There are all kinds of kissing out there: slow kisses, small kisses, kisses that say good-bye, kisses that bring you home, kisses that bring you to that final moment where everything comes to a head. Porny kisses, fluffy kisses, Eskimo kisses, angry kisses, and kisses full of want and longing. THEY ARE ALL AWESOME. And you should write them all
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He means for it to be the open-mouthed equivalent of a slap, because that's what it feels like. Arthur couldn't have rejected all Eames's unvoiced overtures any more clearly if he'd scripted this, from the party to the alcohol, to the two of them getting caught between their own stilted conversation and Ariadne's well-meaning interference as she dragged them into the doorway.
But instead his mouth meets Arthur's and he's instantly helplessly awash in the warmth of Arthur's mouth, and his wassail-soaked tongue, and the way Arthur shuts his eyes and tilts his head forward and sighs into Eames' mouth like he wants to be right where he is, like he just can't help himself. Eames shifts and lets Arthur slide right into him, and suddenly everything is bright-hot and Eames' lips are buzzing, and ( ... )
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*whimpers* and then what?
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♥
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Now who's the bigger tease, Arthur or you?
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