A first.
Title: Strangers
Rating: NC-17(ish)
Warnings: none.
Summary: Eames visits a club and meets someone new.
Author's note: My first for the fandom. I don't even know where this came from. One minute, I was studying for final exams...and the next, I had come up with this. Probably the caffeine and the stress and the fact that the 'Inception' DVD came out yesterday. Here is my humble offering to this community that has fed my addiction to Eames and Arthur. Hope you enjoy.
The music in the club is so loud, he can barely hear himself think. There are men everywhere, good-looking men who eye him speculatively but none of them really catch his eye so he nods politely enough and heads to the bar for a drink.
Someone comes to stand next to him, signals for a drink. He’s watching the man out of the corner of his eye as he raises the glass to his lips and he almost chokes on the liquid when the stranger turns suddenly to face him. This person, standing next to him, is-quite possibly-the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. Tall-but not as tall as Eames-and lean, with tousled black hair and sharp features, piercing eyes. He’s wearing a black button-down dress shirt that contrasts so nicely with his pale skin, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the top buttons undone so the shirt remains open, exposing the hollow of his neck.
“Can I help you?” the man asks, not unfriendly. There’s a decidedly flirtatious glint in his brown eyes, the way he obviously looks Eames up and down, and Eames grins.
“Only if you can dance,” he replies. He sets his empty glass down on the bar and strong fingers wrap around his wrist, pulling him in the direction of the dance floor. It’s packed, and he weaves through the crowd, following this mysterious stranger, who stops so suddenly, Eames runs into him. The man turns to look at Eames, eyeing him over his shoulder with a look so alluring that Eames licks his lips.
His hands automatically wrap around the man’s waist and he steps closer. They’re moving to the music but they’re not really paying attention to anything. Eames is intoxicated by this man’s scent, the feel of his muscles, the curve of his ass. He dips his head, presses his lips to the man’s bared shoulder, licks up the side of his neck. He feels the stranger shudder under his tongue and he grins against salty skin. The man turns in his arms and stands on his toes, bringing his lips to Eames’ ear.
“Bathroom,” he hisses, nipping at the lobe, “now.” He’s got his fingers around Eames’ wrist again and they’re stumbling through the crowd, clumsy in their excitement. The pounding bass rhythm takes hold in Eames’ chest and his heart thuds to the beat. He’s hyper-aware of the strobing lights and the movements of the nameless, faceless people around him-and the feel of those fingers against the sensitive skin of his wrist.
The bathroom is empty and the door has barely closed behind them when Eames finds his arms and lips very much occupied. It’s a messy kiss-tongue and lips and teeth and lust. They break apart to gasp for breath and Eames licks his lips again.
“I’m,” he begins to introduce himself. Manners and all that jazz.
“Don’t,” the man orders, his chest heaving, “do that. No names.” Eames is about to argue but the man scowls, slams Eames against the wall and attacks his lips again, biting and sucking. They’re both so hard and the man presses his body flush against Eames’, rolls his hips.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Eames growls, taking control. He pins the man against the wall. They struggle for a bit but Eames is stronger and he wins. Smirking, he pulls a condom out of his back pocket and the man’s eyes widen ever-so slightly before he’s fumbling with his belt buckle, unzipping his pants, starting to pull them down as he turns his body but Eames stops him.
“Wha-?” the man starts to ask but Eames shakes his head, drops to his knees. He slips the condom onto the man’s erection and sucks. He’s never done this before, gone down on someone in the seedy restroom at the back of a club. He can feel the beat of the music and he times the slide of his tongue, the movements of his mouth, the pull of his lips to the steady thrumming of the bass and the drums. The man gasps and moans, one hand threading into Eames’ hair, the other grasping the edge of the sink. He pulls almost painfully on Eames’ hair, his hand clenching, and it’s the only warning he gives Eames before his hips buck involuntarily and he’s coming apart, shuddering through his orgasm.
Eames removes the condom and throws it away, wiping his mouth, as the man tidies himself.
“Your place? Or mine?” the man asks, looking pointedly at Eames’ erection.
“Mine,” Eames replies, without a second thought-to have this man in his bed… They’re out of the club and onto the street in a matter of moments and Eames takes the lead, flagging down a cab. They throw themselves into it and Eames tries to give the cabdriver his address without sounding too breathless. By the knowing smirk he receives by way of the rearview mirror, he realizes he has completely failed.
