FIC: Hair of the Dog
Title: Hair of the Dog
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3463
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Warnings: Bestiality
Summary: Eames tells Arthur to describe his most profane and fucked-up fantasy so they can go under with the PASIV and do it. Arthur is reluctant to admit it because he thinks it's too awful, but Eames insists.
Arthur's fantasy is getting fucked by Eames as a big dog. Surprisingly, Eames is still more than happy to oblige. ( Originally written and posted for this kink meme prompt)
The last thing Arthur expects is for Eames to say yes.
"You're sure?" he asks, still tracing nervous circles across the firm muscle of Eames' stomach. "I mean--"
"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't mean it," Eames says, shifting position against the headboard to give Arthur more space to curl close. "To be honest I was expecting something a bit more fucked up. I mean, you seem to like me being all shaggy and fucking you hard with my thick cock in real life, so it's not that much of a stretch, is it?"
Arthur swallows hard. He's still wet and slightly sore, Eames' come dripping down his thigh as slick proof of the pounding he took a few minutes ago. It's true he more than enjoys their sex life... just like it's true that the idea of Eames licking at him with a broad, rough tongue, scrabbling at his hips with dark claws and mounting him like a bitch in heat is enough to have his cock stirring with fresh interest against the jut of Eames' hip. "I suppose not," Arthur says, a little breathless at the thought that this is really going to happen.
“Tell me exactly what you want,” Eames says.
His easy acceptance is a relief, but the words still stick in Arthur’s mouth. “Just that. Just forge a big dog. Then... fuck me.”
“Any particular kind of dog?”
“No. Well.” There is something in mind, a vague sense of colour and build and coarse fur that he sometimes lets himself imagine when he’s jerking off. “Something that looks kind of like you, I guess.”
A broad hand tangles comfortingly in his hair. “Arthur,” Eames says, “you know what happens when a dog fucks, right?”
The shiver that runs down the length of Arthur’s spine is undeniable and he digs his nails into Eames’s skin. “Yeah.”
There’s a pause, and when Eames speaks again it’s so low and rough that Arthur can feel the purr through the fingers he has splayed across Eames’ belly. “You want me to do that to you?” he asks, hand trailing down over the nape of Arthur’s neck, feeling out the dip and ridge of each vertebrae like it’s braille and he’s a blind man.
Arthur arches back into the touch. “Yes.”
“Swell inside you,” he says, fingers dipping lower to the cleft of Arthur’s ass. “Tie us together, maybe give you enough to stop you begging for more for once.”
Two thick fingers push in easily without preamble and Arthur can’t help the way he moans, still sensitive and too hot, but he lifts his knee up over Eames’ hips to spread himself open anyway. “Please,” he hisses.
Eames pulls his fingers out and rolls Arthur onto his back with a growl, shoving his knees up. “You’re such a slut,” he says as he pushes his fingers back in, twisting mercilessly. “I love it.”
“Only for you,” Arthur gasps out over the sob welling up in the back of his throat, rocking his hips down onto Eames’ hand even though he’s only half-hard and trying to come again is probably going to be an exercise in frustration. Delicious, tantalizing frustration, but frustration none-the-less.
“Just the way I like it,” Eames says as he thrusts a third finger in.
*
Days pass and Eames doesn’t mention it again. Arthur pretends he isn’t disappointed, but he’s still not ready to bring it up himself just yet.
There’s plenty to keep him occupied anyway. They’re preparing a report for a major pharmaceuticals company with an irrational fear of the impact extractions could have on their patents, easy enough to do from home but complicated enough to make him glad Eames is on hand to help.
The consistent potential for a mid-afternoon fuck doesn’t hurt, either.
“Hey, Eames,” Arthur asks from the kitchen table. “Do you have those drawings of possible militarization training levels?”
“They’re in the blue sketchbook,” Eames says, occupied at the counter with the freshly boiled kettle.
Arthur glances over the mess of paper and notes spread across the table and spots the book tucked under a list of the company’s employees and their respective security clearances. It’s face down, and Arthur flips it open from the back.
There are no layout designs on the back pages. Arthur bites his lip at the drawings, in rough color pencil. All kinds of different dogs, purebreeds and mutts, all coloured and shaped in a way that’s vaguely familiar.
“Did you find the... oh.”
