[fic]: one simple idea
Title: One Simple Idea
Author: knowmydark
Rating: NC-17.
Word Count: 2,293.
Genre: PWP/Crack.
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.
Summary: Arthur and Eames get handcuffed together. Chaos, grumpy!Arthur, and blowjobs ensue. In that order. Eames/Arthur, slash, One-Shot.
A/N: WHAT THE FUCK, I AM MEANT TO BE ON HIATUS. WHY ARE ALL THESE PROMPTS SO IRRESISTIBLE. Fill for the inception_kink prompt: Arthur and Eames get handcuffed together. zeto, I blame you for this. Sort of.
Please don’t forget to comment!
--
One Simple Idea
--
It starts when Eames has an idea about handcuffs.
“Arthur,” Eames says. “I have an idea about handcuffs.”
Typically, Arthur would never say yes, but Arthur has just had his brains fucked out rather splendidly over the kitchen sink. Arthur tends to forget what Eames is capable of in moments like this. It’s a dangerous thing.
“Alright,” Arthur mumbles in just such an instance. “Okay.”
He’ll regret it later.
Too late.
--
Arthur walks in through the door of the warehouse and Eames immediately tackles him to the floor.
“Hullo, dear,” Eames says.
“Mmmph,” Arthur says.
The snap of a pair of handcuffs closing is unmistakeable. Arthur would probably yell about this if not for the fact that Eames appears to have handcuffed himself. That’s alright, Arthur thinks. The silver is loose around Eames’ left wrist and ha, Arthur thinks, it’s Eames’ own fault he doesn’t check what he’s doing before he actually does it, and any moment now he’ll realise how very stupid he’s been and ask Arthur to unlock the cuffs, serve him right, and Arthur will refuse out of unadulterated spite as payback for all of those times Eames has tried to -
Oh.
“Shit,” Arthur says, feelingly. And then, “Eames!”
Eames lifts his left wrist and Arthur is forced to lift his right one.
Eames jangles his wrist.
Arthur’s wrist jangles too.
Arthur is about two milliseconds away from doing some very regrettable things.
Regrettable, homicidal things.
Eames is smiling.
Half a millisecond, then.
“Eames,” Arthur yells. “What the fuck did you do.”
“You agreed to this, pet, remember?” Eames says.
Arthur kicks him. It’s not a playful kick. It’s a kick delivered with all the enthusiasm Arthur usually reserves for padlocked doors. The sole of Arthur’s Oxford shoe catches Eames squarely in the chest and Arthur spends half a second placated before he remembers that Eames is attached to him.
Eames goes flying.
Arthur goes flying as well.
Arthur lands right on top of Eames’ lap, which is of course the moment when Cobb walks in.
“Arthur,” Cobb says with a world-weary sigh. “I really do wish you’d stop raping Eames.”
--
“What do you mean, you’ve lost the key,” Arthur yells.
They may or may not be in a public place. Arthur may or may not have lost the self-respect to care, especially when Eames is smirking like that.
“I’ve lost it, darling,” Eames shrugs at him, and Arthur wishes the chain connecting their cuffs was long enough for him to choke Eames with it. “It is missing. Gone. AWOL. Vanished.”
“They’re staring at us,” Arthur hisses. “Staring.”
“Exactly,” Eames says. “Now no-one will get any ideas about chatting you up behind my back.”
“No-one’s ever chatted me up behind your back,” Arthur yells. “You’ve always been standing right there when they do.”
Eames hums a little and moves up the aisle.
Arthur hates him.
“Don’t forget,” Arthur reminds him coldly, “that I know how to disembowel you with a dinner fork and destroy all incriminating evidence.”
The children in the confectionery aisle give him frightened looks and scuttle away.
Arthur hates them.
Arthur hates everyone.
Eames reaches up to pick out a packet of Smarties and because Eames is a bastard, he uses his left hand. Arthur’s holding their shopping basket in his right. The result is awkward. Arthur nearly takes out his own eye with the basket rim.