It’s a short, ten-minute drive from the club to Eames’ flat but the stranger he’s about to take upstairs with him is too eager to wait. He’s got Eames’ fly undone and his hand around Eames’ cock as the cab drives through crowded New York streets. Eames clenches his jaw, bites back a drawn-out groan. He sees himself in the rearview mirror, his eyes are glassy and his brow sweaty; the man’s face is beside his, hair curling in wild layers and pale cheeks flushed with desire. The cabdriver is studiously ignoring them and when Eames begins to recognize the buildings, he tucks himself back into his pants, flings money at the cabbie.
He and the stranger tumble out of the cab in a mess of limbs and haste. He drops the keys once, twice before finally fitting the key into the doorknob. The lock clicks and, as the door swings open, he pushes the man into his dark flat. He kicks the door shut behind him because his hands are busy.
They can’t keep their lips off each other, pressing frantic kisses to bare skin and tasting the sweat and salt and essence of each other. Eames undoes the buttons of the other man’s shirt but he’s clumsy and he can’t do it fast enough. The man sighs and rolls its eyes, smirks and stills Eames’ hands as he steps away. Eames is about to protest but the man raises an eyebrow at him as his nimble fingers undo the buttons of his shirt. Slowly, he lets the shirt slip down one shoulder then the other until it drifts to the floor, as he stares up at Eames through thick, dark lashes.
He saunters confidently toward Eames and removes Eames’ shirt too, a genuine smile turning up the corners of his lips.
“Like what you see?” Eames asks in a quiet voice that is surprisingly gentle. He receives no reply but the man trails his fingers down Eames’ chest, into the trail of dark hair below his belly button. He, once again, unbuttons and unzips Eames pants, as Eames does the same to his. They leave their clothes in a pile and kiss again, and Eames begins to walk forward, leading the man to the bedroom. They fall onto the bed when the back of the man’s knees hit the edge.
He props himself up and gazes down at the man lying beneath him, chest heaving and eyes smoky with lust, black hair fanned against the bright colors of Eames’ bedsheets. He bites his lip and smirks predatorily, as one hand explores the planes of the other’s chest, his lean abs, trails down between his legs, grasps the man’s cock.
“No,” the man says, shaking his head. He pulls Eames down on top of him, pulls him into a deep, fierce kiss. “Hurry,” he says and wraps a lean leg around Eames’ waist.
“Hold on there, darling,” Eames tells him, a bit taken aback by the other’s eagerness but all the more excited. He reaches a hand around and pushes a finger in-one, two, then three until he’s reduced his bed partner to a quivering body of nerves and lust.
“Turn around,” he says. “Turn around for me, darling.” The man turns so he’s on his hands and knees. Eames positions himself, places his hands on either side of the man’s waist, and pushes inside with one slow movement. They both moan, long and low, and Eames thinks this is the most erotic thing, their voices rising together in the dark. He rocks his hips, trying to keep pace, trying to find that magic spot…
“Oh,” the man suddenly gasps, back arching as he throws his head back. There. Eames leans in to press a kiss to the man’s throat, pushing forward more, and this elicits the most delicious noise from the other. The man reaches up, grasps Eames’ headboard and pushes back against him, looking over his shoulder in impatience. Eames places his hands around the man’s, holds them there, and moves. He moves, reveling in the feeling of this lean, taut body of compact muscle beneath his own, around him, so tight and sweet and beautiful. The dim light of the city catches against the beads of sweat that pool down the man’s spine and he licks them up, causing a shudder and a groan.
“God,” he breathes. He hits that spot again and the man releases a low gutteral moan that sends Eames nearly over the edge. He moves away and snaps his hips forward-and he feels the man clench around him, sees him drop his head and feels his fingers spasm under his own. They’re both so close. So close. He reaches down, thumbs the slit of the man’s cock and pushes in again, deeper and deeper, moving his hand in time with his hips. Finally, the man throws his head back, captures Eames’ lips in another sloppy kiss as he meets the forward push of Eames’ hips with a backward thrust of his own. He moans deep into Eames’ mouth as he comes, and Eames swallows the sound of it as he comes too, and they ride their orgasms together.
----------------
The sun streams through the open window and Eames frowns, realizing he forgot to close the blinds the night before. There’s movement next to him and he smiles at the other man, who is on the edge of wakefulness, lying against his side.
“Morning, Arthur love,” he whispers, his voice throaty. Arthur smiles a heavy-lidded satisfied smile, wraps an arm around Eames’ waist possessively, and nuzzles his nose and lips against Eames’ skin.
“Morning.”
“Darling, you’re snuggling.” Eames is, if anything, delightedly shocked. “Last night…”
“Last night, Eames, was wonderful,” Arthur says, propping his chin against Eames’ ribs and looking him in the eye.