Arthur looks up as Eames sets the mugs down on the table, shifting in his seat and trying to think of the right way to say your attention to detail together with the fact you are actually going to do this is getting me really hot right now.
Eames licks his lips. “So. See anything you like?”
“All of them,” Arthur says honestly, running his fingers over the drawings. “Surprise me.”
*
The other thing Arthur likes about working from home is that he can smoke on the back porch of their rented cottage in nothing but his sleep shorts and not feel like he's breaking every single rule of professionalism.
He leans on the railing and blows smoke in the direction of the late afternoon sun, enjoying the warmth curling down into his lungs. He straightens up, stretching, almost ready to go back inside when movement at the corner of his eye grabs his attention.
Arthur's hand goes straight to his hip, years of instinct honed by far too many close calls, but of course there's no familiar Glock there.
The tension drains away when he realises it’s just a dog sniffing around the corner of the porch. It's big, scruffy, but hardly any real danger. Arthur watches as it trots closer to the stairs, nose to the ground. It's probably a stray, if the lack of a collar is anything to go by, but it seems well-fed enough with its broad shoulders and thick muscles.
"Eames," Arthur calls, about to tell him to come look, but the dog lifts its head at the sound of his voice, ears pricking up.
Its eyes are a precise, familiar shade of blue-gray.
Arthur freezes as the memory rolls over him; Eames's fingers warm and sure on his wrist, the sharp pain of the needle sliding into his vein and the cold pulse of Somnacin into his blood.
He blinks, and Eames is still there, like that, wagging his tail comfortably like he's been a dog his whole life.
Arthur swallows and steps down the stairs, slowly, like this is a natural dream that's broken through the damage Somnacin has done somehow, and any second now it could fade away and he'll wake up in bed with Eames snoring softly beside him.
The grass is warm and soft beneath his bare feet as he reaches out to stroke behind his ears. "Eames," he says again, curling his fingers into the fur.
Eames barks, bumping his head up against Arthur's hand before shoving his nose into Arthur's crotch; sniffing in sharp, measured bursts of hot air.
Arthur's hard, of course he's already hard, and he tightens his grip on Eames's fur as he explores the ridges of his hips and the covered length of his erection with quick sniffs and...
"Fuck," Arthur hisses when Eames licks him through the cotton of his shorts. "Don't, I don't want to come in my fucking pants." And he could, far too easily, with Eames's fur twisted between his fingers and Eames's muzzle pressed close against his cock while he laps at it.
The look Eames gives him as he backs off seems to say so what, it's a dream, but Arthur doesn't care. He wants to save it, he wants to let that pleasure surge and ebb until he can't help it, until he just has to come on Eames's cock as it swells inside him.
They stare at each other for a moment, and Arthur doesn't want to admit that now his most fucked up desire is looking him right in the eyes it's like everything he's ever imagined has drained out of his brain and he's no longer sure exactly what he should do.
Luckily, Eames seems to have no such problem.
He circles around, wagging tail hitting Arthur just hard enough to bring memories of a particularly sound spanking from last week bubbling to the surface, and nudges him further onto the lawn.
Arthur stumbles forward at the unexpected shove, turning to face Eames. "You want me over here?"
Eames barks twice, forelegs splayed and head down. As he circles closer again Arthur feels his pulse jump. This beast, easily as tall as his hips and thickly muscled to boot, is herding him, like prey to be cornered and overpowered.
"Here?" Arthur asks, voice thick in his throat, once he's backed into the middle of the yard.
This time Eames nods, and the gesture would seem stranger coming from a dog if it weren't so obviously Eames.
Arthur’s barely sat down before Eames bounds over, reaching out with surprising delicacy to push on his shoulder with one paw.
It really hits Arthur, as he lets Eames push him down onto the soft, sun-warm grass, that this isn’t an if or a maybe or a someday anymore. This is happening now, and Arthur reaches quickly for the waistband of his shorts.
Eames’s bark is sudden and sharp enough to startle the edge off his urgency.
“What?” Arthur asks, slipping his fingers just beneath the elastic.
Eames bares his teeth in a growl, saliva dripping from the sharp tips of his canines, and Arthur feels his toes curl unbidden against the grass.
He jerks his hands away when Eames snaps his jaws, snarling as he dips his head and grabs hold of the fabric. He’s not gentle about it, teeth scraping skin as he gets a grip, and Arthur props himself up on his elbows to watch as Eames worries and tugs at the shorts. He should be concerned, probably, such sharp teeth so close to his hard cock, but he’s just turned on by the sight, the harsh scrape of teeth and hot rush of air as Eames pants and pulls harder.