“This is handy,” Eames says and drops the packet in. “I don’t even have to bend down to put things into the basket. The basket follows me. I could get used to this.”
“I could get used to strangling you,” Arthur says. “And to chopping you into miniscule bits.”
“You’re scaring the children, darling,” Eames says.
“I hate you,” says Arthur. “And stop buying sweets.”
“Sugar is good for your memory, Arthur,” says Eames. “Maybe Smarties will help me remember where exactly I put the handcuff keys.”
“That is so scientifically flawed,” says Arthur.
“Chocolate supersedes science,” says Eames.
--
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you,” Arthur says flatly, when Eames is paying the grocery bill. Eames has put his wallet in his jeans’ back pocket and Arthur’s hand is forced to follow him down.
“Immensely,” says Eames, and flashes some teeth.
“I look like I’m groping your ass,” Arthur says.
“I have no objections to that,” says Eames. “It’s about time you returned all my gestures, love.”
--
There are the obvious problems.
Going to the bathroom, for example, is extremely difficult. As is writing. Eames sits on the edge of Arthur’s work desk and pretends to be reading some file or other, always deigning to use his left hand to turn a page whenever Arthur is in the middle of penning a word. More than once, they have tiny yanking matches. These are always quite manly and dignified, of course.
It’s hilarious the first time Arthur tries to drink coffee, and when Eames realises it’s a way to force Arthur to take off his tie he makes a habit of jerking his handcuffed wrist whenever Arthur’s within ruler’s-length of a drink.
Which presents another big problem.
Undressing.
They’re handcuffed, so shirts don’t come off properly. This they discover the moment they get back home and Eames industriously tries to remove Arthur’s clothes on the landing, before they’ve even gone into the flat, the groceries still sitting inside the car boot.
For the first time that day, Eames looks rather put out.
“Damn,” Eames says. “I should have thought about this.”
“You could always uncuff me,” Arthur suggests and hopes he’s not being too obvious.
Eames considers. Arthur holds his breath.
“No,” Eames says. “I have another way.”
This other way turns out to involve a knife and the unfortunate demise of Arthur’s shirt.
“Hey,” Arthur shouts when Eames slices the sleeve. Arthur thinks that his heart may be slicing with it. “That’s it. I’m going to kill you, Eames.”
“Can you save that for after the sex,” says Eames.
“No,” Arthur says. “There won’t be any sex. I’m going to feed you to Yusuf’s cats. All three.”
“At least you’re being diplomatic about it,” says Eames and curls his hands around Arthur’s now-bare waist.
This is awkward because it bends Arthur’s arm behind his back.
A lot of things have been awkward about today.
Eames is stronger and Arthur can’t yank his arm back, so when Eames gives Arthur a shove with his hips Arthur loses his balance precariously. His left hand comes up to grab Eames’ shoulder, nails digging. Arthur digs them a little harder than necessary as a roundabout, feeble sort of revenge.
Eames is smirking.
Arthur’s desperately trying not to get hard.
Arthur may or may not be failing in this.
“You,” Arthur says, “deserve to be shot, and the next time I get my hands on a gun - ”
“ - you’ll do some awful things to me, won’t you, pet?”
Arthur splutters. Eames presses a kiss to his neck. This may or may not be a little distracting, and normally Arthur can be exceptionally creative about how to painfully dismember someone that he hates, but the thought of Eames’ tongue on the barrel of a Glock is enough to abort all creativity.
Well. Creativity of a non-sexual kind, anyway.
“God,” Arthur manages finally. Eames is sucking a spot by his jaw. “Oh, God.”
“You always get us confused,” Eames complains. “Sometimes I think that you must be cheating on me.”
“Shut up,” Arthur says. Eames is grinning a little. Eames’ right hand is wandering to Arthur’s belt, and then lower, turning around to cup up and then in. Arthur does not make an embarrassing noise at this. Not really. Or, at least, Arthur’s lost so much of his dignity already that it really doesn’t matter what sound he makes, it’s not like he’ll get any of it back, anyway.
