Fic: In Rut 1/2
Fic Title: In Rut (A03 Link)
Fandom: Inception
Pairing(s): Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4,500
Warnings: Dubious consent, (Possible non-con/rape depending on how you look at it.) rough sex,
Summary: Like all alphas, Eames goes into rut twice a year. It's terrifying.
Notes: PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. One line from the fic inspired from Love Rhymes with Goldflight. Many thanks to gryvon for the beta!
*****
The first indication Eames had that he might be going into rut was when he tried to kill Cobb.
He and the other alpha got along usually, and the disagreement had been hardly one at all; a minor point of detail in dreamscape. Only... it had been the look of smug satisfaction on Cobb's face before he showed his back to Eames; that idiotic goatee he'd taken to wearing, the way he habitually chewed his nails and spat them on the floor, the way he talked, breathed ....
Eames shoved Ariadne aside, sending the young beta sprawling. Reaching Cobb, he spun him around and clocked him in the jaw. Cobb fell stunned to the ground and it was with the greatest satisfaction that Eames put a bullet in his head, ending his miserable life.
Ariadne was still on the ground, looking up at him, eyes wide. That pissed Eames off, too. Someone ought to teach her some manners. Wiping the spray of Cobb's blood off his face, Eames strode towards her.
"Eames!"
He turned to see Arthur standing not ten feet away, gun leveled. Eames heard two shots. The first hit him like a punch to the chest. The second he didn't feel at all.
****
Eames woke to see Cobb staring at him from across the circle of lawn chairs, a knowing, pitying look in his eyes.
"Oh hell," Eames said.
****
Eames put as much distance between himself and the team as he could, scurrying out of the warehouse before either Ari or Arthur could fully waken.
He was two weeks early, though to be fair his twice-a-year cycle had never run like clockwork. Some alphas could set their watches to the hour. His body, like his mind, remained unpredictable.
He was holed up in his hotel room and checking on a list of countries he could flee to within a twelve hour window that didn't have mandatory castration laws for non-compliant alphas. Bloody Americans and their puritan ideals. If he were caught running amok in rut while in California they'd chop off his balls and lobotomize him, depending on the amount of damage he'd caused.
Someone knocked on the door, startling him so badly he nearly swept his own laptop off the table.
"Yes?" he snapped, pacing over to jerk the door open.
It was Arthur.
The other man gave him a cool look up and down and Eames could only imagine how he presented himself; sweating despite the temperature controlled room, disheveled and flushed.
"How long do you have?" Arthur asked.
"Long enough to make Canada, if I hurry. Give my regrets to Ari and Cobb." Eames started to swing the door shut, but Arthur stuck a foot in.
Ire flashed though Eames, followed by a low thrum of arousal as Arthur more or less forced his way in. The omega effect. When the worst of the rut hit, Eames would fight to death any other alpha. Betas like Ariadne could go either way. Omegas, he simply wanted to fuck, whether they were accommodating or not.
Eames swallowed hard at that last thought and deliberately stepped back to put distance between himself and Arthur. "It's best if you weren't here now."
If Arthur was concerned, he didn't show it. "How long do you have?" he repeated, stepping fully in the room and closing the door behind him.
"Until I go barking, you mean? Eighteen, twenty hours at best."
Arthur leveled him another considering look, up and down. "And you aren't on the pill."
"No." Eames palms started to sweat. He smoothed them out on the legs of his trousers, hiding the nervous gesture by pretending to be interested in what was out the far window. Conveniently, that kept him a few more feet from Arthur and less likely to want to lock him in here with him, or grab on and not let go. "The side effects rather destroy my creative drive." He glanced back to see Arthur raise an eyebrow. Eames snorted. "Come now, you must have realized something when I didn't fit the 'big and dull alpha' stereotype."
"Cobb gets by just fine-"
"If Cobb told you he's on the pill, he's liar," Eames said flatly. That was the trade off: Take the pill, be in compliance, and live as a thick dullard. Or refuse treatment and become a monster for seventy-two hours, twice a year.
Judging by the sour expression on Arthur's face, he was probably running dates in his mind of when he couldn't get in touch with Cobb, and coming up with an answer he didn't like.
Finally Arthur said, "We can move up the timeline, make the grab after the mark's 3 o'clock meeting."
Eames couldn't help it. He barked out a laugh, bitter and sad. "Are you mad? Haven't you seen an alpha in full rut?"
"Not personally, but I know what happens, yes," Arthur said.
"Then you know it's not a matter of self-control. What should happen if I see Cobb as my rival, or Ariadne as a convenient hole to fuck?"
Arthur sighed as if Eames was being the daft one. "If we don't move on this within forty-eight hours, months of preparation will be lost. If Cobb stays out of your way and we provide a calm environment-"
Eames didn't know when he had stepped closer to Arthur again, but he suddenly found himself slamming balled fists on the table, making his laptop jump. "Do I look bloody calm to you?"
Arthur, to his credit, didn't flinch. "And an outlet afterward-"
"You don't know what-" he stopped. "Hang on, an outlet?"
Arthur's eyebrow rose in one of those condescending looks he excelled at. Eames' mouth went dry.
"No," Eames said, shaking his head and backing away. "No, you're mental."
"What was your plan, Eames? Lock yourself in a safehouse cage?"
Yes , Eames didn't say because he couldn't stop staring at Arthur. He mentally revised his countdown until full rut to sixteen hours.
Arthur stepped forward, confident. "From what I read, having a partner who is an omega is supposed to shorten the cycle."
"Stop-Stop talking about ruts, will you?" Eames turned away, scrubbing a hand down his face. He had only shared a rut with someone one other time, when he was much younger and stupid enough not know better. There were... certain places where omegas and betas paid to be fucked by a rutting alpha. Eames had been lucky not to remember much of it, nor caught any diseases.