Arthur splays his legs wider to let Eames tear the shorts all the way off, leaving him bare and exposed, precome leaking from the tip of his cock.
He wants Eames to lick it off. A lot.
But Eames doesn’t seem to be in any hurry. Arthur moans and drops back onto the grass when that cool, wet nose nudges at his inner thighs, encouraging him to spread them even further. Any second now, Eames is going to lick his cock, he will, Arthur’s sure of it.
Instead he nuzzles the crease of Arthur’s thigh, then shifts to the other side, exploring and sniffing like he’s never seen Arthur naked before and he’s trying to map out all the skin with his muzzle.
“Eames, please,” Arthur hisses, hips bucking, but Eames just growls wetly against the delicate skin of his thigh, right next to his balls.
He’s close enough that his fur brushes Arthur’s cock, just barely, only enough to tease, and Arthur can feel the desire to break and beg building up inside him by the time Eames shifts, climbing up to stand over him.
“Oh fuck,” Arthur says, when Eames lowers his head to lick at his nipples. His tongue is broad and wet, rough, and Arthur arches into the contact.
Eames isn’t even resting any weight on him and he still manages to feel oppressive, so much fur and muscle just a few inches away from Arthur’s skin, and he digs his heels into the lawn and tries to arch his body up into Eames’s warm bulk.
Eames looks down at him then, eyes far too sharp and knowing for any dog, and Arthur knows what he's asking. "Please," he whispers, running his up along ribs until he's cupping Eames's head just behind his ears. "Please fuck me."
Arthur feels the low growl almost before he hears it, vibrating up through Eames’s chest. He drops his shaggy head to bump against Arthur’s shoulder, growls again before backing off slowly, and Arthur can’t roll over fast enough once there’s space.
He barely gets his knees under him before Eames’ tongue is sliding along the exposed curve of his ass, a slow, exploratory lick that touches nothing delicate but promises so very much. Arthur rests his head on his forearms and shifts his knees further apart.
But Eames doesn’t take the obvious invitation. Instead he licks again, on the other side of Arthur’s cleft, and Arthur shudders in desperation. “Do you want me to ask for it?” he says, muffled. “Is that what you’re waiting for?”
Eames barks once.
“Fuck, Eames, put that tongue to good use and eat me out like you mean it.” Arthur lifts his hips higher before adding, “please.”
The please turns into a hiss on his tongue when Eames obliges, licking into him firm and wet and unrelenting. Not that Eames isn’t usually fucking amazing with his mouth, but the broad texture of the dog’s tongue lapping at him is something else entirely. He bites down on his forearm and spreads his legs as wide as he can, thighs shaking, giving Eames free rein to lick in long strokes right from his balls up over his hole.
Slowly his tongue becomes more focused, working insistently against him until he’s teasing inside on every firm push. Arthur groans, relaxing into the sensation and letting Eames lick deeper. It’d be easy enough to just dream himself open and ready. Eames could already be fucking him, and the thought makes his cock jerk in anticipation. But Eames is always like this; always insistent on being the one to work Arthur open with his tongue or thick fingers coated in lube or even just his slick cock, easing in torturously slow until Arthur can take it.
Arthur pants under the warm sun and the effort of holding himself up on quivering thighs. His stomach is clenching, pleasure threading tension along the length of his spine, and it’d be so easy to come just like this. Not that he wants to, not yet, but...
Eames growls when he reaches between his own legs, tongue still laid flat against his hole, and the vibration is enough to make his hips buck reflexively. “Fuck me then,” he gasps. “Come on. I’m ready.”
Apparently Eames agrees, giving one last lick before pulling back. Arthur knows he’s still right there, still close enough for the heat of his breath to fan across Arthur’s oversensitive skin. Arthur knows what comes next. Anticipation adds to the tight quiver of his skin as he waits, spine arched, offering himself up to the beast behind him. “Please.”
Eames mounts him easily, furred muscled pressing against the backs of thighs and roundness of his ass. He’s heavy, holding Arthur firm with surprising strength in the forelegs clamped around his waist, and Arthur squirms. “Yes,” he hisses at the first slick touch of Eames’ cock. “Fuck yes, fuck.”