Arthur should probably be more upset about this than he is, but Eames is derailing his thoughts spectacularly.
Eames is jerking him off through his trousers.
Christ.
“Don’t you like it when I talk during these things?” Eames says.
“Oh, shut up,” Arthur says. “Just shut up, just shut up.”
“Don’t you remember,” Eames says and Arthur bucks up into him, gasping faintly, “that time I had you in Budapest and you came just from me talking at you? God, Arthur, I didn’t even have to get a hand on you. Remember that?”
“Shut up.” Arthur bites his lip.
Eames’ eyes get hooked on the movement, blow darker.
“You looked so fucking lovely,” Eames says.
Arthur tries to wrench his arm out from behind his back just to touch, to get fingers right into that mouth and perhaps that will shut Eames up, finally.
Arthur doesn’t really want Eames to shut up, though.
Unless.
Arthur tips up and kisses him.
Eames’ mouth is rough like it always is, tongue always too quick both in quips and in this, in tracing the line behind Arthur’s teeth and the roof of his mouth, always so fucking quick. Eames is vicious and gentle alternatively and it’s always enough to throw Arthur off-balance. Eames is hard, pressed in close against Arthur’s thigh. Arthur’s trembling. He’d die before he’d admit this, though. When Eames stops and his hand trails upward again Arthur in no way emits something close to a whine.
“Eames,” Arthur snaps into Eames’ mouth, sharply, to compensate for the whine. “If you don’t get your hand back where it belongs, I swear I will castrate you in your sleep.”
Eames responds by biting Arthur’s bottom lip, hard.
Arthur resists the urge to melt instantaneously.
“You’re so full of threats today, darling,” Eames says and his voice is so unaffected, damn him. Arthur is barely managing to keep his own arousal from leaking into every one of his syllables. “It’s not in your best interests to castrate me, though.”
“Nngh,” Arthur says. “Just fuck me already.”
“So demanding,” Eames says.
Eames drops to his knees.
Arthur’s coherence immediately departs the room.
Eames has the most ridiculous lashes, long, and Arthur counted them once at three in the morning while Eames was asleep and still snoring like a bullfrog next to him.
Arthur has no intention of counting them now, not when Eames is looking up at him and Arthur feels like he’s been pinned to the wall. This is not entirely an exaggeration, since Arthur is still cuffed to Eames’ wrist, and Eames has braced his hand on the wall to prevent dragging Arthur down with him.
Eames’ mouth, Arthur thinks, is probably illegal in all fifty states, including Hawaii.
Eames is smirking like he knows this, too.
Arthur swallows. His throat feels extremely dry.
“I thought you wanted to shut me up,” Eames says. “I’m not going to do it myself, you know.”
Arthur musters enough control over his muscular system to glare and to fumble aside his belt. Eames leans up halfway through and mouths at him through his trousers. Arthur almost collapses down the side of the wall.
“You’re not helping,” Arthur clenches through gritted teeth.
“I’m not?” Eames says and pulls back, the bastard.
“Fuck,” Arthur swears. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Put your mouth back where it was.”
Eames does. Eames also gets Arthur’s trousers undone, which Arthur thoroughly wants to thank him for but that would just make Eames even more conceited, and God knows that Eames is already conceited enough. Eames knows far too fucking much about Arthur, what puts him together, what takes him apart, and Arthur hates how Eames can read him so well but that’s a difficult emotion to follow up on when Eames finally gets his mouth on Arthur’s cock and fuck, Arthur’s brain wipes clean, goes blank, shorts out, because Eames’ mouth, his mouth.
“Nngh,” Arthur says, second time that day. It appears Arthur’s coherence is still out the door.
Eames laughs.
Arthur feels it shake up through his bones and his hips jerk forward, knees threaten to give out. The sharp clench of Eames’ throat around him slams every vestige of air out of Arthur’s lungs.