But to be with Arthur, who Eames had flirted with, wanted , but could never let himself have. He couldn't decide if it was Christmas come early, or his worst nightmare. They did say that judgment was one of the first capacities to be compromised.
The rut wasn't just about sex or longing. If Eames got his hands on Arthur he was going to breed him. Over and over again, probably until well after Arthur was rung out and wishing stop. It wouldn't matter. Nothing else did during the worst of it.
Then again, Arthur was an adult and knew what he was offering, though it was beyond Eames why anyone ever would.
It would be nice not to come back to himself alone, just this once.
Eames turned back. "You must promise to take precautions."
Arthur didn't smile, but it looked like he wanted to. "Do you think you'll hold still long enough to put a condom on?"
"Restraints you pillock," Eames snapped, not in the mood for teasing. "For me, not for you."
He dipped his head in acknowledgment. "So we have a deal?"
God save them both. "Yes," he said.
****
Eames woke the next morning in a foul mood. It was to be expected, really, but it didn't make it any less unpleasant. Every little irritant - his coffee was too hot, the sheets over starched, the bathroom ugly and in need of a remodel - all seemed magnified one hundred fold and itched against nerves that felt open and raw.
Add persistent horniness to it (something he couldn't relive lest he bring on the full rut sooner) and he was feeling more than a little sorry for himself as he walked into the warehouse.
Then he set his eyes on Cobb who was going over Ariadne's 3D modeling of their dreamscape, and Eames wanted to punch him. Just on principle. Just to feel the crack of cartilage under his knuckles.
Cobb looked up, met Eames' gaze, and slowly, slowly backed away.
The moment Arthur appeared, Eames pulled him to the side. "We need to speed up the timeline. I'm not going to last."
Arthur's eyes narrowed as he lifted his chin. "We can't make the grab any earlier than three."
"You're not listening." He grabbed Arthur's wrist to stop him from walking away and because it seemed a better idea than simply shaking him like he suddenly wanted. "I know how you hate to improvise, Arthur, but this isn't going to work."
"Let go of me," Arthur said evenly.
A wholly new thought struck Eames, and his skin flushed hot in anger. "You're doing this for him , aren't you? You're practically offering yourself up on a sliver platter. Why? So Cobb gets paid for the job? This is to please him, isn't it?"
"I'm going to let that go," Arthur said, though there was steel in his voice as he glared at Eames, "because I know that you're not yourself right now." Then Arthur's eyes shifted to a point over Eames' shoulder. "Cobb, back off. He's not going to do anything."
"You don't know that." Cobb's voice was gentle, like someone calming a horse. The sound of it made Eames grit his teeth. He actually felt the fine bones in Arthur's wrist begin to grind together.
Arthur grimaced and said flatly, "You're hurting me."
Eames dropped his grip, though he was breathing hard, his nostrils flared. He wanted to touch Arthur again, breathe in the scent of him. Maybe draw some blood - not much, he didn't want to injure him, but the smell and the taste would be... divine.
He closed his eyes, trying to remind himself that this was just the byproduct of his body pumping in hysterical quantities of hormones. That he usually respected Cobb as a colleague, and most importantly that he didn't want to hurt Arthur or Ariadne. He had to retain control.
"You okay?" Arthur asked after allowing him a moment.
Eyes still closed, Eames nodded.
"Go cool off," Arthur told him.
****
There was no question about going with the team to make the grab. That Eames could barely follow along with what he overheard of the revised plan was another bad sign. His higher functions were shutting down and his capacity for judgment would soon follow suit. Soon enough, he would be incapable of thinking of anything aside from fight or fuck.
Eames buried himself in the furthest corner of the warehouse, stole Ariadne's iPod, and listened to her ridiculously poppy hipster bands on full. He told himself that it helped.
Eventually the team staggered in with their mark, a middle-aged beta named Mr. Green, unconscious between them.
Forging Green's wife, airhead that she was, was a relief. Down in the dream, surrounded by Arthur's stable mind, Eames could think clearly for the first time in nearly a day. When he was Mrs. Green he wasn't Eames and therefore wasn't subject to the rut.
The extraction went nearly text-perfect and when Eames came up, the rut hit him like a punch in the stomach.
He felt... powerful. Muscle, sinew and bone all worked together like a well-oiled machine. Eames was in his prime as an adult alpha. More so. The rut dulled any sense of pain he may feel, increased his endurance, pushed trivial concerns like hunger and thirst to the background.
No one would dare stand before him. He'd kill anyone who tried it.
He could sense there was an omega here. An alpha and two betas, too. They'd have to be dispatched before he could claim the omega, but he could easily do it.
Except that... no. He was here for something else, some other purpose.
Someone touched his chest and Eames' eyes snapped open. The omega-- Arthur- stood over him. "Get up, Eames."
Eames hummed under his breath. He was on his back, but he was the one with all the power. He let a finger trail up the inseam of Arthur's trousers. "You're not going to deny me."
Arthur put his free hand over his as if to stop him, but Eames was stronger, cupped the hardness he found there, and smiled.
"Eames," his voice came out slightly strangled as he glanced over his shoulder, a little helplessly to the others.
Eames felt himself tense. He'd nearly forgotten. He sat up, removing the cannula with a flick. Removing those annoyances wouldn't take long.
Before he could rise, Arthur swooped in, one long leg arching over to straddle Eames' lap. "Don't look at them. Focus only on me--you told me you didn't want to hurt anyone. Remember?"
He did, but that seemed to be a different person, long ago. Eames felt eyes watching him, the deathly silence in the room as the drama played itself out. But he was a good boy and kept his attention only on Arthur. It was rather easy -- Eames was hard as a steel rod and when he rocked up, he made sure Arthur felt it, too.
He heard Arthur inhale sharply, his eyes growing hooded and heavy. Omegas, and betas to some degree, were not unaffected themselves when an alpha went into rut around them.