This time when Eames growls, low and animal and so fucking hot alongside the unfamiliar sensation of soft fur rubbing against him, Arthur pushes his hips back. The head is thicker than usual, more of a stretch as Eames gives a shallow thrust. Arthur closes his eyes.He could make it easier; it’s a dream. But he doesn’t really want to, doesn’t want to lose the sharp thrill of Eames’ cock fucking him open.
Eames is being careful, Arthur can tell, pulling out before he can thrust all the way in, driving a little deeper each time. Arthur’s not sure whether he’s grateful for the chance to adjust to the size of the dog’s cock or going insane with how badly he just wants to be fucked, right now.
When Eames’s hips finally press up firm against his ass, Arthur shudders. For all that Eames is impressively endowed in reality, he’s never been as deep inside Arthur as he is right now.
Arthur digs his fingers into the grass. “Do it.”
He’s not prepared for the first real thrust, how fucking hard Eames pumps his hips. There’s nothing slow or careful about it now. Eames’ claws scratch at the taut skin of Arthur’s belly as he fucks him relentlessly, a touch of sharp pain to offset the overwhelming fullness.
It’s hard to hold himself up against each quick shove of Eames’ hips, so Arthur drops his head onto his forearms and stops trying to move with it. It’s easier just to let go and let Eames fuck him, rapidfire, like he’s trying to pound the orgasm out of Arthur.
“Fuck,” Arthur breathes, shuddering, when Eames starts to come. It’s hot, hotter than normal, far more wet pressure filling him up inside than he’s used to. Especially alongside the thick, unfamiliar weight of Eames so deep, it’s...
He feels it as Eames swells, barely enough to notice at first. But it doesn’t stop. It doesn’t stop, and tears prick at the corners of Arthur’s eyes as he tries to breathe through the stretch.
“God, Eames,” he whispers, finally rocking back a little as the sensation settles. He rests his weight back against Eames, forcing the pressure deeper with a choked groan. “Fuck.” Every breath seems to make the knot shift within him, make him stretch open even more.
It hits him then, as he clenches down on the swollen knot, knowing that it’s Eames locked so tight and deep inside him. Arthur comes hard without a single stroke on his cock, stomach and thighs shaking as he spills over the grass.
Eames nuzzles at his hair with his nose, growling soft and fond before licking just behind his ear.
Arthur grins shakily against his forearm. The friction inside him is almost painful so soon after coming, but Eames is clinging tightly enough with his forelegs to prevent too much movement. He feels secure, pinned down. And of course they’ve stayed slotted together after sex before, but not like this. Arthur curls his toes against the grass, rocking to test the tie between them, hissing at the rough pull.
This feels like being owned, and it’s a far more comforting, intimate thing than Arthur thought it might be.
Minutes pass and Arthur sinks into the sensation of the sun on his skin, the rough brush of fur and solid weight of Eames against his back. He’s almost comfortable enough to doze just like that, still fucked open on Eames’ cock, when Eames gives one last wet growl at the nape of Arthur’s neck and pulls away.
His cock trails wet down the back of Arthur’s thigh, and Arthur digs his teeth into his bottom lip at the sudden loss.
A few seconds later it’s a human chest that presses in close against his back, a warm human nose that nuzzles the nape of his neck as broad arms pull him down onto the grass. “Are you okay?”
Arthur grins again and settles closer to the familiar body behind him. “More than. Fuck, that was... fuck.”
He squirms at the touch of Eames’ fingertips trailing down over skin that still feels like its pulled too tight, sensitive.
“Are you sure?” Eames murmurs, dipping two fingers inside Arthur. It’s like an electric shock, and Arthur arches his back with a hiss. “God, Arthur, you’re so fucking wet.”
A third finger pushes in, and it’s enough to make Arthur reach back to bury a hand in Eames’ hair, scraping his nails over his scalp. “Stop,” he says, but he’s not really sure if he means it.
Eames presses a kiss to the side of his neck. “Sorry, love. Just...” he slides his fingers in and out, once, gently. “I really fucked you good, didn’t I.”
Arthur groans in response and squeezes his eyes shut, fighting the urge to push against Eames’ fingers. “How long do we have?”
The answer is immediate, and Arthur can hear the smirk in it. “Long enough,” Eames says, rolling him over and trapping his wrists down above his head before sliding easily between his legs, like he belongs there.