Eames slants an arm over Arthur’s hips and holds him flush against the wall.
“Your enthusiasm is flattering,” Eames says, pulling off. Arthur wants to hit him for doing so. “But for the sake of all three of Yusuf’s cats, stay still, or else you’ll choke me, love.”
“I hate you,” Arthur manages to wrangle out.
Eames leans forward and flicks out the tip of his tongue.
Arthur chokes. There’s a hint of irony in that.
“Now you know how it feels,” Eames says, and sinks down. He’d be grinning if he wasn’t busy sucking cock and Arthur feels a little helpless at that point, wants to punch him and kiss him in equal measure.
Eames always manages to bring out the best and the worst from Arthur.
Arthur wonders if that’s a euphemism for love.
And then Eames does that wonderful thing with his tongue that goes straight to the base of Arthur’s spine and Arthur doesn’t wonder anything anymore, just goes still, lets the sudden flash of brilliant white knock the breath out of him like a bullet.
(Like love.)
--
There’s nothing wrong with taking a chance, Arthur thinks.
Trusting Eames.
The handcuffs can stay on, for now.
--
Arthur’s fuzzy and his mind’s still trying to clear when Eames tugs him down to the floor by his cuff.
Eames’ mouth is swollen and spit-slicked, warm. By the time Arthur registers that he’s being kissed Eames has pinned both of Arthur’s wrists up over his head.
“So,” Eames says.
“Mmmm, what,” Arthur says.
“So I have an idea about whips,” and Eames smiles.
--
The End.
--
A/N: My first ever PWP. I seriously never thought I'd write something like this. inception_kink, YOU HAVE CORRUPTED ME. I AM BOTH DELIGHTED AND VAGUELY MORTIFIED. Next fill will be for the Guys&Dolls!AU prompt by bookshop, which shall hopefully materialise in the next few days.
Please don't forget to comment, my loves! My other Inception fics are here; my other inception_kink fills are here. Please feel free to check them out, or friend me for future Arthur/Eames!
♥
Author: knowmydark
Rating: NC-17.
Word Count: 2,293.
Genre: PWP/Crack.
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.
Summary: Arthur and Eames get handcuffed together. Chaos, grumpy!Arthur, and blowjobs ensue. In that order. Eames/Arthur, slash, One-Shot.
A/N: WHAT THE FUCK, I AM MEANT TO BE ON HIATUS. WHY ARE ALL THESE PROMPTS SO IRRESISTIBLE. Fill for the inception_kink prompt: Arthur and Eames get handcuffed together. zeto, I blame you for this. Sort of.
Please don’t forget to comment!
--
One Simple Idea
--
It starts when Eames has an idea about handcuffs.
“Arthur,” Eames says. “I have an idea about handcuffs.”
Typically, Arthur would never say yes, but Arthur has just had his brains fucked out rather splendidly over the kitchen sink. Arthur tends to forget what Eames is capable of in moments like this. It’s a dangerous thing.
“Alright,” Arthur mumbles in just such an instance. “Okay.”
He’ll regret it later.
Too late.
--
Arthur walks in through the door of the warehouse and Eames immediately tackles him to the floor.
“Hullo, dear,” Eames says.
“Mmmph,” Arthur says.
The snap of a pair of handcuffs closing is unmistakeable. Arthur would probably yell about this if not for the fact that Eames appears to have handcuffed himself. That’s alright, Arthur thinks. The silver is loose around Eames’ left wrist and ha, Arthur thinks, it’s Eames’ own fault he doesn’t check what he’s doing before he actually does it, and any moment now he’ll realise how very stupid he’s been and ask Arthur to unlock the cuffs, serve him right, and Arthur will refuse out of unadulterated spite as payback for all of those times Eames has tried to -
Oh.
“Shit,” Arthur says, feelingly. And then, “Eames!”
Eames lifts his left wrist and Arthur is forced to lift his right one.
Eames jangles his wrist.
Arthur’s wrist jangles too.
