Inception Kink Meme - Arthur/Eames, aftercare
Title: Afterwards
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: R
Prompt: BDSM aftercare! Arthur is the dom.
As soon as Eames was free of the ropes on his wrists, he collapsed. All things considered, he didn’t think it was an unreasonable reaction, not when the only thing he could hear was the thick pounding of his own heartbeat and he was sure that the stripes on the back of his thighs were bleeding a little. His knees gave out, and he felt Arthur’s hand gripping his forearm tighten convulsively, supporting him enough that the fall didn’t end with him flat on the floor with his face pressed into the carpet. Instead, after a moment of white disorientation, he found himself kneeling, leaning up against Arthur’s body, his face pressed into the curve of Arthur’s neck, the smell of Arthur’s cologne filling his nose.
“Eames?” The word reverberated a little through Arthur’s chest, and Eames’ fingers twitched where they were pressed against Arthur’s shirt, the cotton soft under his fingertips. Every inch of his skin seemed to be alive, every sensation double bright, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the light in the room. “Are you with me?”
It took a second before Eames could make an affirmative noise in the back of his throat, words still beyond his capacity. All sorts of different places hurt-The bright burn of the welts on his legs and ass, his wrists where he’d twisted and jerked against the rope, the spot on his neck where Arthur had sunk in his teeth while they fucked, and in the wake of his orgasm the sensations were turning more into discomfort than the simple, indistinguishable wash of feeling they’d been when he’d earned them.
He didn’t care. He nuzzled a little closer to Arthur’s neck, and felt a steady hand brush across his cheek soothingly.
“That’s my good boy,” Arthur said warmly, and the obvious affection was worth any sort of physical pain. Eames felt some of the tension leave his shoulders, and Arthur’s hand moved to brush through his hair, pushing the sweaty strands back from his forehead so Arthur could press his lips against Eames’ skin. “How are you feeling?”
“Good,” Eames managed, and was pleased to find the word intelligible, “Hold me.”
Arthur wrapped his arms around Eames shoulders, tugging him a little closer, and kissed the top of his head again, fingers moving soothingly across the bare skin on his back, light across the red stripes his nails had left there earlier. For a several minutes they just sat like that as Eames’ heartrate returned to normal and the heat of their bodies started to fade from intense to a pleasant warmth between them. Arthur was a solid presence to cling to, and would occasionally shift to murmur praise or an endearment in Eames’ ear. Finally, Eames shifted a little, pulling back, and Arthur squeezed him once more before releasing him, keeping his hands steady on his shoulders.
“I hurt all over,” he said simply, and saw something like pride on Arthur’s face. He leaned in to the hand Arthur raised to cup his cheek.
“Thank you,” Arthur said simply, then pulled back, standing gracefully and offering Eames a hand, “Let’s go take a shower and go to bed.”
Eames allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, leaning shakily on Arthur for a moment before the pins-and-needles in his legs subsided enough that he could stand on his own. Even then, Arthur kept an arm protectively curled around his waist, guiding him towards the door to the bathroom. As Arthur turned on the water, he leaned gingerly against the counter, watching as Arthur stripped off his white t-shirt and black jeans, tossing them towards the laundry basket in one corner of the room. He checked the water temperature with his hand before gesturing for Eames to step in under the spray.
The spray fell on Eames’ back as Arthur kissed him, tongue brushing across the raw place on his lip where Arthur’s teeth had drawn blood. Their movements were gentle, unhurried, and the water washed away the sweat and blood and come on their skin. Eames felt exhaustion settle over him, bone-deep, and when Arthur finally reached to turn off the water, all he could think about was sleep.
He stood still, dripping onto the bathmat as Arthur wrapped a towel around him, though he couldn’t help reaching out to brush his fingers across Arthur’s wrist, making him glance up with a smile.
“You take such good care of me,” Eames said, and was rewarded with Arthur’s short laugh.
“Of course I do,” Arthur said, leaning forward to kiss a fading bruise from another day still visible on Eames’ chest. “You’re mine. I take care of my things.”
“Take this thing to bed, then,” Eames couldn’t help but smirk, and Arthur laughed again, tucking in the end of the towel near Eames’ hip and stepping back to grab one for himself.
“Dry off first. I already changed the sheets once tonight,” Arthur said, rubbing a hand towel across his face, tousling his hair.
“When was this?”
“When you were blindfolded in the kitchen waiting for me,” Arthur said matter-of-factly, holding out a dry towel to Eames, “I had to have something to do, and the whipped cream was everywhere.”
“True.” Eames scrubbed the towel across his face, and when he lowered it he saw Arthur watching him intently. “What?”
“Your neck would look better with a collar around it,” Arthur said, a little too casually, and Eames felt his stomach drop at the half-promise.
“Really?”
“Something to drag you around by,” Arthur mimed tugging on something near Eames’ throat, then settled with his palm flat over Eames’ heart. “To mark you as mine.”
Eames kissed him, and Arthur shifted to run his fingers through the hair at the base of Eames’ skull, pressing on old sore spots a little as his fingers tightened. After a long moment, Arthur broke the kiss, and smiled again, briefly.