At this point, he does. And Arthur’s more than okay with that.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3463
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Warnings: Bestiality
Summary: Eames tells Arthur to describe his most profane and fucked-up fantasy so they can go under with the PASIV and do it. Arthur is reluctant to admit it because he thinks it's too awful, but Eames insists.
Arthur's fantasy is getting fucked by Eames as a big dog. Surprisingly, Eames is still more than happy to oblige. ( Originally written and posted for this kink meme prompt)
The last thing Arthur expects is for Eames to say yes.
"You're sure?" he asks, still tracing nervous circles across the firm muscle of Eames' stomach. "I mean--"
"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't mean it," Eames says, shifting position against the headboard to give Arthur more space to curl close. "To be honest I was expecting something a bit more fucked up. I mean, you seem to like me being all shaggy and fucking you hard with my thick cock in real life, so it's not that much of a stretch, is it?"
Arthur swallows hard. He's still wet and slightly sore, Eames' come dripping down his thigh as slick proof of the pounding he took a few minutes ago. It's true he more than enjoys their sex life... just like it's true that the idea of Eames licking at him with a broad, rough tongue, scrabbling at his hips with dark claws and mounting him like a bitch in heat is enough to have his cock stirring with fresh interest against the jut of Eames' hip. "I suppose not," Arthur says, a little breathless at the thought that this is really going to happen.
“Tell me exactly what you want,” Eames says.
His easy acceptance is a relief, but the words still stick in Arthur’s mouth. “Just that. Just forge a big dog. Then... fuck me.”
“Any particular kind of dog?”
“No. Well.” There is something in mind, a vague sense of colour and build and coarse fur that he sometimes lets himself imagine when he’s jerking off. “Something that looks kind of like you, I guess.”
A broad hand tangles comfortingly in his hair. “Arthur,” Eames says, “you know what happens when a dog fucks, right?”
The shiver that runs down the length of Arthur’s spine is undeniable and he digs his nails into Eames’s skin. “Yeah.”
There’s a pause, and when Eames speaks again it’s so low and rough that Arthur can feel the purr through the fingers he has splayed across Eames’ belly. “You want me to do that to you?” he asks, hand trailing down over the nape of Arthur’s neck, feeling out the dip and ridge of each vertebrae like it’s braille and he’s a blind man.
Arthur arches back into the touch. “Yes.”
“Swell inside you,” he says, fingers dipping lower to the cleft of Arthur’s ass. “Tie us together, maybe give you enough to stop you begging for more for once.”
Two thick fingers push in easily without preamble and Arthur can’t help the way he moans, still sensitive and too hot, but he lifts his knee up over Eames’ hips to spread himself open anyway. “Please,” he hisses.
Eames pulls his fingers out and rolls Arthur onto his back with a growl, shoving his knees up. “You’re such a slut,” he says as he pushes his fingers back in, twisting mercilessly. “I love it.”
“Only for you,” Arthur gasps out over the sob welling up in the back of his throat, rocking his hips down onto Eames’ hand even though he’s only half-hard and trying to come again is probably going to be an exercise in frustration. Delicious, tantalizing frustration, but frustration none-the-less.
“Just the way I like it,” Eames says as he thrusts a third finger in.
*
Days pass and Eames doesn’t mention it again. Arthur pretends he isn’t disappointed, but he’s still not ready to bring it up himself just yet.
There’s plenty to keep him occupied anyway. They’re preparing a report for a major pharmaceuticals company with an irrational fear of the impact extractions could have on their patents, easy enough to do from home but complicated enough to make him glad Eames is on hand to help.
The consistent potential for a mid-afternoon fuck doesn’t hurt, either.
“Hey, Eames,” Arthur asks from the kitchen table. “Do you have those drawings of possible militarization training levels?”
“They’re in the blue sketchbook,” Eames says, occupied at the counter with the freshly boiled kettle.
Arthur glances over the mess of paper and notes spread across the table and spots the book tucked under a list of the company’s employees and their respective security clearances. It’s face down, and Arthur flips it open from the back.
There are no layout designs on the back pages. Arthur bites his lip at the drawings, in rough color pencil. All kinds of different dogs, purebreeds and mutts, all coloured and shaped in a way that’s vaguely familiar.
“Did you find the... oh.”
Arthur looks up as Eames sets the mugs down on the table, shifting in his seat and trying to think of the right way to say your attention to detail together with the fact you are actually going to do this is getting me really hot right now.