Arthur is about two milliseconds away from doing some very regrettable things.
Regrettable, homicidal things.
Eames is smiling.
Half a millisecond, then.
“Eames,” Arthur yells. “What the fuck did you do.”
“You agreed to this, pet, remember?” Eames says.
Arthur kicks him. It’s not a playful kick. It’s a kick delivered with all the enthusiasm Arthur usually reserves for padlocked doors. The sole of Arthur’s Oxford shoe catches Eames squarely in the chest and Arthur spends half a second placated before he remembers that Eames is attached to him.
Eames goes flying.
Arthur goes flying as well.
Arthur lands right on top of Eames’ lap, which is of course the moment when Cobb walks in.
“Arthur,” Cobb says with a world-weary sigh. “I really do wish you’d stop raping Eames.”
--
“What do you mean, you’ve lost the key,” Arthur yells.
They may or may not be in a public place. Arthur may or may not have lost the self-respect to care, especially when Eames is smirking like that.
“I’ve lost it, darling,” Eames shrugs at him, and Arthur wishes the chain connecting their cuffs was long enough for him to choke Eames with it. “It is missing. Gone. AWOL. Vanished.”
“They’re staring at us,” Arthur hisses. “Staring.”
“Exactly,” Eames says. “Now no-one will get any ideas about chatting you up behind my back.”
“No-one’s ever chatted me up behind your back,” Arthur yells. “You’ve always been standing right there when they do.”
Eames hums a little and moves up the aisle.
Arthur hates him.
“Don’t forget,” Arthur reminds him coldly, “that I know how to disembowel you with a dinner fork and destroy all incriminating evidence.”
The children in the confectionery aisle give him frightened looks and scuttle away.
Arthur hates them.
Arthur hates everyone.
Eames reaches up to pick out a packet of Smarties and because Eames is a bastard, he uses his left hand. Arthur’s holding their shopping basket in his right. The result is awkward. Arthur nearly takes out his own eye with the basket rim.
“This is handy,” Eames says and drops the packet in. “I don’t even have to bend down to put things into the basket. The basket follows me. I could get used to this.”
“I could get used to strangling you,” Arthur says. “And to chopping you into miniscule bits.”
“You’re scaring the children, darling,” Eames says.
“I hate you,” says Arthur. “And stop buying sweets.”
“Sugar is good for your memory, Arthur,” says Eames. “Maybe Smarties will help me remember where exactly I put the handcuff keys.”
“That is so scientifically flawed,” says Arthur.
“Chocolate supersedes science,” says Eames.
--
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you,” Arthur says flatly, when Eames is paying the grocery bill. Eames has put his wallet in his jeans’ back pocket and Arthur’s hand is forced to follow him down.
“Immensely,” says Eames, and flashes some teeth.
“I look like I’m groping your ass,” Arthur says.
“I have no objections to that,” says Eames. “It’s about time you returned all my gestures, love.”
--
There are the obvious problems.
Going to the bathroom, for example, is extremely difficult. As is writing. Eames sits on the edge of Arthur’s work desk and pretends to be reading some file or other, always deigning to use his left hand to turn a page whenever Arthur is in the middle of penning a word. More than once, they have tiny yanking matches. These are always quite manly and dignified, of course.
It’s hilarious the first time Arthur tries to drink coffee, and when Eames realises it’s a way to force Arthur to take off his tie he makes a habit of jerking his handcuffed wrist whenever Arthur’s within ruler’s-length of a drink.
Which presents another big problem.
Undressing.
They’re handcuffed, so shirts don’t come off properly. This they discover the moment they get back home and Eames industriously tries to remove Arthur’s clothes on the landing, before they’ve even gone into the flat, the groceries still sitting inside the car boot.
For the first time that day, Eames looks rather put out.
“Damn,” Eames says. “I should have thought about this.”
“You could always uncuff me,” Arthur suggests and hopes he’s not being too obvious.
Eames considers. Arthur holds his breath.