"Keep your eyes on me. Only on me," Arthur repeated, his voice tight as he got up and took Eames by the hand to lead him out of the warehouse.
Eames did.
****
The car ride over was a blur. Eames knew, in a disassociated way, that he was already fading. He tried to retain control, like a man holding by his fingertips to a ledge, but gravity was pulling him down... down...
****
The moment the elevator doors were shut, Eames was on Arthur. He hadn't planned it, hadn't considered it, but he found himself pressing Arthur to the far wall, a hand to the back of his neck. Arthur's mouth was slack in surprise, but the taste of him, the feel and scent of him set every nerve alight.
Arthur shifted, small aborted movements as if to get away, his head twisting until the kiss broke and Eames was left to mouth along his neck and the fine cut of his jaw.
"Jesus," he heard Arthur rasp. "At least push the elevator button."
"Which floor?" Eames demanded and turned only briefly to punch it savagely before crowding against Arthur again. He kept one eye on the door. He'd tear anyone limb from limb who tried to take Arthur away from him now.
Arthur laughed softly, one hand sliding up Eames' shirt. "Look at you," he said, his dark eyes full of an emotion Eames was too far gone to read.
But the soft mockery was enough to bring back some semblance of himself. "Last chance to run, love," he said, pressing close to inhale the scent of him. "I'll be too far gone to stop before long."
"I know," Arthur replied.
"Arthur," he murmured again, because he liked saying the name, like the way it rolled off his tongue. "I'm going to hurt you. You know that, yeah?" he mouthed under Arthur's jaw, felt him shudder as he rolled his hips against him. "I want to hurt you. I want to-I want to fuck into you, knot you up so hard, love... I want to break you."
"Eames..." It was a low groan, but then Arthur grabbed his chin, looking Eames square in the eye. "It will be all right. You're going to be okay."
Eames knew he wasn't firing on all cylinders, and he wasn't sure how it was possible to feel so powerful... and so frightened at the same time. And how had Arthur known when he could barely admit it to himself?
He hated the monster he became.
Leaning forward, he kissed Arthur deep and slow, in a way that he had always wanted to do, but soon wouldn't be capable of. An apology of sorts, before what he knew was to come.
I could love you, you pretentious idiot , he thought. If things were different.
The elevator dinged open.
Afterward, Eames wasn't sure how Arthur got them through the door. Things were becoming a bit fragmented in his mind again - like trying to stumble home after one too many drinks.
He remembered shoving Arthur onto his own bed, crowding over him and ripping his suit vest off - Arthur making some complaint. Eames was so overheated he couldn't remove his shirt quickly enough.
The soft snick of cold metal around his wrists shocked him, as did Arthur's sudden move; twisting his lithe legs and hips to roll away. Eames made to grab him, but his hands had been secured with a short leash to the metal headboard.
"Arthur!" he snapped, his voice dark and distorted. "Get back here!"
"Relax." Arthur's hand brushed his shoulder and Eames lunged for him, jerking against the headboard. The metal creaked, but held.
Arthur withdrew, his eyes slightly wide, but that only incensed Eames further. Fury and sex were only different sides of the same coin during rut.
"What do you think you're doing?" he growled.
"We discussed restraints, remember?"
"Come back here right now. I swear to God- Arthur! Where do you think you're going?"
The other man was slowly backing away. "I'm going to take a shower and get ready for you. It won't take long."
"You aren't. You're ready, I'm ready. For Gods sake, Arthur!" But it was no use. Arthur had disappeared around the corner and out of sight.
Eames yanked on the cuffs sharply, trying to follow, but there was no give. Rage flared up within him, incandescent and he choked off a scream, thrashing, pulling mindlessly like an animal caught in a trap.
It seemed there used to be a time when he could have picked a lock like this, but thought and reason were out of his grasp. He fought the steel, beating closed hands on the headboard, the wall. And the rage, the heat bubbling up in him was only growing brighter until he couldn't stand being in his own skin. With nothing to destroy, he tore at his own clothes. Cool air against his skin brought only scant relief.
Something caught his attention. Arthur stepping from around the corner again in a drift of steam, hair shower-slick and a towel wrapped around his waist.
Arthur's mouth moved, but Eames was beyond parsing the words. He watched, with deceptive calm as Arthur stepped closer, reaching for Eames hands which had somehow become bright red and slick.
The moment he was in range, Eames lunged for him, unsure if he wanted to kill Arthur or fuck him or both.
The omega took a quick step back, a flash of fear in his eyes. The sight of it, and the surprise - Arthur was one of the bravest men he knew - brought Eames back to himself a little.
He closed his eyes. "Run," he rasped.
But Arthur didn't. There was a click and Eames' hands were free. And he was on Arthur, grabbing, shoving him face-down upon the mattress. Arthur thrashed and Eames cuffed him for his insolence. A voice, tiny and distant in his mind screamed that Arthur should be made ready, but Eames shoving fingers found him already slick and made loose.
The shower , he thought dimly, and shoved Arthur's leg up.
And as he sheathed himself in Arthur's warm body the last dregs of Eames' sanity washed away in the rut.
****
Eames never remembered much doing the worst it. Occasionally flashes of the animal LUST!RAGE!SEX!POSSESSION!ANGER!HUNGER would come back to him at inconvenient times: looking out the window while riding the train, hearing a distant laugh, or when he was about to tuck into a good meal.
Those bits of memory would inevitably leave him melancholy and counting the days (dreading) until he had to be on watch for the next cycle.
Coming out of the rut was a slow surface out of a nightmare. A rise to brief awareness to gulp in a breath of air before sinking under again.
... Pushing Arthur's lithe body against the headboard, hearing it slam again and again against the wall. Arthur panting in his ear....