Eames licks his lips. “So. See anything you like?”
“All of them,” Arthur says honestly, running his fingers over the drawings. “Surprise me.”
*
The other thing Arthur likes about working from home is that he can smoke on the back porch of their rented cottage in nothing but his sleep shorts and not feel like he's breaking every single rule of professionalism.
He leans on the railing and blows smoke in the direction of the late afternoon sun, enjoying the warmth curling down into his lungs. He straightens up, stretching, almost ready to go back inside when movement at the corner of his eye grabs his attention.
Arthur's hand goes straight to his hip, years of instinct honed by far too many close calls, but of course there's no familiar Glock there.
The tension drains away when he realises it’s just a dog sniffing around the corner of the porch. It's big, scruffy, but hardly any real danger. Arthur watches as it trots closer to the stairs, nose to the ground. It's probably a stray, if the lack of a collar is anything to go by, but it seems well-fed enough with its broad shoulders and thick muscles.
"Eames," Arthur calls, about to tell him to come look, but the dog lifts its head at the sound of his voice, ears pricking up.
Its eyes are a precise, familiar shade of blue-gray.
Arthur freezes as the memory rolls over him; Eames's fingers warm and sure on his wrist, the sharp pain of the needle sliding into his vein and the cold pulse of Somnacin into his blood.
He blinks, and Eames is still there, like that, wagging his tail comfortably like he's been a dog his whole life.
Arthur swallows and steps down the stairs, slowly, like this is a natural dream that's broken through the damage Somnacin has done somehow, and any second now it could fade away and he'll wake up in bed with Eames snoring softly beside him.
The grass is warm and soft beneath his bare feet as he reaches out to stroke behind his ears. "Eames," he says again, curling his fingers into the fur.
Eames barks, bumping his head up against Arthur's hand before shoving his nose into Arthur's crotch; sniffing in sharp, measured bursts of hot air.
Arthur's hard, of course he's already hard, and he tightens his grip on Eames's fur as he explores the ridges of his hips and the covered length of his erection with quick sniffs and...
"Fuck," Arthur hisses when Eames licks him through the cotton of his shorts. "Don't, I don't want to come in my fucking pants." And he could, far too easily, with Eames's fur twisted between his fingers and Eames's muzzle pressed close against his cock while he laps at it.
The look Eames gives him as he backs off seems to say so what, it's a dream, but Arthur doesn't care. He wants to save it, he wants to let that pleasure surge and ebb until he can't help it, until he just has to come on Eames's cock as it swells inside him.
They stare at each other for a moment, and Arthur doesn't want to admit that now his most fucked up desire is looking him right in the eyes it's like everything he's ever imagined has drained out of his brain and he's no longer sure exactly what he should do.
Luckily, Eames seems to have no such problem.
He circles around, wagging tail hitting Arthur just hard enough to bring memories of a particularly sound spanking from last week bubbling to the surface, and nudges him further onto the lawn.
Arthur stumbles forward at the unexpected shove, turning to face Eames. "You want me over here?"
Eames barks twice, forelegs splayed and head down. As he circles closer again Arthur feels his pulse jump. This beast, easily as tall as his hips and thickly muscled to boot, is herding him, like prey to be cornered and overpowered.
"Here?" Arthur asks, voice thick in his throat, once he's backed into the middle of the yard.
This time Eames nods, and the gesture would seem stranger coming from a dog if it weren't so obviously Eames.
Arthur’s barely sat down before Eames bounds over, reaching out with surprising delicacy to push on his shoulder with one paw.
It really hits Arthur, as he lets Eames push him down onto the soft, sun-warm grass, that this isn’t an if or a maybe or a someday anymore. This is happening now, and Arthur reaches quickly for the waistband of his shorts.
Eames’s bark is sudden and sharp enough to startle the edge off his urgency.
“What?” Arthur asks, slipping his fingers just beneath the elastic.
Eames bares his teeth in a growl, saliva dripping from the sharp tips of his canines, and Arthur feels his toes curl unbidden against the grass.
He jerks his hands away when Eames snaps his jaws, snarling as he dips his head and grabs hold of the fabric. He’s not gentle about it, teeth scraping skin as he gets a grip, and Arthur props himself up on his elbows to watch as Eames worries and tugs at the shorts. He should be concerned, probably, such sharp teeth so close to his hard cock, but he’s just turned on by the sight, the harsh scrape of teeth and hot rush of air as Eames pants and pulls harder.
