Fic: King & Arthur
King & Arthur
Words: 1,000
Thanks to: letangerine for looking it over.
Inspired by an inception-kink prompt: Eames is a king and Arthur is a member of his court. Arthur knows as well as everyone that when the king tells you to strip, you strip.
King & Arthur
"Go ahead, then," Eames says, with a dismissive flick of his hand. "Strip."
Arthur feels the gaze of the entire throne-room settling on him, all the dozens of courtiers and servants and hangers-on watching, waiting. After all, when a king tells you to strip--regardless of the circumstances--you do so.
"No," Arthur says, the levelness of his voice surprising even himself.
The room immediately fills with confused tittering, low murmurs of, "What does he think he's doing? He's going to get himself killed," and, "Is he truly refusing?"
Eames, previously indolent and slouching in his throne, sits up at attention. "Your sovereign has given you an order."
"I am aware." Arthur has the temerity to look Eames in the eye without flinching. "I simply refuse to comply."
Eames' face darkens as he leans forward and commands in a low voice that nevertheless carries, "Everyone out. Except for Arthur."
There's a murmured hubbub, a hurried shuffle of skirts and powdered wigs, and then the room is completely empty except for the two of them.
"I could have you executed for your disobedience," Eames says, casually, quietly.
"My life is yours," Arthur replies, taking a step forwards, and then another. He's almost unacceptably close to the king by now.
"Such insolence." Eames stands. The heavy, gem-encrusted jewelry around his neck clinks together over the folds of his deep purple robe. "Who do you think you are to speak to me this way?"
"Your subject," Arthur says, close enough to see the rich velvet of Eames' clothing, the gold thread running throughout. "Your servant."
"Such blatant disrepect from a servant," Eames observes, not retreating as Arthur comes closer.
"Would you prefer me simpering on my knees like all the others?"
"I expect you to know your place." Eames puts a hand on Arthur's shoulder, heavy and not without meaning.
Arthur sinks to a kneeling position before Eames, staring up at him cooly. "I am yours to command, your majesty."
"Now you obey?" Eames asks as he peels open his robe, revealing no underwear beneath it. "Will you strip for me now?"
"Is it your wish that I do?" Arthur leans forward to nuzzle at Eames' balls, sucks them into his mouth without breaking eye-contact.
"It is my wish that you..." Eames inhales sharply as Arthur puts his hands in between Eames' thighs, pushes them further apart as Arthur continues to lick. "That..."
Arthur takes Eames' dick into his mouth, only the head, and suckles it thoroughly while he gently rolls Eames's balls between his fingers, smooths a thumb behind them over the sensitive skin of his perineum. Eames' eyes have gone glassy already, too distracted to notice Arthur pushing a finger up into his hole.
It takes barely a few strokes of Arthur's finger in combination with his mouth for Eames to come, ringed fingers clenching against Arthur's shoulder almost painfully as he does. Arthur swallows and sees him through it, then stands and guides Eames backwards while Eames is still dazed with pleasure.
The heavy velvet robe falls from Eames' shoulders onto the throne as Arthur bends Eames over one ornately carved arm. Eames only seems to come back to himself when Arthur shoves down his trousers, spits into his hand and spreads Eames' legs.
"What do you think you're--" Eames' words cut off when Arthur buries himself in Eames with one smooth stroke.
"You're tighter than I expected, my liege," Arthur says, one palm planted on Eames' back as he grinds in and out. "How long has it been?"
Eames groans as he tries to push Arthur off and fails. "You know exactly how long it's been."
"Does my service please you, your majesty?" Arthur asks as he begins to fuck in and out faster. The chains around Eames' neck rattle with every movement.
Eames' head drops forward as he groans and begins to push backwards, impaling himself harder on Arthur's cock. "Service? You serve no one but yourself."
Arthur doesn't bother to reply as he slows his pace, watches his dick slide in and out of Eames' gorgeous ass, mesmerized.