“Get to bed, Eames.” He turned back towards the sink, leaning against the counter with one hand and smoothing his wet hair back with the other. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: R
Prompt: BDSM aftercare! Arthur is the dom.
As soon as Eames was free of the ropes on his wrists, he collapsed. All things considered, he didn’t think it was an unreasonable reaction, not when the only thing he could hear was the thick pounding of his own heartbeat and he was sure that the stripes on the back of his thighs were bleeding a little. His knees gave out, and he felt Arthur’s hand gripping his forearm tighten convulsively, supporting him enough that the fall didn’t end with him flat on the floor with his face pressed into the carpet. Instead, after a moment of white disorientation, he found himself kneeling, leaning up against Arthur’s body, his face pressed into the curve of Arthur’s neck, the smell of Arthur’s cologne filling his nose.
“Eames?” The word reverberated a little through Arthur’s chest, and Eames’ fingers twitched where they were pressed against Arthur’s shirt, the cotton soft under his fingertips. Every inch of his skin seemed to be alive, every sensation double bright, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the light in the room. “Are you with me?”
It took a second before Eames could make an affirmative noise in the back of his throat, words still beyond his capacity. All sorts of different places hurt-The bright burn of the welts on his legs and ass, his wrists where he’d twisted and jerked against the rope, the spot on his neck where Arthur had sunk in his teeth while they fucked, and in the wake of his orgasm the sensations were turning more into discomfort than the simple, indistinguishable wash of feeling they’d been when he’d earned them.
He didn’t care. He nuzzled a little closer to Arthur’s neck, and felt a steady hand brush across his cheek soothingly.
“That’s my good boy,” Arthur said warmly, and the obvious affection was worth any sort of physical pain. Eames felt some of the tension leave his shoulders, and Arthur’s hand moved to brush through his hair, pushing the sweaty strands back from his forehead so Arthur could press his lips against Eames’ skin. “How are you feeling?”
“Good,” Eames managed, and was pleased to find the word intelligible, “Hold me.”
Arthur wrapped his arms around Eames shoulders, tugging him a little closer, and kissed the top of his head again, fingers moving soothingly across the bare skin on his back, light across the red stripes his nails had left there earlier. For a several minutes they just sat like that as Eames’ heartrate returned to normal and the heat of their bodies started to fade from intense to a pleasant warmth between them. Arthur was a solid presence to cling to, and would occasionally shift to murmur praise or an endearment in Eames’ ear. Finally, Eames shifted a little, pulling back, and Arthur squeezed him once more before releasing him, keeping his hands steady on his shoulders.
“I hurt all over,” he said simply, and saw something like pride on Arthur’s face. He leaned in to the hand Arthur raised to cup his cheek.
“Thank you,” Arthur said simply, then pulled back, standing gracefully and offering Eames a hand, “Let’s go take a shower and go to bed.”
Eames allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, leaning shakily on Arthur for a moment before the pins-and-needles in his legs subsided enough that he could stand on his own. Even then, Arthur kept an arm protectively curled around his waist, guiding him towards the door to the bathroom. As Arthur turned on the water, he leaned gingerly against the counter, watching as Arthur stripped off his white t-shirt and black jeans, tossing them towards the laundry basket in one corner of the room. He checked the water temperature with his hand before gesturing for Eames to step in under the spray.
The spray fell on Eames’ back as Arthur kissed him, tongue brushing across the raw place on his lip where Arthur’s teeth had drawn blood. Their movements were gentle, unhurried, and the water washed away the sweat and blood and come on their skin. Eames felt exhaustion settle over him, bone-deep, and when Arthur finally reached to turn off the water, all he could think about was sleep.
He stood still, dripping onto the bathmat as Arthur wrapped a towel around him, though he couldn’t help reaching out to brush his fingers across Arthur’s wrist, making him glance up with a smile.
“You take such good care of me,” Eames said, and was rewarded with Arthur’s short laugh.
“Of course I do,” Arthur said, leaning forward to kiss a fading bruise from another day still visible on Eames’ chest. “You’re mine. I take care of my things.”
“Take this thing to bed, then,” Eames couldn’t help but smirk, and Arthur laughed again, tucking in the end of the towel near Eames’ hip and stepping back to grab one for himself.
“Dry off first. I already changed the sheets once tonight,” Arthur said, rubbing a hand towel across his face, tousling his hair.
“When was this?”
“When you were blindfolded in the kitchen waiting for me,” Arthur said matter-of-factly, holding out a dry towel to Eames, “I had to have something to do, and the whipped cream was everywhere.”
“True.” Eames scrubbed the towel across his face, and when he lowered it he saw Arthur watching him intently. “What?”
“Your neck would look better with a collar around it,” Arthur said, a little too casually, and Eames felt his stomach drop at the half-promise.
“Really?”
“Something to drag you around by,” Arthur mimed tugging on something near Eames’ throat, then settled with his palm flat over Eames’ heart. “To mark you as mine.”
Eames kissed him, and Arthur shifted to run his fingers through the hair at the base of Eames’ skull, pressing on old sore spots a little as his fingers tightened. After a long moment, Arthur broke the kiss, and smiled again, briefly.
“Get to bed, Eames.” He turned back towards the sink, leaning against the counter with one hand and smoothing his wet hair back with the other. “I’ll be there in a minute.”