Inception: Rotten Apple (help_japan auction - for julie)
Title: Rotten Apple
Word Count: 2886
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Robert/Eames
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Nudity, strong sexual content, bondage, marking, mild abuse
For: the_azure_blue
Wrote this for the_azure_blue who donated $15 to the help_japan auction for a Robert/Eames story! Julie wanted a lot of marking and Eames putting up some resistance. But in the end, Eames just can't fight Robert for too long. He is awfully pretty. 8D
I hope you like the story Julie! Thanks so much for donating! <3
In dreams Eames could be whomever he desired. Whatever the job called for. He was called a Forger, but in actuality, he was nothing more than a chameleon. Blending seamlessly into the dreamscape, no matter the dreamer, he was capable of making himself a part of their deepest thoughts. In the real world - if it could even be called that - Eames still managed to present himself as a kind of metamorphosizing creature. He could easily con most anyone out of their money or their secrets; even their virginity, in one case, but he prefered to omit that story in polite company.
His confidence in his own talents was strong. Some might have even said overinflated, but Eames found the word to be loaded. He certainly had no delusions of grandeur. He knew what he was good at, and he was good at what he knew. If lying and deceiving had ever been an Olympic sport, Eames was fairly sure he would have a wall cluttered with gold medals.
There was only one person who held the power to bring Eames to his knees. If it had been someone bigger and stronger, he might have accepted it easier. Robert Fischer, though, was not strong. Eames would have said he was not strong enough to break someone like himself. But one look into his pale blue eyes and one touch of his full, warm lips, and Eames was at his mercy. It was bloody irritating, not to mention emasculating. He had always prided himself on his ability to manipulate, and yet Robert twined him effortlessly around his pinky.
The one thing that he couldn't understand was how sexual Robert could be. He presented himself to the world exaggeratedly prim and proper, with his fancy suits and expensive shoes and silk ties. Behind closed doors, he was wildly erotic, almost primal. Eames would lie there in awe of him, touching him with fingertips that were not quite steady to try and test his reality.
Eames had never been the type to relinquish control. There was nothing that pissed him off more than that pretty face looming over him, sadistic little curl to Robert's lips as he tied him up. Chains, ropes, ties, whatever Robert could lay his hands on. The leash had never mattered, what mattered was the act itself. Binding him was not the only interesting and irritable kink Robert had, though.
The marking was the thing Robert most enjoyed. It was another way he silently showed his ownership of Eames. He left dark bruises and deep indentations from the clutch of his teeth, marks that Eames could never hide completely no matter how hard he tried. He would always find a stranger's eyes on him, drawn to some nasty mark that he had missed. Eames had started to feel like some kind of battered whore, with how meticulously he had to dress to hide the damage to his skin.
He could have left Robert behind. It couldn't have been that difficult to walk away from the man, no matter how softly pretty or infuriatingly sexy he was. What kept Eames hanging around was not the discipline he received, he convinced himself, it was the thought of walking away from a challenge. That was all Robert Fischer was to him after all; a challenge to be conquered and then forgotten.
The marks on his body were nothing more than the physical and sensuous challenge of a man far weaker than him. Robert could never break him, and Eames could see the truth of that lingering in his pale eyes. Every day, the games became more dangerous, more daring, more painful. Deeply, frighteningly erotic. So much so that Eames could sometimes barely move the next morning, so sore and exhausted and in awe of Robert that he could only lie with him and hate him and love him.
But it was a challenge.
Eames had never been the type of man to run from a challenge.
<~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~>
Robert's thighs were smooth and slick against his hips. Eames could hardly stand it, but he kept himself still and silent as Robert inched down his body. He left bruises from Eames' jaw down to his hips, his pale eyes flicking up to the man every so often to watch him. Eames struggled to keep his face neutral, to maintain some level of nonchalance, but whenever Robert looked up at him his head was tilted back and his lips were trembling.
Son of a bitch.
"What do you say?," Robert asked, tongue running in slow circles around a deep bruise on Eames' inner thigh. Eames gasped before he could stop himself, and curled his fingers into his palms. He was handcuffed like some kind of cheap whore, and when he jerked his wrists forward all that happened was a small clanging against the headboard. Eames licked his lips and shrugged as best he could. "It's bloody uncomfortable," Eames said, "Loosen them up a bit, love?"