"Arthur," Eames says, the broad expanse of his back shifting under Arthur's fingertips. "How long do you intend to--"
"As long as I want." Arthur leans down to brush his lips against Eames' ear, close enough to feel him shiver and pant softly. "Safeword?"
Eames twists at the waist, powerful muscles flexing as he meets Arthur's lips with his own. "No."
Satisfied, Arthur catches Eames' wrists in his hands and brings them together behind his back. "What would your court say if they saw you like this? Gagging for a commoner's cock?"
"God," Eames gasps, and Arthur can feel him clench, impossibly tighter, as he comes. Arthur stops trying to hold back, now, and manages a few punishing thrusts before he comes as well.
Arthur rides the high down, slumping forward on top of Eames' bulk. He's abruptly, utterly happy that Eames is solid enough to hold his weight without flinching.
"Time to wake up now?" Eames murmurs as he drags one of Arthur's arms around his waist, locking their bodies closer together.
"If you command it." Arthur concentrates on morphing the throne into something more comfortable, and succeeds in creating a futon they can fall into.
"You are the worst subject," Eames says, voice returning to its normal timber and cadence.
Arthur reaches around to cup Eames' softening cock. "Didn't seem so bad to me."
"I had such high hopes," Eames continues, undeterred. "You, naked and serving me grapes. The projections having their wicked way with you as I watched. And what do I get? No stripping, no grapes, no naughty projections."
Arthur hums thoughtfully as he plays with the necklaces caught in Eames' chest hair. "Should have been more specific."
"Specific?" Eames tweaks Arthur's nose. "I thought I made myself quite clear."
"Telling me fifteen seconds before we enter the dream that you're a king and I'm not isn't specific," Arthur says, unimpressed by Eames' pouting.
"A subject listens to his king. I thought that much was obvious."
Arthur shrugs. "Not me."
"Ugh, Americans." Eames huffs an injured little sigh even as he snuggles closer to Arthur on the futon. "No respect for title."
"Nope," Arthur says, closing his eyes with a smile as he waits for the PASIV timer to run down.
fin
Poll Fic: King & Arthur
Words: 1,000
Thanks to: letangerine for looking it over.
Inspired by an inception-kink prompt: Eames is a king and Arthur is a member of his court. Arthur knows as well as everyone that when the king tells you to strip, you strip.
King & Arthur
"Go ahead, then," Eames says, with a dismissive flick of his hand. "Strip."
Arthur feels the gaze of the entire throne-room settling on him, all the dozens of courtiers and servants and hangers-on watching, waiting. After all, when a king tells you to strip--regardless of the circumstances--you do so.
"No," Arthur says, the levelness of his voice surprising even himself.
The room immediately fills with confused tittering, low murmurs of, "What does he think he's doing? He's going to get himself killed," and, "Is he truly refusing?"
Eames, previously indolent and slouching in his throne, sits up at attention. "Your sovereign has given you an order."
"I am aware." Arthur has the temerity to look Eames in the eye without flinching. "I simply refuse to comply."
Eames' face darkens as he leans forward and commands in a low voice that nevertheless carries, "Everyone out. Except for Arthur."
There's a murmured hubbub, a hurried shuffle of skirts and powdered wigs, and then the room is completely empty except for the two of them.
"I could have you executed for your disobedience," Eames says, casually, quietly.
"My life is yours," Arthur replies, taking a step forwards, and then another. He's almost unacceptably close to the king by now.
"Such insolence." Eames stands. The heavy, gem-encrusted jewelry around his neck clinks together over the folds of his deep purple robe. "Who do you think you are to speak to me this way?"
"Your subject," Arthur says, close enough to see the rich velvet of Eames' clothing, the gold thread running throughout. "Your servant."
"Such blatant disrepect from a servant," Eames observes, not retreating as Arthur comes closer.
"Would you prefer me simpering on my knees like all the others?"
"I expect you to know your place." Eames puts a hand on Arthur's shoulder, heavy and not without meaning.
Arthur sinks to a kneeling position before Eames, staring up at him cooly. "I am yours to command, your majesty."