... Arthur's eyes rolling up inside his head, mouth slack in ecstasy...
... The trembling body under his as he pushed in a final time, burying himself to the hilt, and swelled and swelled....
... and Eames wrapping a hand around Arthur's throat, feeling the rush of blood under his finger tips, and Arthur tried to suck in air, weakening fingers trying to pry Eames' away...
... Eames fucking into him, wet slaps, and the thighs he spread were sticky from cum leaking out....
... Arthur shaking his head, making tiny aborted sounds in the back of his throat as Eames reached around and jerked him off. He tried to get away, but they were knotted together and he wasn't going anywhere...
... "I can't again... I can't..." But then Arthur was coming anyway, clenching helplessly around Eames, dry sobbing...
... His hard cock slotted in between Arthur's thighs, dropping kisses on his sharp shoulders as he worked himself in deeper...
... Arthur's scrabbling fingers, a nail torn to the quick. Bleeding...
... There was something wrong, though Eames couldn't say why. It was enough to still himself for a moment and pull back, taking himself in hand instead. A few pulls and he was coming, making a mess of Arthur's stomach.
Arthur made a small sound of surprise, and with the hand not around his engorging knot, Eames pulled him against his chest. This omega was his and he needed to stay next to Eames so he could protect him, fuck him as he needed.
The mid-afternoon sun lit strange red streaks on the omega's shoulders. Eames tucked his head against it, feeling the next wave of lust start its slow build again, tingling under his skin. He was still painfully hard and he was so, so tired...
****
Eames didn't wake so much as he snapped back to himself. He found he was wrapped around Arthur so tightly he wasn't sure if he had been trying to hold him, or crush him. Slowly, he made himself relax muscle by muscle, peeling away from Arthur, and stared.
Arthur was asleep, or possibly unconscious. The skin around his left eye was dark and puffed up, his bottom lip split with a dried line of blood running down his chin. More streaks of blood, some black with age decorated his body. And there was a ring of what looked to be finger shaped bruises around his throat.
"Arthur." Eames' voice came out rusty with disuse. There was no reaction. Eames felt for a pulse, his heart in his throat, and exhaled sharply in relief when he found it strong and steady.
Then Eames' noticed that his own wrists were a mess. It looked as if he'd rubbed himself raw on the restrains Arthur had tried to use at first. The clotted blood was dark with age, but the cuts had obviously had not been deep, else Eames would have bled to death long before.
He had little care for his own sake, only found himself clinging onto Arthur again. It must have been the fading effects of the hormones that made tears prick behind his eyes. Eames knew he was not a good man. He had lied, cheated, and stole throughout most of his adult life, but he had never done this before. Never... brutalized someone.
He was a mess, physically and emotionally. Arthur would surely be worse, after what Eames had done to him.
Eventually Arthur did stir, making tiny aborted movements as if to push him away. His eyes slit open and in them Eames saw hazy wariness.
Arthur's voice sounded like it was chewed through gravel. "G'back to sleep..."
Eames' chest constricted. "Is there anything... What do you need?"
He grumbled something, his head rolling limply back, but Eames thought he heard "Water".
And now he was becoming more aware of his surroundings. Everything until this point had been in narrow focus upon Arthur. Eames glanced around and realized for the first time he was not in a hotel room. This bedroom was too personalized. He was in a home. Arthur's home?
There was an extended wall jutting out from the corner, and Eames guessed it led to a bathroom. He vaguely remembered something about a shower.
"Right," he said, and cradling Arthur under his knees and shoulders, lifted him. Arthur gave a start of surprise, cursing and kicking out, but he felt light as a feather to Eames. Enough so he could bend down and snag a coffee-cup that was on Arthur's bedside table as he passed.
Arthur didn't voice a further complaint, which was unlike him. He was utterly passive, too, when Eames filled the cup from the bathroom sink and brought it to his lips.
He did jerk in surprise when Eames maneuvered them both into the large, tiled shower and turned on the water.
"Warmer," he croaked and stood trembling against Eames, barely able to stand on his own as Eames soaped them both down.
Eames tried not to look too hard at the mass of black and blue that covered the inside of Arthur's thighs and his ass. His lean back was a terrible sight too, topped by a set of teeth marks along his right shoulder, still crusty with blood. Eames rinsed it the best he could.
"Head back," he ordered, squirting a generous dollop of shampoo into his hand. He worked it through Arthur's dark hair, the woodsy scent of it familiar and aching at the same time.
That and the sight of the water licking down Arthur's bruised, olive skin sent a bolt of lust into his groin. Eames swallowed and felt himself hardening again. He couldn't draw away, even though he knew it was wrong. The rut wasn't done with him yet.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, reaching down to palm himself. Arthur groaned, his arms around Eames' neck to hold himself up. Eames kissed his nape, the unbruised portions of his throat, and tried to be as gentle as he could as he rubbed himself off on Arthur. Judging by his grimaces, he wasn't entirely successful.
Orgasm brought more clarity to his mind and he made short work of washing them again, toweling them down and then treating his cuts and Arthur's bite with hydrogen peroxide he found under the sink. There were bandages in a first-aid kit nearby.
He made Arthur drink another two cups of water, and then one himself even though he wasn't thirsty.
His wrists were beginning to sting and the fact that Arthur felt more substantial when Eames carried him to the living room was an indication that the rut was almost over. His unnatural strength was leaving him. Soon he'd be even more helpless from exhaustion than Arthur.
"Should I leave?" Eames asked as he set Arthur down on his couch and covered him with a quilt he found there.
Arthur nodded once and rolled over, eyes slipping shut.
Of course he would want to be alone, after what Eames had done to him.
The urge to wrap himself around Arthur was still there, but Eames was stronger than the rut now. Besides, the only one Arthur needed protecting was from himself. He dragged himself upright on shaky legs, pulled on the remains on his clothing, and quietly left.