Robert chuckled before sinking his teeth into the bruise. Eames tensed beneath him, his thighs closing in around Robert's face. Robert sucked a little higher, tongue and teeth lavishing the skin between Eames' hip and genitals. "No," Robert purred, "I don't think that's what you want to say, sweetheart. Isn't there something else?"
Robert's tongue was like hot silk against his skin, flicking and dragging across the most sensitive areas of Eames' body. His breath was a warm promise against his cock, and he felt himself twitch in anticipation. Eames sighed deeply, wishing he could reach down and run his fingers through that soft, thick hair. Or strangle him to death, Eames wasn't sure which he wanted more.
Eames mumbled something, his head dropping back to hide his face from Robert.
"What was that, sweetheart?," Robert cooed, mouth hovering over the slick head of Eames' cock. He gave a quick, soft nibble to the wet skin, causing Eames' to buck his hips. His cockhead rubbed across Robert's cheek, and Robert gripped his cock at the base, forcing Eames to still.
"I need you," Eames said, his voice closer to a growl than a murmur, "Bleeding Christ Robert..."
Robert pressed a warm kiss to Eames' cockhead, his lips parting over him just slightly, teeth grazing him in a way that sent shudders up Eames' spine and caused his skin to prickle. "Anything else?," Robert purred.
Shit, Eames thought, pulling his hands forward and listening to the hopeless rattle of the handcuffs against the headboard. "I need you," Eames repeated. He chewed on his lower lip for a long moment before he muttered, "Master."
Robert hummed deep in his throat before he took Eames' cock there, sliding his hand up to clutch at Eames' hairy stomach. Eames shivered, desperately wanting to put his hands all over Robert. Wanting to bruise him and hurt him and love him in a way that could only be primal and brutal. The challenge that Robert represented was being met with absolutely no resistance. Eames could hardly remember his own name let alone that he should have been fighting the man off.
"Robert," Eames grunted, hips rising and falling slowly, his cock striking the back of Robert's throat before sliding out between his teeth. "What do you want from me?," Eames panted, "What?"
Robert chuckled, sucking a path of bruises from Eames' hip to his nipples. "You know just what I want," Robert whispered, biting down on Eames' nipple and cozying against his thick chest hair.
Of course he did. He had always known what Robert wanted. He had known from the moment he had seen the man, even before he had slinked his way through the layers of Robert's dreams. Maurice Fischer had been a cold, distant figure in Robert's life; he had been more of a myth than a man. Robert wanted control, he wanted passion, something hot and wild where he could feel powerful.
The question was, could Eames give that to him?
He doubted he even had a choice.
"I know," Eames said, and he felt Robert nuzzle against his chest, an act of intimacy and sweetness that Eames had never known from the man. From anyone really. His arms tugged again, wanting to hold Robert, but again there was only that irritating clatter of metal on wood.
Robert climbed higher, straining Eames' throat with bruises, wrapping himself around Eames' body like some kind of predatory snake. All of Eames' senses were overwhelmed with Robert Fischer. The smell, the taste, the feel of him, it was almost too much for Eames to take. He had to struggle to control his breathing, to keep himself from ripping his shoulders out of their sockets just to get a handful of Robert's hair.
Eames settled for resting his nose in his thick hair, inhaling his smell deeply. He could smell Robert's shampoo, sweet, beneath the acrid odor of his sweat. Again, Eames was overwhelmed by him. "You're turning me into rotten apple, darling," Eames whispered against Robert's hair, eyes flicking down to trace the deep bruises all over his body. There was very little unabused skin between his throat and his knees.
"You were rotten when I found you," Robert said, lifting his head up and offering Eames a smile. It was sweet and playful and Eames wanted to kiss Robert's pouty lips raw. "I think I cleaned you up a little, sweetheart," Robert finished, giving a light nip to Eames' nose.
Eames' lips twitched slightly. "I think you might've, darling."