“No,” Eames says. “I have another way.”
This other way turns out to involve a knife and the unfortunate demise of Arthur’s shirt.
“Hey,” Arthur shouts when Eames slices the sleeve. Arthur thinks that his heart may be slicing with it. “That’s it. I’m going to kill you, Eames.”
“Can you save that for after the sex,” says Eames.
“No,” Arthur says. “There won’t be any sex. I’m going to feed you to Yusuf’s cats. All three.”
“At least you’re being diplomatic about it,” says Eames and curls his hands around Arthur’s now-bare waist.
This is awkward because it bends Arthur’s arm behind his back.
A lot of things have been awkward about today.
Eames is stronger and Arthur can’t yank his arm back, so when Eames gives Arthur a shove with his hips Arthur loses his balance precariously. His left hand comes up to grab Eames’ shoulder, nails digging. Arthur digs them a little harder than necessary as a roundabout, feeble sort of revenge.
Eames is smirking.
Arthur’s desperately trying not to get hard.
Arthur may or may not be failing in this.
“You,” Arthur says, “deserve to be shot, and the next time I get my hands on a gun - ”
“ - you’ll do some awful things to me, won’t you, pet?”
Arthur splutters. Eames presses a kiss to his neck. This may or may not be a little distracting, and normally Arthur can be exceptionally creative about how to painfully dismember someone that he hates, but the thought of Eames’ tongue on the barrel of a Glock is enough to abort all creativity.
Well. Creativity of a non-sexual kind, anyway.
“God,” Arthur manages finally. Eames is sucking a spot by his jaw. “Oh, God.”
“You always get us confused,” Eames complains. “Sometimes I think that you must be cheating on me.”
“Shut up,” Arthur says. Eames is grinning a little. Eames’ right hand is wandering to Arthur’s belt, and then lower, turning around to cup up and then in. Arthur does not make an embarrassing noise at this. Not really. Or, at least, Arthur’s lost so much of his dignity already that it really doesn’t matter what sound he makes, it’s not like he’ll get any of it back, anyway.
Arthur should probably be more upset about this than he is, but Eames is derailing his thoughts spectacularly.
Eames is jerking him off through his trousers.
Christ.
“Don’t you like it when I talk during these things?” Eames says.
“Oh, shut up,” Arthur says. “Just shut up, just shut up.”
“Don’t you remember,” Eames says and Arthur bucks up into him, gasping faintly, “that time I had you in Budapest and you came just from me talking at you? God, Arthur, I didn’t even have to get a hand on you. Remember that?”
“Shut up.” Arthur bites his lip.
Eames’ eyes get hooked on the movement, blow darker.
“You looked so fucking lovely,” Eames says.
Arthur tries to wrench his arm out from behind his back just to touch, to get fingers right into that mouth and perhaps that will shut Eames up, finally.
Arthur doesn’t really want Eames to shut up, though.
Unless.
Arthur tips up and kisses him.
Eames’ mouth is rough like it always is, tongue always too quick both in quips and in this, in tracing the line behind Arthur’s teeth and the roof of his mouth, always so fucking quick. Eames is vicious and gentle alternatively and it’s always enough to throw Arthur off-balance. Eames is hard, pressed in close against Arthur’s thigh. Arthur’s trembling. He’d die before he’d admit this, though. When Eames stops and his hand trails upward again Arthur in no way emits something close to a whine.
“Eames,” Arthur snaps into Eames’ mouth, sharply, to compensate for the whine. “If you don’t get your hand back where it belongs, I swear I will castrate you in your sleep.”
Eames responds by biting Arthur’s bottom lip, hard.
Arthur resists the urge to melt instantaneously.
“You’re so full of threats today, darling,” Eames says and his voice is so unaffected, damn him. Arthur is barely managing to keep his own arousal from leaking into every one of his syllables. “It’s not in your best interests to castrate me, though.”
“Nngh,” Arthur says. “Just fuck me already.”