“It was, wasn’t it?” Eames nods, curling his arm around Arthur’s shoulder to stroke his black curls. He means it, but he’s lying too. They lapse into silence in the early morning light, each preoccupied with his own thoughts.
“Arthur,” Eames begins, hesitantly, “darling.”
“Hmm?” Arthur doesn’t look at him but he’s listening.
“Let’s never do that again.”
“Why?”
“Not that I minded how last night went. Quite the contrary, in fact. But I prefer being able to say your name when I come, and you know how much I like hearing you moan mine.” Arthur looks at him now, warm amusement writ across his face.
“So what you’re saying to me, Mr. Eames, is that you’d rather fuck me, Arthur, than a stranger you pick up at a bar? I never took you for a romantic, Eames,” Arthur says, quirking an eyebrow and fighting down a smirk.
“Laugh all you want, but that’s exactly it, darling. I am not, contrary to popular belief, a ‘hit it and quit it’ type of person. The reason I like fucking you, as you so eloquently call it, Arthur dear, is because it is you I am fucking. You. Not anybody else.”
“No more role-playing, then?” Arthur actually looks and sounds disappointed and Eames shakes his head emphatically.
“Are you kidding? If I knew you were into role-play, I’d have suggested it ages ago.” He kisses the top of Arthur’s head. “Just no more of that stranger-in-a-club, one-night-stand nonsense, alright?” They’re quiet again but Eames can still sense Arthur’s disappointment so he begins to elaborate.
“Because I, for one, like seeing your expressions when I wrap my lips around your cock, your reactions when I touch you the way you like, your voice saying my name when I push into you…” Eames gestures his free hand absently. He looks over and Arthur is watching him with eyes that promise something. Eames stutters into silence, waiting.
In a swift, graceful movement, Arthur sits up and straddles Eames. Arthur is unabashedly naked, the light catching the perfect planes of his body. Eames’ heart beats loudly as he watches his lover, framed by the light, smile warmly, genuinely, softly.
“I love you too, Mr. Eames,” Arthur says. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he leans down to press a gentle kiss to Eames’ mouth. This one is slow and languid, an exploration of familiar territory instead of a fight for dominance. Eames’ hands grip Arthur’s waist and Arthur’s hands thread through his hair-and they kiss. They are both hard when they break apart to breathe, and Arthur flashes him a wicked grin.
“Now, what was that about moaning my name?
Rating: NC-17(ish)
Warnings: none.
Summary: Eames visits a club and meets someone new.
Author's note: My first for the fandom. I don't even know where this came from. One minute, I was studying for final exams...and the next, I had come up with this. Probably the caffeine and the stress and the fact that the 'Inception' DVD came out yesterday. Here is my humble offering to this community that has fed my addiction to Eames and Arthur. Hope you enjoy.
The music in the club is so loud, he can barely hear himself think. There are men everywhere, good-looking men who eye him speculatively but none of them really catch his eye so he nods politely enough and heads to the bar for a drink.
Someone comes to stand next to him, signals for a drink. He’s watching the man out of the corner of his eye as he raises the glass to his lips and he almost chokes on the liquid when the stranger turns suddenly to face him. This person, standing next to him, is-quite possibly-the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. Tall-but not as tall as Eames-and lean, with tousled black hair and sharp features, piercing eyes. He’s wearing a black button-down dress shirt that contrasts so nicely with his pale skin, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the top buttons undone so the shirt remains open, exposing the hollow of his neck.
“Can I help you?” the man asks, not unfriendly. There’s a decidedly flirtatious glint in his brown eyes, the way he obviously looks Eames up and down, and Eames grins.
“Only if you can dance,” he replies. He sets his empty glass down on the bar and strong fingers wrap around his wrist, pulling him in the direction of the dance floor. It’s packed, and he weaves through the crowd, following this mysterious stranger, who stops so suddenly, Eames runs into him. The man turns to look at Eames, eyeing him over his shoulder with a look so alluring that Eames licks his lips.
His hands automatically wrap around the man’s waist and he steps closer. They’re moving to the music but they’re not really paying attention to anything. Eames is intoxicated by this man’s scent, the feel of his muscles, the curve of his ass. He dips his head, presses his lips to the man’s bared shoulder, licks up the side of his neck. He feels the stranger shudder under his tongue and he grins against salty skin. The man turns in his arms and stands on his toes, bringing his lips to Eames’ ear.
“Bathroom,” he hisses, nipping at the lobe, “now.” He’s got his fingers around Eames’ wrist again and they’re stumbling through the crowd, clumsy in their excitement. The pounding bass rhythm takes hold in Eames’ chest and his heart thuds to the beat. He’s hyper-aware of the strobing lights and the movements of the nameless, faceless people around him-and the feel of those fingers against the sensitive skin of his wrist.