Robert threw his leg over Eames' hips, pulling himself astride. He leaned over, sliding his hands up over Eames' biceps and underarms, finding Eames' hands and linking their fingers. "You belong to me," Robert whispered, lips so close to Eames' own that he could feel them tickling him. "Be a good boy and tell me you're mine, and I'll give you what you want."
Eames clucked his tongue and laughed. "You've got to be a bit more forceful than that, dearest," Eames said, "I've got beaten up worse by a troop of Girl Scouts."
Robert's pale eyes bored into him, so electrically hot that Eames almost thought he saw sparks leaping inside them. One of Robert's hands slinked behind his back, taking hold of Eames' slick cock and rubbing the head against his ass. Eames inhaled sharply through his teeth, arching his back and shoving himself through Robert's fist.
"Shit," Eames growled, bucking and writhing, trying desperately to get some kind of friction. "Shit, whatever you want, alright? I'm yours. All yours. Just do it."
Robert smiled and reached his other hand back to spread himself, pressing Eames' wet head against his entrance. "I'm having a little trouble believing you, sweetheart," Robert said, bouncing himself lightly against Eames' cock, "A little sincerity, if you please?"
Eames met Robert's eyes squarely, and Robert must have seen something in them, something far too naked and desperate, because he leaned forward and kissed Eames' mouth gently. The last thing Eames wanted was to melt into that kiss, but he did. There were no more resistances or walls left to build. Everything was decimated under the tenderness of that kiss. It was almost surreal coupled with the slightly painful bruises pulsing along Eames' body.
"I'm yours, love," Eames whispered against Robert's mouth, "All yours. Do it."
Robert seated himself on Eames' cock, the only telling evidence of any momentary pain or discomfort a small groan against Eames' lips. His hands gripped Eames' chest, clawing and kneading the hairy skin in an animalistic fashion. Robert raised and lowered slowly, pinching and twisting Eames' nipple when his hips thrust up impatiently, desperate to get deeper, to move faster and harder.
There was dull pain along his jaw as he was bitten. Robert's mouth chewed up to his ear, where his breath was hot and slow. "What's the hurry, sweetheart?"
"Mnn, the hurry is I want to fuck you," Eames growled, jerking against the handcuffs and vaulting his hips upward. "What's the problem with that, darling?"
Robert chuckled against his ear, giving the lobe a rough bite. "The problem is you have no say in what we do or how we do it," Robert whispered, "You belong to me. You said it yourself. Be a good boy or I'll leave you chained up here all night."
Eames sighed and eased his hips down. He could have put up a fight, should have, but Robert felt so damn good and looked even better sitting on top of him; he just didn't have it in him to uproot him. The most Eames could say was, "Have your fun. Gonna make you pay for this." But even that was muttered under his breath.
Robert's fingers tangled in Eames' chest hair, and he filled Eames' ear with soft moans and low, dirty words. Eames couldn't hear any of it, could only focus on the torturously slow and wonderful way Robert rode him. His hands strained against the cuffs, but there was no give and he finally gave up and gave in and surrendered himself to the pleasure Robert was giving him. If it had been a war, Eames would have been waving a white flag, but instead he just rubbed his scratchy cheek against Robert's and pushed his hips upwards - slower and gentler than before.
He had been presented a challenge and he had been unable to meet it. Robert was too beautiful and charming. Also, he was a bit too naked for Eames to focus on anything but the fine shape of his bones under his pale skin.
The tempo of their sex never quite picked up, but Eames couldn't complain much. Robert's skin was slippery and hot against him, his mouth covering the skin between his throat and jaw with dark, deep bruises. There was going to be no way to hide all the evidence of their passion, and Eames really didn't give a fuck. He just wanted Robert, any way he could get him.
"Bloody fuck," Eames growled, a senseless swear that he hardly even heard. His body trembled under Robert in warning, his hips picking up speed, slapping his wet skin against Robert's. This time, Robert did not stop him or slow him, only purred like some damnably content kitten into his ear and tugged against his chest hair. It was too much for Eames, sensory overload forced his fingers to curl and twitch against his palms and his head to fall back.