“So demanding,” Eames says.
Eames drops to his knees.
Arthur’s coherence immediately departs the room.
Eames has the most ridiculous lashes, long, and Arthur counted them once at three in the morning while Eames was asleep and still snoring like a bullfrog next to him.
Arthur has no intention of counting them now, not when Eames is looking up at him and Arthur feels like he’s been pinned to the wall. This is not entirely an exaggeration, since Arthur is still cuffed to Eames’ wrist, and Eames has braced his hand on the wall to prevent dragging Arthur down with him.
Eames’ mouth, Arthur thinks, is probably illegal in all fifty states, including Hawaii.
Eames is smirking like he knows this, too.
Arthur swallows. His throat feels extremely dry.
“I thought you wanted to shut me up,” Eames says. “I’m not going to do it myself, you know.”
Arthur musters enough control over his muscular system to glare and to fumble aside his belt. Eames leans up halfway through and mouths at him through his trousers. Arthur almost collapses down the side of the wall.
“You’re not helping,” Arthur clenches through gritted teeth.
“I’m not?” Eames says and pulls back, the bastard.
“Fuck,” Arthur swears. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Put your mouth back where it was.”
Eames does. Eames also gets Arthur’s trousers undone, which Arthur thoroughly wants to thank him for but that would just make Eames even more conceited, and God knows that Eames is already conceited enough. Eames knows far too fucking much about Arthur, what puts him together, what takes him apart, and Arthur hates how Eames can read him so well but that’s a difficult emotion to follow up on when Eames finally gets his mouth on Arthur’s cock and fuck, Arthur’s brain wipes clean, goes blank, shorts out, because Eames’ mouth, his mouth.
“Nngh,” Arthur says, second time that day. It appears Arthur’s coherence is still out the door.
Eames laughs.
Arthur feels it shake up through his bones and his hips jerk forward, knees threaten to give out. The sharp clench of Eames’ throat around him slams every vestige of air out of Arthur’s lungs.
Eames slants an arm over Arthur’s hips and holds him flush against the wall.
“Your enthusiasm is flattering,” Eames says, pulling off. Arthur wants to hit him for doing so. “But for the sake of all three of Yusuf’s cats, stay still, or else you’ll choke me, love.”
“I hate you,” Arthur manages to wrangle out.
Eames leans forward and flicks out the tip of his tongue.
Arthur chokes. There’s a hint of irony in that.
“Now you know how it feels,” Eames says, and sinks down. He’d be grinning if he wasn’t busy sucking cock and Arthur feels a little helpless at that point, wants to punch him and kiss him in equal measure.
Eames always manages to bring out the best and the worst from Arthur.
Arthur wonders if that’s a euphemism for love.
And then Eames does that wonderful thing with his tongue that goes straight to the base of Arthur’s spine and Arthur doesn’t wonder anything anymore, just goes still, lets the sudden flash of brilliant white knock the breath out of him like a bullet.
(Like love.)
--
There’s nothing wrong with taking a chance, Arthur thinks.
Trusting Eames.
The handcuffs can stay on, for now.
--
Arthur’s fuzzy and his mind’s still trying to clear when Eames tugs him down to the floor by his cuff.
Eames’ mouth is swollen and spit-slicked, warm. By the time Arthur registers that he’s being kissed Eames has pinned both of Arthur’s wrists up over his head.
“So,” Eames says.
“Mmmm, what,” Arthur says.
“So I have an idea about whips,” and Eames smiles.
--
The End.
--
A/N: My first ever PWP. I seriously never thought I'd write something like this. inception_kink, YOU HAVE CORRUPTED ME. I AM BOTH DELIGHTED AND VAGUELY MORTIFIED. Next fill will be for the Guys&Dolls!AU prompt by bookshop, which shall hopefully materialise in the next few days.
Please don't forget to comment, my loves! My other Inception fics are here; my other inception_kink fills are here. Please feel free to check them out, or friend me for future Arthur/Eames!
♥