The bathroom is empty and the door has barely closed behind them when Eames finds his arms and lips very much occupied. It’s a messy kiss-tongue and lips and teeth and lust. They break apart to gasp for breath and Eames licks his lips again.
“I’m,” he begins to introduce himself. Manners and all that jazz.
“Don’t,” the man orders, his chest heaving, “do that. No names.” Eames is about to argue but the man scowls, slams Eames against the wall and attacks his lips again, biting and sucking. They’re both so hard and the man presses his body flush against Eames’, rolls his hips.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Eames growls, taking control. He pins the man against the wall. They struggle for a bit but Eames is stronger and he wins. Smirking, he pulls a condom out of his back pocket and the man’s eyes widen ever-so slightly before he’s fumbling with his belt buckle, unzipping his pants, starting to pull them down as he turns his body but Eames stops him.
“Wha-?” the man starts to ask but Eames shakes his head, drops to his knees. He slips the condom onto the man’s erection and sucks. He’s never done this before, gone down on someone in the seedy restroom at the back of a club. He can feel the beat of the music and he times the slide of his tongue, the movements of his mouth, the pull of his lips to the steady thrumming of the bass and the drums. The man gasps and moans, one hand threading into Eames’ hair, the other grasping the edge of the sink. He pulls almost painfully on Eames’ hair, his hand clenching, and it’s the only warning he gives Eames before his hips buck involuntarily and he’s coming apart, shuddering through his orgasm.
Eames removes the condom and throws it away, wiping his mouth, as the man tidies himself.
“Your place? Or mine?” the man asks, looking pointedly at Eames’ erection.
“Mine,” Eames replies, without a second thought-to have this man in his bed… They’re out of the club and onto the street in a matter of moments and Eames takes the lead, flagging down a cab. They throw themselves into it and Eames tries to give the cabdriver his address without sounding too breathless. By the knowing smirk he receives by way of the rearview mirror, he realizes he has completely failed.
It’s a short, ten-minute drive from the club to Eames’ flat but the stranger he’s about to take upstairs with him is too eager to wait. He’s got Eames’ fly undone and his hand around Eames’ cock as the cab drives through crowded New York streets. Eames clenches his jaw, bites back a drawn-out groan. He sees himself in the rearview mirror, his eyes are glassy and his brow sweaty; the man’s face is beside his, hair curling in wild layers and pale cheeks flushed with desire. The cabdriver is studiously ignoring them and when Eames begins to recognize the buildings, he tucks himself back into his pants, flings money at the cabbie.
He and the stranger tumble out of the cab in a mess of limbs and haste. He drops the keys once, twice before finally fitting the key into the doorknob. The lock clicks and, as the door swings open, he pushes the man into his dark flat. He kicks the door shut behind him because his hands are busy.
They can’t keep their lips off each other, pressing frantic kisses to bare skin and tasting the sweat and salt and essence of each other. Eames undoes the buttons of the other man’s shirt but he’s clumsy and he can’t do it fast enough. The man sighs and rolls its eyes, smirks and stills Eames’ hands as he steps away. Eames is about to protest but the man raises an eyebrow at him as his nimble fingers undo the buttons of his shirt. Slowly, he lets the shirt slip down one shoulder then the other until it drifts to the floor, as he stares up at Eames through thick, dark lashes.
He saunters confidently toward Eames and removes Eames’ shirt too, a genuine smile turning up the corners of his lips.
“Like what you see?” Eames asks in a quiet voice that is surprisingly gentle. He receives no reply but the man trails his fingers down Eames’ chest, into the trail of dark hair below his belly button. He, once again, unbuttons and unzips Eames pants, as Eames does the same to his. They leave their clothes in a pile and kiss again, and Eames begins to walk forward, leading the man to the bedroom. They fall onto the bed when the back of the man’s knees hit the edge.
He props himself up and gazes down at the man lying beneath him, chest heaving and eyes smoky with lust, black hair fanned against the bright colors of Eames’ bedsheets. He bites his lip and smirks predatorily, as one hand explores the planes of the other’s chest, his lean abs, trails down between his legs, grasps the man’s cock.
“No,” the man says, shaking his head. He pulls Eames down on top of him, pulls him into a deep, fierce kiss. “Hurry,” he says and wraps a lean leg around Eames’ waist.
“Hold on there, darling,” Eames tells him, a bit taken aback by the other’s eagerness but all the more excited. He reaches a hand around and pushes a finger in-one, two, then three until he’s reduced his bed partner to a quivering body of nerves and lust.