Eames' shoulders were stretched tautly, and he was sure that he'd be sorer than a bitch in the morning. In that moment, the morning seemed a long way away, everything seemed a long way away. Robert was the only thing in the world in that blissful moment between tension and release; he was like the sun, bright and startling. Eames could do nothing but gravitate towards him and trust him. Neither were easy for him to allow.
"Inside me," Robert whispered, voice raw and panted against Eames' ear. His hands slipped up and their fingers were entwined. "Inside me, sweetheart."
Why did he insist on calling Eames that? It was bloody difficult to come inside a man when he used such adorable petnames. Eames would have prefered he called him a bastard, at least that was closer to the truth.
Eames hardly needed Robert's permission. Before the man could even finish his lusty whispering Eames was bucking up into him and spilling inside of him. Eames grunted and growled as he came, rattling the handcuffs against the headboard in some last ditch effort to free himself. All he wanted was one handful of that hair, one handful of that perfect unblemished skin so he could spoil it.
God, it was so exquisitely painful and pleasurable. For a long while Eames' vision dimmed, and he could hear nothing over the pounding of his heart. He thought he heard Robert laugh, something low and sexy, but it could have been his imagination. Some time later - Eames could not say how much later - Robert was tucked into his side, his pale blue eyes looking up at Eames bemusedly.
Eames offered him a crooked smile, rattling the chains again in a silent plea.
"Mm," Robert hummed, stroking his finger over the cool metal, "I'm not sure. You can't be trusted."
"Nope," Eames agreed, "Not a chance, love."
Robert laughed and pressed a small kiss to one of the many bruises that lined Eames' throat. He finally released Eames, guiding both of his stiff, sore wrists to his mouth for a tender kisses. "You wouldn't forget who owns you that quickly," Robert said, rubbing Eames' hand against his cheek until the man caught the hint and cupped his face. "You're not stupid. A bit stubborn, but not stupid."
"Naw," Eames agreed, the seriousness in his eyes mismatched with his slanted smile. "I wouldn't forget, darling. Not 'til I heal up a bit anyway."
Robert nodded, caressing Eames' forearm. "Good boy."
For some reason, the words brought Eames a great sense of comfort. He could not have said why.
Word Count: 2886
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Robert/Eames
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Nudity, strong sexual content, bondage, marking, mild abuse
For: the_azure_blue
Wrote this for the_azure_blue who donated $15 to the help_japan auction for a Robert/Eames story! Julie wanted a lot of marking and Eames putting up some resistance. But in the end, Eames just can't fight Robert for too long. He is awfully pretty. 8D
I hope you like the story Julie! Thanks so much for donating! <3
In dreams Eames could be whomever he desired. Whatever the job called for. He was called a Forger, but in actuality, he was nothing more than a chameleon. Blending seamlessly into the dreamscape, no matter the dreamer, he was capable of making himself a part of their deepest thoughts. In the real world - if it could even be called that - Eames still managed to present himself as a kind of metamorphosizing creature. He could easily con most anyone out of their money or their secrets; even their virginity, in one case, but he prefered to omit that story in polite company.
His confidence in his own talents was strong. Some might have even said overinflated, but Eames found the word to be loaded. He certainly had no delusions of grandeur. He knew what he was good at, and he was good at what he knew. If lying and deceiving had ever been an Olympic sport, Eames was fairly sure he would have a wall cluttered with gold medals.
There was only one person who held the power to bring Eames to his knees. If it had been someone bigger and stronger, he might have accepted it easier. Robert Fischer, though, was not strong. Eames would have said he was not strong enough to break someone like himself. But one look into his pale blue eyes and one touch of his full, warm lips, and Eames was at his mercy. It was bloody irritating, not to mention emasculating. He had always prided himself on his ability to manipulate, and yet Robert twined him effortlessly around his pinky.
The one thing that he couldn't understand was how sexual Robert could be. He presented himself to the world exaggeratedly prim and proper, with his fancy suits and expensive shoes and silk ties. Behind closed doors, he was wildly erotic, almost primal. Eames would lie there in awe of him, touching him with fingertips that were not quite steady to try and test his reality.