****
To be continued
Fandom: Inception
Pairing(s): Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4,500
Warnings: Dubious consent, (Possible non-con/rape depending on how you look at it.) rough sex,
Summary: Like all alphas, Eames goes into rut twice a year. It's terrifying.
Notes: PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. One line from the fic inspired from Love Rhymes with Goldflight. Many thanks to gryvon for the beta!
*****
The first indication Eames had that he might be going into rut was when he tried to kill Cobb.
He and the other alpha got along usually, and the disagreement had been hardly one at all; a minor point of detail in dreamscape. Only... it had been the look of smug satisfaction on Cobb's face before he showed his back to Eames; that idiotic goatee he'd taken to wearing, the way he habitually chewed his nails and spat them on the floor, the way he talked, breathed ....
Eames shoved Ariadne aside, sending the young beta sprawling. Reaching Cobb, he spun him around and clocked him in the jaw. Cobb fell stunned to the ground and it was with the greatest satisfaction that Eames put a bullet in his head, ending his miserable life.
Ariadne was still on the ground, looking up at him, eyes wide. That pissed Eames off, too. Someone ought to teach her some manners. Wiping the spray of Cobb's blood off his face, Eames strode towards her.
"Eames!"
He turned to see Arthur standing not ten feet away, gun leveled. Eames heard two shots. The first hit him like a punch to the chest. The second he didn't feel at all.
****
Eames woke to see Cobb staring at him from across the circle of lawn chairs, a knowing, pitying look in his eyes.
"Oh hell," Eames said.
****
Eames put as much distance between himself and the team as he could, scurrying out of the warehouse before either Ari or Arthur could fully waken.
He was two weeks early, though to be fair his twice-a-year cycle had never run like clockwork. Some alphas could set their watches to the hour. His body, like his mind, remained unpredictable.
He was holed up in his hotel room and checking on a list of countries he could flee to within a twelve hour window that didn't have mandatory castration laws for non-compliant alphas. Bloody Americans and their puritan ideals. If he were caught running amok in rut while in California they'd chop off his balls and lobotomize him, depending on the amount of damage he'd caused.
Someone knocked on the door, startling him so badly he nearly swept his own laptop off the table.
"Yes?" he snapped, pacing over to jerk the door open.
It was Arthur.
The other man gave him a cool look up and down and Eames could only imagine how he presented himself; sweating despite the temperature controlled room, disheveled and flushed.
"How long do you have?" Arthur asked.
"Long enough to make Canada, if I hurry. Give my regrets to Ari and Cobb." Eames started to swing the door shut, but Arthur stuck a foot in.
Ire flashed though Eames, followed by a low thrum of arousal as Arthur more or less forced his way in. The omega effect. When the worst of the rut hit, Eames would fight to death any other alpha. Betas like Ariadne could go either way. Omegas, he simply wanted to fuck, whether they were accommodating or not.
Eames swallowed hard at that last thought and deliberately stepped back to put distance between himself and Arthur. "It's best if you weren't here now."
If Arthur was concerned, he didn't show it. "How long do you have?" he repeated, stepping fully in the room and closing the door behind him.
"Until I go barking, you mean? Eighteen, twenty hours at best."
Arthur leveled him another considering look, up and down. "And you aren't on the pill."
"No." Eames palms started to sweat. He smoothed them out on the legs of his trousers, hiding the nervous gesture by pretending to be interested in what was out the far window. Conveniently, that kept him a few more feet from Arthur and less likely to want to lock him in here with him, or grab on and not let go. "The side effects rather destroy my creative drive." He glanced back to see Arthur raise an eyebrow. Eames snorted. "Come now, you must have realized something when I didn't fit the 'big and dull alpha' stereotype."
"Cobb gets by just fine-"
"If Cobb told you he's on the pill, he's liar," Eames said flatly. That was the trade off: Take the pill, be in compliance, and live as a thick dullard. Or refuse treatment and become a monster for seventy-two hours, twice a year.
Judging by the sour expression on Arthur's face, he was probably running dates in his mind of when he couldn't get in touch with Cobb, and coming up with an answer he didn't like.
Finally Arthur said, "We can move up the timeline, make the grab after the mark's 3 o'clock meeting."
Eames couldn't help it. He barked out a laugh, bitter and sad. "Are you mad? Haven't you seen an alpha in full rut?"
"Not personally, but I know what happens, yes," Arthur said.
"Then you know it's not a matter of self-control. What should happen if I see Cobb as my rival, or Ariadne as a convenient hole to fuck?"
Arthur sighed as if Eames was being the daft one. "If we don't move on this within forty-eight hours, months of preparation will be lost. If Cobb stays out of your way and we provide a calm environment-"
Eames didn't know when he had stepped closer to Arthur again, but he suddenly found himself slamming balled fists on the table, making his laptop jump. "Do I look bloody calm to you?"
Arthur, to his credit, didn't flinch. "And an outlet afterward-"
"You don't know what-" he stopped. "Hang on, an outlet?"
Arthur's eyebrow rose in one of those condescending looks he excelled at. Eames' mouth went dry.
"No," Eames said, shaking his head and backing away. "No, you're mental."
"What was your plan, Eames? Lock yourself in a safehouse cage?"
Yes , Eames didn't say because he couldn't stop staring at Arthur. He mentally revised his countdown until full rut to sixteen hours.
Arthur stepped forward, confident. "From what I read, having a partner who is an omega is supposed to shorten the cycle."
"Stop-Stop talking about ruts, will you?" Eames turned away, scrubbing a hand down his face. He had only shared a rut with someone one other time, when he was much younger and stupid enough not know better. There were... certain places where omegas and betas paid to be fucked by a rutting alpha. Eames had been lucky not to remember much of it, nor caught any diseases.
