quick to look away, Jiro's sudden understanding is confirmed. “I am sorry.”
Arthur stiffens, then risks a look at Jiro, his eyes startled, wary, and more vulnerable than Jiro’s ever seen them. So he says it again, and this time, Arthur takes a deep shuddering breath.
“What’re you sorry for, Jiro? For pissing me off?” Arthur snorts. “Whatever. It happened, it’s over.”
Jiro frowns, and knows that if he says the wrong thing, it will only hurt Arthur more, because yes, Arthur is hurt. Has been since the restaurant.
Maybe since before then. After all, how often over the past eight months has Arthur called Jiro a “shameless flirt” in a way that’s meant to be a jest, but is belied by the tight, unhappy smile that accompanies it? How long has Jiro been . . . dishonoring the man he claims to love?
Since the beginning, perhaps.
Finally, Jiro lets out a breath. “I am sorry for . . . dishonoring you by not firmly refusing the waitress’s advances. I merely thought it amusing that she should display her . . . interest when clearly I am already spoken for. When my love was sitting at the table with me.” He catches the hand stroking Arthur’s cock once more. Squeezes it gently, till Arthur meets his gaze again. “I did not realize that my actions were hurting you. And I dismissed your feelings quite out of hand, hurting you further. For that I am sorry. Watashi wa, gomen watashi no aidesu.”
Arthur stares into his eyes long and hard. “Is it that you’re getting tired of me?”
“Never.”
A small, sad smile. “Don’t forget-I’m a Pointman. I’ve researched you six days to Sunday. You’ve never so much as had a one-night stand with another man. You’ve had a wife, multiple mistresses, girlfriends out the yin-yang. But a boyfriend?” Arthur shakes his head. “You have to admit I’m a complete anomaly. A novelty that . . . maybe one day you’ll get tired of.”
Jiro sits up and pulls Arthur into his arms, sighing as Arthur comes hesitantly, and remains stiff in his embrace. “You are not a novelty to me,” he whispers on Arthur’s temple, kissing it softly. “You are not an anomaly, either, as I have always been attracted to beauty, intelligence, and strength. I have never found those things as present in anyone as I have found them to be in you. How could I possibly grow tired of them, or of you?”
Arthur’s face is warm and wet on Jiro’s shoulder. “How can you be sure you won’t?”
Smiling a little, Jiro pulls back and looks Arthur in the eyes. “How can you be sure that you will not grow tired of me?”
A flash of annoyance crosses across Arthur’s face, there and gone before Jiro can be sure he saw it. “Because I just won’t. You’re . . . not perfect, but you’re the perfect guy for me. Even if there were someone more perfect, I wouldn’t want him. He wouldn’t be you.” He grimaces, but it turns into an unwilling grin. “There. You’ve turned me into a woman. Fucking spectacular. Now I can be your pretty little girlfriend.”
Chuckling, Jiro kisses Arthur’s lips. He still tastes a little like champagne and, more strongly, of Jiro. “You are my love, my lover, and my confidant. You are my best friend.”
“And you’re a sweet-talker, did you know that?” Arthur smiles a little, and he doesn’t sound as unhappy as he had two minutes ago. There’s no hesitation this time, when Jiro lays them down, settling comfortably between Arthur’s legs. He takes a deep breath and returns Arthur’s smile. Since Arthur came into his life, Jiro’s done more smiling than he had in his whole life prior.
“I will not . . . flirt shamelessly anymore.”
Arthur’s smile wanes a little. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Jiro, just . . . please try not to do it in front of me. It kinda fucks with my head, and, well, it’s already fucked up enough, in there.”
“I understand I have been disrespectful, Arthur-chan. Trust me: It will not happen again, whether you are present or not.” Jiro promises grimly. “Were you my wife, I would not have behaved so.”
Now that smile is back, turning into the wry grin Jiro so loves. “Baby, if I was your wife, that slutty bitch’d be in the dirt, by now. Six feet of it.” Arthur murmurs, his lips twitching. But Jiro gets the feeling he’s only half-joking. “I’ve done worse things for less reason.”
Jiro kisses Arthur’s sternum. “Competent help is at a premium, my love. No killing waitresses,” he says firmly.
“I know, I know. I was just kidding.” Half-kidding, if that suddenly fierce look in his eyes is anything to go by. A distraction is in order. So Jiro leans down to apply careful teeth to Arthur’s right nipple. This never fails to render Arthur mostly speechless, and now is no exception. Arthur’s hands-the hands of a soldier, of a killer-cup Jiro’s face, one sliding around to the back of his head. Long, strong legs wrap around Jiro’s waist and draw him closer.
“Wanna pick up where we left off, Saito-san?”
“That would be most agreeable.” Jiro reapplies his teeth where the reapplying is good, nipping a bit more sharply than before. Arthur gasps and moans, his erection (which has made a valiant come-back) bobs, and paints Jiro’s stomach with pre-come. “This time I will, of course, prepare you properly.”
“Of course,” Arthur says, sounding bemused. He frees one arm to feel around their bed for the tube of lubricant. When he finds it, he grins again. “A-ha!”
Getting to his knees, Jiro takes the black tube-Secret Sin is the brand name-and flips the cap open. He squirts a generous amount on two fingers, letting it warm while Arthur stares at him with naked hunger.
“You are beautiful,” Jiro says softly, and for a moment, Arthur’s eyes go shiny again. Then he’s blinking and blushing.
“Ah, go on.” But he’s smiling big and bright, his dimples out in force. Jiro’s breath catches briefly, and his heart beats faster.
“And you are the only one I want.”
Arthur searches his eyes once more, then that bright, boyish smile turns into something sultry and heated. He crooks his finger at Jiro and draws one leg up to his chest, giving Jiro a perfect, tantalizing view of the only place he ever wants to be anymore.
“Like what you see?” Arthur’s fingering himself again, and just watching him is every bit as mind-blowing as Jiro had imagined. More so.
“I do.” Jiro’s finishes coating his cock with lubricant then replaces Arthur’s fingers with his own. Arthur hisses and moans, his back arching, his lower lip caught between his teeth. He is . . . perfect. “I like it very much.”
“Well.” Arthur quirks an eyebrow and clenches meaningfully around Jiro’s fingers. “Show, don’t tell.”
Jiro is more than happy to oblige.