Eames had never been the type to relinquish control. There was nothing that pissed him off more than that pretty face looming over him, sadistic little curl to Robert's lips as he tied him up. Chains, ropes, ties, whatever Robert could lay his hands on. The leash had never mattered, what mattered was the act itself. Binding him was not the only interesting and irritable kink Robert had, though.
The marking was the thing Robert most enjoyed. It was another way he silently showed his ownership of Eames. He left dark bruises and deep indentations from the clutch of his teeth, marks that Eames could never hide completely no matter how hard he tried. He would always find a stranger's eyes on him, drawn to some nasty mark that he had missed. Eames had started to feel like some kind of battered whore, with how meticulously he had to dress to hide the damage to his skin.
He could have left Robert behind. It couldn't have been that difficult to walk away from the man, no matter how softly pretty or infuriatingly sexy he was. What kept Eames hanging around was not the discipline he received, he convinced himself, it was the thought of walking away from a challenge. That was all Robert Fischer was to him after all; a challenge to be conquered and then forgotten.
The marks on his body were nothing more than the physical and sensuous challenge of a man far weaker than him. Robert could never break him, and Eames could see the truth of that lingering in his pale eyes. Every day, the games became more dangerous, more daring, more painful. Deeply, frighteningly erotic. So much so that Eames could sometimes barely move the next morning, so sore and exhausted and in awe of Robert that he could only lie with him and hate him and love him.
But it was a challenge.
Eames had never been the type of man to run from a challenge.
<~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~>
Robert's thighs were smooth and slick against his hips. Eames could hardly stand it, but he kept himself still and silent as Robert inched down his body. He left bruises from Eames' jaw down to his hips, his pale eyes flicking up to the man every so often to watch him. Eames struggled to keep his face neutral, to maintain some level of nonchalance, but whenever Robert looked up at him his head was tilted back and his lips were trembling.
Son of a bitch.
"What do you say?," Robert asked, tongue running in slow circles around a deep bruise on Eames' inner thigh. Eames gasped before he could stop himself, and curled his fingers into his palms. He was handcuffed like some kind of cheap whore, and when he jerked his wrists forward all that happened was a small clanging against the headboard. Eames licked his lips and shrugged as best he could. "It's bloody uncomfortable," Eames said, "Loosen them up a bit, love?"
Robert chuckled before sinking his teeth into the bruise. Eames tensed beneath him, his thighs closing in around Robert's face. Robert sucked a little higher, tongue and teeth lavishing the skin between Eames' hip and genitals. "No," Robert purred, "I don't think that's what you want to say, sweetheart. Isn't there something else?"
Robert's tongue was like hot silk against his skin, flicking and dragging across the most sensitive areas of Eames' body. His breath was a warm promise against his cock, and he felt himself twitch in anticipation. Eames sighed deeply, wishing he could reach down and run his fingers through that soft, thick hair. Or strangle him to death, Eames wasn't sure which he wanted more.
Eames mumbled something, his head dropping back to hide his face from Robert.
"What was that, sweetheart?," Robert cooed, mouth hovering over the slick head of Eames' cock. He gave a quick, soft nibble to the wet skin, causing Eames' to buck his hips. His cockhead rubbed across Robert's cheek, and Robert gripped his cock at the base, forcing Eames to still.
"I need you," Eames said, his voice closer to a growl than a murmur, "Bleeding Christ Robert..."
Robert pressed a warm kiss to Eames' cockhead, his lips parting over him just slightly, teeth grazing him in a way that sent shudders up Eames' spine and caused his skin to prickle. "Anything else?," Robert purred.
Shit, Eames thought, pulling his hands forward and listening to the hopeless rattle of the handcuffs against the headboard. "I need you," Eames repeated. He chewed on his lower lip for a long moment before he muttered, "Master."
Robert hummed deep in his throat before he took Eames' cock there, sliding his hand up to clutch at Eames' hairy stomach. Eames shivered, desperately wanting to put his hands all over Robert. Wanting to bruise him and hurt him and love him in a way that could only be primal and brutal. The challenge that Robert represented was being met with absolutely no resistance. Eames could hardly remember his own name let alone that he should have been fighting the man off.