But to be with Arthur, who Eames had flirted with, wanted , but could never let himself have. He couldn't decide if it was Christmas come early, or his worst nightmare. They did say that judgment was one of the first capacities to be compromised.
The rut wasn't just about sex or longing. If Eames got his hands on Arthur he was going to breed him. Over and over again, probably until well after Arthur was rung out and wishing stop. It wouldn't matter. Nothing else did during the worst of it.
Then again, Arthur was an adult and knew what he was offering, though it was beyond Eames why anyone ever would.
It would be nice not to come back to himself alone, just this once.
Eames turned back. "You must promise to take precautions."
Arthur didn't smile, but it looked like he wanted to. "Do you think you'll hold still long enough to put a condom on?"
"Restraints you pillock," Eames snapped, not in the mood for teasing. "For me, not for you."
He dipped his head in acknowledgment. "So we have a deal?"
God save them both. "Yes," he said.
****
Eames woke the next morning in a foul mood. It was to be expected, really, but it didn't make it any less unpleasant. Every little irritant - his coffee was too hot, the sheets over starched, the bathroom ugly and in need of a remodel - all seemed magnified one hundred fold and itched against nerves that felt open and raw.
Add persistent horniness to it (something he couldn't relive lest he bring on the full rut sooner) and he was feeling more than a little sorry for himself as he walked into the warehouse.
Then he set his eyes on Cobb who was going over Ariadne's 3D modeling of their dreamscape, and Eames wanted to punch him. Just on principle. Just to feel the crack of cartilage under his knuckles.
Cobb looked up, met Eames' gaze, and slowly, slowly backed away.
The moment Arthur appeared, Eames pulled him to the side. "We need to speed up the timeline. I'm not going to last."
Arthur's eyes narrowed as he lifted his chin. "We can't make the grab any earlier than three."
"You're not listening." He grabbed Arthur's wrist to stop him from walking away and because it seemed a better idea than simply shaking him like he suddenly wanted. "I know how you hate to improvise, Arthur, but this isn't going to work."
"Let go of me," Arthur said evenly.
A wholly new thought struck Eames, and his skin flushed hot in anger. "You're doing this for him , aren't you? You're practically offering yourself up on a sliver platter. Why? So Cobb gets paid for the job? This is to please him, isn't it?"
"I'm going to let that go," Arthur said, though there was steel in his voice as he glared at Eames, "because I know that you're not yourself right now." Then Arthur's eyes shifted to a point over Eames' shoulder. "Cobb, back off. He's not going to do anything."
"You don't know that." Cobb's voice was gentle, like someone calming a horse. The sound of it made Eames grit his teeth. He actually felt the fine bones in Arthur's wrist begin to grind together.
Arthur grimaced and said flatly, "You're hurting me."
Eames dropped his grip, though he was breathing hard, his nostrils flared. He wanted to touch Arthur again, breathe in the scent of him. Maybe draw some blood - not much, he didn't want to injure him, but the smell and the taste would be... divine.
He closed his eyes, trying to remind himself that this was just the byproduct of his body pumping in hysterical quantities of hormones. That he usually respected Cobb as a colleague, and most importantly that he didn't want to hurt Arthur or Ariadne. He had to retain control.
"You okay?" Arthur asked after allowing him a moment.
Eyes still closed, Eames nodded.
"Go cool off," Arthur told him.
****
There was no question about going with the team to make the grab. That Eames could barely follow along with what he overheard of the revised plan was another bad sign. His higher functions were shutting down and his capacity for judgment would soon follow suit. Soon enough, he would be incapable of thinking of anything aside from fight or fuck.
Eames buried himself in the furthest corner of the warehouse, stole Ariadne's iPod, and listened to her ridiculously poppy hipster bands on full. He told himself that it helped.
Eventually the team staggered in with their mark, a middle-aged beta named Mr. Green, unconscious between them.
Forging Green's wife, airhead that she was, was a relief. Down in the dream, surrounded by Arthur's stable mind, Eames could think clearly for the first time in nearly a day. When he was Mrs. Green he wasn't Eames and therefore wasn't subject to the rut.
The extraction went nearly text-perfect and when Eames came up, the rut hit him like a punch in the stomach.
He felt... powerful. Muscle, sinew and bone all worked together like a well-oiled machine. Eames was in his prime as an adult alpha. More so. The rut dulled any sense of pain he may feel, increased his endurance, pushed trivial concerns like hunger and thirst to the background.
No one would dare stand before him. He'd kill anyone who tried it.
He could sense there was an omega here. An alpha and two betas, too. They'd have to be dispatched before he could claim the omega, but he could easily do it.
Except that... no. He was here for something else, some other purpose.
Someone touched his chest and Eames' eyes snapped open. The omega-- Arthur- stood over him. "Get up, Eames."
Eames hummed under his breath. He was on his back, but he was the one with all the power. He let a finger trail up the inseam of Arthur's trousers. "You're not going to deny me."
Arthur put his free hand over his as if to stop him, but Eames was stronger, cupped the hardness he found there, and smiled.
"Eames," his voice came out slightly strangled as he glanced over his shoulder, a little helplessly to the others.
Eames felt himself tense. He'd nearly forgotten. He sat up, removing the cannula with a flick. Removing those annoyances wouldn't take long.
Before he could rise, Arthur swooped in, one long leg arching over to straddle Eames' lap. "Don't look at them. Focus only on me--you told me you didn't want to hurt anyone. Remember?"
He did, but that seemed to be a different person, long ago. Eames felt eyes watching him, the deathly silence in the room as the drama played itself out. But he was a good boy and kept his attention only on Arthur. It was rather easy -- Eames was hard as a steel rod and when he rocked up, he made sure Arthur felt it, too.
He heard Arthur inhale sharply, his eyes growing hooded and heavy. Omegas, and betas to some degree, were not unaffected themselves when an alpha went into rut around them.