“Turn around,” he says. “Turn around for me, darling.” The man turns so he’s on his hands and knees. Eames positions himself, places his hands on either side of the man’s waist, and pushes inside with one slow movement. They both moan, long and low, and Eames thinks this is the most erotic thing, their voices rising together in the dark. He rocks his hips, trying to keep pace, trying to find that magic spot…
“Oh,” the man suddenly gasps, back arching as he throws his head back. There. Eames leans in to press a kiss to the man’s throat, pushing forward more, and this elicits the most delicious noise from the other. The man reaches up, grasps Eames’ headboard and pushes back against him, looking over his shoulder in impatience. Eames places his hands around the man’s, holds them there, and moves. He moves, reveling in the feeling of this lean, taut body of compact muscle beneath his own, around him, so tight and sweet and beautiful. The dim light of the city catches against the beads of sweat that pool down the man’s spine and he licks them up, causing a shudder and a groan.
“God,” he breathes. He hits that spot again and the man releases a low gutteral moan that sends Eames nearly over the edge. He moves away and snaps his hips forward-and he feels the man clench around him, sees him drop his head and feels his fingers spasm under his own. They’re both so close. So close. He reaches down, thumbs the slit of the man’s cock and pushes in again, deeper and deeper, moving his hand in time with his hips. Finally, the man throws his head back, captures Eames’ lips in another sloppy kiss as he meets the forward push of Eames’ hips with a backward thrust of his own. He moans deep into Eames’ mouth as he comes, and Eames swallows the sound of it as he comes too, and they ride their orgasms together.
----------------
The sun streams through the open window and Eames frowns, realizing he forgot to close the blinds the night before. There’s movement next to him and he smiles at the other man, who is on the edge of wakefulness, lying against his side.
“Morning, Arthur love,” he whispers, his voice throaty. Arthur smiles a heavy-lidded satisfied smile, wraps an arm around Eames’ waist possessively, and nuzzles his nose and lips against Eames’ skin.
“Morning.”
“Darling, you’re snuggling.” Eames is, if anything, delightedly shocked. “Last night…”
“Last night, Eames, was wonderful,” Arthur says, propping his chin against Eames’ ribs and looking him in the eye.
“It was, wasn’t it?” Eames nods, curling his arm around Arthur’s shoulder to stroke his black curls. He means it, but he’s lying too. They lapse into silence in the early morning light, each preoccupied with his own thoughts.
“Arthur,” Eames begins, hesitantly, “darling.”
“Hmm?” Arthur doesn’t look at him but he’s listening.
“Let’s never do that again.”
“Why?”
“Not that I minded how last night went. Quite the contrary, in fact. But I prefer being able to say your name when I come, and you know how much I like hearing you moan mine.” Arthur looks at him now, warm amusement writ across his face.
“So what you’re saying to me, Mr. Eames, is that you’d rather fuck me, Arthur, than a stranger you pick up at a bar? I never took you for a romantic, Eames,” Arthur says, quirking an eyebrow and fighting down a smirk.
“Laugh all you want, but that’s exactly it, darling. I am not, contrary to popular belief, a ‘hit it and quit it’ type of person. The reason I like fucking you, as you so eloquently call it, Arthur dear, is because it is you I am fucking. You. Not anybody else.”
“No more role-playing, then?” Arthur actually looks and sounds disappointed and Eames shakes his head emphatically.
“Are you kidding? If I knew you were into role-play, I’d have suggested it ages ago.” He kisses the top of Arthur’s head. “Just no more of that stranger-in-a-club, one-night-stand nonsense, alright?” They’re quiet again but Eames can still sense Arthur’s disappointment so he begins to elaborate.
“Because I, for one, like seeing your expressions when I wrap my lips around your cock, your reactions when I touch you the way you like, your voice saying my name when I push into you…” Eames gestures his free hand absently. He looks over and Arthur is watching him with eyes that promise something. Eames stutters into silence, waiting.
In a swift, graceful movement, Arthur sits up and straddles Eames. Arthur is unabashedly naked, the light catching the perfect planes of his body. Eames’ heart beats loudly as he watches his lover, framed by the light, smile warmly, genuinely, softly.
“I love you too, Mr. Eames,” Arthur says. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he leans down to press a gentle kiss to Eames’ mouth. This one is slow and languid, an exploration of familiar territory instead of a fight for dominance. Eames’ hands grip Arthur’s waist and Arthur’s hands thread through his hair-and they kiss. They are both hard when they break apart to breathe, and Arthur flashes him a wicked grin.
“Now, what was that about moaning my name?