"Robert," Eames grunted, hips rising and falling slowly, his cock striking the back of Robert's throat before sliding out between his teeth. "What do you want from me?," Eames panted, "What?"
Robert chuckled, sucking a path of bruises from Eames' hip to his nipples. "You know just what I want," Robert whispered, biting down on Eames' nipple and cozying against his thick chest hair.
Of course he did. He had always known what Robert wanted. He had known from the moment he had seen the man, even before he had slinked his way through the layers of Robert's dreams. Maurice Fischer had been a cold, distant figure in Robert's life; he had been more of a myth than a man. Robert wanted control, he wanted passion, something hot and wild where he could feel powerful.
The question was, could Eames give that to him?
He doubted he even had a choice.
"I know," Eames said, and he felt Robert nuzzle against his chest, an act of intimacy and sweetness that Eames had never known from the man. From anyone really. His arms tugged again, wanting to hold Robert, but again there was only that irritating clatter of metal on wood.
Robert climbed higher, straining Eames' throat with bruises, wrapping himself around Eames' body like some kind of predatory snake. All of Eames' senses were overwhelmed with Robert Fischer. The smell, the taste, the feel of him, it was almost too much for Eames to take. He had to struggle to control his breathing, to keep himself from ripping his shoulders out of their sockets just to get a handful of Robert's hair.
Eames settled for resting his nose in his thick hair, inhaling his smell deeply. He could smell Robert's shampoo, sweet, beneath the acrid odor of his sweat. Again, Eames was overwhelmed by him. "You're turning me into rotten apple, darling," Eames whispered against Robert's hair, eyes flicking down to trace the deep bruises all over his body. There was very little unabused skin between his throat and his knees.
"You were rotten when I found you," Robert said, lifting his head up and offering Eames a smile. It was sweet and playful and Eames wanted to kiss Robert's pouty lips raw. "I think I cleaned you up a little, sweetheart," Robert finished, giving a light nip to Eames' nose.
Eames' lips twitched slightly. "I think you might've, darling."
Robert threw his leg over Eames' hips, pulling himself astride. He leaned over, sliding his hands up over Eames' biceps and underarms, finding Eames' hands and linking their fingers. "You belong to me," Robert whispered, lips so close to Eames' own that he could feel them tickling him. "Be a good boy and tell me you're mine, and I'll give you what you want."
Eames clucked his tongue and laughed. "You've got to be a bit more forceful than that, dearest," Eames said, "I've got beaten up worse by a troop of Girl Scouts."
Robert's pale eyes bored into him, so electrically hot that Eames almost thought he saw sparks leaping inside them. One of Robert's hands slinked behind his back, taking hold of Eames' slick cock and rubbing the head against his ass. Eames inhaled sharply through his teeth, arching his back and shoving himself through Robert's fist.
"Shit," Eames growled, bucking and writhing, trying desperately to get some kind of friction. "Shit, whatever you want, alright? I'm yours. All yours. Just do it."
Robert smiled and reached his other hand back to spread himself, pressing Eames' wet head against his entrance. "I'm having a little trouble believing you, sweetheart," Robert said, bouncing himself lightly against Eames' cock, "A little sincerity, if you please?"
Eames met Robert's eyes squarely, and Robert must have seen something in them, something far too naked and desperate, because he leaned forward and kissed Eames' mouth gently. The last thing Eames wanted was to melt into that kiss, but he did. There were no more resistances or walls left to build. Everything was decimated under the tenderness of that kiss. It was almost surreal coupled with the slightly painful bruises pulsing along Eames' body.
"I'm yours, love," Eames whispered against Robert's mouth, "All yours. Do it."
Robert seated himself on Eames' cock, the only telling evidence of any momentary pain or discomfort a small groan against Eames' lips. His hands gripped Eames' chest, clawing and kneading the hairy skin in an animalistic fashion. Robert raised and lowered slowly, pinching and twisting Eames' nipple when his hips thrust up impatiently, desperate to get deeper, to move faster and harder.
There was dull pain along his jaw as he was bitten. Robert's mouth chewed up to his ear, where his breath was hot and slow. "What's the hurry, sweetheart?"