Arthur splays his legs wider to let Eames tear the shorts all the way off, leaving him bare and exposed, precome leaking from the tip of his cock.
He wants Eames to lick it off. A lot.
But Eames doesn’t seem to be in any hurry. Arthur moans and drops back onto the grass when that cool, wet nose nudges at his inner thighs, encouraging him to spread them even further. Any second now, Eames is going to lick his cock, he will, Arthur’s sure of it.
Instead he nuzzles the crease of Arthur’s thigh, then shifts to the other side, exploring and sniffing like he’s never seen Arthur naked before and he’s trying to map out all the skin with his muzzle.
“Eames, please,” Arthur hisses, hips bucking, but Eames just growls wetly against the delicate skin of his thigh, right next to his balls.
He’s close enough that his fur brushes Arthur’s cock, just barely, only enough to tease, and Arthur can feel the desire to break and beg building up inside him by the time Eames shifts, climbing up to stand over him.
“Oh fuck,” Arthur says, when Eames lowers his head to lick at his nipples. His tongue is broad and wet, rough, and Arthur arches into the contact.
Eames isn’t even resting any weight on him and he still manages to feel oppressive, so much fur and muscle just a few inches away from Arthur’s skin, and he digs his heels into the lawn and tries to arch his body up into Eames’s warm bulk.
Eames looks down at him then, eyes far too sharp and knowing for any dog, and Arthur knows what he's asking. "Please," he whispers, running his up along ribs until he's cupping Eames's head just behind his ears. "Please fuck me."
Arthur feels the low growl almost before he hears it, vibrating up through Eames’s chest. He drops his shaggy head to bump against Arthur’s shoulder, growls again before backing off slowly, and Arthur can’t roll over fast enough once there’s space.
He barely gets his knees under him before Eames’ tongue is sliding along the exposed curve of his ass, a slow, exploratory lick that touches nothing delicate but promises so very much. Arthur rests his head on his forearms and shifts his knees further apart.
But Eames doesn’t take the obvious invitation. Instead he licks again, on the other side of Arthur’s cleft, and Arthur shudders in desperation. “Do you want me to ask for it?” he says, muffled. “Is that what you’re waiting for?”
Eames barks once.
“Fuck, Eames, put that tongue to good use and eat me out like you mean it.” Arthur lifts his hips higher before adding, “please.”
The please turns into a hiss on his tongue when Eames obliges, licking into him firm and wet and unrelenting. Not that Eames isn’t usually fucking amazing with his mouth, but the broad texture of the dog’s tongue lapping at him is something else entirely. He bites down on his forearm and spreads his legs as wide as he can, thighs shaking, giving Eames free rein to lick in long strokes right from his balls up over his hole.
Slowly his tongue becomes more focused, working insistently against him until he’s teasing inside on every firm push. Arthur groans, relaxing into the sensation and letting Eames lick deeper. It’d be easy enough to just dream himself open and ready. Eames could already be fucking him, and the thought makes his cock jerk in anticipation. But Eames is always like this; always insistent on being the one to work Arthur open with his tongue or thick fingers coated in lube or even just his slick cock, easing in torturously slow until Arthur can take it.
Arthur pants under the warm sun and the effort of holding himself up on quivering thighs. His stomach is clenching, pleasure threading tension along the length of his spine, and it’d be so easy to come just like this. Not that he wants to, not yet, but...
Eames growls when he reaches between his own legs, tongue still laid flat against his hole, and the vibration is enough to make his hips buck reflexively. “Fuck me then,” he gasps. “Come on. I’m ready.”
Apparently Eames agrees, giving one last lick before pulling back. Arthur knows he’s still right there, still close enough for the heat of his breath to fan across Arthur’s oversensitive skin. Arthur knows what comes next. Anticipation adds to the tight quiver of his skin as he waits, spine arched, offering himself up to the beast behind him. “Please.”
Eames mounts him easily, furred muscled pressing against the backs of thighs and roundness of his ass. He’s heavy, holding Arthur firm with surprising strength in the forelegs clamped around his waist, and Arthur squirms. “Yes,” he hisses at the first slick touch of Eames’ cock. “Fuck yes, fuck.”