"Keep your eyes on me. Only on me," Arthur repeated, his voice tight as he got up and took Eames by the hand to lead him out of the warehouse.
Eames did.
****
The car ride over was a blur. Eames knew, in a disassociated way, that he was already fading. He tried to retain control, like a man holding by his fingertips to a ledge, but gravity was pulling him down... down...
****
The moment the elevator doors were shut, Eames was on Arthur. He hadn't planned it, hadn't considered it, but he found himself pressing Arthur to the far wall, a hand to the back of his neck. Arthur's mouth was slack in surprise, but the taste of him, the feel and scent of him set every nerve alight.
Arthur shifted, small aborted movements as if to get away, his head twisting until the kiss broke and Eames was left to mouth along his neck and the fine cut of his jaw.
"Jesus," he heard Arthur rasp. "At least push the elevator button."
"Which floor?" Eames demanded and turned only briefly to punch it savagely before crowding against Arthur again. He kept one eye on the door. He'd tear anyone limb from limb who tried to take Arthur away from him now.
Arthur laughed softly, one hand sliding up Eames' shirt. "Look at you," he said, his dark eyes full of an emotion Eames was too far gone to read.
But the soft mockery was enough to bring back some semblance of himself. "Last chance to run, love," he said, pressing close to inhale the scent of him. "I'll be too far gone to stop before long."
"I know," Arthur replied.
"Arthur," he murmured again, because he liked saying the name, like the way it rolled off his tongue. "I'm going to hurt you. You know that, yeah?" he mouthed under Arthur's jaw, felt him shudder as he rolled his hips against him. "I want to hurt you. I want to-I want to fuck into you, knot you up so hard, love... I want to break you."
"Eames..." It was a low groan, but then Arthur grabbed his chin, looking Eames square in the eye. "It will be all right. You're going to be okay."
Eames knew he wasn't firing on all cylinders, and he wasn't sure how it was possible to feel so powerful... and so frightened at the same time. And how had Arthur known when he could barely admit it to himself?
He hated the monster he became.
Leaning forward, he kissed Arthur deep and slow, in a way that he had always wanted to do, but soon wouldn't be capable of. An apology of sorts, before what he knew was to come.
I could love you, you pretentious idiot , he thought. If things were different.
The elevator dinged open.
Afterward, Eames wasn't sure how Arthur got them through the door. Things were becoming a bit fragmented in his mind again - like trying to stumble home after one too many drinks.
He remembered shoving Arthur onto his own bed, crowding over him and ripping his suit vest off - Arthur making some complaint. Eames was so overheated he couldn't remove his shirt quickly enough.
The soft snick of cold metal around his wrists shocked him, as did Arthur's sudden move; twisting his lithe legs and hips to roll away. Eames made to grab him, but his hands had been secured with a short leash to the metal headboard.
"Arthur!" he snapped, his voice dark and distorted. "Get back here!"
"Relax." Arthur's hand brushed his shoulder and Eames lunged for him, jerking against the headboard. The metal creaked, but held.
Arthur withdrew, his eyes slightly wide, but that only incensed Eames further. Fury and sex were only different sides of the same coin during rut.
"What do you think you're doing?" he growled.
"We discussed restraints, remember?"
"Come back here right now. I swear to God- Arthur! Where do you think you're going?"
The other man was slowly backing away. "I'm going to take a shower and get ready for you. It won't take long."
"You aren't. You're ready, I'm ready. For Gods sake, Arthur!" But it was no use. Arthur had disappeared around the corner and out of sight.
Eames yanked on the cuffs sharply, trying to follow, but there was no give. Rage flared up within him, incandescent and he choked off a scream, thrashing, pulling mindlessly like an animal caught in a trap.
It seemed there used to be a time when he could have picked a lock like this, but thought and reason were out of his grasp. He fought the steel, beating closed hands on the headboard, the wall. And the rage, the heat bubbling up in him was only growing brighter until he couldn't stand being in his own skin. With nothing to destroy, he tore at his own clothes. Cool air against his skin brought only scant relief.
Something caught his attention. Arthur stepping from around the corner again in a drift of steam, hair shower-slick and a towel wrapped around his waist.
Arthur's mouth moved, but Eames was beyond parsing the words. He watched, with deceptive calm as Arthur stepped closer, reaching for Eames hands which had somehow become bright red and slick.
The moment he was in range, Eames lunged for him, unsure if he wanted to kill Arthur or fuck him or both.
The omega took a quick step back, a flash of fear in his eyes. The sight of it, and the surprise - Arthur was one of the bravest men he knew - brought Eames back to himself a little.
He closed his eyes. "Run," he rasped.
But Arthur didn't. There was a click and Eames' hands were free. And he was on Arthur, grabbing, shoving him face-down upon the mattress. Arthur thrashed and Eames cuffed him for his insolence. A voice, tiny and distant in his mind screamed that Arthur should be made ready, but Eames shoving fingers found him already slick and made loose.
The shower , he thought dimly, and shoved Arthur's leg up.
And as he sheathed himself in Arthur's warm body the last dregs of Eames' sanity washed away in the rut.
****
Eames never remembered much doing the worst it. Occasionally flashes of the animal LUST!RAGE!SEX!POSSESSION!ANGER!HUNGER would come back to him at inconvenient times: looking out the window while riding the train, hearing a distant laugh, or when he was about to tuck into a good meal.
Those bits of memory would inevitably leave him melancholy and counting the days (dreading) until he had to be on watch for the next cycle.
Coming out of the rut was a slow surface out of a nightmare. A rise to brief awareness to gulp in a breath of air before sinking under again.
... Pushing Arthur's lithe body against the headboard, hearing it slam again and again against the wall. Arthur panting in his ear....
... Arthur's eyes rolling up inside his head, mouth slack in ecstasy...