"Mnn, the hurry is I want to fuck you," Eames growled, jerking against the handcuffs and vaulting his hips upward. "What's the problem with that, darling?"
Robert chuckled against his ear, giving the lobe a rough bite. "The problem is you have no say in what we do or how we do it," Robert whispered, "You belong to me. You said it yourself. Be a good boy or I'll leave you chained up here all night."
Eames sighed and eased his hips down. He could have put up a fight, should have, but Robert felt so damn good and looked even better sitting on top of him; he just didn't have it in him to uproot him. The most Eames could say was, "Have your fun. Gonna make you pay for this." But even that was muttered under his breath.
Robert's fingers tangled in Eames' chest hair, and he filled Eames' ear with soft moans and low, dirty words. Eames couldn't hear any of it, could only focus on the torturously slow and wonderful way Robert rode him. His hands strained against the cuffs, but there was no give and he finally gave up and gave in and surrendered himself to the pleasure Robert was giving him. If it had been a war, Eames would have been waving a white flag, but instead he just rubbed his scratchy cheek against Robert's and pushed his hips upwards - slower and gentler than before.
He had been presented a challenge and he had been unable to meet it. Robert was too beautiful and charming. Also, he was a bit too naked for Eames to focus on anything but the fine shape of his bones under his pale skin.
The tempo of their sex never quite picked up, but Eames couldn't complain much. Robert's skin was slippery and hot against him, his mouth covering the skin between his throat and jaw with dark, deep bruises. There was going to be no way to hide all the evidence of their passion, and Eames really didn't give a fuck. He just wanted Robert, any way he could get him.
"Bloody fuck," Eames growled, a senseless swear that he hardly even heard. His body trembled under Robert in warning, his hips picking up speed, slapping his wet skin against Robert's. This time, Robert did not stop him or slow him, only purred like some damnably content kitten into his ear and tugged against his chest hair. It was too much for Eames, sensory overload forced his fingers to curl and twitch against his palms and his head to fall back.
Eames' shoulders were stretched tautly, and he was sure that he'd be sorer than a bitch in the morning. In that moment, the morning seemed a long way away, everything seemed a long way away. Robert was the only thing in the world in that blissful moment between tension and release; he was like the sun, bright and startling. Eames could do nothing but gravitate towards him and trust him. Neither were easy for him to allow.
"Inside me," Robert whispered, voice raw and panted against Eames' ear. His hands slipped up and their fingers were entwined. "Inside me, sweetheart."
Why did he insist on calling Eames that? It was bloody difficult to come inside a man when he used such adorable petnames. Eames would have prefered he called him a bastard, at least that was closer to the truth.
Eames hardly needed Robert's permission. Before the man could even finish his lusty whispering Eames was bucking up into him and spilling inside of him. Eames grunted and growled as he came, rattling the handcuffs against the headboard in some last ditch effort to free himself. All he wanted was one handful of that hair, one handful of that perfect unblemished skin so he could spoil it.
God, it was so exquisitely painful and pleasurable. For a long while Eames' vision dimmed, and he could hear nothing over the pounding of his heart. He thought he heard Robert laugh, something low and sexy, but it could have been his imagination. Some time later - Eames could not say how much later - Robert was tucked into his side, his pale blue eyes looking up at Eames bemusedly.
Eames offered him a crooked smile, rattling the chains again in a silent plea.
"Mm," Robert hummed, stroking his finger over the cool metal, "I'm not sure. You can't be trusted."
"Nope," Eames agreed, "Not a chance, love."
Robert laughed and pressed a small kiss to one of the many bruises that lined Eames' throat. He finally released Eames, guiding both of his stiff, sore wrists to his mouth for a tender kisses. "You wouldn't forget who owns you that quickly," Robert said, rubbing Eames' hand against his cheek until the man caught the hint and cupped his face. "You're not stupid. A bit stubborn, but not stupid."
"Naw," Eames agreed, the seriousness in his eyes mismatched with his slanted smile. "I wouldn't forget, darling. Not 'til I heal up a bit anyway."
Robert nodded, caressing Eames' forearm. "Good boy."
For some reason, the words brought Eames a great sense of comfort. He could not have said why.