This time when Eames growls, low and animal and so fucking hot alongside the unfamiliar sensation of soft fur rubbing against him, Arthur pushes his hips back. The head is thicker than usual, more of a stretch as Eames gives a shallow thrust. Arthur closes his eyes.He could make it easier; it’s a dream. But he doesn’t really want to, doesn’t want to lose the sharp thrill of Eames’ cock fucking him open.
Eames is being careful, Arthur can tell, pulling out before he can thrust all the way in, driving a little deeper each time. Arthur’s not sure whether he’s grateful for the chance to adjust to the size of the dog’s cock or going insane with how badly he just wants to be fucked, right now.
When Eames’s hips finally press up firm against his ass, Arthur shudders. For all that Eames is impressively endowed in reality, he’s never been as deep inside Arthur as he is right now.
Arthur digs his fingers into the grass. “Do it.”
He’s not prepared for the first real thrust, how fucking hard Eames pumps his hips. There’s nothing slow or careful about it now. Eames’ claws scratch at the taut skin of Arthur’s belly as he fucks him relentlessly, a touch of sharp pain to offset the overwhelming fullness.
It’s hard to hold himself up against each quick shove of Eames’ hips, so Arthur drops his head onto his forearms and stops trying to move with it. It’s easier just to let go and let Eames fuck him, rapidfire, like he’s trying to pound the orgasm out of Arthur.
“Fuck,” Arthur breathes, shuddering, when Eames starts to come. It’s hot, hotter than normal, far more wet pressure filling him up inside than he’s used to. Especially alongside the thick, unfamiliar weight of Eames so deep, it’s...
He feels it as Eames swells, barely enough to notice at first. But it doesn’t stop. It doesn’t stop, and tears prick at the corners of Arthur’s eyes as he tries to breathe through the stretch.
“God, Eames,” he whispers, finally rocking back a little as the sensation settles. He rests his weight back against Eames, forcing the pressure deeper with a choked groan. “Fuck.” Every breath seems to make the knot shift within him, make him stretch open even more.
It hits him then, as he clenches down on the swollen knot, knowing that it’s Eames locked so tight and deep inside him. Arthur comes hard without a single stroke on his cock, stomach and thighs shaking as he spills over the grass.
Eames nuzzles at his hair with his nose, growling soft and fond before licking just behind his ear.
Arthur grins shakily against his forearm. The friction inside him is almost painful so soon after coming, but Eames is clinging tightly enough with his forelegs to prevent too much movement. He feels secure, pinned down. And of course they’ve stayed slotted together after sex before, but not like this. Arthur curls his toes against the grass, rocking to test the tie between them, hissing at the rough pull.
This feels like being owned, and it’s a far more comforting, intimate thing than Arthur thought it might be.
Minutes pass and Arthur sinks into the sensation of the sun on his skin, the rough brush of fur and solid weight of Eames against his back. He’s almost comfortable enough to doze just like that, still fucked open on Eames’ cock, when Eames gives one last wet growl at the nape of Arthur’s neck and pulls away.
His cock trails wet down the back of Arthur’s thigh, and Arthur digs his teeth into his bottom lip at the sudden loss.
A few seconds later it’s a human chest that presses in close against his back, a warm human nose that nuzzles the nape of his neck as broad arms pull him down onto the grass. “Are you okay?”
Arthur grins again and settles closer to the familiar body behind him. “More than. Fuck, that was... fuck.”
He squirms at the touch of Eames’ fingertips trailing down over skin that still feels like its pulled too tight, sensitive.
“Are you sure?” Eames murmurs, dipping two fingers inside Arthur. It’s like an electric shock, and Arthur arches his back with a hiss. “God, Arthur, you’re so fucking wet.”
A third finger pushes in, and it’s enough to make Arthur reach back to bury a hand in Eames’ hair, scraping his nails over his scalp. “Stop,” he says, but he’s not really sure if he means it.
Eames presses a kiss to the side of his neck. “Sorry, love. Just...” he slides his fingers in and out, once, gently. “I really fucked you good, didn’t I.”
Arthur groans in response and squeezes his eyes shut, fighting the urge to push against Eames’ fingers. “How long do we have?”
The answer is immediate, and Arthur can hear the smirk in it. “Long enough,” Eames says, rolling him over and trapping his wrists down above his head before sliding easily between his legs, like he belongs there.
At this point, he does. And Arthur’s more than okay with that.