Inception Kink Fest

[cherrybina]

Welcome to the Inception fandom Kink Fest!

This fandom puts out some seriously amazing fic on a regular basis, but I am of the opinion that there should always always ALWAYS be more kinky porn. You guys, our fandom has guns and bondage and daddy issues and dream forgery. I say it's time to bring on the kink, yes?

♥ Inception Kink Fest ♥You can

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4/7

[airgiodslv]

Awareness strikes so hard that for a moment Eames can’t breathe. He stands without consciously choosing to do so, and within a handful of seconds he’s across the warehouse with one hand clamped around Arthur’s wrist, dragging him into the half-renovated area in the back where they’ve set up lounge chairs in a semi-circle around the PASIV. Arthur goes without a fuss, meek and compliant. Of course he does, he’s been playing - playing - subservient for the past three hours or more. Eames should have known better than to trust Arthur playing nice.

He pushes Arthur up against the closest wall, holding him there with a hand flat against his chest, but he doesn’t even have the chance to get a word out before his nostrils flare and he stops moving. Arthur had smelled good before, tantalizing in his subtlety, but now he’s…

Aroused. It’s unmistakable, this close. Arthur smells of musk and desire, intoxicating even without the added stimulation of the attraction being mutual. Eames wants to bury his nose against Arthur’s skin and lick his pulse point to feel it jump beneath his tongue.

“You’re getting off on this,” Eames rumbles, sliding his hand up Arthur’s chest until the soft web of skin between his forefinger and thumb is pressed against the bulge of Arthur’s Adam’s apple. “Do you like the idea of playing this game with something even more dangerous than you are?”

Arthur stretches out his neck beneath Eames’ hand, just enough that Eames squeezes a little to make sure Arthur knows he means it. “You’re courting me,” Arthur says, swallowing against the additional pressure. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” When Eames just stares at him, he adds, “I told you. I read.”

Eames’ eyes tighten. “And what would you do if you had me, hmm?” he asks, and gets his answer in Arthur’s eyes, in the sudden spike of his scent. “Do not,” Eames bites out clearly, and then he can’t finish, because he’s too busy breathing in the dizzying combination of sweat and musk in the hollow of Arthur’s throat, nuzzling into the open V of Arthur’s shirt collar.

He’s close to biting, riding that thrilling edge of violence and sex with his hand still on Arthur’s throat and his weight pressing Arthur to the wall, when Arthur does the right thing again, baring his neck and going lax in Eames’ hold.

“What do you need?” Arthur asks him, low-voiced, and there are a thousand answers Eames could give to that question, most of them involving blood.

Eames gives in and moves closer, crowding Arthur against the wall and leaning heavily against him to feel the way it forces Arthur’s breath shallow and faster. He buries his face in Arthur’s neck and closes his eyes, breathing.

“Just this,” he says, and after a moment Arthur’s hands come around him to tentatively settle on his shoulders, encircling him.

Cobb breaks them up a minute later, no doubt checking to see whether or not Eames has torn Arthur’s throat out, but by then Eames has gotten hold of himself and is calm again. Arthur is on good behavior as well, keeping to himself for the remainder of their work hours, occasionally passing by or letting Eames circle his desk so that Eames can get a reassuring whiff of his scent.

He’s not actually courting Arthur. That’s ridiculous. For one thing, Arthur isn’t a female werewolf, which means the standard rules of courtship don’t apply; and for another, Arthur isn’t an alpha. Alphas don’t mate with subordinates outside of unusual circumstances, such as changing pack dynamics or more hostile habitats.

Except that Eames has never seen Arthur as a true subordinate, and Arthur has been quietly transforming the dynamics of Cobb’s teams ever since he first hit the world of criminal extraction.

Except that when Eames comes up behind Arthur at the whiteboard, he can’t resist pressing against Arthur and touching his lips to the nape of Arthur’s neck, feeling the exact moment Arthur overcomes his own instinctive reaction to defend himself against a threat and relaxes slowly into Eames’ embrace.

Tuponile has given up entirely on pretending to work at this point. Eames doesn’t know what he thinks is going on, but decides he doesn’t give a fuck. Cobb is wise enough to let them handle themselves and keep to his corner behind a fortress of corkboard and drafting parchment.