... The trembling body under his as he pushed in a final time, burying himself to the hilt, and swelled and swelled....
... and Eames wrapping a hand around Arthur's throat, feeling the rush of blood under his finger tips, and Arthur tried to suck in air, weakening fingers trying to pry Eames' away...
... Eames fucking into him, wet slaps, and the thighs he spread were sticky from cum leaking out....
... Arthur shaking his head, making tiny aborted sounds in the back of his throat as Eames reached around and jerked him off. He tried to get away, but they were knotted together and he wasn't going anywhere...
... "I can't again... I can't..." But then Arthur was coming anyway, clenching helplessly around Eames, dry sobbing...
... His hard cock slotted in between Arthur's thighs, dropping kisses on his sharp shoulders as he worked himself in deeper...
... Arthur's scrabbling fingers, a nail torn to the quick. Bleeding...
... There was something wrong, though Eames couldn't say why. It was enough to still himself for a moment and pull back, taking himself in hand instead. A few pulls and he was coming, making a mess of Arthur's stomach.
Arthur made a small sound of surprise, and with the hand not around his engorging knot, Eames pulled him against his chest. This omega was his and he needed to stay next to Eames so he could protect him, fuck him as he needed.
The mid-afternoon sun lit strange red streaks on the omega's shoulders. Eames tucked his head against it, feeling the next wave of lust start its slow build again, tingling under his skin. He was still painfully hard and he was so, so tired...
****
Eames didn't wake so much as he snapped back to himself. He found he was wrapped around Arthur so tightly he wasn't sure if he had been trying to hold him, or crush him. Slowly, he made himself relax muscle by muscle, peeling away from Arthur, and stared.
Arthur was asleep, or possibly unconscious. The skin around his left eye was dark and puffed up, his bottom lip split with a dried line of blood running down his chin. More streaks of blood, some black with age decorated his body. And there was a ring of what looked to be finger shaped bruises around his throat.
"Arthur." Eames' voice came out rusty with disuse. There was no reaction. Eames felt for a pulse, his heart in his throat, and exhaled sharply in relief when he found it strong and steady.
Then Eames' noticed that his own wrists were a mess. It looked as if he'd rubbed himself raw on the restrains Arthur had tried to use at first. The clotted blood was dark with age, but the cuts had obviously had not been deep, else Eames would have bled to death long before.
He had little care for his own sake, only found himself clinging onto Arthur again. It must have been the fading effects of the hormones that made tears prick behind his eyes. Eames knew he was not a good man. He had lied, cheated, and stole throughout most of his adult life, but he had never done this before. Never... brutalized someone.
He was a mess, physically and emotionally. Arthur would surely be worse, after what Eames had done to him.
Eventually Arthur did stir, making tiny aborted movements as if to push him away. His eyes slit open and in them Eames saw hazy wariness.
Arthur's voice sounded like it was chewed through gravel. "G'back to sleep..."
Eames' chest constricted. "Is there anything... What do you need?"
He grumbled something, his head rolling limply back, but Eames thought he heard "Water".
And now he was becoming more aware of his surroundings. Everything until this point had been in narrow focus upon Arthur. Eames glanced around and realized for the first time he was not in a hotel room. This bedroom was too personalized. He was in a home. Arthur's home?
There was an extended wall jutting out from the corner, and Eames guessed it led to a bathroom. He vaguely remembered something about a shower.
"Right," he said, and cradling Arthur under his knees and shoulders, lifted him. Arthur gave a start of surprise, cursing and kicking out, but he felt light as a feather to Eames. Enough so he could bend down and snag a coffee-cup that was on Arthur's bedside table as he passed.
Arthur didn't voice a further complaint, which was unlike him. He was utterly passive, too, when Eames filled the cup from the bathroom sink and brought it to his lips.
He did jerk in surprise when Eames maneuvered them both into the large, tiled shower and turned on the water.
"Warmer," he croaked and stood trembling against Eames, barely able to stand on his own as Eames soaped them both down.
Eames tried not to look too hard at the mass of black and blue that covered the inside of Arthur's thighs and his ass. His lean back was a terrible sight too, topped by a set of teeth marks along his right shoulder, still crusty with blood. Eames rinsed it the best he could.
"Head back," he ordered, squirting a generous dollop of shampoo into his hand. He worked it through Arthur's dark hair, the woodsy scent of it familiar and aching at the same time.
That and the sight of the water licking down Arthur's bruised, olive skin sent a bolt of lust into his groin. Eames swallowed and felt himself hardening again. He couldn't draw away, even though he knew it was wrong. The rut wasn't done with him yet.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, reaching down to palm himself. Arthur groaned, his arms around Eames' neck to hold himself up. Eames kissed his nape, the unbruised portions of his throat, and tried to be as gentle as he could as he rubbed himself off on Arthur. Judging by his grimaces, he wasn't entirely successful.
Orgasm brought more clarity to his mind and he made short work of washing them again, toweling them down and then treating his cuts and Arthur's bite with hydrogen peroxide he found under the sink. There were bandages in a first-aid kit nearby.
He made Arthur drink another two cups of water, and then one himself even though he wasn't thirsty.
His wrists were beginning to sting and the fact that Arthur felt more substantial when Eames carried him to the living room was an indication that the rut was almost over. His unnatural strength was leaving him. Soon he'd be even more helpless from exhaustion than Arthur.
"Should I leave?" Eames asked as he set Arthur down on his couch and covered him with a quilt he found there.
Arthur nodded once and rolled over, eyes slipping shut.
Of course he would want to be alone, after what Eames had done to him.
The urge to wrap himself around Arthur was still there, but Eames was stronger than the rut now. Besides, the only one Arthur needed protecting was from himself. He dragged himself upright on shaky legs, pulled on the remains on his clothing, and quietly left.
****
To be continued