"Now you obey?" Eames asks as he peels open his robe, revealing no underwear beneath it. "Will you strip for me now?"
"Is it your wish that I do?" Arthur leans forward to nuzzle at Eames' balls, sucks them into his mouth without breaking eye-contact.
"It is my wish that you..." Eames inhales sharply as Arthur puts his hands in between Eames' thighs, pushes them further apart as Arthur continues to lick. "That..."
Arthur takes Eames' dick into his mouth, only the head, and suckles it thoroughly while he gently rolls Eames's balls between his fingers, smooths a thumb behind them over the sensitive skin of his perineum. Eames' eyes have gone glassy already, too distracted to notice Arthur pushing a finger up into his hole.
It takes barely a few strokes of Arthur's finger in combination with his mouth for Eames to come, ringed fingers clenching against Arthur's shoulder almost painfully as he does. Arthur swallows and sees him through it, then stands and guides Eames backwards while Eames is still dazed with pleasure.
The heavy velvet robe falls from Eames' shoulders onto the throne as Arthur bends Eames over one ornately carved arm. Eames only seems to come back to himself when Arthur shoves down his trousers, spits into his hand and spreads Eames' legs.
"What do you think you're--" Eames' words cut off when Arthur buries himself in Eames with one smooth stroke.
"You're tighter than I expected, my liege," Arthur says, one palm planted on Eames' back as he grinds in and out. "How long has it been?"
Eames groans as he tries to push Arthur off and fails. "You know exactly how long it's been."
"Does my service please you, your majesty?" Arthur asks as he begins to fuck in and out faster. The chains around Eames' neck rattle with every movement.
Eames' head drops forward as he groans and begins to push backwards, impaling himself harder on Arthur's cock. "Service? You serve no one but yourself."
Arthur doesn't bother to reply as he slows his pace, watches his dick slide in and out of Eames' gorgeous ass, mesmerized.
"Arthur," Eames says, the broad expanse of his back shifting under Arthur's fingertips. "How long do you intend to--"
"As long as I want." Arthur leans down to brush his lips against Eames' ear, close enough to feel him shiver and pant softly. "Safeword?"
Eames twists at the waist, powerful muscles flexing as he meets Arthur's lips with his own. "No."
Satisfied, Arthur catches Eames' wrists in his hands and brings them together behind his back. "What would your court say if they saw you like this? Gagging for a commoner's cock?"
"God," Eames gasps, and Arthur can feel him clench, impossibly tighter, as he comes. Arthur stops trying to hold back, now, and manages a few punishing thrusts before he comes as well.
Arthur rides the high down, slumping forward on top of Eames' bulk. He's abruptly, utterly happy that Eames is solid enough to hold his weight without flinching.
"Time to wake up now?" Eames murmurs as he drags one of Arthur's arms around his waist, locking their bodies closer together.
"If you command it." Arthur concentrates on morphing the throne into something more comfortable, and succeeds in creating a futon they can fall into.
"You are the worst subject," Eames says, voice returning to its normal timber and cadence.
Arthur reaches around to cup Eames' softening cock. "Didn't seem so bad to me."
"I had such high hopes," Eames continues, undeterred. "You, naked and serving me grapes. The projections having their wicked way with you as I watched. And what do I get? No stripping, no grapes, no naughty projections."
Arthur hums thoughtfully as he plays with the necklaces caught in Eames' chest hair. "Should have been more specific."
"Specific?" Eames tweaks Arthur's nose. "I thought I made myself quite clear."
"Telling me fifteen seconds before we enter the dream that you're a king and I'm not isn't specific," Arthur says, unimpressed by Eames' pouting.
"A subject listens to his king. I thought that much was obvious."
Arthur shrugs. "Not me."
"Ugh, Americans." Eames huffs an injured little sigh even as he snuggles closer to Arthur on the futon. "No respect for title."
"Nope," Arthur says, closing his eyes with a smile as he waits for the PASIV timer to run down.
fin
Poll Fic: King & Arthur